V * ^ ^ .^^ ,<> ^^ .V f ^ * /- ^ " ^ ■" V"' ^ Z '-'V ™ cV\\\^Fr7// -^fri Z " > ,\C' -vo => ^, ', W^^\)^ - J^ ~^0 o .V -^ o-wjia,\F- (J - "^^ ..i' ^^^^^^ : %.^^ *' ^ ^ „, '^ ■^ s-^ ^'= -^ - .■==iiiiiiii ^"^ ^^ '. 1 .^^"-^ -; ex j> X " \V v^ . O-^ "^ fl. ;. -. <^^ O - %<^^ "tp ^""^^^^^^s o''^!^;^^'^^ ^^^^"— ^ ^^d* .^' >^ ^^^ "^^ A^ ^^^"-- J^' c^ *v r '^ -^-^ o-v o. *." ^-.'^ .^^' cu ^ V * ,. ' I ALTEA\US' YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY HISTORY or MARIA ANTOINETTE ■: ;'# BY ; . JOHN 5. C ABBOTT WITH rORTY-ONE ILLUSTRATIONS Copyright 1900 by Hen ry Altemus^jZompany PHILADELPHIA HENRY ALTEA\US COMPANY II ^&M^' 53128 I'Wi.: tomb KtCtUEO SEP 28 1900 Copyright entry SICOND COPY. Uv'^ve^tsrl to Ot^Ot« OWISION, iJDC T 18 1900 CONTENTS. c— CHAPTER T. PAGE Parentage and Childhood 1 CHAPTER 11. Bridal Days o 23 CHAPTER m. Maria Antoinette Enthroned 53 ^-^ CHAPTER IV. The Diamond Necklace 76 CHAPTER V. The Mob at Versailles : 99 CHAPTER VI. The Palace a Prison 121 CHAPTER VII. The Flight 142 . CHAPTER VIII. The Return to Paris 162 CHAPTER IX. Imprisonment in the Temple = 182 CHAPTER X. Execution of the King 209 CHAPTER XI. Trial and Execution of Maria Antoinette 226 ^ CHAPTER Xll. The Princess Elizabeth, the Dauphin, and the Princess Royal 237 V Maria Antoinette, vi The Royal Family Entering the Hall. {Se^ ep. 190. ILLUSTRATIONS. Arrest of the Royal Family at Varennes, The Royal Family Entering the Hall Tailpiece ..... Maria Antoinette, Queen of France Headpiece, Chapter I. . . The Empress Maria Theresa Maria Antoinette Leaving Schoenbruu Room in the Palace of Schcenbrun Headpiece, Chapter II. Louis XVL, King of France The Prison of the Bastile Louis and Maria at Little Trianon Headpiece, Chapter III. The Attack on the Bastile Festivities at Versailles Headpiece, Chapter TV. The Bread Riots . LaFayette protecting the Headpiece, Chapter V. The Royal Family in Despair Headpiece, Chapter VI. Louis XVI. and the Mob The Mob Marching to Versailles . Headpiece, Chapter VII. The Royal Family Entering the Temple, Headpiece, Chapter VIII. Oiieen Frontispiece. page vi " viii ' X ' I facing ' 8 ' 24 . ' 22 ' 23 facing '. 32 *• ' 40 ' 52 . ' 53 facing ' 5^> • '' 75 • ' 76 facing ^ 64 u ' 72 . ' 99 facing ' 88 , , ' 121 facing ' 96 • ' 141 . ' 142 facing ' 128 ' 162 (vii) VIU ILLUSTRATIONS. The Princess Lamballe at the Tribunal, facing page The Last Farewell . . . '• Headpiece, Chapter IX. .... Louis XVI. before the Convention, facing Maria Antoinette in Prison .... Headpiece, Chapter X. • • . . The Execution of Louis XYI. . facino- Maria Antoinette Leaving the Tribunal, " Church of the Madeleine .... Headpiece, Chapter XI. .... The Queen Summoned to Execution, facins; Headpiece, Chapter XII. .... Maria Antoinette Going to Execution, facin Holyrood Castle ..... 136 152 182 160 208 209 192 200 225 226 216 237 2.^2 yfartct Antomett The Temple Prison. {Seep. 197.) RMM |ra tM Ma ^ yl }^' ^5 ^^ ^^ MARIA ANTOINETTE. CHAPTEE I. PABENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. In the year 1740, Charles VI., Emperor of Austria, died. He left a daughter twenty - three years of age, Maria Theresa, to inherit the crown of that powerful empire. She had been married about four years to Franeis, Duke of Lorraine. The day after the death of Charles, Maria Theresa ascended the throne. The treasury of Austria was empty. A general feeling of discontent pervaded the kingdom. Several claimants to the throne rose to dispute the succession with Maria; and France, Spain, Prussia, and Bavaria took advantage of the new reign, and of the embarrassments which sur- rounded the youthful queen, to enlarge their own borders by wresting territory from Austria. The young queen, harassed by dissensions at home and by the combined armies of her powerful foes, beheld with anguish which her 1 2 MARIA ANTOINETTE. proud and imperious spirit could hardly en- dure, her troops defeated and scattered in every direction, and the victorious armies of her enemies marching almost unimpeded toward her capital. The exulting invaders, intoxicated with unanticipated success, now contemplated the entire division of the spoil. They decided to blot Austria from the map of Europe, and to partition out the conglomerated nations com- posing the empire among the conquerors. Maria Theresa retired from her capital as the bayonets of France and Bavaria gleamed from the hillsides which environed the city. Her retreat with a few disheartened followers, in the gloom of night, was illumined by the flames of the bivouacs of hostile armies, with which the horizon seemed to be girdled. The invaders had possession of every strong post in the empire. The beleaguered city was sum- moned to surrender. Eesistance was unavail- ing. All Europe felt that Austria was hope- lessly undone. Maria fled from the dangers of captivity into the wilds of Hungary. But in this dark hour, when the clouds of adversity seemed to be settling in blackest masses over her whole realm, when hope had abandoned every bosom but her own, the spirit of Maria remained as firm and inflexible as if victory were perched upon her standards, and her ene- mies were flying in dismay before her. She would not listen to one word of compromise. PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 6 Bhe would not admit the thought of surrender- iDg one acre of the dominions she had inherited from her fathers. Calm, unagitated, and de- termined, she summoned around her, from their feudal castles, the wild and warlike barons of Hungary. With neighing steeds, and flaunt- ing banners, and steel-clad retainers, and all the paraphernalia of barbaric pomp, these chieftains, delighting in the excitements of war, gathered around the heroic queen. The spirit of ancient chivalry still glowed in these fierce hearts, and they gazed with a species of religious homage upon the young queen, who, in distress, had fled to their wilds to invoke the aid of their strong arms. Maria met them in council. They assmbled around her by thousands in all the imposing splendor of the garniture of war. Maria ap- peared before these stern chieftains dressed in the garb of the deepest mourning, with the crown of her ancestors upon her brow, her right hand resting upon the hilt of the sword of the Austrian kings, and leading by her left hand her little daughter Maria Antoinette. The pale and pensive features of the queen at- tested the resolute soul which no disasters could subdue. Her imperial spirit entranced and overawed the bold knights, who had ever lived in the realms of romance. Maria ad- dressed the Hungarian barons in an impressive speech in Latin, the language then in use in 4 MARIA ANTOINETTE. the diets of Hungary, faithfully describing the desperate state of her affairs. She committed herself and her children to their protection, and urged them to drive the invaders from the land or to perish in the attempt. It was just the appeal to rouse such hearts to a frenzy of enthusiasm. The youth, the beauty, the calamities of the queen roused to the utmost intensity the chivalric devotion of these war- like magnates, and grasping their swords and waving them above their heads, they shouted simultaneously, '' Moriamur pro rege nosh^o, Maria Theresa*^ — "Let us die for our king, Maria Theresa. ' ' Until now, the queen had preserved a de- meanor perfectly tranquil and majestic. But this affectionate enthusiasm of her subjects en- tirely overcame her imperious spirit, and she burst into a flood of tears. But, apparently ashamed of this exhibition of womanly feeling, she almost immediately regained her com- posure, and resumed the air of the indomitable sovereign. The war-cry immediately resounded throughout Hungary. Chieftains and vassals rallied around the banner of Maria. In per- son she inspected and headed the gathering army, and her spirit inspired them. With the ferocity of despair, these new recruits hurled themselves upon the invaders. A few battles, desperate and sanguinary, were