DC 
 • \ 
 
 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
Cornell University Library 
 DC 137.1.1324 1902 
 
 Marie Antonette at the Tuilerles, 1789- 
 
 3 1924 024 292 058 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tlnis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924024292058 
 
MARIE ANTOINETTE AND HER THREE CHILDREN. 
 
Marie Antoinette 
 
 AT THE TUILERIES 
 1789-1791 
 
 BY 
 
 IMBERT DE SAINT-AMAND 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 ELIZABETH GILBERT MARTIN 
 
 WITH PORTRAIT 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 1908 
 
COPYRIGHT, 189I, 
 BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, 
 
 3o/srb £ 
 X 
 
 THE CAXTON PRESS 
 NPW YORK. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 FIRST PART. 
 
 OHAFTBB FASB 
 
 I. The installation at the Tuileries 1 
 
 II. A Visit fkou the National Assembly 10 
 
 III. Paris at the Close op 1789 18 
 
 IV. The Execution of the Marquis de Favras 26 
 
 V. The Dauphin and Madame Rotale 33 
 
 VI. The Botal Family at Saint Cloud 41 
 
 Vn. Marie Antoinette's Interview with Mirabeau. . . 48 
 
 Vin. The Festival or the Federation 58 
 
 IX. MiBABEAu's Double B6le 71 
 
 X. The Departure of the Kino's Aunts 79 
 
 XI. The Knights of the Poniard 87 
 
 XII. The Death of Mirabeau 92 
 
 XIII. The Religious Question 103 
 
 XIV. The Holy Week of 1791 112 
 
 SECOND PART. 
 
 THE VARENNES JOURNEY. 
 
 I. Preparations for Flight 122 
 
 II. June Twentieth, 1791 131 
 
 III. The Departure 137 
 
 IV. June Twentieth, 1791, in Paris 144 
 
 V. The Journey 150 
 
 VL Tiu Abrbst 159 
 
 iii 
 
iv CONTENTS. 
 
 OHAPTZR FASK 
 
 Vn. Thb Night at Varennes » 167 
 
 Vin. The Depabtuiie fboh Vaeennbs 176 
 
 IX. The Betdbn 183 
 
 X. Mabie Antoinette and Barmave 189 
 
 XI. Potion's Account. 198 
 
 ,XII. The Bbtukn to the Tuilebies 210 
 
 THIRD PART. 
 THE CLOSE OF 1791. 
 I. The Captivitt in the Tuilebies 222 
 
 II. FaBIS DUBINe THE SUSPENSION OF EOTALTT 231 
 
 III. The Emiobation 242 
 
 IV. Acceptance op the Constitution 253 
 
 V. Mabie Antoinette's Last Evenings at the Theatbe, 264 
 
 VI. The Duke op Obleans in 1791 272 
 
 vn. The Betubn of the Fbihcesb de Lamballe to the 
 
 Tuilebies 282 
 
Marie Antoinette 
 
 AT THE TUILERIES 
 1789-179* 
 
FIRST PART. 
 I. 
 
 THE INSTALLATION AT THE TUILEEIBS. 
 
 THE drama of the Tuileries begins. It is the 
 sixth of October, 1789. The hour is ten in the 
 evening. After a day of indescribable suffering, the 
 royal family, who left Versailles at one in the after- 
 noon, had entered the H6tel de Ville at Paris toward 
 nine o'clock. " It is always with pleasure and with 
 confidence," Louis XVI. had said, " that I find my- 
 self amidst the inhabitants of my good city of Paris." 
 In repeating the King's discourse, the mayor, Bailly, 
 had forgotten the words "with confidence." The 
 Queen instantly recalled them. " Gentlemen," went 
 on Bailly, "you are more fortunate than if I had 
 said it myself." Then Louis XVI. and his family 
 returned to the Tuileries. It was not without hes- 
 itation and sadness that they entered. The palace 
 seemed all the more sombre by reason of the con- 
 trast between its black fa9ade and the illumina- 
 tions in the neighboring streets. Uninhabited since 
 the majority of Louis XV., it was gloomy, out of 
 
 1 
 
MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 repair, unfurnished, and undecorated. The locks 
 closed badly. The aspect was bleak, disastrous. 
 
 On the morning of October 7 the Queen awakes 
 in the Tuileries. What things had happened, what 
 tragedies, what emotions within twenty-four hours ! 
 Is it a nightmare ? Is it reality ? Yesterday it was 
 still the city of the Sun-King, the splendid palace of 
 Versailles. This morning it is the Tuileries, forbid- 
 ding as a prison. What formidable cries are these, 
 whose menacing echoes are still resounding in the 
 sovereign's ears? What are these lugubrious and 
 bloody sights which she cannot banish from her 
 eyes, — the bands of pikemen, the hideous prostitutes 
 of the galleries of the Palais Royal, the infernal 
 viragoes of the Revolution, the livid heads of the 
 hapless, decapitated body-guards? Will these cries 
 of hatred and assassination, these oaths, these blas- 
 phemies, these insults, cease at last? Those re- 
 ports of musketry, that storm of invectives and 
 ferocious jests — can it be that they will not 
 begin anew? This residence where Marie Antoi- 
 nette, after a short and unquiet slumber, re-opens 
 her eyes to the light — is it a palace or a dun- 
 geon? What men are these who stand about the 
 royal chamber? Are they servants, or jailers, or 
 assassins ? These ragged women who crowd beneath 
 the windows — what are they going to say? what are 
 they going to do? Will they force the chamber 
 doors to-day as they did yesterday, and riddle with 
 pike and sabre thrusts the bed of the Queen of 
 
THE INSTALLATION. 
 
 France, the daughter of Maria Theresa ? What has 
 befallen her ? What can the future have in store ? 
 What may be hoped ? what feared ? How shall she 
 hide the sentiments of indignation and sacred anger, 
 which burst from a noble heart? What figure can 
 she make in presence of this riotous upheaval ? How 
 support the supreme humiliations which strike at the 
 lineage of Saint Louis, of Henri IV., and Louis XIV. ? 
 The atmosphere is overcharged with storms. Doom 
 weighs heavily on this sinister palace which, alas ! 
 was to be merely the vestibule of the scaffold. Marie 
 Antoinette feels herself surrounded by furies. One 
 might say that from every window, from every side 
 of the wall, from behind each piece of furniture, 
 poniards were aimed at the august victim. The most 
 intrepid woman would tremble. Oh ! what a morn- 
 ing I what an awakening ! 
 
 And yet the rays of hope were here and there to 
 shine through this overclouded sky. The presence 
 of the King and his family in the capital produced a 
 certain cessation of the storm. The bakers' shops 
 were no longer besieged; there was sufficient food. 
 The people thronged towards the Tuileries. The 
 avenues, the courtyards, the gardens, were encum- 
 bered by the crowd. Jn the morning of October 7, 
 the same women, who, astride the cannons, had yester- 
 day surrounded the carriage of the captive royal 
 family with threats and insults, came underneath the 
 Queen's windows, demanding to present their homage. 
 Marie Antoinette showed herself to the crowd. As 
 
MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 her bonnet partially shaded her face, she was besought 
 to remove it, that she might be better seen. She 
 granted the request. Royalty was no longer more 
 than a plaything, with which the people amused 
 themselves before breaking it. The women who yes- 
 terday hung on to the steps of the royal carriage, 
 clung fast to its doors, and leaned over Marie Antoi- 
 nette, trying to touch her, to soil her with their 
 breath, were now in parley with her. 
 
 " Send away from you," said one, " all these cour- 
 tiers who ruin kings. Love the inhabitants of your 
 good city." 
 
 " I loved them at Versailles," replied the Queen ; 
 "I will love them just the same at Paris." 
 
 " Yes, yes, " said another ; " but on the fourteenth 
 of July you wanted to besiege the city and have it 
 bombarded." 
 
 "You were told so," answered the Queen, "aiid 
 you believed it. It was that which caused the woes 
 of the people and of the best of kings." 
 
 A third woman addressed the sovereign in Ger- 
 man. 
 
 " German ! " said Marie Antoinette ; " I no longer 
 understand it. I have become so thorough a French- 
 woman that I have even forgotten my mother- 
 tongue." 
 
 There was a burst of applause. The women asked 
 the Queen for the flowers and ribbons on her bonnet. 
 She unfastened them herself and gave them away 
 The throng cried, "Long live our good Queen!" 
 
THE INSTALLATION. 
 
 While the courtyards and the garden of the Tuile- 
 ries were resounding with cheers, the body-guards, 
 pale, drooping, and bearing still the marks of the 
 distress they had endured the previous evening, were 
 making the rounds of the public promenades, under 
 the escort of the National Guards, yesterday their 
 victors, to-day their comrades. They were received 
 with sympathy on all sides. One would have said 
 the reconciliation was complete. 
 
 Throughout the day numberless deputations visited 
 the King. Louis XVI., always an optimist, seemed 
 to have forgotten totally the violence of the day be- 
 fore. His courtiers were far from sharing his serenity. 
 Etiquette was still maintained, but the gentlemen 
 attached to his service fulfilled their duties sadly. 
 The perpetual supervision of M. de Lafayette; the 
 presence of the National Guards, those soldiers of 
 the Revolution; the absence of the body-guards, 
 those soldiers of fidelity ; the invasion of the sanctu- 
 ary of monarchy by a crowd of enemies or intruders ; 
 the gradual diminution of the state indispensable to 
 the prestige of royalty ; the sadness of that fair and 
 good Queen whose eyes were reddened by incessant 
 tears; the progress of the revolutionary movement 
 which menaced the liberty, the possessions, and the 
 life of the French nobility, — all this struck unfeigned 
 consternation to the hearts of the King's attendants. 
 
 Mz.nj had already emigrated; but, on the other 
 hand, there was one woman who, at the first mention 
 of danger, had hastened to the post of honor and 
 
MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 devotion. It was the Princess de Lamballe. At nine 
 in the evening of October 7 she was sitting tranquilly 
 with her father-in-law, the Duke de PenthiSvre, in the 
 castle of Eu, when a courier arrived at full speed, 
 bringing the news of what had passed at Versailles 
 during the last two days. " O papa," cried the Prin- 
 cess, " what horrible events ! I must go at once." At 
 midnight, in frightful weather and profound dark- 
 ness, Madame de Lamballe left the castle of Eu, to 
 repair in all haste to the Queen at Paris. She arrived 
 there during the night of October 8, and took up her 
 quarters on the ground-floor of the Pavilion of Flora. 
 In her capacity as superintendent, she gave several 
 soirees there, at some of which Marie Antoinette 
 made her appearance. But as the Queen speedily 
 became convinced that her position no longer per- 
 mitted her attendance at large receptions, she re- 
 mained in her own apartments, reading, praying, 
 sewing, and supervising the education of her chil- 
 dren. 
 
 Madame Elisabeth wrote to the Abb6 de Lubersac 
 on October 16 : " The Queen, who has had incredible 
 courage, begins to be in better favor with the people. 
 I hope that in time, and by unremitting prudence, 
 we may regain the love of the Parisians, who have 
 merely been deceived. But, sir, the people of Ver- 
 sailles ! Have you ever seen more frightful ingrati- 
 tude ? No ; I think that Heaven in wrath peopled 
 that city with monsters out of hell. How long it 
 will take to make them recognize their injustice! 
 
THE INSTALLATION. 
 
 And if I were king, how long it would take me to 
 believe in their repentance ! What ingrates toward 
 an honest man ! Would you believe, sir, that all our 
 misfortunes, far from bringing me back to God, give 
 me a veritable disgust for all that relates to prayer? 
 Beg of Heaven for me the grace not to abandon 
 everything. . . . Ask also that the reverses of France 
 may recall to a better mind those who have contrib- 
 uted to them by their irreligion." 
 
 During several days people continued to obstruct 
 the courtyards of the Tuileries. Their indiscretion 
 was carried to such a point that several market- 
 women ventured to climb into the apartment of Ma- 
 dame Elisabeth, who had rooms on the ground-floor 
 of the Pavilion of Flora, on the side next the court- 
 yard. The Princess was obliged to quit this apart- 
 ment, and install herself on the first floor, in order 
 to be sheltered from importunate glances and the 
 invasions of the fishwomen. 
 
 People who had been hired by the party of disor- 
 der came every instant to make outrageous and in- 
 decent remarks beneath the windows of the chateau. 
 The revolutionists, in order to insult more deeply 
 the majesty of the crown, sent men belonging to the 
 dregs of the people to the King himself, under the 
 title of delegates. The abuse was so great, that one 
 of the Ministers proposed to forbid the entrance of 
 such deputations into the palace. "No," said the 
 unfortunate monarch; "they may present them- 
 selves; we shall have courage to listen to them," 
 
MARIS ANTOINETTE. 
 
 One day when these pretended delegates were ha- 
 ranguing Louis XVI., one of them dared to accuse 
 the Queen, who was present, in most offensive terms. 
 " You mistake," said the King, gently ; " the Queen 
 and I have not the intentions with which we are cred- 
 ited. We act in concert for your common welfare." 
 When the deputation retired, Marie Antoinette fell 
 to weeping. 
 
 Augeard, her private secretary, gives an account in 
 his very curious Memoirs, of a conversation he had with 
 her soon after the days of October : " Your Majesty 
 is a prisoner." — " My God ! what are you saying to 
 me?" "Madame, it is most true. From the time 
 when Your Majesty ceased to have a guard of honor, 
 you were a prisoner." — " These men here, I contend, 
 are more attentive than our guards." " The atten- 
 tion of jailers. I will offer you no other proof of it, 
 Madame, than to remind you of the precaution you 
 have taken to see whether any one is listening at the 
 doors. Would you have taken it with your guards ? " 
 — "But what must be done, then ? " 
 
 Augeard advised the Queen to rejoin her brother, 
 the Emperor. He added : " I know only one way — 
 but that is infallible — to save the King, yourself, 
 your children, and all France. It is for you to go 
 away with Madame Royale and the Dauphin, dress- 
 ing him as a little girl, and go as a private person, — 
 not as a queen or a princess. You could no longer 
 be set up in opposition to the new Constitution they 
 want to give us, and your lives would be safe." 
 
THi: INSTALLATION. 9 
 
 Augeard went on to develop a complete plan of 
 escape. The Queen, with her children, and Madame 
 Thibaut, her maid, were to go upon the roof, and 
 descend from there by a flight of stairs which led to 
 the Court of the Princes. She was to depart by way 
 of this court, leaving at the Tuileries a letter ex- 
 pressed in some such words as these : — 
 
 "My most Honoebd Lord and August Spouse: 
 After the attempts to assassinate me on the fifth and 
 sixth of this month, I cannot conceal from myself 
 that I have the frightful misfortune to displease my 
 subjects. They imagine that I am opposed to the 
 new Constitution they desire to give to your realm. 
 In order to banish every shadow of suspicion which 
 relates to me, I prefer to condemn myself to pro- 
 found retreat outside of your dominions, which I 
 shall not re-enter, my most honored and august 
 spouse, until the Constitution shall have been estab- 
 lished." 
 
 This letter would be delivered to the King at his 
 rising, the Queen having departed the night before. 
 
 " No, no ; I will not go away ! " cried Marie 
 Antoinette. " My duty is to die at the King's feet." 
 The Queen was right. She remained courageously 
 at the post of~ devotion and danger. Those who 
 sought to persuade her to abandon her husband gave 
 counsel unworthy of her lofty heart. By following 
 such advice the daughter of the great Maria Theresa 
 might have saved her life, but she would have lost 
 gometbing more desirable — her honor. 
 
11. 
 
 A VISIT PROM THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 
 
 THE monarchy, although shaken, still had tradi- 
 tion and memory on its side. As yet no one 
 spoke of a republic; and the future regicides, the 
 Marats and the Eobespierres themselves, were still 
 royalists by conviction. Louis XVI. could not bring 
 himself to believe that the nation was being estranged 
 from him. The cheers with which he was greeted 
 when he passed by nourished fatal illusions in his 
 mind; and the ceremonious visit paid him by the 
 National Assembly on October 20, 1789, increased 
 the serene assurance which Marie Antoinette did not 
 share, and to which he was to fall a victim. 
 
 As soon as he arrived in Paris, he had written to 
 the Assembly : — 
 
 " Gentlemen : The affection displayed toward me 
 by the inhabitants of my good city of Paris, and the 
 urgency of the Commune, have decided me to make 
 it my most habitual place of residence. As I am 
 confident that you will be unwilling to separate from 
 me, I desire that you should appoint commissioners 
 to seek the most convenient location for you here. 
 
 10 
 
A VISIT FROM THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 11 
 
 ♦— . — - — . — ■ ■ ■ 
 
 I will at once give orders to have it got in readiness. 
 Thus, without relaxing your useful labors, I shall 
 render more prompt and easy the commuixications 
 which mutual confidence makes increasingly neces- 
 sary." 
 
 Provisional choice was made of the great hall of 
 the archbishop's palace. The Assembly sat there for 
 the first time on October 20, and decided to wait 
 on the King in a body. The visit took place at six 
 o'clock the same evening. 
 
 Etiquette was still maintained, and a resemblance 
 between the apartments of the Tuileries and those 
 of Versailles was soon established. There was a salon, 
 which they called the (Eil-de-Boeuf, and the Gallery 
 of Diana was devoted to the same purposes as had 
 been the Gallery of the Mirrors. A person in the 
 Carrousel, opposite the chateau, could see in front of 
 him three courtyards, separated from each other by 
 walls seven or eight feet high : on the left the Court 
 of the Princes ; in the middle the Royal Court, which 
 led to the Central Pavilion; and on the right the 
 Swiss Court, leading to the Pavilion of Marsan. 
 Those who came to visit the King entered by the 
 Royal Court. On the right-hand side of the vesti- 
 bule of the Central Pavilion was a large and hand- 
 some staircase. On its first landing, and also on 
 the right, was the chapel, which was very simple ; the 
 sacristy was behind the altar, above which was the 
 gallery for the musicians, opposite that of the King 
 and Queen. At this landing the staircase divided 
 
12 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 into two symmetrical parts ; that on the left conducti 
 ing to the hall called the Hundred Switzers, the 
 great hall from which could be seen both the court 
 and the garden, and which rose to the roof of the 
 Central Pavilion ; it was afterwards the Hall of the 
 Marshals. The King's apartment included, besides 
 this hall, the following rooms: the Hall of the 
 Guards, afterwards the Salon of the First Consul; 
 the royal ante-chamber, also called the QEil-de-Boeuf 
 and later the Hall of Apollo; the bedchamber (a 
 state chamber afterwards called the Throne Room) ; 
 the great royal cabinet (where the Council of the 
 Ministry sat, and known afterwards as the Salon of 
 Louis XIV.) ; and finally the Gallery of Diana, called 
 also the Ambassadors' Gallery. 
 
 At six in the evening the members of the National 
 Assembly met in the Tuileries in the royal ante- 
 chamber (the Hall of Apollo). No distinctions of 
 rank were observed, and, for the first time, the depu- 
 ties attended a royal audience without being in court 
 dress. Was not this a sign of the times ? The ushers 
 opened the two doors by which entrance is made into 
 the bedchamber (the future Throne Room). The 
 masters of ceremonies, walking on either hand of 
 the President, introduced the Assembly. The King 
 received them, seated in an armchair. He removed 
 his hat only during their entrance and while receiv- 
 ing the salutations of the President, M. Fr^teau, a 
 member of Parliament who, in spite of his advanced 
 opinions, was to perish on the scaffold like the King 
 
A VISIT FBOM THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 13 
 
 himself. M. Fr^teau made a speech in which the 
 following remarks occur: "The affection of the 
 French people for their monarch seemed incapable 
 of increase after that memorable day when their 
 voice proclaimed you the restorer of liberty. There 
 remained, Sire, a still more touching title to be given 
 you, — that of the nation's best friend. Henri IV. 
 received it from the inhabitants of a city in which he 
 spent his youth. Historical monuments apprise us 
 that in the letters he wrote them he signed himself 
 'Your best friend.' This title, Sire, is due to you 
 from the whole of France. We have seen Your 
 Majesty, calm in the midst of tumults, taking on 
 yourself all risks and seeking to withdraw your 
 excited people from them by your presence and 
 your solicitous care; we have seen you renouncing 
 your pleasures, your recreations, and your tastes, in 
 order to come among a turbulent multitude and 
 announce the return of peace, to strengthen the 
 bonds of concord, and rally the exhausted forces of 
 this vast empire. How sweet it is to us. Sire, to 
 gather into one the benedictions with which an 
 immense people surround you, and offer them in 
 honorable tribute. We add to them the assurance 
 of a zeal continually more active in the mainte- 
 nance of law and the defence of your protecting 
 authority." 
 
 The King was not prepared for this visit from the 
 National Assembly. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he replied with emotion, "I am 
 
14 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 content with the attachment you express for me. 
 I counted on it. I receive the testimony of it with 
 profound feeling." 
 
 The Assembly then expressed a desire to present 
 their respects to the Queen. The King permitted 
 all the deputies to pass through his cabinet (the 
 Salon of Louis XIV.) in order to arrive at Marie 
 Antoinette's apartments by the Gallery of Diana. 
 The ushers opened the two leaves of the folding- 
 door which leads from the bedchamber to the Royal 
 Cabinet, and the deputies passed through, bowing 
 very low to Louis XVI., who had placed himself 
 near this door. 
 
 At the end of the Gallery of Diana, on the right- 
 hand side, ended a staircase which led from the 
 ground-floor to the first story and the rooms for- 
 merly occupied by the wife of Louis XIV., and 
 called the Queen's Apartments. They are five in all, 
 looking down upon the garden, and with the Gallery 
 of Diana just behind them. Here Marie Antoinette 
 received the visit of the Assembly. The Queen, 
 who had not been forewarned of their arrival, was 
 at the moment at her toilet, getting ready to play in 
 public. A desire not to keep the deputies waiting 
 decided her to give them an immediate audience 
 without putting on more ceremonious attire. She 
 seated herself in an armchair in the principal room, 
 and the Assembly were presented by the masters of 
 ceremonies as had been the case with the King. 
 One of them, M. de Nantouillet, who published an 
 
A VISIT FSOM THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 15 
 
 account of this visit, remarks that the Queen, accus- 
 tomed to receive the constituted hodies in the same 
 manner as the King, need not have risen at the 
 entrance of the Assembly, and that in doing so, and 
 in saying a word concerning the fact that she was 
 not in full dress, she wished to give them a special 
 mark of her esteem. 
 
 " Madame," said the President, " the first desire of 
 the National Assembly on arriving in the capital was 
 to present the King with the tribute of their respect 
 and love. They could not resist the natural oppor- 
 tunity to offer you also their good wishes. Receive 
 them, Madame, such as we form them, lively, ardent, 
 and sincere. It would be a real satisfaction if the 
 National Assembly might behold in your arms that 
 illustrious child, the offspring of so many kings ten- 
 derly cherished by their people, — the descendant of 
 Louis IX., of Henri IV., of him whose virtues are 
 the hope of France. Neither he nor the authors of 
 his life will ever enjoy so much prosperity as we 
 desire for them." 
 
 The Queen replied : " I am touched, as I ought to 
 be, with the sentiments expressed toward me by the 
 National Assembly. If I had been notified of their 
 intention, they would have been received in a more 
 befitting manner." Then Marie Antoinette com- 
 manded the Master of Ceremonies to go and find the 
 Dauphin. As soon as the child was brought, she took 
 him in her arms, and showed him to all the deputies. 
 Cries of " Long live the King ! " " Long live the 
 
16 HABtE AiftOINSTT^ 
 
 Queen ! " " Long live Monseigneur the Dauphin ! " 
 resounded with enthusiasm. For a moment Marie 
 Antoinette was distracted from the thought of her 
 afflictions. 
 
 A few days later she changed her quarters, and, 
 leaving the first story, installed herself on the ground- 
 floor, where she had her dressing-room, her bedcham- 
 ber, and her salon. As to Louis XVI., he continued 
 to live in the apartment which, since the reign of 
 Louis XIV., had been called the " apartment of the 
 King." It communicated with the Great Cabinet (the 
 Salon of Louis XIV.), and comprised three rooms, 
 looking on the garden, — a small cabinet intended for 
 the first valet de chambre, the sovereign's bedcham- 
 ber, and a library. Louis XVI. had his son and 
 daughter placed near him in the apartment known as 
 " the apartment of the Queen," which Marie Antoi- 
 nette had just vacated for another on the ground- 
 floor. In addition to his rooms in the first story, he 
 occupied three on the ground-floor, which were sit- 
 uated in the angle of the intermediate pavilion, be- 
 tween those of Flora and the Centre, one of which 
 communicated with the Queen's dressing-room. 
 Every morning, having spent the first moments 
 after rising in devotional exercises, he descended to 
 his little apartment on the ground-floor by a narrow 
 private staircase. He looked first at his thermome- 
 ter, and then received the greetings of his wife and 
 children. It was there also that he breakfasted, 
 served by one domestic only, the Queen taking ad- 
 
A VISIT FROM THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 17 
 
 vantage of this moment to come and chat with her 
 husband. Prom there, too, he could examine what 
 was going on in the garden without being seen, and 
 listen to the remarks made just under his windows. 
 
 In spite of everything, the unfortunate monarch 
 still preserved the greatest illusions. Such manife*? 
 tations as that just made by the National Assembly 
 deceived him concerning the extreme gravity of the 
 situation. He believed that he was still loved and 
 respected. Even the October days had not cured 
 him of his fallacious optimism. Doubtless, the mon- 
 archy had not entirely lost its prestige, and the Na- 
 tional Assembly were sincere when they expressed 
 sentiments of fidelity toward their King. But the 
 Revolution made incessant progress. As was re- 
 marked by Madatae de B^arn, the daughter of the 
 governess of the royal children, it was like one of 
 those great currents which carry away even vessels 
 which seek to cast anchor. 
 
m. 
 
 PABIS AT THE CLOSE OF 1789. 
 
 WHAT a varied spectacle ! What a tragi-com- 
 edy ! What diverse figures ! What contra- 
 dictory emotions! What an amalgam of ideas and 
 passions, of vices and virtues ! Here, marquises and 
 dukes; there, people of the faubourgs and insur- 
 gents. Red heels here; red bonnets there. Here, 
 the language of courts ; there, the insults of the mar- 
 ket-place. In the Tuileries, elegance still, and polite- 
 ness, and the chivalrous manners of the old regime ; 
 and a stone's throw distant, in the pestilent streets 
 neighboring the Carrousel, the threats and hatred of 
 a populace in rags; a little beyond, in the galleries 
 of the Palais Royal, speech-making agitators, and 
 the prostitutes who played such leading parts in the 
 October days ; beside the garden of the Tuileries, the 
 riding-school where the National Assembly has its 
 noisy sessions, its bitter discussions, and the stormy 
 eloquence of its Mirabeau, the thunderer; on every 
 street, in every square, colporteurs shouting forth their 
 lies, newsmongers, Paul Prys; gossips who delight 
 in calumny and the unhealthy emotions of sedition, 
 18 
 
PABIS AT TBE CLOSE OF 1789. 19 
 
 who play at being soldiers in the National Guards, 
 at politics in the caf^s, at demagogy in the clubs, 
 mischief-makers ■who amuse themselves by rekind- 
 ling everywhere badly extinguished firebrands; in 
 the outskirts of Paris the principal soldiers of the 
 insurrection, the future Septembrists, the future 
 furies of the guillotine. What blows ! What shocks ! 
 This old regime which is dead — this new regime 
 which is still unborn ! What a chaos ! What seeth- 
 ing in this alembic, this furnace ! What throes, what 
 anguish, what rending, is not France to endure, that 
 she may bring forth, in suffering, modern society, 
 her daughter ! What electricity in the air ! What 
 ensanguined or sombre clouds on the horizon ! What 
 a vast hubbub of confused and noisy sounds, — beat- 
 ing of drums, applause and yells of disapproval in 
 the Assembly and the clubs, the ringing of bells, the 
 stroke of the tocsin ! Paris is disturbed, tumultuous, 
 full of inflammable materials. One would say the 
 ground is mined. At every step one dreads a sudden 
 explosion. The soil is volcanic. One sees every- 
 thing as if through the glare of a conflagration. 
 
 The Revolution is everywhere. Even in the salons 
 of the Faubourg Saint-Germain there is a left and 
 a right who dispute as bitterly as they do in the 
 National Assembly. Farewell that Attic wit, that 
 sweetness, that urbanity, which for so long have made 
 Parisian salons veritable schools of good taste and 
 grace! Unpleasant politics have become the only 
 topic of conversation. Everybody talks loud and 
 
20 MARIE ANTOINHTTS. 
 
 listens very little. Ill humor pierces through the 
 tone as through the glance. The women lose most 
 by this change in the manners of good society. It is 
 only the gentle passions which befit their features, 
 their voices, the delicacy of their entire being, and 
 behold them railing like demoniacs! Politics dis- 
 figures them, and anger makes them ugly. 
 
 At the theatre things are still worse than in the 
 salons. The play-houses are transformed into tilt- 
 yards where the combatants give themselves over to 
 perpetual contests. Whenever a favorable allusion 
 permits the royalists to display their sentiments 
 toward the King and Queen, they consider it a great 
 triumph to drown the actor's voice by noisy applause. 
 Then they hasten to the palace to say that public 
 opinion is coming round to good sense, and the revo- 
 lutionists are crushed. But the Jacobins come in 
 force to the nexu play. They insult the aristocrats. 
 They cheer enthusiastically every line which breathes 
 of liberty ; they hiss furiously aU those which might 
 recall the love of the people for their kings. 
 
 At the Th^&tre FrauQais, when Charles Ninth is 
 played, look at the public, a more curious spectacle 
 than the stage. At the end of the fourth act, when 
 the dismal bell announces the moment of the massa- 
 cre, do you see him who listens to it with a dull 
 groan ? Do you hear him who cries, " Silence ! 
 silence I " as if he feared lest the strokes of this 
 death beU should not resound loud enough within 
 his heart, where they feed the sensations of ven- 
 geance and of hatred? 
 
PARIS AT THE CLOSE O^ 1789. 21 
 
 And, in the midst of all this, sentimental phrases, 
 pictures in the style of Greuze, a humanitarian, phil- 
 osophic jargon borrowed from Jean-Jacques Rousseau, 
 a sort of patriotic festival, an orgy of false fraternity. 
 French gaiety, too, which does not lose its rights, 
 irony which blends with enthusiasm, gross puns suc- 
 ceeding to the accents of eloquence, juggler's clowns 
 who chatter while Mirabeau is speaking, laughter 
 and tears, the grotesque and the sublime. At the 
 side of noble enthusiasms and generous ideas, mean 
 and wretched passions, envious women, many of 
 whom rejoice to see the Queen unhappy; the level- 
 ling sentiment which finds pleasure in the decay and 
 humiliation of the court and the aristocracy; the 
 great capital in a shudder ; the theatres always full ; 
 the churches still thronged with the faithful, who 
 seek by their prayers to turn away the wrath of God; 
 optimists who, in the triumphant age of iron, persist 
 in predicting the age of gold ; pessimists whose most 
 sinister previsions are outdone by events; in fine, 
 beyond all this vehement crowd whose cries and 
 murmurs are like the tumult of the waves, a few 
 sages, troubled but silent, who ask themselves how 
 all this will end, and, as from a mountain top, look 
 down at the vessels tossing upon the bUlows. 
 
 What is most striking in the scene presented by 
 Paris at the close of 1789, is its extreme variety. 
 Count de S^gur, coming back from his embassy to 
 Saint Petersburg, shows us the different aspects 
 presented by the capital in a single day. 
 
22 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 In the morning he goes to see Baron de Besenval, 
 who is shut up in the prison of the Ch&telet for having 
 resisted the riot when commanding the troops of the 
 Parisian garrison at the beginning of the Revolution. 
 An immense crowd assembled on the quay obstructs 
 the thoroughfare in spite of the efforts of the National 
 Guard, and fills the air with vociferations. Some mad- 
 men, accusing the judges of delay and the authorities 
 of treason, are shouting loudly for the prisoner's head. 
 It takes M. de S^gur a long time to arrive, and gives 
 him great trouble to make his way through this furious 
 multitude. Reaching the prison at last, he enters by a 
 wicket under a low door. He passes with repugnance 
 through the gloomy windings of this den of vice and 
 crime ; after he has mounted the tower stairs, he enters 
 a tolorably clean chamber, where he sees Baron de 
 Besenval, not merely calm and courageous, but with 
 his accustomed gaiety, talking with several friends 
 and some women, as amiable as they are charming, 
 who have come to make his captivity more agreeable. 
 
 An hour later, M. de S^gur is on the Place de 
 GrSve. There he sees many assemblages which the 
 National Guard is painfully trying to disperse. From 
 there he goes to the market, where he has before him 
 a great public mart in fuU activity, as in the midst of 
 the profoundest peace. Then he goes to the Palais 
 Royal. He enters that famous garden, the centre of 
 industry, the focus of corruption, an arena always 
 open to the seditious, who make it the rendezvous 
 of their machinations. A curious crowd are sur- 
 
PARIS AT THE CLOSE OF 1789. 23 
 
 rounding a man wlio, mounted on a table, is declaim- 
 ing vehemently against the perfidy of the court, the 
 pride of the nobles, the cupidity of the rich, the 
 inertia of the legislators, and who concludes, ap- 
 plauded by some and criticised by others, by propos- 
 ing incendiary motions. 
 
 Disgusted by this scene, Count de S^gur goes away 
 and enters the garden of the Tuileries. The weather 
 is splendid. The terrace and the alleys are filled with 
 peaceful promenaders. The prettiest women of Paris 
 are displaying their dresses and their charms. Satis- 
 faction beams on every face. One would think it 
 was a holiday. 
 
 M. de S^gur leaves the Tuileries and goes through 
 the Champs Elys^es, where all is confusion. He sees 
 a multitude of armed men. They are old soldiers of 
 the French Guard, who, to execute a projected revolt, 
 are going to the great square, the appointed place 
 for their -reunion; but Lafayette, warned of their 
 gathering, hastens with several battalions of the 
 National Guard, and disarms them. 
 
 In the evening, to banish the souvenirs of the day, 
 M. de S^gur goes to the Opera. This time he is 
 tempted to imagine, that, up to now, he has been 
 dreaming. Who would not believe himself to be 
 living in the happiest and most peaceful of epochs ? 
 Behold this affluence of spectators, this charming 
 ballet, these magnificent .decorations; recognize in 
 the boxes the most distinguished people of the court 
 and of the city. Look at these fashionable women, 
 
24 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 who glance from behind the fans they manage so 
 well. Listen to this enchanting music, which ban- 
 ishes anxiety and care. What an opening in the 
 cloudy sky I Over the volcano, around the crater, 
 whence flames and lava are about to pour, there are 
 still greensward, fields, and flowers. 
 
 In the tableau of Paris, at the close of 1789, the 
 court does not occupy a brilliant place. One might 
 say that royalty, doubtful of itself, is effacing itself 
 voluntarily, and dwindling away. Every day it loses 
 a little more of its prestige. The rays of the royal 
 sun, once so dazzling, t-re growing pale. " One would 
 not suspect that there is a court at Paris. All is 
 absolutely quiet. There is no question of hunts or 
 balls, of comedies or of concerts. Economy looks 
 like hoarding, and certainly Voltaire would not say 
 to-day (December 10, 1789), ' JTow proud Paris is of 
 the court of LouisJ " ^ 
 
 However, there are still cards on Sundays, dinners 
 in public on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and all the 
 nobility of Paris repair assiduously to the chateau. 
 There are even many persons who would not have 
 dared to pretend to present themselves at court the 
 year before, but who now, under pretext of zeal for 
 the royal cause, are seeking to become intimate at 
 the Tuileries. But events have stamped the palace 
 with a character of profound sadness. Its faded 
 
 1 Secret Correspondence concerning Louis XVI. and Marie 
 Antoinette. MS. of the Imperial Library of Saint Petersburg, pub- 
 lished by M. de Lescure. 2 vols. Hon. 
 
PABIS AT THE CLOSE OF 1789. 25 
 
 tapestries, its arches damaged by the weather, its 
 dilapidated aspect, give it, on the whole, the air of 
 an assemblage of things, once brilliant, but now 
 mouldy, which recall both the grandeur and the 
 decadence of the monarchy. The royal family is 
 free to walk in the garden only at certain hours. 
 Then the public is excluded. Some of the soldiers 
 say vulgarly that the King is "let out." And yet, 
 shaken as it is, royalty, with an abler monarch, 
 would still have great resources. Betrayed by itself, 
 rather than by the feebleness and incapacity of its 
 defenders, it still sustains itself, and Louis XVI. 
 needs three years more to consummate a downfall 
 wrought chiefly by himself. 
 
IV. 
 
 THE EXECUTION OP THE MAEQUIS DB PAVKAS. 
 
 THE hour was approaching when Louis XVI. 
 would see every prerogative of royalty torn 
 from him, even the right to pardon. Already, in the 
 early months of 1790, he dared not save from death 
 a royalist whose crime had been an excess of mon- 
 archical zeal. The gibbet of the Marquis de Favras 
 was the prelude to the King's scaffold. 
 
 M. de Favras was born in 1745. He served in the 
 army with distinction, and his wife was a daughter 
 of the Prince of Anhalt-Schauenburg. Ever since 
 the Revolution began he had been considering one 
 project after another for rescuing the monarchy 
 from the dangers surrounding it. His naturally vivid 
 imagination became overheated, and he looked on 
 himself with great simplicity as the future saviour of 
 the throne. His plan was to carry off the King, and 
 take him to P^ronne, and to arrest Lafayette and 
 Necker. It was claimed that he also wished to 
 assemble twelve thousand cavalry in Paris, and sup- 
 port them by an army of twenty thousand Swiss, 
 twenty thousand Sardinians, and twelve thousand 
 26 
 
EXECUTION or MARQUIS DE FAVBAB. 27 
 
 Germans; but this was not proved. M. de Favras 
 communicated his ideas to a number of the persons 
 surrounding Monsieur, the King's brother, but no one 
 attached serious importance to them. He was then 
 imprudent enough to try to sound certain officers of 
 the National Guard, who, instead of receiving him 
 favorably, informed against him. He was at once 
 arrested, and sent to the Chitelet to be tried. As 
 the name of Monsieur had been implicated in the 
 denunciation, the Prince went at once to the Paris 
 Commune in order to counteract, without a moment's 
 delay, the suspicious rumors which might get into 
 circulation. " From the day," said he, " when in the 
 Second Assembly of Notables I declared myseK con- 
 cerning the fundamental questions which divide 
 men's minds, I have not ceased to believe that a 
 great revolution is impending; that the King, by 
 virtue of his intentions, his virtues, and his supreme 
 rank, ought to be at the head of it, since it cannot 
 be advantageous to the nation without being equally 
 so to the monarch; and, finally, that royal author- 
 ity should be the rampart of national liberty, and 
 national liberty the basis of royal authority." This 
 discourse was received with general applause, and 
 the Prince was accompanied by the crowd back to 
 the Luxembourg palace, where he resided. 
 
 As for the unfortunate Favras, everybody was bit- 
 ter against him. During the whole of the trial the 
 people kept up an incessant threatening of the judges 
 and the cry, " To the lamp-post with him ! " It was 
 
28 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 even necessary to have pieces of artillery and nu- 
 merous troops constantly drawn up in the courtyard 
 of the ChSitelet. The crowd had been exasperated by 
 the acquittal of Baron de Besenval and others impli- 
 cated in the affairs of July 14. It is claimed that La- 
 fayette said: "If M. de Favras is not condemned, I 
 will not answer for the National Guard." The prin- 
 cipal charge against the accused was a letter from M. 
 de Foucault, who asked him: "Where are your 
 troops ? From what direction will they enter Paris ? 
 I would like to serve among them." This was suffi- 
 ciently vague, and no trace was discovered either of 
 the cavaliers who were to make the supposed attack, 
 or of the Swiss, German, and Piedmontese armies 
 expected to aid them. Nevertheless, M. de Favras 
 was condemned to death. He listened to his sentence 
 with the greatest calmness. " I pity you exceed- 
 ingly," said he to the judges, " if the simple testimony 
 of two men is enough to make you condemn an inno- 
 cent person." He was hanged in the Place de GrSve 
 on February 19, 1790. As soon as the people saw 
 him in the cart with the rope around his neck, and 
 the hangman behind him, they broke into wild exul- 
 tation and cries of enthusiastic joy. It was night, 
 and lamps were lighted all over the Place de GrSve. 
 They even put one on the gibbet. " Citizens," cried 
 the condemned, "I die innocent: pray God for me." 
 Then, turning to the hangman, he said, " Come, my 
 friend, do your duty." The crowd responded with 
 ironical clapping of the hands, ferocious laughter. 
 
EXECUTION OF MARQUIS DE FAVBAS. 29 
 
 and repeated cries of " Skip, Marquis I " As soon as 
 he was hanged, a number of voices cried, "JEraeore!" 
 as if to demand more executions. The people wanted 
 to get at the dead body, tear it m pieces, and carry 
 the bleeding head on the end of a pike. The 
 National Guard succeeded in preventing this scene, 
 worthy of cannibals, but only with great difficulty 
 and at the point of the bayonet. 
 
 Madame Elisabeth wrote next day to the Marquise 
 de Bombelles : " My head and heart are so full of 
 yesterday that it is hardly possible for me to think of 
 anything else. I hope that his blood may not fall 
 back upon his judges. But nobody (except the peo- 
 ple and that class of beings whom one cannot call 
 men because it would lower humanity) understands 
 for what he was condemned. He was so imprudent 
 as to wish to serve his king. Behold his crime. I 
 hope that this unjust execution may have the effect 
 of persecutions, and that from his ashes men who 
 still love their country may spring up again to 
 avenge her on the traitors by whom she is deceived. 
 I hope, also, that Heaven, for the sake of the courage 
 he showed during the four hours at the H8tel de 
 Ville before his execution, may have pardoned his 
 sins. Pray for him, my heart; you cannot perform 
 a better work." 
 
 The execution of M. de Favras had become a fixed 
 idea with Madame Elisabeth. On February 23 she 
 wrote again to Madame de Bombelles: "Heavens, 
 Bombe, how angry your letter made me I I own. 
 
30 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 that I was extremely wrong. But no matter, I must 
 tell you why. I was penetrated by the injustice of 
 M. de Favras's death, by the superb way in which he 
 ended his life, and the love he showed for his king 
 (which was the sole cause of his death). For two 
 days I had been thinking of nothing else ; my heart, 
 my soul, my entire being was filled with nothing 
 but this idea, and then I receive a letter in which 
 you say to me, ' But what was the wretched man 
 thinking about?' You may judge whether your 
 princess, who does not always give herself time for 
 reflection, fell into a rage against poor Bombe, who, 
 nevertheless, had done nothing, and who, if she had 
 been here, would have wondered, like all who breathe 
 in Paris, both at the injustice of his death and the 
 courage with which he submitted to his sentence. 
 No; it is only God who can have given it to him. 
 So I greatly hope he has received the recompense 
 for it. The hearts of honest men willingly render 
 him the homage he deserves. Even the people, the 
 people who cried loudly for his death, said the next 
 day, and, indeed, on returning from the execu- 
 tion, 'But he protested his innocence on the gal- 
 lows: it was very wrong then not to have taken 
 him down.' " 
 
 The execution of M. de Favras afflicted Marie An- 
 toinette not less than Madame Elisabeth: her chagrin 
 was even more keen because she was obliged to con- 
 ceal it. On the Sunday following M. de la Villeurnoy 
 went in the morning to Madame Campari to say that 
 
EXECUTION OF MARQUIS DE FAVRA8. 31 
 
 he intended to bring the widow and the son of the 
 Marquis de Favras to the public dinner of the King 
 and Queen. Madame Campan tried in vain to pre- 
 vent this step. Madame de Favras and her son made 
 their appearance in deep mourning when dinner was 
 half over. But the Queen, behind whom was the 
 demagogue Santerre, commander of a battalion of 
 the National Guard, dared not say a single word to 
 the widow and the orphan. When the repast was 
 finished, she went to Madame Campan's room, and 
 throwing herself into an armchair, cried, "I am 
 come to weep with you." Then she added: "We 
 must needs perish when we are attacked by men who 
 unite every talent to every crime, and defended by 
 men who are very estimable, but have no adequate 
 idea of our position. They have compromised me 
 with both parties by presenting the wife and son of 
 Favras. If I were free to, I ought to have taken the 
 son of a man who had just sacrificed himself for us, 
 and placed him at table between the King and me ; 
 but, surrounded by the executioners who had just 
 put his father to death, I did not even dare to look 
 at him. The royalists will blame me for seeming not 
 to have noticed the poor child, and the revolutionists 
 will be enraged at the thought that in presenting him 
 they expected to please me." 
 
 However, the Queen added that she understood 
 Madame de Favras's position, that she knew her to 
 be in need, and ordered Madame Campan to send 
 her next day several rolls of fifty louis each, assuring 
 
32 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 her at the same time that the King and Queen would 
 always provide for her and her son. 
 
 Poor Queen I What torture for a woman of her 
 character ! To be obliged to incessant dissimulation, 
 to control her countenance, to hide her tears, to stifle 
 her sighs, afraid to make known her sympathy and 
 gratitude to her friends and advocates ! Surroimded 
 even in her pa,lace by inquisitors, she dared neither 
 to act nor speak. She hardly dared to think. What 
 torture for a haughty and candid soul, for a woman 
 who, notwithstanding, carried her head so high, for 
 the daughter of the German Caesars, for the Queen 
 of France and Navarre t 
 
THE DAUPHIN AND MADAME BOYALE. 
 
 A WOMAN of the people, feeble, worn out with 
 fatigue and poverty, sometimes reaches such 
 an extreme of suffering and discouragement that she 
 no longer feels the strength necessary to struggle 
 against pain and hunger. But at the moment when 
 she despairs, the poor woman casts a glance at her 
 little children. Then her exhausted forces revive as 
 by a miracle; the down-hearted creature rises up 
 again. She will go on living ; she will continue her 
 fierce struggle against fate. Maternal tenderness 
 converts her into a heroine. 
 
 Marie Antoinette suffered from neither poverty 
 nor hunger. But her anguish was not on that ac- 
 count less keen. There are cruel anxieties beneath 
 the gilded roofs of palaces as under the thatch of 
 cabins, and when the Queen of France and Navarre 
 felt her strength failing in her struggle up-stream, 
 she had as much need to think of her children as 
 the humble woman of the people. She was made 
 intrepid by her passionate desire to save them. She 
 suffered for them more than for herself. Anxiety 
 
34 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 about their future plunged her, as it were, into an 
 abyss. Would the diadem that had been placed on 
 the Dauphin's forehead prove a royal crown or a 
 crown of thorns? Would the child to whom such 
 a brilliant destiny had been promised be a king or 
 a martyr? The maternal devotion of Marie Antoi- 
 nette was both her joy and her affliction. The more 
 unhappy she became, the more attached she was to 
 the two children, at once her torment and her hope. 
 
 The once frivolous woman had become serious and 
 grave. Far removed from her were all considera- 
 tions of dress and elegance. No more distractions, 
 no more theatres, no more balls, no more concerts, 
 no more worldly conversations. Meditations only, 
 prayers, long hours of needlework pursued with 
 feverish activity, alms, good works, charitable excur- 
 sions throughout Paris. The Queen of France had 
 become the model of a Christian mother, the gover- 
 ness and teacher of her daughter. Her face, like her 
 existence, had assumed something like austerity. The 
 majesty which dominated her whole person was the 
 supreme majesty of sorrow. Melancholy covered her 
 as with a veil. Her days were passed in work, her 
 nights were sleepless and unquiet. Her eyes, so often 
 reddened by tears, were both tender and touching. 
 She wrote to the Duchess de Polignac : " You speak 
 of my courage. Less is needed to endure the fright- 
 ful moments which present themselves than to bear up 
 daily under our position with its peculiar pains, those 
 of its friends, and of all those who surround us. It 
 
TEJS DAUPHIN AND MADAME BOYALE. 35 
 
 is a load too heavy to be borne, and if my heart were 
 not so strongly bound to my husband, my children, 
 and my friends, I should desire to break down under 
 it. You all support me ; I still owe this sentiment 
 to your friendship. For me, I bring misfortune to 
 every one, and your pains are for me and by me." 
 
 The queen might have weakened, but the mother 
 had not a moment of exhaustion. The sight of her 
 children gave her a courage equal to every trial. In 
 1790 her daughter, Madame Royale, was eleven 
 years old. The birth of this child had nearly cost 
 the mother's life. Madame Campan has described 
 the overflowing joy, the transports of delight, which 
 greeted the news that all danger was past. Madame 
 Campan deplores that a celestial voice, revealing the 
 secret decree of destiny, had not then cried to the 
 Queen's faithful servants : " Do not bless that art of 
 human beings which brings her back to life ; weep, 
 rather, over her return to a world that is fatal and 
 cruel to the object of her affections. Ahl let her 
 quit it, honored, cherished. You will shed bitter 
 tears above her tomb ; you can cover it with flowers. 
 . . . There will come a day when all the furies of 
 the earth, after having pierced her heart with a 
 thousand empoisoned shafts, after having graven the 
 signs of premature decrepitude on her noble and 
 touching features, will deliver her to tortures such 
 as do not exist for criminals , will deprive her 
 dead body of burial, and precipitate you all into the 
 same gulf with her if you permit the least movement 
 
36 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 " " ' ■ ■ i»^ I, 
 
 of compassion at the sight of so many cruelties to 
 escape you." 
 
 Already disasters were hovering over the Queen's 
 head. When Madame Eoyale came into the world, it 
 was not a daughter but a son that the court desired. 
 Marie Antoinette had only pressed the child more 
 tenderly to her heart on that account. " Poor little 
 one," she said to her, " you were not wanted, but for 
 all that you will not be less dear to me. A son 
 would have belonged more especially to the State. 
 You will be my own, you will receive all my cares, 
 you will share my happiness and sweeten my pains." 
 Alas! there was no more happiness to share, but how 
 many pains there were to sweeten I 
 
 Madame Royale displayed the best disposition, 
 and from her infancy manifested those sentiments of 
 piety which were the honor and consolation of her 
 whole life. She made her first communion at the 
 church of Saint Germain-l'Auxerrois on April 8, 
 1790. In the morning, Marie Antoinette led the 
 young Princess into the King's chamber and said to 
 her, " My daughter, throw yourself at your father's 
 feet and ask his blessing." The child prostrated 
 herself, and her father, raising her, addressed her in 
 these words : " From the bottom of my heart I bless 
 you, my daughter, asking Heaven to give you grace 
 to appreciate well the great action you are going to 
 perform. Your heart is innocent in the sight of God ; 
 your prayers should be pleasing to Him : offer them 
 for your mother and me ; ask Him to grant me the 
 
TBE DAUPHIN AND MADAMS SOYALE. 37 
 
 grace necessary to secure the welfare of those whom 
 He has placed under my dominion and whom I ought 
 to consider as my children ; ask Him to preserve the 
 purity of religion throughout the kingdom; and 
 remember well, my daughter, that this holy religion 
 is the source of happiness, and our pathway through 
 the adversities of life- Do not believe that you will 
 be sheltered from them ; you are very young, but you 
 have already seen your father afflicted more than 
 once. You know not, my daughter, what Providence 
 has decreed for you, whether you will remain in this 
 realm or go away to live in another. In whatever 
 spot the hand of God may place you, remember that 
 you ought to edify by your example and to do good 
 whenever you find an opportunity. But above all, 
 my child, succor the unfortunate with all your might. 
 God gave us our birth in the rank we occupy only 
 that we might labor for their welfare and console 
 them in their afflictions. Go to the altar where you 
 are awaited, and implore the God of mercy never to 
 let you forget the counsels of a tender father." The 
 young Princess, profoundly moved, answered by her 
 tears. 
 
