Marie Antoinette and the end of the old régime

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Introduction . , 1

CHAPTER

Introduction

THE old regime is drawing to its close ; the hour of the great catastrophes is nigh ; soon the deep roar of thunder is to be heard; yet, so far as appears, nothing is changed: the splendor of Versailles still dazzles every eye by its magnificence; everywhere one sees the same life, the same animation, the same brilliancy. There are nearly four thousand persons in the King's civil household, nine or ten thousand in his military ^usehold, and at least two thousand more in those of his relatives. There is a vast accumulation of rich costumes, of uniforms, liveries, coaches. How beautiful is the park of Versailles on a spring morning, when the chestnuts are in blossom, and the sun lights up the spray of the great fountains! The terrace is crowded with women richly dressed, and with men quite as gorgeously arrayed, in their knots of ribbons, their lace ruffles, and their

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yellow, or pink, or sky-blue silk coats. The military | bands are playing beneath the trees. One may see ' the Swiss Guards in their sixteenth century uniforms, with their halberds, ruffs, plumed hats, and full jer- 1 kins of various colors ; the body-guards with their red breeches, huge boots, and blue coats adorned with white embroidery. One beholds, too, the crowd of courtiers with their attentive, discreet air, with the distinction of their gait, speech, and smile, with their reverence for etiquette, and their boundless courtesy.

Let us imagine ourselves at the last court balls of 1786 and 1787. The place is the small theatre between the Court of the Princes and the park where the southern part of the palace begins. The building, which was constructed under Louis XIV., but is now destroyed, is thus described by the Count d' Hezecques in his Memories of a Page, It was fitted out with wooden pavilions, which were kept in the house of the Menus Plaisirs, and can be set up in a few hours. The entrance was in a green grove, adorned with statues, and at the end was a billiard room, which was a little sombre in color, so that the illumination shone out with greater brilliancy. To the | right, small paths lead into the dancing and gaming room. One of the doors consists of a great piece of plate glass so clear that a Swiss sentinel is posted there to warn people from trying to walk through it. - Marble basins, surrounded with moss and flowers, contain water-jets which splash all night, in the bril-

INTRODUCTION.

I liant blaze of lamps and candles, giving forth an ] agreeable coolness. The guests at these delightful I balls are the most distinguished, the most attractive I people of the fascinating society that sets the fashion for all Europe. M. Taine thus describes their charms, with real enthusiasm, in his noble book. The Origins of Contemporary France : " There is not a toilette here, not a pose of the head, not a tone of the voice, which is not the fine flower of worldly culture, the distilled essence of the most exquisite products of social art. It takes, we are told, a hundred thousand roses to produce an ounce of that unique ottar which the kings of Persia use. This drawing-room is like that, a minute flash of gold and crystal. It contains the substance of a human vegetation. To fill it, there was required a great aristocracy transplanted into a hothouse and so rendered sterile of fruits, though rich in flowers, in order that in the royal alembic all its purified juices should be concentrated into a few drops of perfume. Its cost is most extravagant, but only in that way are delicate perfumes made."

Up to its last moment, the monarchy was imposing. The royal star, before it disappeared beneath the horizon, continued to shine in great splendor. Chateaubriand was presented at court May 19, 1787, and he thus describes the occasion: "No one has seen anything who has not seen the pomp of Versailles, even after the disbanding of the King's former household. It is because Louis XIV. is always here. Hence a presentation is not a thing of trifling impor-

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tance. A mysterious destiny hangs over the new arrival. He is spared that air of scornful protection, - which with extreme politeness forms the inimitable ; manners of the great nobleman. Who knows whether ' this newcomer may not become the master's favorite ? " The doors of the King's bedchamber are opened, and the King, who has just finished dressing, takes his hat from the hand of the first gentleman in waiting, and comes forth to go to mass. The future author of The Martyrs bows. The Marshal de Duras pronounces his name, " Sire, the Chevalier de Chateaubriand" ; and the famous author, recalling this memory of his youth, says : " Vanity of human destiny ! This sovereign whom I saw for the first time, this mighty monarch, was Louis XVI., then within six years of the scaffold; and this new courtier, at whom he scarcely glanced, commissioned to separate bones from bones, after having been presented to the grandeur of the descendant of Saint Louis, on proving his titles to nobility, was to be again presented to his ashes, on proving his fidelity — a twofold tribute of i respect to the twofold royalty of the sceptre and of the martyr's palm."

