The last years of Louis XV.

Part First. Page

Court and City at the Close of the Reign of Louis XV. ... i

I. The King ' 8

II. The Nobility 14

III. The Clergy 17

IV. The Magistracy 22

V. The Bourgeoisie 30

VI. The People 35

VII. The Female Politicians 41

VIII. Love , 46

IX. The Famous Salons 53

X. The Philosophes 71

Part Second

The Women of the Court at Versailles at the Close of the Reign OF Louis XV. 1 768-1 774.

L Louis XV. in 1768 81

II. The Early History of the Comtesse du Barry .... 94

III. The Comtesse du Barry's Triumph 102

IV. Madame Louise de France, Inmate of the Carmelite

Convent . . . m vi Contents.

PAGE

V. The Childhood of Marie-Antoinette . . . . . . . . 121

VI. Marie-Antoinette's Arrival in France 131

VII. The Marriage of Marie-Antoinette, and the Fetes attending IT 141

VIII. The Dauphine and the Royal Family in 1770 150

IX. Marie- Antoinette and Madame du Barry 159

X. The Dauphine and Maria Theresa 172

XL The Pavilion of Luciennes 188

XII. Death of Louis XV 200

EPILOGUE. — The Passing of Madame du Barry 211

INDEX 227

ILLUSTRATIONS.

MADAME DU BARRY : Frontispiece

A fac-simile in Goupilgravure reproduced from a Portrait by De Creuse, after Drouais, in the Museum of Versailles.

A GouPiL Photogravure in bistre of the same . . . To face page i MARIE ANTOINETTE 131

A Goupil Photogravure in black reproduced from a Portrait by Mme. Vigee Lebrun, painted in 1783.

A Goupil Photogravure in bistre of the same 141

THE LAST YEARS OF LOUIS XV.

Part First. Court And City At The Close Of The Reign Of Louis XV

TO live the life of those who are no more, to study an epoch thoroughly, to identify one's self with the persons, and familiarize one's self with their customs, their modes of thought, their passions, their tastes, their fashions, their prejudices, is in itself a sort of metempsychosis.

In order to accomplish that purpose, one must detach himself from his own epoch, and, forgetting his own identity, imagine that he is somebody else. At first you pay but slight attention to the details of the memoirs of the time which you are studying, to the minutiae of all sorts which are only to be discerned, so to speak, with the aid of a magnifying-glass. But after a little, all the petty gossip and tittle-tattle of the day begin to fascinate you, and you seem to live again in a recreated past. It seems as if you were intimately acquainted with the original actors in the drama of which you are having a performance all by yourself. Vou fancy that you hear their voices, watch the play of their features, and you become for the nonce the courtier a la mode, the subscriber to the theatres, and the habiiui of the salons which you are trying to restore in all their former glory.

It is something like that which I propose to myself to try and do for the last years of Louis XV., — those six years, from the death of the good Queen Marie Leczinska, to that of the monarch himself, who was no longer, except by antiphrasis, the " Well-Beloved." It is a period made interesting by the striking contrasts which it offers to the view, by the uncertain conflict between the old regime, which was just tottering in the last stages of debility, and the new order of things, which was still in an embryotic state. French society, with no regret for the past, and no fear for the future, was dancing and singing on towards the abyss.

I try to imagine that instead of being an obscure man of letters of the nineteenth century, I am a courtier of the eighteenth ; that I am an eye-witness of the triumph of Madame du Barry; that I saw Madame Louise of France take the veil as a Carmelite nun ; and that I have been present at the bedside reception of that rising star who was called Marie-Antoinette. I doat upon Versailles, where the monarchy, even in its decadence, retains some little prestige ; but I much prefer Paris, — Paris, the fountain-head of public opinion, the city of luxury and intellect and pleasure. I live with the philosophes, though I distrust their doctrines, of which they do not appreciate the inevitable result. At Versailles a courtier of Louis XV., at Paris I am the inti mate friend of the kings and queens of fashion. I frequent

Court and City. 3

the salon of the Marquise du Deffand without getting myself into hot water with Mademoiselle de Lespinasse. At Madame Geoffrin's I meet those great nobles, men of understanding and taste, who, by mingling freely with authors and artists, establish a fusion between the aristocracy and men of letters, and those foreign diplomatists who do not conceal their infatuation with the advanced civilization of France, — of Paris above all.