fought, and the army of Maria was victorious. England PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 5 and Holland, apprehensive that the destruction of the Austrian empire would destroy the balance of power in Europe, and encouraged by the successful resistance which the Austrians were now making, came to the rescue of the heroic queen. The tide of battle was turned. The armies of France, Germany, and Spain were driven from the territory which they had overrun. Maria, with untiring energy, fol- lowed up her successes. She pursued her re- treating foes into their own country, and finally granted peace to her enemies only by wresting from them large portions of their territory. The renown of these exploits resounded through Europe. The name of Maria Theresa was em- balmed throughout the civilized world. Under her vigorous sway Austria, from the very brink of ruin, was elevated to a degree of splendor and power it had never attained before. These conflicts and victories inspired Maria with a haughty and imperious spirit, and the loveliness of the female character was lost amid the pomp of martial achievements. The proud sovereign eclipsed the woman. It is not to be supi^osed that such a bosom could be the shrine of tenderness and affec- tion. Maria's virtues were all of the mascu- line gender. She really loved, or, rather, liked her husband ; but it was with the same kind of emotion with which an energetic and ambitious man loves his wife. She cherished 6 MARIA ANTOINETTE. bim, protected him, watched over him, and loaded him with honors. He was of a mild, gentle, confiding spirit, and would have made a lovely wife. She was ambitious, fearless, and commanding, and would have made a noble husband. In fact, this was essentially the relation which existed between them. Maria Theresa governed the empire, while Francis loved and caressed the children. The queen, by her armies and her political influence, had succeeded in having Francis crowned Emperor of Germany. She stood upon the balcony as the imposing ceremony was performed, and was the first to shout, * 'Long live the Emperor Francis I." Like Napoleon, she had become the creator of kings. Austria was now in the greatest prosperity, and Maria Theresa the most illustrious queen in Europe. Her renown filled the civilized world. Through her whole reign, though she became the mother of sixteen children, she de- voted herself with untiring energy to the ag- grandizement of her empire. She united with Kussia and Prussia in the infamous partition of Poland, and in the banditti division of the spoil she annexed to her own dominions twenty- seven thousand square miles and two million five hundred thousand inhabitants. From this exhibition of the character of Maria Theresa, the mother of Maria Antoinette, the reader will not be surprised that she should PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 7 have inspired her children with awe rather than with affection. In truth, their imperial mother was so devoted to the cares of the em- pire that she was almost a stranger to her children, and could have known herself but few of the emotions of maternal love. Her chil- dren were placed under the care of nurses and governesses from their birth. Once in every eight or ten days the queen appropriated an hour for the inspection of the nursery and the apartments appropriated to the children ; and she performed this duty with the same fidelity with which she examined the wards of the state hospitals and the military schools. The following anecdote strikingly illustrates the austere and inflexible character of the em- press. The wife of her son Joseph died of the confluent smallpox, and her body had been consigned to the vaults of the royal tomb. Soon after this event, Josepha, one of the daughters of the empress, was to be married to the King of Naples. The arrangements had all been made for their approaching nup- tials, and she was just on the point of leaving Vienna to ascend the Neapolitan throne, when she received an order from her mother that she must not depart from the empire until she had, in accordance with the established custom, de- scended into the tomb of her ancestors and offered her parting prayer. The young prin- cess, in an agony of consternation, received 8 MARIA ANTOINETTE. the cruel requisition. Yet she dared not dis- obey her mother. She took her little sister, Maria Antoinette, whom she loved most ten- derly, upon her knee, and, weeping bitterly, bade her farewell, saying that she was sure she should take the dreadful disease and die. Trembling in every fiber, the unhappy princess descended into the gloomy sepulcher, where the bodies of generations of kings were molder- ing. She hurried through her short prayer, and in the deepest agitation returned to the palace, and threw herself in despair upon her bed. Her worst apprehensions were realized. The fatal disease had penetrated her veins. Soon it manifested itself in its utmost virulence. After lingering a few days and nights in dread- ful suffering, she breathed her last, and her own loathsome remains were consigned to the same silent chambers of the dead. Maria Theresa commanded her child to do no more than she would have insisted upon doing her- self under similar circumstances. And when she followed her daughter to the tomb, she probably allowed herself to indulge in no re- grets in view of the course she had pursued, but consoled herself with the reflection that she had done her duty. The Emperor Francis died, 1765, leaving Maria Theresa still in the vigor of life, and quite beautiful. Three of her counselors of Maria AHtuinetf^, The Empress Maria Theresa. PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 9 state, ambitious of sharing the throne with the illustrious queen, entered into a compact, by which they were all to endeavor to obtain her hand in marriage, agreeing that the suc- cessful one should devote the power thus ob- tained to the aggrandizement of the other two. The empress was informed of this arrangement, and, at the close of a cabinet council, took oc- casion, with great dignity and composure, to inform them that she did not intend ever again to enter into the marriage state, but that, should she hereafter change her mind, it would only be in favor of one who had no ambitious desires, and who would have no inclination to intermeddle with the affairs of state ; and that, should she ever marry one of her ministers, she should immediately remove him from all office. Her counselors, loving power more than all things else, immediately abandoned every thought of obtaining the hand of Maria at such a sacrifice. Maria Antoinette, the subject of this biog- raphy, was born on the 2d of November, 1755. Few of the inhabitants of this world have com- menced life under circumstances of greater splendor, or with more brilliant prospects of a life replete with happiness. She was a child of great vivacity and beauty, full of light-heart- edness, and ever prone to look upon the sunny side of every prospect. Her disposition was frank, cordial, and affectionate. Her mental Z — Antoinette 10 MARIA ANTOINETTE. endowments were by nature of a very superior order. Laughing at the restraints of royal eti- quette, she, by her generous and confiding spirit, won the love of all hearts. Maria An- toinette was but slightly acquainted with her imperial mother, and could regard her with no other emotions than those of respect and awe ; but the mild and gentle spirit of her father took in her heart a mother's place, and she clung to him with the most ardent affection. When she was but ten years of age, her father was one day going to Inspruck upon some business. The royal cavalcade was drawn up in the courtyard of the palace. The em- peror had entered his carriage, surrounded by his retinue, and was just on the point of leav- ing, when he ordered the postillions to delay, and requested an attendant to bring to him his little daughter Maria Antoinette. The