After his presentation to Louis XVL, Chateaubriand passed through the gallery to meet the Queen returning from chapel. ^'She soon came in sight,'* he says, " surrounded by a large and brilliant suite ; she made a dignified courtesy, appearing enchanted with life. And those fair hands, which then held so gracefully the sceptre of so many kings, were, before

INTRODUCTION.

they were tied by the executioner, to patch the rags of the widow, the prisoner of the Conciergerie."

Unhappy Queen ! The moment was drawing nigh when she was to be abandoned even by her courtiers. At the last court ball in 1788, no one wanted to dance with her. Madame Vigee-Lebrun, who was present, speaks of the festivity most sadly : " The box in which I happened to be was so near the Queen's that I could overhear what she said. I saw her in some agitation inviting the young men of the court to dance, among them, M. de Lameth, who belonged to a family which she had overwhelmed with deeds of kindness, and others, who refused her ; so that it was impossible to make up the sets for the square dances. The indecorous conduct of these gentlemen struck me ; their refusal seemed to me to be a sort of revolt. The Revolution was approaching ; it broke out the next year."

In 1787 Marie Antoinette had already noticed threatening symptoms. In the Secret Correspoyidence.) published 'by M. de Lescure, there may be read, under date of February 19 : " Last week the Queen was much applauded when she reached the Opera ; and, as usual, she made courtesies to the public. At that moment a hiss was heard from the crowd. Although this piece of insolence must have come from a madman or a wretch, it much distressed the Queen." Certainly he was right, for that hiss at the Opera was the first sound of the most horrible tempest.

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In the same Correspondence., under the date of Au- ) j gust 1, 1787, we find : " The name of Madame Deficit : ' is given to a great lady who has made certain sacrifices to the nation which was in no way authorized ' to demand them." And, September 25, " ' Athalie ' i was recently played in Paris. The public applauded \ with as much warmth as indecorum these four lines : —

" ' Confound in her designs this cruel queen ! Deign, deign, my God, on Mathan and on her To let fall that spirit of imprudence and error, The fatal foreteller of the ruin of kings.' "

The moment chosen for this ill-will towards Marie | Antoinette was the very one when she had abandoned ' these faults and had become serious and exemplary. We find, again, in the Secret Correspondence^ December 5, 1786, this sign of growing gravity : " The Revolution, which has been so long prophesied at our court, is beginning to show itself. The Queen turns a cold shoulder to all the young men who had assumed an air of familiarity which seemed justified by the destruction of all etiquette. She admits to her society only reasonable and decent men, if such there be. All the high officers and servants of the King and the Princes are to be obliged to live at Versailles. In this way, CEil-de-Boeuf and this gallery, which were deserted, will be crowded again. It is supposed that the Queen is becoming devout. She would thus follow her mother's example at an early age."

So long as Marie Antoinette was frivolous and was

INTRODUCTION. 7 guilty, not of real faults, but of imprudent actions, she .yas the recipient of general flattery and admiration. But so soon as she became absolutely irreproachable, she was overwhelmed with harsh judgments and ill- T dll. Such is the world's justice !

The same thing may be said about the nobility. As M. Taine has justly remarked, never was the aristocracy so worthy of power as at the moment when it was about to lose it. The possessors of privileges had become excellent citizens, worthy, enlightened, charitable managers. They defended the tax-payers from the treasury, suppressed the duty service, multiplied good works, taught the poor, protected agriculture, directed every reform.