I am a welcome guest at those charming supper-parties where one forgets, for a moment, everything that is sad or gloomy in life, and thinks only of that which is soothing and pleasant.

I dip into politics a bit at my leisure ; and when the Due de Choiseul falls from power, I pose as his warm adherent, and go to write my name with the rest upon the pillar at Chanteloup. The disputes between the magistracy and the clergy also possess interest for me ; but I do not take them so tragically as some.

I see society divided into two hostile camps, — pessimists and optimists ; those who believe in the threatening danger, and those who laugh at it. But the last are vastly in the majority. The former declare that if the foundations of the altar are shaken, those upon which the throne is built may be no more solid. They regret the expulsion of the Jesuits ; they are loud in their condemnation of Voltaire. The future looks very black to them ; they are the true prophets of evil. The others smile when one gives sign of fear. When they have uttered the words " toleration," " equality,"

" liberty," they think they have said all there is to be said. They scoff at the Cassandras foretelling public disaster, at the priests who wring their hands over the prevailing incredulity, at Louis XV. gazing uneasily at the portrait of Charles I. of England. How absurd the thought that a loyal, chivalrous nation, such a nation as the French, could ever send its anointed king to the scaffold ! Is not society becoming every day more moderate in tone, more enlightened and more tolerant } Are not the old religious disputes falling into desuetude ? Is not the nobility taking the lead in a free and liberal movement ? Have not the priests become socially as eligible as worldly people .f' Is not education making marvellous progress every day.

When had literature greater prestige 1 Was there ever a time when liberal ideas, desire for useful reforms, and plans looking to the extension of civilization were more fashionable.'' Is not science, which brings to light new marvels every day, joining hands with the new philosophy to benefit, to pacify, and to regenerate the human race .?

And it is such an epoch as this that you would characterize as a time given over to confusion, to anarchy, and to bloody revolution !

" Back, ye waverers ! " cry the philosophes. " Back, ye men of former days, who would enchain and degrade mankind ! Nothing, no, nothing, will impede the irresistible movement which is drawing France, and all Europe in her wake, on in the path of progress towards indefinable, boundless perfection. Lay aside these cowardly arguments,

Court and City. 5

these imaginary alarms, tliis terror fit only for children, or old men in their dotage. All the spectres which you evoke will not terrify us. Your phantasmagoria only makes us laugh. In vain do you raise your voice to frighten us with your tragic threats and your gloomy predictions. Back, back, ye waverers ! The world is moving on, and you cannot stop it ! "

I listen to this torrent of fine words, but I confess that they are not altogether convincing to me ; I have not such a firm belief as that in the approach of the Golden Age. "After me, the deluge," cried Louis XV., they say, in Madame Du Barry's boudoir. Louis XV. sees no good augury for the future, and it may be that he is right.

And I, who am whirled about in the vortex of society; I, who am in the thick of that excited, feverish, brilliant life, the life of the court and the city, of salons and boudoirs, of academies and theatres ; I, who am of all the supper-parties, all the fetes, and an indefatigable first-nighter; I, the friend of all the great lords and famous men, of all the fashionable beauties, — I too have, in common with the old king, my moments of depression and discouragement. Sometimes all these men and women whom I meet in society seem to me, as to the old Marquise du Deffand, " like mere machines, who go and come, chatter and laugh, without thought or reflection or emotion, playing each his part mechanically and from long habit." Mere worldly creatures, outwardl}^ earnest and enthusiastic, but realty indifferent to everything; spiteful allusions, upon which jealousy and idleness feed and thrive ; insipid love-making, which is a mere burlesque of passion ; everlasting disquisitions upon love and friendship pronounced by those who never have known, and never will know, more than the theory of those sentiments ; selfish, lukewarm alliances, growing out of the artificial life of the salons, — yes, there are times when you weary me beyond measure, and the mere thought of you is horrible to me. There are moments when I say to myself, " Where will this rage for philosophy end ? What sort of a structure will rise over all this ruin ? What will become of the throne without the altar, of the nobility without the clergy? What will come of this Tower of Babel called the Encyclopedie? ' "

And, after all, what a world of sadness really lies hidden beneath this mask of gayety! What emptiness and wretchedness ! How bitter is the flavor at the bottom of these cups of crystal ! How many thorns among the roses, and how many bitter cares beneath these powdered wigs ! Ye brilliant beauties, what lines of anguish are drawn on your rougeladen cheeks !