bloom- ing child was brought from the nursery, with her flaxen hair in ringlets clustered around her shoulders, and presented to her father. As she entwined her arms around his neck and clung to his embrace, he pressed her most ten- derly to his bosom, saying, "Adieu, my dear little daughter. Father wished once more to press you to his heart. " The emperor and his child never met again. At Inspruck Francis was taken suddenly ill, and, after a few days' sickness, died. The grief of Maria Antoinette knew no bounds. But the tears of childhood PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 11 soon dried up. The parting scene, however, produced an impression upon Maria which was never effaced, and she ever spoke of her father in terms of the warmest affection. Maria Theresa, half-conscious of the imper- fect manner in which she performed her mater- nal duties, was very solicitous to have it under- stood that she did not neglect her children; that she was the best mother in the world as well as the most illustrious sovereign. "When any distinguished stranger from the other courts of Europe visited Vienna, she arranged her sixteen children around the dinner table, towering above them in queenly majesty, and endeavored to convey the impression that they were the especial objects of her motherly care. It was not, however, the generous warmth of love, -but the cold sense of duty, which alone regulated her conduct in reference to them, and she had probably convinced herself that she discharged her maternal obligations with the most exemplary fidelity. The family physician every morning visited each one of the children, and then briefly re- ported to the empress the health of the arch- dukes and the archduchesses. This report fully satisfied all the yearnings of maternal love in the bosom of Maria Theresa; though she still, that she might not fail in the least degree in motherly affection, endeavored to see them with her own eyes, and to speak to them 13 MARIA ANTOINETTE. with her own lips, as often as once in a week or ten days. The preceptors and governesses of the royal household, being thus left very much to themselves, were far more anxious to gratify the immediate wishes of the children, and thus to secure their love, than to urge them to efforts for intellectual improvement. Maria Antoinette, in subsequent life, related many amusing anecdotes illustrative of the petty artifices by which the scrutiny of the em- press was eluded. The copies which were pre- sented to the queen in evidence of the progress the children were making in handwriting were all traced first in pencil by the governess. The children then followed with the pen over the penciled lines. Drawings were exhibited, beautifully executed, to show the skill Maria Antoinette had attained in that delightful ac- complishment, which drawings the pencil of Maria had not even touched. She was also iaught to address strangers of distinction in short Latin phrases, when she did not under- stand the meaning of one single word of the language. Her teacher of Italian, the Abbe Metastasio, was the only one who was faithful in his duties, and Maria made very great pro- ficiency in that language. French being the language of the nursery, Maria necessarily ac- quired the power of speaking it with great fluency, though she was quite unable to write it correctly, In the acquisition of French, her PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 13 own mother tongue, the German, was so totally neglected, that, incredible as it may seem, she actually lost the power either of speaking or of understanding it. In after years, chagrined at such unutterable folly, she sat down with great resolution to the study of her own native tongue, and encountered all the difficulties which would tax the patience of any foreigner in the attempt. She persevered for about six weeks, and then relinquished the enterprise in despair. The young princess was extremely fond of music, and yet she was not taught to play well upon any instrument. This became subse- quently a source of great mortification to her, for she was ashamed to confess her ignorance of an accomplishment deemed, in the courts of Europe, so essential to a polished education, and yet she dared not sit down to any instru- ment in the presence of others. When she first arrived at Versailles as the bride of the heir to the throne of France, she was so deeply mortified at this defect in her education, that she immediately employed a teacher to give her lessons secretly for three months. During this time she applied herself to her task with the utmost assiduity, and at the end of the time gave surprising proof of the skill she had so rapidly attained. Upon all the subjects of history, science, and general literature, the princess was left entirely uninformed. The activity and energy of her mind only led her 14 MARIA ANTOINETTE. the more poignantly to feel the mortification to •which this ignorance often exposed her. "When surrounded by the splendors of royalty, she frequently retired to weep over deficiencies which it was too late to repair. The wits of Paris seized upon these occasional develop- ments of the want of mental culture as the in- dication of a weak mind, and the daughter of Maria Theresa, the descendant of the Csesars, was the butt, in salon and caf6, of merriment and song. Maria was beautiful and graceful, and winning in all her ways. But this imper- fect education, exposing her to contempt and ridicule in the society of intellectual men and women, was not among the unimportant ele- ments which conduced to her own ruin, to the overthrow of the French throne, and to that deluge of blood which for many years rolled its billows incarnadine over Europe. Maria Theresa had sent to Paris for two teachers of French to instruct her daughter in the literature of that country over which she was destined to reign. From that pleasure- loving metropolis two play actors were sent to take charge of her education, one of whom was 'a man of notoriously dissolute character. As the connection between Maria Antoinette and Louis, the heir apparent to the throne of France, was already contemplated, some soli- citude was felt by members of the court of Yer- sailles in reference to the impropriety of this PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 15 selection, and the French ambassador at Yienna was requested to urge the empress to dismiss the obnoxious teachers, and make a different choice. She immediately complied with the request, and sent to the Duke de Choiseul, the minister of state of Louis XV., to send a pre- ceptor such as would be acceptable to the court of Versailles. After no little difficulty in find- ing one in whom all parties could unite, the Abbe de Vermond was selected — a vain, ambi- tious, weak-minded man, who, by the most studied artifice, insinuated himself into the good graces of Maria Theresa, and gained a great but pernicious influence over the mind of his youthful pupil. The cabinets of France and Austria having decided the question that Maria Antoinette was to be the bride of Louis, who was soon to ascend the throne of France, the Abbe de Vermond, proud of his position as the intellectual and moral guide of the des- tined Queen of France, shamefully abused his trust, and sought only to obtain an abiding influence, which he might use for the promo- tion of his own ambition. He carefully kept her in ignorance, to render himself more nec- essary to her; and he was never unwilling to involve her in difficulties, that she might be under the necessity of appealing to him for extrication. Instead of endeavoring to prepare her for the situation she was destined to fill, it seemed 16 MARIA ANTOINETTE. to be his aim to train her to snch habits of thought and feeling as would totally incapaci- tate her to be happy, or to acquire an influence over the gay but ceremony-loving assemblages of the Tuileries, Versailles, and St. Cloud. At this time, the