Turn to the memorials of the nobility prepared in the bailiwicks on the eve of the States-General, and you will see that they demanded for the French people all the civil and political rights which the Revolutionists pretend to have wrung from them. These great lords, who fought in the war like heroes, and at Versailles so well represented the splendors of the past, were, in their own homes, the most amiable of hosts, the most delicate patrons of letters and the arts, the sturdiest supporters of the new ideas. They were rich, but they were generous ; they were envied by the ungrateful, but noble hearts blessed them.

The Viscountess of Noailles said with much truth : " The horror of abuses, the contempt of hereditary distinctions, all those feelings with which a sense of their own interest inspired the lower classes, acquirer their first charm from the enthusiasm of the great. Those of lively imaginations hoped soon to see their wildest dreams come true, or gladly deprived theniiselves of everything of the nature of an abuse, in th(e simple thought that they should thus attain a morall height which the masses would be generous enouglii to understand and to respect." ^ Going back t(!) the Golden Age of the Revolution, she exclaims i: " Heaven knows how unjust we are to that time 1' What generosity, loftiness, delicacy, belonged to that distinguished society ! • How solid was every tie I What respect for sworn fidelity, even in the unworthiest circumstances ! Never has romance so manifested itself in life as then. I know it is precisely the reproach, and a well-founded reproach, that can be made against this society, that it lacked moral poise to an extent that left a vagueness perilous to virtue. But is not that the general spirit of the century ? "

The whirl of new ideas, the general animation and fervor, made conversation varied, witty, and eloquent. The differences of opinion struck out sparks of brilliant wit. The French nobility, though old in certain ways, had remained young in others. Yes, even when the old regime was in its agony, it was still young in ardor, courage, and hope. It w^as young because it believed in love, and because it did

1 Life of the Princess of Poix nee Beauveau, by the Viscountess of Noailles (born in 1791 ; died in 1851).

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:.iot know the general disenchantment, the despairing scepticism, the disgust with life which are the shame and the punishment of decadent society. It was to fall, but gracefully, easily, like an ancient gladiator, delighted to unite in its last years all its qualities, all its charms, as if to make itself missed and to permit Prince Talleyrand to be able to say, " No one who did not live before 1789 has any idea of the charm

" Gaiety," wrote an English tourist in 1785, " is a peculiar quality of the French." This good humor, this singular combination of irony and excitement, of indifference and enthusiasm, the French nobility preserved up to the time of their severest trials. It seemed as if, knowing their days were numbered, they were anxious to pass them joyfully, to multiply their pleasures, their adventures, their emotions, as much as possible. To those who prophesied the apiproaching calamities, they answered with an incredulous smile. As Madame de Genlis said, their feeling ing of security amounted to extravagance.

June 29, 1789, at a meeting of the King's Council kt Marly, Necker said very innocently (for this society was perhaps even more innocent than refined) : j'What could be idler than fears about the organijzation of the States-General ? They can do nothing Wthout the King's assent." Was not the Revolution, fn their eyes, like a vast lottery in which every one /imagines that he has a winning ticket ? What could ' happen, thought the nobles, even if the worst should of life.^

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arrive ? A little war, gentle and cliarniing, like thai'} of the Fronde. No long campaigns or tedious manoeuvres. A few sharp thrusts, and fiddles, balls, comedies, love affairs, and songs, and, afterwards, wise reconciliation, useful reforms, progress, philanthropy, the triumph of tender souls, the progress of humanity ! We shall speak, shouted the lawyers, who are always ready to speak ; we shall ascend the tribune, we shall become famous and be appointed ministers. We shall make money, said the financiers. And financiers favor revolutions; for, as a clever woman of the time said, discount forms more than a third part of a banker's opinions.