O eighteenth century, which vaunted so proudly thy intellect, thy boldness, and thy alleged progress; century of philosophers, of learned great ladies, of noblemen turned artists, of omnipotent wielders of the pen ; century of Rousseau and Voltaire, of Diderot and Helvetius, — thou eighteenth century, now drawing to a close, what will thy last years be ?

But a truce to gloomy forebodings. I cry, with Horace

Court and City. 7

Walpole, " I laugh so, that I need not weep. I play with monkeys and dogs and cats, to avoid being devoured by the beast of Gevaudan." Let us then, since there is still time, taste the sweets of life and emotion. Let us scrutinize without prejudice this society which has so much that is charming and alluring, with all its faults and vices. Court and city, nobility, clergy, magistracy, bourgeoisie, common people, philosophes, men of letters, women, — yes, the women above all ; let us pass them in review one after another, the actors and supernumeraries of a comedy which will end, soon it may be, with the most pathetic and sombre of imaginable scenes. The new world comes on apace ; let us cast a last glance upon the old.

THE KING.

TOWARDS the close of the reign of Louis XV. the court was out of fashion. To be sure, the old etiquette was in force there, and one found the same old names and the same distinctions of caste. But the king was old, and, more than that, the king was ridiculous. His passion for a mere courtesan, for a Du Barr}', had in it something absurd and pitiably grotesque. Versailles no longer trembled before him, but laughed at him. They made sport of the amorous monarch who was playing an out-of-date pastoral comedy with a harlot. The " Well-beloved of the Almance," as he was satirically called, was no longer taken seriously.

In 1 77 1 some joker circulated this version of the Lord's Prayer, dedicated to His Most Christian Majesty: "Our Father who art at Versailles, hallowed be thy name: thy reign is played out, and thy will is no more done in earth than in heaven. Give back to us our daily bread, which thou hast taken away ; forgive thy Parliaments who have upheld thy interests, as thou hast forgiven thy ministers who have betrayed them. Yield no more to the temptations of the Du Barry, but deliver us from thy devil of a chancellor." Affairs at Versailles, however, are still conducted as deco-

The Kins.

rously as of yore. The gentlemen on duty fulfil the functions of their respective offices with the same assiduity. The king's levee is still a farce in five acts, in which the courtiers appear as supernumeraries of high degree. There are still the entrees familieres, when the king is awake, but still in bed ; the grandes entrees^ when he has risen and donned his dressing-gown ; then the so-called entrees de la chambre, when he is seated in his arm-chair at the toilette-table; and, lastly, the general entree, which admits the common herd of courtiers, who have been waiting since dawn in the Galerie des Glaces.

Versailles is still, as of old, a city of eighty thousand souls, filled and dominated by the life of a single man, — an essentially royal city, marvellously well adapted to supply the service, the pleasures, the body-guard, and the society of the sovereign. The immortal race of courtiers is unceasingly recruited from the clever and compliant men who, upon making their debut at court, have received this advice, and followed it to the letter : " You have but three things to do, — speak well of everybody, apply for every vacant post, and sit down whenever you can."