fashion of the French court led to extreme attention to all the punctilios of etiquette. Every word, every gesture, was regulated by inflexible rule. Every garment worn, and every act of life, was regulated by the requisitions of the code ceremonial. Vir- tue was concealed and vice garnished by the inflexible observance of stately forms. An in- fringement of the laws of etiquette was deemed a far greater crime than the most serious vio- lation of the laws of morality. In the court of Vienna, on the other hand, fashion ran to just the other extreme. It was fashionable to despise fashion. It was etiquette to pay no regard to etiquette. The haughty Austrian noble prided himself in dressing as he pleased, and looked with contempt upon the studied at- titudes and foppish attire of the French. The Parisian courtier, on the other hand, rejoicing in his ruffles, and ribbons, and practiced move- ments, despised the boorish manners, as he deemed them, of the Austrian. The Abbe de Vermond, to ingratiate himself with the Austrian court, did all in his power to inspire Maria Antoinette with contempt of Parisian manners. He zealously conformed PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 17 to the customs prevailing in Vienna, and, like all new converts to prove the sincerity of his conversion, went far in advance of his sect in intemperate zeal. Maria Antoinette was but a child, mirthful, beautiful, open hearted, and, like all other children, loving freedom from restraint. Her preceptor ridiculed inces- santly, mercilessly, the manners of the French court, where she was soon to reign as queen, and influenced her to despise that salutary re- gard to appearances so essential in all refined life. Under this tutelage, Maria became as natural, unguarded, and free as a mountain maid. She smiled or wept, as the mood was upon her. She was cordial toward those she loved, and distant and reserved toward those she despised. She cared not to repress her emotions of sadness or mirthfulness as occa- sions arose to excite them. She was conscien- tious, and unwilling to do that which she thought to be wrong, and still she was impru- dent, and troubled not herself with the inter- pretation which others might put upon her conduct. She prided herself a little upon her independence and recklessness of the opinions of others, and thus she was ever incurring un- deserved censure, and becoming involved in unmerited difficulties. She was, in heart, truly a noble girl. Her faults were the ex- cesses of a generous and magnanimous spirit. Though she inherited much of the imperial IS MARIA ANTOINETTE. energy of her mother, it was tempered and adorned with the mildness and affectionateness of her father. Her education had necessarily tended to induce her to look down with aris- tocratic pride upon those beneath her in rank in life, and to dream that the world and all it inherits was intended for the exclusive benefit of kings and queens. Still, the natural good- ness of her heart ever led her to acts of kind- ness and generosity. She thus won the love, almost without seeking it, of all who knew her well. Her faults were the unavoidable effect of her birth, her education, and all those nameless but untoward influences which sur- rounded her from the cradle to the grave. Her virtues were all her own, the instinctive emotions of a frank, confiding, and magnani- mous spirit. The childhood of Maria Antoinette was prob- ably, on the whole, as happy as often falls to the lot of humanity. As she had never known a mother's love, she never felt its loss. There are few more enchanting abodes upon the sur- face of the globe than the pleasure palaces of the Austrian kings. Forest and grove, garden and wild, rivulet and lake, combine all their charms to lend fascination to those haunts of regal festivity. In the palace of Schoenbrun and in the embowered gardens which surround that world-renowned habitation of princely grandeur, Maria passed many of the years of PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 19 her childhood. Now she trod the graveled walk, pursuing the butterfly, and gathering the flowers, with brothers and sisters joining in the recreation. Now the feet of her pony scattered the pebbles of the path, as the little troop of equestrians cantered beneath the shade of ma- jestic elms. Now the prancing steeds draw them in the chariot, through the infinitely diversified drives, and the golden leaves of autumn float gracefully through the still air upon their heads. The boat, with damask cushions and silken awning, invites them upon the lake. The strong arms of the rowers bear them with fairy motion to sandy beach and jutting headland, to island, and rivulet, and bay, while swans and waterfowl, of every va- riety of plumage, sport before them and around them. Such were the scenes in which Maria Antoinette passed the first fourteen years of her life. Every want which wealth could supply was gratified '* What a destiny!" ex- claimed a Frenchman, as he looked upon one similarly situated, "what a destiny! young, rich, beautiful, and an archduchess! Ma foil quel destinSr' The personal appearance of Maria Antoin- ette, as she bloomed into womanhood, is thus described by Lamartine. *'Her beauty daz- zled the whole kingdom. She was of a tall, graceful figure, a true daughter of the Tyrol. The natural majesty of her carriage destroyed 20 MARIA ANTOINETTE. none of the graces of her movements; her neck, rising elegantly and distinctly from her shoulders, gave expression to every attitude. The woman was perceptible beneath the queen, the tenderness of heart was not lost in the elevation of her destiny. Her light brown hair was long and silky; her forehead, high and rather projecting, was united to her temples by those fine curves which give so much delicacy and expression to that seat of thought, or the soul in woman ; her eyes, of that clear blue which recall the skies of the north or the waters of the Danube; an aquiline nose, the nostrils open and slightly projecting, where emotions palpitate and courage is evidenced ; a large mouth, Austrian lips, that is, project- ing and well defined ; an oval countenance, an- imated, varying, impassioned, and the ensem- ble of these features, replete with that expres- sion, impossible to describe, which emanates from the look, the shades, the reflections of the face, which encompasses it with an iris like that of the warm and tinted vapor, which bathes objects in full sunlight — the extreme loveliness which the ideal conveys, and which, by giving it life, increases its attraction. With all these charms, a soul yearning to at- tach itself, a heart easily moved, but yet earn- est in desire to fix itself; a pensive and intelli- gent smile, with nothing of vacuity in it, be- PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. ^1 cause it felt itself worthy of friendships. Such was Maria Antoinette as a woraan. " When but fourteen years of age she was affianced as the bride of young Louis, the grandson of Louis XV., and heir apparent to the throne of France. Neither of the youthful couple had ever seen each other, and neither of them had anything to do in forming the con- nection. It was deemed expedient by the cabinets of Versailles and Vienna that the two should be united, in order to promote friendly alliance between France and Austria. Maria Antoinette had never dreamed even of question- ing any of her mother's arrangements, and consquently she had no temptation to consider whether she liked or disliked the plan. She had been trained to the most unhesitating sub- mission to maternal authority. The childish heart of the mirth-loving princess was doubt- less dazzled with the anticipations of the splen- dors which awaited her at Versailles and St. Cloud. But when she bade adieu to the gar- dens of Schoenbrun, and left the scenes of her childhood, she entered upon one of the wildest careers of terror and of suffering which mortal footsteps have ever