 It was customary for the daughters of France to 
 receive a set of diamonds on the day of their first 
 communion. Louis XVI. told Madame Royale that 
 he had done away with this too expensive usage. 
 " My daughter," he said, " I know your good sense 
 too well to permit me to suppose that at a moment 
 when you should be entirely occupied in preparing 
 
38 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 your heart to be a sanctuary worthy of the Divinity, 
 you can attach much value to artificial ornaments. 
 Moreover, my child, public wretchedness is extreme, 
 the poor abound everywhere, and assuredly you would 
 rather go without jewels than know that they are 
 going without bread." 
 
 The young Princess then went to her parish 
 church. Saint Germain-l'Auxerrois. She approached 
 the holy table with marks of the siacerest devotion. 
 Marie Antoinette, in disguise, was present at the 
 ceremony, which was of extreme simplicity and 
 which produced in the royal family very sweet 
 emotions. Louis XVI. gave abundant alms on this 
 occasion. The day before, the Dauphin had said 
 to his governess, Madame de Tourzel, "I am very 
 sorry not to have my Versailles garden any more. 
 I would have made two beautiful bouquets for to- 
 morrow, one for my mother, and the other for my 
 sister." 
 
 The Dauphin had just passed his fifth birthday 
 (he was bom March 27, 1785). The grace, the 
 charming ways of the royal child fascinated even 
 the demagogues. The Revolution grew milder when 
 it saw him smile. The crowd never beheld him 
 without emotion. He was so pretty, so cheerful, so 
 amiable. He had been given, within the precinct of 
 the Tuileries, at the end of the terrace beside the 
 water, a little garden extending to the pavilion in- 
 habited by his preceptor, the Abb^ d'Avaux. There 
 he found again what he had left behind him at Ver- 
 
THE DAUPHIN AND MADAME ROTALE. 39 
 
 sailles, — air, amusement, flowers. When he went 
 to his new garden he was usually accompanied by 
 a detachment of the National Guard on duty at the 
 Palace of the Tuileries. He very often wore the 
 uniform of a National Guard. He learned the man- 
 ual exercise with a miniature gun, and nothing in- 
 terested the crowd so much as to see him do the 
 exercise. When the spectators were not too numer- 
 ous, he invited them to enter his garden'! 
 
 One day when the throng was greater than usual, 
 and many persons seemed displeased not to be able 
 to come in, " Excuse me," said he, " I am very sorry 
 that my garden is so small, because that deprives me 
 of the pleasure of receiving all of you." Then he 
 offered flowers to those who approached the paling, 
 and looked pleasantly at them. A^^priest of the 
 parish of Saint Eustache, the Abb^ Antheaume, con- 
 ceived the idea of forming a regiment of children for 
 the little Prince: it was called the Royal Dauphin. 
 The uniform was a diminutive of that of the French 
 Guards, with white gaiters and a three-cornered hat. 
 This regiment of little boys asked to be treated in a 
 military manner, like the National Guard. 
 
 "There are no more children," said Lafayette. 
 "Very well, so be it! We have seen so many old 
 men possessing the vices of young ones that it is 
 good to see children display the virtues of men." 
 The infantine regiment served three posts of honor, 
 — the chateau of the Tuileries, the hotel of the 
 Mayor of Paris in the rue des Capucines, and that of 
 
40 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 the commandant of the National Guard in the rue de 
 Bourbon. 'W^hen they marched past the royal family, 
 Louis XVI. saluted the flag affectionately, and the 
 Dauphin made gestures of sympathy to his little 
 companions-in-arms. 
 
 Like the mother of the Gracchi, Marie Antoinette 
 could say thereafter that her children were her jewels. 
 The mother was still more august than the queen. 
 Holding her son by one hand and her daughter by the 
 other, she had an aspect at once imposing and sweet 
 which ought to have disarmed the most ferocious 
 hatred. But the Revolution was without pity and 
 without bowels of compassion. Neither motherhood 
 nor infancy could succeed in touching it. 
 
vr. 
 
 THE KOTAI, FAMTLT AT SAINT CLOUD. 
 
 ONE experiences a singular sensation when, on 
 leaving a city torn by civil war or revolution, 
 he suddenly finds himself amidst the solitude and 
 tranquillity of the country. In the presence of 
 nature, so unmoved by our passions, man seems so 
 little, God so great. It is a reconciliation, a truce, 
 an oblivion. One almost persuades himself that he 
 has nothing more in common with the city where he 
 has suffered so much. A calm and gentle revery 
 succeeds to cruel anxieties; one feels strengthened, 
 consoled, rejuvenated. 
 
 This impression which Danton was afterwards to 
 experience in the fields near Arcis-sur-Aube, Marie 
 Antoinette enjoyed imder the beautiful umbrage of 
 Saint Cloud in the spring of 1790. The royal family, 
 which was not yet absolutely captive, remained there 
 from May 24 to the end of October. It was a great 
 relief to hear revolutionary clamor no longer; to be 
 out of the way of the vociferous hawkers who, at the 
 Tuileries, were not contented to remain at the garden 
 gates, but crossed it in every direction, announcing 
 
 41 
 
42 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 their threatening news. The Count and Countess 
 of Provence did not live in the chateau of Saint 
 Cloud, but they rented a house near the bridge and 
 came every day to sup with the King and spend the 
 evening. 
 
 Entire harmony reigned between all the members 
 of the royal family. The rigid etiquette of former 
 days was modified. The rule which permitted the 
 admission of none but princes of the blood to the 
 sovereign's table was relaxed. At dinner and supper 
 tne King and Queen invited persons to sit down with 
 tnem nearly every day. After dinner they drove 
 about the environs in open carriages. After supper 
 the King played billiards vsdth his family and his 
 invited guests. He said one day to Mademoiselle 
 Pauline de Tourzel, the daughter of his children's 
 governess : — 
 
 " Pauline, can you play biUiards ? " 
 
 " No, Sire." 
 
 " Oh, well," went on Louis XVL, " you must know 
 how to play billiards. I will take charge of your 
 education and give you some lessons." 
 
 The good-natured King kept his word. 
 
 The stay at Saint Cloud was a lull in the storm. 
 We who know the denouement of the drama in 
 advance see nothing in its changing scenes but gloom 
 and blood. The thought of the final catastrophe 
 weighs upon us. The scaffold is always before our 
 eyes. It haunts us incessantly. Happily, the reality 
 was not always quite so frightful. A memory of 
 
THE BOTAL FAMILY AT SAINT CLOUD. 43 
 
 Charles I. rose up, it is true, in the obscurity ; but, to 
 reassure themselTes, people were wont to say that in 
 history similar situations rarely have identical con- 
 clusions. There were hours of calm, of hope, and 
 even of gaiety. The Countess de B^arn (Pauline 
 de Tourzel), in her Souvenirs of Forty Years, has 
 sketched the picture of this family life with its com- 
 parative tranquillity and its innocent distractions. 
 The Countess of Provence animated the conver- 
 sations by her slightly malicious wit. She was 
 especially amusing on Sundays. On that day the 
 public were permitted to enter and walk around the 
 royal table. It was then the humor of the Princess 
 to guess at the character, disposition, and profession 
 of those who were passing before her. The sort of 
 prophetical examination which she made of their 
 faces sometimes led to very amusing results. 
 
 Madame Elisabeth enjoyed the stay at Saint Cloud. 
 "I have a window which opens on a tiny private 
 garden," she wrote to the Marquise de Bombelles; 
 " it gives me great pleasure. It is not so charming as 
 Montreuil, but at least I am free and can enjoy good 
 fresh air, which helps one to forget somewhat what is 
 going on — and you will agree that there is frequent 
 need of doing so." The little Dauphin had a fine 
 time at Saint Cloud. He was continually in the 
 garden, and went to walk every evening in the 
 park of Meudon. 
 
 Louis XVI., always inclined to optimism, like all 
 honest and kindly natures, felt his hopes revive, and 
 
44 MABIE ANTOINETTS. 
 
 naively imagined that by dint of reading and medi- 
 tating on the history of Charles I., he could find 
 means to preserve himself from the fate of that un- 
 happy monarch. 
 
 Alone among the royal family, Marie Antoinette 
 had continual presentiments from which she could no 
 more escape at Saint Cloud than at the Tuileries. 
 Every contemporary memoir bears witness to the fixed 
 idea which had pursued her since the outbreak of the 
 Revolution, and the sort of vertigo caused her by 
 the half-open abyss beneath her feet. Even at times 
 when something like calm and forgetfulness stole 
 over her mind, she remained profoundly sad; her 
 whole person seemed enveloped in a veil of melan- 
 choly. She drew painful comparisons between the 
 Saint Cloud of 1790 and the Saint Cloud of former 
 years. The palace, the garden, the horizon, were the 
 same, but how the light of other days was darkened! 
 Where were now the times when the public thronged 
 the park on Sunday evenings, and displayed such joy 
 when the Queen with her children passed by in an 
 open carriage, greeted by cheers and universal bene- 
 dictions ? Then, as "Weber says. Saint Cloud offered 
 the appearance of a great family reunion. No man- 
 ner of uneasiness kept away the curious. The apart- 
 ments, the gardens, the hearts of the august hosts, 
 were open to the French people. Whither had 
 vanished the epoch of the royal eclogue, when the 
 amiable Queen patronized the rural ball? On the 
 feast of Saint Cloud the peasants came in their best 
 
THE BOTAL FAMILY AT SAINT CLOUD. 40 
 
 attire, and tlie Queen gave them proofs of her gener- 
 osity, and sometimes joined in the dance like a simple 
 peasant. Where was the companionship of the Poli- 
 gnacs, so amusing, so brilliant, witty, and weU pleased 
 with life ? How swiftly those days of light-hearted 
 gaiety had fled away I Marie Antoinette, recalling 
 them, wrote from Saint Cloud to the self-exiled 
 Duchess de Polignac, " Ah, how sad is that dining- 
 room, once so gay I " On the horizon the fair city of 
 Paris, of old so beloved, so desired, how changed it 
 seems ! Then it was the city of distractions, pleas- 
 ures, and popular ovations, of gala representations, 
 ceremonious entries, visits to the HStel de ViUe, of 
 Te Deums at Notre Dame, with salvos of applause 
 and murmurs of admiration when the Queen ap- 
 peared — the Queen, that privileged being, almost 
 supernatural, more than woman, more than sovereign, 
 a sort of goddess, whose smile seemed like a celestial 
 benediction to the idolizing crowd. Paris is now 
 the hellish furnace of the Revolution, whose hot 
 breath penetrates even to the gardens of Saint Cloud, 
 to wither up the herbage, burn the greenery, and 
 corrupt the atmosphere. No, no; Paris was no longer 
 the good city, but the wicked city, the ungrateful, 
 arrogant, and cruel city, the city of spies, calumnia- 
 tors, persecutors, and, in a future, alasl very near, 
 the city of regicides. 
 
 At Paris, in the whirlpool of affairs, in the miOst 
 of the m@l^e, Marie Antoinette, as if the prey of an 
 evil dream, had not f uUy realized her situation. At 
 
46 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 Saint Cloud she reflected more, she had leisure to 
 feel herself live. It was then she reflected on the 
 past, looked the present in the face, and questioned 
 the future. She passed in review the different periods 
 of her destiny, already so fertile in contrasts. She 
 recalled the souvenirs of the Burg and of Sohoen- 
 hrunn, of the chateau of Versailles, and the Little 
 Trianon. One day she was walking in the park of 
 Saint Cloud with Madame de Tourzel, the Duchess 
 of Fitz-James, and the Princess of Tarente. Seeing 
 herself surrounded by National Guards, some of 
 whom were deserters from the French Guards, she 
 said with tears in her eyes : " How; surprised my 
 mother would be if she could see her daughter, the 
 child, the wife, and the mother of kings, or, at least, 
 of an infant destined to become one, surrounded by 
 a guard like this I It seems as if my father's mind 
 was prophetic the day when I saw him for the last 
 time." 
 
 Then she related to the three ladies who accom- 
 panied her that the Emperor Francis I., departing 
 for Italy, whence he was never to return, had as- 
 sembled his children about him to bid him farewell. 
 " I was younger than my sisters," added Marie An- 
 toinette; "my father took me on his knees, embraced 
 me several times, and always with* tears in his eyes, 
 as if he felt great pain in leaving me. This appeared 
 singular to all who were present; as for me, perhaps 
 I should not have thought of it so often if my actual 
 position, by recalling this circumstance, did not cause 
 
THE BOTAL FAMILY AT 8AINT CLOUD. 47 
 
 me to dread for the remainder of my life a succes- 
 sion of misfortunes which it is only too easy to fore- 
 see." The impression which the Queen's last words 
 produced was so vivid that all three of the ladies 
 melted into tears. Then she said to them, with her 
 accustomed grace and sweetness : " I reproach myself 
 for having saddened you. Calm yourselves before 
 returning to the chateau. Let us revive our courage. 
 Providence will perhaps make us less unhappy than 
 we fear." 
 
 Saint Cloud was like an oasis in a desert parchied 
 by the sun. It was a halt, a resting-place upon the 
 road to Calvary. In spite of her anxieties the Queen 
 enjoyed this last respite, this latest favor of fortune. 
 One might call it her farewell to the flowers, the 
 country, the nature, she so much loved. Her dreamy 
 and poetic soul tasted with a sort of sad pleasure 
 those supreme joys which were to be torn away from 
 her so soon. She had still her husband, her children, 
 and her sister-in-law, that saintly Madame Elisabeth, 
 who watched beside royalty like a good angel. Ah I 
 while there is yet time, let us look well at this tran- 
 quil and patriarchal residence of Saint Cloud; at 
 these ancient trees which overshadow foreheads so 
 pure ; at this noble royal family which, made sacred 
 by misfortune and fortified by religion, gives an 
 example of Christian virtues. It is an edifying spec- 
 tacle, and consoles us; we are not willing to turn 
 away our eyes. Let us banish dismal images. They 
 will return but too quickly to dominate our thoughts. 
 
vn. 
 
 MABiE Antoinette's rNTBKViE"w with MTRABEAir. 
 
 THE only time that Marie Antoinette ever spoke 
 with Mirabeau was at Saint Cloud, in private, 
 on July 3, 1790, — a memorable interview, when two 
 powerful influences came into each other's presence ; 
 that of genius and eloquence, and that of royalty and 
 beauty, — an affecting interview which left the great 
 tribune, as it were, fascinated, and which, had he 
 lived longer, might have resulted in the salvation 
 of the French monarchy. The most illustrious of 
 orators and the most august and charming of queens 
 found themselves face to face for one day only, and 
 on that day they treated with each other as equal 
 powers. But it was the woman who prevailed; it 
 was her influence which carried off the honors of 
 victory. The foeman of yesterday was the liegeman 
 of to-morrow. 
 
 The man who succeeded in establishing relations 
 between the court and Mirabeau was a great Belgian 
 lord in the service of France, — Count de la Marck, 
 younger son of the Duke of Arenberg. The corre- 
 spondence between Mirabeau and Count de la Marck, 
 48 
 
INTEBVIEW WITH MIR ABE AU. 49 
 
 collected, arranged, and annotated by M. de Bacourt, 
 — a publication exceedingly interesting and of the 
 greatest historical value, — gives details as curious 
 as they are circumstantial concerning the part played 
 by the famous tribune from the time when he became 
 the secret agent of Louis XVI. while continuing to 
 display the passions and speak the language of the 
 Revolution. 
 
 Count de la Marck and Mirabeau became ac- 
 quainted in 1788, and at once conceived a mutual 
 sympathy. Mirabeau's genius attracted Count de la 
 Marck, who, in his turn, charmed and fascinated 
 Mirabeau by his courtesy, his good breeding, and his 
 high social position. At bottom the great tribune 
 was aristocratic. As the Duke of Levis has remarked 
 in his Souvenirs et portraits, " he loved the monarchy 
 through reason, and the nobility through vanity, even 
 to the point of putting his servants in livery so soon 
 as his means permitted, and that in a period when 
 other people were taking theirs out of it. He said 
 one day to some Republican deputies, 'France will 
 always need an aristocracy. ' " 
 
 He was keenly chagrined by the fact that he was 
 not thought well of in good society. Although by 
 his birth he was on an equality with those who fre- 
 quented the court, it was at once evident from his 
 manners that he lacked the ease acquired by famil- 
 iarity with the upper circles. He bowed too low 
 when he wished to show politeness. He dressed in 
 bad taste. Magnificent in the tribune, he was some- 
 
50 JIARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 what embarrassed on entering a drawing-room. He 
 came in with an air of constrained gratitude which 
 did not disappear until he was deep in conversation. 
 "But then," says the Duke of Levis, "he quickly 
 recovered his own place, which was the first." 
 
 The memory of his faults and of his adventurous 
 life oppressed him. " Ah ! " said he, " what injuiy 
 the immorality of my youth has done to the public 
 good ! " He was the fifth child, but, by the deajh 
 of a brother he became the eldest son of the Mar- 
 quis of Mirabeau, a rich proprietor and the head 
 of a great ProveuQal family. Married very young 
 to a rich heiress, he served at first in the army, but 
 presently abandoned both his wife and profession. 
 At odds with his father, overwhelmed with debts, re- 
 duced to expedients, thrown into prison by arbitrary 
 orders under the King's privy seal, obliged to live on 
 his scanty earnings as an author, going from one 
 irregularity to another, and from scandal to scandal, 
 he got the reputation of a degraded and unworthy 
 person. He threw himseK into the revolutionary 
 camp through bitterness and vexation. 
 
 But this rSle did not fail to shock his secret in- 
 stincts. He prided himself on his good birth, and 
 suffered because he could not live in accordance 
 with his hereditary rank. When, after the suppres- 
 sion of titles and coats-of-arms he found himself 
 designated in the reports of the sessions of the 
 National Assembly under the plebeian appellation, 
 Riquetti Senior, called Mirabeau, his old feudal pride 
 
INTERVIEW WITH MIBABEAU. 51 
 
 revolted in the tribune's soul. In the depth of his 
 heart he cursed the arrogant Revolution which dared 
 deprive him of his title as Count. He was enraged 
 with himself for having served it, and muttered by 
 way of excuse that he meant to war against it and 
 hoped to be its master. The seeming demagogue was 
 in reality a remorseful monarchist. Count de la 
 Marck says : " On several occasions when I was irri- 
 tated by his revolutionary language in the tribune, I 
 flew into a violent passion and berated him soundly. 
 Well! he would burst into tears like a child, and 
 without baseness express his contrition with a sin- 
 cerity which no one could doubt." 
 
 Such was the man whom M. de la Marck found 
 means to reconcile with the court. At first the task 
 was not easy. The Queen's prejudices against the 
 tribune seemed at first glance iuvincible. Toward 
 the close of 1789 she wrote to M. de la Marck : " I 
 have never doubted your sentiments, and when 
 I learned that you were in league with Mirabeau I 
 thought, assuredly, that it was with the best inten- 
 tions. But you can accomplish nothing with him ; 
 and as to what you consider necessary on the part of 
 the King's ministers, I do not agree with you. We 
 shall never, I think, be so unfortunate as to be re- 
 duced to the painful necessity of having recourse to 
 Mirabeau." 
 
 A few weeks later things had changed. In March, 
 1790, Count de la Marck, who was in Belgium, was 
 recalled to Paris by a word from Count de Mercy- 
 
62 MASm ANTOINETTE. 
 
 Argenteau, tlie Austrian Ambassador, and a friend of 
 Marie Antoinette. The Queen had at last decided 
 to take counsel with Mirabeau, and it was Count de 
 la Marck whom she charged with the negotiation in 
 the name of the King. Count de la Marck made 
 known the conditions to his friend. 
 
 Mirabeau was to receiye six thousand li-vres a 
 month, and all his debts, to the amount of two hun- 
 dred and eight thousand livxes, would be paid. It 
 was, moreover, the King's intention to send him a 
 million, if, at the close of the session of the National 
 Assembly, he had fulfilled his engagements with the 
 court faithfully. Never had Mirabeau been more 
 rejoiced than by this news. Proud because his King 
 had recourse to him, happy to pass in the twinkling 
 of an eye from straitened circumstances to fortune, 
 enraptured, enthusiastic, full of gratitude, he was in 
 a sort of intoxication. 
 
 The thing is done. The revolutionist becomes 
 conservative. In appearance he will be still a trib- 
 une. But at bottom he is a monarchist, a defender 
 and servant of Louis XVI., a secret agent of the 
 court, who sends note after note and gives counsel 
 upon counsel. He wrote thus. May 10, 1790, in his 
 first letter to the sovereign : " Profoundly moved by 
 the anguish of the King, who has least merited his 
 personal misfortunes, persuaded that if in his situa- 
 tion there is a prince whose word may be relied on, 
 that prince is Louis XVI., I am, nevertheless, so 
 armed by men and events against the compassion 
 
INTEBVIEW WITH MIBABHAU. 53 
 
 which springs from the sight of human vicissitudes, 
 that I should experience an invincible repugnance 
 against playing a part in this moment of factions and 
 confusion, if I were not convinced that the re-estab- 
 lishment of the King's legitimate authority is the 
 prime necessity of France, and the only means of sav- 
 ing it. But I see clearly that we are in anarchy and 
 are sinking more deeply in it daily ; I am so indig- 
 nant at the idea that I shall have contributed merely 
 to a vast demolition, and the fear of seeing any one 
 but the King at the head of the state is so insupport- 
 able to me, that I feel imperiously summoned back to 
 public affairs at the moment when, vowed in a certain 
 sense to the silence of contempt, I thought only of 
 aspiring to retirement." 
 
 And in the same letter he promises to the sover- 
 eign " loyalty, zeal, activity, energy, and a courage of 
 which no one, perhaps, has any just idea." He prom- 
 ises " all, in fact, except success, which never depends 
 on one alone." Some days afterwards he wrote, in 
 the ardor of his royalistic zeal: "I have professed 
 monarchical principles when I saw nothing in the 
 court but its feebleness, and when, knowing neither 
 the soul nor the thoughts of the daughter of Maria 
 Theresa, I could not count on that august auxiliary. 
 I have fought for the rights of the throne when I 
 inspired nothing but distrust, and when every act of 
 mine, envenomed by malignity, seemed like a snare. 
 I have served the monarch when I knew very well 
 that I need expect neither rewards nor benefits from a 
 
54 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 just but deluded king. What will I not do now, when 
 confidence has increased my courage, and when recog- 
 nition has converted my principles into my duties ? " 
 
 Mirabeau had not yet had the honor of speaking 
 with Marie Antoinette, but he was already her enthu- 
 siastic admirer. June 20, 1790, he wrote in one of 
 his notes for the court : " The King has only one 
 man ; it is his wife. There is no' safety for her but 
 in the re-establishment of the royal authority. I 
 should like to believe that she would not desire life 
 without her crown ; but what I am very certain of is, 
 that she will not preserve her life if she does not pre- 
 serve her crown. The time will come, and very soon, 
 when she will have to try what a woman and child 
 can do on horseback — for her that is a family fash- 
 ion ; but, meanwhile, it is necessary to make prepa- 
 rations, and not believe it possible, whether by the 
 aid of chance or of combinations, to escape from an 
 extraordinary crisis by the assistance of ordinary men 
 and measures." 
 
 The providential, the extraordinary man will be 
 himself, the Count de Mirabeau. He who has con- 
 verted the tribune into the gigantic pedestal of his 
 renown, his pride ; he who, his heart fascinated by 
 his own genius, his ears filled with the echoes of his 
 thunderous voice, takes pleasure in the magnificent 
 expansion of his triumphant personality, do you know 
 what he aspires to as the greatest of his victories? 
 A word, a smile, from Marie Antoinette. His chief 
 desire is to present his homage to the Queen. 
 
INTERVIEW WITH MIRABHAU. 65 
 
 On July 3, 1790, this desire was at last realized. 
 It was agreed that the interview should take place 
 secretly at Saint Cloud. To conceal the proceeding, 
 Mirabeau did not spend the previous night at Paris, 
 but at Auteuil, at the house of his niece, Madame 
 d'Aragon. He was afterwards conducted with great 
 mystery to the designated place of the political ren- 
 dezvous. This, according to Madame Campan's 
 account, was not an apartment of the palace, as M. de 
 Lacretelle relates, but at the meeting of the paths in 
 the high grounds of the Queen's private garden at 
 Saint Cloud. 
 
 Behold, then, the tribune and the sovereign face 
 to face. Consider that interview wherein the royalty 
 of birth and the royalty of genius experience a recip- 
 rocal shudder as they contemplate each other. He is 
 there, then, the man whom for more than a year the 
 Queen has thought of as an object of terror, a sort of 
 antichrist, whom she has called the monster. It is 
 hardly nine months since he was described to her as 
 a savage being, directing bands of brigands coming 
 from Paris to Versailles to slay her. It was a 
 calumny, but she had believed it. She recalled the 
 body-guards assassinated while defending her; her 
 palace, her bedchamber, invaded by cannibals who 
 demanded her head. She heard incessantly the sin- 
 ister echo of furious cries, the cries of death ; and to 
 all these souvenirs the menacing image of Mirabeau 
 clung like a phantom. And now he was before her, 
 that man of terrific ugliness, whose eyes flashed light- 
 
66 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 ning; massive, and tall in stature; his strong head 
 large beyond all ordinary measure, and still further 
 amplified by an enormous mass of hair which resem- 
 bled a lion's mane. 
 
 Behold him, this Titan of speech, this Atlas who 
 would bear up a world! And who, then, will be 
 most intimidated by this meeting, the Queen or the 
 tribune? It is he, he especially who is moved, he 
 who has a shock of admiration and respect. Formi- 
 dable orator, you who in the tribune seem able to 
 knead marble with your gigantic hands ; you whose 
 supernatural voice is like the trump of the last judg- 
 ment; you who, at your own will unchain or calm 
 the tempests ; at your feet all the fury of the multi- 
 tudes would feebly expire — and yet the rustle of a 
 woman's dress and the sound of her voice make you 
 tremble ! 
 
 Gentle, benevolent, august, the Queen addresses 
 the tribune with the supreme grace of which she has 
 the secret : " With an ordinary foe," she said to him, 
 " with a man who might have sworn the downfall of 
 monarchy without appreciating its utility to a great 
 people, I should be at this moment taking a most im- 
 proper step; but when one speaks to a Mirabeau. . . ." 
 
 Marie Antoinette went on in her most affable tone, 
 and each of her words penetrated to the very depths 
 of Mii-abeau's soul. Ah ! how much more the pres- 
 ence of this Queen, so fair, so noble, and so unhappy, 
 flatters the French Demosthenes than all the triumphs 
 of the tribune, all the intoxication of popularity! 
 
INTBBVIEW WITS MIBABEAU. 57 
 
 How he rants the least word from that sacred mouth 
 above the most enthusiastic acclamations, the most 
 frenzied applause of the National Assembly. Oh! 
 he, at least, does not deceive himself like Cardinal 
 de Rohan. It is not a false Queen there in the shrub- 
 bery this time. It is the real Marie Antoinette, the 
 daughter of the German Csesar, the child of Maria 
 Theresa, the wife of the descendant of Henri IV. 
 and Louis XIV., the Queen of France and Navarre ! 
 What an honor, what a rehabilitation, to be well 
 received by such a woman I Mirabeau is contented 
 with himself. He feels proud and happy. All 
 his remorse vanishes. All that has been evil in 
 his past is but a dream. He opens a new career; 
 he no longer doubts the future. Full of hope and 
 full of faith, it is with profound conviction that he 
 cries, in taking leave of the Queen, " Madame, the 
 monarchy is saved I " 
 
vm. 
 
 THE FESTIVAL OP THE FEDEEATION. 
 
 IN July, 1790, the royal family left Saint Cloua 
 for several days and went to Paris to be present 
 at the fStes of the Federation. Never had the popu- 
 lace been so preoccupied with any solemnity. The 
 Moniteur described it as an " august f Ste, the most 
 majestic and imposing which, since the annals of the 
 world have been known to us, has honored the 
 human race." The men of the French Revolution 
 delighted in everything theatrical. Mythological 
 pomps, souvenirs of antiquity, grandiose spectacles, 
 enraptured them, and nothing so charmed the Paris- 
 ians as open-air ceremonies in which they were both 
 actors and spectators. 
 
 The day chosen for the fSte was July 14, the 
 anniversary of the taking of the Bastille. The King, 
 the members of the National Assembly, the army, 
 and delegates from every department of France, were 
 to assemble on the Champ-de-Mars and take a solemn 
 oath to support the new Constitution. The people 
 naively imagined that this Constitution was going to 
 be the source of order, peace, liberty, progress, pros- 
 fit 
 
TEE FESTIVAL OF THE FEDERATION. 69 
 
 peiity, and a state of things whicli would bring back 
 to earth the age of gold. The Hebrews in the 
 desert had not awaited with more impatience the 
 Holy Law which Moses brought down to them from 
 Sinai. And yet, as nearly always happened at the 
 time of the Revolution, a secret disquiet mingled 
 with these illimitable hopes and joys. 
 
 A few days before the fSte, the Duke of Orleans, 
 coming from England, where he had sojourned since 
 the October days in a sort of exile, disguised under 
 the title of a diplomatic mission, arrived in Paris, and 
 in the evening made !^s appearance at the palace. 
 This unexpected arrival alarmed everybody. It was 
 believed that the Duke, badly received by the King, 
 and almost insulted by the court, was about to 
 organize a great conspiracy. The people, always 
 credulous, believed the most contradictory and fabu- 
 lous reports. Conservatives and revolutionists alike 
 lent themselves to the most terrifying projects. Ac- 
 cording to some, an insurrection was about to break 
 out in Paris ; the deputies of the nobility would be 
 massacred on the Champ-de-Mars ; Louis XVI. would 
 be deprived of his crown, and the Duke of Orleans 
 placed on the throne. According to others, there was 
 to be a counter-revolution ; the patriots would have 
 their throats cut, and the most popular members of 
 the National Assembly would be shot; the suburb 
 would be burned, and Louis XVI., leaving the Champ 
 de-Mars, would re-enter the Tuileries as an absolute 
 monarch. This panic did not last long. The multi- 
 
60 MARIE ANTOINJETTB. 
 
 tude, always fickle, soon lost all fear, and busying 
 themselves in preparations for tlie f§te with a pas- 
 sionate activity which bordered on frenzy, they be- 
 came absorbed in sentiments of confidence and joy. 
 
 Twelve thousand workmen were constantly em- 
 ployed in the Champ-de-Mars, where, by means of 
 circular terraces, they were about to form a gigantic 
 amphitheatre, whose benches would seat three hun- 
 dred thousand spectators. It was an immense piece 
 of work. As it was feared that they might not be 
 able to finish it by July 14, and as this revolutionaiy 
 date was deemed essential, the districts, in the name 
 of the country, invited all good citizens to come to 
 the aid of the workmen in the Champ-de-Mars with 
 shovels and wheelbarrows. This invitation, so con- 
 formable to the patriotic ideas of the time, excited 
 general enthusiasm. Through fashion and infatua- 
 tion, still more than through patriotism, everybody 
 saw in this labor both a pleasure and a duty. 
 
 According to Camille Desmoulins, the day which 
 is approaching is " the day of deliverance from Egyp- 
 tian bondage, and the crossing of the Red Sea; it is 
 the first day of the year One of Liberty; it is the 
 day predicted by the prophet Ezekiel, — the day of 
 destiny, the great feast of the lanterns." Patriots of 
 all classes, men and women, old men and children, 
 rich and poor — which of you is unwilling to aid in 
 making ready the splendors of such a solemnity? 
 Come then, one and all, to join this immense band of 
 laborers where, as the Marquis de Ferri^res has said. 
 
THE FESTIVAL OF THE FEDERATION. 61 
 
 "the dishevelled courtesan finds herseK next to a 
 shamefaced virgin ; where the Capuchin hauls a dray 
 with the chevalier of Saint Louis, the porter with the 
 coxcomb from the Palais Royal; where the robust 
 herring-woman pushes the wheelbarrow loaded by the 
 fashionable and hypochondriacal lady." 
 
 "It is the ballet of the reunion of classes," says 
 Camille Desmoulins. It is like a great Flemish 
 festival. People sing while they work. The peram- 
 bulating eating-houses, the portable shops, add to the 
 animation of the scene. Do you hear the buffooneries, 
 the songs, the noise of drums and trumpets, the 
 spades, the wheelbarrows, the voices of the laborers 
 who call to and encourage each other? Do you see 
 these Seminarists, these Carthusians, who have left 
 their cloisters to come to this civic rendezvous ? Do 
 you see these marquises who take ofB their gloves to 
 shake hands with charcoal-dealers? They say that 
 Saint Just, pushing a wheelbarrow, met the Countess 
 du Barry, with a shovel in her hand. A disabled sol- 
 dier of Louis XIV.'s day is working with his wooden 
 leg. What activity reigns amid these hundred and 
 fifty thousand voluntary laborers 1 So much zeal 
 ends by accomplishing the desired result. The ter- 
 races are finished. The Champ-de-Mars is ready. 
 How the patriots rejoice I Behold the Fourteenth of 
 July, the great day ! 
 
 The Federates, ranged by departments, under 
 eighty-three banners, have been assembled since day- 
 break on the Place de la Bastille. Deputies, soldiers 
 
62 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 of the line, and marine troops, the Parisian National 
 Guard, drummers, bands of singers, and the banners 
 of the sections open and close the march. The 
 immense procession passes through the streets of 
 Saint Martin, Saint Denis, and Saint Honor^. On 
 reaching the Tuileries, its ranks are swelled by the 
 municipal officials and the Assembly. It passes on 
 through the Cours la Reine and enters the Champ-de- 
 Mars by a bridge of boats which has been constructed 
 across the stream. At the end of this bridge rises a 
 triumphal arch, on which may be read the following 
 mottoes : — 
 
 « We fear you no longer, petty tyrants, 
 You who oppressed us under a hundred different names." 
 
 "The rights of man have been disregarded for centuries} 
 they have been re-established for all humanity." 
 
 " The king of a free people is the only powerful king." 
 
 Another motto may also be read, which will not be 
 pondered sufficiently : — 
 
 "You cherish this liberty, you possess it now; show your- 
 selves worthy to preserve it." 
 
 Three hundred thousand spectators are crowded 
 together on the sides of the amphitheatre. They 
 have been there since six in the morning. The 
 weather is bad. The showers produce a singular 
 effect. As soon as it begins to rain, thousands of 
 different colored umbrellas are opened, and change 
 
TSE FESTIVAL OF THE FEDERATION. 63 
 
 the aspect of tte terraces. The Federates, dripping 
 with water and perspiration, are no longer gay and in 
 high spirits. To pass away the time, the first comers 
 begin a Proven9al dance. Those who follow them 
 join in, and form a circle which soon embraces a large 
 portiqn of the Champ-de-Mars. Not contented with 
 dancing, the Federates engage in mock combats; 
 cities against country places, departments against de- 
 partments, Proven9aux against Flemings, Lorrainers 
 against Bretons. These little wars terminate in fra- 
 ternal embraces. Then the dances begin again, bet- 
 ter than ever. 
 
 The delighted spectators beat time, and applaud. 
 The foreigners cry, " Look at these devils of French- 
 men who dance while it is raining fast." Who cares 
 for bad weather when the sun in the heart is shining? 
 Finally, the entire procession is about to enter the 
 Champ-de-Mars. The games cease, and every Feder- 
 ate returns to his own banner. 
 
 The circumference of the circus, on the side of the 
 buildings of the Military School, is closed by a large 
 covered gallery, ornamented with blue and gold 
 hangings, in the midst of which is a pavilion intended 
 for the King. Behind the throne is a private box for 
 the Queen, the Dauphin, and the Princesses of the 
 royal family. The sotereign being no longer more 
 than half a sovereign, until the time should come 
 when he would not be even that, there had been 
 placed beside his throne, and about three feet distant, 
 another armchair of the same size, covered with 
 
64 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 azure velvet, sown with golden lilies : it was destined 
 for the President of the National Assemhly. A vast 
 altar rose in the middle of the immense space encir- 
 cled by the amphitheatre. It was twenty-five feet 
 high. It was ascended by four staircases termiuating 
 in a platform, where incense was burned in antique 
 vases. On the south front of this altar these two 
 distichs might be read : — 
 
 " Mortals are equal ; it is not their birth, 
 It is their virtue difEerences their worth." 
 
 " Throughout the State, the Law should reign supreme, 
 Equal, to her, are men, howe'er they seem." 
 
 On the opposite side angels were represented, sound- 
 ing trumpets bearing these inscriptions : — • 
 
 "Consider these three sacred words: the Nation, the Law, 
 the King. The Nation is You. The Law, again, is You. The 
 King is the guardian of the Law." 
 
 On the side facing the Seine might be distin- 
 guished an image of Liberty, and a Genius hovering 
 in the air with a pennon on which was written, 
 "Constitution." 
 
 Three hundred priests, vested in white albs, and 
 wearing tricolored scarfs, cover the steps of the 
 altar. Talleyrand, Bishop of Autun, and a member 
 of the National A*sembly, is about to say the Mass. 
 The office begins. Fortunately, the clouds disperse, 
 and the sun comes out. Chants, military music, and 
 
THE FESTIVAL OF TSE FEDERATION. 65 
 
 salvos of artillery mingle with the bishop's voice. At 
 the Elevation the drums beat a salute ; the trumpets 
 sound; the whole crowd are on their knees. The 
 Mass ended, Lafayette dismounts from his white 
 horse, and walks over to the galleries where the 
 King,, the royal family, the Ministers, and the mem- 
 bers of the National Assembly are seated, and ascend- 
 ing the fifty steps leading to the throne of Louis XVI., 
 receives the commands of the sovereign, who hands 
 to him the formula of the appointed oath. Turning 
 afterwards toward the altar, Lafayette lays his sword 
 upon it, and, going up to its most elevated point, he 
 gives the signal for the oath by waving a flag in air. 
 
 The himdred pieces of artillery, the two thousand 
 brass instruments, the hundreds of thousands of 
 spectators, all are silent. In this religious silence 
 one voice alone is heard: the voice of Lafayette. 
 Laying one hand on his heart, and lifting the other 
 toward heaven, he pronounces these words: "We 
 swear to be always faithful to the nation, the law, 
 and the King; to maintain with all our power the 
 Constitution decreed by the National Assembly, and 
 accepted by the King ; to protect, comformably with 
 the lawsi the security of person and property, the 
 traiific in grains and other provisions in the interior 
 of the kingdom, the collection of public taxes under 
 whatever form they exist, and to remain united to 
 aU Frenchmen by the indissoluble ties of fraternity." 
 
 Then all arms are flung up, all swords brandished, 
 and an immense cry breaks forth: " I swear it." Tha 
 
66 ilABIS ANTOINETTE. 
 
 artillery of neighboring municipalities announces the 
 oath to more distant ones, which, in their turn, trans- 
 mit it in like manner, and with lightning swiftness, 
 to the very extremities of France : to France trans- 
 formed in an instant into an immense Champ-de- 
 Mars, where twenty-five millions of French Federates 
 swear, at the same moment, to defend the law, to be 
 faithful to the sovereign, and to live and die for 
 their country, Louis XVI. rises and pronounces 
 these words in a strong voice: "I, King of the 
 French, swear to employ the power delegated to me 
 by the constitutional act of the State, in maintaining 
 the Constitution decreed by the National Assembly, 
 and by me accepted." The Queen takes the Dauphia 
 in her arms, and, presenting him to the people, 
 "Behold my son," says she; "he joins, as I do, in 
 the same sentiments." From every breast break forth 
 these cries, repeated with wild enthusiasm: "Long 
 live the King! Long live the Queen! Long live 
 Monseigneur the Dauphin ! " The weather is com- 
 pletely settled. No more clouds ; the sun shines in 
 full splendor. 
 
 Who would not feel his hopes revive in presence 
 of this colossal demonstration, this delirium of good- 
 will and reconciliation ? Optimism is in the air. It 
 is an irresistible current. How can one be severe on 
 the generous illusions of the unfortunate Louis XVI., 
 remembering that these illusions were not his alone, 
 but those of a whole nation ? At this hour the mon- 
 archy ia regarded as the best of republics. People 
 
THE FESTIVAL OF THE FEDERATION. 67 
 
 fall into ecstasies over tlie merits and virtues of the 
 patriot-King. It is like a picture by Greuze which 
 should suddenly become an incommensurable fresco. 
 One might say that the old r%ime and the Revolu- 
 tion, reconciled once for all, are exchanging the kiss 
 of peace, and pressing each other in a cordial embrace. 
 Brethren uniting tenderly around an exemplary father 
 of a family, — such was the tableau presented by the 
 Champ-de-Mars. Woe to him, who, in this innumer- 
 able multitude, should venture a single word of doubt 
 concerning the future ! Woe to him who would have 
 the temerity to disbelieve in the resurrection of the 
 age of gold I 
 
 A Te Deum with full orchestra is about to termi- 
 nate the ceremony. It is five o'clock in the after- 
 noon. The FederE^tes go in good order to the chateau 
 of La Muette, where a grand banquet, served in the 
 alleys of the park, is awaiting them. Out of bed 
 from dawn to midnight, they have walked from their 
 homes to the Place de la Bastille, from there to 
 the Champ-de-Mars, from the Champ-de-Mars to La 
 Muette, from La Muette back to their lodgings. 
 They have danced, cried, sung, and been drenched 
 with torrents of rain ; and still they are enthusiastic, 
 rapt to the seventh heaven. It must be admitted 
 that this vigorous generation, which, some years later, 
 was to perform so many brilliant deeds, so many 
 prodigies on every battle-field of Europe, braves fa- 
 tigue and danger with an ardor and animation which 
 excuse many faults. 
 
MABIM ANTOINSTTE. 
 
 The rejoicings lasted for several days. At the 
 BarriSre de I'Etoile the King held a grand review. 
 The Queen was present in an open carriage with the 
 Dauphin and Madame Elisabeth. She spoke with ex- 
 quisite politeness to all who approached her, and more 
 than one Federate had the honor of kissing her hand. 
 In the evening, the municipality gave a grand popu- 
 lar fSte. The two principal points of reunion were 
 on the Place de la Bastille and the Champs-Elys^es. 
 Where the former prison had stood there was a ball, 
 and this inscription: "Dancing here." In the even- 
 ing no carriages could pass. Everybody was obliged 
 to go on foot. Everybody was happy to show that 
 he belonged to the people. 
 
 The Champs-Elys^es presented a fairy-like aspect, 
 with its lights depending from every tree, its wreaths 
 of lanterns, its pyramids of flame. " It was at the 
 Champs-Elys^es," said the Marquis de Ferri^res, "that 
 sensible men took most satisfaction in the f§te. The 
 citizen, with his family, ate, chatted, walked about, 
 and was agreeably conscious of his existence. Young 
 girls and boys were dancing to the music of bands 
 placed here and there in open spaces among the 
 trees. ... A sweet and sentimental joy visible on 
 all faces, and shining in every eye, recalled the placid 
 enjoyment of happy shades in the Elysian fields of 
 the ancients. The white garments of a multitude of 
 women straying amid the trees of these fine avenues 
 added to the illusion." 
 
 O dreams too swiftly vanished I Chimeras which 
 
TES FESTIVAL OF THE FEDERATION. 69 
 
 the terrible reality will presently cause to disappear ! 
 Strange festivals where reconciliation lies on the sur- 
 face while hatred and passion live still within the 
 depths. Envy and rancor pierce through these idyls, 
 these gigantic eclogues. People sing the Oa ira:— 
 
 " fa ira, pa ira, 
 To the lamp-posts with the aristocrats ; 
 
 Ca ira, fa ira. 
 The aristocrats, we'll hang them all 1 " 
 
 A sagacious observer might readily have foreseen 
 that to the three words, Liberty, Equality, Fra- 
 ternity, there would speedily be added this conclu- 
 sion of the formula : " Or Death." The Mass was 
 preceded by a dance. No doubt the patriots reminded 
 each other that David danced before the ark. Why 
 should not they dance before the altar of the Federa- 
 tion? No matter! This mixture of patriotism and 
 religion makes a poor alloy. Such an ecclesiastic as 
 the Bishop of Autun seems hardly the man to 
 invoke the blessings of the Lord upon the crowds 
 assembled in the Champ-de-Mars. There is more 
 mythology than Christianity in the whole affair. 
 
 Optimists, do not rejoice ! Yet a little while, and 
 these honest royalists, these tender-hearted people, 
 who come with the Federates of B^arn to shed tears 
 of filia,! tenderness at the foot of the statue of Henri 
 IV., win be howling with rage around the scaffold 
 of his descendant. 
 
 "Who are the three men that come most noticeably 
 to the front in the fSte of the Champ-de-Mars ? A 
 
70 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 king, a general, and a bishop. The king is the future 
 martyr ; the general, the future prisoner of Olmutz ; 
 the bishop is the future exUe, the priest who throws 
 away his chasuble, cross, and mitre. The Mass cele- 
 brated by this pontiff will not bring good fortune 
 either to Louis XVI. or to France 1 
 
IX. 
 
 MIBABBAtr's DOTJBLB EOLE. 
 
 MIRABEAU'S interview with Marie Antoinette 
 liad made a profound impression on him. 
 The royal vision remained in his eyes and in his 
 heart as a kind of bewildering dream. He wept 
 with remorse when he thought that formerly he might 
 have been esteemed the enemy of this beautiful sov- 
 ereign. He wept with joy in reminding himself that 
 thenceforward he would be her knight, her defender. 
 Certain suspicions concerning this sudden conver- 
 sion of the famous tribune got into circulation. An 
 article published in a daily paper, UOrateur du 
 Peuple, accused him of having gone to Saint Cloud, 
 and insinuated that he must have seen the Queen. 
 Mirabeau admitted that he had left Paris to pay a 
 visit to his niece, Madame d'Aragon, but declared 
 that the alleged interview at Saint Cloud was purely 
 imaginary. Things rested there, although for several 
 days accounts of the " Great treason of Count Mira- 
 beau" were hawked about the streets of Paris. 
 
 To kindle and extinguish conflagrations, to unchain 
 and quiet tempests, to be by turns revolutionists and 
 
 71 
 
72 MABIH ANTOINSTTJE. 
 
 conservatives, destroyers and preservers, is the dream 
 of ambitious men who imagine themselves able to 
 play Avith human passions like an Indian juggler 
 with his bowls, and who frequently believe them- 
 selves the masters of events when in reality they 
 are merely their slaves. During several months it 
 was possible for Mirabeau to play a double part 
 without being unmasked; but had he lived longer, 
 the deception could not have been kept up, and the 
 great man, driven into a corner, would have been 
 forced to make his choice between the two selves — 
 the royalist and the tribune — that were incarnated 
 in him. 
 
 All energetic men, no matter who they may be, 
 have the governing instinct, and their aim, if they 
 hope to arrive at power, is order and domination. 
 Revolution is not an end, Tout a means to most great 
 agitators, and there are few demagogues who do not 
 long to be all-powerful. Mirabeau's ideal was to 
 become the strong and influential minister of an 
 undisputed king, crushing all resistance with his 
 iron hand, and saying with an absolute voice to the 
 revolutionary flood : " Thou shalt go no further." 
 
 A socialist journal, published at Verviers, calls 
 itself The Mirabeau. This journal is doubtless not 
 well acquainted with the part assumed by the great 
 tribune during the last months of his life. I suspect 
 that the democrats of our day would not feel dis- 
 posed to approve the ideas and principles he pro- 
 fessed It is rather singular to recall how the great* 
 
MIUABEAU'S DOUBLE ROLE. 73 
 
 est orator of the French Revolution judged Paris, 
 the National Assembly, and the National Guard, if 
 not in the tribune, at least in the privacy of his con- 
 science. 
 
 Desire for a reaction went to the length of Machi- 
 avellianism in the mind of the tribune, now become 
 the secret agent of the court. He wished to lay 
 snares for the Assembly, and make it the victim of 
 its own faults and outrages. He even became a dis- 
 ciple of that school which, in all epochs of disorder, 
 expresses the hope that good must be born from the 
 excess of evU. He had two policies, two faces. He 
 lived a double life, — the revolutionist on this side, 
 the royalist on that. The equilibrium he continued 
 to preserve between them was almost miraculous. 
 There was so much force, skill, and eloquence in this 
 powerful actor, that even his adversaries dared not 
 suspect him. His popularity was like a sturdy oak 
 which defies wind and lightning. 
 
 Nevertheless, this double part has something essen- 
 tially disagreeable about it. When one thinks of the 
 man who had just fulminated demagogic invectives 
 in the tribune, returning to his own house, and sitting 
 down in private to write his communications to the 
 court, it is impossible not to be distressed by a du- 
 plicity which would have needed to be unhired in 
 order to be excused. Assuredly Mirabeau pursued 
 a plan approved by his conscience. But, for all that, 
 he remains, in spite of all his genius and his glory, a 
 man who was obliged to skulk, who received hush- 
 
74 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 money, who would have been, ruined completely in 
 public opinion if his writings and his actions had sud- 
 denly been made known. Like all talented men whose 
 conscience troubles them, he was at once haughty and 
 humble ; haughty when he was on view before men, 
 humble when he entered within himself. His Atlas 
 shoulders, huge and powerful as they were, bent 
 under the intolerable burden of his double part. 
 He would haye liked to be himself before God and 
 men. 
 
 Let us interrogate the depths of his soul. Let us 
 see him as he is. Let us ask his opinions of men 
 and things. Parisians, this is what he has to say of 
 your city, so well satisfied with itself : " Never were 
 so many combustible elements and inflammable mate- 
 rials brought together on a single hearth. A hun- 
 dred scribblers whose sole resource is disorder, a 
 multitude of insubordinate strangers who kindle dis- 
 cord in all public places, ... all that is most cor- 
 rupt in both extremes, — the dregs of the nation and 
 the most elevated classes, — and this is Paris. This 
 city knows its strength. It has exercised it by turns 
 on the army, the King, the Ministers, and the Assem- 
 bly. It is certain that Paris is the last city in the 
 kingdom to which peace will be restored. It is neces- 
 sary, therefore, to destroy its influence in the prov- 
 inces, to make its projects dreaded, to show the 
 expenses of every sort which it occasions, and to 
 make the people desire that a second legislative body 
 shall be placed in a city where its independence and 
 
MIBABEAW8 DOUBLE S,bLE. 75 
 
 the King's liberty will be more secure." (47tli Note 
 to the Court, December 23, 1790.) 
 
 Partisans of the National Guard, listen to what 
 Mirabeau has to say in the same note of that insti- 
 tution : " I consider the National Guard of Paris as 
 an obstacle to the restoration of order. . . , This 
 troop is too numerous to have any esprit de corps, 
 too closely united to the citizens ever to resist them, 
 too easy to corrupt, not in masses, but as individuals, 
 not to be an instrument always ready to serve the 
 seditious." 
 