But all these courtiers, in spite of their irreproachable demeanor, resemble priests who have ceased to believe in their god. Quantities of incense are still burned at the idol's feet, through force of habit ; but the idol hardly deceives anybody now. Etiquette, which is still enforced in all its tedious regulations, is a custom simply ; it is no longer a cult. Prestige has disappeared. No successor to Dangeau lo The Last Years of Louis XV.

or to De Luynes is to be found ; moreover, money, the vital principle of courts, is becoming less plentiful. Horace Walpole writes, on the 30th July, 1771: "There is incredible distress here, especially at court ; the king's tradesmen are ruined ; his servants are dying of hunger ; the angels and archangels themselves would fail to receive their pensions or salaries. So they are singing, ' Woe ! Woe ! Woe ! ' instead of ' Hosannah ! ' Compiegne is abandoned. Villers-Cotterets and Chantilly are crowded. Chanteloup is even more in vogue.* Every one goes there who chooses, although, when the king's permission is asked, the invariable reply is, ' I say neither yes nor no.' It is the first time that the will of a king of France has ever been interpreted against his meaning. After abolishing the Parliament and destroying the public credit, he meekly submits to the slights of his personal attendants. Madame de Beauvau and two or three other ladies of an enterprising character defy this Tsar of the Gauls."

Walpole takes care to add that the insubordination of these ladies is really of no serious importance. " It must be said that they and their intrigues have about as little cohesive power as their party. They make epigrammes, sing vaudevilles aimed at the favorite, and distribute pamphlets against the Chancellor Maupeou ; but all this has no more result than a shot fired in the air."

* Villers-Cotterets and Chantilly were the seats of the Due d'OrMans and Prince de Condd, who were then in disgrace for taking sides with the former Parliament of Paris against the Chancellor Maupeou. Chanteloup was the place of exile of the Due de Choiseul.

The King. ii

To sum up, people retain for the king, if not affection and respect, — they have long since ceased to exist, — a certain indulgent feeling. They make excuses for the old fellow as they might do for a spoiled child. He has done wrong, perhaps ; but then he has done some good too. He has lost the colonies ; but he has annexed Lorraine and Corsica to France. He has held his own against powerful coalitions. He is the victor of Fontenoy. His old arm has been strong enough to smite the Parliament; and that cotip d'etat postponed the final catastrophe for some years.

Louis XV., pious and debauched, discontented with others as with himself, a curious compound of indecision and energy, of heedlessness and common-sense ; Louis XV., retaining still something of dignity and quiet goodbreeding, of the demeanor befitting a gentleman and a sovereign ; Louis XV., to be pitied rather than blamed, it may be, — is the type of the old regime, the incarnation of the monarchy, which, notwithstanding its visible decay, has clung to some fragments of attractiveness and of strength and authority.

He is a confirmed debauchee, no doubt ; but, after all, he is no better or worse than so many gray-haired Celadons, so many veterans of Cythera and superannuated rakes, who would think their vital spark was extinct if they ceased to have mistresses. Even learned magistrates play such pranks sometimes. They have their little houses, their boudoirs, their temples of pleasure. The eighteenth century, epicurean at heart, is only half indignant with the royal gallantry.

It laughs at it, and the monarchical principle is assailed much less by direct attack than by a weapon more formidable, perhaps, — ridicule. When I see Louis XV. at mass in the chapel at Versailles, praying very earnestly in the royal gallery, not far from his unworthy favorite, — who is without paint or powder, and has not even made her toilet, — I have difficulty in repressing a contemptuous exclamation.

As for the old king, proud as a peacock of his victory over Parliament, he thinks that he has, by a master-stroke, assured himself a long and peaceable old age. In his own mind he gives himself several more years of dissipation. Then, he tells himself, the time for repentance will come ; then he will repent and be truly devout, and will be the most Christian king, otherwise than in name. How many old rakes there are who thus postpone the hour of their final conversion, while boasting of an inborn, if somewhat hypocritical, respect for religion ! This half piety, this rough draught of virtue, this penitence dependent upon a future contingency, we find in many souls. Is there aught more feeble or inconsequent than the nature of man } We rub elbows with such as Louis XV. every hour of our lives. Men with his proclivities almost all resemble the lover of the Du Barry, when they grow old ; and examples are very rare of such men who, while their health is intact and money plentiful, will consent to become hermits, notwithstanding their gray hairs.