trod. The parting from her mother gave her no especial pain, for she had ever looked up to her as to a superior being, to whom she was bound to render hom- age and obedience; rather than as to a mother around whom the affections of her heart were 22 MARIA ANTOINETTE. entwined. But she loved her brothers and sisters most tenderly. She was extremely at- tached to the happy home where her childish Room in the Palace of Schoenbrun. heart had basked in all childish pleasures, and many were the tears she shed when she looked back from the eminences which surround Vienna upon those haunts to which she was destined never again to return. CHAPTEK n. BKIDAL DAYS. When Maria Antoinette was fifteen years of age, a light-hearted, blooming, beautiful girl, hardly yet emerging from the period of child- hood, all Austria, indeed all Europe, was in- terested in the preparations for her nuptials with the destined King of France. Louis XV. still sat upon the throne of Charlemagne. His eldest son had died about ten years before, leaving a little boy, some twelve years of age, to inherit the crown his father -had lost by death. The young Louis, grandchild of the reigning king, was mild, inoffensive, and bash- ful, with but little energy of mind, with no ardor of feeling, and singularly destitute of all passion. He was perfectly exemplary in his conduct, perhaps not so much from inherent strength of principle as from possessing that peculiarity of temperament, cold and phleg- matic, which feels not the power of tempta- tion. He submitted passively to the arrange- ments for his marriage, never manifesting the 3— Antoinette ^^ 24 MARIA ANTOINETTE. slightest emotion of pleasure or repugnance in view of his approaching alliance with one of the roost beautiful and fascinating princesses of Europe. Louis was entirely insensible to all the charms of female beauty, and seemed in- capable of feeling the emotion of love. Louis XY., a pleasure-loving, dissolute man, had surrounded his throne with all the attractions of fashionable indulgence and dis- sipation. There was one woman in his court, Madame du Barri, celebrated in the annals of profligacy, who had acquired an entire ascend- ency over the mind of the king. The disrep- utable connection existing between her and the monarch excluded her from respect, and yet the king loaded her with honors, received her at his table, and forced her society upon all the inmates of the palace. The court was full of jealousies and bickerings; and while one party were disposed to welcome Maria Antoin- ette, hoping that she would espouse and strengthen their cause, the other party looked upon her with suspicion and hostility, and prepared to meet her with all the weapons of annoyance. Neither morals nor religion were then of any repute in the court of France. Vice did not even affect concealment. The children of Louis XY. were educated, or rather not edu- cated, in a nunnery. The Princess Louisa, when twelve years of age, knew not the letters Maria Antomett Maria Antoinette Leaving Schoenbrun. BRIDAL DAYS. 25 of her alphabet. When the children did wrong, the sacred sisters sent them, for pen- ance, into the dark, damp, and gloomy sepul- cher of the convent, where the remains of the departed nuns were moldering to decay. Here the timid and superstitious girls, in an agony of terror, were sent alone, to make expiation for some childish offense. The little Princess Victoire, who was of a very nervous tempera- ment, was thrown into convulsions by this harsh treatment, and the injury to her nerv- ous system was so irreparable, that during her whole life she was exposed to periodical parox- ysms of panic terror. One day the king, when sitting with Madame du Barri, received a package of letters. The petted favorite, suspecting that one of them was from an enemy of hers, snatched the packet from the king's hand. As he en- deavored to regain it, she resisted, and ran two or three times around the table, which was in the center of the room, eagerly pursued by the irritated monarch. At length, in the ex- citement of this most strange conflict, she threw the letters into the glowing fire of the grate, where they were all consumed. The king, enraged beyond endurance, seized her by the shoulders, and thrust her violently out of the room. After a few hours, however, the weak-minded monarch called upon her. The countess, trembling in view of her dismissal, 26 MARIA ANTOINETTE. with its dreadful consequences of disgrace and beggary, threw herself at his feet, bathed in tears, and they were reconciled. The remaining history of this celebrated woman is so remarkable that we cannot refrain from briefly recording it. Her marvelous beauty had inflamed the passions of the king, and she had obtained so entire an ascendency over his mind that she was literally the mon- arch of France. The treasures of the empire were emptied into her lap. Notwithstanding the stigma attached to her position, the nation, accustomed to this laxity of morals, submitted to the yoke. As the idol of the king, and the diapenser of honors and powers, the clergy, the nobility, the philosophers, all did her homage. She was still young, and in all the splendor of her ravishing beauty, when the king died. For the sake of appearances, she retired for a few months into a nunnery. Soon, however, she emerged again into the gay world. Her limitless power over the voluptuous old monarch had enabled her to amass an enormous fortune. With this she reared and embellished for herself a magnifi- cent retreat, adorned with more than regal splendor, in the vicinity of Paris — the Pavil- ion de Luciennes, on the borders of the forest of St. Germain. The old Duke de Brissac, who had long been an admirer of her charms, here lived with her in unsanctified union. BRIDAL DAYS. 27 Almost universal corruption at that time per- vaded the nobility of France — one of the excit- ing causes of the Revolution. Though ex- cluded from appearing at the court of Louis XVI. and Maria Antoinette, her magnificent salons were crowded by those ever ready to worship at the shrine of wealth, and rank, and power. But, as the stormy days of the Revo- lution shed their gloom over France, and an infuriated populace were wreaking their venge- ance upon the throne and the nobles, Madame du Barri, terrified by the scenes of violence daily occurring, prepared to fly from France. She invested enormous funds in England, and one dark night went out with the Duke de Brissac alone, and, by the dim light of a lan- tern they dug a hole under the foot of a tree in the park, and buried much of the treasure which she was unable to take away with her. In disguise, she reached the coast of France, and escaped across the Channel to England. Here she devoted her immense revenue to the relief of the emigrants who were every day fly- ing in dismay from the horrors with which they were surrounded. The Duke de Brissac, who was commander of the constitutional guard of the king, appeared at Versailles in an hour of great excitement. The mob attacked him. He was instantly assassinated. His head, covered with the white locks of age, was cut off, and planted ujDon one of the palisades of 28 MARIA ANTOINETTE. the palace gates, a fearful warning to all who were suspected of advocating the cause of tlie king. And now no one knew of the buried treasure but Madame du Barri herself. She, anxious to regain them, ventured, in disguise, to return to France to disinter her diamonds, and take them with her to England. A young negro servant, whom she had pamiDered with every indulgence, and had caressed with the fond- ness with which a mother fondles her child, whom she had caused to be painted by her side in her portraits, saw his mistress and be- trayed her. She was immediately seized by the mob, and dragged before the revolutionary tribunal of Luciennes. She was condemned as a Eoyalist, and was hurried along in the cart of the condemned, amid the execrations and jeers of the delirious