 You who respect the parliamentary system so 
 greatly, do you wish to know how Mirabeau thought 
 the National Assembly should be treated? In the 
 same note he writes: "I have already pointed out 
 several ways of attacking the Assembly. They may 
 be reduced chiefly to these : Let it issue every decree 
 which may increase the number of malcontents ; in- 
 cite it to destroy the rural municipalities, to change 
 the organizations of those of cities, and to put a check 
 on the administration of departments ; get up popu- 
 lar petitions to it on points known to be out of har- 
 mony with its principles; push it further toward 
 usurping all powers; make its discussions bear on 
 unimportant topics ; have the minority introduce the 
 most popular motions, so that they may be thrown 
 out or modified ; prolong the session until the abuses 
 of the new judiciary order, and the difficulty in the 
 way of imposing taxes, shall become thoroughly 
 known ; acquaint it every day with the obstructions 
 
76 MAMIE ANTOINETTX. 
 
 which hinder the execution of its laws, and demand 
 that it shall explain them itseH ; and, in fine, neglect 
 at the same time no opportunity to augment the pop- 
 ularity of the Queen and the King, There is no 
 room for hesitation ; if this Assembly runs its course 
 triumphantly, the state of public opinion permits no 
 further hope." 
 
 The devoted agent of the court, Mirabeau thus 
 insists on the importance of the advice he gives it: — 
 
 " Everything may be hoped if my plan is adopted ; 
 and if it is not, if this last plank of safety escapes us, 
 there is no misfortune, from individual assassinations 
 to pillage, from the downfall of the throne to the 
 dissolution of the empire, which may not be antici- 
 pated. What other resource exists except this plan? 
 Is not the ferocity of the people increasing by de- 
 grees? Are they not being induced to hope for the 
 division of property? . . . Could frenzy and fanati- 
 cism be pushed to a higher point than they are in 
 the National Assembly ? Unhappy nation I Behold 
 whither you have been led by men who have put 
 intrigue in the place of talent! Honest but feeble 
 King! unfortunate Queen 1 look down into the 
 frightful abyss to which your fluctuations between 
 a too blind confidence and an exaggerated distrust 
 have conducted you! One effort can still be made 
 by each of you; but it is the last. If it is not 
 attempted, or if it fails, a funereal pall is about to 
 envelop this empire. What will be its destiny? 
 Whither will drift this vessel, struck by the lightning 
 
MIRABEAU'S DOUBLE BOLE. 77 
 
 and beaten by the storm ? I do not know ; but if I 
 make my own escape from the public wreck, I shall 
 always say with pride in my retirement, 'I exposed 
 myself to ruin in order to save them all, and they 
 would not.' " 
 
 We have just seen in Mirabeau the extreme con- 
 servative, the ardent reactionist, the man of order, 
 discipline, authority, the zealous, convinced, enthu- 
 siastic royalist. And yet in the tribune it stUl 
 often happened to him to display revolutionary sen- 
 timents. If there was talk of hoisting the tricolor 
 instead of the white flag upon the government ves- 
 sels, or of the pillage of the H6tel de Castries by 
 the people, or some other burning question, the dema- 
 gogue, the agitator, reappeared at once. Intoxicated 
 by the applause which greeted his fiery narangues, 
 he became again the idol of the multitude, and de- 
 lighted in his popularity. Like great actors who play 
 successively two different parts Avith equal talent and 
 conviction, he forgot perhaps, for a moment, that he 
 was a reactionist, an enemy of the National Assem- 
 bly, a secret agent of the Tuileries. He was like 
 those consummate advocates, who feel they possess 
 sufficient address and eloquence to argue both their 
 own cause and the opposing one. There was room 
 in this exuberant and fiery nature for both the Revo- 
 lution and the counter-revolution. He was the engine 
 and the brake, the torrent and the dike. 
 
 O powerful orator, amuse yourself with your 
 genius! May your eloquence give you, if not the 
 
78 MASIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 joys of a patriot, at least those of an artist ! Win the 
 applause of this Assembly which hardly suspects that 
 you are the man who most opposes it! Listen to 
 yourself talk I May the majesty of your voice en- 
 chant your own ears ! May the captivating influence 
 of your discourse carry you away from earth ! AU 
 this will not last much longer. Both you and the 
 monarchy are condemned to a speedy end. Your 
 popularity can accomplish nothing for the welfare of 
 France. You, who hardly desire anything but storms 
 and shipwrecks, strive vainly to-day to play the pilot. 
 The sea is too rough, the tempest too formidable, and 
 you can no more reason with the Revolution than 
 with the dead. Let the crew tremble, then! You 
 try in vain to save them. It is too late. 
 
THE DEPAETTJRE OF THE KTNG'S AUNTS. 
 
 A BREACH had opened in the ranks of the 
 King's adherents. The most ardent supporters 
 of the monarchy were no longer at hand to defend it. 
 Through a mistaken notion of honor, the royalists 
 gloried in abandoning their sovereign, the military in 
 deserting the field of battle. The court ladies despised 
 the young men who would not emigrate. The nobility 
 departed as if for a rendezTous of patriotism and 
 monarchical fidelity. Those who remained in France 
 hardly dared to show themselYCS. Great ladies sent 
 them distaffs, symbols of cowardice. People emi- 
 grated through vanity, or conceit, or because it was 
 the fashion. It was said that the Kiag's brothers 
 knew better than any one what comported with his 
 service, and that, if they had thought it right to 
 betake themselves to foreign lands, the place of the 
 faithful nobUity was also there. It was added that 
 all that would be necessary to crush the impertinent 
 Revolution, was to show one's crest. "It will last 
 about two weeks," said the earliest fugitives. 
 
 Louis XVI., always weak and fluctuating, had 
 
 79 
 
80 MARIM ANTOINETTE. 
 
 neither the courage to approve nor to disavow the 
 emigration. Officially, he condemned it, but at bot- 
 tom he hoped to make it useful. He had in it not 
 merely relatives, friends, and servants, but agents. 
 It inspired him by turns with fear and sympathy. 
 Sometimes he saw a danger in it, and again a last 
 chance of safety. At one moment he criticised the 
 emigrants, at another he would have been glad to be 
 among them. The sovereign, perhaps, treated them as 
 conspirators, but the man, the husband, and the father 
 told himself that these conspirators might well become 
 the saviours of his wife and children. Not knowing 
 clearly what he wished, the unfortunate monarch was 
 drawn in different directions. It happened to him, 
 the best and most well-intentioned man in the king- 
 dom, to play a double part, and to incarnate in him- 
 self two kings, — the king of the tricolor and the 
 king of the white flag. Ah! woe to the epochs 
 when the notion of right becomes obscured, when 
 conscience, virtue, and patriotism, being interrogated, 
 know not what to answer 1 Happy the people among 
 whom one may serve his country regularly and with- 
 out hesitation, where duty is precise, incontestable, 
 and uncontested, where the same fact is not at the 
 same time characterized as loyal and as criminal, as 
 fidelity and as treason 1 
 
 Even while disavowing the emigration, the court 
 was in secret relatione with it. That was what 
 caused the uneasy suspicions which disquieted the 
 multitude and made them cast anxious glances across 
 
THE DEFABTURE OF THE KING'S AUNTS. 81 
 
 the frontiers. They had a presentiment that Louis 
 XVI. would flee from Paris, and the very people 
 who rendered the royal family so unhappy could not 
 become accustomed to the idea of seeing them go 
 away. This explains the extreme excitement felt 
 when the King's aunts left Bellevue to go to Rome. 
 No one cared much about these Princesses; they lived 
 in a sort of retirement and took no part in politics. 
 But it was feared lest their departure might prove 
 the signal for that of the King and Queen. More- 
 over, the resolution adopted by the ladies resulted in 
 recalling public attention to the emigration, that 
 burning question which was one of those that most 
 inflamed the imagination of the people. 
 
 Mesdames Adelaide and Victoire, daughters of Louis 
 XV., and aunts of Louis XVI., had essayed to make' 
 themselves forgotten from the beginning of the Revo- 
 lution. They lived in a retired manner at their chateau 
 of Bellevue, occupying themselves solely in works of 
 charity, but regretting the old regime and sharing all 
 the ideas of the emigrants. Like their father, they 
 had a horror of newfangled opinions, and whether 
 in religion or politics, were profoundly devoted to 
 retrograde principles. When the Revolution grew 
 more pronounced, it became insupportable to them to 
 remain in France. They had only one idea, — to 
 quit a country polluted by disorder, and go to Rome 
 to kneel in the basilica of Saint Peter, to meditate 
 and pray. 
 
 Louis XVI. did not think it right to oppose his 
 
82 lIAniE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 aunts' desire. Their passports were signed, and Car- 
 dinal de Bernis, the French Ambassador to Eome, was 
 notified of their speedy arrival. They were about to 
 start, when, on February 3, 1791, an anonymous inti- 
 mation of their intention was sent to the Jacobin 
 Club. Alarm, fury against the court, patriotic rage, 
 was the immediate result. A deputation from the 
 municipal body went to the Assembly and to the 
 Tuileries to make complaint. "I have already ex- 
 plained to the municipality," said Louis XVI., "that 
 my aunts, being their own mistresses, have the right 
 to go wherever they please. I know their hearts too 
 well to believe that any one need borrow any trouble 
 concerning the motives of their journey." 
 
 The shrews of the Palais Royal, who assembled in 
 the garden every evening, agreed to go out to Belle- 
 vue together and prevent the departure of the Prin- 
 cesses. The ladies, warned of the approach of these 
 menacing hordes, went at once, without waiting to 
 finish their preparations. In the evening of Febru- 
 ary 19 they abruptly quitted the chateau, in the car- 
 riage of a lady who had come to pay them a visit. 
 When the women from Paris arrived, their rage at 
 finding the chateau empty was extreme. They 
 wanted at least to avenge themselves, by preventing 
 the departure of the baggage wagons. General Alex- 
 andre Berthier (the future Prince of Wagram) put a 
 stop to this. But he allowed them to enter the apart- 
 ments, empty the cellars, and loll on the beds of the 
 Princesses. 
 
THS BEPABTUBE OF THE KING'S AUNTS. iS'6 
 
 The language of the Revolutionary journals was a 
 medley of anger and disdain. The Chronique de 
 Paris published this sarcastic article : — 
 
 " Two Princesses, sedentary by condition, age, and 
 taste, are suddenly possessed by a mai ia for travelling 
 and runniug about the world. That is singular, but 
 possible. They are going, so people say, to kiss the 
 Pope's slipper. That is droll, but edifying. 
 
 " Thirty-two sections and all good citizens get 
 between them and Rome. That is very simple. 
 
 "The Ladies, and especially Madame Adelaide, 
 want to exercise the rights of man. That is natural. 
 
 "They do not go, they say, with intentions op- 
 posed to those of the Revolution. That is possible, 
 but difficult. 
 
 "The fair travellers are followed by a train of 
 eighty persons. That is fine. But they carry away 
 twelve millions. That is very ugly. 
 
 "They need change of air. That is the custom. 
 But this removal disturbs their creditors. That is 
 also the custom. 
 
 " They burn to travel (the desire of young girls is 
 a devouring fire). That is the custom. People bum 
 to keep them at home. That is also the custom." 
 
 The Sabbats Jacobites used still more ironical lan- 
 guage. It said : — 
 
 " The Ladies are going to Italy to try the power 
 of their tears and their charms upon the princes of 
 that country. Already the Grand Master of Malta 
 has caused Madame Adelaide to be informed that he 
 
84 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 will give her his heart and hand as soon as she has 
 quitted France, and that she may count upon the 
 assistance of three galleys and forty-eight cavaliers, 
 young and old. Our Holy Father undertakes to 
 marry Victoire and promises her his army of three 
 hundred men to bring about a counter-revolution." 
 
 The journey of the Ladies was painful. At Moret 
 people wished to arrest them, and cried, "To the 
 lamp-post ! " It was owing to the protection of some 
 cavaliers belonging to the Lorraine Chasseurs that 
 they were able to continue their route. February 21, 
 at the moment of entering Arnay-le-Duo, they were 
 made prisoners by the municipality of the town, who 
 determined to keep them until the National Assembly 
 should have decided whether or not they might con- 
 tinue their journey. The question was taken to Paris, 
 in the name of the municipality of Amay-le-Duc, by 
 one of the town officials, and M. de Narbonne, on be- 
 half of the Princesses. While awaiting a solution, 
 the two Princesses were confined in a miserable 
 room in a tavern. 
 
 The National Assembly discussed the matter. M, 
 de Narbonne, their chevalier of honor, pleaded the 
 cause of the Ladies very skilfully. " The welfare of 
 the people," said Mirabeau, "cannot depend on the 
 journey the Ladies undertake to Rome ; while they 
 are promenading near the places where the Capitol 
 once stood, nothing prevents the edifice of our lib- 
 erty from rising to its utmost height." The debate 
 was ended by Count de Menou, who exclaimed: 
 
THE DEPABTUBE OF THE KING'S AUNTS. 85 
 
 " Europe will doubtless be much astonished, when it 
 learns that the National Assembly of France spent 
 four entire hours in deliberating on the depai-ture of 
 two ladies who would rather hear Mass in Rome than 
 in Paris." 
 
 Conformably with Mirabeau's advice, the National 
 Assembly declared that the Ladies were at liberty to 
 depart. At Arnay-le-Duc there was a riot. The pop- 
 ulace were unwilling to accept the decision of the 
 Assembly. The Princesses were detained for two 
 days longer, and were only permitted to continue 
 their journey on March 3, after eleven days' impris- 
 onment. When they had crossed the bridge of Beau- 
 voisin, they were hooted from the French shore, 
 while salvos of artillery welcomed them to foreign 
 soil. They could not believe they were in safety 
 until they reached Chamb^ry, where one of the chief 
 palace officials of the King of Sardinia saluted them 
 in his master's name, and installed them in the 
 palace. 
 
 At Paris the excitement had been very great. On 
 the very evening when the Assembly decided in favor 
 of the Ladies, a crowd of rioters, public women, and 
 Jacobin emissaries, invaded the courts and the garden 
 of the Tuileries, demanding, with furious cries, that 
 the King should order the Ladies to return to him at 
 once. The National Guard came up. The gates of 
 the chateau were closed. The populace commanded 
 the soldiers to lay down their bayonets, but they re- 
 fused. Six cannons were levelled at the crowd. " I 
 
'86 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 have always wished to display gentleness," said Louis 
 XVI., " but one must know how to combine it with 
 firmness, and teach the people that they were not 
 made to dictate the law, but to obey it." Lafayette 
 was ordered to disperse the crowd, and he succeeded 
 in doing so. 
 
XL 
 
 THE KNIGHTS OP THE PONIAED. 
 
 THERE is no longer any dike in the way of the 
 torrent. Anarchy is everywhere. The govern- 
 mental machine is broken. Louis XVI. is no longer 
 more than the shadow of a kiag. There is no 
 calumny, however absurd, which is not universally 
 believed; no appeal to the passions which does not 
 receive immediate hearing. Words lose their mean- 
 ing. Rebellion is called patriotism. The faithful 
 servants who come to protect the person of their king 
 with a rampart of their own bodies, are treated as 
 seditious, as assassins, and are pointed out to popular 
 vengeance under the melodramatic title of " Knights 
 of the Poniard." 
 
 The multitude is restless, agitated, on the morning 
 of February 28, 1791. One might say that the ex- 
 plosive materials with which the ground is strewn 
 are about to be set on fire. Certain repairs are being 
 made in the dungeon of Vincennes, so that it may 
 serve as an auxiliary to the prisons of Paris. A 
 rumor spreads among the populace to the effect that 
 s, new Bastille is preparing, to succeed the former 
 
 87 
 
88 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 one. The rioters, recruited from the Faubourg Saint 
 Antoine by Santerre, go to the castle of Vincennes, 
 and begin demolishing a parapet, and afterwards sev- 
 eral other parts of the dungeon. 
 
 Apprised of this popular movement, Lafayette 
 goes at once to Vincennes, with a detachment of the 
 National Guard. In the Faubourg Saint Antoine 
 the people show hostile dispositions, and three battal- 
 ions of this faubourg refuse to march. But the oom- 
 mander of the battalion of the Capuchins of the 
 Marais, followed by a large number of volunteers, 
 penetrates to the dungeon, and puts a stop to the 
 demolition. Sixty-four rioters, who resist, are ar- 
 rested. 
 
 On returning from the expedition, which has 
 lasted until night, some men, lurking in the Vin- 
 cennes forest, fire several shots at Lafayette's aide- 
 de-camp, mistaking him for the general. Arrived 
 at the BarriSre du TrSne, the National Guards find 
 the gate closed, and the inhabitants of the faubourg 
 refuse to open it. The cavalry, supported by infantry 
 and twelve pieces of artillery, are obliged to intervene 
 in order to vindicate the law and conduct the prison- 
 ers to the HStel de Ville. 
 
 The session of the National Assembly has been 
 more stormy than usual on this day, and Mirabeau 
 has resisted the tempest with supreme energy. In 
 spite of all clamor, he has opposed a law they are 
 seeking to enact against emigration. "This popu- 
 larity of mine," he had cried in his voice of thunder. 
 
THE KNIGHTS OF THE PONIARD. 89 
 
 " this popularity which I have aspired to and enjoyed 
 like any other man, is not a feeble reed. I will bed it 
 deep in the ground, and I will make it germinate on 
 the soil of justice and reason. ... I swear — if an 
 emigration law is passed — I swear to disobey it. . . . 
 I beg those who interrupt me to remember that I 
 have resisted tyranny all my life, and that I will 
 resist it wherever it may be established." 
 
 The day is full of agitation. While the rioters are 
 seeking to demolish the dungeon of Vincennes, and 
 Mirabeau is in the tribune, the Palace of the Tuileries 
 becomes a prey to the keenest anguish. It is rumored 
 that an insurrection is organizing and that it will vio- 
 late the sanctuary of the monarchy. Several noble- 
 men, carrying arms under their coats, come spon- 
 taneously to the palace in order to defend the royal 
 family. They penetrate even to the King's apart- 
 ments, and Louis XVI. comes out to see them. 
 "Sire," say they, "your nobles hasten to surround 
 your sacred person." The sovereign moderates their 
 zeal and replies that he is in safety. 
 
 At the same time the heads of the revolutionists 
 are getting overheated. The nobles who had come 
 to the palace through a chivalrous impulse are stig- 
 matized as conspirators whose intention is to assas- 
 sinate the National Guards. Lafayette, coming back 
 from Vincennes, goes to the palace, where he finds 
 great excitement. There has just been a brawl. 
 The National Guards on duty have insulted the 
 nobles, some of whom have been struck, and even 
 
90 MAniE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 wounded. Some have been sent flying at the butt 
 end of a musket, some trodden under foot, others 
 rolled in the mud. The Duke of Pienne and Count 
 Alexandre de Tilly are among the most badly treated. 
 Some have opposed an energetic resistance, notably 
 the Marquis of Chabert, chief of squadron, and the 
 Marquis of Beauharnais, a member of the National 
 Assembly. Louis XVI. has requested his adherents 
 to lay down their arms. Lafayette orders them to 
 do so. The nobles tremblingly deposit their weap- 
 ons on two large tables in the King's ante-chamber. 
 They are afterwards taken to the quarters of M. de 
 Gouvion, who lodges in one of the courts of the 
 palace. 
 
 The next day, Lafayette has an account of the 
 affair posted up. MM. de Duras and de Villequier, 
 first gentlemen of the chamber, who had authorized 
 the introduction of these so-called conspirators into 
 the palace, are described in this account as head- 
 servants. They hand in their resignations and leave 
 France. Among the people, the evening of February 
 28 becomes the subject of numberless comments. By 
 all accounts, the Knights of the Poniard, which is 
 the new name given to the King's adherents, intended 
 nothing less than a Saint Bartholomew's day against 
 the patriots. 
 
 The Moniteur had at first published a succinct 
 account of the incident. March 6, it published the 
 following declaration of dissent addressed it by a 
 National Guard: "You are making game of your 
 
TEE KNIGHTS OF THE PONIABD. 91 
 
 subscribers in giving them your flat and unfaithM 
 account of what happened at the Tuileries on the 
 evening of February 28. What ! when seven or eight 
 hundred assassins, ex-chevaliers, viscounts, barons, 
 dukes, and marquises surround the throne, armed 
 Avith pistols, dirks, and poniards, in order to take by 
 surprise the National Guards, whom they have caused 
 to be assailed from another quarter by a troop of 
 maddened people; when this horde of brigands is 
 joined by a crowd of hired assassins, who do not own 
 to being hired, you say coldly, ' Several private per- 
 sons armed with pistols.' Several? They came in 
 hundreds. I saw them! Private persons? What 
 private persons except all the ci-devant? Armed 
 with pistols? And with poniards, and dirks, and 
 with all those infernal machines which we tore away 
 from them, and to which not even a name can be 
 given, so much have those who invented them refined 
 upon the villainy of their predecessors in this infa- 
 mous career ! " 
 
 It was by such fables that popular imagination 
 was disquieted, and the greatest catastrophes pre- 
 pared. The nobles had no longer a right to defend 
 their sovereign, and Louis XVI., mortified by the 
 affront inflicted on his adherents in his presence, fell 
 ill with chagrin In the tribune, Mirabeau uttered 
 reactionist speeches. But the monarchy was almost 
 dead, and Mirabeau was about to die. 
 
XII. 
 
 THE DEATH OF MIEABBATJ. 
 
 " ~1"N these stormy times when we, so prodigal of life, 
 JL see our days glide by so fast and end so quickly, 
 exhausted by labor and the passions still more than 
 threatened by ill-wiU, it would seem that the conso- 
 lations of philosophy can no longer satisfy us. . . . 
 If death comes too soon, it is so especially for those 
 who have posterity in view, who eternalize the mem- 
 ory of their names by their actions or their works, 
 and whom death always interrupts in the midst of 
 some enterprise, to the great loss of the public who 
 reckon it to their memory which they honor still 
 more by reverence and regret." 
 
 These plaintive lines, written by Mirabeau on the 
 occasion of the premature death of one of his friends, 
 apply still more exactly to his own. He, above all 
 men, was " prodigal of life." One might say that, 
 foreboding the brevity of his career, he desired to 
 multiply and concentrate within a few years, a few 
 weeks, the greatest possible sum of emotions, fatigues, 
 joys, struggles, and triumphs. Devoured by an activ- 
 ity which was like a fever, avid of gold, of pleasure, 
 92 
 
THE BE ATM OF MIR ABE AU. 93 
 
 and of glory, intoxicated with popularity parched 
 by the myriad fires which consumed his mind and 
 heart, he descended the fatal slope with the rapidity 
 of madness. His fate was that of most men who 
 desire at the same time both work and pleasure. For 
 them pleasure soon turns into fatigue and suffering ; 
 but when their vices desert them, they wUl not desert 
 their Tices. Enemies of their own repose, they per- 
 secute and lay snares to entrap themselves. They 
 kiU the body; if they could, they would kill the 
 soul. A violent excitement, comparable to the last 
 impulsion of a broken engine, gives them for a little 
 while a factitious energy. A lingering habit inter- 
 ests them in worldly affairs, of which, nevertheless, 
 they already understand the emptiness, the inanity. 
 
 Such was the great Mirabeau. It was not without 
 bitterness that he saw rising before him a power 
 stronger than his genius, than his eloquence — Death ! 
 He suffered because of his interrupted task, because 
 of the evil he had done, and the good which he could 
 no longer do. In spite of all the echoes which re- 
 peated the accents of his incomparable voice, in spite 
 of his numberless flatterers, in spite of his prodigious 
 renown, he felt that he needed rehabilitation, if not 
 in the eyes of the crowd, at least in his own. He said 
 to himself, as Andr^ Ch^nier was to say one day, — 
 
 " To die without emptying my quiver, 
 Without piercing, without crushing, without kneading in their 
 filth, 
 These brutal bungling laws 1 " 
 
94 MARIS ANTOINETTE. 
 
 This giant suffered because lie must disappear and 
 leave none but pygmies behind him. The great 
 wrestler, torn from the arena, regretted the emotions 
 of the amphitheatre. As citizen, as artist, and as 
 patriot, he had whereof to complain. So much force, 
 so much eloquence, so much hope, so many schemes, 
 all to be extinguished with a breath! The great 
 man beheld himself dying with I know not what 
 melancholy curiosity, and he mourned for his coun- 
 try more than for himself. His death struggle, like 
 his talent, was to be grandiose, pathetic, theatrical. 
 His life, his death, his obsequies, were alike extraor- 
 dinary. In reality, he had shone for twenty-two 
 months only. He was forty when he achieved popu- 
 larity, and twenty-two months had sufficed him to 
 make a name which places him in history at the side 
 of Cicero and Demosthenes. 
 
 It was at the moment when he was about to go 
 down into the tomb that he exerted the most irre- 
 sistible influence over the Assembly. His voice, 
 even when he uttered but a single word from his 
 bench, had a formidable accent. A nod was suffi- 
 cient to rule his friends and intimidate his foes. 
 When, turning toward the Barnaves and the Lameths, 
 he shouted, " Silence, those votes ! " the vanquished 
 and trembling opposition held their peace ; but Death, 
 which makes game of all projects and all glories, 
 was about to say to the conqueror, "Thou shalt 
 go no further!" It was when he was most laden 
 with crowns that the victor felt himself stagger 
 
THE DEATH OF MIR ABE AV. 95 
 
 and fall. The excess of his emotions had slain him. 
 His head grew heavy, and his gait sluggish. A mel- 
 anchply, not habitual with him, oppressed all his 
 being. He had sudden fainting fits. He tried in 
 vain to arrest the malady by baths containing corro- 
 sive sublimate in solution. They had no effect other 
 than to give him a greenish tint which was attri- 
 buted to poison. Instead of taking precautions, he 
 abused his strength to the very end. An orgy at the 
 house of an opera dancer gave the final blow, and on 
 March 28, 1791, he took to his bed, never to rise 
 again. 
 
 The excitement in Paris was immense. A vast 
 multitude surrounded the house of the sick man in 
 the rue Chauss^e d'Antin. Bulletins of his condition 
 were transmitted from mouth to mouth to the very 
 extremities of Paris. His principal adversary, Bar- 
 nave, came at the head of a deputation of Jacobins 
 to get tidings of him. Mirabeau loved life, and 
 struggled against death with all the energy of his 
 powerful nature. " You are a great doctor," he said 
 to Cabanis, "but there is a greater one than you: 
 He who made the wind which overthrows all things, 
 the water which penetrates and fecundates aU, the 
 fire which quickens all " ; and he still hoped that this 
 Great Physician would work a miracle and save him. 
 In spite of intolerable pains, he continued to be inter- 
 ested in what went on in the Assembly. Knowing 
 that a law concerning the right to devise property 
 had been put on the order of the day, he told Talley- 
 
96 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 rand that he had a speech on the subject already 
 prepared, and asked him to read it from the tribune. 
 " It will be amusing," he added, " to listen to what a 
 man who made his will the day before, has to say 
 against the capacity to make one." 
 
 He occupied himself with foreign affairs also. 
 " Pitt," said he, " is the minister of preparatives ; 
 he governs by his threats more than by his deeds. 
 If I were to live, I think I should give him some 
 annoyance." Even in his death-agony he had mo- 
 ments of pride. He said to his servant, "Support 
 this head, the most powerful one in France." Flat- 
 tered by the multitude of persons who thronged 
 about him, he exclaimed : " See all these people who 
 surround me; they wait on me like servants, and 
 they are my friends; it is permissible to love life 
 and to regret it, when one leaves such wealth behind 
 him." On the day of his death, April 2, he had the 
 windows thrown open, and addressing Cabanis, he 
 said: "My friend, I shall die to-day. When one 
 comes to that, there is but one thing remaining, and 
 that is to perfume one's self, to be crowned irith 
 flowers and environed with music, so as to enter as 
 agreeably as possible into the slumber from which 
 one wakes no more. Give me your word that you 
 will not let me suffer useless pains. ... I want to 
 enjoy without admixture the presence of all that is 
 dear to me." 
 
 Some minutes later, he said bitterly, "My heart 
 is full of grief for the monarchy whose ruins will 
 
TBE DEATH OF MIR ABE AU. 97 
 
 become the prey of the seditious." Then speech 
 failed him. He made signs for a pen which was 
 near his bed, and with his failing hand wrote the 
 word: "Sleep." Cabanis pretended not to under- 
 stand him. Mirabeau resumed the pen, and added 
 this line : " Can a man leave his friend dying on the 
 rack for, it may be, several days ? " Cabanis assured 
 the sick man that his desire should be complied with, 
 and began writing the prescription for an anodyne. 
 Impatient, Mirabeau cried with a last effort, "Are 
 you going to deceive me?" — "No, friend, no," 
 answered M. de la Marck; "the remedy is coming; 
 we all saw it ordered." " Ah ! the doctors ! " con- 
 tinued the dying man. "Did you not promise to 
 spare me the agonies of such a death ? Do you want 
 me to regret havfiig confided in you?" And he 
 expired. 
 
 The Assembly adjourned on receiving the news. 
 General mourning was prescribed, and preparations 
 made for a magnificent funeral. The Assembly 
 decreed that the Church of Saint Genevieve, trans- 
 formed into the French Pantheon, should in future 
 receive the remains of great men, and have these 
 words graven on its pediment: "To its great men, 
 the grateful country." It was decided at the same 
 time that Mirabeau's body should lie beside that of 
 Descartes in this new Pantheon, It was an apotheo- 
 sis. For three days nothing was talked of but the 
 celebrated defunct. The people tore down the name 
 of the rue Chauss^e d'Antin, where he had lived, and 
 
98 HABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 in its place wrote rue Mirabeau. M. de la Place, the 
 dean of the men of letters, entering a restaurant in 
 the Palais Royal, a waiter said to him, " Monsieur de 
 la Place, the weather is very fine to-day." — " Yes, my 
 friend, the weather is very finej but Mirabeau is 
 dead." Revolutionists and aristocrats joined in ex- 
 tolling his glory. Like Homer, over whom seven 
 cities disputed the honor of having been his birth- 
 place, both parties claimed the great orator for their 
 own. " The day after he died," says Camille Desmou- 
 lins, "I thought they were going to make a saint of 
 him in good earnest." The Q-azette Universelle re- 
 lated that he had not seen his parish priest ; but that 
 at two different times he had spent more than half 
 an hour with the Bishop of Lyons, Mgr. Lamourette. 
 He was regretted by the Jacobins, and also at the 
 Tuileries. The Revolution had lost its favorite, and 
 the court believed it had lost its saviour. 
 
 Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette were in deep 
 affliction. Madame Elisabeth alone judged the dead 
 man with severity. April 3, 1791, she wrote to the 
 Marquise de Bombelles : " Mirabeau died yesterday 
 morning. His arrival in the other world must have 
 been extremely painful. They say he saw his p^ish 
 priest for an hour. I am very sorry for his unhappy 
 sister, who is very pious and who loved him madly. 
 The politicians say this death is to be regretted ,• for 
 my part, I wait before deciding." Absorbed by the 
 thought of this death as by a fixed idea, she wrote 
 the same day to another vf her friends, Madame de 
 
THE DEATH OF MIRABEAU. 99 
 
 Raigecourt : " Mirabeau concluded to go into the 
 other world, to see whether the Revolution is ap- 
 proved there. Good God! what an awakening he 
 must have had ! Many persons are disturbed about 
 it. The aristocrats regret him deeply. For the last 
 three months he has taken the right side, and they 
 hoped much from his talents. For my part, although, 
 very aristocratic, I cannot but regard his death as 
 providential for the kingdom. I do not believe that 
 it is by men without principles or morals that God 
 wills to save us. I keep this opinion to myseK, 
 because it is not politic; but I like those who are 
 religious better." 
 
 The multitude, however, continued to extol the 
 dead man as if he were a demigod. His coffin was 
 completely hidden under a shower of garlands. The 
 Society of the Friends of the Constitution resolved 
 to wear mourning for eight days, and to resume it 
 annually on AprD. 2, and to have a marble bust of 
 him executed, on the pedestal of which should be 
 inscribed the celebrated saying : " Go and tell those 
 who sent you that we are here by the will of the 
 people, and that we will not depart save by force of 
 bayonets." 
 
 It was related that, during the illness of the 
 deceased, a youth came to offer the transfusion of 
 his blood to rejuvenate and freshen that of the sick 
 man. People said also that his secretary, who had 
 several times drawn the sword in his defence, was 
 unwflling to survive him, and was going to cut his 
 
100 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 throat. On the day of the funeral, Monday, April 4, 
 some fashionable society women were complaining of 
 the dust, and saying that the municipality would 
 have done well to have the boulevard sprinkled. 
 " They counted on our tears " responded a fishwoman. 
 
 Never was there a ceremony more grandiose or 
 lugubrious. The procession began to form at five in 
 the evening. A detachment of the National Guard 
 cavalry opened the march. Then came a deputation 
 from the Invalides chosen from among the veterans 
 most severely mutilated ; Lafayette and his staff ; a 
 deputation from the sixty battalions ; the Himdred- 
 Swiss ; the provost guards ; the military band playing 
 funereal music, and with its drums muffled in black 
 crape. The clergy preceded the corpse. It was at 
 first intended to put the cofiin in a hearse, but the 
 batallion of La Grange Bateliere, which Mirabeau 
 had commanded, asked and obtained the honor of 
 carrying it with their own arms. A civic crown 
 was substituted for the feudal insignia, the count's 
 coronet, and the coat-of-arms. Behind the body 
 walked the whole National Assembly, escorted by 
 the battalion of veterans and that of the children. 
 Then came the magistrates and all the clubs. 
 
 The procession which was three miles long, 
 marched slowly between two ranks of National 
 Guards, It took three hours to reach Saint Eustache. 
 At the moment of removing the corpse, twenty -thou- 
 sand men fired a simultaneous discharge. The win- 
 dows were broken. It seemed as though the church 
 
TBE DEATH OF MIBABEAU. 101 
 
 was going to fall in upon tlie coffin. After the office 
 for the dead, the line of march was resumed again 
 in the direction of the Pantheon. It was midnight 
 when they reached it. The torches shone amid the 
 gloom like so many unreal, fantastic lights. Mira- 
 beau's body was placed in the same vault as that of 
 Descartes. Then the crowds dispersed, and nothing 
 troubled any longer the calmness of the night. 
 
 And now let us leave the word to CamiUe Des- 
 moulins, who has described this great funereal pomp. 
 In number 72 of his SSvolutions de France et de 
 Brabant, he writes: "Admiration was felt on all 
 sides, and sorrow nowhere. The honors due to Mira- 
 beau's genius were paid him; but those which belong 
 only to virtue cannot be usurped. There was a hun- 
 dred times more grief at Loustalot's lonely funeral 
 than in this league-long procession. One must tell 
 the truth. This ceremony was more like the trans- 
 lation of Voltaire, of a great man who had been dead 
 ten years, than that of one recently deceased. The 
 refusal of a single man, a Gate or a Potion, to be 
 present at his funeral or wear mourning for him, 
 does more injury to his memory than four hundred 
 thousand spectators can do it honor. How many 
 say to themselves at the sight of so much homage : 
 Mind and talent, then, are all. And thou, Virtue, 
 since thou art but a phantom, Brutus may thrust 
 himself through with his own sword, and the victory 
 of the Caesar is assured ! " 
 
 Yes, it is Csesar who will triumph, the unknown 
 
102 ItABie ANTOINETTE. 
 
 Caesar, Caesar the Corsican. O foresiglit of this 
 world, of how little account are you! O vaunted 
 geniuses, great politicians, great orators, great states- 
 men, what can you do against the mysterious future ? 
 How brief you are, O human wisdom, and how blind, 
 and how little even the eloquence of a Mirabeau 
 weighs in the balances of Fate! 
 
xm. 
 
 THE EELIGIOUS QUESTION. 
 
 SOCIETIES which appear the most incredulous 
 are often those where religious questions most 
 divide and inflame men's minds. The revolutionary 
 and Voltairian Paris of 1791 occupied itself with 
 theology in a sort of fury. Both in the salons and 
 the faubourgs, the chief preoccupation was to know 
 what would be the result of the civil constitution of 
 the clergy. One might have supposed that the des- 
 tiny of France and the fate of all Frenchmen de- 
 pended on whether the clergy would or would not 
 take the oath. Never had any subject of controversy 
 excited on either side more bitterness and anger. 
 
 At the time when MLrabeau died, the struggle had 
 entered upon its most violent period. Anti-religious 
 leaflets were distributed to men gifted with sonorous 
 voices and a certain talent for declamation, who 
 harangued the people with them in every public 
 place. Some of them were dialogues in which odious 
 and ridiculous remarks were made by the pretended 
 friends of the clergy. There were also obscene stories 
 and filthy tales about monks and nuns. On the quays 
 
 103 
 
104 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 and boulevards, and in all tlie public places, cari- 
 catures were strewn in profusion, either represent- 
 ing priests and nuns in indecent postures, or prel- 
 ates from whose monstrous stomachs peasants were 
 squeezing out stacks of golden coins. 
 
 In the other camp, by the side of sincerely religious 
 persons, might be seen women who had lost their 
 reputation, philosophers, encyclopsedists, sometimes 
 even atheists, who had suddenly become missionaries, 
 theologians, and ardent defenders of the purity and 
 integrity of the Roman Catholic faith. 
 
 Ever since August 24, 1790, the heart of Louis XVI. 
 had been torn by remorse, a torture he had never 
 known before. On that day, against the protest of 
 his conscience, he had granted his royal sanction to 
 the civil constitution of the clergy. The eldest son 
 of the Church, the most Christian King, the sovereign 
 consecrated at Rheims, the successor of Charlemagne 
 and Saint Louis, shuddered with anguish when he 
 laid his hand upon the sacred ark. By force of votes, 
 the national had beaten down the religious edifice. 
 The clergy no longer had an existence as a political 
 body. 
 
 The sale of ecclesiastical property was decreed, 
 and the perpetuity of religious vows annulled. The 
 priests, transformed into mere functionaries, received 
 their salaries from the State. The covenant which 
 had for centuries united France to the Holy See was 
 broken. The Pope's authority had no longer any 
 weight in the balance. Each territorial department 
 
THE RELIGIOUS QUESTION. 105 
 
 formed a diocese, and every ecclesiastical boundary 
 not corresponding with a civil one was abolished. 
 Appointments to livings and to episcopal sees were 
 to be made by lay voters, without any thought of 
 applying to Rome to sanction their proceedings. All 
 acts of a civil nature passed out of the hands of the 
 clergy into those of the municipalities. 
 
 The priests were obliged to swear fidelity to the 
 new Constitution, which was condemned by the Pope ; 
 those among them who possessed no private means 
 had only the alternative of ruin or apostasy. About 
 a hundred ecclesiastical members of the National As- 
 sembly, among them two prelates, Talleyrand, Bishop 
 of Autun, and Gobel, Bishop of Lydda, took the oath. 
 All the rest refused it. The entire episcopate, with 
 the exception of these two sworn bishops, protested 
 in the most energetic terms. Religious anarchy soon 
 reached its height. There was civil war in every 
 parish. The partisans of the Revolution threatened 
 with the direst punishments those priests who obeyed 
 the Vatican instead of the Constituent Assembly. 
 
 The partisans of reaction said that the Pope was 
 about to launch his thunders against a sacrilegious 
 Assembly and the apostate priests ; that the people in 
 country places, deprived of the sacraments, would rise 
 en masse; that foreign armies would enter France; 
 and that in the twinkling of an eye the edifice of 
 iniquity would crumble. The unsworn bishops issued 
 charges in which they affirmed that they would not 
 retire from their sees unless constrained by force. 
 
106 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 They added that they would hire houses in which to 
 continue their episcopal functions, and bade the faith- 
 ful to have recourse only to them. The only subject 
 of conversation was religion. The clubs were occupied 
 with nothing but the Church. The same individuals 
 who, two years later, were to dance in rings around the 
 scaffolds of the priests, now had no other idea than 
 to find out what the priest would be who should say 
 Mass in such or such parish. From the King to the 
 Jacobins, from the Queen and Madame Elisabeth to 
 the future furies of the guillotine, there was not a 
 soul who was not passionately interested in this burn- 
 ing question. It was the cause of all quarrels, the 
 great aliment of discord. In the same family were 
 to be encountered the two camps waging war to the 
 knife. 
 
 General Lafayette was on the side of the priests 
 who had taken the oath. His wife remained faithful 
 to the others. Madame de Lasteyrie, in her Vie de 
 Madame de Lafayette, whose daughter she was, says: 
 " The civil constitution of the clergy was a subject 
 of great tribulation to my mother. She thought it 
 her duty, precisely on account of her personal situa- 
 tion, to show her attachment to the Catholic cause. 
 She was present, consequently, at the refusal to take 
 the oath which her parish priest, the Curd of Saint 
 Sulpice, made from the pulpit. She found herself 
 there in company with those best known by their 
 aristocracy. She repaired assiduously to the churches, 
 and afterwards to the oratories where the persecuted 
 
THE RELIGIOUS QUESTION. 107 
 
 clergy took shelter. She continually received the 
 nuns who complained and sought protection, as well 
 as the priests who refused the oath, whom she encour- 
 aged to exercise their functions, and to assert the 
 freedom of worship. My father often entertained at 
 dinner the ecclesiastics of the constitutional clergy. 
 My mother professed in their presence her attach- 
 ment to the cause of the former bishops." 
 
 Even in the house of the commander of the Na- 
 tional Guard — of Lafayette, the liberal man par 
 excellence — the cause of the Roman Church had 
 ardent supporters. Mirabeau, — Mirabeau himself, 
 — who pretended to support the civil constitution 
 ot the clergy, was, in the forum of conscience, its 
 adversary. He beheld in it, and not without a 
 secret pleasure, a sort of trap which the enemies 
 of the throne and the altar were laying for them- 
 selves. In the tribune he hurled invectives at the 
 priests who remained faithful to the doctrines of 
 Rome, and said to them that " if the Church fell into 
 ruins, it was to them should be attributed the cause." 
 And the same man who used this language wrote to 
 Count de la Marck, January 5, 1791 : " The Assemblj- 
 is done for. Not a single oath was taken yesterday, 
 and if the Assembly thinks that the resignation of 
 twenty thousand parish priests will produce no effect 
 in the kingdom, it looks through strange spectacles." 
 In his 43d note for the court he thus insists on the 
 advantage which should accrue to the royal cause 
 from the decree against the clergy : " A more favor- 
 
108 XABIE ANTOINETTE!. 
 
 able opportunity could not be found to league to- 
 gether a great number of malcontents of the most 
 dangerous sort, and to augment the popularity of the 
 King at the expense of that of the National Assem- 
 bly. To do this, it will be necessary to induce the 
 greatest possible number of ecclesiastics to refuse the 
 oath, and the active members of the parishes who are 
 attached to their pastors to object to re-elections ; to 
 provoke the National Assembly to violent measures 
 against these parishes ; to present at the same time 
 all manner of decrees relative to religion, and espe- 
 cially to discuss the condition of the Jews in Alsace, 
 the marriage of priests, and divorce, so that the fire 
 may not go out for want of combustible materials." 
 So Mirabeau, the great tribune, the idol of the de- 
 mocracy, the immortal revolutionist, was, if not pub- 
 licly, at least in the depths of his soul, a clerical ! 
 
 If such were the sentiments of Mirabeau, what 
 must not have been those of Louis XVI. and his 
 family? Madame Elisabeth, who set at defiance so 
 many persecutions, dreaded the religious one. Her 
 correspondence betrays, in almost every line, her 
 anguish as a Christian. Resolved, if need were, 
 to brave martyrdom, she was absolutely resolved 
 to hold her own against all the world, and even 
 against the King himself, if that were necessary, 
 in order to obey the voice of her conscience. She 
 wrote to Madame de Bombelles, November 28, 
 1790 : " How can one desire that Heaven should 
 cease to be angry with us, when we take pleasure in 
 
THE BELIGIOUS QVESTION. 10£ 
 
 constantly provoking it ? Let us try, at least, dear 
 heart, to efEace some of the offences daily committed 
 by our fidelity in serving God. Let us remember 
 that He is far more grieved than angry. It depends 
 on us to console Him. Ah I how this thought 
 should animate the fervor of souls so happy as to 
 possess the faith I Make your little children pray. God 
 has told us that their prayers are pleasing to Him." 
 
 January 7, 1791, the pious Princess wrote to Madame 
 de Raigecourt: "I have no inclination for martyr- 
 dom ; but I feel that I would be very glad to have 
 the certainty of suffering it, rather than abandon the 
 least article of my faith. I hope that if I am destined 
 for it, God will grant me the needful strength. He 
 is so good, so good ! " And on February 7, to Madame 
 de Bombelles : " Ah ! if we have sinned, God is pun- 
 ishing us well ! Happy he who receives this trial in 
 the spirit of penitence ! We must thank God for 
 the courage He is giving to the clergy. Every day 
 we hear new instances of it." March 21, she wrote 
 to Madame de Raigecourt: "We are in terrible 
 anguish. The Pope's brief will presently appear, 
 and the real persecution wiU begin soon afterwards. 
 This prospect is not of the most agreeable descrip- 
 tion. But as we have always been told we ought to 
 wiU what God wills, we must rejoice. In fact, when 
 we know just what we have to do, it will be much 
 easier, because then we shall no longer be obliged 
 to use circumspection with anybody. When God 
 speaks, a Catholic hears. only His voice." 
 
110 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 At bottom the sentiments of Lotiis XVI. were the 
 same as his sister's. The Pope had written him, 
 July 10, 1790 : " Even if you were disposed to resign 
 the rights inherent in the royal prerogatives, you 
 have not the right to alienate in the least, nor to 
 abandon, what belongs to God and to the Church, 
 of which you are the eldest son." This letter from 
 the Holy Father had profoundly impressed the King. 
 He who had suffered with so much patience the 
 attacks on his dignity as a prince, his liberty as a 
 man, and his prerogatives as a monarch, was unable 
 to resign himself to the pangs he suffered as a Catho- 
 lic. In order to constrain him to sanction the civil 
 constitution of the clergy, it had been necessary to 
 assure him that public safety imperiously demanded 
 this sacrifice, without which both priests and nobles 
 would be massacred. It is easy to comprehend what 
 must have passed in the heart of this pre-eminently 
 devout sovereign, this monarch who was above all 
 things religious, and who valued his title to the 
 name of Christian far more than to that of King. 
 
 April 3, 1791, the pealing of bells announced the 
 installation of the cur^s who had taken oath to the 
 new Constitution. Madame Elisabeth wrote : " The 
 intended curds were established this morning. I 
 have heard all the bells of Saint Roch. I cannot 
 conceal from you that it has caused me frightful 
 grief." Louis XVI. did not lament it less than his 
 sister. The bells had a funereal accent in his ears. 
 The thing was done. The unfortunate monarch never 
 
THE BELIGI0U8 QUESTION. Ill 
 
 experienced another instant of moral repose. What 
 anxieties ! What sleepless nights ! What remorse ! 
 The royal martyr wrote in his will these sorrowful 
 lines: "Not being able to obtain the services of a 
 Catholic priest, I pray God to receive the confession 
 I have made to Him, and above all my profound 
 repentance for having signed my name (although it 
 was against my will) to acts which might be con- 
 trary to the discipline and the faith of the Catholic 
 Church, to which I have ever remained sincerely 
 united at heart." 
 
 This poignant regret was for Louis XVI. the most 
 grievous of his tortures. "Cursed forever," cries 
 Joseph de Maistre in his ultramontane ardor, " be the 
 infamous faction which, profiting shamelessly by the 
 misfortunes of the monarchy, seized brutally a sacred 
 hand and forced it to sign what it abhorred ! If this 
 hand, about to be hidden in the tomb, felt it a duty 
 to write the solemn testimony of a profound repent- 
 ance, may the sublime confession, consigned to an 
 immortal testament, recoil like an overwhelming 
 load, like an eternal anathema, upon the guilty party 
 which made it seem necessary in the eyes of this 
 august innocence, inexorable only towards itself, 
 amidst the respect of the universe." 
 
XIV. 
 
 THE HOLY WEEK OF 1791. 
 
 HOLY WEEK in 1791 was to redouble the 
 religious anguish of Louis XVL The unfor- 
 tunate monarch felt the contrast between the troubled 
 present and those happy bygone days when neither 
 his dignity as a king nor his conscience as a Chris- 
 tian had anything to suffer; when he enjoyed that 
 supreme good, peace of mind, and when the cere- 
 monies of the Church and the chants of the liturgy, 
 instead of causing him anxiety, and even remorse, 
 gave him only joy and consolation. He regretted 
 his beloved chapel at Versailles, and the harmony 
 which formerly existed between throne and altar, 
 both equally threatened now. He sought for the 
 priests of former time, and lost himself, as it were, 
 in an abyss of cares. The oflSces of the Church 
 reminded him of his dismal situation. The Crown of 
 Thorns made him think of his own diadem. Might 
 not this King, whose palace had become a prison, 
 apply to himself the words which are said in the 
 Mass of Palm Sunday, after the gradual : " My God ! 
 my God ! cast thine eyes upon me I Why hast Thou 
 112 
 
THE BOLT WEEK OF 1791. 113 
 
 abandoned me? My God, I will cry unto Thee in 
 the day time, and Thou wilt not listen. I will cry 
 in the night time, and Thou wilt keep silence. All 
 those who behold me deride me. They wag their 
 heads while they say : He put his confidence in the 
 Lord. Let the Lord deliver him and save him I " 
 
 The week began badly. Palm Sunday was a day 
 of anxiety and trouble. Alas I the truce of God no 
 longer existed, even during Holy Week. Discord 
 gave itself not a moment's rest. The Church of the 
 Th^atins, which the Catholics had hired from the 
 municipality in order that divine service might be 
 celebrated there by priests faithful to Rome, was 
 invaded by people who flogged a young girl, and 
 fastened two brooms crosswise over the door, with 
 an inscription describing the chastisement prepared 
 for any priest or other person who should dare to 
 enter the church. BaUly, the mayor, had the brooms 
 and the inscription removed, but he could not dis- 
 perse the crowd. The populace remained in front of 
 the church until six o'clock, ready to assault any one 
 who might attempt to go inside. The same commo- 
 tion was shown in the royal chapel of the Tuileries. 
 There a grenadier of the National Guard declaimed 
 furiously against the recusant priests who still ap- 
 proached Louis XVI. In the evening, incendiary 
 speeches were made all over Paris. 
 
 The King, who was recovering from a rather seri- 
 ous illness, had intended to go on Monday to Saint 
 Cloud so as to enjoy a week's repose and perform 
 
114 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 his religious duties with tranquillity. Lafayette and 
 Bailly had been the first to advise this step. More- 
 over, it would give him an oocasion to find out just 
 what his situation was, and whether he, who had 
 given freedom to his dominions, was himself a free 
 man. The event convinced him that he was a slave. 
 A rumor got about among the crowd that this jour- 
 ney concealed counter-revolutionary ideas. The 
 King, it was said, had refractory priests hidden in 
 his palace, and secretly received communion from 
 their hands, instead of going to his parish church, 
 Saint Germain-l'Auxerrois. The leaders added that 
 the Bois de Boulogne was full of men wearing white 
 cockades, and that three thousand aristocrats were 
 preparing to abduct the King, who would be among 
 the Austrians within a fortnight. Journalists wrote : 
 " Patriots, to arms ! . . . The mouth of kings is a 
 den of lies. ... A fury hatches her brood of ser- 
 pents in the breast of Louis XVI. . . . King, you 
 are departing, you are going to put yourself at the 
 head of an Austrian army. But you are too late in 
 setting about it. We know you, great restorer of 
 liberty. To-day your mask falls off, but to-morrow 
 it will be your crown." 
 