The prevailing sentiment with regard to the king is not so much hatred as indifference. He will be allowed to die

The King. 13

in peace, and his subjects will be content to look on, with no emotion of any sort, at the setting of this winter sun which gives neither heat nor light. Some there are who sigh impatiently for a new reign to begin. Wise heads consider the future Louis XVI. too young. After all, Louis XV., despite his mistakes, his defects, and his vicious habits, is a man of experience, and skilled in the science of government. But when will the Dauphin possess the necessary knowledge.'' How much time will be required to teach him the most elementary principles of that difficult art, the art of reigning.? He will have the best intentions; he will be honorable, upright, and virtuous. But all that is not enough. The task will be a heavy one for young shoulders. For this reason, Maria Theresa, woman of genius that she is, and endowed with keen and accurate vision, fears nothing so much as the death of Louis XV., the much-decried monarch. As king, if not as man, the oldster was worth much more than the child.

II. The Nobility

THERE are two parties in the nobility, — conservatives and liberals ; men of the past, and men of the future. The former are firm in support of the alliance between throne and altar, and insist upon respectful observance of all the old customs, and the rigid maintenance of the formalities of etiquette. Irreconcilable foes of the new philosophy, of Anglomania, and the " Encyclopedic," they look with a scornful and angry eye upon the changes in dress, the disuse of liveries, and the rage for foreign fashions. The liberals, combining with the advantages of patrician birth the charm of a life of independence, joyfully adopt the cabriolets, the dress-coats, and the simple English fashions. They applaud the republican declamations at the theatres, the levellins: discourses of the academies, the anti-Christian theories of the philosophes. They treat the old social edifice as architecture of the Gothic style. Their own social privileges, the remnants of their own former prestige, are being dug from beneath their feet; but what matters it.? This " little war," as the Comte de Segur says, both pleases and entertains them. They do not yet feel the danger, they see only the spectacle. Slaves of the prevailing fashion, they

The Nobility. 15

rush to pay their court to D'Alembert, Diderot, Marmontel, or Raynal, — a word of praise from whose mouth they esteem more highly than the favor of a prince of the blood.

Equality begins to make its appearance in the world. On many occasions literary eminence takes precedence of titles of nobility. One often sees, in the first society, men of letters of the second or third rate treated with more deference and consideration than is bestowed upon the provincial nobility. But do not be misled ; all this democratic, almost republican, show is as yet only an optical illusion. The old customs — so says the same liberal authority, the Comte de Segur — still maintain between nobles and bourgeoisie a tremendous gulf, which mere talents, even the most distinguished, only seem to cross. There is more familiarity than equality. Great trees, which lose their roots whether they will or no, are none the less proud of their foliage. So splendid ancestry, magnificent establishments, feudal ways of life, attributes of former power, — all these seem fated to live forever. The castes of the old social regime, with their proud hierarchy, their splendid display, their heraldic blazonry, their opulence and their power, are like " those gorgeous pictures of a thousand hues, drawn with sand upon glass, where one can see and admire superb castles, smiling landscapes, and bounteous harvests, which it needs but the lightest breath to blow away."

Do not think, however, that the nobility has lost all its former prestige, despite its decadence. No, it still retains its loyalty, its refinement, and its courteous manners and breeding The least of the provincial squires preserve its traditions. They have frequented the salon of the commandant, or intendant, and have met some ladies from Versailles, visiting in the provinces. Thus are they, almost all, acquainted with the changing fashions and customs.

" The most unpolished will go down to the lowest step of his porch, hat in hand, to escort his guests to their carriage, thanking them for the honor they have done him. The most boorish, when with a lady, will hunt up in his memory some fragments of the gallantry of the days of chivalry. The poorest and most secluded will furbish up his coat of king's blue, and his cross of Saint Louis, that he may be able, on occasion, to pay his respects to his neighbor, the great lord of the neighborhood, or to the prince on his travels." *

The nobility of the court, frivolous, dissipated, and Voltairian, must not make us lose sight of the provincial nobility, who live in austere tranquillity, respecting the principles, customs, and tenets of their class, bearing honorable poverty without a murmur rather than beg favors at Versailles, and making ready, in their retirement, to meet with noble resolution the tempests of which they can already foresee the approach.

* M. Taine, " Les Origines de la France contemporaine." One volume. Hachette.