mob, to the guillo- tine. Her long hair was shorn, that the action of the knife might be unimpeded; but the clustering ringlets, in beautiful profusion, fell over her brow and temples, and veiled her vo- luptuous features and bare bosom, from which the executioner had torn the veil. The yells of the infuriated and deriding populace filled the air, as they danced exultingly around the aristocratic courtesan. But the shrieks of the unhappy victim pierced shrilly through them all. She was frantic with terror. Her whole soul was unnerved, and not one emotion of BRIDAL DAYS. 20 fortitude remained to sustain the woman of pleasure through her dreadful doom. With floods of tears, and gestures of despair, and beseeching, heart-rending cries, she incessantly exclaimed, "Life — life — life! Oh, save me! save me!" The mob jeered, and derided, and insulted her in every conceivable way. They made themselves merry with her anguish and terror. They shouted witticisms in her ear respecting the pillow of the guillotine upon which she was to repose her head. Struggling and shrieking, she was bound to the plank. Suddenly her voice was hushed. The dis- severed head, dripping with blood, fell into the basket, and her soul was in eternity. Poor woman ! It is easy to condemn. It is better for the heart to pity. Endowed with almost celestial beauty, living in a corrupt age, and lured, when a child, by a monarch's love, she fell. It is well to weep over her sad fate, and to remember the prayer, **Lead us not into temp- tation." Such were the characters and such the state of morals of the court into which this beauti- ful and artless princess, Maria Antoinette, but fifteen years of age, was to be introduced. As she- left the palaces of Vienna to encounter the temptations of the Tuileries and Versailles, Maria Theresa wrote the following characteris- tic letter to the future iusband of her daugh- ter. 30 MARIA ANTOINETTE. **Youf bride, dear dauphin, is separated from me. As she has ever been my delight, so will she be your happiness. For this purpose have I educated her; for I have long been aware that she was to be the companion of your life. I have enjoined upon her, as among her highest duties, the most tender attachment to your person, the greatest attention to every- thing that can please or make you happy. Above all, I have recommended to her humility toward God, because I am convinced that it is impossible for us to contribute to the happi- ness of the subjects confided to us without love to Him who breaks the scepters and crushes the thrones of kings according to His will.'* The great mass of the Austrian population, hating the French, with whom they had long been at war, were exceedingly averse to this marriage. As the train of royal carriages was drawn up, on the morning of her departure, to convey the bride to Paris, an immense assem- blage of the populace of Vienna — men, wom- en, and children — surnjunded the corUge with weeping and lamentation. Loyalty was then an emotion existing in the popular mind with an intensity which now can hardly be con- ceived. At length, in the excitement of their feelings, to save the beloved princess from a doom which they deemed dreadful, they made a rush toward the carriages to cut the traces and thus to prevent the departure. The guard BRIDAL DAYS. 31 was compelled to interfere, and repel, with violence, the affectionate mob. As the long an^ splendid train, preceded and followed by squadrons of horse, disappeared through the gate of th6 city, a universal feeling of sadness oppressed the capital. The people returned to their homes silent and dejected, as if they had been witnessing the obsequies rather than the nuptials of the beloved princess. The gorgeous cavalcade proceeded to Kell, on the frontiers of Austria and France. There a magnificent pavilion had been erected, consist- ing of a vast salon, with an apartment at either end. One of these apartments was as- signed to the lords and ladies of the court of Vienna; the other was appropriated to the brilliant train which had come from Paris to receive the bride. The two courts vied with each other in the exhibition of wealth and magnificence. It was an established law of French etiquette, always observed on such oc- casions, that the royal bride should receive her wedding dress from France, and should retain absolutely nothing belonging to a foreign court. The princess was, consequently, in the pavilion appropriated to the Austrian suite, Tinrobed of all her garments, excepting her body linen and stockings. The door was then thrown open, and in this plight the beautiful and blushing child advanced into the salon. The French ladies rushed to meet her. Maria 32 MARIA ANTOINETTE. threw herself iDtotbe arms of the Countess de Ngailles and wept convulsively. The French were perfectly enchanted with her beauty ; and the proud position of her head and shoulders betrayed to their eyes the daughter of the Caesars. She was immediately conducted to the apartment appropriated to the French court. Here the few remaining articles of clothing were removed from her person, and she was redressed in the most brilliant attire which the wealth of the French monarchy could furnish. And now, charioted in splendor, surrounded by the homage of lords and ladies, accom- panied by all the pomp of civic and military parade, and enlivened by the most exultant strains of martial bands, Maria was conducted toward Paris, while her Austrian friends bade her adieu and returned to Vienna. The hori- zon, by night, was illumined by bonfires, flam- ing upon every hill; the church bells rang their merriest peals ; cities blazed with illumi- nations and fireworks; and files of maidens lined her way, singing their songs of welcome, and carpeting her path with roses. It was a scene to dazzle the most firm and contempla- tive. No dream of romance could have been more bewildering to the ardent and romantic princess, just emerging from the cloistered se- clusion of the palace nursery. Louis, then a youiig jaan about twenty years Maria Antoinette , Louis XVI., King of France. BRIDAL DAYS. 33 of age, came from Paris with his grandfather, King Louis XY., and a splendid retinue of courtiers, as far as Compiegne, to meet his bride. Uninfluenced by any emotions of ten- derness, apparently entirely unconscious of all those mysterious emotions which bind loving hearts, he saluted the stranger with cold and distant respect. He thought not of wounding her feelings; he had no aversion to the con- nection, but he seemed not even to think of any more intimacy with Maria than with any other lady who adorned the court. The ardent and warm-hearted princess was deeply hurt at this indifference ; but instinctive pride forbade its manifestation, except in bosom converse to a few confiding friends. The bride and her passive and unimpas- sioned bridegroom were conducted to Yersailles. It was the 16th of May, 1770, when the marriage ceremony was performed, with all the splendor with which it could be invested. The gorgeous palaces of Versailles were thronged with the nobility of Europe, and filled with rejoicing. The old king was charmed with the beauty and affability of the young bride. All hearts were filled with hap- piness, except those of the newly married couple. Louis was tranquil and contented. He was neither allured nor repelled by his bride. He never sought her society alone, and ever approached her with the same distance 34 MARIA ANTOINETTE. and reserve with which he would approach any- other young lady who was a visitor at the palace. He never intruded upon the privacy of her apartments, and she was his wife but in name. While all France was filled with the praises of her beauty, and all eyes were en- chanted by her graceful demeanor, her husband alone was insensible to her charms. After a few days spent with the rejoicing court, amid the bowers and fountains of Versailles, the nuptial party departed for Paris, and entered the palace of