 On Monday in Holy Week, April 18, at eleven in 
 the morning, the King, with his wife and children 
 and his sister, entered a carriage in the courtyard of 
 the Tuileries, with the intention of going to Saint 
 Cloud. The nobles who were to follow him were 
 the Prince of Poix, captain of the Guards; the Duke 
 
THE HOLT WBEK OF 1791. 115 
 
 of Brissac, captain of the Hundred-Swiss ; the Mar- 
 quis of Duras and the Duke of Villequier, First 
 Gentlemen of the Chamber; and the Marquis of 
 Briges, equerry. As the King was stepping into the 
 carriage, Cardinal de Montmorency-Laval appeared 
 for an instant at one of the palace windows. Some 
 of the National Guards at once took aim at him, and 
 he had barely time to get out of sight. At the same 
 time, other guards precipitated themselves upon the 
 royal carriage with shouts and menaces, pointing 
 bayonets at the breasts of the horses, and declaring 
 that neither Louis XVI. nor his family should leave 
 the Tuileries. "It would be astonishing," said the 
 King, putting his head through the carriage door, 
 " if, after giving liberty to the nation, I were not to 
 be free myself." 
 
 Lafayette, who was present at this scandalous 
 scene, made great efforts to get the carriage started, 
 but in vain. Harangues, threats, commands, and 
 prayers were alike useless. "Hold your tongue!" 
 cried some one ; " the King shall not go away." — " He 
 shall go," returned the general; "he shall go if I 
 have to use force and cause bloodshed." But the 
 resistance continued, and force was not employed. 
 During this strange dialogue, the Marquis of Duras, 
 who had left his carriage, was standing at the door of 
 the one occupied by the King. A grenadier of the 
 National Guard forced him away from it. At this, 
 the Dauphin, who until then had shown no fear, 
 began to cry, and Louis XVI. was obliged to inter- 
 
116 MABIM ANTOINETTE. 
 
 pose in order to save M. de Duras from further ill- 
 treatment. After fresh efforts, as unsuccessful as 
 those which preceded them, Lafayette told the King 
 that he could not depart without danger. The 
 wretched Prince cried three different times: ""They 
 are unwilling then to let me go ? . . . Is it impos- 
 sible, then, for me to go? . . . Very well! I am 
 going to stay." 
 
 The dispute had lasted about two hours, during 
 which the grossest insults had been incessantly re- 
 peated. Unwilling either to set one division of the 
 National Guards against another, or to soil the thresh- 
 old of the Tuileries with blood, Louis XVL ^eft the 
 carriage and returned with his family to his apart- 
 ments. There he found his brother, the Count of 
 Provence, and, pressing his hand tenderly, he recited, 
 not without melancholy, Horace's line : — 
 
 " Beatus ille qui procul negotiis I " 
 
 Shortly afterwards, some National Guards and com- 
 mon people entered the palace, and searched the 
 apartments, the granaries, the courtyards, and the 
 carriages, under pretext of discovering the refractory 
 priests said to be hidden there. 
 
 After what had passed on this Monday, no doubt 
 was left in any mind that royalty no longer existed 
 save in name. Never had Louis XVL sounded so 
 thoroughly the depths of his humiliation. He was 
 unwilling that even his faithful adherents should 
 longer share his bitterness, and he sent away a num- 
 
THE HOLT WEEK OF 1791. 117 
 
 ber of them, that they might escape the insults that 
 were crushing him. He asked the ecclesiastics who 
 oiificiated in his chapel to depart. These were the 
 Cardinal de Montmorency-Laval, Grand Almoner to 
 the Crown; Mgr. de Roquelaure, Bishop of Senlis, 
 First Almoner to the King; and Mgr. de Sabran, 
 Bishop of Laon, First Almoner to the Queen. The 
 Duke of Villequier and the Marquis of Duras, First 
 Gentlemen of the Chamber, also received orders to 
 leave. Marie Antoinette, knowing that her maid of 
 honor, the Princess of Chimay, a model of piety and 
 virtue, was daily threatened and insulted, dismissed 
 her, replacing her as Lady of the Bedchamber by the 
 Countess of Ossun, who was fated to perish on the 
 scaffold, a victim to her devotion. 
 
 The day was spent in preparations for departure. 
 The King and Queen suffered profoundly in seeing 
 their most faithful adherents leave them, and the 
 little Dauphin, speaking of the revolutionists, ex- 
 claimed sadly, " How wicked all these people are to 
 give so much pain to papa, who is so good ! " 
 
 On Holy Thursday, April 21, Madame Elisabeth 
 wrote to Madame de Bombelles: "I will not give 
 you the details of Monday. I own that I do not 
 know them yet. All I know is that the King wished 
 to go to Saint Cloud, and that he got into his carriage, 
 where he remained two hours; that the National 
 Guards and the people obstructed his passage, and 
 that he was obliged to remain. ... I write in haste 
 because I am dressing to go to church, since they are 
 
118 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 still SO obliging as to permit us to do so. Adieu; be- 
 lieve that I will always be wortby of the affection of 
 those who desire to esteem me, and that, whatever 
 may happen, I will live and die without having any- 
 thing to reproach myself with before God and men." 
 
 This calmness and strength which are given by 
 peace of conscience, Louis XVI. no longer shared. 
 He was about to be forced to what he considered dis- 
 honor as well as humiliation — to be present on Easter 
 Sunday, at a Mass said in the Church of Saint Ger- 
 main-l'Auxerrois by the intruding cur6, a revolu- 
 tionary priest. Madame Elisabeth could not believe 
 that her brother would do this. On Holy Saturday 
 she wrote to Madame de Raigecourt : " It is said in 
 Paris that the King is going to-morrow to High Mass 
 in the parish church. I shall not be able to believe 
 it until after he has been there. All-powerful God, 
 what just punishment dost thou reserve for a people 
 gone so far astray?" 
 
 The unhappy King, ashamed of this last concession, 
 sought means to escape from a situation he found 
 intolerable. Beginning that series of subterfuges 
 which tarnishes the lustre of his name, and which 
 a more distinct and energetic attitude would have 
 spared him, he thought himself obliged to resort to 
 cunning, the device of the feeble, and by playing a 
 double rSle, to imitate the example set by Mirabeau. 
 The secret wish of the constitutional King was to 
 take back what he had given, and to become once 
 more an absolute monarch. It seemed to him that 
 
THE HOLY WEEK OF 1791. 119 
 
 there was no other way to save religion, prevent 
 schism, and re-establish the principle of authority. 
 It was not ambition, but conscience, which spoke 
 within him, and he honestly believed that his duplic- 
 ity toward men would be approved, protected, and 
 recompensed by God. 
 
 On Tuesday in Holy Week he went before the 
 National Assembly to complain of the violence of 
 which he had been the victim the previous day ; and 
 on the following Saturday he caused his minister, 
 M. de Montmorin, to address a circular to all the 
 representatives of France at foreign courts, in which 
 he described himself as the happiest of men and 
 kings. 
 
 At the evening session of the Assembly that same 
 day, one of the secretaries read this really curious 
 document. Not only does Louis XVI. profess in it 
 his adherence to the Revolution, "which is simply 
 the annihilation of a swarm of abuses which have 
 been accumulating for centuries through the errors 
 of the people or the power of ministers, which has 
 never been the power of kings," but he causes it to 
 be officially declared to foreign courts that " the most 
 dangerous of the internal enemies of the French 
 nation are those who have endeavored to cast doubt 
 upon the intentions of the monarch," and that "these 
 men are very culpable or very blind if they consider 
 themselves the King's friends." It was thus that 
 Louis XVI. pointed out to popular vengeance his 
 most intimate courtiers and devoted servants, —^ the 
 
120 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 recusant priests and the nobles of the National 
 Assembly. The circular, a veritable monument of 
 duplicity, was received with pretended transports 
 of delight and cries of "Live the King!" It was 
 decided to send it to the departments, the armies, 
 and the colonies ; and all cur^s were commanded to 
 read it at their parochial Masses. 
 
 Marat protested against this enthusiasm. In num- 
 ber 443 of his Ami du Peuple, he exclaimed: "What! 
 all heads turned by such a piece of buffoonery ! Will 
 you always be duped by the traitors who surround 
 you ? . . . The circular is merely the production of 
 some pedantic academician, some rascally minister 
 of the court." Then recalling that Louis XVI. had 
 come on the 19th to complain that he was not free, 
 he added: "Where did he get the effrontery to 
 accuse of calumny those who have said he is not 
 free, when only five days ago he came like a school- 
 boy to make the same complaint to the National 
 Assembly ? " 
 
 The Ami du Roi said, on "the other hand : " If the 
 despots of Europe, who are not illumined by the 
 celestial lights environing the apostles of the Eights 
 of Man, fancy that they see in this letter itself 
 a new proof of the captivity of the King and the 
 abasement of his power, no one can be blamed ex- 
 cept those who, by forcing the monarch to become 
 their echo, will have made it plain that he is their 
 prisoner." 
 
 And now comes Easter Sunday. Formerly it was the 
 
THE HOLT WEEK OF 1791. 121 
 
 day of joy, the resurrection day, the day of light and 
 life. Now it is gloomy and sorrowful unto death. The 
 priests whose functions you are obliged to attend in 
 the church of Saint Germain-l'Auxerrois, unfortunate 
 monarch, you look upon as apostates and traitors. 
 Your sister Elisabeth would not come with you to this 
 sanctuary, which to her seems profaned by the new 
 pastor, the intruder, the constitutional priest. Yes ; 
 the priest who says the Mass is a rebel against the 
 commands of the Church, an enemy of Saint Peter, 
 a salaried official of the National Assembly. Madame 
 Elisabeth has declared that she would hear the Mass 
 of her almoner in the chapel of the Tuileries. Pla- 
 cards posted on the walls of a gallery close to her 
 apartments have threatened her with the direst out- 
 rages if she will not accompany you to Saint Ger- 
 main-l'Auxerrois. But the intrepid woman did not 
 allow herself to be intimidated. She is praying in 
 the royal chapel, while you, the most Christian King, 
 and your Queen with you, sanction by your presence 
 the religious revolution. And while the Mass of 
 Easter Day is said before you in the old basilica of 
 Saint Germain-l'Auxerrois, heaven itself seems full 
 of wrath : it thunders, a storm breaks overhead, and 
 in profound sadness you re-enter your palace, or, to 
 speak more truly, your prison. 
 
SECOND PART. 
 
 THE VARENNES JOURNEY. 
 
 PKEPABATIONS FOR PLIGHT. 
 
 PROFOUNDLY stricken in his dignity as King 
 and his conscience as a Christian, Louis XVI. 
 had copie to the end of his patience. The decree of 
 June 5, 1791, which deprived him of the pardoning 
 prerogative, crowned his humiliations. " The King's 
 liberty was taken away long ago," said Madame 
 Elisabeth, "and now they forbid him to be merci- 
 ful." The unhappy monarch had but one idea left : 
 that of flight. He had long been preoccupied with 
 plans of escape. At first he had been dissuaded by 
 historical precedents. He recalled Charles L led 
 to the scaffold for having contended against Parlia- 
 ment, and James H. losing the crown for having left 
 his palace. Mirabeau had counselled a departure 
 from Paris; but one which would bear no resem- 
 blance to a flight : " For," said he, " a king must not 
 go away secretly, even though it were to be a king." 
 122 
 
PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGBT. 123 
 
 The time was past for acting in such a manner. A 
 departure by daylight was impossible. In June, 1791, 
 Louis XVI. could only fly by night, like a fugitive, like 
 a condemned wretch seeking to escape. To employ 
 force would have been not merely useless, but danger- 
 ous. Even stratagem was not free from gr jat diffi- 
 culties, although it remained the sole resourf i. 
 
 The obstacles to be overcome seemed almjst insur- 
 mountable. How would it be possible to deceive a 
 surveUlance which daily grew more rigorous ? How 
 escape incessant espionage? How quit the palace, 
 and pass through the city without being recognized 
 and followed? Six hundred National Guards were 
 constantly on duty at the Tuileries. Two mounted 
 sentries were always posted before the outer door. 
 There were sentinels everywhere, indoors and out. 
 They were to be found in the passages between the 
 bedchambers of the King and Queen, and even in 
 the little dark corridor contrived in the roof, where 
 the private staircases terminated. Officers of the 
 National Guard, nearly all of them revolutionists, 
 performed the duties once assigned to the body- 
 guards. Neither the King nor the Queen could go 
 out unattended by a certain number of them. In 
 addition to this public surveillance there was that of 
 the servants, perhaps stUl more dangerous. Almost 
 every one of them were spies. Marie Antoinette felt 
 convinced that among all her attendants she could 
 count safely on none but her first lady's-maids and 
 one or two footmen. 
 
124 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 At first glance, escape seemed absolutely imprac- 
 ticable; but the captives were ingenious. Louis 
 XVI. and Marie Antoinette did not despair, and they 
 prepared patiently an entire series of stratagems to 
 evade their pretended defenders, who were in reality 
 their jailers. 
 
 Some of the National Guards, on duty by night 
 and day, slept on mattresses before the doors of the 
 royal bedchambers. It was useless, therefore, to 
 think of passing through these doors. But, happily, 
 there was a door, long since disused, which was con- 
 cealed by a piece of furniture easily moved. By 
 dint of searching for the place whence they could 
 leave the palace with least risk, Marie Antoinette 
 had discovered that one of her women, Madame de 
 Ronchreuil, occupied a little room communicating by 
 a corridor with her apartment, and which might be 
 utilized for the project of escape. This little room 
 opened into the apartment of the Duke of Villequier, 
 which had one exit on the Court of the Princes, and 
 another on the Court Royal. The Duke of ViUequier 
 had just emigrated, and his apartment remained un- 
 occupied. Marie Antoinette procured the key to it. 
 From thence one might hope to leave the chateau 
 without being recognized. There were many sentries 
 stationed in the courtyards, but none at the door of 
 M. de Villequier's apartment; moreover, at certain 
 hours they were accustomed to see many persons leav- 
 ing the Tuileries at the same time, notably toward 
 eleven or twelve o'clock at night, when the service 
 of the day was over. 
 
PBEPABATIONS FOB FLIGHT. 125 
 
 The scheme adopted by Louis XVI. was to go to 
 Montm^dy, a fortified town bordering the Emperor's 
 dominions and within reach of the fortress of Luxem- 
 bourg. In case of disaster, it would be easy to take 
 refuge in this fortress, which was esteemed the 
 strongest one in Europe. Another advantage was 
 the possibility of receiving aid from an Austrian 
 army should it become necessary. The Emperor 
 Leopold, Marie Antoinette's brother, had ascended 
 the throne within a year, and had expressed his 
 intention to serve the interests of his sister and his 
 brother-in-law. 
 
 The town of Montm^dy, like the whole French 
 frontier, from the Moselle and the Sambre to Switzer- 
 land, had been placed under the command of an 
 ardent royalist. Lieutenant - General Marquis de 
 Bouill^. His American campaign had won him the 
 reputation of an officer of the first rank, and the 
 firmness he had recently shown in suppressing 
 the outbreaks at Nancy had increased his military 
 renown. The National Assembly feared him, and 
 treated him with deference. Unwilling to be subject 
 to any one except the King, he had refused to hold 
 relations with the Count of Artois and the Prince of 
 Cond^. Baron de Breteuil, who, in the emigration, 
 was the secret agent of Louis XVI., persuaded the 
 sovereign that the Marquis of Bouill^ was the right 
 man to trust, and was authorized to make overtures 
 to him in the King's name. 
 
 M. de Bouill^ received these overtures with trans- 
 
126 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 port, happy at being able to conciliate his mon- 
 archical zeal with the interests of his ambition. A 
 correspondence in cipher was carried on between 
 the monarch and the general. Unfortunately, revolu- 
 tionary aspirations were pervading nearly all ranks 
 of the Army of the East ; and M. de Bouill^ could 
 not count on the fidelity of more than about a score 
 of German battalions and three or four regiments of 
 cavalry. At first he proposed that the King should 
 take the Flanders route, as the shortest and most 
 secure way of leaving the kingdom, and enter Mont- 
 m^dy from without. This plan was rejected because 
 the King was unwilling, xinder any pretext, to leave 
 his own dominions, as that might give occasion for 
 decreeing his deposition. Then M. de Bouill^ sug- 
 gested the Rheims route, where there were not many 
 towns to pass through, and which could easily be 
 protected. But Louis XVI. objected that it would 
 be dangerous for him to pass through Rheims, where 
 his face had been well known since his consecration. 
 This route was given up therefore, and that of 
 Ch&lons-^ur-Marne, Clermont, and Varennes settled 
 on. 
 
 It was also agreed that the King should charge 
 himself with all the details of the journey from Paris 
 to ChS,lons-sur-Marne, and that, after leaving there, 
 M. de Bouill^ should take the responsibility for the 
 remainder. May 27, 1791, Louis XVI. wrote him 
 that he would start on the 19th of the following 
 month, between midnight and one o'clock ; that he 
 
PBEPABATI0N8 FOB FLIGHT. 127 
 
 would go in a private carriage to Bondy, a post- 
 station near Paris, where lie would take a double 
 carriage which was to be waiting for him, and that 
 one of his body-guards would act as courier. The 
 general stationed a small army corps under Mont- 
 m^dy and took care to dispose troops at intervals 
 along the route, from this town to Ch§,lons. The 
 Royal-German regiment was at Stenay, one squadron 
 of hussars at Dun, and another at Varennes. Two 
 squadrons of dragoons were to be at Clermont on 
 the day when the King passed through. They were 
 under the command of Count Charles de Damas, who 
 had been ordered to take a detachment to Sainte- 
 Menehould. Moreover, fifty hussars from Varennes 
 were to be at Pon1>de-Somme-Vesle. 
 
 June 15, M. de Bouill^ received a letter from the 
 King, announcing that the departure, delayed for a 
 day, would not take place until between twelve and 
 one in the night of June 20-21. 
 
 The delay was occasioned by the necessity of con- 
 cealing the preparations for flight from one of the 
 Queen's chamber-maids, an ardent democrat, whose 
 time of service would not expire until the 19th. 
 M. de Bouill^ was annoyed. He had already issued 
 his orders for the departure of the two squadrons 
 who were to be at Clermont when the King arrived, 
 and now he was obliged to double the time of their 
 stay in. that town, which might give rise to sus- 
 picions. 
 
 Meanwhile, Louis XVI. and the Queen were pain- 
 
128 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 fully completing their preparations for escape. Their 
 principal assistant was Count de Fersen, a foreigner 
 who served France in the capacity of colonel-proprie- 
 tor of the regiment of Royal Swedes. In happier 
 days he had been one of Marie Antoinette's favor- 
 ites, and he felt toward her one of those profound 
 and lofty sentiments which have their birth in roman- 
 tic and chivalrous hearts and fill their whole exist- 
 ence. 
 
 Marie Antoinette, on her part, if her calumniators 
 are to be believed, may have felt something warmer 
 than friendship for the handsome Swede. A hint of 
 this suspicion is found in the Souvenirs et Portraits of 
 the Duke of L^vis. Speaking of M. de Fersen and 
 his part in the Varennes journey, he makes this 
 malicious reflection: "It was unseemly, on more 
 accounts than one, that on this perilous occasion M. de 
 Fersen should have occupied a post properly belong- 
 ing to some great French noble." 
 
 Marie Antoinette was right in counting on the 
 devotion of this gentleman, who had the soul of a 
 knight-errant. He it was that organized the prepa- 
 rations for departure. As the Minister of Foreign 
 Affairs had not been taken into confidence, the first 
 difficulty was to obtain a passport for the royal 
 family. M. de Fersen undertook to overcome it. 
 One of his friends, a noble Russian lady, Baroness de 
 KorfP, was about to leave France and return to her 
 own country. She meant to take her two children, 
 a man-servant and two chamber-maids with her, and 
 
PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT. 129 
 
 had applied to the Minister of Foreign Affairs, 
 through the intermediation of the Russian embassy, 
 for the necessary passport. As soon as it was 
 received, she gave it to M. de Fersen. It was this 
 passport which was to serve Louis XVI., Marie 
 Antoiaette, the Dauphin, Madame Royale, Madame 
 Elisabeth, and Madame de Tourzel, the children's 
 governess. 
 
 M. de Fersen had also undertaken to procure, in 
 the name of the Baroness de Korff, the carriage to 
 be used by the royal family. It was a very large, 
 double-seated vehicle called a berline, which had been 
 ordered from a Parisian saddler on December 22, 
 1790, and which cost 5944 livres. The way in which 
 it was made was enough to arouse suspicion, for, as 
 the King was unwilling to be separated from his 
 family, and as Madame de Tourzel insisted on accom- 
 panying them, an exceptionally large carriage was 
 needed ; moreover, various accessories had been pro- 
 vided which were Ukely to arrest attention. For the 
 rest, it was agreed that the fugitives should leave 
 Paris in a large hackney coach, driven by Count de 
 Fersen, disguised as a coachman, and not enter their 
 own carriage until they arrived at Bondy. 
 
 Louis XVI. desired also to be accompanied by 
 three of his former body-guards, who had been dis- 
 banded after the October days of 1789. He commis- 
 sioned Count d'Agoult to choose among them, for 
 this difficult task, three men especially energetic 
 and devoted, and of tried discretion and courage 
 
130 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 M. d'Agoult selected MM. de Valory, de Moustier, 
 and de Maiden, who, at the time of the October 
 days, had distinguished themselves by defending the 
 Queen's apartments at Versailles at the peril of their 
 lives. They availed themselves enthusiastically of 
 an occasion for still further devotion, and were 
 secretly presented, June 17, to Louis XVI. and the 
 Queen at the Tuileries. Marie Antoinette asked 
 all three of them their baptismal names, saying that 
 during the journey each would be called \j his 
 own, as it was necessary they should be takfen for 
 domestic servants. They were to wear yello'W' vests, 
 in the style of those worn by couriers. The King 
 gave them detailed instructions on essential points, 
 and all three swore boundless fidelity to their master. 
 The preparations being now completed, the fugitives 
 waited impatiently for the 20th of June, the date 
 appointed for their escape, and besought God to look 
 favorably on their project. 
 
11. 
 
 JUNE TWENTIETH, 1791. 
 
 THE twentieth day of June, 1791, did not pass 
 without anxieties. The flight was to take 
 place at midnight, and at every instant the fugitives 
 feared lest their intention should he discovered. 
 Vague rumors were circulating throughout the city, 
 and at the Tuileries the domestics were whispering 
 together. One of the three body-guards, who were 
 to accompany them as couriers, was acquainted with 
 M. de Gouvion, major-general of the National Guard, 
 and the confidant of Lafayette, who resided in the 
 palace. In the morning, M. de Valory made a call 
 on him to ascertain whether the King's intention was 
 suspected. M. de Valory having alluded to the 
 alarms disseminated by the newspapers, M. de Gouvion 
 replied: "I will wager my head that the King has 
 not the least desire to leave Paris. He is certain 
 that no one bears ill-will to his person, and that 
 when once the desired changes in the government 
 are effected, he will be more powerful than ever." 
 M. de Valory went afterwards to the Queen to 
 acquaint her with these reassuring words. 
 
 131 
 
132 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 The moment that he entered, through a small door 
 opening on the dark corridor dividing in two the 
 apartments on the ground-floor, Marie Antoinette 
 said to him: "I thought I recognized M. de La- 
 fayette's footstep. That man frightens me so that I 
 fancy I hear or see him every minute." Apprised of 
 the remark made by the major-general of the National 
 Guard, she added : " I thank you for the relief you 
 bring me; I have need of it. Well! we are approach- 
 ing the terrible moment. Can we get away from here 
 without being recognized? ... M. de Lafayette has 
 doubled the guards in every direction." — "Madame," 
 answered M. de Valory, "he has taken this precau- 
 tion to reassure those who are uneasy, and to quiet 
 the grumblers, rather than because he has any fears 
 himself. I venture to propose that Your Majesty 
 should permit me to see M. de Gouvion again this 
 afternoon. If I find him still confident, M. de La- 
 fayette must be so likewise, and it will be safe to 
 wager that we shall make our escape from the palace 
 without difficulty." 
 
 Then the King, coming in, said: "If they suspect 
 nothing, we shall easily get away. . . . You are an 
 officer of my body-guards. If we arrive in safety, 
 you and your comrades will not be forgotten. . . ■ 
 I shall spend to-morrow night at the Abbaye-d'Orval. 
 The Marquis of Bouill^ is awaiting me before Mont- 
 m^dy with an army corps. Strong detachments of 
 hussars and dragoons are stationed at Pont-de-Somme- 
 Vesle, Sainte Menehould, Clermont, Vai'ennes, and 
 
JUNE TWENTIETH, 1791. 
 
 Dun. You will go in advance of my carriage. Wh^ 
 you reach Pont-de-Somme-Vesle, ask for the Dr 
 of Choiseul: he is in command of the squadron of 
 Lauzun's hussars which is stationed there ; he will 
 obtain an interview for you with an aide-de-camp of 
 M. de Boiiill^, whom you will instruct, in my name, 
 to execute the orders he has received." Louis XVI. 
 then gave M. de Valory detailed instructions and 
 sent him away, saying, "This evening, at half-past 
 eleven." 
 
 Meanwhile, no change was made in the etiquette 
 and ordinary customs of the court. Nothing remark- 
 able had occurred during the day which might attract 
 attention. At eleven in the morning the Queen 
 went to Mass, and, on leaving the chapel, ordered 
 her carriage for a drive at five in the afternoon. 
 
 Madame Royale (the future Duchess of Angou- 
 ISme) has preserved in a curious narrative an 
 account of her impressions during the hours preced- 
 ing the departure. " It seemed to me all day," she 
 says, " that my father and mother were very anxious 
 and absorbed, without my understanding why. After 
 dinner they sent my brother and me into another 
 room, and remained alone with my aunt. I have 
 since learned that it was then they informed her of 
 their project of flight." At five in the evening Marie 
 Antoinette went out with her two children and two 
 ladies of her suite to the Tivoli gardens, at the 
 extremity of the Chauss^e d'Antin. "During our 
 walk," adds Madame Royale, " my mother took me 
 
134 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 aside and told me I must not be uneasy about what 
 I was going to see, and that we should not be sepa- 
 rated long, but would quickly rejoin each other. I 
 listened, but without understanding in the least what 
 she meant. She kissed me, and said that if the 
 ladies asked why I was so agitated, I must tell them 
 that she had been scolding me, but I had made it up 
 with her. We returned home at seven o'clock. I 
 felt very sad, for I did not comprehend what my 
 mother had told me. I was all alone. My mother 
 had invited Madame de Mackau to go to the Visita- 
 tion Convent, which she frequently visited, and she 
 had sent away to the country the young person who 
 usually stayed with me." 
 
 And now the Count of Provence, the future Louis 
 XVIII., shall narrate to us his last meeting with 
 Louis XVI. It was his intention also to depart that 
 night for Belgium, whence he expected to go to 
 rejoin the King. He came to the Tuileries with his 
 wife in the evening, to sup with the royal family 
 and receive the commands of Louis XVI. The two 
 brothers, who expected to meet again before the 
 week was over, were about to separate forever. 
 
 Before supper. Monsieur chatted for some minutes 
 with his sister, Madame Elisabeth, who had been in- 
 formed of the proposed flight only that afternoon. 
 " I found her tranquil," says the Count of Provence, 
 "submissive to the will of God; satisfied, but not 
 manifesting extravagant joy, — in a word, as calm as 
 if she had known about the project for a year. We 
 
JUNE TWENTIETH, 1791. 135 
 
 embraced each other most affectionately. Afterwards, 
 she said to me : ' Brother, you are religious ; let me 
 give you a little picture. It can bring you nothing 
 but good luck.' I accepted it, as may easUy be be- 
 lieved, with as much pleasure as gratitude. We 
 talked for some time about the great enterprise, and, 
 without allowing myself to be blinded by my tender- 
 ness, I must say that it would be impossible to reason 
 with more coolness and judgment than she displayed. 
 I could not avoid admiring her." 
 
 Afterwards, the Count of Provence went down to 
 the apartment of the Queen. As he embraced her 
 with great effusion, "Take care not to unnerve me," 
 said Marie Antoinette ; " I would not like any one to 
 see that I have been crying." The Prince and his 
 wife took supper with the King, the Queen, and Ma- 
 dame Elisabeth. Neither of them suspected that it 
 was the last meal they were to eat together. All 
 five remained in conversation until nearly eleven 
 o'clock. When the moment to separate had come, 
 Louis XVI., who had not yet informed his brother to 
 what place he was going, now said that he was bound 
 for Montm^dy, and directed Monsieur to repair to 
 Longwy, by way of Lower Austria. The brothers 
 then bade each other farewell, in the hope of rejoin- 
 ing each other in a place of safety within four days. 
 
 The moment of departure was approaching. After 
 all, the day had passed very well. There had been 
 no denunciation and no grave suspicions. The King 
 received the usual visitors in his bedroom. The or- 
 
136 JUABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 dinary ways of the palace had been scrupulotisly 
 observed. Orders for the next day were given to the 
 servants. Doors were closed and locked. The lights 
 were put out. The members of the royal family had 
 gone to bed. A few minutes later they got up again. 
 
m. 
 
 THE DEPAHTTJEB. 
 
 THE moment of departure had arrived. The fugi- 
 tives were not to leave the Tuileries all together. 
 It was arranged that the Dauphin and his sister, ac- 
 companied by Madame de Tourzel, should go first. 
 A few moments later, the King, the Queen, and 
 Madame Elisabeth would leave the palace one by 
 one. 
 
 Toward ten o'clock, while the Count and Countess 
 of Provence were stiU at the Tuileries, the Queen 
 went to her daughter's room, and bade her get ready. 
 She dressed her in a brown chintz frock, which had 
 cost ninety cents. The first chambermaid of the 
 young Princess, Madame Brunier, was in the room, 
 and Marie Antoinette told her what was about to 
 happen. " I would like," said she, " to have you go 
 with us. But since you have your husband, you may 
 remain." Madame Brunier did not hesitate a moment 
 in responding that she would follow the Queen wher- 
 ever she went. It was settled that both she and 
 Madame de Neuville, first chambermaid to the Dau- 
 phin, should be of the party, and that they should 
 
 137 
 
188 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 set off at once, in a special carriage, and rejoin the 
 royal family at Bondy. 
 
 Marie Antoinette went from her daughter's room 
 to that of her son, to awaken him. " Get up," she 
 said to him ; " you are going to a place of war, where 
 you will command your regiment." At these words, 
 the child sprang out of bed, saying, " Quick, quick ! 
 Let us hurry. Give me my sabre and my boots, and 
 let us go." What they gave him was neither boots 
 nor a sabre, but a little girl's dress, a frock and bon- 
 net, which the governess of the royal children, Ma- 
 dame de Tourzel, had prepared, in expectation of cir- 
 cumstances which might render a disguise necessary. 
 The passport to be used by the fugitives stated that 
 Madame de Korff was accompanied by her two daugh- 
 ters. It was necessary, therefore, that the Dauphin 
 should be considered the sister of Madame Royale. 
 " They dressed my brother as a little girl," says this 
 Princess, in her account of the journey. "He was 
 charming. As he had fallen asleep, he did not know 
 what happened. I asked him what he thought was 
 going to be done. He said he thought there was to 
 be a comedy, because we were disguised." A strange 
 comedy, in fact, which was to end by a terrible 
 drama I 
 
 The two children and their governess, Madame de 
 Tourzel, passed out through the apartment of the 
 Duke of Villequier. In front of the palace there 
 were three courts : that of the Switzers, in front of 
 the Pavilion of Marsan j the Royal Court, in front 
 
TBE DEPASTUBK 139 
 
 of the Pavilion of tlie Centre ; and the Court of the 
 Princes, in front of the Pavilion of Flora. The 
 apartment of M. de ViUequier had a door by which 
 one could go down into the latter court, and as it 
 had been empty since the Duke emigrated, no sentry 
 was now posted there. Marie Antoinette wished to 
 superintend in person the departure of her children. 
 She went with them into the Court of the Princes, 
 running a great risk thereby, as Madame Royale has 
 remarked in her narration. A large hackney coach was 
 standing in the middle of the court, with M. de Fer- 
 sen on the box, disguised as a coachman. This coach 
 was to take the children to the Barridre de Clichy, 
 where the berlin intended for the journey was to 
 i rut them. The Dauphin, his sister, and Madame 
 dt) rourzel got intO" the carriage, and the Queen went 
 back into the palace. The coach passed out of the 
 Court of the Princes, and went through the rue Saint 
 Honord to the Little Carrousel, opposite the house 
 called the Hotel de GuaUlarbois, near the rue de 
 I'Echelle and the rue Saint Nicaise. They were to be 
 rejoined at this point by the King and Queen and 
 Madame Elisabeth, who were to leave the Tuileries 
 separately, and on foot. 
 
 Meanwhile, the King had just held his reception, 
 and gone to bed with all the usual ceremony. He 
 had risen again immediately. He had disguised him- 
 self with a wig, and put on the costume in which 
 he expected to pass himself off as M. Durand, the 
 Baroness de Korff's &t«ward. Accompanied by M. de 
 
140 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 Valory he went quietly out of the palace by the prin- 
 cipal door, that of the Pavilion of the Centre. The 
 sentries did not recognize him. He was supposed to 
 be one of the numerous persons who left the Tuileries 
 »very night toward twelve o'clock, after the King 
 had gone to bed. 
 
 The Queen and Madame Elisabeth went out, one 
 after the other, through the door of M. de Villequier's 
 apartment. Marie Antoinette wore a sort of brown 
 tunic, a black hat in the Chinese style, ornamented 
 with a long piece of lace which answered for a veil. 
 M. de Moustier gave her his arm; Madame Elisabeth 
 was attended by M. de Maiden. 
 
 All this time the coach containing the Dauphin, 
 his sister, and their governess, was standing in the 
 Little Carrousel, in front of the H8tel de Guaillarbois. 
 " My brother," says Madame Royale, " was lying in 
 the bottom of the carriage, under Madame de Touzers 
 gown. We saw M. de Lafayette pass, returning from 
 my father's bedchamber. We were waiting there at 
 least an hour, without knowing what had happened. 
 Never has any time seemed to me so long. ... At 
 last, at the end of an hour, I saw a woman walking 
 around the carriage. I was afraid that we had been 
 discovered, but I was reassured by seeing the coach- 
 man open the door. It was my aunt." 
 
 A few minutes later Louis XVI. arrived. There 
 was no one missing now except the Queen. Each 
 ndnute of delay caused the fugitives inexpressible 
 anguish. They said to each other that Marie Antoi- 
 
TSE DEPASTUSE. 141 
 
 nette had doubtless been recognized, and as they 
 would not on any account start without her, they 
 thought they would be obliged to abandon their 
 journey. 
 
 The Queen had not been recognized, but she had 
 lost her way. The vast space which separates the 
 Tuileiies from the Louvre, and which is now one of 
 the most beautiful spots in Europe, was then a laby- 
 rinth where numerous streets crossed each other, 
 the Carrousel, Saint Nicaise, Rohan, Chartres, Saint 
 Thomas du Louvre, des Orties, and others. 
 
 The Queen was bewildered in this maze. She had 
 just been greatly alarmed by seeing the carriage of 
 General Lafayette, who was coming from the Tui- 
 leries where he had made his rounds after being pres- 
 ent in the King's bedchamber. The apparition of a 
 ghost would not have frightened Marie Antoinette 
 more. Several lackeys surrounded the carriage, hold- 
 ing lighted torches which shed so much light that 
 the fugitive, persuaded that the General was about to 
 recognize her, quitted M. de Moustier's arm in dis- 
 may, and fled in a different direction. M. de Moustier 
 tried to reassure her by pointing out that the torches, 
 placed between her and M. de Lafayette, must dazzle 
 the latter's eyes, and prevent his recognition of her. 
 
 In her terror, the Queen mistook her way and got 
 lost among the streets surrounding the Carrousel. 
 She turned to the left instead of the right, and went 
 toward the Pont Royal: the night was dark, and 
 she did not know whither she was going. M. de 
 
142 MARIE ANTOINSTTS. 
 
 Moustier could neither guide lier nor find the way 
 himself. They were obliged to ask the sentry on 
 the bridge, and then retrace their steps, pass the 
 wickets beside the river, go along the Court of 
 the Princes, the Court Royal, and the Court of the 
 Switzers, in order to arrive finally at the corner of 
 the rue de I'Echelle, where the hackney-coach con- 
 taining the other fugitives was still standing before 
 the H6tel Guaillarbois. 
 
 Reunited at last after so much anguish, they offered 
 thanks to Divine Providence. The coach door was 
 closed. M. de Fersen whipped up his horses and 
 gained the Barridre de Clichy, where -they were to 
 find the three body-guards, and the berlin in which 
 their journey was to be accomplished. 
 
 It was the shortest night of the year, and day 
 had already begun to break. It was about two 
 o'clock. At first there was some difficulty in finding 
 the place where the berlin was to be, and Louis 
 XVI. got out of the coach, to the great uneasiness 
 of his family. At last M. de Fersen came up with 
 it. The doors of the two vehicles were placed side 
 by side, and the fugitives passed from one to the 
 other. The hackney-coach was left beside the road 
 with no one to watch it. The berlin was drawn by 
 five horses. One of M. de Fersen's servants acted 
 as postilion, M. de Fersen and two of the body- 
 guards, MM. de Moustier and de Maiden, moimted 
 the coachman's box. M. de Valory had gone ahead 
 on horseback to order relays at Bondy. " Come on, 
 
THE DEPARTURE. 143 
 
 now, be bold! drive fasti" cried M. de Fersen to 
 the postilion. 
 
 The horses galloped at full speed. Bondy was 
 quickly reached and the horses changed. Here 
 M. de Fersen took his leave of the royal family. 
 He was to start for Brussels the next day, but he 
 wished first to re-enter Paris, so as to assure himself 
 whether the flight had j-et been discovered. When 
 he arrived, in broad daylight, he went to the HStel 
 de Ville, the mayor's office, and the staff-office of the 
 National Guard. Everything was quiet in these 
 three places; he concluded, therefore, that nothing 
 had thus far been suspected. Meanwhile, Louis 
 XVI. and his family were quietly continuing their 
 route, and the journey, which was to end so badly, 
 began well. 
 
IV. 
 
 JXJmS TWENTIETH, 1791, IN PARIS. 
 
 IN Paris, the night of June 20-21 had passed very 
 quietly. Nobody suspected that the King was no 
 longer in his capital, and even at the Tuileries there 
 were neither doubts nor misgivings. According to 
 his usual custom, the Dauphin's physician entered 
 the apartment of the young Prince toward seven 
 o'clock in the morning to see how he was getting on. 
 He found his room empty. He passed into the apart- 
 ment of Madame Royale, where he supposed the 
 Prince might be. Seeing neither the sister nor the 
 brother, he began to be uneasy. The alarm spread. 
 It was discovered that the chambers of the King, the 
 Queen, and Madame Elisabeth were likewise deserted. 
 A message was sent immediately to M. de Lafayette, 
 who was at first unwilling to believe it. The news 
 spread through Paris very quickly. The tocsin 
 was sounded. The drums beat the general alarm. 
 The people, believing themselves betrayed, flocked 
 around the Tuileries, the HStel de Ville, and the 
 National Assembly. Lafayette, who had gone in all 
 haste to the palace, and afterwards to the Assembly, 
 
JUNE TWENTIETH, 1791, IN PABI8. 145 
 
 was assailed as he passed by men who threatened to 
 kill him. Meanwhile, the Assembly had just met. 
 It was presided over by Alexandre de Beauharnais, 
 husband of the future Empress Josephine. He an- 
 nounced the flight of the royal family. The Assem- 
 bly, calm and grave, took all necessary measures 
 without delay. The Ministers were summoned, and 
 couriers sent to the departments, with orders direct- 
 ing all public functionaries, National Guards, and 
 troops of the line to arrest any persons leaving the 
 kingdom. M. de Laporte, intendant of the civil list, 
 sent to the President a proclamation which Louis 
 XVI. had left behind him, and which was read to 
 the Assembly. 
 
 " Frenchmen ! " said the Sovereign, "do you desire 
 that anarchy and the despotism of the clubs should 
 replace the monarchical government under which the 
 nation has prospered during fourteen hundred years ? 
 Do you wish to see your King overwhelmed with 
 outrages, and deprived of his own liberty while 
 endeavoring to establish yours?" 
 
 In the same document, Louis XVI. enumerated all 
 his griefs : the outrages of the October Days, the 
 inconveniences of residing in the Tuileries, the insuf- 
 ficiency of the civil list, the disbanding of his body- 
 guards, the attacks made on the rights of the crown, 
 the obstacles put in the way of his visit to Saint 
 Cloud, and the obligation to be present, on Easter 
 Sunday, at the parochial mass of an intruded cur4. 
 "Frenchmen I and you, Parisians ! "' said the King, in 
 
146 XABIS ANTOINETTE. 
 
 conclusion, " inhabitants of a city which our ancestors 
 took pleasure in calling the good city of Paris, dis- 
 trust the suggestions and the falsehoods of your pre- 
 tended friends. Return to your King; he will always 
 be your father. What pleasure will it not give him 
 to forget his personal injuries, and to return among 
 you, when a constitution which he shall haye freely 
 accepted will have caused our religion to be respected, 
 so that government may be established on a solid 
 footing ! " 
 
 The Assembly, after having listened to this docu- 
 ment, passed unmoved to the order of the day, and 
 continued its discussion of a projected penal code. 
 
 M. de Lafayette, meanwhile, had gone to the 
 HStel de Ville, in order to concert with the munic- 
 ipal officers and the Council of the Commune means 
 of discovering the route taken by the royal family. 
 Some one suggested that all the hack-drivers of Paris 
 should be summoned. One of them had taken Mes- 
 dames de Neuville and Brunier, the two lady's-maids, 
 to Bondy. He had seen and heard a good deal, and 
 it was his report, doubtless, which gave a hint of the 
 direction the fugitives had taken, and decided Gen- 
 eral Lafayette to despatch two of his aides-de-camp 
 on their tracks. The two officers set off in great 
 haste. The King was a long way in advance, and 
 it seemed hardly possible to overtake him. 
 
 Moreover, it was only the people who sincerely 
 desired the arrest and return of the royal family. 
 Their flight, or say rather their deliverance, over^ 
 
JVNE TWJENTISTH, 1791, IN PARIS. 147 
 
 whelmed the faithful royalists with joy; while, on 
 the other hand, the Revolutionists, whether republi- 
 cans or Orleanists, were equally pleaded by it. As the 
 Marquis of FerriSres has remarked/ in his Memoirs, 
 " the Orleanists were looking forward to the King's 
 departure from the realm, an^/the commotions sure 
 to result from it, in hopes^tfiat the Parisians and the 
 constitutional party, furious at being deceived, would 
 be obliged to throw themselves into the arms of the 
 Duke of Orleans and offer him the crown." While 
 the partisans of this prince went about repeating that 
 the flight of Louis XVI. was in reality an abdication, 
 a legal annulment of the contract between the nation 
 and the monarch, the republicans, who, although few 
 in number, were beginning to show their heads, 
 destroyed the royal escutcheon and monogram on 
 the signs. They were delighted to see that in spite 
 of the monarch's absence, everything took its accus- 
 tomed course, — the artisans going to their work, the 
 cabs rolling through Paris, and, in the evening, not 
 a single theatre closing its doors. They said that by 
 the flight of Louis XVI. France would gain the sup- 
 pression of the civil list, a saving of thirty millions 
 a year. 
 
 The demagogues did all they could to excite popu- 
 lar feeling, not merely against the King, but against 
 Lafayette and BaUly, whom they loudly accused of 
 complicity in the escape, and whom they described as 
 traitors. Camille Desmoulins wrote in his journal : 
 "On Tuesday, June 21, it is discovered that the 
 
148 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 King and all his family have taken flight. This 
 general scamper of the male and female Capets took 
 place at eleven o'clock in the evening, and the news 
 did not get about until nine the next morning. 
 Treason ! perjury I Barnave and Lafayette abuse 
 our confidence ! " Then, to accentuate the charge 
 more sharply, he added : " I was returning from the 
 Jacobins with Danton and other patriots at eleven 
 o'clock; we saw only one patrol the whole way. 
 Paris appeared to me so deserted that I could not 
 avoid remarking on it. One of us, who had a letter 
 in his pocket, warning him that the King was to 
 depart that night, wanted to watch the palace; he 
 saw M. de Lafayette enter it at eleven o'clock." 
 Finally, in a paroxysm of anger, Camille Desmoulins 
 exclaimed : " As the King animal is an aliquot part 
 of the human species, and as we have had the folly 
 to make him an integral part of the body politic, he 
 must be subjected to the laws of society, which have 
 ordained that any man who takes arms against the 
 nation shall be punished with death, and to the laws 
 of the human species, the natural law, which permits 
 one to kill an enemy who attacks him. Now, the 
 King has taken aim at the nation. It is true his gun 
 hung fire, but it is the nation's turn to shoot." 
 
 At the Cordeliers club, Danton uttered this famous 
 invective against Lafayette: "You swore that the 
 King should not depart; you made yourself his 
 surety. Of two things, one : either you are a traitor 
 who has betrayed his country, or you are stupid in 
 
JUlfE TWENTIETH, 1791, IN PABI8. 149 
 
 having made yourself answerable for a person for 
 whom you could not answer. In the most favorable 
 case you have proved yourself incapable of command- 
 ing us. I descend from the tribune; I have said 
 enough to demonstrate that if I despise traitors, I 
 do not fear assassins." 
 
 Meanwhile, the mass of the people, who were 
 neither Orleanist nor republican, seemed profoundly 
 afflicted by the departure of the royal family, and 
 ardently desirous of their return. They said to each 
 other that if the King did not come back, civil war 
 would break out, foreigners would invade France, 
 and Paris would be given over to blood and fire. 
 People got excited. News was awaited with fever- 
 ish impatience. While this anxiety troubled the 
 inhabitants of Paris, Louis XVI. and his family were 
 quietly pursuing their journey. " Here I am then," 
 said the fugitive King, " outside of that city of Paris 
 where I have tasted so much bitterness 1 By this 
 time, Lafayette ought to be a good deal embarrassed 
 about his own safety." 
 
THE JOUENEY. 
 
 THE six-horse carriage containing the royal fam- 
 ily went on all day without encountering any 
 ohstacles. M. de Valory preceded it as courier; 
 MM. de Maiden and de Moustier were on the hex, 
 and Mesdames de Neuville and Brunier followed in a 
 post-chaise. Madame de Tourzel passed for the Baron- 
 ess de Korff, and the Queen for Madame Rochet, gov- 
 erness to the daughters of that lady. The Dauphin 
 and his sister were styled Am^lie and Agla^, the 
 two daughters of the baroness; Madame Elisabeth 
 was their nurse; the King played the part of Mr. 
 Durand, a steward ; the three body-guards were men- 
 servants. M. de Valory was addressed as Frangois ; 
 M. de Maiden, as Saint-Jean ; M. de Moustier as Mel- 
 chior. The travellers did not even stop to eat, having 
 all necessary provisions in the carriage. Their pass- 
 port was not asked for, and no one made any diffi- 
 culty about supplying them with horses. 
 
 At the post-station of Jalon, which was the last 
 before reaching ChS.lons-sur-Marne, the Queen said 
 to M. de Valory: "Frangois, it seems to me that 
 150 
 
TBE JOUBJSET. 161 
 
 everything is going very well ; we should be arrested 
 by this time if we are going to be ; they have not yet 
 Doticed our departure." "Madame," replied M. de 
 Valory, "as soon as we were twelve leagues away 
 from Paris, aU cause for anxiety was over. We 
 should have been stopped before we got so far if 
 anything had been discovered after the Trisit to the 
 King's bedchamber, or our departure from the palace. 
 There is no reason for alarm. I have seen no commo- 
 tion or suspicion anywhere. Take co\irage, Madame ; 
 all is going well." The King, for his part, said: 
 " When we have passed ChSlons, we shall have noth- 
 ing more to fearj at Pont-de-Somme-Vesle we shall 
 find the first detachment of troops, and our journey 
 is safe." They arrived at Ch§,lons at about four in 
 the afternoon. The greatest quiet reigned there. 
 They left without difficulty, after changing horses. 
 
 At Ch§,lons-sur-Marne ended the arrangements 
 which were undertaken by the King and Queen. 
 The Marquis de Bouill^ had made himself respon- 
 sible for the remainder of the journey. 
 
 The royal family were to make the following halt- 
 ing-places : Pont-de-Somme-Vesle, three leagues from 
 ChSlons; Sainte Menehould, four leagues from Pont- 
 de-Sonmie-Vesle ; Clermont-en-Argonne, four leagues 
 from Sainte Menehould; Varennes, three leagues 
 from Clermont-en-Argonne; Dun, five leagues from 
 Varennes; and, five leagues from Dim, Montm^dy. 
 It had been arranged that at each of these stations 
 there would be a detachment of cavalry. 
 
152 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 The orders of the Marquis de Bouill^ were such 
 that if the King wished to make himself known to 
 his troops, the detachments which had formed his 
 escort would, at each new post, fall back behind his 
 carriage to form a rear-guard, giving place to the 
 fresh detachments found there, which would act as 
 vanguard. If, on the contrary, His Majesty desired to 
 preserve his incognito, the detachments which were 
 to escort him should allow the carriage to go ahead, 
 so as to give time for the exchange of horses, taking 
 care, however, to march close behind, so as to avert aU 
 accidents. Their orders were to follow the carriage 
 exactly, forming an impenetrable barrier, through 
 which no courier or other person should pass on any 
 pretext whatever, and to arrive all together and at 
 the same time with the King, at Montm^dy, which 
 had been provisioned for the support of a numerous 
 army during several months.^ 
 
 It was at Pont-de-Somme-Vesle that Louis XVI. 
 expected to find the first detachment, under command 
 of the Duke de Choiseul, nephew of the celebrated 
 minister of Louis XV., and colonel of the regiment 
 of Royal Dragoons. According to the plan of the 
 Marquis de Bouill^, it was from this point that the 
 orders for the succeeding stations were to issue. The 
 royal family reached Pont-de-Somme-Vesle at half- 
 past five in the evening. Cruel surprise ! They found 
 there neither the Duke de Choiseul nor the detach- 
 
 1 Account of M. Beslon, captain of the regiment of Lauzim 
 Hussars. M. Deslon commanded the detachment of Dun. 
 
THE JOUBNET. 153 
 
 ment of caTalry. " The earth," said Louis XVI. later 
 on, " seemed to open beneath me." What had hap- 
 pened? 
 
 According to the plan of the journey, everything 
 had been calculated to the minute, and the transit 
 through Pont-de-Somme-Vesle had been fixed for 
 half-past three in the afternoon. A delay of some 
 hours occurring, the Duke de Choiseul became 
 alarmed by the disturbance his troops occasioned. 
 The people said openly that the pretended arrival of 
 a sum of money which needed an escort was a mere 
 pretext. M. de Choiseul, abandoning all hope of 
 seeing the royal berlin, so impatiently awaited, and, 
 rightly or wrongly, believing himself in danger from 
 the inhabitants of Pont-de-Somme-Vesle and its en- 
 virons, thought it prudent to withdraw his cavalry 
 and gain Varennes by. a cross-road. This resolution 
 of the Duke de Choiseul has been severely criticised 
 by the Marquis de BouilM and his son. It caused 
 a controversy between them which lasted until 1822. 
 