III. The Clergy

JUST as we find in the ranks of the aristocracy, by the side of the nobly born courtiers who too often lead corrupt and useless lives, a provincial nobility faithful to their honorable traditions and to morality and virtue, so there are to be found beside the worldly, corrupt prelates, priests who lead honorable and respectable lives of sincere piety, and who set an edifying example to their countrymen.

In the body of the clergy, as in the nobility, I distinguish between the rich and the poor, the scoffers and the true believers, the men whose whole lives are a scandal, and those who strive to do what is right. Doubtless there are many reforms to be desired, many abuses to be put down. The princes of the Church, vested with feudal prerogatives, the heirs or successors of the former sovereign princes of the country ; the hundred and thirty-one bishops and archbishops, the seven hundred abbes commendataires, with their fashionable manners, their great wealth, and their luxurious establishments, — are not all models of moralit)^. I might name more than one prelate who not only has his mistresses, his hangers-on, his select boon-companions, his morning reception, his crowded ante-chamber, and his ushers and household officers, but who is also deeply in debt ; thereby putting the finishing touch to the parallel between himself and the great nobles.

The Marquis de Mirabeau writes in 1766: "It would be looked upon as insulting by the majority of the ecclesiastics with pretensions, simply to suggest to them to take charge of a parish. The salaries and preferments are for the abbes commendataires, for the incumbents who have received the tonsure without taking orders, or for the numerous chapters." There are churchmen who have an income of half a million. One hears mention of the hunting-stable of this bishop, of the satin-trimmed confessionals of another, and of the superb solid silver kitchen outfit of a third. I meet at every turn in the salons or boudoirs of the ladies of fashion these mincing court abbes who have nothing of the priest save the dress, and who do not always wear that, — these anacreontic abbes, compliant friends of the grandes dames, worshippers at the footstool of the pkilosopkes, purveyors of scandal, and scribblers of frivolous verses. But they are not the clergy properly so-called. The real clergy are to be found in the unpretending vicarages of the cities and villages, — above all, in the latter. Yes, although I know the prelate who plays the great lord, who leads a life of luxurious idleness, frequenter of salons and the court, and who mounts the steps of the marble stairway at Versailles with much more alacrity than he shows in mounting the steps of the altar, I know also the humble, poor, all-enduring priest, the pattern of devotion, of self-sacrifice, and faithfulness to duty, — the

The Clergy. 19

veritable man of God. Although I meet the bishop exulting in his golden cross, so do I reverently salute the country curate who walks leagues upon leagues in the mud or the snow, staff in hand. There are, without doubt, some female convents which are so tainted with worldliness that they seem like centres of the fashionable aristocracy; but there are, on the other hand, real convents, the abode of true piety and saintly devotion.

One of the daughters of Louis XV., Madame Louise de France, becomes a Carmelite ; and the daughters of the order of Mount Carmel make no terms with halfhearted piety. There do exist, I know, certain preachers who are more engrossed in the " Encyclopedic " than in the holy Gospels, and who more nearly resemble Academicians than priests. There are some, too, — so I am told, — who forget to make the sign of the cross when they ascend the pulpit, who entirely omit all forms of prayer, and make their sermon a sort of conference with their hearers. Bachaumont tells us that that is called preaching a la grecque. But there are, on the other hand, energetic, impassioned preachers, on whose eloquent lips the sacred terrors of the doctrine of the Church lose none of their force ; men of faith and courage, who, like the apostles, cry out, in view of the scandalous tendencies of the age: " Non possumus non loqui" — " We cannot keep silence." In a sermon remarkable for its saintlike courage, the Bishop of Alais divides society into two classes, — one which has everything, the other nothing, — and demands to know what justification there can be for the possession of inimitable privilege by those whose virtue is infinitesimal.

One day, the Abbe de Beauvais, preaching in the chapel of the palace at Versailles, spoke in terms of severe censure, before the king himself, of the shameful life of the gray-bearded libertines. At the close of the sermon Louis XV. said to that old sot, the Marechal de Richelieu: " Well, Marechal, I should say the preacher has been throwing stones into your garden."