the Tuileries, the scene of future sorrows such as few on earth have ever experi- enced. As Maria, in dazzling beauty, entered Paris, the whole city was in a delirium of pleasure. Triumphal arches greeted her progress. The acclamations of hundreds of thousands filled the air. The journals exhausted the French language in extolling her loveliness. Poets sang her charms, and painters vied with each other in transferring her features to canvas. As Maria sat in the dining salon of the Tuil- eries at the marriage entertainment, the shouts of the immense assemblage thronging the gar- dens rendered it necessary for her to present herself to them upon the balcony. She stepped from the window, and looked out upon the vast sea of heads which filled the garden and the Place Louis XV. All eyes were riveted upon her as she stood before the throng BRIDAL DAYS. 35 •upon the balcony in dazzling beauty, and the air resounded with applauses. She exclaimed, with astonishment, "What a concourse!" "Madame," said the governor of Paris, "I may tell you, without fear of offending the dauphin, that they are so many lovers." The heir apparent to the throne of France is called the dauphin; and, until the death of Louis XV., Louis and Maria Antoinette were called the dauphin and dauphiness. Louis seemed neither pleased nor displeased with the accla- mations and homage which his bride received. His singularly passionless nature led him to retirement and his books, and he hardly heard even the acclamations with which Paris was filled. Arrangements had been made for a very bril- liant display of fireworks, in celebration of the marriage, at the Place Louis XV. The hun- dreds of thousands of that pleasure-loving metropolis thronged the Place and all its avenues. The dense mass was wedged as com- pactly as it was possible to crowd human beings together. Not a spot of ground was left vacant upon which a human foot could be planted. Every house top, every balcony, every embrasure of a window swarmed with the multitude. Long lines of omnibuses, coaches, and carriages of every description, filled with groups of young and old, were intermingled with the countless multitude — men and horses 36 MARIA ANTOINETTE. SO crowded into contact that neither could move. It was an impervious ocean of throb- bing life. In the ceEter of this Place, the pride of Paris, the scene of its most trium- phant festivities and its most unutterable woe, vast scaffolds had been reared, and they were burdened with fireworks, intended to surpass in brilliancy and sublimity any spectacle of the kind earth had ever before witnessed. Suddenly a bright flame was seen, a shriek was heard, and the whole scaffolding, by some accidental spark, was enveloped in a sheet of fire. Then ensued such a scene as no pen can describe and no imagination paint. The awful conflagration converted all the ministers of pleasure into messengers of death. Thou- sands of rockets filled the air, and, with almost the velocity of lightning, pierced their way through the shrieking, struggling, terror- stricken crowd. Fiery serpents, more terri- ble, more deadly than the fabled dragons of old, hissed through the air, clung to the dresses of the ladies, enveloping them in flames, and mercilessly burning the flesh to the bone. Mines exploded under the hoofs of the horses, scattering destruction and death on every side. Every species of fire was rained down, a horri- ble tempest, upon the immovable mass. Shrieks from the wounded and the dying filled the air; and the mighty multitude swayed to and fro, in herculean, yet unavailing efforts BRIDAL DAYS. 37 to escape. The horses, maddened with terror, reared and plunged, crushing indiscriminately beneath their tread the limbs of the fallen. The young bride, in her carriage, with a bril- liant retinue, and eager to witness the splen- dor of the anticipated /e^e, had just ap- proached the Place, when she was struck with consternation at the shrieks of death which filled the air, and at the scene of tumult and terror which surrounded her. The horses were immediately turned, and driven back again with the utmost speed to the palace. But the awful cries of the dying followed her; and it was long ere she could efface from her distracted imagination the impression of that hour of horror. Fifty- three persons were killed outright by this sad casualty, and more than three hundred were dangerously wounded. The dauphin and dauphiness immediately sent their whole income for the year to the unfor- tunate relatives of those who had perished on that disastrous day. The old king was exceedingly i^leased with the beauty and fascinating frankness and cor- diality of Maria. He made her many magnifi- cent presents, and, among others, with a mag- nificent collar of pearls, the smallest of which was nearly as large as a walnut, which had been brought into France by Anne of Austria. These praises and attentions on the part of the king excited the jealousy of the petted favorite, 4 — Antoinette 38 MARIA ANTOINETTE. Madame du Barri. She consequents^ became, with the party under her influence, the relent- less and unprincipled enemy of Maria. She lost no opportunity to traduce her character. She spread reports everywhere that Maria hated the French ; that she was an Austrian in heart; that her frankness and freedom from the restraints of etiquette were the result of an immoral and depraved mind. She exagger- ated her extravagance, and accused her, by whispers and insinuations spread far and near, of the most ignoble crimes of which woman can be guilty. The young and inexperienced dauphiness soon found herself involved in most embarrassing difficulties. She had no kind friend to counsel her. Louis still re- mained cold, distant, and reserved. Thus, week after week, month after month, year after year passed on, and for eight years Louis never approached his youthful spouse with any manifestation of confidence and affection but those with which he would regard a mother or a sister. Maria was a wife but in name. She did. not share his apartment or his couch. Though deeply wounded by this inexplicable neglect, she seldom spoke of it even to her most intimate friends. The involuntary sigh, and the tear which often moistened her cheek, proclaimed her inward sufferings. "When Maria first arrived in France, the Countess de Noailles was assigned to her as BRIDAL DAYS. 39 her lady of honor. She was somewhat ad- vaDced in life, haughty aiad ceremonious, a perfect mistress of that art of etiquette so rigidly observed in the French court. Upon her devolved the duty of instructing the dau- phiness in all the punctilios of form, then deemed far more important than the requisi- tions of morality. The following anecdote, related by Madame Campan, illustrates the ridiculous excess to which these points of eti- quette were carried. One winter's day, it happened that Maria Antoinette, who was en- tirely disrobed in her dressing-room, was just going to put on her body linen. Madame, the lady in attendance, held it ready unfolded for her. The dame d'Jionneur came in. As she was of superior rank, etiquette required that she should enjoy the privilege of presenting the robe. She hastily slipped off her gloves, took the garment, and at that moment a rust- ling was heard at the door. It was opened, and in came the Duchess d' Orleans. She now must be the bearer of the garment. But the laws of etiquette would not allow the dame d'Tionneur to hand the linen directly to the Duchess d'Orleans. It must pass down the various grades of rank to the lowest, and be presented by her to the highest. The linen was consequently passed back again from one to another, till it was placed in the hands of the duchess. She was just on the point of 40 MARIA ANTOINETTE. conveying ifc to its proper destination, when suddenly the door opened, and the Countess of Provence entered. Again the linen passed from hand to hand, till it reached the hands of the countess. She, perceiving the