All forms of amusement followed one another with giddy rapidity. Fashionable men and women lived a double life, now in Paris, now at Versailles. A. steady stream of carriages with swift horses wa^i rolling incessantly from the city of the great King to the real capital, that of pleasure and public opinion. At Versailles etiquette still ruled; in Paris there was freedom. There were delightful suppers., such as Madame Oberkirch describes : " Without wit, without eloquence, without knowledge of the world., of good stories, of the thousand trifles which make^ up the news of the day, no one could dream of being^ admitted to these charming gatherings. Only there^ was there any conversation, and it was on the most trifling subjects ; it was all a mere foam that was evaporating fast, leaving no trace behind, but its\ taste was most agreeable. After once tasting ity\

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Everything else seemed flat." There were the plays in which politics mingled with literature, and the audience was more interesting than the performance. There were private theatricals in which the most serious professions furnished excellent comedians ; many judges took the parts of Crispin and Marcarille. Great ladies, actresses, demi-reps, made great show of luxury, and without associating together, had yet perfect knowledge of one another's deeds and actions. Among the fashionable promenades was the Boulevard du Temple, where, especially on Thursday, men used to ride ; the large avenue of the Tuileries, and besides, to the left of the Palais Royal, another equally famous rideway, where good company was wont to assemble in gorgeous dress. In summer this was a favorite resort after the theatre; the women used to carry huge bouquets which, in combination with the perfumed powder they put on their hair, rendered the air most fragrant. There they used sometimes to sit till two in the morning, listening to harps and guitars. Saint Georges would take his violin there, and Garat and Alsevedo would sing, giving an improvised, open-air concert in the moonlight. The French nobility, which was as admirable at a ball as on the battle-field, generous with its heart's blood ^nd its money, which greeted the first rays of rising freedom, was to maintain its dignity to the last. Even in prison, even before the court, even on the platform of the guillotine, it was to remain what it had been, — amiable, courteous, comme ilfaut. Of the

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Conciergerie it was to make a drawing-room ; at th'^ end of a corridor in whicli four candles were burning, it was to compose madrigals and songs, and continue as gallant, as gay, as graceful as before. Is there any need of becoming cross .and sullen because you are detained by accident in a wretcbed inn ?

Yet, even behind bolts, the women will keep alive the holy fire of fashion, the charm of elegance, and the prison-court will resemble a flowery terrace set in a framework of iron. To quote from Count Beugnot, himself a prisoner in the Conciergerie : "There misfortune will be treated like a naughty child who has to be laughed at, and in fact the divinity of Marat, the priesthood of Robespierre, the magistracy of Fouquier-Tinville will be loudly laughed at, and all v/ill seem to say to the bloody gang : ' You may kill us when you please, but you can't prevent our being amiable 1 ' " French nobles, you will not only be gentle, you will be courteous with death! After knowing how to live, you wili know how to die, and you will find a way to honor the scaffold by leaving upon it your coat-of-arms !

I. THE BIETH OF THE DAUPHINo

THE most touching thing in the world it is the suffering and then the joy of a woman who gives birth to a child. Those tortures endured with so much courage, the anguish so distressing to the husband or the mother, that waiting in which minutes seem like centuries, the solemn moment in which the woman seems to hang between hope and death ; then the ineffable, ecstatic joy, the heavenly rest, that sweetest of sounds, the child's first cry, the first look the mother gives it ; — what is sublimer than the mystery of birth, than the living poem of maternal love, than this outburst of the deepest and truest feelings of nature ? The day for which Marie Antoinette had so longed was at last come, and Heaven granted her the immense happiness of giving a Dauphin to France and to the King. Poor Louis XYL, whose lot was soon to be ' so piteous, with what love one saw his happiness ! with what sympathy were regarded the tears of joy that bedewed his honest and loyal face !

It was October 22, 1781 ; the whole palace of Versailles was agitated by the liveliest emotions. It was

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one in the afternoon when a Dauphin was born. On this occasion there had been abandoned the old barbaric custom of letting a crowd fill the Queen's room, and only a few persons had been admitted. At first they refrained from telling the Queen that it was a Dauphin, lest the excitement should be too great for her. She noticed their silence, and supposed it was a girl. See how reasonable I am," she said ; " I don't ask any questions." The King did not wish to prolong her uncertainty, and called out, " The Dauphin asks leave to enter." At these words the tender, — dare I say happy ? yes, for at this moment she was, — happy Marie Antoinette lifted herself up, held out her arms to the King, and then the couple, closely embracing, mingled their tears, which were so delicious that the Dauphin lay for some moments by their side before they noticed him.