 The Duke de Choiseul and his cavalry had hardly 
 been gone an hour, when the royal family arrived at 
 Pont-de-Somme-Vesle. This first mishap was destined 
 to render all the subsequent measures which had been 
 agreed on abortive. Everything was tranquil at Pont- 
 de-Somme-Vesle, however. Louis XVI. became some- 
 what reassured on seeing that fresh horses were 
 furnished without difficulty, and the journey began 
 anew. 
 
 They arrived at Sainte Menehould as safely as if 
 
154 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 they had been escorted. But it was there that the 
 difficulty began to make itself felt. The detachment 
 of cavalry sent to this town was composed of forty 
 dragoons, under Captain Marquis d'Andoins, who, 
 like the Duke de Choiseul, was in the secret of the 
 journey. The population of Sainte Menehould, who 
 were extremely revolutionary, showed themselves 
 very suspicious. During the day Captain d'Andoins 
 was obliged to go to the h6tel-de-ville to explain the 
 presence of the dragoons. In the hope of lessening 
 suspicion, he j^ad decided not to put his little troop 
 under arms. The dragoons had dismounted and 
 were walking about the streets in foraging-caps, 
 when the royal family arrived at Sainte Menehould. 
 It was near eight o'clock in the evening. They saw 
 some National Guards, and not without apprehension. 
 It was the first time they had met any since leaving 
 Paris. Drums were beating, and the town appeared 
 in commotion. 
 
 As the carriage passed, the dragoons gave the 
 military salute, which the Queen acknowledged in 
 her usual graceful and kindly manner. Was this a 
 mere act of politeness on the part of the troops, or 
 was it something more? Had they begun to pene- 
 trate the secret? Certainly, no one had told them 
 who were the persons they saluted. This array of 
 circumstances did not fail to increase the popular 
 uneasiness. The berlin reached the post-house, 
 nevertheless, without difficulty. The son of the 
 station-master was Drouet, a young man of twenty- 
 
THE JOURNST. 155 
 
 eight, whose rftle was to be so fatal to the King. As 
 they were putting in fresh horses, Captain d'Andoins 
 approached the carriage for a moment, and said in 
 an undertone : " Affairs have been mismanaged, and 
 I am going away so as to avert suspicion." Then, 
 passing close to M. de Moustier, he said : " Go, go 
 quickly; you are lost if you do not hurry." 
 
 At this moment, Louis XVI. was so imprudent as 
 to put his head out of the carriage door. Young 
 Drouet had seen him the previous year at the F6te 
 of the Federation. He recognized him. To make 
 assurance doubly sure, he got out a revolutionary 
 bank-note, on which there was a sufficiently accurate 
 likeness of the sovereign, and compared it for some 
 time with the face he had just seen. After that he 
 had no further doubts. But the presence of the 
 dragoons intimidated him. At first he said nothing. 
 The horses were harnessed and the carriage started. 
 At the same time, M. d'Andoins gave orders for the 
 dragoons to mount and foUow the berlin. It was 
 this which brought the alarm to a head. The Rev- 
 olutionists of Sainte Menehould hastened to the 
 tavern where the dragoons were, plied them with 
 wine, offered them money, and cut their saddle-girths 
 in order to prevent their departure. M. d'Andoins 
 was arrested. Drouet, in spite of the remonstrances 
 of his wife, resolved to pursue the royal family on 
 horseback. A quartermaster of dragoons, named 
 Lagache, an ardent royalist, perceiving Drouet's 
 scheme, mounted also, to pursue and w£^tch hin^ 
 
156 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 But the latter escaped by plunging into the forests 
 and taking cross-roads. 
 
 Meanwhile the royal family were stiU hopefully 
 pursuing their journey. As yet there was no cer- 
 tain indication that they had been recognized. The 
 slightly alarming signs they had observed were not 
 at all definite. Moreover, they were leaving them 
 behind, and no others occurred along the route. 
 
 Towards half-past nine in the evening they arrived 
 at Clermont-en-Argonne. The detachment awaiting 
 them at this town comprised one hundred and forty 
 dragoons, under command of Colonel Count Charles 
 de Damas, who knew the secret of the journey. Let 
 us allow him to recount what happened at this sta/- 
 tion: "I saw M. de Valory, and acquainted him with 
 the difficulty in which I was placed by the secret dis- 
 turbance in the town, and the fear that my detach- 
 ment would be arrested when I gave orders to start. 
 I warned him not to lose time in reaching Varennes, 
 where he could get relays, and go on to announce 
 the coming of the King. During the ten minutes it 
 took to put in fresh horses, I remained at the post- 
 house, surrounded by officers and dragoons, without 
 allowing it to be perceived that I had any acquaint- 
 ance with the travellers. The King and Queen saw 
 me, and made signs of kindness and satisfaction. 
 Finally, Madame de Tourzel called me ; she asked 
 several questions about the road they had still to 
 traverse, and spoke of the children's fatigue. The 
 King spoke to me ; the Queen made a sign warning 
 
THE JOURNEY. 157 
 
 him to disguise his voice. It is impossible for me 
 to describe the happijaess I felt when I saw the car- 
 riage set off toward Varennes." 
 
 Count de Damas then attempted to follow tha 
 royal family with his dragoons. But the same thing 
 that had occurred at Sainte Menehould was repro- 
 duced at Clermont-en-Argonne. The population rose 
 to prevent their departure. " Your officers are trai- 
 tors," said they to the soldiers ; " they want to drag 
 you to the slaughter ; the dragoons are patriots. 
 Long live the dragoons ! " The soldiers refused to 
 follow their commander, and M. de Damas, threat- 
 ened by the crowd, had no resource but flight. He 
 rode off, accompanied by a few faithful dragoons, 
 saying, " We must get out of this the best way we 
 can ; but no matter, the King is safe ! " 
 
 As the royal family had been already some time 
 on the road from Clermont to Varennes, it really 
 seemed as if all were safe. The distance between 
 the two towns is barely three leagues. The road is 
 excellent. M. de Damas reflected that Varennes was 
 the last station before Montm6dy; that Montm^dy 
 was the desired haven, and that the fugitives ought 
 to reach it that very night and rest from all their 
 excitement and fatigue. 
 
 In reasoning thus, M. de Damas was reckoning 
 without Drouet, — Drouet, who, with the ruthless 
 speed of a hunter, was in feverish pursuit of his 
 prey. On leaving Clermont-en-Argonne the road 
 forks; the right-hand one is the high-road of Ver- 
 
158 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 dun, the left leads to Varennes. As the royal car- 
 riage was starting from the Clermont station, the 
 courier on the box called out to the postilions to 
 take the Varennes road. The postilions from Sainte 
 Menehould who had taken the carriage to Cler- 
 mont heard this direction given. On their return 
 they met Drouet, and were able to tell him what 
 road the travellers had taken. 
 
 Who would arrive first at Varennes, — Louis XVI., 
 or Drouet? The history of France, the history of the 
 world, was hanging on that question. On what does 
 the destiny of humanity depend ? On the greater or 
 less speed with which a man of the people pursues 
 a carriage. If Quartermaster Lagache overtakes 
 Drouet, or even if Drouet does not reach Varennes 
 until a few minutes after Louis XVI., the King wUl 
 not be beheaded, there will be no republic, no empire. 
 The face of the world will be changed. The least 
 accident, the least delay, the most apparently insig- 
 nificant detail, a broken harness, a tired-out horse, a 
 cross postilion who drives less rapidly than usual, a 
 mere nothing, can unsettle aU things here below. 
 Drouet reaches Varennes a quarter of an hour before 
 the sovereign, and all is over with the monarchy of 
 Saint Louis, Henri IV., and Louis XIV. 
 
VL 
 
 THE ABEEST. 
 
 THE travellers arrived at Varennes at half-past 
 eleven in the night of June 21. Certain expla- 
 nations will be necessary in order to follow clearly 
 the successive phases of the drama about to be 
 enacted. 
 
 Varennes, which is built on a declivity, comprises 
 two distinct quarters: the upper and the lower 
 towns, separated from each other by the river Aire, 
 and united by a bridge. At present there is a large 
 open square at the entrance of the upper town. In 
 1791 this square did not exist, and there was a long 
 street leading to the bridge. Between the bridge and 
 a chiirch, of which the bell-tower alone remains, was 
 an archway, closed at will by a folding door. Close 
 to the bell-tower was a little tavern known as the 
 Bras-CP Or. 
 
 The arrangements agreed on for the King's pas- 
 sage were as follows : A detachment of sixty hussars 
 of the regiment of Lauzun, under command of Lieu- 
 tenant Rohrig, was stationed at Varennes. As there 
 was no post-station in the town, the royal berlin was 
 
 159 
 
160 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 to be relayed by the Duke de Choiseul's horses and 
 postilions. The horses had been brought to Varennes 
 by a staff-officer, M. de Goguelat, who was to go from 
 there with the Duke de Choiseul to Pont-de-Somme- 
 Vesle to await the King. According to his instruc- 
 tions, M. de Goguelat was to confer with Louis XVI. 
 at Pont-de-Somme-Vesle, and then start for Varennes 
 in the capacity of courier. As he had several fresh 
 horses at different places on the road, it had been 
 calculated that he would arrive there about an hour 
 in advance of the royal family, and would be able to 
 superintend the final preparations for the King's 
 passage through the town. 
 
 This part of the programme was not carried out. 
 At Pont-de-Somme-Vesle, M. de Goguelat had done 
 the same thing as the Duke de Choiseul. Seeing 
 that the fugitives were delayed, and believing him- 
 self threatened by the inhabitants, he had quitted 
 Pont-de-Somme-Vesle before their arrival, and with- 
 out informing the Sovereign that the place first 
 designated for the change of horses at Varennes had 
 been altered. 
 
 It had been arranged that this relay should be 
 stationed at the entry of the upper town, at a house 
 carefully designated beforehand to the King. But 
 M. de Goguelat had thought proper to change this 
 part of the programme, and had decided to place the 
 relay on the bank of the Aire, in the lower town, at 
 the Grand-Monarque tavern. He said to himself, 
 doubtless, that while relaying, it would be better to 
 
THE ABREST. 161 
 
 have the bridge behind him, where a few hussars 
 could readily intercept communication and repulse 
 any attack, than to have before him a passage like 
 the archway, which could be easily obstructed. This 
 modification may have been prudent. But still, the 
 King should have been apprised of it. 
 
 For additional security, the Marquis de Bouill^ 
 had sent his second son, the Chevalier de Bouill^, 
 and another officer, Count de Raigecourt, to Va- 
 rennes, for the purpose of superintending the 
 exchange of horses, and to await the coming of the 
 royal family. As soon as these gentlemen were 
 apprised of their near arrival by M. de Goguelat, 
 they were to start for Stenay to inform the Marquis 
 de Bouill^. 
 
 At the moment when the royal family entered 
 Varennes, M. Rohrig, the second lieutenant, who 
 commanded the detachment of sixty hussars of the 
 Lauzun regiment, had not assembled his little band. 
 Not being in the secret of the journey, he did not 
 know that the King was to pass, but merely supposed 
 that a convoy of money was expected which he was 
 to provide with an escort. 
 
 The postilions and horses of the Duke de Choiseul, 
 which had been destined for the relay, were at the 
 Grrand-Monarque in the lower town. The Chevalier 
 de Bouill^ and Count de Raigecourt were there also : 
 they were waiting for M. de Goguelat, who did not 
 come. 
 f Lastly, Drouet had reached Varennes a few min- 
 
162 MARIH ANTOINETTE. 
 
 utes before, and had repaired in all liaste to the Bras 
 d^Or, the tavern close to the archway and in front 
 of the bridge, to give the alarm and organize an 
 ambuscade. 
 
 M. de Valory had preceded the carriage on horse- 
 back. Arrived at this point of the account he pub- 
 lished during the reign of Louis XVIII., he thus 
 expresses his grief : " Here, readers of acute sensibil- 
 ities, the unhappy friends of an august and beloved 
 family, ought to stop if they do not wish to shudder 
 over each line that follows. Yes, they must tremble 
 with horror to learn that a man could have cherished 
 in his breast the thought of crime during the time it 
 took to cross a dozen leagues, and that, Avithout 
 abandoning his infernal design, he succeeded in seiz- 
 ing and delivering to their murderers the best and 
 most virtuous of monarchs, the tenderest and most 
 illustrious of mothers, her royal children full of the 
 charms of innocence, and the most admirable Princess 
 of whom France has ever had reason to be proud. 
 Pardon me," exclaims M. de Valory, " the accents of 
 my sorrow ! My hand trembles ; those fatal images 
 revive before my eyes!" Then, speaking of the 
 Duchess d'AngoulSme, he adds: "Ah! the sole relic 
 of a sacred family, immolated almost entire, ought 
 not to read this recital, made for history alone ! May 
 it never come within her reach! There is no need 
 of telling anything to this consoling angel of our 
 misled nation. This angel has seen too much, heard 
 too much, and shed too many tears; pray Heaven, 
 
TEE ABBEST. 163 
 
 rather, to make her lose the memory of all. . . . But 
 let us reanimate our courage ; let us continue if we 
 can." 
 
 On entering Varennes, a few minutes befora the 
 royal family, M. de Valory had a presentiment that 
 he would not find the postilions and horses of the 
 Duke de Choiseul at the designated place. This 
 prevision was but too well founded. 
 
 Alarmed, M. de Valory looked on every side. He 
 caUed; no one answered him. He searched the 
 woods near Varennes. He went down into the lower 
 town. Nothing, absolutely nothing. Meanwhile 
 the royal family began an equally fruitless search. 
 Louis XVI. found neither hussars, couriers, postilions, 
 nor horses. What anxiety ! What distress ! To be 
 wrecked so near the haven, a few leagues from 
 Montm^dy, that land of promise, where the royal 
 family had hoped to rise in glory from the tomb of 
 their humiliations and disasters. Fatality ! What is 
 the answer to this dreadful riddle? Why are not 
 the sixty hussars of the Lauzun regiment here at the 
 entrance of Varennes ? What has become of M. de 
 Goguelat? Where are the Chevalier de BouiU^ and 
 Count de Raigecourt, and the Duke de Choiseul's 
 horses and postilions? How are they to be sought 
 for in the darkness ? Of whom shall they ask instruc- 
 tions how to get out of this terrible no-thoroughfare ? 
 Anguish and discouragement take hold upon the 
 fugitives. Louis XVI. himself knocks repeatedly 
 at the door of the house where the relay had been 
 
164 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 expected. The Queen also leaves the carriage, and 
 wanders up and down, hoping to meet some one who 
 may tell her what to do. But there is no one in the 
 streets. The lights are out. The citizens are sleep- 
 ing quietly in their homes. 
 
 Meanwhile, Drouet, at the Bras d'Or,is profitably 
 employing the time wasted by the royal family at 
 the entrance of the upper town. Assisted by two 
 or three revolutionists, one of whom is Billaud, the 
 future Conventionist, he barricades the bridge with a 
 cart turned upside down, and then places himself in 
 ambush under the archway leading to it. Without 
 Drouet, all would be saved. With Drouet, all will 
 be lost. 
 
 Imagine the suppression of a single one of those 
 thousand little causes which may have retarded the 
 progress of the carriage, and Drouet would not have 
 succeeded in his plan, and the royal family would 
 have arrived quietly at Montm^dy. A few soldiers, 
 or even a few well-inclined civilians, would have 
 been sufficient to bring Drouet to his senses, to clear 
 away the obstacle from the bridge, and permit the 
 carriage to go on to the inn of the Grand-Monarque, 
 on the other side of the river, where the Chevalier 
 de Bouill4 was awaiting it with a change of horses. 
 But the King of France and Navarre, the most Chris- 
 tian King, the successor of Charlemagne and Saint 
 Louis, of Henri IV. and Louis XIV. had no one to 
 assist him, and it was before this wretched obstacle, 
 a cart upset in front of a tavern door, that a men- 
 
TBE ABBE8T. 165 
 
 archy once formidable and illustrious was to come 
 to naught ! 
 
 The royal family, which had re-entered the carriage 
 after making vain researches in the upper town, 
 arrived at the archway leading to the bridge, beside 
 the Bras d ' Or. There was the pit into which they 
 were to fall headlong. Muskets already cocked were 
 thrust through either door, and crossed each other 
 within the carriage. " Halt I " cried several voices 
 out of the darkness. "Show your passport! Who 
 are you?" Some one replies, "Madame de KorfE 
 and her family." "It is possible, but it must be 
 proved." The passport was shown, and proved all 
 right. But the rumor had got about that the carriage 
 was suspicious and must be detained. Torches were 
 held beneath the King's face. The municipal council 
 assembled. The National Guard was out. The 
 tocsin sounded. The procurator of the commune, 
 M. Sauce, approaching the carriage, said: "The 
 municipal council is deliberating on the means of 
 permitting the travellers to proceed. It is believed, 
 however, that it is our King and his family whom 
 we have the happiness to see in our town. ... I 
 have the honor to offer them my house, where they 
 will be in safety while awaiting the result of the 
 deliberations. The crowd in the streets is being 
 constantly increased by people summoned from the 
 surrounding country by our tocsin, which, in spite of 
 us, has been ringing for the last quarter of an hour. 
 Your Majesty may possibly be exposed to insults we 
 
166 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 cannot prevent, and whicli would overwhelm us with 
 chagrin." 
 
 Louis XVI. did not attempt to resist. He did not 
 yet avow that he was the King, but he allowed him- 
 self and his family to be led into the house of M. 
 Sauce. The fugitives were definitively arrested. 
 There was no more hope I All was lost 1 
 
VII. 
 
 THE NIGHT AT VAEBNNBS. 
 
 IT is near one in the morning. Behold this van- 
 qtiished man, this prisoner, this sovereign who is 
 no longer royal save in name, in the small and 
 obscure d-weUing of the procurator of a little com- 
 mune. See him obliged to parley with his rebellious 
 subjects, to plead his cause like an accused person 
 before the court. SorrovsrEul night, without slumber ; 
 full of miseries, with its alternatives of hope and dis- 
 couragement, with its medley of personages of diverse 
 opinions, jostling against each other in the shabby 
 room where royalty is at the point of death ! The 
 town, astonished at the unwonted tumult which has 
 so rudely troubled its repose ; ardent revolutionists 
 trembling at the thought that their prey may escape 
 them; faithful royalists who dare not express their 
 loyal sentiments above their breath; National Guards, 
 still hesitating between the monarchical idea and 
 republican passions ; the alarm bell, the pealing 
 drums, the illuminated houses, the citizens and com- 
 mon, people who wake suddenly and can hardly 
 credit the unexpected news that the royal family has 
 
 167 
 
168 2IAniE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 been arrested. What a spectacle ! what undreamed- 
 of scenes ! How unforeseen and strange are the 
 caprices of destiny ! Drouet, who is working in the 
 shadow, is the actor who plays the sinister r81e in 
 the drama of Varennes. 
 
 Louis XVI. is here what he always has been: 
 kind, feeble, wavering, optimistic, judging others by 
 himself, unable to believe in human depravity, hoping 
 for safety in the midst of the greatest dangers. A 
 more energetic man would speak plainly and with 
 force. Louis XVI. hesitates, temporizes, thinks he 
 may overcome the rebels by gentleness and good 
 nature. His language is that of a father, perhaps, 
 but assuredly not that of a sovereign. Moreover, he 
 is embarrassed by the presence of his family. The 
 dangers he would brave willingly were he alone, he 
 dreads for his wife, his children, and his sister. What 
 he fears above all, and that through kindheartedness, 
 is bloodshed. He would not sacrifice the life of a 
 single soldier to save himself or his throne. He is 
 unwilling that one sword, one sabre, should leave its 
 scabbard. The illusions natural to a generous heart 
 cause him to fancy that the revolutionists will re- 
 pent, and that his paternal counsels will bring back 
 again a people gone astray. At Yarennes he will 
 continue to hope up to the very minute when he sets 
 foot on the step of the berlin which is to take him' 
 back to Paris. So, too, nineteen months afterward, 
 he will hope as he ascends the guillotine, and believe 
 that some friendly battalion is coming to his assist- 
 
THE NIGHT AT VABENNES. 169, 
 
 ance, just as, at Varennes, in the house of the procu- 
 rator of the commune, he expected, up to the last 
 minute, the arrival of the troops of the Marquis de 
 Bouill^. "Perhaps," he was continually saying to 
 himself, " I am about to hear the trumpets of the 
 faithful regiment, the Royal-AUemand." The unfor- 
 tunate monarch clings to the house of M. Sauce like 
 a shipwrecked sailor to a rock. What he dreads is to 
 be obliged to return to Paris, that city of afflictions 
 and supreme humiliations. Any other destination 
 would still leave room for hope, but Paris means 
 despair. Therefore when he hears that fatal name, 
 it seems to him that the abyss yawns beneath his 
 feet. 
 
 He has not yet admitted that he is the King. The 
 people say and repeat that they recognize perfectly 
 both himself and his family. " Very well," cries the 
 Queen ; " if you recognize him as your King, respect 
 him ! " This speech leaves Louis XVI. at liberty. 
 He throws off his mask. He explains his pro- 
 gramme and the object of his journey. For a mo- 
 ment his fatherly accent imposes silence on the 
 throng which overcrowds the room. In touching 
 words he insists on his ardent desire to know the 
 real wishes of his people, and on his firm resolution 
 to do everything for their welfare, no matter at what 
 sacrifice, whether of his inherited rights, his royal 
 authority, or his private interests. He ends by pro- 
 posing to put himself in the hands of the members of 
 the National Guard stationed at Varennes, to be con- 
 
170 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 ducted by them to Montm^dy, or any other town 
 they choose, providing that it be not Paris. He 
 hopes he has convinced his audience, and imagines 
 that the National Guard will receive orders from 
 him. He says : " I thank the commune of Varennes 
 for its good intentions, and I accept the escort it 
 offers me. It is my wiU that horses should be put 
 to my carriages, so that I may take my departure." 
 
 Meanwhile the commotion was increasing. People 
 poured into the two small rooms which formed the 
 first story of M. Sauce's house, where the royal 
 family still remained. The alarm bells of neighbor- 
 ing communes were answering the tocsin of the 
 town. Their National Guards also hastened to lend 
 a hand to those of Varennes, where the whole popu- 
 lation was afoot. 
 
 It was this tumult which informed the Chevalier 
 de Bouill^ and Count Raigecourt of the presence of 
 the royal family. They tried to rejoin them with 
 the horses and postilions of the Duke de Choiseul, 
 intended for the relay. Their efforts were vain. 
 The bridge was barricaded, and the people menacing. 
 The two officers were very nearly arrested. What 
 was to be done ? They got on their horses and gal- 
 loped off at full speed to tell what had happened to 
 the Marquis de Bouill^ who was in the neighborhood 
 of Stenay. 
 
 Lieutenant Rohrig had the same idea. This young 
 officer, who commanded the detachment of sixty 
 hussars stationed at Varennes, had not been admitted 
 
THE NIGBT AT VARENNSS. 171 
 
 into the secret of the journey. He believed, simply, 
 that he was there to escort a coBvoy of money. He 
 had not seen M. de Goguelat, who would have ap- 
 prised him of the truth. Hence, when the rumor of 
 the arrival of the royal family reached him, his sur- 
 prise was extreme. He thought he was doing his 
 duty in leaving "^is hussars in command of a quarter- 
 master, and going himself at full speed to Stenay, 
 to warn his general. 
 
 It will be remembered that, at Pont-de-Somme- 
 Vesle, the Duke de Choiseul and M. de Goguelat, at 
 the head of forty hussars, started for Varennes with- 
 out awaiting the arrival of the royal family, and their 
 passage through that place. It will also be remem- 
 bered that, at Clermont-en-Argonne, Count Charles 
 de Damas, mfinaced by the population, had been 
 obliged to escape, almost alone, and had also turned 
 toward Varennes. The Duke de Choiseul and M. de 
 Goguelat, with their forty hussars, and Count Charles 
 de Damas with a much smaller escort, reached Va- 
 rennes about an hour after Louis XVI. and his 
 family. Instead of charging on the populace, the 
 Duke de Choiseul parleyed with them, and entered 
 the town by a sort of capitulation. He caused his 
 hussars to dismount, and obtained an authorization 
 to present himself before Louis XVI. The same per- 
 mission was granted to M. de Goguelat and Count 
 de Damas. The latter has said : " We went up stairs, 
 into the room occupied by the royal family. The 
 King, the Queen, and Madame Elisabeth received us 
 
172 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 with expressions of the most touching goodness. 
 My first care was to say that we must get them away 
 at once, and by force, if necessary. The King an- 
 swered me : ' They want me to wait until daylight, 
 and to give me an escort. They proposed to send 
 one hundred men, but I have agreed that there shall 
 be only fifty.' We represented to him that the 
 concourse of people at Varennes, which was small as 
 yet, would soon be augmented by the entire popula- 
 tion of the neighborhood, summoned by the tocsin 
 which was sounding in all directions. We saw they 
 had decided to wait. I do not know whether the 
 forty hussars brought by M. de Choiseul, if reunited 
 with the sixty already in the town, could, at this 
 hour, have dispersed the small assemblage ; I do not 
 even know whether the forty, entering at a gallop, 
 might not have made the people fly, and if a few 
 charges in the streets would not have made them 
 masters of the town ; but other troops were expected, 
 which, meanwhile, were far enough away." An hour 
 later, the hussars had joined the citizens, were nearly 
 all drunk, and had taken an officer of the National 
 Guard as their commander. 
 
 According to Count Louis de BouilM, it would 
 have been better to risk everything than to remain 
 shut up in a house, waiting for the population of 
 Varennes to be increased by that of the whole sur- 
 rounding country, summoned by the tocsin. But 
 anything that bore a resemblance to an energetic 
 decision was contrary to the character of the King, 
 
THB NIGHT AT VABENNES. 173 
 
 The advice of Count de Damas was not well received, 
 and tlie unhappy colonel, driven to despair by this 
 inaction, could only bow in respectful acquiescence. 
 
 Louis XVI., always credulous, displayed entire 
 confidence in the fallacious promises of the munic- 
 ipality. His demeanor was firm and tranquil. He 
 received with condescension the importunate persons 
 who constantly entered the room and questioned him 
 in a manner not at all in harmony with the laws of 
 etiquette. The Queen and Madame Elisabeth spoke 
 often, and with real dignity. The Dauphin was 
 sleeping profoundly on the bed. His sister stood 
 near Madame de Tourzel. 
 
 Day began to break. The tumult increased every 
 minute, and the situation became more and more 
 critical. Toward six o'clock there came a new 
 glimmer of hope. M. Deslon made his appearance at 
 Varennes with sixty hussars, coming from Dun, the 
 station between Varennes and Montm^dy. He was 
 waiting for the King, with his detachment, when he 
 learned from the Chevalier de Bomll^ and the Count 
 de Raigecourt, as they passed through Dun, that the 
 royal family had been arrested. Not stopping for 
 orders, and listening only to his zeal, he started at 
 four in the morning, and reached Varennes a little 
 before six, having covered more than five full leagues 
 in less than two hours. His plan was to attack at 
 once, and force his way to the house where the King 
 was a prisoner. He had already prepared his detach- 
 ment by exhortations and promises, when, at twenty 
 
174 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 paces from the town, he saw that barricades had 
 been raised which barred the passage of cavalry. 
 He obtained for himself alone permission to enter 
 M. Sauce's house, and he presented himself before 
 Louis XVI. He told him that his sixty hussars were 
 at the entrance of Varennes, and ready to shed the 
 last drop of their blood for their Sovereign; that 
 the barricades prevented them for the moment from 
 being useful, but that the Marquis de Bouill^ was 
 momently expected, and that their united forces 
 would not fail to deliver the august captives. 
 
 Captain Deslon spoke with the Queen afterwards 
 in German, and then took leave of the King, boldly 
 asking for his commands in the presence of the crowd 
 which thronged the room. Louis XVI. replied that, 
 being a prisoner, he had no commands to give. Colo- 
 nel de Damas said to the captain in German in as 
 low a tone as he could, "To horse, and charge!" 
 Somebody cried out, " No German ! " and Captain 
 Deslon went out. Then he sent a brigadier to look 
 for the quartermaster who, since Second Lieutenant 
 Kohrig's departure, had commanded the sixty hussars 
 of the Varennes detachment. But the brigadier 
 returned alone to say that the sixty hussars were 
 blockaded in their barracks and could do nothing. 
 The double attack planned by M. Deslon, counting 
 on an accord between the two detachments, could 
 not be accomplished. He remained mactive, awaiting 
 the arrival of the Marquis de Bouill6. 
 
 Even after this cruel night the royal family would 
 
THE NIGBT AT VABENNES. 175 
 
 not yet despair. They lent anxions ears to all noises 
 from outside, thinking constantly that they might 
 hear the tread of the Royal- Allemand. But this fatal 
 journey was nothing but a succession of misunder- 
 standings, false chances, mishaps, and delays. If he 
 had been warned two hours sooner, the Marquis de 
 Bouilld could have saved everything. He will reach 
 Varennes with his faithful regiment, but an hour and 
 a half too late. The two emissaries of Lafayette 
 will arrive there before him, bearing the decree of 
 the National Assembly, and the royal family will be 
 forced to resume the road to Paris. 
 
vm. 
 
 THE DBPABTXJEE PEOM VARENNES. 
 
 BETWEEN six and seven in the morning, M. de 
 Romeuf, Lafayette's aide-de-camp, and M. Eail- 
 lon, an officer of the National Guard, arrived from 
 Paris at Varennes. They brought the decree by 
 which the National Assembly ordained the arrest of 
 the royal family wherever they might be found, and 
 their return, willing or unwilling, to Paris. At the 
 moment of their arrival, Louis XVI. was far from 
 having lost all hope. The populace appeared more 
 and more disturbed. Cries of " To Paris ! to Paris ! " 
 resounded on every side. But the berlin had not 
 been brought up. The King thought he might yet 
 gain time, and flattered himself with the hope that 
 his saviour, the Marquis de BouilM, was about to 
 come. The crowd, in spite of their revolutionary 
 passion, hesitated to use violence to their king. It 
 was the presence of the two Parisian emissaries which 
 overcame their last scruples. 
 
 With hair and vestments in disorder, M. BaiUon 
 came first into the room where the royal family were 
 confined, and in a panting and broken voice said: 
 176 
 
THE BEPABTUBE FBOM VABENNES. 177 
 
 " Sire, you know ... all Paris will be cutting each 
 other's throats, . . . our wives and children are per- 
 haps massacred, . . . you will not go any further. . . . 
 Sire, the interests of State . . . yes. Sire, our 'wives, 
 our children. ..." At these words, the Queen, 
 showing him the Dauphin, asleep on M. Sauce's bed, 
 exclaimed, " And am I not a mother also ? " " In a 
 word, what do you want ? " said Louis XVI. " Sire, 
 a decree of the Assembly." " Where is it ? " " My 
 comrade has it." Then M. de Romeuf came for- 
 ward, holding the paper in his hand. Having read 
 it hastily, Louis XVI. said mournfully, "There is 
 no longer a King in France." Then the Queen 
 began to speak. She asked M. de Romeuf how he 
 could have undertaken such a commission, and attrib- 
 uted all her ihisfortunes to M. de Lafayette. M. de 
 Romeuf said that M. de Lafayette was far from being 
 the enemy of the King and his family. " He is so," 
 replied the Queen. " His head is full of his United 
 States, his American republic; he will see what a 
 French republic amounts to. . . . Well, sir, show 
 it to me, this decree of which you are the bearer." 
 M. de Romeuf handed the decree to the Queen. 
 " Insolent creatures ! " said she, throwing it down 
 before reading it all through. The paper fell on the 
 bed where the Dauphin and his sister lay asleep. 
 The Queen picked it up again quickly, exclaiming, 
 as she threw it on the floor, " It would soil my chil- 
 dren's bed!" 
 M. de Romeuf's attitude did ndt make the same 
 
178 MAHIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 impression on, M. de Valory as on M. de Damas. 
 According to the account of M. de Valory, the 
 severity and arrogance with which the two emis- 
 saries fulfilled their mission can hardly be conceived. 
 According to that of M. de Damas, on the contrary, 
 M. de Romeuf seemed dismayed; his conduct and 
 his language gave room for the belief that he was 
 urged on by his companion, that he fulfilled his mis- 
 sion with reluctance, and that he would have been 
 pleased if the royal family could have escaped. 
 
 Meanwhile, M. Baillon was in haste to depart. 
 The people, feeling themselves supported by the de- 
 cree of the National Assembly, stamped and shouted. 
 The two carriages were got in readiness, and threats 
 were made that the fugitives would be put into them 
 by force if they would not enter voliintarily. The 
 King's friends did everything in their power to delay 
 the fatal moment. One of the two lady's-maids fall- 
 ing ill, the necessary attentions were prolonged as 
 much as possible. But the woman regained con- 
 sciousness, and there remained no other pretext for 
 resisting. Louis XVI., fearing, not for himself, but 
 for his family, and believing that if he did not yield, 
 the populace would have recourse to acts of violence, 
 soon decided to go. " The carriages," M. de Valory 
 has said, " were brought before the door of the house. 
 Some one came to announce that the illustrious 
 victims could enter them. We had to see a father 
 made to be adored, a King full of love for his people, 
 forced to obey his subjects ; and, my God, what sub- 
 
THE DMPABTVBE FROM VAUENNES. 179 
 
 jects ! " The Duke de Choiseul and Count de Damas 
 wished to accompany the King and his family on 
 horseback. But they were arrested and imprisoned 
 in spite of the efforts of M. de Romeuf. M. de 
 Romeuf himself was arrested as suspicious, and was 
 not released until the next day. " The grief which 
 he expressed to us," says Count de Damas in his 
 account, " the care he took to exculpate himself from 
 this abominable mission, led us to wonder why he did 
 not destroy the decree he carried, and aid us in delay- 
 ing the departure of the King. I think he would 
 have done so had he been alone." 
 
 It was eight o'clock in the morning when the 
 royal family left Varennes. An hour and a half 
 later, the Marquis de Bouill^ with the Royal-AUe- 
 mand appeared on the heights which overlook the 
 town. 
 
 During the early part of the night the general had 
 waited for tidings with feverish anxiety. He and 
 his son. Count Louis de Bouill^, had mounted their 
 horses at Stenay, toward nine in the evening, and 
 ridden towards Dun, so as to receive news from the 
 King more promptly. At a quarter of a league from 
 this town, where their entry might have been too 
 much remarked, they went down into a dry ditch 
 at the side of the road, leaving their horses behind. 
 Count Louis de Bouill^, in a curious memoir, has thus 
 described their impressions: "I shall always have be- 
 fore my mind that night of long and anxious waiting, 
 when the least noise, the least movement, according 
 
180 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 as it came or went, penetrated our souls with the 
 most vivid impressions of hope or despair. The latter 
 sentiment took almost entire possession of us when 
 day began to break without our having seen any one 
 arrive or received any news. M. de Bouill6, not 
 able to explain the cause, but well persuaded that 
 some change in his plans must have occurred, re- 
 turned to Stenay, so as to be better able to give the 
 orders necessitated by circumstances. We were a 
 quarter of a league from that town when we per- 
 ceived some couriers coming towards us at full 
 speeji. Our hearts beat with joy, for we supposed 
 they were bringing us tidings of the speedy arrival 
 of the King. But what was our surprise and grief 
 when we recognized the Chevalier de BouiU^, Count 
 de Raigecourt, and, which was most astonishing of 
 all, the officer in command of the detachment of 
 Varennes, who announced to us that the King had 
 been arrested there at half-past eleven the night 
 before, adding nothing else but some very vague 
 details. It was then about half-past four in the 
 morning." 
 
 The Marquis de BouilM could get no clear idea 
 of what had happened. Making a final effort, he 
 ordered the Royal-AUemand to horse at Stenay, and 
 led them to Varennes, hoping that the King might 
 even yet be delivered. He distributed four hundred 
 louis among his cavaliers, and explained their mis- 
 sion in a brief harangue, which was received with 
 shouts of " Long- live the King ! " The regiment 
 
THE DEPARTURE FROM VARENNES. 181 
 
 started at full trot. All along the road they heard 
 alarm bells ringing and drums beating from every 
 direction. It was half-past nine in the morning when 
 they arrived before Varennes. The royal family had 
 departed an hour earlier. The officers said it was 
 indispensable to refresh the horses, jaded by a march 
 of nine leagues at full trot. This observation, which 
 was but too well founded, the long start which the 
 carriages had already, the fear of once more endanger- 
 ing the lives of the royal family while seeking vainly 
 to bring them aid, the menacing dispositions of the 
 National Guards and the people, the thought that 
 four hundred cavalry, worn out with fatigue, could 
 not but perish in the midst of a revolutionary mul- 
 titude increasing every minute, — all this determined 
 the general to give the order for a retreat. "I see 
 yet," says his son. Count Louis de Bouill^, "the 
 expression of grief which altered his whole coun- 
 tenance. Never shall I forget that gentle, heart- 
 breaking complaint which he addressed to me in 
 sorrowful accents some moments later, and which 
 alluded to the confidence I had expressed concerning 
 the success of this enterprise, and based on the good 
 fortune which had attended all the others : ' Well ! 
 will you say again that I am lucky ? ' " At Stenay 
 the Marquis de Bouill^ barely escaped arrest. He 
 was forced to abandon his regiment, and take shelter, 
 with his son, across the frontier. The latter says: 
 " We arrived at nightfall at the Abbaye d'Orval, in 
 the Emperor's dominions. We found the monks at 
 
182 MABIM ANTOINETTE. 
 
 table, astonished by our arrival, and full of Conster- 
 nation on learning its cause ; and at eleven o'clock 
 we terminated that too cruel and too memorable 
 day." 
 
 During this time the royal family were painfully 
 continuing their journey, stopping at every town. The 
 fatal Varennes journey had such results that all the 
 incidents of it have occasioned long and bitter con- 
 troversies. Each actor in it has sought to explain its 
 weak places or its errors; each has sought to shift 
 upon some one else the responsibility of failure ; each 
 has said : " If such or such a fault had not been com- 
 mitted, the august martyrs would have been saved." 
 Even yet these discussions interest and excite. The 
 vicissitudes of the journey are followed with as much 
 anxiety as if they had occurred but yesterday. The 
 inventions of romance-writers are not more interest- 
 ing than the reality; and of all dramas, the most 
 singular, the most interesting, is history. It is not 
 the principal actors alone, but the secondary ones, 
 and even the supernumeraries, who attract attention. 
 All come to life again, all revive, — the characters and 
 the scene. The night of Varennes is legendary. 
 Sinister gleams throw it up into a strange relief. 
 The archway, the bridge, the Bras d'Or inn, the 
 house of M. Sauce, all stand out plain before one's 
 eyes, and the imagination rests long upon them. 
 
IX. 
 
 THE KETTJRN. 
 
 THE royal family had passed nine hours at 
 Varennes, and this sojourn sufficed to trans- 
 form an almost unknown locality into a historic and 
 forever celebrated town. At eight o'clock in the 
 morning of June 21, 1791, the berlin which had 
 brought the august fugitives, took them back again 
 to Paris. The three body-guards were on the coach- 
 man's box. The two lady's-maids followed in another 
 carriage. People armed with scythes and muskets, 
 pikes, pitchforks, and sabres, surrounded the two 
 carriages and formed a sinister escort. At first start- 
 ing, the horses had been driven at great speed, so as 
 to put as great a distance as possible between the 
 royal family and the royalist troops whose arrival 
 was feared; but afterwards they were allowed to 
 walk between the constantly increasing throngs — a 
 revolutionary population. They were four hours in 
 going from Varennes to Clermont-en-Argonne. It 
 was three in the afternoon when they reached Sainte 
 Menehould. This town was greatly indebted to 
 Louis XVI., who had built it up from its ruins after 
 a terrible fire. The inhabitants seemed hardly to 
 
 183 
 
184 MABIE ANTOINETtE. 
 
 remember this benefit. One might have thought 
 Drouet had imparted to them all his demagogic 
 passion. Threats, insults, and furious cries greeted 
 the royal berlin, and the three body-guards barely 
 escape(^ assassination. 
 
 Not far from Sainte Menehould, opposite the vil- 
 lage of Han, and near the mountain of' the Moon, 
 made famous a year later by the encampment of the 
 King of Prussia and the battle of Valmy, a venerable 
 old man, wearing the cross of Saint Louis on his 
 breast, came up on horseback. It was the Marquis 
 de Dampierre. This old officer, a courtier of misfor- 
 tune, came to offer homage to his King. The crowd 
 was not at all pleased with his loyal sentiments, his 
 respectful attitude, his soldierly and noble bearing, 
 his white hair. When the old man appeared, the 
 image of duty and fidelity, shouts of " traitor," " aris- 
 tocrat," flew from mouth to mouth in the revolu- 
 tionary escort. " Kill him ! cut his throat ! " cried 
 the populace. Some sprang at the horse's bridle; 
 others sought to dismount the rider. He spurred up 
 his horse, hoping to make his way through the crowd. 
 Two pistol shots were fired at him and missed. He 
 returned them with another. Then he was chased 
 like a stag at a hunting-match. Muskets were dis- 
 charged at him repeatedly, and the old nobleman fell 
 dead. His head was out off and stuck on a pike ; and 
 the bloody trophy was thrust before the eyes of the 
 royal family. The horrors of the October Days had 
 begun anew. 
 
THE RETTTRN. 185 
 
 In the evening, they arrived at Ch3,lons-sur-Marne, 
 where they passed the night of June 2'2r-2Z. This 
 journey, so full of incidents, disturbed by so many 
 emotions and so much anguish, must have resembled 
 a bad dream. The revolutionists who escorted the 
 carriage with cries of fury were like menacing phan- 
 toms. The extreme heat, the overpowering fatigue, 
 the moral sufferings, still greater than the physical 
 ones, made this fatal road a way of humiliations and 
 afflictions. That heartrending anguish which Dante 
 places in the midst of his torments — a happy memory 
 recurring in days of wretchedness — came from time 
 to time to deepen Marie Antoinette's emotions. At 
 ChS.lons-sur-Marne, the royal family alighted in the 
 courtyard of the old hotel de ITntendance, where 
 they remained* all night. The Queen could not 
 behold unmoved this edifice where she had been 
 received at the time of her arrival in France twenty- 
 one years before, in May, 1770. 
 
 Then, what benedictions, what transports, what 
 idolatry! With what enthusiasm the charming 
 Dauphiness, the ideal maiden, the morning star, had 
 been received ! Who would then have thought that 
 a people so devoted to their royal family would ever 
 become a tribe of regicides and executioners? In 
 a single destiny there are often such vicissitudes 
 and contrasts, that those who fall from the height 
 of prosperity and grandeur into the profound abysses 
 of calamity, lose, as it were, the consciousness of their 
 identity. Unhappy, and questioning the past as well 
 
186 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 as the present, they say, " Could I haye been so 
 happy, so brilliant, and so flattered?" And thus 
 Marie Antoinette might have asked herself in the 
 midst of so many cruel reverses: "Am I truly the 
 daughter of the German Csesars, the Queen of France 
 and Navarre ? Could I once have shone so brilliant, 
 who am now plimged in darkness so profound ? " 
 
 ChS.lons-sur-Marne was a sort of oasis in the middle 
 of a burning desert. " Ah ! let us breathe awhile," says 
 the Count de Valory in his narration. " At Ch&lons- 
 sur-Marne a few moments of consolation came to 
 assuage our griefs. But, before attempting to de- 
 scribe this soothing contrast, let us pay to a consider- 
 able portion of the French people the just tribute 
 which is their due. Yes, alongside of frightfully 
 barbarous scenes, we often beheld expressive tokens 
 of the grief they occasioned to a great number of vir- 
 tuous citizens. In spite of every danger, marks of 
 love and profound interest escaped them. One could 
 see it; their hearts were broken, but crime alone 
 dared venture ; crime alone was powerful." 
 
 The majority of the Ch&lonnaise population were 
 royalists. They received the unfortunate monarch 
 more like an impatiently expected father than as a 
 king made captive by his subjects. It was who 
 should solicit the honor of being presented to the 
 august family. Ladies and young girls came to 
 offer bouquets to the Queen, Madame Elisabeth, and 
 Madame Royale. Some proposed that the King 
 should save himself alone. A private staircase lead- 
 
THJE RETURN. 187 
 
 ing from the room where the Dauphin slept was 
 shown him. But he refused to quit his family, and 
 would not accept the means of escape which were 
 offered him. 
 
 The royalists of the city likewise debated whether 
 they should attempt to take Louis XVI. hack to Mont- 
 m^dy, or to defend him at Ch§,lons. His supper was 
 served with a certain pomp in a large hall containing 
 many persons, aU of whom passed around the table 
 without creating the slightest confusion. The emo- 
 tion was general. People kissed the King's hands 
 respectfully, and multiplied their signs of homage 
 toward the Queen and the Princesses. The royal 
 family were up nearly all night. When they took a 
 brief repose, the Revolution, which did not sleep, 
 was preparing to frustrate the monarchical intentions 
 of the people of Chalons. The National Guard of 
 Rheims, lead by zealous democrats, reached Ch&lons- 
 sur-Marne in the morning. 
 
 It was Thursday, June 23, the feast of Corpus 
 Christi. The King had had an altar arranged, and 
 was assisting at Mass, which was at the Sanetws, 
 when it was brusquely interrupted by the appearance 
 of armed men, who summoned the royal family to 
 renew their journey. " To Paris ! to Paris ! " cried 
 voices in the courtyard. Guns were pointed at the 
 windows, and it was demanded that Louis XVI. 
 should show himself there. He appeared, calm and 
 impassible as ever. " Since I am compelled," said he, 
 " I will go to Paris." Nearly the whole population 
 
188 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 of Champagne had inarched all night to assemble at 
 ChS,lons, and the break of day was, as it were, their 
 hour of rendezvous. " What could the good Ch^ 
 lonnaises do now?" sadly exclaims M. de Valory. 
 "Their will was enthralled; nothing remained to 
 them but sighs ! " The royal family got into their 
 carriage and went on their way, escorted by National 
 Guards and revolutionary bands. 
 
 At Epernay they made a brief stop for dinner. 
 When, according to custom, the mayor presented the 
 King with the keys of the town, the president of the 
 district addressed a sharp remonstrance to the un- 
 happy Prince, ending with these words: "You ought 
 to be thankful to the town for presenting its keys to 
 a runaway king." They could hardly eat, so threat- 
 ening seemed the sentiments of the crowd. Just as 
 they were setting off, a woman of the city said to 
 Marie Antoinette, " Go, my little beauty ; you will 
 see worse times than this." 
 
 A few minutes later, between Epemay and Dor- 
 mans, the berlin containing the royal family was 
 joined by another carriage from which alighted three 
 deputies from the National Assembly, — Barnave, 
 Potion, and the Marquis de Latour-Marbourg. They 
 had been sent to meet Louis XVI. in the capacity of 
 commissioners. 
 
MABIB ANTOINETTE ASH BAENAYB. 
 
 THERE are some proud and generous men in 
 whom triumphant sovereigns, with their pomp 
 of luxury and power and their train of flatterers, 
 inspire a sort of repulsion, and yet who instinctively 
 become, so soon as they can gain nothing by it, the 
 servants and courtiers of sovereigns in misfortune. 
 In times of prosperity they ask themselves, " Where 
 is the good in swelling this flood of servility ? Why 
 should I add my voice to this concert of adulation ? " 
 But the sight of unhappy, abandoned, and betrayed 
 princes inspires in them a mingled tenderness and 
 respect. They do not concern themselves to be faith- 
 ful when fidelity is rewarded with money and prefer- 
 ment ; but when it leads to ruin, poverty, exile, and 
 death, fidelity appears to them an austere joy and a 
 sacred duty. Bamave was one of these men. He 
 had been unmoved by the prestige of success; the 
 majesty of suffering subdued him. Marie Antoinette, 
 illuminated by the reflection of the crown diamonds, 
 radiant in the Gallery of the Mirrors, with her pat- 
 ronizing air, her triumphant beauty, her goddess-like 
 
 189 
 
190 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 walk ; Marie Antoinette amid the refined elegance of 
 the Little Trianon ; Marie Antoinette surrounded by 
 the splendors of a royal f§te, a court ball, a gala 
 representation at the Versailles theatre or the Paris 
 Opera; Marie Antoinette, on the day of a solemn 
 entry, in a carriage covered with gold, and drawn by 
 eight magnificent horses, would have stirred Barnave's 
 imagination very little. But the calumniated, insulted, 
 threatened Queen ; the Queen dressed in the modest 
 gown of a governess; the Queen shut up with her 
 family in the dismal carriage, slowly advancing, like 
 a hearse, on the road to anguish and humiliations; 
 the Queen whose eyes are reddened by tears; the 
 Queen whose locks have been whitened by her grief ; 
 the unfortunate Queen invincibly attracts the tribune 
 and transforms him into a chevalier. 
 
 Barnave was not quite thirty years old. Born at 
 Grenoble, October 22, 1761, of a respected lawyer, 
 and a noble and beautiful mother, he belonged to 
 the reformed religion. He had early manifested an ar- 
 dent and lofty soul. At sixteen he fought a duel in 
 behalf of his younger brother, who had been insulted. 
 Impatient of injustice, and penetrated with the senti- 
 ment of human dignity, he swore to himself to redeem 
 his caste from the humiliation to which it was con- 
 demned under the old regime. Having been made a 
 deputy to the States-General, he at once gained the 
 reputation of a great orator. Full of talent and 
 energy, he held his oAvn against the most powerful 
 antagonists, against Mirabeau himself. In the eyes 
 
MARIE ANTOINETTE AND BABNAVE. 191 
 
 of the court he passed for an irreconcilable dema- 
 gogue, the most to be dreaded among the promoters 
 of sedition. He who had so often thundered against 
 the abuses of the monarchy, who for a moment had 
 made the popularity of Mirabeau grow pale, at the 
 me when Mirabeau was secretly drawing closer to 
 he trembling throne; who, in appearing before the 
 .oyal family, had perhaps promised himself to stifle 
 every sentiment of pity in his soul, could not resist 
 the spectacle of misfortune. As M. de Lamartine 
 has said, Mirabeau sold himself, and Barnave gave 
 himself away. The man of genius was bought with 
 heaps of gold ; a glance subdued the man of feeling. 
 
 When the three deputies, sent by the Constituent 
 Assembly to meet the royal family and bring them 
 back to Paris, stopped the berlin on the road between 
 Epernay and Dormans, they decided that two of them 
 ought to enter it. The Queen seemed to wish that 
 the Marquis de Latour-Marbourg, whose face was not 
 unknown to her, should be one. Perceiving this, 
 M. de Latour-Marbourg said to her, in an undertone, 
 that she could count on him as a faithful subject, but 
 that it might be otherwise with Barnave, one of the 
 most influential members of the Assembly. He added 
 that it would doubtless flatter the young deputy from 
 Grenoble to enter the royal carriage, and it would be 
 to the Queen's interest to conciliate him. Matters 
 were thus arranged: M. de Latour-Marbourg returned 
 to the carriage which had brought him and his col- 
 leagues from Paris, while Barnave and Potion entered 
 
192 MABIM ANTOINETTE. 
 
 that of the King ; the former sat between Louis XVI. 
 and Marie Antoinette on the back seat, and the latter 
 on the front one, between Madame Elisabeth and 
 Madame Royale. The Dauphin sat by turns on the 
 knees of his mother, his aunt, and his sister. 
 