As a Swede, the Count of Stedingk, said, the Queen's ante-chamber was a charming sight. The joy was complete ; every head was turned, and all were alternately weeping and laughing. Men and women who were scarcely acquainted found themselves hugging one another. But it was very different when, at two o'clock, the door of the Queen's room was thrown wide open and the Dauphin was announced! The governess of the royal children, the Princess of Guemenee, held the little child in her arms. The applause and the clapping of hands made their way to Marie Antoinette's chamber, and certainly to her heart. An archbishop wanted the

THE BIBTH OF THE DAUPHIN.

Dauphin to be at once invested with the order of the Holy Ghost. "No," said the King; "he must first be made a Christian." At three o'clock the child was baptized in the chapel of the palace by the Grand Almoner, the Cardinal de Rohan. He was held at the font by the Count of Provence and by Madame Elisabeth, who represented the godfathers and godmothers, the Emperor Joseph 11. and the Princess of Piedmont (Madame Clotilde). In his joy, Louis XVI. gave his hand to every one, taking every opportunity to say, " My son " or " The Dauphin." In the streets all were talking and embracing one another. All classes of society, from the highest to the lov/est, seemed to form one happy family.

Madame Elisabeth's friend, Madame de Bombelles, wrote to her husband on the day of the Dauphin's birth : " What touched me extremely was the King's delight during the baptism ; he was continually looking at his son and smiling at him. The cries of the people who were outside of the chapel at the moment the child entered, the happiness expressed on every face, moved me so much that I could not keep from tears."

The child's nurse was named Madame Poitrine. "She is well named; for it is enormous, and the doctors say her milk is excellent. She is a genuine peasant woman, the wife of a gardener at Sceaux. She has a voice like a grenadier, swears with the greatest readiness ; but that makes no difference, in fact, it is an advantage; for nothing surprises or

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disturbs her, so lier milk is not affected. The laces and linen given to her did not surprise her. It seemed to her very simple ; and she merely asked not to be compelled to put powder on her hair, because she had never used it ; and she wanted to put on a cap worth six hundred francs over her hair, as she used to wear her mob-caps. Her voice amuses everybody, because she sometimes says very amusing things."

Every one admired the royal child; they even adored it. " I saw our little Dauphin this morning," Madame de Bombelles wrote again, October 29. " He is very well. He is as lovely as an angel ; and the enthusiasm of the populace continues the same. In the streets one meets nothing but fiddles, and singing and dancing. I call that touching ; and in fact, I know no more amiable nation than ours."

The general happiness spread over France, and even to foreign parts. Gustavus III., King of Sweden, wrote to the Count of Stedingk : " The details you sent to me about the delivery of the Queen of France gave me infinite pleasure. No one could take more interest in it than I do ; and I assure you the joy at Drottningholm over the Dauphin's birth is as great as it can be at Versailles."

The different guilds went to pay their respects to the King and Queen. When they had entered the courtyard of the palace, headed by bands, they formed groups, as if they were on the stage. Chimney-sweeps carried a chimney, on the top of which

THE BIBTH OF THE DAUPHIN.

they had fastened one of the smallest of their number. Chairmen carried a richly gilded chair with a nurse and child inside of it. Butchers appeared with a huge ox. Locksmiths were beating on an anvil. The cobblers had a little pair of boots for the Dauphin ; the tailors, a suit of his regimental uniform. But alas ! even at the happiest hours of Marie Antoinette's life there is no lack of black presentiments. There is a note of Shakespearian tragedy in her lot. Among the guilds there was a gravedigger's scene, in which they appeared with their tools ; forgetting the gloomy nature of their duties, they wished to take part in the general rejoicing. But at the moment when they were passing along the terrace, Madame Sophie, the aunt of Louis XVL, had a shivering fit, and a few weeks later she was dead.