 At first the presence of these new travelling-com- 
 panions was a somewhat serious embarrassment. The 
 Queen did not trouble herself to begin a conversation 
 with them. She drew her veil down and determined 
 not to open her mouth during the rest of the journey. 
 Barnave, far from being offended by this silence, 
 maintained the most respectful attitude toward her 
 and the King. Louis XVI., who loved to talk, was 
 the first to break the ice. With the simple and 
 straightforward manner which befitted his character 
 he spoke freely of men and things. In his responses, 
 Barnave courteously observed the fine distinctions 
 required by the difference of rank, and though he 
 spoke like a man devoted to liberty and the new 
 ideas, he also showed himself loyal to the throne, 
 and unwilling to divorce royalty from the nation in 
 his projects of reform. 
 
 Marie Antoinette listened. She was struck by 
 the wit, tact, and moderation of Barnave. Like the 
 woman that she was, she recognized at once in the 
 manners, the voice, and the countenance of the young 
 deputy, the attentions of a well-bred man, and felt 
 herself the object of a discreet and respectful pity. 
 She lost not a word of the conversation in which she 
 had at first resolved to take no part. Changing her 
 
MAEIE ANTOINETTE AND BARN AVE. 193 
 
 mind, she finally began to speak. Her language, like 
 her person, was gentle, charming, and majestic. In 
 her voice, as in her glance, there was something 
 gracious, kindly, and persuasive, which, coming from 
 the heart, went to the heart. Undaunted by tyranny, 
 Barnave felt himself vanquished by this strong weak- 
 ness, this imposing sorrow. His former hatreds 
 melted in an instant, like snow beneath the genial 
 rays of sunshine. The idea that he, the citizen, the 
 plebeian, the unknown young man of two years since, 
 might by a strange freak of destiny become the sup- 
 port, the protector, the saviour of this beautiful queen, 
 once so flattered and so brilliant, — this idea flattered 
 his self-love at the same time that it awakened in 
 his soul, where democrat and knight-errant blended 
 into one, the most elevated sentiments and chivalrous 
 aspirations. Sympathy, respect, devotion, flooded his 
 soul like a rising tide. Barnave knew well that in 
 displaying an interest in Marie Antoinette he was 
 voluntarily exposing himself to the greatest danger. 
 But this reflection, far from cooling his ardor, made 
 it all the more keen and fervent. Whatever hap- 
 pens, said he to himself, I wUl be the defender and 
 servant of this woman. Sovereigns in misfortune 
 easily experience a sentiment little known to them 
 in prosperous days, — that of gratitude. Then they 
 prize a word, a tear, a sigh. They recognize, and 
 thank Heaven, that human nature is not all cow- 
 ardly, and that amidst so many ingrates there are 
 here and there honest, devoted, and generous hearts. 
 
194 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 Between Dormans and Chiteau-Thierry it was 
 Barnave who rescued from their torture the three 
 body-guards who had been exposed all along the 
 road to the rage of a ferocious population. Some 
 demons proposed to tie them fast to the wheels of 
 the royal carriage, and as soon as they were so 
 bound, to put them to death. They were about to 
 execute this cannibal-like scheme when the deputy 
 from Grenoble leaned out of the carriage door to see 
 what was going on. He alighted at once, and had 
 influence enough to prevent the crime. 
 
 At the entrance of the faubourg of Meaux a simi- 
 lar scene was reproduced. A poor village cut6, who 
 had been so imprudent as to approach the royal 
 carriage, was about to be massacred. The Queen 
 uttered a cry. Barnave, throwing himself almost 
 out of the carriage door, shouted, "Frenchmen! 
 nation of heroes, are you going to become a people 
 of assassins?" Madame Elisabeth, touched by this 
 noble outburst, caught hold of the young man by the 
 skirt of his coat. The powerful voice of the deputy 
 from Grenoble availed to save the ecclesiastic from 
 death. In speaking of this incident later on, Marie 
 Antoinette said that in the most critical moments 
 whimsical contrasts were what always struck her; 
 and that on this occasion the sight of the pious 
 Elisabeth hanging on to Barnave by the tail of his 
 coat had seemed the most unexpected and surprising 
 thing about it. 
 
 Meanwhile, the emotion of this new defender of 
 
MABIE ANTOINETTE AND BABNAVE. 195 
 
 the throne continued to increase. What affected 
 him in Marie Antoinette was the Queen, the woman, 
 and, above all, the mother. He was permitted to 
 take the Dauphin on his knees, and his fingers played 
 with the child's fair ringlets. "You are not sorry 
 to come back to Paris, are you?" he asked him. 
 " Oh ! I am happy everywhere," answered the future 
 Louis XVII., "provided I am with my father, and 
 mamma Queen . . . and with my aunt, my sister, and 
 Madame de Tourzel." " It is a sad journey for my 
 children, sir," said Louis XVI. " What a difference 
 between this one and that we made to Cherbourg! 
 At that time calumny had not yet led public opinion 
 astray, . . . They may misunderstand me, but they 
 shall not change me ; love for my people will always 
 remain the first need of my heart, as it is the first of 
 my duties." The Dauphin took his father's hand 
 and kissed it. Then the good Louis XVI. embraced 
 his son tenderly, calling him as of old, "My dear 
 little Norman!" "Don't be sad, father," said the 
 child, who was crying. "Another time we will go 
 to Cherbourg." 
 
 Profoundly touched, Barnave redoubled his oblig- 
 ing attentions. Throughout the journey he was a 
 model of delicacy, courtesy, and respect, and he-made 
 the most favorable impression on Madame Elisabeth 
 as well as on the Queen. Three months later on, 
 after the discussion of the Assembly on the colonies, 
 the pious sister of Louis XVI. wrote to Madame de 
 Raigecourt- "Barnave spoke with so much force that 
 
196 MAMIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 he earned all before him. That man has great intel- 
 ligence and talent ; he might have been a great man 
 if he had chosen ; he may be so yet. But the anger 
 of Heaven is not yet all spent. How should it be ? 
 What are we doing to appease it?" 
 
 Madame Elisabeth was right. The Divine wrath 
 was not yet exhausted. Barnave was to be sacrificed 
 almost at the same time as the royal victims to whom 
 he so generously devoted himself. He was arrested 
 as a suspected royalist August 19, 1792, and re- 
 mained more than a year in prison before mounting 
 the scaffold whereon he was to die at the age of 
 thirty-two. His works, published by M. B^renger 
 of Dr6me, exhibit fully the elevation of his mind 
 and the true nobility of his heart. A captive, he 
 remembered with emotion the journey which had 
 left such profound traces in his soul ; and in speak- 
 ing of this touching and critical time, he said that 
 by graving on his imagination the memorable exam- 
 ple of the royal misfortunes, it had doubtless aided 
 him to support his own more easily. 
 
 Transferred from the prisons of Dauphiny to Paris, 
 in November, 1793, to be judged, or, rather, to be 
 assassinated by the revolutionary tribunal, Barnave, 
 while on the way, addressed a letter to one of his 
 sisters, which is like the testament of his soul, where 
 stoicism and tenderness went hand in hand. " I am 
 still young," he wrote, " and yet I have already 
 known, already experienced, all the good and all the 
 evil which make up human life. Endowed with a 
 
MARIE ANTOINETTE AND BABNAVE. 197 
 
 vivid imagination, I long believed in chimeras ; but I 
 am undeceived, and at the moment when I am about 
 to quit life, the only things I regret are friendship 
 (no one can flatter himself with having tasted its 
 sweetness more deeply than I) and the cultivation of 
 the mind, the habit of which has often delightfully 
 occupied my days." 
 
 Barnave is the Andr^ Ch^nier of politics. Like 
 the young poet, the young orator could say, putting 
 his hand to his forehead, "And yet, there was some- 
 thing there!" A veil of melancholy and sadness 
 covers the destiny of each. It is genius extinguished 
 at its dawning; it is youth which succumbs before 
 having gathered all its harvest of talent and of glory. 
 Barnave died the victim of his chivalrous devotion 
 to Marie Antoinette. He did not regret it. On the 
 eve of the 10th of August he said to the Queen, on 
 seeing her for the last time, "As I am very sure of 
 paying one day with my head for the interest with 
 which your misfortunes have inspired me, I beg 
 of you, Madame, for all recompense, the honor of 
 kissing your hand." 
 
XI. 
 
 potion's account. 
 
 IN Barnave we have just seen a man of mind and 
 feeling who, to the ideas and principles of a 
 democrat, united the tact and sense of fitness which 
 are lacking in many a nobleman. One might say- 
 that the young deputy from Grenoble was in the 
 royal carriage by way of contrast to Potion, the other 
 commissioner of the Assembly. The one thought 
 liberalism in nowise incompatible with the tone and 
 manners of good society, while the other fancied that 
 all true demagogues should display a certain rudeness 
 which the vulgar take for austerity. At bottom. 
 Potion was not a bad man. There was even a sort 
 of sensibility in his soul. But he had heard so many 
 declamations, and he had so often declaimed himself 
 against kings and queens, that the least compassion 
 for them seemed to him a lack of patriotism. He 
 will preserve, then, in the carriage of Louis XVI., 
 the same attitude that he would in the Jacobin club 
 or the club of the Cordeliers. The royal family will 
 see him eat and di-ink in the berlin in an unman- 
 nerly way, throwing his chicken-bones out of the 
 198 
 
PETION'8 ACCOUNT. 199 
 
 carriage door at the risk of sending them into 
 the King's face, and obliging Madame Elisabeth to 
 pour out his drink without thanking her. It is a 
 poetic sentiment which animates Barnave's gentle 
 soul, but the motive power of Potion's acts and 
 words is the arrogance of an upstart. A provincial 
 lawyer, intoxicated with his success in the lower 
 court of Chartres and his exploits as a lady-killer 
 in the bourgeois circles of his little town, he did not 
 doubt that, transplanted to a larger scene, he was 
 destined to still more brilliant triumphs. Proud of 
 his position as deputy, and still prouder of his title 
 and mission as envoy of the Assembly, he felt himself 
 a sovereign, and delighted in treating Louis XVI. as 
 his equal, not to say as his inferior. He desired to 
 teach power a lesson. He spoke ex cathedra. He 
 gave a course in politics. He disputed, he perorated, 
 he domineered. The account he has left of his jour- 
 ney with the royal family gives the best notion of his 
 incredible presumption. This document, which was 
 seized with Potion's other papers when he fled after 
 May 31, 1793, is written entirely in his own hand. 
 M. Mortimer-Ternaux published it for the first time in 
 his Mistoire de la Terreur. 
 
 The narrative opens magniloquently : " The King's 
 carriage stops. We go to meet it. An usher pre- 
 cedes us, and the ceremonial is conducted in an im- 
 posing manner. As soon as we are perceived, some 
 one cries, 'There are the deputies of the National 
 Assembly ! ' Everybody hastens to make way for 
 
200 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 US. The cortege was superb. There were National 
 Guards on horseback and on foot, with uniforms and 
 without them, with arms of all descriptions. The 
 sun, near its setting, shed its light upon this fair 
 ensemble in the midst of peaceful fields. I can give 
 no idea of the sentiment of respect with which we 
 were surrounded." 
 
 Pdtion was thirty-two years old. He belonged to 
 that category of puppies, vain even to artlessness, 
 who believe themselves irresistible, and imagine that 
 they produce a profound impression on all women 
 whatsoever. Lauzun had not more self-confidence 
 than he. Reader, no matter how prodigious, how 
 mad, how ridiculous, you may suppose Potion's fatuity 
 to have been, it will still surpass your expectation. 
 He fancied — could you believe it? — that Madame 
 Elisabeth, Madame Elisabeth herself, the most holy, 
 the most austere of women, experienced a strong 
 physical attraction toward him; he thought he saw 
 in this Princess a Circe, against whom it was neces- 
 sary for him, for Potion, if you please, to forearm his 
 rigid virtue. Listen to him: "Madame Elisabeth 
 fastened her soft eyes upon me with that air of 
 languor given by unhappiness, and which inspires a 
 lively interest. Our glances met several times with 
 a sort of understanding and attraction. The moon 
 began to shed her mild radiance. Madame Elisabeth 
 took Madame Royale upon her knees ; afterwards 
 she placed her half on her own knee and half on 
 mine. Madame Royale fell asleep. I stretched out 
 
PETION'8 ACCOUNT. 201 
 
 my arm ; Madame Elisabeth stretched hers out above 
 mine. Her glances seemed to me more affecting ; I 
 perceived a certain relaxation of constraint in her 
 demeanor; her eyes were moist, their melancholy 
 blended with a sort of sensuous charm. I may 
 deceive myself, — the sensibility of grief is easily 
 mistaken for that of pleasure, — but I think that if 
 we had been alone, that if, as by enchantment, every 
 one else had vanished, she would have sunk into my 
 arms." 
 
 This supposition flattered the sensual and austere 
 demagogue, and at the same time it roused his indig- 
 nation. He adds: "I was so astounded with this 
 state of affairs that I said to myself : What ! can this 
 be a trick to buy me at such a price ? Would Madame 
 Elisabeth agree to sacrifice her honor in order to 
 make me lose mine? Yes; nothing costs too much 
 at court ; they are capable of anything. The Queen 
 could have arranged the plan. And then, consider- 
 ing her unaffected bearing, and self-love also insinu- 
 ating that she might find me attractive, I became 
 persuaded, and took pleasure in the thought, that she 
 was agitated by keen emotions, that she would her- 
 self desire that no witnesses were present." 
 
 Jean Jacques Rousseau, behold your worthy pupil ! 
 These are the ideas, if not the style and talent, of an 
 adept of the Nouvelle Hiloise. But let pure demo- 
 crats be reassured. Potion will not allow himself to 
 weaken. " I took good care," he says, " not to com- 
 promise my character. I granted all I could to what 
 
202 MARIE ANTOHfETTE. 
 
 I believed to be Madame Elisabeth's condition ; but, 
 nevertbeless, without granting enough to permit her 
 to think, or even to suspect, that anything would 
 alter my opinions. I think she imderstood it wonder- 
 fully, and that she saw that the most seductive temp- 
 tations would be in vain, for I remarked a certain 
 cooling off, a certain severity, which in women often 
 springs from irritated self-love." 
 
 The force of truth is such that even from Potion 
 himself it wrests some just remarks. This enemy of 
 kings and courts, this systematically hostile observer, 
 is astonished to find that something good may be 
 found in royal souls by making diligent search. He 
 recognized in his travelling-companions "an air of 
 simplicity and of family" which pleased him. He 
 deigned to say of Louis XVI. : " Those who do not 
 know the King might be tempted to mistake his 
 timidity for stupidity. But they would be in error. 
 It is very seldom that anything unbecoming escapes 
 him, and I have not heard him make a foolish 
 remark." 
 
 Madame Elisabeth inspired him with a sort of 
 involuntary admiration, in spite of the odious and 
 stupid surmises he had just made concerning her. 
 " I should be very much surprised," he says, " if she 
 had not a good and beautiful soul, although one 
 deeply imbued with the prejudices of birth and 
 spoiled by the vices of a court education." There 
 is even a moment when his hatred and inveterate 
 prejudices against Marie Antoinette give place to 
 
PMTION'8 ACCOUNT. 203 
 
 a less unjust judgment. Inflexible where the Queen 
 is concerned, he becomes almost humane toward the 
 mother. "The Queen," he said, "talked with me 
 about the education of her children. She spoke like 
 the mother of a family and as a sufficiently well- 
 instructed woman. She said that no flattery should 
 be offered to princes, and that it was essential never 
 to tell them anything but the truth." But he quickly 
 repents of his amiabUity. "I have since learned," 
 he adds, "that this is the fashionable jargon in aU. 
 the courts of Europe." And he ends by declaring 
 that "the Queen had not, in any sense, either the 
 bearing or the attitude befitting her position." 
 
 Marie Antoinette, in her conversation with Potion, 
 defended her husband's cause energetically. "Peo- 
 ple blame the King very much," said she ; " but they 
 do not really understand the situation in which he 
 is placed. He is constantly told contradictory stories, 
 and he does not know what to believe. Opposing 
 and mutually destructive coimsels are given him, one 
 after the other ; and he does not know what to do. 
 People complain to him about private misfortunes 
 and murders at the same time. It is all this which 
 determined him to leave the capital. The crown is 
 in suspense over his head. You are not ignorant that 
 there is a party which does not desire a king, and 
 that this party is increasing daily." 
 
 Petion was already republican in theory, but in 
 practice he still remained a royalist. He replied that 
 his principles and sentiments inclined him to prefer 
 
204 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 a republican form of government to any other, but 
 added that there were certain republics which he 
 would like still less than the despotism of a single 
 man. Potion belonged to that class of persons who 
 like to play with fire, and who say naively to the 
 Revolution, " Thou shalt go no further ! " as if 
 the Revolution had a mind to listen to them. "It 
 is not possible," he went on, " to persuade one's self 
 in good faith that the republican party. is to be 
 dreaded. It is composed of wise and high-principled 
 men who know how to estimate probabilities, and 
 who would not risk a general panic which might as 
 easily lead to despotism as to liberty." 
 
 Unhappy Potion! How quickly he will descend 
 the incline which leads to the abyss! He will be 
 deadly to the very end, — deadly to the royal family 
 and to himself ; he is marked with the seal of fatality, 
 like almost all the actors in the great revolutionary 
 drama. On the 10th of August in the following 
 year, he will combine the parts of Judas and Pontius 
 Pilate. At nightfall he will give Louis XVI. the 
 kiss of peace, and at daybreak next morning he 
 will wash his hands of the approaching catastrophe. 
 He wiU vote for the King's death, but with a re- 
 prieve and an appeal to the people, and perhaps this 
 mitigation of his vote may be caused by the recol- 
 lection of his journey with the unhappy sovereign. 
 Condemned himself on May 31, 1793, at the same 
 time with the Girondins, he will take to flight ; he 
 will perish miserably in the waste lands near Bor- 
 
PETION'8 ACCOUNT. 205 
 
 deaux, and his body will be found unburied and half 
 devoured by wolves. But we will not anticipate. 
 
 Let us return to June 23, 1791, and to the road 
 traversed by the royal berlin. It reached Dormans 
 between midnight and one o'clock, June 23-24. 
 "We got out," says Potion, "at the inn where we 
 had eaten a morsel in coming, and this inn, though 
 passable for a small place, was hardly fit for the 
 reception of the royal family. I confess, however, 
 that I was not sorry to let the court know what an 
 ordinary tavern is like. It was difficult to sleep, 
 because the National Guards and all the people of 
 the neighborhood kept up a constant singing, danc- 
 ing, and drinking." 
 
 They left Dormans June 24, between five and six 
 in the morning. During the day they stopped at 
 Fert^-sous-Jouarre. The mayor of the town, M. Eeg- 
 nard, had sent word that he would be happy to enter- 
 tain the august travellers, and Louis XVI. accepted 
 the invitation. Here, as at ChS,lons-sur-Mame, the 
 royal family experienced some consolation. Madame 
 Regnard received them with signs of the most pro- 
 found respect. "Madame," said Marie Antoinette, 
 accosting her, " you are doubtless the mistress of the 
 house." The mayor's wife returned, with perfect 
 tact, "I was so before Your Majesty entered it." 
 The house was charming, and had a terrace on the 
 shore of the Marne, where Madame Elisabeth chatted 
 with Potion before dinner. The King himself came 
 out on this terrace to invite the three commissioners 
 
206 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 of the Assembly to share his repast. All three 
 refused. Madame Regnard and her husband were to 
 pay dear later on for the honor and happiness of 
 having testified their regard for the royal family. 
 On quitting this house, so loyally hospitable, the 
 Queen said to the Dauphin, " My son, thank Madame 
 for her attentions ; tell her I shall never forget it." 
 " Mamma thanks you for the care you have taken of 
 us," said the child, " and I love you very much for 
 having given pleasure to mamma." 
 
 They set off again at five in the afternoon. The 
 sun was still above the horizon when they arrived 
 before Meaux, that city still so full of souvenirs of 
 the great Bossuet, whose sublime voice alone would 
 have been capable of celebrating the afflictions of the 
 martyr King and Queen. They alighted at the 
 bishop's palace, where they spent the night of June 
 24-25. After Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette 
 had taken supper, they had a conversation with 
 Potion, at the end of which they summoned the three 
 body-guards who had accompanied them ever since 
 they quitted Paris, — MM. de Maiden, de Valory, and 
 de Moustier. " At Dormans," the King said to them, 
 " M. Potion proposed to me to induce you to make 
 your escape, disguised as National Guards. At that 
 time the Queen and I refused, because we thought 
 that it was secretly intended either to assassinate 
 you behind our backs, or to have you arrested and 
 handed over to some military commission ; so we said 
 nothing to you about the proposition. But M. Potion 
 
PETIOJU'S ACCOUNT. 207 
 
 has just renewed it, and added the barbarous an^ 
 nouncement that at Paris your lives would belong to 
 the people, so that, since it might be horrible for us 
 to behold servants whom we appear to love killed 
 ■^before our eyes, he thought he ought to warn us that 
 there was not a moment to be lost if escape was to be 
 attempted. Possibly, in renewing his offer to aid 
 you, he is acting in better faith than we supposed. 
 It is for you to determine whether to profit by it." 
 
 The three faithful servants fell on their knees 
 before their kind master. " Sire," cried one of them, 
 the interpreter of the thoughts of all, "our lives 
 have been consecrated to Your Majesties. You have 
 deigned to accept the offering. We know how to 
 die for you ; it would be a thousand times easier than 
 to separate from you. Do not doubt. Sire, that death 
 awaits us, no matter where we turn. Our choice 
 could not be doubtful. Deign to permit your faith- 
 ful guards still to accompany you. Grant them to 
 set off with you to-morrow. May our tears obtain 
 this last grace." Louis XVI., weeping, granted the 
 heroic prayer of the three body-guards. 
 
 Then the Queen drew her tablets from her pocket 
 to Avrite down their baptismal names and those of 
 their fathers, mothers, sisters, and brothers, and also 
 those of any of their relatives and friends whom, on 
 her invitation, they dared recommend to Their Majes- 
 ties. " If we have the grief to lose you," said Marie 
 Antoinette afterwards, "and if we do not succumb 
 ourselves beneath the blows of our enemies, be cer- 
 
208 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 tain that our benefits will search out your families. 
 I myself will apprise them of their misfortune, and 
 at the same time I will let them know the sentiments 
 toward you which can never leave our hearts." 
 
 They left Meaux June 25, at six in the morning. 
 It was the last day of the fatal journey. " Never," 
 says Potion, " was a day longer and more fatiguing. 
 The heat was extreme, and we were enveloped in 
 clouds of dust. The King offered me something to 
 drink several times, and poured it out himself. We 
 were twelve whole hours in the carriage without 
 quitting it for a moment." 
 
 A little above Pantin the grenadi^s of the National 
 Guard made their appearance. They disputed with 
 the cavalry of the escort on the subject of the places 
 they were to occupy. The grenadiers obliged the 
 cavalry to fall back, and rough words passed between 
 them. An affray seemed imminent. Bayonets were 
 brandished around the carriage, the windows of which 
 were kept down. According to Potion there was 
 reason to fear for the Queen's life. The most ignoble 
 insults, the most infamous epithets, the entire vocab- 
 ulary of Billingsgate, were emptied on her. She was 
 treated as one would not treat a street-walker, a 
 prostitute. " She need not show us her son," cried 
 one ; " he is not her husband's." The Dauphin, 
 frightened by the noise and the glitter of the weap- 
 ons, began to cry with fear. Marie Antoinette, who 
 was in tears, tried to reassure him. At the same 
 time, the crowd were furiously demanding the death 
 
PJETION'S ACCOUNT. 209 
 
 of the body-guards. " Down with the yellow coats ! " 
 was shouted on all sides. Some proposed t3dng them 
 to the wheels; others, to cut them in pieces; still 
 others, to bum them alive. The carriage was stopped, 
 and the body-guards were about to perish under the 
 blows of the assassins. The energetic intervention 
 of Barnave saved them. " Drive on," said he to the 
 postilions ; " drive on, I teU you ! I am in command 
 here." They started on again, the horses going at 
 a foot-pace ; the crowd, which constantly increased, 
 became still more hostile. At last they entered Paris. 
 There lay the greatest danger. 
 
XII. 
 
 THE EBTTJBN TO THE TUILBBIES. 
 
 ON this 25th of June, 1791, all Paris is afoot. 
 It is six o'clock in the evening. The berlin 
 containing the royal family arrives at the Barri^re de 
 I'Etoile, and goes down the Champs-Elysdes to re- 
 enter the Tuileries. Hundreds of thousands of spec- 
 tators are looking on at the humiliation of royalty. 
 The carriage makes its way slowly between a double 
 row of National Guards. The entry is stUl more 
 sinister than that of October 6. The monarchy is 
 more vanquished, more cast down. They had set off 
 in the night of Monday and Tuesday, June 20-21. 
 They returned the following Saturday in broad day- 
 light, but this light is more melancholy than that 
 darkness. At the moment of departure, night meant 
 hope. At the hour of return, day meant despair. 
 Ah! that Palace of the Tuileries, how menacing it 
 rises in the distance, with its architecture grandiose 
 and severe ! In vain the setting sun Ulumines it 
 with its ardent flames ; it is sombre, forbidding, fatal. 
 In former days the solemn entries into the good city 
 of Paris, the superb capital, were so brilliant, so tri- 
 210 
 
THE BMTUBN TO THE TUILEBIE8. 211 
 
 umphant ! There were such joyous shouts, such ac- 
 clamations all along the way! The crowd then 
 regarded the august family with looks of love, ten- 
 derness, admiration, and rapture ! And Marie Antoi- 
 nette, happy in being loved, thanked them with such 
 a charming smile ! The soldiers presented arms. 
 Mothers took their little ones in their arms, and 
 pointed out to them the King, the Queen, the Dau- 
 phin, the young Madame Royale. The drummers 
 beat the general alarm. The military bands played 
 Vive Henri IV. The flags were respectfully inclined 
 before the sovereign. The body-guards with their 
 brilliant armor, the Swiss in red uniforms, the civil 
 and military households of the King and Queen, the 
 Princes and Princesses, the great lords with their blue 
 ribbons, the great ladies in dazzling toilets and spar- 
 kling with precious stones, — all this resplendent 
 spectacle and pomp of luxury and power ravished a 
 faithful people and filled them with enthusiasm. 
 
 How all is changed to-day ! What a doleful scene 
 is shone on by this sun of June ! Scorn in the place of 
 respect ; hatred in the place of love. Truly funereal 
 procession ! Supreme humiliation of the King and 
 of royalty ! Placards have been posted up on which 
 is written : " Any one who applauds the King will be 
 beaten; any one who insults him will be hanged." 
 Such is the change in men's ideas that a proclamation 
 like this is considered an act of magnanimity. 
 
 At first the regulation is obeyed. At the BarriSre 
 de I'Etoile the populace is malicious rather than fmi- 
 
212 MABIS ANTOINETTE. 
 
 ous. Though eyes glow with a savage flame, mouths 
 are silent. Something like cool indifference modifies 
 the hatred. But as they draw nearer to the TuQeries, 
 the order to keep silence is violated. Curses and 
 insults resound on every side. The heat is oppres- 
 sive. The clouds of hot dust raised by the tramp of 
 such a multitude envelops them like a mourning 
 veil. The royal berlin winds through a forest of 
 bayonets. Do you see all these faces, made savage 
 by anger and disdain, — these hats kept on in token 
 of insolence and rebellion ? Do you see the National 
 Guards reversing their arms as at a funeral ? Through 
 these billows of dust do you see the great captive, 
 the vanquished man, the King ? The King, who like 
 one accused, — like a criminal, — will be forced hum- 
 bly to bow his head and implore pardon from his 
 subjects ! Do you recognize the woman who, for her 
 part, never lowers her head, who is pursued by fate, 
 who sees misfortune hovering about her like a raven- 
 ing vulture ; but who, amid the most horrible crises 
 and the most terrifying dangers, never loses that 
 lofty courage which is her ancestral heritage, and 
 which is like the very foundation and essence of her 
 soul? 
 
 If Marie Antoinette alone had been in danger, she 
 would have been as unmoved now in crossing the 
 Place Louis Quinze as she will be two years later 
 when she crosses the same accursed spot on her way 
 to the scaffold. What occupies her is not her own 
 safety, but that of her husband, her children, her sis- 
 
THE BETUBN TO THE TUILEBIES. 213 
 
 ter-in-law, and her attendants. For herself, nothing 
 moves her, nothing makes her turn pale. She soars, 
 intrepid sovereign that she is, above danger, above 
 suffering, above death. This cruel throng whose 
 cries she hears, inspires her not with anger, but with 
 pity. If she does not remain absolutely unmoved, it 
 is because she is thinking about her children. The 
 Dauphin's forehead is dripping with sweat. He can 
 hardly breathe. " See, gentlemen," says the unhappy 
 mother to the National Guards, who march on either 
 side the carriage, " see what a state my poor chil- 
 dren are in; they are choking." "We will choke 
 you in another fashion ! " mutters an infamous voice. 
 The carriages arrive at the revolving bridge at the 
 end of the Place Louis Quinze, opposite the Tuileries. 
 It is closed as soon as they cross it. But the garden 
 is packed with an innumerable crowd. The danger 
 increases as they come nearer to the palace. It is 
 a question whether they will reach it safe and sound, 
 and the same emotions are caused by the thought of 
 re-entrance as had been by that of going away. An- 
 guish at the departure, anguish at the return. The 
 greatest perils are incurred by the three body-guards, 
 who have remained on the box of the royal berhn. 
 The exasperated crowd clamor loudly for their death. 
 Is the blood of these faithful companions of the fatal 
 journey to spurt out on the Queen's robe ? Are these 
 three devoted servants to be the victims cast to the 
 tigerish rabble? The carriages which have slowly 
 and with difficulty opened their way, arrive at last 
 
214 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 before the three steps of the terrace which separates 
 the palace from the garden. At once the assassins 
 spring towards the three body-guards, anxious to 
 seize their prey. The royal family are requested to 
 alight at once so as to avoid the sight of the murders 
 about to be committed. But in spite of the danger 
 they incur themselves, they will not stir, hoping that 
 their presence may save their wretched servants. 
 The murderers, in redoubled rage, begin to scramble 
 up to the coachman's box, where MM. de Moustier, 
 de Maiden, and de Valory still remain. Fearing lest 
 the prolongation of the struggle may imperil the lives 
 of the King and his family, the three victims resolve 
 to end it by voluntarily coming down and delivering 
 themselves to the assassins. 
 
 Madame Elisabeth, perceiving this movement, 
 passes her arm through a window in the front of 
 the berlin and seizes the skirt of M. de Valory's 
 waistcoat, to prevent him from jumping down. But 
 he and his comrades reach the ground, and offer- 
 ing themselves as holocausts to the crowd, advance 
 heroically into the midst of their murderers. They 
 are seized and thrown down, dragged about by the 
 hair, and covered with blows. Fortunately, some 
 honest National Guards intervene, and, wresting the 
 three body-guards from the savages, conduct them, 
 but not without great difficulty, into the palace. 
 
 The royal family then leave the carriage. The 
 distance is short between the three steps of the ter- 
 race where the carriage had stopped and the door 
 
THE RETURN TO THE TUILEBIES. 215 
 
 of the Pavilion of the Horloge. But the terrace, 
 like the garden, is thronged by an immense crowd, 
 whose manner is so threatening, especially toward the 
 Queen, that the passage, short though it be, is dan- 
 gerous enough. The King is the first one to alight. 
 The people are silent, but keep their hats on. Only 
 one man, M. de Guilhermy, a member of the National 
 Assembly, uncovers respectfully. " Put your hat on 
 again ! " is shouted from all sides. But he throws ife 
 into the midst of the crowd, too far to be brought 
 back to him, and cool and fearless, remains respectfol 
 amidst universal insult, his face calm and his head 
 bare. 
 
 Marie Antoinette next leaves the carriage. At 
 sight of her, hostile mutterings become audible. 
 During all this time the National Assembly is in 
 session close to the Tuileries. It does not choose to 
 interrupt its business on account of a king. A king 
 is such a small affair nowadays. Still, a few deputies, 
 some through respect, and others through curiosity, 
 have come to the terrace to witness the arrival of 
 the royal family. Among them is one who favors 
 the new ideas, the Vicomte de Noailles. He hastens 
 to approach the Queen and offer her his arm. Marie 
 Antoinette refuses the protection of an adversary, 
 and asks that of a deputy of the right, whom she 
 has just recognized. "The dignity of the empire," 
 as M. de Lamartine has said, " is found entire in the 
 gesture and the heart of a woman." 
 
 One of the officers of the King's bedchamber, M. 
 
216 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 Hue, manages to reach the carriage, and holds out 
 his arms to receive his master's son. The eyes of 
 the little Prince fill with tears on perceiving this 
 faithful servant. But in spite of all M. Hue's efforts 
 to seize the Dauphin, an officer of the National Guard 
 takes possession of the child, carries him quickly into 
 the palace, and sets him down on the tahle in the 
 council hall of the Ministers. 
 
 Separated from her son, Marie Antoinette has a 
 moment of great anxiety concerning the child's fate. 
 She enters the palace with the King, Madame Elisa- 
 beth, and Madame Koyale. Oh ! what a doleful re- 
 entrance. Never has a dungeon seemed more fatal 
 to prisoners. No; this is no longer a palace, it is the 
 vestibule of the scaffold. One might say the royal 
 family passed under the Caudine Forks in entering 
 the Pavilion of the Horloge. They ascend the great 
 staircase to the first story. Before reaching their 
 apartments they cross the hall, where the three body- 
 guards are already prisoners, and make signs testify- 
 ing their emotion and their joy at seeing them still 
 alive. M. de Maiden had received several bayonet 
 thrusts. M. de Moustier had been struck in the 
 neck with the blade of an axe. M. de Valory, 
 knocked down with the butt end of a musket and 
 dragged around by his hair, had been extremely 
 bruised. They were rejoiced to have suffered for 
 their King and Queen. " "What masters ! " exclaimed 
 M. de Valory in his narrative, " and how well they 
 merited that one should die for them ! " 
 
THE BETUBN TO THE TUILEBIES. 217 
 
 At last, behold Louis XVI. once more within the 
 palace of his fathers. He reappears there a van- 
 quished man, whose crown is no longer anything 
 but a derisive bauble. This is not a real monarch ; 
 it is only the phantom of a king. And yet the force 
 of habit is such that the old etiquette machine works 
 still, as if its momentum were not quite exhausted. 
 Louis XVI. finds himself in his apartments as if 
 nothing had happened since the beginning of the 
 week. He is served as usual; it seems as though 
 he might have just returned from a hunting excursion. 
 The reception in his bedchamber will take place with 
 all customary ceremony. 
 
 Camille Desmoulins, in Number 83 of his journal, 
 the Rivolutions de France et de Brabant, thus at- 
 tempted to cast ridicule upon the King's return to 
 the Tuileries : " When Louis XVI. re-entered his 
 apartment, he threw himself into an armchair, say- 
 ing, ' It is devilish hot.' Then, ' I made a wretched 
 journey there. But it had been running in my head 
 this long time.' Afterwards, looking at the National 
 Guards, who were present, ' It was a foolish thing I 
 did ; I grant it. But why shouldn't I play tricks as 
 well as any one else? Let some one bring me a 
 chicken ! ' One of his valets-de-chambre came in. 
 ' Ah ! you're there, are you ? And I too, I'm here ! ' 
 The chicken was brought. Louis XVI. ate and 
 drank with an appetite that would have done honor 
 to the King of Cocagne." 
 
 In Number 84 of his journal, Camille Desmoulins 
 
218 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 complained that the National Assembly treated the 
 King, now become a prisoner, altogether too well. 
 "It will not do to dance attendance," he said, "to 
 suffer a criminal to get into a bath on the arrival of 
 the commissioners. It will not do to wait until he is 
 in his bath-tub, and rings a bell to admit the National 
 Assembly like a bath-waiter. Did any one ever hear 
 of judges writing down their names, and sending 
 them up by a prison porter, to ask humbly for an 
 interview with a criminal, and his hour for being 
 interrogated ? Never was there such a contemptible 
 action." 
 
 If anger and irony like this is what the revolu- 
 tionists feel, the royalists experience profound sad- 
 ness and compassion. Jn order to get an idea of it, 
 read this passage from the Memoirs of the Marquis 
 de Ferri^res, describing a scene that took place as 
 Louis XVI. was re-entering his capital in humilia- 
 tion: "An old military man, a chevalier of Saint 
 Louis, was wandering from one place to another, the 
 prey of a most tormenting anxiety. Reaching a 
 retired spot, he was surprised to see one of the 
 Parisian horse-guards, who was weeping. The old 
 military man approached him. ' Comrade,' said he, 
 ' who could have distressed you to such a point as 
 this ? ' ' Ah ! sir,' answered the horse-guard, sobbing, 
 'I have abandoned my post; I could not keep it. 
 The sight I have just seen has tortured my heart. 
 And I am not the only one ; for my poor horse, 
 which I took back to the stable, will not eat.' The 
 
THE RETUBN TO THE TUILEBIES. 219 
 
 old military man, with tears in his eyes, rummaged in 
 his pocket. ' My friend, I have only these eighteen 
 francs ; do me the favor to accept them.' The horse- 
 guard repelled them with his hand, crying sorrow- 
 fully, 'Ah! I see very well that no one believes 
 any longer in a soldier's honor ! ' The old soldier 
 threw himself into the arms of this worthy man. 
 Both of them, in expressive silence, mingled in this 
 embrace their profound despair and the lively mutual 
 esteem they had conceived for each other." Does 
 not this na'ive anecdote recall the legends of the 
 Middle Ages ? 
 
 The Assembly had passed that morning a decree, 
 the first article of which runs thus : " As soon as the 
 King shall arrive at the Palace of the Tuileries, a 
 guard shall be. provisionally assigned him, which, 
 under the orders of the commandant general of the 
 Parisian guard, shall secure his safety and be answer- 
 able for his person." Other articles had decreed a 
 similar guard for the heir-presumptive, and one for 
 the Queen. Moreover, the Assembly ordained that 
 all those who had accompanied the royal family in 
 their flight should be put under arrest, and interro- 
 gated. The King was provisionally suspended from 
 the functions of royalty, and the Minister of the 
 Interior was ordered to proclaim the decree instantly, 
 by sound of trumpet, in every quarter of the capital. 
 
 Night has come. The fugitives are under a sort 
 of hallucination. Their ears are still deafened with 
 the incessant clamor of the last four days. Worn 
 
220 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 out by fatigue and emotions of every kind, they are 
 going to seek repose. But the rest they will take is 
 a rest full of anguish. If he is still living as a man, 
 Louis XVI. is dead as a king. They promise him 
 that he shall rise again. But at what price, and 
 what manner of precarious life will it be which they 
 throw him as a bounty after galvanizing his royal 
 power ? He no longer dares either to act or speak. 
 He hardly dares to breathe. If he sighs, it is 
 reckoned to him as a crime. A tear would be his 
 condemnation. Day and night he must listen with- 
 out complaining to the obscene and cruel talk that 
 goes on beneath his windows. The garden of the 
 Tuileries is now only a revolutionary camp, where 
 the hawkers of journals and pamphlets cry their 
 wares, where conspirators plot, and the regicidal 
 knife is slowly sharpened. That beautiful garden, 
 the former meeting-place of elegance and fashion, 
 is as much an arena of anarchy and disorder as that 
 of the Palais Royal. Just beside it, on the site of the 
 future rue de Rivoli and rue de Castiglione, is the 
 Hall of the Manage, where the National Assembly, 
 the inheritor of the rights of the crown, holds its ses- 
 sions as sovereign. It is in the narrow space between 
 the Place du Carrousel and the Hall of the Manage 
 that royalty writhes and agonizes painfully. The 
 palace and the garden, the lanes which bound them 
 on the west, the place which bounds them on the 
 east, all are fatal, all breathe discord and rebellion. 
 One might say that threatening voices sound from 
 
THE RETURN TO THE TUILERIES. 221 
 
 every stone and tree. There is something deadly in 
 the atmosphere. Catherine de' Medici was right 
 in dreading the TuUeries as a residence foredoomed 
 to calamities. In this palace, or better, in this 
 prison, the heir of Saint Louis, of Henri IV., and 
 Louis XIV. is no longer a king : he is a hostage. 
 
THIRD PART. 
 
 THE CLOSE OF 1791. 
 I. 
 
 THE CAPTIVITY IN THE TUILBKIES. 
 
 THE next morning after the return from Var 
 rennes, June 26, 1791, the Dauphin said on 
 waking: "I had a frightful dream. I was sur- 
 rounded by wolves and tigers and savage beasts that 
 wanted to eat me up." It was not the child only, 
 but the whole royal family, which had been violently 
 disturbed by the shock of the fatal journey. They 
 awoke captives in the Tuileries. They could form 
 no illusions on that head. The palace was a prison. 
 Wishing to assure himself if he were really a captive, 
 the King presented himself at a door where a sentry 
 was on guard. 
 
 " Do you recognize me ? " asked Louis XVL 
 
 " Yes, Sire," replied the sentry. 
 
 And the King was obliged to go back. 
 
 The master of the Tuileries was no longer the 
 sovereign, but M. de Gouvion, the major-general of 
 222 
 
TBE CAPTIVITY IN THE TUILEEIES. 223 
 
 the National Guard and the executor of M. de 
 Lafayette's commands. He had asked for and ob- 
 tained the right to take whatever precautions he 
 deemed necessary, and notably that of walling up 
 several doors in the interior of the palace. No one 
 could enter it without a card of admission obtained 
 from him. Even those engaged in the domestic 
 service of the royal family were searched on going 
 out and coming in. Madame Elisabeth wrote to 
 Madame de Bombelles, July 10 : " They have estab- 
 lished a sort of camp beneath the windows of the 
 King and Queen, lest they should jump down into 
 the garden, which is hermetically sealed and filled 
 with soldiers." A real camp was, indeed, to be seen 
 there, with tents and all else necessary to the instal- 
 lation of troops. Sentries were posted everywhere, 
 even on the roofs. 
 
 The Queen's women found the greatest difficulty 
 in getting access to her apartments. It had been 
 resolved that she should have no personal attendant 
 except the lady's-maid who had acted as a spy before 
 the journey to Varennes. A portrait of this person 
 was placed at the foot of the staircase leading to the 
 Queen's rooms, so that the sentinel should permit no 
 other woman to enter. Louis XVI. was obliged to 
 appeal to Lafayette in order to have this spy turned 
 out of the palace, where her presence was an outrage 
 on Marie Antoinette. 
 
 This espionage and inquisition pursued the unfor- 
 tunate Queen even into her bedroom. The guards 
 
224 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 were instructed not to lose sight of her by night or 
 day. They took note of her slightest gestures, lis- 
 tened to her slightest words. Stationed in the room 
 adjoining hers, they kept the communicating door 
 always open, so that they could see the august cap- 
 tive at all times. One day, Louis XVI. having closed 
 this door, the officer on guard reopened it. " Those 
 are my orders," said he. " I will open it every time. 
 If Your Majesty closes it. Your Majesty will give 
 yourself a useless trouble." 
 
 Marie Antoinette caused the bed of her lady's- 
 maid to be placed close to hers, so that, as it could 
 be roUed about and was provided with curtains, it 
 might prevent her being seen by the officers. One 
 night, while the maid was sleeping profoundly, and 
 the Queen sitting up, the officer entered the bed- 
 chamber to give some political advice to his sover- 
 eign. Marie Antoinette told him to speak low, so 
 as not to disturb the sleeping woman. She awoke, 
 however, and was seized with mortal terror at seeing 
 an officer of the National Guard so near the Queen. 
 "Be calm," Marie Antoinette said to her, "and do 
 not rise. The person whom you see is a good French- 
 man, deceived concerning the intentions and position 
 of his sovereign, but whose language shows that he 
 has a real attachment to the King." 
 
 When the Queen went up to see the Dauphin, by 
 the inner staircase which connected the ground-floor 
 on which her apartment was situated with the first 
 floor where her children and her husband slept, she 
 
THE CAPTIVITY IN THE TUILEBIE8. 225 
 
 invariably found his door locked. One of the officers 
 of the National Guard knocked at it, saying, " The 
 Queen ! " At this signal, the two officers who kept 
 watch over the governess of the children of France 
 opened the door. 
 
 It was the height of summer. K, towards evening, 
 the King and his family wanted a breath of fresh air, 
 tliey could not show themselves at the windows of 
 their palace without being exposed to the insults and 
 invectives of the people who were on the terrace. 
 
 Every day, deputations from different quarters of 
 the city, suspicious and determined to see for them- 
 selves what precautions were taken and what vigi- 
 lance exercised, would arrive at the Tuileries. At 
 night the King and Queen would be awakened to 
 make sure they had not taken flight. M. de Lafay- 
 ette or M. de Gouvion were roused up also, to warn 
 them of pretended attempts to escape. The alarms 
 were continual. August 25, Madame Elisabeth wrote : 
 " To-night a sentinel who was in a corridor up stairs 
 fell asleep, dreamed I don't know what, and woke up 
 screaming. In an instant, every guard, as far as the 
 end of the Louvre gallery, did the same. In the 
 garden, also, there was a terrible panic." 
 
 The precautions taken were so rigorous, that it 
 was forbidden to say Mass in the palace chapel, be- 
 cause the distance between it and the apartments of 
 Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette was thought too 
 great. A corner of the Gallery of Diana, where a 
 wooden altar was erected, bearing an ebony crucifix 
 
226 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 and a few vases of flowers, became the only spot 
 where the son of Saint Louis, the Most Christian 
 King, could hear Mass. 
 
 And yet, among the guards, now transformed into 
 veritable jailers, there were to be found some well 
 intentioned men who testified a respectful regard for 
 the royal family, and sought to lessen the severity of 
 the orders they had received. Such was Saint Prix, 
 an actor at the Com^die-Frangaise. A sentinel was 
 always on duty in the dark and narrow corridor 
 behind the Queen's apartments which divided the 
 ground-floor in two. The post was not in great 
 demand, and Saint Prix often asked for it. He 
 facilitated the short interviews which the King and 
 Queen had in this corridor, and if he heard the 
 slightest noise, he gave them warning. Marie Antoi- 
 nette had reason, also, to praise M. Collot, chief of 
 battalion of the National Guard, who was charged 
 with the military service of her apartment. One 
 day an officer on duty there spoke unjustly of the 
 Queen. M. Collot wished to inform M. de Lafayette 
 and have him punished; but Marie A.ntoinette op- 
 posed this with her usual kindliness, and said a few 
 judicious and good-tempered words to the culprit. 
 He was converted in an instant, and became one 
 of her most devoted partisans. 
 
 The royal family endured their captivity with 
 admirable sweetness and resignation, and concerned 
 themselves less about their own fate than that of the 
 persons compromised by the Varennes journey, who 
 
THE CAPTIVITY IN THE TUILERIES. 22T 
 
 were now incarcerated. Louis XVI., instead of in- 
 dulging in recriminations against men and things, 
 offered his humiliations and sufferings to God. He 
 prayed, he read, he meditated. Next to his prayer- 
 book his favorite reading was the life of Charles I., 
 either because he sought, in studying history, to find 
 a way of escaping an end like that of the unfortunate 
 monarch, or because an analogy of sorrows and disas- 
 ters had established a profound and mysterious sym- 
 pathy between the king who had been beheaded and 
 the king who was soon to be sr 
 
 The sister of Louis XVI. was like a good angel 
 near him. Gentler, more pious, more resigned than 
 ever, she possessed that supreme energy which comes 
 from a good conscience and a fearless heart. July 4, 
 she wrote to the Count de Provence, the future 
 Louis XVIIL, who, having taken refuge abroad, was 
 out of danger : " Heaven had its own designs in pre- 
 serving you. God at least wills your salvation. That 
 is what I most desire. You know whether my heart 
 is sincere when it wishes for your eternal welfare 
 before all things else. We are well, and we love 
 you; but I count myself chief in that respect. . . . 
 Never think lightly of those whom the hand of God 
 has stricken hard, but to whom He will give, I hope, 
 the means to endure the trial. I embrace you with 
 all my heart." 
 
 July 23, Madame Elisabeth wrote to Madame de 
 Raigecourt : " I am still a little stunned by the vio- 
 lent shock we have experienced. I should need a 
 
228 MAMIE ANTOINMTTE. 
 
 few tranquil days, far away from the bustle of Paris, 
 to restore me to myself. But as God does not permit 
 that, I hope He will make it up to me in some other 
 way. Ah, my heart ! happy is the man who, holding 
 his soul always in his hands, sees nothing but God 
 and eternity, and has no other aim than to make the 
 evils of this world conduce to the glory of God, and 
 to profit by them, in order to enjoy in peace an eternal 
 recompense." 
 
 It was in religion that the saintly Princess evei 
 found strength, hope, and consolation. " You cannot 
 imagine," she wrote to the Abb6 de Lubersac, July 
 29, " how fervent souls redouble their zeal. Perhaps 
 Heaven will not be deaf to so many prayers, offered 
 with so much confidence. It is from the heart of 
 Jesus that they seem to expect the grace that is 
 needed. The fervor of this devotion seems re- 
 doubled." Madame Elisabeth, although not renounc- 
 ing hope, probably comprehended better than any one 
 the extreme gravity of the situation. She had written 
 to Madame de Bombelles the day before : " I dread 
 the moment when the King will be in a position to 
 act. There is not a single intelligent man here in 
 whom we can have confidence. You know where that 
 will lead us ; I shudder at it. We must lift our hands 
 to heaven; God will have pity on us. Ah, how I 
 wish that others beside ourselves would join in the 
 prayers which are addressed Him by all the religious 
 communities and all the pious souls of France ! " 
 
 The sentiments of the Queen were neither less 
 
THE CAPTIVITY IN TSE TUILEBIES. 229 
 
 touching nor less lofty than those of her sister-in-law. 
 Marie Antoinette devoted a part of every day to the 
 education of her children and that of an orphan 
 named Ernestine Lambriquet, whose mother had been 
 one of Madame Royale's servants. The hapless sov- 
 ereign adduced herself as an example of the insta- 
 bility of worldly grandeur. She taught her pupils 
 to deprive themselves voluntarily, every month, of 
 part of the money intended for their pleasures, in 
 order to give it to the poor ; and the children, worthy 
 of their mother, considered this privation as a hap- 
 piness. Marie Antoinette bore her griefs with a 
 courage which was all the more meritorious, because 
 the emotions of the fatal Varennes journey had made 
 her suffer immensely in body, and still more iu mind. 
 Madame Campan, who had been away from her sev- 
 eral weeks, and returned in August, describes her 
 thus : " I found her getting out of bed. Her counte- 
 nance was not extremely altered ; but after the first 
 kind words she addressed to me, she took off her cap, 
 and told me to see what effect grief had produced on 
 her hair. In a single night it had become as white 
 as that of a woman of seventy. Her Majesty showed 
 me a ring which she had just had made for the Prin- 
 cess de Lamballe. It was a sheaf of her white haix, 
 with this inscription : ' Whitened by misfortune.' " 
 
 Alas! the Queen of France and Navarre is no longer 
 the dazzling sovereign who triumphed like a goddess. 
 She is no longer the radiant Juno of the royal 
 Olympus, the superb beauty whose charm is equalled 
 
230 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 only by her prestige. She is no longer followed by a 
 train of adorers, who fall into raptures as she passes 
 by. No one celebrates the splendor of her royal 
 person, the luxury of her toilets, the sparkle of her 
 jewels and her diadem. No. But in this palace which 
 is now only a prison, in this captivity full of anguish 
 and of tears, there is something venerable, august, 
 sacred; something which is graver, more imposing, 
 and more majestic than supreme power : it is sorrow. 
 Ah ! now is the moment when souls truly chivalrous 
 can and ought to devote themselves to this woman. 
 This is the hour when her courtiers honor themselves 
 more than they honor her. O Queen ! you are per- 
 secuted. For you the Sosannas are changed into 
 Crucifieatur! Under the very windows of your palace 
 you are calumniated, threatened, insulted. Hither, 
 then, ye courtiers of misfortune ! Hasten, one and 
 all ! Here your zeal will be well placed. Here no 
 one comes to seek favors, money, earthly goods. 
 Here there is peril, sacrifice, and death. Come ! the 
 Queen will honor you. She will write your name in 
 the golden book of the faithful. Come ! the cloud 
 which overshadows her beautiful forehead renders it 
 still more noble. Her glances are less animated than 
 of old, but they are more affecting. There is some- 
 thing austere and melancholy in her whole aspect 
 now, which even the most ardent revolutionists can- 
 not contemplate too closely without profound and 
 inexpressible emotion. Come all I and if you feel no 
 pity for the Queen, you will bend before the woman, 
 before the wife, before the mother. 
 
n. 
 
 PAEIS DTJBING THE SUSPENSION OP EOTALTT. 
 
 UNTIL further orders, Louis XVI. is a dispos- 
 sessed sovereign. During this interregnum 
 Paris presents all manner of contrasts. It is a 
 medley of optimism and sinister previsions, of mo- 
 narchical relics and republican germs. According to 
 some, all evil is at an end and good has begun ; the 
 age of gold is following the age of iron ; order and 
 liberty are united forever. According to others, a 
 series of terrific tempests is setting in. Behold ! say 
 they, what black clouds hang on the horizon: riot, 
 revolution, famine, religious war, civil war, foreign 
 war, invasion, dismemberment, calamities of every 
 kind. MeanwhUe there is contention everywhere. 
 On this side the Jacobins, more revolutionary than 
 the Revolution itself ; on that, the conservatives, 
 more royalist than the King. Lack of discipline in 
 the army; schism in religion; in the salons, no less 
 than in the public resorts, quarrelling, hatred, in- 
 vective. At the theatres every play gives rise to 
 allusions and conflicts: at the Frangais the Saint 
 Bartholomew scenes of Joseph Ch^nier's Charles IX. 
 
 231 
 
232 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 carry public fury even to convulsions ; at the Opera, 
 tlie royalists enthusiastically applaud, while the re- 
 publicans hiss with rage, this line from Castor et 
 Pollux : — 
 
 " Beign over a faithful people " ; 
 
 at the Nation, Athalie with Gossec's choruses, the 
 partisans of throne and altar growing ecstatic over 
 the monarchical passages of Racine's masterpiece, and 
 the revolutionists applying to Marie Antoinette the 
 anathemas against the daughter of Jezebel. In every 
 street and square are gatherings, seditious propositions, 
 public criers, who hawk about calumny and lies; in 
 the galleries of the Palais Royal, the abode of anarchy 
 and debauch, the ever-increasing and impure stream 
 of ruffians and prostitutes ; in the journals a torrent 
 of diatribes, an avalanche of false news, a deluge of 
 infamies. It is Camille Desmoulins who says: "Now- 
 adays, journalists exercise the public ministry. They 
 denounce, decree, absolve, or condemn daily; they 
 ascend the orator's tribune, and there are stentorian 
 lungs among them which make themselves heard 
 by the eighty-three departments. The journals rain 
 every morning like manna from heaven, and fifty 
 sheets come like the sun every day to light up the 
 horizon." 
 
 The press is furious, insane. In order to get 
 readers it must dip its pen in vitriol and filth, before 
 dipping it in blood. Wisdom, decorum, moderation, 
 what chimeras are those ! We are not in the Acad- 
 
PARIS DVRING SUSPENSION OF ROYALTY. 233 
 
 emy. We are in the fish-market, at the cross-roads, 
 in the kennels. What pleases is obscene language, 
 the ribaldry of clowns at the fair, mean and cruel 
 jests, and the savage cries of cannibals. Violence, 
 rage, and frenzy are the fashion. Carra, in the 
 Annales patriotiques ; Fr^ron, in the Orateur du 
 peuple ; Camille Desmoulins, in the RSvolutions de 
 France et de Brabant; Condorcet, in the Chronique 
 de Paris ; Fauchet, in the Bouche de fer; Marat, in 
 the Ami du peuple ; Brissot, in the Patriate frangais ; 
 Laclos, author of the Liaisons dangereuses, in the 
 Journal des Jacobins, contend with each other which 
 shall bawl longest and loudest. What agitations, 
 what follies, what unhealthy ambitions, what ridicu- 
 lous vanities, what stupid or criminal chimeras there 
 are in this ant-hill, which sooner or later the heel of 
 a despot will trample down. 
 
 Lafayette is no better treated than Louis XVL 
 Camille Desmoulins thus apostrophizes the famous 
 general : " Liberator of two worlds, flower of janiza- 
 ries, phoenix of chief-constables, Don Quixote of Capet 
 and the two Chambers, constellation of the white 
 horse, my voice is too feeble to rise above the clamor 
 of your thirty thousand spies and the noise of your 
 four hundred drums." The same journalist calls the 
 King, " Our crowned Sancho Panza." Paid colpor- 
 teurs distributed in public places the pamphlet enti- 
 tled: Crrand jugement rendu par le peuple centre 
 Louis XVI. " O day of triumph ! " is said in it, " O 
 Frenchmen, how happy you are! The perjurer is 
 
234 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 arrested. Frenchmen, this fall should be an example 
 to you. The traitor Louis should suffer his punish- 
 ment." The Bouche de fer thus expresses itself: 
 " There is no room for deliberation ; the free people, 
 the sovereign people, have put their hats on while 
 looking contemptuously at the ci-devant King. Be- 
 hold at last a plebiscite ; the Republic is sanctioned." 
 
 Every possible means of making the King odious 
 and ridiculous is sought for. He is represented in 
 caricatures with the body of a swine and the forehead 
 of a ram. If the Orleanists and republicans are to 
 be believed, he has lost his reason. He demands 
 post-horses, he wants to put himself at the head of 
 his troops and fight his enemies ; at another moment 
 he proposes to abdicate ; the next instant he gets into 
 a rage, seizes stools and throws at the mirrors in his 
 apartment, and breaks the china vases. These stupid 
 fables are repeated all over Paris. The people have 
 lost completely all sentiment of respect. 
 
 Even the churches are no longer places of consola- 
 tion. There is discord there as elsewhere. In the 
 eyes of the faithful, the constitutional priests who 
 officiate are apostates and intruders. Each religious 
 ceremony celebrated by them is a profanation, a sac- 
 rilege. The Pope has struck the ecclesiastical rebels 
 with his thunderbolts. It is the abomination of deso^ 
 lation. The pious people who still enter the churches, 
 shudder there with grief and sacred anger. 
 
 At the National Assembly the discussions become 
 more and more tumultuous. Republican sentiment 
 
PAMI8 DURING iuaPENSION OF ROYALTY. 235 
 
 no longer hides itself ; Kobespierre is the idol of the 
 day. " That man bears me great ill wiU," says Louis 
 XVI.; " for me, I bear him none ; for I do not know 
 him." The party of order might confide in Bamave, 
 Duport, and Malonet, and with their aid modify the 
 Constitution on monarchical principles. But the 
 members of the Eight are not willing to do this. In 
 their view, to recognize the Constitution, even by 
 correcting it, would be to sanction revolt. To join 
 hands with the seditious would be to become seditious 
 themselves. " Our hopes," say they, " have not fallen 
 so low that we see nothing left but to accept a part 
 in a comedy of frightened revolutionists. No con- 
 cessions, no transactions. Good wiU spring- from the 
 excess of evil. The trial must be made, and made 
 thoroughly, so 'that the democrats may display the 
 full extent of their rascality and folly ! " Developing 
 this thesis, which is the excuse alleged by all com- 
 promised causes when it is sought to justify their 
 inaction and their decay, the royalists systematically 
 abstain from voting ; they sulk, they give a paltry, 
 impotent, and peevish character to their opposition. 
 
 Paris has become a pandemonium. What moder- 
 ate man could make himself heard in the midst of 
 such a howling storm ? It would need the trump of 
 the last judgment to drown this noise, to dominate 
 this tumult. Who, then, could have the audacity to 
 seize the helm? Who would have sufficient moral 
 and material force to inspire the passengers with con- 
 fidence and restore discipline among the mutinous 
 
236 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 crew? There is no pilot. The vessel is about to go 
 to pieces on the reefs. The sky is furrowed with 
 lightning. 
 
 The month of July, 1791, did not fail to please 
 people thirsting after spectacles and emotions : the 
 12th, the removal of Voltaire's remains; the 14th, 
 the FSte of the Federation in the Champ-de-Mars; 
 the 17th, a riot where blood flowed in torrents: cer- 
 tainly a well-filled month ! 
 
 Rejoice, free-thinkers ! Behold the triumph of 
 philosophy, the apotheosis of your patriarch of Fer- 
 ney! When he died, his body was taken by his 
 nephew, furtively and by night, to the church of the 
 Abbey of SeUi^res, in Champagne. But now the 
 city of Paris desires that the illustrious dead shall be 
 placed in the Pantheon, that cathedral of philoso- 
 phers. The revolutionists bum incense to Voltaire, 
 who was the swotn enemy of the Revolution; to 
 Voltaire, the guest of all great nobles, the courtier 
 of all kings. The procession starts from the Place 
 de la Bastille. The coffin is raised up so that the 
 crowd can see it, and the pedestal for it is built of 
 stones torn from the foundations of the fortress of 
 the old regime. On one of the stones the following 
 inscription was engraved: "Receive, in this place 
 whither thou wert dragged by despotism, the honors 
 thy country decrees to thee." 
 
 Forty market porters, vested in white albs, their 
 arms bare, and their heads crowned with laurels, 
 represent the ancient poets, and carry on a stretcher 
 
FABIS -DUBING SUSPENSION OF ROYALTY. 237 
 
 a statue of the demigod in gilt pasteboard. A golden 
 casket in the form of an ark contains the seventy vol- 
 umes of his works. The coffin is placed on a car 
 drawn by twelve white horses, whose manes and 
 bridle reins are braided with flowers. Porters cos- 
 tumed as priests of Apollo, and harlots in more or 
 less dingy robes, figuring as nymphs and muses, sur- 
 round the car. All the actors and actresses of Paris 
 walk behind it. It halts before the principal thesfc- 
 tres and the house of M. de Villette, where "Voltaire 
 died, and where his heart is preserved. Wreaths and 
 garlands ornament the fagade on which is the inscrip- 
 tion: "His mind is everywhere, and his heart is 
 here." 
 
 The Th€S.tre Fran9ais has converted its peristyle 
 into a triumphafl. arch. A statue of the author of 
 Merope is erected there. On its pedestal one reads : 
 " He wrote Irine when he was eighty-three; at seven- 
 teen he wrote (Edipe." Notwithstanding the eager- 
 ness of the crowd, this mythological and pagan pomp, 
 this funeral ceremony without a cross, without priests, 
 and without prayers, excited nothing but curiosity. 
 These strange white-robed priestesses, these would- 
 be vestals, whose mission it is to keep alive the 
 sacred fire of poesy, create a smile. It is not an 
 easy thing to accord to a man, without becoming 
 ridiculous, the honors due to God alone. Do what 
 you can, say what you wiU, the Voltaire cult wUl 
 never be a religion. 
 
 A pouring rain suddenly disturbs the procession. 
 
238 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 Poets, muses, nymphs, municipal officers, all run to 
 seek a shelter. The ceremony is not over until half- 
 past ten at night. The body is deposited in the 
 Pantheon between those of Descartes and Mirabeau. 
 The royalists complain because a public fSte has 
 been celebrated while the King and his family are 
 captives in the Tuileries. Charitable persons regret 
 the sums expended on a theatrical display while the 
 people lack bread. All those who figured in the 
 procession are tired out and covered with mud. The 
 rain has chilled enthusiasm. The gilt pasteboard of 
 the statue is soaked into fragments. To-morrow no 
 one will give another thought to the patriarch of 
 Ferney. Sic transit gloria mundi ! 
 
 Two days after the translation of Voltaire's remains 
 comes the FSte of the Federation in the Champ-de- 
 Mars. The sequestrated royal family is not present. 
 The optimism and the illusions of the preceding year 
 are already long gone by. People perceive that the 
 age of gold is not quite so near as they supposed. 
 The acclamations are less enthusiastic ; the blare of 
 the trumpets wakes different echoes. 
 
 The epilogue of the f Ste of July 14 is the bloody 
 scene of July 17. Men's minds are too excited. An 
 address to Frenchmen, signed by Achille du Ch&te- 
 let, afterwards colonel of a regiment of chasseurs, 
 had been placarded on all the walls of Paris, and 
 even in the corridors of the National Assembly. 
 "Citizens," it is said in this address, "the perfect 
 tranquillity, the mutual confidence which reigned 
 
PAEIS OUBING SUSPENSION OF BOTALTT. 239 
 
 among us during the flight of the ci-devant King, 
 and the profound indifference with which we saw 
 him brought back, are unequivocal signs that the 
 absence of a king is better than his presence, and 
 that he is not merely a superfluity, but an over- 
 heavy burden which weighs down the whole nation. 
 The history of Fraiice presents nothing but a long 
 succession of the sufferings of the people, the cause 
 of which may always be traced back to the Kings. 
 We have not ceased to suffer for them and by them. 
 The catalogue of their oppressions was full. But 
 to their crimes treason alone was lacking. To-day 
 nothing is lacking ; the measure is complete ; there 
 is no crime remaining to be committed. Their reign 
 is ended. ... As to the individual safety of M. 
 Louis Bourbon, it is all the more assured, seeing that 
 France will not dishonor itself by resentment against 
 a man who has accomplished his own dishonor." 
 
 The Orleanists and the Jacobins unite. In a peti- 
 tion in which it is declared that " it is as contrary to 
 the majesty of the outraged nation as it is to its inter- 
 ests, ever again to confide the reins of empire to a 
 perjured, traitorous, and fugitive man." Brissot and 
 Laclos demand another king. The petition is posted 
 on aU the walls. Public notification is given that all 
 those who wish to sign the original go to the Champ- 
 de-Mars, where it lies on the Altar of the Country, 
 left standing since the FSte of the 14th. Sunday, 
 July 17, is fixed for these signatures. The advocates 
 vf the deposition arrive in crowds at the Champ-de- 
 
240 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 Mars at three in the afternoon; but Lafayette and 
 Bailly oppose the manifestation. The municipality 
 has decided to display the red flag and proclaim mar- 
 tial law. The rioters shout: "Down with the red 
 flag ! down with the bayonets ! " A hail of stones 
 follows these vociferations. The National Guards 
 fire several times in the air. Some of the people take 
 to flight. But the leaders, recovering from their 
 first fright, on seeing that no one is wounded rally 
 the flying. They begin to throw stones again. La- 
 fayette orders a second discharge, which this time 
 is real. The ground is covered with dead bodies. 
 From the Champ-de-Mars the panic spreads in every 
 direction. Parisians who are taking the air in the 
 Champs Elys^es are appalled. If Lafayette chose, it 
 would be all up with republican outbreaks for a long 
 time. The demagogues think they are lost. They 
 tremble. But the next day they are permitted to raise 
 their heads; their journals reappear. They return 
 tranquilly to their clubs. Reassured by the hesitation 
 of their adversaries, they requite it by audacity, and 
 the Revolution goes on its way. 
 
 There are many who are deeply afflicted by these 
 scandals and troubles. But the greater number tind 
 a sort of pleasure in them. This perpetual agitation, 
 this political fury, these violent emotions, these 
 shocks, these unforeseen and rapid crises which suc- 
 ceed each other like so many scenes in a melodrama, 
 please many persons greatly. They have become so 
 accustomed to fever that they do not desire health. 
 
, PARIS DUBINQ 8U8PENBI0N OF BOTALTT. 241 
 
 Repose would weary minds so eager after exciting 
 scenes. They are interested in parliamentary conten- 
 tions as Spaniards are in bull fights. It is the same 
 . effervescence, the same shouts, the same tumult. It is 
 all the more agreeable to them to see the giants falling, 
 because, in former days, they could only be looked at 
 kneeling. The instinct of equality finds satisfaction 
 in the levelling of the throne. The sufferings of roy- 
 alty, of the clergy, and of the nobility are the delights 
 of the common people. Honest citizens and National 
 Guards, rejoice in the lessons administered to power, 
 and the future Septembrists already scent an odor of 
 blood in the air. 
 
III. 
 
 THE EMIGBATION. 
 
 WE have just looked at Paris. Now let us cast 
 a rapid glance at foreign parts. 
 
 The tidings of the flight of the King and his fanuly 
 had awakened delirious joy abroad. The ^migr^s 
 began to entertain the most flattering hopes. They 
 felicitated, they embraced each other. At Brussels 
 great entertainments were preparing in expectation 
 of the courier who should announce that Louis XVI. 
 had happily crossed the frontier. The disaster at 
 Varennes came to chUl this overflow of joy. 
 
 The emigration which, thus far, had not been very 
 extensive, now became almost general among the 
 nobility, the clergy, and even the upper middle class. 
 In Paris and the chief provincial cities, committees 
 were appointed to facilitate this universal flight. 
 Wild enthusiasts urged the nobles to abandon their 
 families and their estates, and fly like exiles to a 
 foreign country. It was a grand mistake ; the place 
 for the nobility was beside the King, not elsewhere. 
 That a loyaL - aristocracy should follow an exiled 
 sovereign is comprehensible; but that it should 
 242 
 
THE EMIGRATION. 243 
 
 abandon him to the gravest perils in his own domin- 
 ions, and go wandering from court to court instead 
 of remaining where it belongs and playing a national 
 part, seems inadmissible. If the 6migr6s had em- 
 ployed at home half the energy and the efforts which 
 they fruitlessly employed abroad, the throne would 
 have been saved. But passion does not reason. It 
 is only a question of a little trip to the borders of the 
 Rhine, said they. In five or six weeks we shall come 
 back triumphant. All one has to do is to show his 
 crest, a white handkerchief, the Prince of Condi's 
 boot, and six francs' worth of cord to hang the revo- 
 lutionary chiefs with. 
 
 Exasperated by the failure of the Varennes jour- 
 ney, the Marquis de Bouill^ anathematized the 
 National Assembly. A new Coriolanus, he threat- 
 ened his coxmtry with the thunderbolts of his wrath 
 and vengeance. He wrote a letter from Luxembourg 
 to the Assembly. " The King," he says in it, " has 
 just made an effort to break the chains in which you 
 have so long detained him and his unfortunate family. 
 But a blind destiny which governs empires, and 
 against which human prudence avails nothing, has 
 determined otherwise. He is stUl your prisoner. His 
 life and that of his Queen are — I shudder at the 
 thought — at the mercy of a people whom you have 
 rendered ferocious and sanguinary, and who have 
 become an object of scorn to the universe." The 
 irascible general thus accentuates his threat: "I 
 know better than any one what means of defence you 
 
244 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 have at command; they amount to nothing. Your 
 chastisement will serve as an example to posterity. 
 . . . You will answer for the safety of the King and 
 his family, I do not say to me, but to all kings, and I 
 declare to you, that if a single hair of his head is 
 touched, not one stone of Paris will be left upon 
 another. I know the roads; I will drive invading 
 armies through them. This letter is but the herald 
 of the manifesto of all European sovereigns. They 
 will teach you, in more emphatic style, what you 
 have to do and, what you have to fear. Adieu, 
 gentlemen; I end without compliments. My senti- 
 ments are known to you." 
 
 During this time the King's two brothers, the 
 future Louis XVIII. and the future Charles X., were 
 seeking to form a European coalition against the 
 Revolution. Their uncle Louis Wenceslas, Elector 
 of Trdves, had received them at Coblentz with cordial 
 hospitality. Coblentz was at this time the Paris of 
 Germany. The head of the house of Cond6 organ- 
 ized there the staffs of the Princes' army ; plenty of 
 officers, no soldiers ; a head, but a head separated from 
 the trunk. Calonne had the administration of finances, 
 which was very like a sinecure. Marshal de Broglie 
 was Minister of War. They allotted all the offices of 
 State in advance, as Pompey's Roman knights did 
 on the eve of Pharsalia. 
 
 The hero of the emigration was the King of 
 Sweden, whose portrait has been so well drawn by 
 M. Geffroy in his admirable work, Q-ustave III. et la 
 
THE EMIGRATION. 245 
 
 cour de France. On his arrival at Aix-larChapelle, 
 Gustavus did not wholly share the illusions of the 
 French ^migr&. June 16, 1791, he wrote: "I 
 have found here nearly all the chief nobility of 
 France. These illustrious exiles form a very agree- 
 able society. They are all animated with equal hatred 
 against the National Assembly, and have, besides, 
 such exaggerated notions on all subjects as you can 
 form no idea of. It is really both sad and curious to 
 listen to and observe them." But the Swedish mon- 
 arch soon felt the influence of his environment. The 
 imprisonment of Louis XVI. in the Tuileries made 
 him indignant. 
 
 Very proud of the golden sword Marie Antoinette 
 had sent him, with this device, For the defence of 
 the oppressed, the King of Sweden held court at Aix- 
 la-Chapelle, with Fersen, d'Escar, Breteuil, Calonne, 
 M. and Madame de Saint Priest, the Marquis de 
 Bouilld, and Mesdames d'Harcourt, de Croy, and de 
 Lamballe. 
 
 Of a bold and chivalrous spirit, fond of adventure, 
 and burning vrith the desire to attract public atten- 
 tion and make himself talked about by kings and 
 peoples, Gustavus became intoxicated with the self- 
 seeking flatteries vrith which the French nobles plied 
 him. To them he was not merely a paladin and a 
 protector, but a host. Three times a week he invited 
 a hundred of the ^migrfe to dinner, — a courtesy 
 particularly welcome to gentlemen whom the lack 
 of money sometimes reduced to a diet of potatoes 
 
246 MASIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 and milk. When, he walked out, he was met by 
 women and children who held out their arms, en- 
 treating him to take them back to their country. His 
 imagination became overheated. He said proudly 
 that his coup d'Stat of 1791, in France, would not 
 succeed less brilliantly than his coup cCitat in Sweden, 
 in 1772. He admired in himself the champion of 
 crowns, the Godfrey de Bomllon of some crusade 
 on behalf of authority and monarchy, the magnani- 
 mous sovereign who, having once been protected 
 by the court of France, was now going to pay his 
 debt and overpay it. It seemed to him as if he 
 had already made his entry into Versailles ; as if his 
 valiant troops, with music and waving banners, had 
 encamped proudly upon that famous Place d'Armes, 
 so odiously profaned by the lamentable scenes of the 
 October Days ; as if, crowned with laurels, like the 
 great Condd, he had ascended the marble staircase 
 amidst acclamations, and that the uniforms of his 
 Swedish officers, the liberators of the King of France 
 and Navarre, were repeating themselves in the daz- 
 zling Gallery of the Mirrors. In fact, Gustavus was 
 the almost unique subject of conversation in Germany, 
 where he figured, not simply as the defender of the 
 Most Christian King, but as that of all the princes of 
 the Holy Empire. Open the Almanack de G-oiha for 
 1791. The illustrations are devoted almost exclu- 
 sively to Sweden and its sovereign. He carried things 
 with a high hand in those petty German courts where 
 a perfume of feudalism still lingered and the old 
 
THE EMIGRATION. 247 
 
 r%ime hedged itself about witli all tlie trappings 
 of absolutism in miniature. He returned to Stock- 
 holm at the beginning of August, 1791, and when 
 holding a grand review there, said he was rehearsing 
 his future solemn entry into Paris. 
 
 Meantime the emigration is redoubling its activity. 
 It knocks at every door; it turns its steps toward 
 every capital. A periodical published at Coblentz 
 under the title. Journal de la Contre-RSvolution, seri- 
 ously maintains that two millions of men are advanc- 
 ing to the assistance of the ^migr^s. If any one 
 ventures to express a doubt about it, the initiated 
 whisper in confidence that the troops only march by 
 night, so as to take the democrats more readily by 
 surprise. How active these nobles are, so brilliant, 
 brave, and witty, yet so frivolous and vain, who 
 turn all things into jest, and who, seeing France 
 only from a distance, see it badly and make boasts to 
 which events always give the lie ! Let us follow M. 
 d'Esears in his peregrinations among the petty prince- 
 doms of Germany, where he finds Versailles and the 
 CEil-de-Boeuf again, seen through the big end of the 
 lorgnette. How he enjoyed himself at the court of 
 the Cardinal Prince-Bishop of Passau ! " Come, Mon- 
 seigneur," he said to him, " the Opera yesterday ; to- 
 day a ball. Who could deny himself such an easy 
 life ? . . . Hardly had the Cardinal and I taken our 
 places at the end of the hall, when the waltzing began 
 with a swiftness, the like of which I had never seen 
 except there and at Vienna. Each lady, after receiv- 
 
248 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 ing a favor and a compliment from His Eminence, 
 continued her waltz. It was with a heart penetrated 
 with gratitude and a lively regret that I took leave 
 of such a worthy prelate." 
 
 The Prince de Cond^, the Comte d'Artois, and the 
 Comte de Provence has each his diplomacy and his 
 court. Negotiations from every quarter weave in and 
 out incessantly. The projected coalition elaborates 
 itself but slowly. The lack of confidence of Louis 
 XVI. in his brothers, the rival influences, mutual 
 jealousies, and conflicting ambitions of the larger 
 courts ; the financial embarrassments of the King of 
 Sweden ; the difficulty of rousing the great German 
 people to shake off their torpor ; the delays and hesi- 
 tations of England, Catherine II., the Emperor, and 
 the King of Prussia, — all these causes combine to 
 retard the realization of the wishes of the ^migrds. 
 But the declaration of Pilnitz comes of a sudden to 
 revive their hopes. After that they think success is 
 certain. 
 
 On August 25, 1791, the Emperor Leopold and 
 Frederic William II., King of Prussia, meet at 
 Pilnitz, the summer residence of the court of Sax- 
 ony. Splendid fStes are celebrated in their honor. 
 In the midst of a banquet the unexpected arrival of 
 the brilliant Comte d'Artois is announced. Accom- 
 panied by Calonne and the Marquis de Bouill^, he 
 comes to plead what he calls the cause of thrones. 
 By force of persistence he attains the famous decla- 
 ration which, signed on August 27, 1791, was the 
 
THE EMIGRATION. 249 
 
 cause of a war lasting twenty-two years. It is thus 
 expressed : " The Emperor and the King of Prussia, 
 having listened to the desires and representations of 
 Monsieur (the Comte de Provence) and of M. the 
 Comte d'Artois, jointly declare that they consider the 
 present situation of the King of France as a suhject 
 of common interest to all European sovereigns. They 
 hope that this interest cannot fail to be acknowledged 
 by aU the Powers whose aid is sought for, and that, 
 consequently, they will not refuse to employ, con- 
 jointly with the Emperor and the King of Prussia, 
 the most efficacious means, in proportion to their 
 ability, to put the King of France in a condition to 
 consolidate, in perfect freedom, the bases of a mo- 
 narchical government equally consistent with the 
 rights of sovereigns and the welfare of the French 
 people. Then, and in that case, the aforesaid Majes- 
 ties have decided to act promptly and in mutual 
 accord to attain the proposed and common end. 
 Meanwhile they will give their troops the neces- 
 sary orders so that they may be in readiness for 
 action." 
 
 The ^migr^s are beside themselves with joy. They 
 triumph, they proclaim victory. To listen to them, 
 foreign armies are about to invade France immedi- 
 ately. There will be fifty thousand Austrians in 
 Flanders, forty thousand Swiss and as many Pied- 
 montese in Provence and Dauphiny, fifty thousand 
 Prussians on the Rhine; Russia and Sweden will 
 send their fleets under command of M. de Nassau 
 
250 MARIE ANTOmMTTJE. 
 
 and Gustavus III.; Holland will furnisli two mil- 
 lions ; Spain and the Two Sicilies will join the 
 coalition, France, add the 6migr&, is no longer a 
 military power ; its army is without officers, its fron- 
 tier towns defenceless, its arsenals empty, its maga- 
 zines unprovisioned. 
 
 Near Louis XVI. there is a woman deeply opposed 
 to the Revolution, and sincerely attached to the old 
 regime, but whose sentiments, nevertheless, are far 
 more French than this. It is the pious and cour- 
 ageous Madame Elisabeth. August 5, 1791, she 
 wrote to Madame de Bombelles: "People retail a 
 thousand scraps of news, each of them still more 
 foolish than the others. They say that Russia, Prus- 
 sia, Sweden, aU Germany, Switzerland, and Sardinia 
 are to fall upon us. . . . But rest easy, my Bombe ; 
 your country will acquire glory, and that is all. 
 Three hundred thousand National Guards, perfectly 
 organized, and every one a hero by nature, line the 
 frontiers, and will not permit a single Uhlan to come 
 near. The malicious say that near Maubeuge eight 
 Uhlans made five hundred National Guards, with 
 three cannons, beg for mercy. We must let them 
 talk, — it amuses them ; our turn will come to mock 
 at them." 
 
 As to Marie Antoinette, she said to M. FranQois 
 Hue : " The sudden invasion of foreign troops would 
 cause inevitable disorders. The King's subjects, both 
 good and bad, would infallibly suffer by it. The 
 assistance of foreigners, no matter how friendly they 
 
TBE EMIGRATION. 251 
 
 appear, is one of those measures whicli a wise king 
 should not employ save at the last extremity." But, 
 alas! there were moments when this last extremity 
 seemed inevitable to her. She spoke of the ^mi- 
 gr^s with more bitterness than confidence. She 
 complained of the insubordination of the King's two 
 brothers. It would have been painful to ^Louis XVI. 
 to feel himself indebted to them for the restoration 
 of his authority. The idea of a regency under the 
 Comte de Provence seemed to him an attack against 
 the rights of the crown. He condemned the exag- 
 gerations of the 6migrds, more royalist than the King 
 himself, and understood better than any one the 
 futility and frivolity of what went on at Coblentz. 
 But the situation was becoming so serious, the revo- 
 lutionary spirit made such progress, and the hapless 
 sovereign found so much ill-will and ingratitude 
 among his subjects, that he often cast a glance across 
 the frontiers. As M. de Lamartine has said, it was 
 Uot the King who conspired; it was the man, the hus- 
 band, and the father, who sought the aid of foreigners 
 to secure the safety of his wife and children. 
 
 It must not be forgotten, moreover, that the 
 national idea was not so strongly accentuated then 
 as now. Throughout the entire history of France 
 we behold sometimes the kings, and sometimes their 
 subjects, invoking without shame the aid of foreign 
 armies. The leaguers called in Spanish troops. 
 Henri IV. conquered his realm by the aid of Eng- 
 lish troops. Under Louis XIII. the Protestants of 
 
252 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 Rochelle were England's allies. At the time of the 
 Fronde, the great Cond^ fought against France under 
 the standards of Spain. After the revocation of the 
 edict of Nantes the French refugees took service in 
 the Prussian army. The English in America had 
 just been asking for French assistance against their 
 mother country. The monarchical and religious sen- 
 timent took precedence of the national sentiment 
 among the nobility at the end of the eighteenth cen- 
 tury. The idea of the throne and the altar out- 
 weighed that of country. The men at Coblentz did 
 not consider themselves as compatriots of the Jaco- 
 bins who were threatening their property, their honor, 
 and their life. Shall we not see, even in the nine- 
 teenth century, the heroic soldier of Valmy, the 
 future Louis-Philippe, asking a commission from the 
 Spanish Cortes, in the hope of bearing arms against 
 France ? 
 
IV. 
 
 ACCKPTANCE OF THE CONSTITUTION. 
 
 THE acceptance of the Constitution was like a 
 clear spot in a cloudy sky, though a very brief 
 and not very luminous on6. Marie Antoinette pre- 
 tended to revive to hope. July 30, 1791, she wrote 
 to her brother, the Emperor Leopold, that the influ- 
 ential men of the Assembly had pronounced for the 
 re-establishment of the royal authority, and that 
 everything seemed tending toward the termination of 
 disorder. "It is necessary, therefore," she added, 
 " that nothing shall be done abroad to hinder a salu- 
 tary tendency. An attempt at armed intervention 
 would be particularly, and from all points of view, 
 to be dreaded." But next day the Queen thus ex- 
 pressed herself in her correspondence with Count 
 Mercy-Argenteau : " I wrote a letter to the Emperor 
 yesterday (the 30th) ; I should be ashamed of it, if I 
 did not hope that my brother would understand that, 
 in my position, I am obliged to do and to write aU 
 that is required of me. It is essential that my 
 brother should send me a circumstantial letter in 
 reply, which might answer as a sort of basis for 
 
254 MARIE ANTOmHTTE. 
 
 negotiations here. Send a courier at once to warn 
 him of this." The Abb^ Louis (the future Baron 
 Louis, Minister of Finances under the Restoration) 
 went to Brussels with the messages, dictated by 
 Barnave, inviting the ^migr^s to moderation. The 
 Abb^ Louis, who was one of the Constitutional 
 group, was apparently the Queen's . envoy. But on 
 August 1, she wrote to Count Mercy- Argenteau : 
 " The Abbd will say that he has been accredited by me 
 to talk with you. It is essential that you shall seem 
 to listen to him and to be prepossessed; but do not 
 allow yourself to be influenced by him. I am obliged 
 to be extremely cautious with him and his friends. 
 They have been useful to me, and at this moment 
 they are so still ; but, however good may be the 
 intentions they manifest, their ideas are exaggerated 
 and could never suit us." Even while hoping for 
 something from abroad, Marie Antoinette did not 
 desire an invasion. What she wanted was diplomatic 
 action, an armed Congress. " I always persist," she 
 added, "in wishing that the Powers should treat vdth 
 an army behind them, but I think it would be ex- 
 tremely dangerous to seem to wish to enter France." 
 The unhappy Queen, even while simulating confi- 
 dence, knew very well what to think about the 
 schemes for public regeneration and felicity, from 
 which so much was promised. She had seen the men 
 at work who were going to make France so rich and 
 prosperous. She was edified by what certain people 
 call liberty. She understood the greatness of soul of 
 
ACCEPTANCE OF TBE CONSTITUTION. 255 
 
 these philosophers who boasted that they would bring 
 back the age of gold. " These people," said she to 
 Madame Campan, "have no desire for sovereigns. 
 We shall succumb to their perfidious but consistent 
 policy. They are demolishing the monarchy stone by 
 stone." 
 
 Meanwhile the rigors of the captivity in the Tuile- 
 ries were gradually diminishing. Louis XVI., who 
 had been put imder arrest like a simple officer, little 
 by little became King again. Certain persons went 
 so far as to claim that he was about to become so 
 altogether. There was talk of creating a guard for 
 him. It was said that he was to be a monarch after 
 the English pattern. The advocates of a parliament- 
 ary system were delighted. September 3, 1791, a 
 deputation from "the National Assembly came in great 
 pomp to bring to the King, who was still a captive, 
 the Constitutional Act. They set out at seven in 
 the evening, preceded by ushers and torches and 
 marching between a double row of National Guards, 
 and entered the Tuileries by way of the Carrousel. 
 Next day Madame Elisabeth wrote : " The Constitu- 
 tion is finished, and has been in the King's hands 
 since yesterday. To-day the doors were opened. 
 There were many cries of ' Long live the King and 
 the Queen.' At Vespers there was applause when 
 the King entered and went out. He has decided 
 that those who have been guarding him, and also 
 the Queen and his son, shall continue to act as his 
 guard of honor, until the formation of his household. 
 
256 MAMIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 There are some honest men among them. Neverthe- 
 less, the palace is surrounded as usual by four or five 
 hundred National Guards. Paris is not in commo- 
 tion. Enormous crowds come to the Tuileries. But 
 they are all people who make a good, enough appear- 
 ance. Now and then we can see that some of them 
 are well affected towards us. The others are quiet, 
 and all seem glad to see their former master, hoping 
 that he will promptly sign this superb document with 
 which all their heads are turned, and which they 
 think was made for their happiness." At the same 
 time, Marie Antoinette wrote to Count Mercy-Argen- 
 teau: " You must surely have received the charter; 
 it is a tissue of impracticable absurdities. With time 
 and a little wisdom, I still hope that we may at least 
 prepare a happier future for our children." 
 
 September 13, Louis XVI. addressed to the Na- 
 tional Assembly a message, concerted with Barnave, 
 in which he accepted the new Constitution. "In 
 order to extinguish animosities," said he in this doc- 
 ument, " let us agree to a mutual forgetfulness of the 
 past. Let the accusations and prosecutions which 
 have arisen solely from the events of the Revolution 
 be extinguished by a general reconciliation. I wish 
 to swear to the Constitution in the very place where 
 it was made, and I will come to the National Assem- 
 bly at noon to-morrow." Upon the motion of Lafay- 
 ette, the Assembly unanimously adopted the general 
 amnesty asked for by the King, and a numerous 
 deputation went to carry him this decree, which set 
 
ACCEPTANCE OF THE CONSTITUTION. 257 
 
 at liberty all who had taken part in the Varennes 
 journey. In the morning of September 14, Madame 
 Elisabeth wrote to Madame de Raigeeourt: "I am 
 going to the Assembly at noon, to attend the Queen. 
 If I were the mistress, I certainly would not go. 
 But, I do not know, all this will not cost more to me 
 than to many others, although assuredly I am far 
 from being a Constitutionalist." 
 
 The firing of cannon and popular joy announced 
 the arriyal of the royal cortege in the Hall of the 
 Mandge. Louis XVI. wore no order but the cross of 
 Saint Louis, in deference to a decree of the Assembly 
 which had just abolished aU other decorations. It 
 was a curious symptom that the Most Christian King 
 should no longer dare to wear the order of the Holy 
 Spirit. He mounted slowly to the armchair intended 
 for him. At his left, and on the same level, was the 
 seat of the President of the Assembly, de Thouret, 
 who, like the King, was to perish on the scaffold. 
 The Queen, the Dauphin, Madame Royale, and 
 Madame Elisabeth took places in one of the boxes. 
 Hardly had Louis XVI. taken the oath, when the 
 President, in an affected manner, hastily sat down. 
 Louis XVI., who noticed this, also resumed his seat 
 without delay. Subjects sitting down in advance of 
 their sovereign was in the eyes of Louis XVI. and 
 his family the highest pitch of insolence and scandal. 
 
 The Assembly reconducted the monarch to his 
 palace. Acclamations resounded on all sides. Salvos 
 of artillery and enthusiastic applause announced the 
 
258 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 opening of a new era. But Louis XVI. and his 
 Queen were sad unto death. On returning from the 
 Tuileries, the King, looking very pale, entered Marie 
 Antoinette's apartment. His countenance was ex- 
 tremely altered. Throwing himself into an arm- 
 chair, he cried, " AU is lost ! " Then, turning toward 
 Madame Campan, "Ah! Madame," said he, "you 
 were a witness of this humiliation. What! you 
 came to France to see. ..." And sobs impeded 
 his utterance. The Queen fell on her knees before 
 him and clasped him in her arms. " I stayed," adds 
 Madame Campan, "not through blamable curiosity, 
 but because I was so stupefied that I could not tell 
 what I ought to do. The Queen said to me, ' Ah ! 
 go away ! go away ! ' with an accent which meant, 
 'Do not stay to be a spectator of your sovereign's 
 prostration and despair.' " 
 
 While the republicans and Orleanists were cele- 
 brating the new Constitution, the royalists who were 
 faithful to Louis XVI. amused themselves by snatch- 
 ing some ephemeral triumphs in the theatres. At 
 the Nation Theatre they got G-aston et Bayard and 
 La Partie de chasse de Henri IV. produced on Sep- 
 tember 16. After having frantically applauded the 
 passages which make allusion to the ancient love of 
 the French people for their king, they went every- 
 where repeating, "Public opinion is changed; the 
 Constitution wiU not last." They paid men and 
 women of the people to cry "Long live the King!" 
 "Long live the Queen ! " beneath the windows of the 
 
ACCEPTANCE OF THE CONSTITUTION. 259 
 
 Tuileries. And they assured Louis XVI. that, the 
 Assembly once dissolved, the monarchical sentiment 
 •would at once resume its vigor. 
 
 The Constitution was solemnly proclaimed on Sep- 
 tember 18, in the midst of a magnificent fSte in the 
 Champ-de-Mars. The citizens embraced each other 
 like brethren. The new Constitution was read from 
 the summit of the Altar of the Country. Balloons 
 displaying patriotic inscriptions were sent up in the 
 Champs-Elys^es. The aeronauts threw down pam- 
 phlets of the Constitution on the heads of the crowd. 
 In the evening the illuminations were superb. Gar- 
 lands of fire, reaching from tree to tree, outlined a 
 sparkling avenue from the Barridre de I'Etoile to the 
 Tuileries, in which numerous bands played joyous 
 music. At eleven o'clock, Louis XVI. and his fam- 
 ily drove in a carriage through this radiant avenue. 
 The acclamations were enthusiastic. The ungrateful 
 nation could not get over its habit of crying, " Long 
 Hve the King ! " For one moment the bitterest revo- 
 lutionists, the most enthusiastic republicans, became 
 royalists in spite of themselves. The same Champs- 
 Elys^es which three months before had, been a road 
 of humiliation and of anguish was transformed into 
 a triumphal way. It was like a magic souvenir — an 
 evocation of the happy days. The lamp-posts were 
 alight, and this time no victims were hanging from 
 them. Marie Antoinette could not believe that they 
 were the same people. What ! they had still homage 
 and benedictions for her ? What ! cries of " Long live 
 
260 MAMIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 the Queen ! " resounded once more ? But, like the 
 slave in ancient triumphs, there was a man of the peo- 
 ple who disturbed the joy of this ovation. Every time 
 that the acclamations ceased, this man, who never 
 quitted the door of the royal carriage for an instant, 
 cried out alone, and with the voice of a stentor : " Do 
 not believe them. Long live the Nation ! " And 
 this sinister personage froze Marie Antoinette with 
 terror. 
 
 However, there was a few days' lull in the storm. 
 The royal family reappeared in the theatres and were 
 applauded as of old. " We have been at the Op&a," 
 wrote Madame Elisabeth, September 25. " To-mor- 
 row we are going to the Com^die. I am enchanted 
 about it ; and to-day we had a Te Deum during the 
 Mass. There was one also at Notre Dame. Mon- 
 seigneur the intruder (Gobel, the Constitutional 
 Bishop of Paris) was very anxious that we should go 
 there. But when one is sung at home, one is dis- 
 pensed from going to find another elsewhere. We 
 kept quiet, therefore. This evening we are to have 
 another illumination. The garden will be superb, 
 all hung with lamps and those little glass things 
 which for two years no one has been able to name 
 without horror." 
 
 September 30, Louis XVI. went to the Hall of 
 the Manage, to be present at the closing session of 
 the Constituent Assembly. Bailly, in the name 
 of the municipality, and M. de Pastoret, in the name 
 of the departments, congratulated it on the achieve- 
 
ACCEPTANCE OF THE CONSTITUTION. 261 
 
 ment of its task. "Legislators," said Bailly, "you 
 have been armed with the greatest power with 
 which men can be invested. To-morrow you will 
 again be nothing. It is neither interest nor flattery, 
 then, which praises you. It is your works. We 
 announce to you the benedictions of posterity, which 
 for you begin to-day." " Liberty," said M. de Pas- 
 toret afterwards, " had fled over seas, or taken refuge 
 in the mountains. You have raised up again its 
 shattered throne. Despotism had effaced all the 
 pages of the book of Nature. You have established 
 anew the Decalogue of free men." The King left 
 the hall amid the huzzas and acclamations of the 
 Assembly and the galleries. The President then 
 said, " The National Constituent Assembly declares 
 that it has fulfilled its mission, and that all its ses- 
 sions are over." It was four o'clock in the after- 
 noon. 
 
 When Robespierre and Potion went out, the crowd 
 crowned them with oak leaves and took the horses out 
 of their carriage to drag them in triumph. They 
 called one of them the Incorruptible, and the other 
 the Virtuous. This ovation to the two tribunes 
 presaged the future, and through '91 pierced already 
 '93. 
 
 In reality, nobody laid down his arms. All Paris 
 was joyful. The bells rang. FStes were given. 
 They sang. They illuminated. But none of these 
 demonstrations of gaiety deceived the sagacious ob- 
 server. As a matter of fact, the acceptance of the 
 
282 ■ MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 Constitution, far from reuniting minds, divided them 
 more than ever. The journals redoubled their vio- 
 lence. The caf^s were like fields of battle. The 
 reactionists who said, " Out of the old regime there 
 is no salvation," considered the new Constitution a 
 miserable scrap of paper, a tissue of criminal absurd- 
 ities. Those who thought that Louis XVI. might 
 have accepted it in good faith, regarded him as a 
 ridiculous sovereign, the phantom of a king, pro- 
 nouncing his own deposition. An ofi&cer of dragoons 
 at a table d'hfite cried, as he shivered his glass, " I 
 am a royalist, but I am not a Louis seiziste" 
 
 But, to the majority of the King's partisans, his ac- 
 ceptance was merely a feint, a means of gaining time. 
 "It is necessary," said they, " that Louis XVI. should 
 pretend to be pleased with everything, that he should 
 sign whatever is presented to him, that he should aston- 
 ish the Constitutionals by his submission and docU- 
 ity." 
 
 They added that if Monsieur were declared regent 
 and the Count d'Artois lieutenant-general of the 
 realm, the King ought to be, as in effect he was, 
 absolutely null, eclipsed, annihilated, for the time 
 being. Otherwise, the attitude of the Princes could 
 not be justified. And again they said : " Things will 
 right themselves. The parliamentary phantasma- 
 goria will disappear in an instant. It is a soap 
 bubble which will vanish into air." 
 
 " Distrust ! Distrust ! " shrieked the Jacobins. 
 They were more suspicious, more atrabilious than 
 
ACCEPTANCE OF THE CONSTITUTION. 263 
 
 ever. Louis XVI. is going to essay in good faith 
 his r81e as a constitutional sovereign. But the con- 
 tract is synallagmatic, two-sided. That the King 
 may be loyal to the Constitution, it is necessary that 
 his subjects shall be loyal to him ; the royal preroga- 
 tives, and notably the right of veto, must be re- 
 spected; the Constitution must be something different 
 from an instrument of anarchy and disorder. The 
 Constitutional party, honorable men in spite of their 
 illusions, would like a fair and honest trial. But the 
 Constitutionals are already out of the running. Bar- 
 nave, who was in advance of Mirabeau, is now dis- 
 tanced by a swarm of democrats, who see in him 
 nothing but a belated conservative. It is all over 
 with moderation. There is no place for anything 
 but violence. The drama which was supposed to be 
 finished, has just begun. The Constitution is not 
 the epilogue ; it is the prologue ; and Louis XVI. and 
 Marie Antoinette are covered with flowers only to 
 make them resemble the victims of antiquity before 
 leading them to the sacrifice. 
 
V. 
 
 MARIE Antoinette's last evenings at the 
 
 THEATKB. 
 
 WHEN I was at the Od^on, watching a play 
 in which Marie Antoinette comes on the 
 scene, I looked at the place where the Sovereign 
 often made her appearance in this hall where the 
 Th^itre Fran§ais was installed at the end of the old 
 regime, and where the first representation of the 
 Manage de Figaro was given. I saw again the splen- 
 did toilets, the high coiffures, and precious stones ; I 
 breathed that perfume of elegance which is found 
 no more. It seemed to me that I saw the Queen, 
 not on the stage where they were trying to repre- 
 sent her, but in her box, surrounded by her maids 
 of honor and her chamberlains, saluted on coming 
 in and going out by acclamations from the whole 
 theatre, and giving with her own royal hand through- 
 out the play the signals for applause. 
 
 In 1791 the appearance of the Queen still pro- 
 duced a great effect upon the public. But there 
 was no longer the same unanimity of enthusiasm. 
 The Revolution had insinuated itself everywhere, 
 in salons and theatres as well as in the streets and 
 
 m 
 
LAST EVENINGS AT THE THEATRE. 266 
 
 public places. The Jacobins sent emissaries to the 
 pit as well as to the galleries of the National As- 
 sembly. Dramatic representations gave perpetual 
 opportunities for insults and contests between par- 
 ties. Marie Antoinette, who had great courage, was 
 not afraid to brave the popular tiger. In appearing 
 before the crowd, where she found so many enemies, 
 she accustomed herself to face her persecutors, soon 
 to be her tormentors. She tried to avail herself once 
 more of that prestige which riot long ago had pro- 
 cured her so much reverence. She wanted to see 
 whether the power of her beauty, joined to the new 
 majesty of her sorrow, would not still affect an un- 
 grateful people. Every evening spent at the theatre 
 was like a battle given courageously to calumny and 
 insult. When ^e set her foot in one, she did not 
 know whether she should leave it without hearing 
 criticisms or curses levelled a* her; and when her 
 coming was again greeted with applause, when she 
 beheld traces of emotion and respect on different 
 faces, she returned to the Tuileries with a smile on 
 her lips and gratitude in the depths of her heart. 
 
 She had not been to the theatre in a long time, 
 but in September, 1791, she decided to go as a sort 
 of proof of her confidence in the Parisians. At this 
 time, Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette gained a 
 renewal of popularity. The National Assembly in 
 its session chamber might fail in respect toward the 
 Sovereign; but the people followed him with huzzas 
 in the streets. " With the disposition of the French 
 
266 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 people to idolatry," said Prudhomme at this time, in 
 his Journal des RSvolutions de Paris, "such a king 
 would soon be only the father of the subjects of the 
 State, and from such paternity to despotism is only 
 a step. Let us avoid enthusiasm." At the fSte 
 given on September 18, 1791, the affection of the 
 people for Louis XVI. approached delirium, and at 
 the one given in the garden of the Tuileries on the 
 25th of the same month it rose to ecstasy. " It was 
 useless for the orchestra to play the favorite air Oa 
 ira," said Prudhomme again ; " it would not do ; they 
 had to repeat royalist ditties." 
 
 Madame Elisabeth wrote to Madame de Raige- 
 court, September 25 : " We have been to the Op^ra, 
 and to-morrow we are going to the Com^die. What 
 pleasures! I am perfectly enchanted with them," 
 Madame Campan has said of these two represen- 
 tations: "Their Majesties were at the Op^ra. The 
 assembly was composed of all those who adhered 
 to the King's party, and on that day one could 
 enjoy the happiness of seeing him surrounded by 
 faithful subjects: the plaudits were sincere. At 
 the Frangais the play chosen was the Coquette cor- 
 rigie, simply because Mademoiselle Contat made 
 her greatest success in it. Nevertheless, as the title 
 of the piece continually suggested to my mind the 
 opinion which the Queen's enemies had spread con- 
 cerning her, I found the selection injudicious without 
 knowing how to say so to Her Majesty. But sincere 
 attachment gives courage ; I explained myself ; she 
 
LAST EVENINGS AT THE THEATRE. 267 
 
 took it kindly, and requested a different play: they 
 gave La Crouvernante. The Queen, Madame the 
 King's daughter, and Madame Elisabeth were all 
 very well received. It is true that the opinions and 
 sentiments of the spectators could not but be favora- 
 ble I care had been taken, before each of these repre- 
 sentations, to fill the pit properly." 
 