When the guilds had all passed by, fifty women from the Market, dressed in black, and nearly all wearing diamonds, were introduced into the Queen's room and had the honor of presenting their congratulations. Then came the turn of the fishwomen. "Sire," said one of them, "if Heaven owed a son to a king who regards his people as his family, our prayers and wishes had long demanded one. These are at length answered. We are sure that our children will be as happy as ourselves, for this child must be like you. You will teach him. Sire, to be good and just, like yourself. We take upon ourselves the duty of teaching our children how to love and respect their king." Then, turning to Marie Antoi-

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iiette, the fishwomaii said : " It is so long, Madame, that we have loved you without daring to say so, that we need all our respect in order not to abuse the permission to express it to you." Finally, turning to the cradle in which the Dauphin was lying, " You cannot understand the wishes which we utter over your cradle ; but some day perhaps they will be told to you ; they limit themselves to seeing in you the image of those who have given you life."

The locksmiths of Versailles accompanied their homage to the King with the present of a piece of their workmanship. It was a secret lock. Louis XVI., who took a great interest in mechanics, wanted to find out the secret for himself; he did so, and at the moment when he found out the combination, there sprang from the lock a steel dauphin of admirable workmanship. The King was delighted; he said that their present gave him great pleasure, and rewarded them handsomely.

January 21, 1782, the city of Paris gave great festivities to celebrate the birth of an heir to the throne. January 21 1 Always fateful dates I Always mysterious forebodings ! What was to happen exactly eleven years later to a day? But why think of the terrible future ? Let us drive away gloomy thoughts ! Is it not right that Marie Antoinette, with such trials and tortures before her, should have her hour of glorj^ and triumph ? What grace and charm masked the beautiful and august Queen on that day when Providence seemed to bless her, and France was uttering

THE BIRTH OF THE DAUPHIN.

one long cry of love, admiration, and devotion ! What success ! What applause I What ovations I How majestic she was when she appeared beneath the portal of Notre Dame, or when she ascended the grand staircase of the H6tel de Ville ! That evening, all Paris was illuminated ; the Place VendSme, the Place Louis XV., the Palais Bourbon, were ablaze with lights. The decorations of the H6tel de Ville were magnificent with golden vessels filled with lilies, purple stuffs, columns, balustrades, and bands of music. The fireworks represented the Temple of Hymen. Before the door France was to be seen receiving from on high the august child just born.

Ah ! let the Queen enjoy in peace these last moments of happiness ! Let her still believe in the fidelity and kindness of her subjects I Let her still nourish the illusion that she rules over a loyal and chivalrous people ! She is at the summit of her glory ; but there are certain heights which cannot be reached without peril. Li happiness, as in the atmosphere, there are certain limits which mortals may not pass. Whoever has been the object of enthusiastic praise and intoxicating flattery must await criticism and abuse. Kings and queens, geniuses and great artists, suffer this same fate. All happiness and glory must be paid for. Whoever you may be, if you are the idol of the multitude, tremble ; unhappiness is not far off : after the palms, Calvary !

How false is joy ! What is blinder than hope ? This Dauphin, whose cradle is girt with such cries

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of love, so many blessings and songs, is to have a gloomy fate. His agony will coincide with that of the French Monarchy. A child, weak and doomed, like the royalty he represents, he will be plunged into sadness and overwhelmed with grief. His sufferings will plunge his mother into despair, and will throw a black veil over a period already so gloomy. He is to die at the moment when the States-General are opened, which were so fatal to the crown ; and the public, in its revolutionary fervor, will pay but little attention to the death of this child, whose birth called forth such transports. The deputies of the Third Estate will have no respect for the tears of Louis XVI. They will want to talk business with him in the first hours of his mourning ; and the unhappy father, wounded by this lack of tact and such indifference to the holiest feelings, will not be able to refrain from exclaiming with bitterness, " These gentlemen then have no children ! "