 On October 8 the royal family went to the Th^&tre 
 Italien. This theatre was on the boulevard which has 
 borrowed its name, just opposite the rue de Riche- 
 lieu. It was built in 1783, on the site of the H8tel 
 Choiseul, for the so-called actors of the Com^die 
 Italienne, who had been united, since 1762, with 
 those of the Op^ra Comique. They were to repre- 
 sent there "French comedies, comic operas, and 
 musical performances, whether vaudevilles, ariettas, 
 or burlesques." The evening of October 8, 1791, was 
 particularly touching. The theatre resounded more 
 than once with acclamations, blended sometimes with 
 sobs ; tenderness united with respect. Nor was the 
 enthusiasm less in the approaches to the theatre than 
 within the walls. The populace became itself again ; 
 that is to say, gentle, compassionate, full of venera- 
 tion for the King and his family. Louis XVI. and 
 Marie Antoinette were happy to be able to show the 
 Dauphin and his sister this crowd whom the two 
 children had seen so hostile through the dust of the 
 tumultuous return from Varennes. Madame Elisa- 
 beth wrote Madame de Raigecourt, October 12: "AU 
 is tranquil here; but who knows how long it will 
 
268 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 last ? I think it will be long, because, as the people 
 do not meet with any resistance, they have no reason 
 to become exasperated. At this moment the King is 
 the object of public adoration. You can form no 
 idea of the uproar at the Com^die Italienne last 
 Saturday; but it remains to be seen how long this 
 enthusiasm will last ! " 
 
 At this time, Marie Antoinette, usually so calum- 
 niated, herself regained popularity. The Gorrespon- 
 danee secrete sur la cour et la ville, from 1777 to 1791, 
 published by M. de Lescure from manuscripts in the 
 imperial library of Saint Petersburg, contains a very 
 curious passage on this change of opinion : — 
 
 "Beeember 30, 1791. — The King makes every 
 effort to recover his popularity. He often walks in 
 the city, and especially in the suburbs, but it is suffi- 
 ciently remarkable that he has never received as 
 much applause as was given to the Queen yesterday 
 at the Op^ra.^ The people shouted a thousand times, 
 the women above all, ' Long live the Queen ! ' after- 
 wards, ' Long live the Nation ! ' and very seldom, 
 ' Long live the King ! ' It begins to dawn on the 
 public that this Princess, whose will and whose reso- 
 lutions are firm and decided, has resolved in good 
 faith to adhere to the Constitution, which assures us 
 of the neutrality of the Emperor, while Louis XVL 
 regrets the old regime." 
 
 But the good dispositions of the multitude toward 
 
 1 The Opfoa was at this time installed in the boulevard, In the 
 hall which was afterwaid the theatre of the Forte Saint Martin. 
 
LAST EVENINGS AT THE THEATRE. 269 
 
 the Queen were not to be very lasting. The Jacobins 
 especially feared public sympathy. They were not 
 slow in organizing counter-demonstrations. Yet Marie 
 Antoinette was once more applauded at the theatre : 
 it was at the Italiens, on February 20, 1792. But 
 on that evening the ovations were contested. There 
 was a struggle, and, in order to triumph, the partisans 
 of the royal family were obliged to display all their 
 zeal and devotion. 
 
 The play was one wldch lent itself to allusions to 
 monarchical faith and fidelity : Gr^try's comic opera, 
 Le8 EvSnements imprivus, in which the charming 
 cantatrice, Madame Dugazon, was then performing 
 wonders. She was royalist at heart. She wished to 
 try the public that evening. According to Madame 
 Campan's account, she was seen to bow towards the 
 Queen when singing these words in a duet : " Ah, how 
 I love my mistress ! " At once, more than a score of 
 voices shouted from the pit: "No mistress! no mas- 
 ter! Liberty!" A number of men in the boxes and 
 balconies responded : " Long live the Queen ! Long 
 live the King ! May the King and Queen live for- 
 ever!" The pit answered: "No master! no Queen!" 
 The quarrel grew hotter, the pit divided into two 
 parties which fought together, and the Jacobins got 
 the worst of it. Tufts of their black hair were flying 
 all over the theatre. (They alone, at this epoch, had 
 abandoned the custom of powdering their hair.) 
 
 A large number of the guards arrived. The 
 Faubourg Saint-Antoine, apprised of what was going 
 
270 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 on at the Italiens, had assembled and were already- 
 talking of marching toward the theatre. The Queen 
 preserved the noblest and most calm demeanor; the 
 officers of the guard surrounded and reassured her. 
 Their behavior was active and prudent, and no bad 
 result followed. On going out, the Queen was 
 greatly applauded. It was the last time that she 
 entered a theatre. During the whole evening her 
 attitude had been profoundly touching. With the 
 exception of the Jacobins, all the spectators sympa- 
 thized with her. More than once she dried her eyes. 
 Even the applause saddened her. The Dauphin, who 
 sat on her lap, seemed to be asking why she wept. 
 And she seemed to be answering and seeking to 
 tranquillize him. 
 
 This evening of February 20, 1792, was to be the 
 Queen's last ovation. " Madame Elisabeth wrote to 
 Madame de Raigecourt on February 22 : " The 
 Queen and her children were at the Com^die yester- 
 day. There was an infernal racket of applause. 
 Jacobins wanted to make an uproar, but they were 
 beaten. The duet in the EvSnements imprSvus be- 
 tween the valet and the chambermaid, concerning 
 their love for their master and mistress, was encored 
 four times ; and when it came to the words, ' We 
 must make them happy,' nearly the whole theatre 
 cried, ' Yes ! yes ! ' Can you understand our nation ? 
 It must be owned, it has charming moments. Where- 
 upon I wish you good night, and beg you to pray God 
 well during this Lent that He may look mercifully 
 
LAST EVENINGS AT THE THEATRE. 271 
 
 on us. But, my heart, take care to think only of 
 His glory, and put aside all which relates to the 
 world. I embrace you." 
 
 Madame Elisabeth spoke of the same evening in 
 a letter which she wrote on February 23, to her 
 brother, the Count d'Artois : " Paris is almost tran- 
 quil. The other day at the Com^die, when the 
 Queen was there with her children, there was an 
 infernal racket which ended in an astonishing scene 
 by which a Tgreat many persons were affected. The 
 majority of those present shouted, 'Long live the 
 King ! Long live the Queen ! ' enough to bring the 
 roof down. Those who were of a different mind were 
 beaten, and a duet which suggested a reconciliation 
 was repeated four times. But it was only a moment, 
 one of those glfeams which the nation has sometimes, 
 and God knows whether it will continue." 
 
 No ; it will not continue. On the next day after 
 that evening of February 20, the Orateur du peuple 
 newspaper wrote: "The Queen shall be flogged in 
 her box at the theatre. The Queen is playing the 
 harlot." What follows is not fit to be quoted. The 
 Queen was never to appear in a theatre again. Her 
 brother's death was near, and the mourning she was 
 about to wear was not the mourning of the Emperor 
 Leopold alone, but that of the French monarchy and 
 its ancient and venerable glories. 
 
VI. 
 
 THE DXJKB OF OELBAUS IN 1791. 
 
 AT the close of 1791, Louis XVI. and the Duke 
 of Orleans were very near a reconciliation. 
 The Duke remembered now and then that he was a 
 Bourbon and a Prince of the blood. At such times 
 he repented of his errors ; he had an intuition of his 
 duties ; he thought seriously of behaving like a good 
 kinsman toward the King; but a sort of fatality 
 flung him back into his usual faults, and the first 
 Prince of the blood again became seditious. This 
 happened once again after the acceptance of the 
 Constitution. Thinking of conciliation and clem- 
 ency, Louis XVI. appointed his cousin admiral, on 
 September 16, 1791, and the Duke went to thank the 
 Minister of Marine, M. Bertrand de Molleville, who 
 has recounted in his Memoirs the details of his 
 interview with the Prince. 
 
 The Duke of Orleans assured the Minister, in a 
 tone of perfect frankness and loyalty, that he valued 
 extremely the favor the King had granted him, be- 
 cause it would enable him to show His Majesty how 
 greatly he had been calumniated. "I am very u;i- 
 272 
 
THE DUKE OF ORLEANS IN 1791. 273 
 
 fortunate," said he, "without deserving to be so. 
 They have laid a thousand atrocities at my door, of 
 which I am absolutely innocent. I have been sup- 
 posed guilty, solely because I have disdained to clear 
 myself of crimes which I hold in the profoundest 
 horror. You are the first minister to whom I have 
 said as much, because you are the first whose char- 
 acter has always inspired me with confidence. You 
 will presently have a favorable opportunity to judge 
 whether my conduct gives the lie to my words." 
 M. Bertrand de MoUeville replied : " Monseigneur, I 
 so greatly fear to weaken the force of your remarks 
 in reporting them to the King, as you desire, that I 
 beg you to express your sentiments to His Majesty 
 yourself." "That is precisely what I desire," re- 
 turned the Duke ; " and if I could flatter myself that 
 the King would receive me, I would go to him 
 to-morrow." 
 
 That very evening, at the council, the Minister 
 gave the King an account of the visit of the Duke 
 of Orleans. Louis XVI. concluded to receive his 
 cousin ; and on the following day had a conversation 
 with him for more than half an hour, with which he 
 appeared satisfied. He said afterwards to M. Ber- 
 trand de MolleviUe: "I agree with you; he comes 
 back to us sincerely, and will do all in his power to 
 repair the evils done in his name, and in which it 
 is possible that he has had less share than we have 
 supposed." 
 
 The reconciliation had seemed to be complete. 
 
274 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 But what occurred on the following Sunday de- 
 stroyed all its effects, and the abyss, instead of being 
 covered up, yawned again as wide as ever. On that 
 day the Duke came to the Tuileries to be present 
 at the King's levee. The interview between Louis 
 XVI. and his cousin had not been made known, and 
 hence the appearance of the Prince caused general sur- 
 prise. The courtiers saw in it not an evidence of sub- 
 mission, but an act of mere bravado. In their eyes, the 
 Duke of Orleans was the most dangerous and guiltiest 
 of revolutionists. They attributed all catastrophes 
 and all crimes to him. His presence made them 
 cry out with horror ; and they pressed around him, 
 affecting to tread on his toes, and pushed him toward 
 the door. Not being able to reach the King's cham- 
 ber, he went to the apartment of the Queen. The 
 table was already laid. Some one cried out, "Let 
 nobody go near the dishes ! " as if to insinuate that 
 the Prince might poison them. Ironical whispers 
 and murmurs of indignation forced him to retire 
 without having seen a single member of the royal 
 family. He regained the stairway, intending to go 
 out. As he was descending the steps, somebody 
 spat, over the banisters, on his clothes and his head. 
 An eye-witness of this scene, Bertrand de MoUeville, 
 adds, in his Memoirs: "The Duke of Orleans has- 
 tened out of the palace, with rage and indignation in 
 his heart, and convinced that he owed these outrages 
 to the King and Queen, who were not only igno- 
 rant of them, but were extremely angry when they 
 
THE BUKE OF ORLEANS IN 1791. 275 
 
 were told. From that moment he abandoned him- 
 self entirely to an implacable hatred, and swore to 
 revenge himself. Frightful oath, to which he has 
 been only too faithful." 
 
 Yesterday a royalist, and a republican to-day, dis- 
 contented with others and with himself, drawn by 
 the fascination of the abyss, and sinking gradually 
 into the gulf of false situations, a nobleman astray, 
 a Jacobin prince, the tormentors will turn him to 
 account before making him their victim. Sad fatal- 
 ity of circumstances ! At another epoch the Duke, 
 who is amiable and witty, would be loved and hon- 
 ored. Why was he bom in this confused and troubled 
 period which destroys the very notion of right and 
 duty ? One might say he had a presentiment of his 
 faults and their expiation. Sometimes he tries to 
 leave the scorching arena which will be so fatal to 
 him, and again he comes back to it, pushed as it were 
 by an irresistible force. He takes the first step 
 toward a reconciliation with his King, and he is dis- 
 couraged and prevented from making the second. 
 Then, in vexation, he goes back into extremes. He 
 will seek the .elements of his vengeance in the lower 
 depths of society. He will pick up his weapons out 
 of the mud. He will subsidize men who to-day will 
 demand his gold and to-morrow his head. Because 
 he cannot be the familiar of the Tuileries, he becomes 
 the courtier of the Jacobin club. 
 
 This used-up man, weary of enjoyment, satiated 
 with luxury, gold, and pleasure, finds perhaps a cer- 
 
276 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 tain amusement in the unhealthy but violent emotions 
 of the revolutionary crisis. In London, with his enor- 
 mous fortune, he could live quietly, without danger 
 and without responsibility, out of the reach of tem- 
 pests. But though he may assure his friend, Mrs. 
 Elliot, that he has always envied the position of an 
 English country gentleman, and instead of wishing 
 to make himself king, as his enemies declare, he 
 would willingly exchange his position and his fortune 
 for a small estate in England and the privileges of 
 that agreeable country, yet he prefers, in spite of 
 everything, to remain on the battle-field of insurrec- 
 tion, in the furnace, in the crater of this volcanic 
 Paris, where his palace is the rendezvous of all the 
 revolutionary bands, and the focus of all conspiracies. 
 There kennels of debauchery swarm close beside the 
 splendors of elegance and riches. He lives there, 
 surrounded by the strangest of courts. Noblemen 
 who have come down in the world elbow, in his 
 salons, revolutionists starving when they ask for 
 money, insolent when they have received it. When 
 one accosts the Duke, one is tempted to say to him, 
 " Is it to the Prince of the blood that I address my- 
 self, or to the Jacobin?" 
 
 This personage of many faces has something in 
 him which troubles and disquiets. His destiny is an 
 enigma of which one cannot find the word. Is he a 
 republican or a royalist, a traitor or a patriot ? Does 
 he act deliberately, or does he let himself drift at the 
 mercy pf the stream? Are his morning thoughts 
 
TSM hXJKE OF OBLMANS IN 1791. 211 
 
 what Ms evening thoughts were ? Is he not change 
 itself, in politics as in love ? Has he not lost free 
 wOl ? Is he not aU the more a slave, that his mistress 
 calls herself Liberty ? 
 
 Each day the spectacles presented by events are so 
 singular, so unforeseen; things march so fast; the 
 excitement is so terrible ; that it is much if the Duke 
 of Orleans recognizes himself, if he keeps the con- 
 sciousness of his identity. His new r81e resembles 
 the old one so little, that there is in his very person 
 something like a metamorphosis, an avatar. The 
 time is approaching when people will ask themselves 
 whether citizen Philippe-Egalit^ is really the same 
 person as Louis Joseph, Duke of Orleans, head of the 
 younger branch of the Bourbons, first Prince of the 
 blood, descendant in the direct line of Saint Louis 
 and Henri IV. Yes, the time is coming when Ser- 
 gent, member of the Council General, will write: 
 " I saw the Duke of Orleans shrug his shoulders on 
 receiving the name of Egalit^, which was given him 
 by Manuel, procureur of the Commune of Paris. He 
 spoke to me about it with an ironical pity when, on 
 coming out of the H8tel-de-Ville together, where I 
 happened to be at the moment, I said to him, laugh- 
 ing: 'How well that suits you! The name of a 
 nymph for you, a colonel of hussars with black mous- 
 taches ! ' He replied : ' You will do me the justice 
 to believe that I did not come to the Commune to 
 change my names, and that this one was imposed on 
 me. You heard the galleries applauding that stupid 
 
278 HABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 Manuel. What could I do or say ? I came to petition 
 for my daughter, who was about to be declared an 
 ^migr^e, and I had to sacrifice to that important 
 affair my repugnance to this name, a burlesque for 
 me.' " 
 
 The destiny of the Duke of Orleans is a lesson 
 which cannot be too deeply pondered. No person in 
 history shows in a more striking manner what the 
 revolutionary gearing really is. Camille Desmoulins, 
 in his Fragments de I'histoire secrete de la Revolution, 
 has written : " It would be very singular if Philippe 
 d' Orleans did not belong to the Orleans faction ; but 
 the thing is not impossible." That is not a paradox. 
 The Prince was not the chief of his partisans ; he was 
 their plaything and their victim. "The Duke of 
 Orleans," says Mrs. Elliot in her Memoirs, " was a 
 very amiable man, of great distinction in mannera, 
 and of a pliant character, but the least suitable man 
 that ever lived for the position of chief of a great 
 faction. Neither his mind, his talents, nor even his 
 education, rendered him fit to play such a part. 
 Laclos was the cause of all the crimes attributed to 
 the Orleans faction, and I am very sure that the 
 Duke knew very little about what was done in his 
 name." 
 
 Mrs. Elliot describes this Prince as loving pleasure 
 above all things ; unable to endure work or business 
 of any sort ; never reading, nor doing anything but 
 amuse himself ; madly in love with Madame de 
 Buffon, whom he drove about all day in an open 
 
THE DUKE OF ORLEANS IN 1791. 279 
 
 carriage, and took to all the sights in the evenings. 
 "The misfortune of the Duke," adds the beautiful 
 Englishwoman, " was to be surrounded by ambitious 
 persons, who led him by degrees to their own ends, 
 pushing him on until he found himself too much 
 in their power to draw back. His partisans were 
 enchanted when a new insult had been offered him 
 at the court, for they saw very well that they had 
 nothing more to fear from that quarter." Before 
 that his faction was always afraid lest he might be 
 treated better at the TuHeries, and so might slip 
 through their fingers. 
 
 The Orleanist conspiracies were not the work of 
 the Duke of Orleans. He had only the shame and 
 grief of submitting to them. At the time of the 
 flight to Varennes, nothing would have been easier for 
 him than to intrigue for the crown. Instead of doing 
 so, he said, " So long as the King is in the coimtry, 
 he alone is king." June 26, 1791, he renounced the 
 right to the regency given him by the Constitution. 
 " It is no longer permissible for me," he wrote at that 
 time, " to leave the simple citizen class, which I did 
 not enter without the firm determination to remain 
 in it forever ; and in me ambition would be an inex- 
 cusable inconsequence." 
 
 Was that the language of a hypocrite? We do 
 not think so. Whoever, at this epoch, should have 
 predicted to the Duke that he would soon be a regi- 
 cide, would have made him shrug his shoulders. 
 
 Unhappily, evil influences were multiplying daily 
 
280 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 around the ill-fated Prince ; and Ms wife, the virtuous 
 daughter of the venerable Duke de PenthiSvre, was 
 no longer at his side to counterbalance them. This 
 exemplary Princess, who had married for love, and 
 given her husband five children, thought herself 
 unable to palliate by her presence infidelities which 
 were becoming too public and too scandalous. Quit- 
 ting the Palais Royal in 1784, she took refuge with 
 her father ; and from that time the Duke gave him- 
 self over, body and soul, to those degraded women 
 who are as fond of disorder in politics as in the 
 family, and who imagined that the Revolution would 
 avenge them for the contempt they inspired in society. 
 The Dantons, the Huberts, the Marats, would never 
 have gained a hold on a prince who had remained 
 faithful to such a woman as the Duchess of Orleans. 
 Involved, almost in spite of himself, in the dema- 
 gogic vortex, the Duke will sometimes wish to extri- 
 cate himself. A secret voice will cry to him. Go on ! 
 He will try in vain to take precautions against his 
 natural impulses. Fatality will everywhere pursue 
 him. At the commencement of 1792 he would be 
 glad to take refuge, like his sons, the Dukes of Char- 
 tres and Montpensier, in that asylum of patriotism 
 and honor, the army. But hardly has he done so 
 when he is refused permission to remain. Then he 
 will ask for a naval command. The ship he wants 
 to embark on will not return to France until the 
 close of 1793. Had the request of the Prince been 
 acceded to, he would have been neither a member of 
 
THE DUKE OF ORLEANS IN 1791. 281 
 
 the Convention nor a regicide. But his evil star 
 keeps him in this fatal Paris, where the King's scaf- 
 fold and his own are going to be erected. One 
 might say that some mysterious force is pushing him 
 toward the abyss. It is only by a sort of chance that 
 he will be elected to the Convention, in which he 
 is to play such a melancholy r81e. The twenty-three 
 first deputies of Paris were chosen on September 18, 
 1792. There was but one more to be elected. The 
 twenty-fourth will be the Duke of Orleans. He will 
 have only the strictly necessary majority. One vote 
 less, and he would not have been elected, and his 
 memory would not have borne an ineffaceable stain. 
 It is at this time that he will ask Mrs. Elliot if she 
 thinks him vile enough to be able to pass through 
 the streets of Paris without unhappiness. Then she 
 will implore him "to get out of the hands of all 
 these vile beings who surround him, and not aUow 
 the wretches to use his name as a screen for such hor- 
 rible deeds." The Prince will answer: "That seems 
 a very easy thing to do in your salon ; I would be 
 very glad if it were as easy in reality. But I am in 
 the stream, and find myself obliged to follow it. I 
 am no longer master of myself or of my name." 
 
VII. 
 
 THE KBTUEN OF THE PKINCESS DE LAMBALLE TO 
 THE TUILEEIBS. 
 
 IT was not alone tlie middle classes and the people 
 who afflicted Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette. 
 The nobility also chagrined them deeply. The very 
 men who had carried liberalism to all lengths, who 
 had been Voltairians and revolutionists of the worst 
 sort, who had wilfully cast off their titles and privi- 
 leges as out of date and worthless, bitterly reproached 
 the King with the destruction of the old regime. 
 This great lady, a fanatical admirer of Rousseau's 
 Contrat Social, could not be reconciled to the slightest 
 changes in point of etiquette. That great lord, a 
 disciple of Helv^tius and Baron d'Holbach, bore 
 malice against Louis XVI. on account of the attacks 
 made on the Catholic religion. The nobles who ha(i 
 done most to bring about the triumph of the new 
 ideas, emigrated, and left the unfortunate monarch 
 to bear the consequences of their own conduct. 
 Others remained in France only to pay court to the 
 Jacobins. As M. Granier de Cassagnac has said in 
 his Hiitoire des Causes de la Rivolution francaise : 
 "One of the most ignoble spectacles which it has 
 282 
 
BSTUBN OF THE PBINCES8 DB LAMBALLE. 283 
 
 fallen to history to chi-onicle was witnessed at this 
 time. Families that for a thousand years had lived 
 by feudal privileges, and men who for two years had 
 rejected with unsupportable arrogance the liberal 
 reforms of Louis XVI. and the equalizing of public 
 burdens, outdid the Jacobins, whose approbation they 
 coveted, by demanding that coats-of-arms and liveries 
 should be abolished. They had used and abused the 
 institutions of the old France, so long as th«y pro- 
 vided them with wealth and honors ; but now, when 
 these institutions merely brought them into increas- 
 ing disfavor with the populace, they rejected them in 
 cowardly fashion, and replaced the ducal mantle by 
 the revolutionary jacket, because they could make it 
 pay them better ! Why, then, had they not laid aside 
 their titles, destroyed their liveries, and effaced their 
 escutcheons two years sooner ? It was because, two 
 years before, their titles, their liveries, and their 
 escutcheons had given them precedence, honors, 
 and salaries at court; but now that the court was 
 poor and the monarchy disarmed, these beggarly 
 nobles decorated their ingratitude with the name of 
 philosophy, and made themselves courtiers of the 
 people, since they could no longer be profitably the 
 courtiers of the King." The aristocracy bewailed 
 the destruction which was their own work. In 
 spite of all the measures in which they had taken 
 the initiative, they were surprised that the new 
 Constitution suppressed what was called rank at 
 court, and the prerogatives belonging to it. The 
 
284 MARIM ANTOINETTE. 
 
 Duchess de Duras sent in her resignation as lady of 
 the palace, because she would not yield her right to 
 sit down in the presence of her sovereign. Several 
 more great ladies deserted the Tuileries on the same 
 account. This conduct saddened Marie Antoinette, 
 who saw herself abandoned for the sake of petty 
 privileges at a time when the rights of the crown 
 were so gravely compromised and so violently 
 attacked. She said : " Perhaps I might have found 
 some excuse for the nobility, if at any time I had 
 had the courage to displease them ; but I have not. 
 When we are forced to take a step which wounds 
 them, I am sulked at ; no one will come to my card- 
 party; the King's evening reception is deserted. 
 They are not willing to consider political necessities ; 
 they punish us for our misfortunes." 
 
 When the ill-fated Sovereign found so much in- 
 gratitude, inconsistency, levity, and selfishness among 
 the nobility; when she was blamed, accused, and 
 abandoned by the very persons who should have 
 pitied and assisted her the most, it was a great con- 
 solation to meet a soul so pure, disinterested, devoted, 
 and courageous as that of the Princess de Lamballe. 
 
 The Princess had been apprised beforehand of the 
 journey to Varennes. It was agreed that in order to 
 avert suspicion, she should go to Aumale, where her 
 father-in-law, the venerable Duke de PenthiSvre, had 
 been staying for some time on account of his health. 
 At six in the evening of June 21, 1791, a post-chaise 
 driven at full speed drew up before the house of the 
 
RETURN OF THE PRINCESS DE LAMBALLE. 285 
 
 bailiff of Aumale, where M. de PenthiSvre was lodg- 
 ing. The Princess de Lamballe, in great emotion, 
 hastily alighted from the carriage and was at once 
 met by her father-in-law and her sister-in-law, the 
 Duchess of Orleans, who were surprised by this un- 
 foreseen arrival. The Princess laid her fingers on 
 her lips, but as soon as they were alone she acquainted 
 them with the flight of the royal family, which had 
 necessitated her own. After a few minutes she 
 started on again, with fresh horses, to embark for 
 England at Boulogne. The ship she sailed in had 
 barely reached the open sea, when a discharge of 
 cannon from the city announced the King's flight. 
 A little later, and she would have been detained a 
 prisoner. 
 
 The Princess de Lamballe was entrusted with an 
 important and difficult mission in England. She 
 was to attempt to lessen the hostility which the 
 government displayed toward Louis XVI., and the 
 secret encouragement given by Pitt to the French 
 revolutionists. Madame Campan relates that Marie 
 Antoinette said to her : " I never pronounce the 
 name of Pitt without a shiver running down my 
 back. That man is the mortal enemy of France. He 
 is taking a cruel revenge for the impolitic assistance 
 given to the American insurgents by the cabinet of 
 Versailles. He wishes, by our destruction, to guar- 
 antee forever the maritime power of his own country 
 from the efforts the King has made to build up his 
 navy. Pitt has aided the French Revolution from 
 
286 MABIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 the very beginning. He will probably continue to 
 do so until we are completely destroyed." 
 
 With all her zeal, the Princess de Lamballe could 
 obtain nothing from Pitt but a vague promise not 
 to let the French monarchy perish, because, according 
 to his own admission, "it would be a great fault 
 against the tranquillity of all Europe to permit the 
 revolutionary spirit to bring about a republic in 
 France." Concerning this remark, Marie Antoinette 
 said : " Every time that Pitt has declared himself on 
 the necessity of maintaining a monarchy in France, 
 he has kept the most absolute silence on what con- 
 cerns the monarch. These conversations can have 
 no good result." 
 
 Her mission once concluded, the Princess de Lam- 
 balle had no thought except that of returning to the 
 Queen. As she had a presentiment of the dangers 
 she was about to incur, she made her will. It is 
 dated October 15, 1791, and breathes the tenderness 
 of a last adieu as well as the sublime resignation of 
 a soul awaiting martyrdom. " I entreat the Queen," 
 is said in it, "to receive a mark of gratitude from 
 her to whom she has given the title of her friend, — 
 a precious title which has formed the happiness of my 
 life, and which I have never abused except to give 
 her testimonies of attachment and proofs of my senti- 
 ments toward her person, which I have always loved 
 and cherished till my latest breath. I ask her as a 
 last favor to accept my alarum watch, to remind her 
 of the hours we have passed together." 
 
RETUEN OF THE PRINCESS DE LAMBALLE. 287 
 
 Marie Antoinette was profoundly touched by 
 Madame de Lamballe's devotion. Instead of seeking 
 a tranquil asylum in England or Germany, she was 
 bent on returning to France, and throwing herself 
 into the furnace. But the unhappy Queen repelled 
 this heroic sacrifice, and begged Madame de Lam- 
 balle not to make it. In September, 1791, she wrote 
 to her: "Do not return; there would be too much 
 to grieve you in the present state of our affairs. I 
 know well that you are good, and a true friend, and 
 from the depths of my own affection I forbid you to 
 return hither. "Wait for the results of the Constitu- 
 tion. Adieu, my dear Lamballe, and believe that 
 my tender friendship for you will end only with my 
 life." But Madame de Lamballe hastened none the 
 less to the *post of danger. At the very moment 
 when she entered France, the Queen wrote to her: 
 " No, I repeat it, my dear Lamballe, do not return to 
 us at present ; my friendship for you is too greatly 
 alarmed; affairs do not seem to be taking a better 
 turn notwithstanding the acceptance of the Constitu- 
 tion, on which I counted. Stay with good M. de 
 Penthidvre, who has such need of your attention. 
 . . • God grant that time may bring about a change 
 for the better ; but the wicked have spread about so 
 many atrocious calumnies that I rely more on my 
 courage than on events. Adieu, then, my dear Lam- 
 balle. Be sure that whether you are here or far 
 away, I love you and am sure of your affection." 
 But it was in vain that Marie Antoinette implored 
 
288 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 the Princess not to throw herself into the tiger's 
 jaws. The greater the peril was, the more enthusi- 
 astic was her haste to brave it. Madame de Lam- 
 balle reached her father-in-law, at Anet, November 
 14, 1791, and, departing on the 18th, went straight to 
 Paris. The Duke de Penthidvre said at the time: 
 " I praise greatly the attachment of my daughter-in- 
 law for the Queen. She has made a very great sacri- 
 fice in order to return to her. I tremble lest she fall 
 a victim to it." 
 
 The merit of the Princess de Lamballe was all the 
 greater, since it was not honors, but danger, she was 
 seeking. It was only out of kindness that she per- 
 formed her functions as superintendent. The offices 
 of the court were suppressed, and the King was put- 
 ting off indefinitely the formation of his new civil 
 household. He was reluctant to choose among those 
 proposed to him, and to surround himself with persons 
 devoted to the Revolution. " I know very well," he 
 said to M. Bertrand de MoUeville, " that the Queen 
 cannot advantageously retain the wives of ^mi- 
 gr^s near her person, and I have already spoken 
 to her about it ; but on the other hand, it cannot be 
 expected that she should associate with Mesdames 
 Potion, Condorcet, and others of that sort. As for 
 me, the majority of those whose attendance was for- 
 merly most agreeable, have abandoned me, and among 
 those who remain, there are some who are the torment 
 of my life." The King and Queen did not desire a 
 civil household, lest the new names given to the 
 
BETUBN OF THE PBINCESS DE LAMBALLE. 289 
 
 offices should make evident the abolition of the old 
 ones ; they disliked, moreover, to admit to the most 
 distinguished employments people who were not 
 capable of fulfilling them. " If this Constitutional 
 establishment were formed," said Marie Antoinette, 
 " there would not be a single noble left near us ; and 
 if things should change, it would be necessary to dis- 
 miss the people whom we had admitted in their 
 places." 
 
 The court was no longer more than the shadow of 
 itself. The abode of pleasiire was transformed into 
 a place of anxiety, deception, and grief. It was 
 feared that the King and Queen might be poisoned, 
 and a multitude of precautions had to be taken at 
 each of their meals. Madame Elisabeth wrote to 
 Madame de Raigecourt, NoTember 16, 1791 : " A 
 droll thing happened during the last few days. A 
 corporal invented an order to confine the King and 
 Queen in their apartments from nine o'clock at night 
 until nine in the morning. This confinement had 
 lasted for two days before any one heard of it ; finally, 
 on the third day, a grenadier told his captain. The 
 entire guard was furious; there was going to be a 
 council of war. According to rule, the corporal ought 
 to be hanged ; but I do not think he will be, and I 
 should be very sorry if he were. The King was to go 
 out riding the other day ; it was villainous weather, 
 and he stayed at home ; hence, a rumor throughout 
 Paris that he is again under arrest." This is what 
 the heir of Louis XIV. had come to. "Was it not very 
 
290 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 praisewortliy, then, in the Princess de Lamballe to 
 come and shut herself up in this Palace of the Tuile- 
 ries, where the year 1791 was ending so dismally? 
 She occupied the ground-floor of the Payilion of 
 Flora, below the apartment of Madame Elisabeth. 
 To the Queen these two admirable women were 
 friends who pushed sacrifice to heroism. Nothing is 
 more affecting than such courage united to such 
 sweetness. Amid the victims of the Revolution, 
 Madame Elisabeth and Madame de Lamballe are 
 lambs without spot. Their ideal suavity brings them 
 into strong contrast with the sanguinary hordes who 
 transform Paris into a pandemonium. They are two 
 angels of consolation in a hell. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Adelaide, Madame, the King's aunt, 
 goes to Rome, 81 et seq. 
 
 Artois, Comte d', seeks to form a 
 European Coalition, 244, 248. 
 
 Assembly, National, fiist meeting 
 of the. In Paris, 11 ; visit the 
 King in the Tuileries, 12; pre- 
 sent their respects to the Queen, 
 14; dissolved, 261. 
 
 Augeard, report of his conversation 
 with Marie Antoinette, 8 ; devel- 
 ops a plan for her escape, 9. 
 
 Aunts, the, of the King, their de- 
 parture, 81 et seq. ; their painful 
 journey, 84. 
 
 Baillon, M. See M. de Romeuf. 
 
 Bamave, sent by the National As- 
 sembly as commissioner to meet 
 Louis XVI., 188; his youthful 
 career, 190 ; enters the royal car- 
 riage, 191 ; influence of the Queen 
 upon, 192; rescues the three 
 body-guards of the King from 
 the populace, 194 ; rescues a poor 
 village cur6, 194; executed as a 
 suspected royalist, 196; saves 
 the body-guards at Pantin, 209; 
 Lamartine's mot concerning, 191 ; 
 a belated conservative, 263. 
 
 Bastille, Place de la, dancing at, at 
 the Festival of the Federation, 
 68. 
 
 B&tm, Countess de, describes the 
 life of the royal family at Saint 
 Cloud, 43. 
 
 Besenval, Baron de, visited by 
 Count de Segur, 22. 
 
 Body-guards, the three, their heroic 
 decision, 207; their danger at 
 
 Pantin, 209; attacked by the 
 crowd at the Toileries, 214. 
 BouilM, Marquis de, in correspond- 
 ence with the King concerning 
 his flight, 125; anxiety of, 179; 
 informed of the arrest of the 
 King, 180; arrives too late at 
 Varennes with the Royal-AUe- 
 mand, 181; proclamation of, 243. 
 
 Cabanis, Mirabeau's doctor, 95. 
 
 Campan, Madame, anecdote of the 
 Queen, 229; her account of the 
 King's dismay after accepting 
 the new Constitution, 258. 
 
 Cassagnac, Granier de, quoted, 282. 
 
 Chalons-sur-Mame, the royalist 
 sympathies of the people of, 186. 
 
 Chatelet, Achille de, address of, to 
 the people, 238. 
 
 Choiseul, Duke de, failure of, to 
 escort the King, 153; parleys 
 with the populace at Varennes, 
 171. 
 
 Chronique de Paris, the, on the 
 departure of the King's aunts, 
 83. 
 
 Coblenz, the headquarters of the 
 ^migr^s, 244 ; manifestations at, 
 247. 
 
 Cond^, Prince de, scheming to ex- 
 cite foreign interference, 248. 
 
 Constitution of September, 1791, 
 acceptance of, 253 et seq.; pro- 
 claimed, 259 ; its result, 262. 
 
 Damas, Count Charles de, his ac- 
 count of the King's journey, 156; 
 prevented from following the 
 King, 157 ; wishes to get the King 
 291 
 
292 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 away fiom Varennes by force, 
 172. 
 
 Dampierre, Maiqnis de, massacre 
 of, 184. 
 
 Danton, inyectlve of, against La- 
 fayette, 148. 
 
 Dauphin, the, presented to the 
 National Assembly, 15; apart- 
 ments of, in the Tuileries, 16 ; his 
 grace and simple ways, 38, 115, 
 117; dressed as a girl for the 
 flight from Paris, 138; departure 
 of, with Madame Boyale, 139; in- 
 cident of, on the return to Paris, 
 195 ; carried into the Tuileries by 
 a National Guard, 216; his fright- 
 ful dream, 222. 
 
 Deslon, M., plans an attack to save 
 the King at Varennes, 174. 
 
 Desmoulins, Camille, on the Feast 
 of the Federation, 60; on Mira^ 
 beau, 101 ; extract from the jour- 
 nal of, on the flight of the King, 
 147; extracts from his journal, 
 217 et seq. ; on the journalist of 
 the time, 232 ; on Lafayette, 233. 
 
 Drouet, recognizes the King, 155; 
 arrives at Varennes before the 
 King, and sets an ambush for 
 him, 162. 
 
 Elisabeth, Madame, letters of, to the 
 Abb£ de Lubersac, 6, 228; mar- 
 ket-women climb into her apart- 
 ment, 7; letter of, to the Mar- 
 quise de Bombelles, concerning 
 the execution of De Favras, 29; 
 at Saint Cloud, 43; determined 
 to obey the voice of her con- 
 science in the matter of the 
 clergy, 108, 121 ; letter of, on the 
 subject to Madame de Baige- 
 court, 109, 110; letter of, on the 
 King's attempt to go to Saint 
 Cloud, 117, 122; calmness of, 
 before the flight, 134; Potion's 
 account of her, 200 ; letters of, to 
 Madame de Bombelles, 223, 250, 
 266, 267, 270; to the Count de 
 
 Provence, 227; to Madame de 
 Raigecourt, 227; to the Comte 
 d'Artois, 271. 
 
 Elliot, Mrs., on the Duke of Orleans, 
 278, 281. 
 
 ]^migr£s, the flight of, 242; at Cob- 
 lentz, 244. 
 
 Emigration of the nobles, the, 242 
 et seq. 
 
 Escars, M, d', his account of the 
 ball of the Cardinal Prince- 
 Bishop of Fassan, 247. 
 
 Favras, M. de, his character and 
 the scheme for carrying off the 
 King, 26 ; execution of, 28. 
 
 Favras, Madame de, at the public 
 dinner of the King, 31. 
 
 Federation, the Festival of the, 58 
 et seq. ; preparations for, 60 ; the 
 procession of, 62; scenes at, 63; 
 banquet at La Muette, 67 ; FSte 
 of the, 238. 
 
 Ferriferes, Marquis de, extract from 
 his Memoirs, 218. 
 
 Fersen, Count de, aids the royal 
 family to escape, 128 ; leaves the 
 royal family at Bondy and re- 
 turns to Paris, 143. 
 
 Flight of the King, 137 et seq. ; in- 
 cidents of the journey, 150 et seq. 
 
 Fr^eau, M., President of the As- 
 sembly, speech of, before the 
 King, 13; offers the respects of 
 the Assembly to the Queen, 15. 
 
 Frederick William II. at Pilnitz, 
 248. 
 
 Ooguelat, M. de, fails to escort the 
 King and changes the programme 
 at Varennes, 160. 
 
 Guilhermy, M. de, his act of cour- 
 tesy to the King, 215. 
 
 Gustavus III. of Sweden, the hero 
 of the ^migrfe, 244; holds his 
 court at Aix-la-Chapelle, 245. 
 
 Jacobins, the, insult the aristocrats, 
 20. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 293 
 
 Knights of the Poniard, the sup- 
 posed conspiracy of, 90. , 
 
 Korff, Baroness de, passports for, 
 given to the royal family, 129. 
 
 Lafayette gives the signal for the 
 oath at the Festival of the Fede- 
 ration, 66; disperses the rioters 
 in the garden of the Toileries, 
 86; disperses the rioters at Viu- 
 cennes, 88 ; orders the nobles to 
 lay down their arms, 90 ; on the 
 side of the priests who take the 
 oath, 106; attempts in vain to 
 overcome the resistance of the 
 National Guard to the King's 
 departure, 116; takes measures 
 to pursue the fugitives, 146 ; op- 
 poses the manifestation for a new 
 king, 240. 
 
 Lafayette, Madame de, attachment 
 of to the Catholic cause, 106. 
 
 I^gache pursues Drouet, 155. 
 
 Lamartine, his mot concerning 
 Mirabeau an^ Bamave, 191 ; con- 
 cerning Marie Antoinette, 215; 
 remark of, concerning Louis 
 XVL, 251. 
 
 Lamballe, Princess de, goes to the 
 Queen, 6 ; her mission to England, 
 285 ; makes her will and returns 
 to France, 286. 
 
 Leopold, Emperor of Austria, will- 
 ingness of, to serve the King, 
 125; at Pilnitz, 248. 
 
 Louis XVI. returns to the Tuileries, 
 1 ; always an optimist, 5, 10, 17, 
 43 ; letter of, to the Assembly, 10; 
 apartments of, in the Tuileries, 
 12; National Assembly intro- 
 duced to, 12; his reply, 13; his 
 pious advice to his daughter on 
 her first communion, 36 ; at Saint 
 Cloud, 41 ; oath of, at the Festival 
 of the Federation, 66 ; a breach 
 in the ranks of his adherents, 
 79 ; too weak to approve or dis- 
 avow emigration, 80; in secret 
 relations with it, 80; does not 
 
 oppose the departure of his 
 aunts, 81; orders the dispersal 
 of the rioters in the gardens of 
 the Tuileries, 86 ; but the shadow 
 of a King, 87; in distress, 89; his 
 remorse because of his sanction 
 to the Civil Constitution of the 
 clergy, 104; receives a letter 
 from the Pope, 110; his experi- 
 ences during Holy Week, 1791, 
 112 et seq. ; attempts to go to 
 Saint Cloud, 114; the National 
 Guards prevent his departure, 
 116; dismisses his most faithful 
 adherents, 117 ; forced to be 
 present at a Mass said by a rev- 
 olutionary priest, 118; his du- 
 plicity, 119 et seq.; resolves 
 upon flight, 122 et seq. ; under 
 constant surveillance, 123 ; strat- 
 agems of, 124 ; his plan of escape, 
 125; gives M. de Valery direc- 
 tions as to the route, 132; takes 
 leave of the Count of Provence, 
 135; flight of the royal family 
 from Paris, 137 et seq. ; disguises 
 himself, 139; his flight discov- 
 ered, 144 ; proclamation of, read 
 to the Assembly, 145; incidents 
 of the journey, 160 et seq. ; rec- 
 ognized by Drouet, 155; arrival 
 at Vareunes, 159; miscarriage 
 there, 160 et seq.; arrest of, 165; 
 a prisoner in the house of M. 
 Sauce, 167 ; temporizes and hesi- 
 tates, 168 ; speech of, to the people 
 of Varennes, 169 ; the decree for 
 his arrest arrives, 176; decides 
 to yield, 178 ; his return to Paris, 
 183 et seq.; conduct of the conn- 
 try people towards, 184 ; extreme 
 painfulness of the journey, 185 ; 
 met at Chatean-sur-Mame by 
 the National Guard who force 
 him to continue, 187; his pro- 
 posal to the three body-guards 
 at Meaux and their heroic reply, 
 206; his return to Paris, 210 et 
 seq.; decree of the Assembly 
 
294 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 suspending the exercise of his 
 functions, 219; convinces him- 
 self that he is a prisoner, 222; 
 the life of Charles I. his favorite 
 reading, 227 ; caricatured by the 
 press, 234; the rigors of his cap- 
 tivity diminish, 255; receives 
 the Constitutional Act, 265; ac- 
 cepts it, 256; his dismay there- 
 after, 258 ; present at the closing 
 session of the Assembly, 260; 
 distrusted by the Jacobins, 262; 
 the Duke of Orleans has an in- 
 terview with, 273. 
 
 Louis, the Abb^, goes to Brussels 
 to urge moderation upon the 
 4raigr4s, 254. 
 
 Louis-Fhilippe, foreign aid invoked 
 by, 262. 
 
 Marat, protests against the King's 
 duplicity, 120. 
 
 Marck, Count de la, correspond- 
 ence between, and Mirabeau, 48 ; 
 his intimacy with Mirabeau, 49. 
 
 Marie Antoinette in the Tuileries, 
 2 ; shows herself to the crowd, 3 ; 
 remains in her own apartment, 
 6 ; visited by mock delegates, 7 ; 
 advised by Angeard to depart in 
 disguise, 8 ; refuses to leave the 
 King, 9; receives the visit of 
 the National Assembly, 14; her 
 apartments in the Tuileries, 16; 
 afflicted by the execution of de 
 Favras, 30 ; sends money to Ma- 
 dame de Favras, 31 ; anguish of, 
 33 ; as a mother, 85 ; her children, 
 36 et seq.; at Saint Cloud, 41; 
 her fearful presentiments, 44, 46 ; 
 letter of, to the Duchess de Po- 
 lignac, 45 ; describes her last in- 
 terview with her father, Francis 
 I., 46; interview of, with Mira^ 
 beau, 48 et seg. ; her decision to 
 take counsel with him, 52; the 
 secret interview between, and 
 Mirabeau, 66; at the Festival of 
 the Federation, 66, 68; her plans 
 
 to escape, 124 et seg. ; Count ds 
 Fersen a favorite of, 128; reas- 
 sured by M. de Valory as to the 
 rumors concerning the flight, 132 ; 
 ihforms her daughter of the 
 event, 134 ; her parting with the 
 Count of Provence, 135; dresses 
 her children for the flight, 137; 
 loses her way and delays the de- 
 parture, 144; her anger at the 
 decree for the arrest of the royal 
 family, 177; her Influence over 
 Barnave, 190; defends her hus- 
 band's cause with Petion, 203; 
 testifies her gratitude to the three 
 body-guards, 207 ; her lofty cour- 
 age, 212 ; refuses the arm of the 
 Vicomte de Noailles, 215; her 
 anxiety for the Dauphin, 216; 
 the espionage of her attendant, 
 223; under the closest surveil- 
 lance, 224 ; devotes herself to the 
 education of her children, 229; 
 her hair whitened by grief, 229 ; 
 fears the foreign invasion, 260; 
 correspondence of, with Count 
 Meroy-Argenteau, 253, 254, 256; 
 comprehends the situation, 254; 
 her appearance in public still pro- 
 duces a great effect, 264; her 
 courage in attending the theatre, 
 265; scene at the Italiens over 
 her, 269 ; saddened by the faith- 
 lessness of the ladies of her court, 
 284 ; urges the Princess de Lam- 
 balle not to return to France, 287. 
 Menon, Count de, ridicules the dis- 
 cussion over the King's aunts, 
 85. 
 Mirabeau, secret interviews of, 
 with Marie Antoinette at Saint 
 Cloud, 48 et seg. ; at bottom aris- 
 tocratic, 49; his career, 50; the 
 conditions of his allegiance, 52 ; 
 first letter of, to Marie Antoi- 
 nette, 52; his secret interview 
 with the Queen, 56; denies the 
 reality of the interview at Saint 
 Cloud, 71; his ideal, 72; his 
 
INDEX. 
 
 295 
 
 double life, 73, 77; his opinion of 
 Paris, 74 ; of the National Guard, 
 75; his advice to the court, 76; 
 advises the Assembly to allow 
 the departure of the King's aunts, 
 85 ; resists the passage of the law 
 against emigration, 88; lines of, 
 on the death of a friend, 92; 
 "prodigalof life," 92; his power 
 over the Assembly, 94; taken 
 sick, 95 ; scenes at his deathbed, 
 95 et seq. ; his death, 97 ; mourn- 
 ing for him, and his grandiose 
 foneral, 97 et seq. ; position of, 
 with regard to the clergy and the 
 Constitution, 107 ; letter of, to de 
 la Marck on the subject, 107 ; La- 
 martine's mot concerning, 191. 
 
 Mirabeau, The, Socialist journal, 
 72. 
 
 Moniteur, the, publishes the decla^ 
 ration of a National Guard, 90. 
 
 Narbonne, M. de, pleads the cause 
 of the King's aunts, 84. 
 
 National Assembly discuss the de- 
 parture of the King's aunts, 84 ; 
 take Mirabeau's advice and allow 
 them to depart, 85. 
 
 Noailles, Yicomte de, offers his arm 
 to Marie Antoinette, 215. 
 
 Orleanist conspiracies, not the 
 work of the Duke of Orleans, 
 279. 
 
 Orleans, the Duke of, arrives in 
 Paris, 59; has an interview with 
 the King, 273; his subsequent 
 treatment at the King's levfe, 
 274; becomes implacable, 275; 
 his character and destiny, 276 
 et seq. 
 
 Paris, return of the royal family 
 to, 1; at the close of 1789, 18; 
 aspects of the Revolution in, 19, 
 21, the court not prominent in, 
 24; occupied with the religious 
 luestion, 103 ; scenes in, after the 
 
 flight of the royal family, 147; 
 aspect of, on the return of the 
 royal family, 210 et seq. ; during 
 the suspension of royalty, 231 et 
 seq. 
 
 Potion, sent by the National As- 
 sembly as commissioner to meet 
 Lonis XVI., 188; his attitude 
 towards the royal party, 198 ; his 
 character, 199; his account of 
 the journey, 199 et seq. ; his fate, 
 204; crowned by the crowd, 261. 
 
 Pilnitz, the declaration of, 248. 
 
 Press in Paris, furious character 
 of, 233. 
 
 Priests compelled to swear fidelity 
 to the new Constitution, 105. 
 
 Provence, Count of, his last meet- 
 ing with the King, 134 ; seeks to 
 form a European Coalition, 244, 
 
 Begnard, M., entertains the royal 
 family, 205. 
 
 Revolution, aspects of, in Paris, 19. 
 
 Robespierre, the idol of the day, 
 235 ; crowned by the crowd, 261. 
 
 Romeuf, M. de, and M. Baillon ar- 
 rive in Varennes with the decree 
 for the arrest of the royal family, 
 176; their interview with the 
 King and Queen, 177. 
 
 Boyale, Madame, birth -of, 35 ; her 
 first communion, 36, 38; her 
 father's pious advice, 36; her 
 account of events preceding the 
 flight, 133. 
 
 Sabbats Jacobites, the, on the de- 
 parture of the King's aunts, 83. 
 
 Saint Cloud, the royal family at, 
 41,47. 
 
 Saint Prix, courteous attention of, 
 to the King, while guard, 226. 
 
 Sauce, M., offers his house to the 
 royal fugitives after the arrest, 
 165. 
 
 S^gur, Count de, describes the va- 
 rious aspects of Paris, 23. 
 
296 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Talleyrand, says mass at the Festi- 
 val of the Federation, 64, 69; 
 takes the oath to the new Con- 
 stitution, 105. 
 
 Th^atins, church of the, entrance 
 to, prevented by the people, 113. 
 
 Theatre Franfais, revolutionary 
 scenes at, 20; at the funeral of 
 Voltaire, 237. 
 
 Tuileries, condition of, on the re- 
 turn of the royal family to, 1; 
 grounds of, thronged by the pop- 
 ulace, 3; made to resemble the 
 palace of Versailles, 11. 
 
 V^ilory, M. de, ascertains the state 
 of the public mind as to rumors 
 of the flight, 131; receives the 
 King's order, ISa'. 
 
 Varennes, joumey, the, 122 et 
 seq. ; situation of, 159 ; arrest of 
 the royal family at, 165; tumult 
 in, 170. 
 
 Victoire, Madame, the King's aunt, 
 81 et seq. 
 
 Vincennes, rioters at, 88. 
 
 Voltaire, funeral of, 236.