uncomfort- able position of Maria, who sat shivering with cold, with her hands crossed upon her bosom, without stopping to remove her gloves, placed the linen upon the shoulders of the dauphiness. She, however, was quite unable to restrain her impatience, and exclaimed, *'How disagreeable, how tiresome!" Another anecdote illustrates the character of Madame de Noailles, who exerted so powerful an influence upon the destiny of Maria Antoinette. She was a woman of severe man- ners, but etiquette was the very atmosphere she breathed ; it was the soul of her existence. The slightest infringement of the rules of eti- quette annoyed her almost beyond endurance. "One day," says Madame Campan, "I unin- tentionally threw the poor lady into a terrible agony. The queen was receiving, I know not whom — some persons just presented, I believe. The ladies of the bedchamber were behind the queen. I was near the throne, with the two ladies on duty. All was right; at least I thought so. Suddenly I perceived the eyes of Madame de Noailles fixed on mine. She made a sign with her head, and then raised her eye- brows to the top of her forehead, lowered BRIDAL DAYS. 41 them, raised them again, and then began to make little signs with her hand. From all this pantomime, I could easily perceive that something was not as it should be ; ana as I looked about on all sides to lind oat what it was, the agitation of the countess kept in- creasing. Maria Antoinette, who perceived all this, looked at me with a smile. I found means to approach her, and she said to me, in a whisper, *Let down your lappets, or the countess will expire.' All this bustle rose from two unlucky pins, which fastened up my lappets, while the etiquette of costume said lappets hanging down.'' One can easily imagine the contempt with which Maria, reared in the freedom of the Austrian court, would regard these punctilios. She did not refrain from treating them with good-natured but unsparing ridicule, and thus she often deeply offended those stiff elderly ladies, who regarded these trifles, which they had been studying all their lives, with almost religious awe. She gave Madame de Noailles the nickname of Madame Etiquette, to the great merriment of some of the courtiers and the great indignation of others. The more grave and stately matrons were greatly shocked by these indiscretions on the part of the mirth- loving queen. On one occasion, when a number of noble ladies were presented to Maria, the ludicrous 42 MARIA ANTOINETTE. appearance of the venerable dowagers, with their little black bonnets with great wings, and the entire of their grotesque dress and evolu- tions, appealed so impressively to Maria's sense of the ridiculous, that she, with the utmost difficulty, refrained from open laughter. But when a young marchioness, full of fun and frolic, whose office required that she should continue standing behind the queen, being tired of the ceremony, seated herself upon the floor, and, concealed behind the fence of the enormous hoops of the attendant ladies, began to play off all imaginable pranks with the ladies' hoops, and with the muscles of her own face, the contrast between these childish frolics and the stately dignity of the old dow- agers so disconcerted the fun-loving Maria, that, notwithstanding all her efforts at self- control, she could not conceal an occasional smile. The old ladies were shocked and en- raged. They declared that she had treated them with derision, that she had no sense of decorum, and that not one of them would ever attend her court again. The next morning a song appeared, full of bitterness which was spread through Paris. The following was the chorus : ** Little queen! you must not be So saucy with your twenty years; Your ill-used courtiers soon will see You pass once Ddore the barriers." BRIDAL DAYS. 43 While Madame de Noailles was tlmg tortur- ing Maria Antoinette with her exactions, the Abbe de Yermond, on the contrary, was exert- ing all the strong influence he had acquired over her mind to induce her to despise these requirements of etiquette, and to treat them with open contempt. Maria Theresa, in the spiritof independence which ever characterizes a strong mind, ordinarily lived like any other lady, attending energetically to her duties without any ostentation. She would ride through the streets of Vienna unaccompanied by any retinue; and the other members of the royal family, on all ordinary occasions, dis- pensed with the pomp and splendors of royalty. Maria Antoinette's education and natural disposition led her to adhere to the customs of the court of her ancestors. Thus was she incessantly annoyed by the diverse in- fluences crowding upon her. Following, how- ever, the bent of her own inclinations, she daily made herself more and more unpopular with the haughty dames who surrounded her. It was a very great annoyance to Maria that she was compelled to dine every day as a public spectacle. It must seem almost incredible to an American 'eader that such a custom could ever have existc i in France. The arrangement was this : The cifferent members of the royal family dined in different apartments: the king and queen, with such as were admitted 44 MARIA ANTOINETTE. to their table, in one room, the dauphin and dauphiness in another, and other members of the royal family in another. Portions of these rooms were railed off, as in courthouses, police rooms, and menageries, for spectators. The good, honest people from the country, after visiting the menageries to see the lions, tigers, and monkeys fed, hastened to the palace to see the king and queen take their soup. They were always especially delighted with the skill with which Louis XV. would strike off the top of his egg with one blow of his fork. This was the most valuable accomplishment the monarch over thirty millions of people pos- sessed, and the one in which he chiefly gloried. The spectators entered at one door and passed out at another. No respectably dressed person Avas refused admission. The consequence was, that during the dining hour an interminable throng was pouring through the apartment ; those in the advance crowded slowly along by those in the rear, and all eyes riveted upon the royal feeders. The members of the royal family of France, accustomed to this practice from infancy, did not regard it at all. To Maria Antoinette it was, however, excessively annoying ; and though she submitted to it while she was dauphiness, as soon as she ascended the throne she discontinued the prac- tice. The people felt that they v/ere thus deprived of one of their inalienable privileges, BRIDAL DAYS. 45 and murmurs loud and angry rose against the innovating Austrian. Much of the time of Louis and his bride was passed at the palaces of Versailles. This renowned residence of the royal family of France is situated about ten miles from Paris, in the midst of an extensive plain. Until the middle of the seventeenth century it was only a small village. At this time Louis XIY. de- termined to erect upon this solitary spot a resi- dence worthy of the grandeur of his throne. Seven years were employed in completing the palace, garden, and park. No expense was spared by him or his successors to render it the most magnificent residence in Europe. No regal mansion or city can boast a greater dis- play of reservoirs, fountains, gardens, groves, cascades, and the various other embellishments and appliances of pleasure. The situation of the principal palace is on a gentle elevation. Its front and wings are of polished stone, or- namented with statues, and a colonnade of the Doric order is in the center. The grand hall is about two hundred and twenty feet in length, with costly decorations in marble, paintings, and gilding. The other apartments are of corresponding size and elegance. This beauti- ful structure is approached by three magnifi- cent avenues, shaded by stately trees, leading respectively from Paris, St. Cloud, and Yer- sailles. 46 MARIA ANTOINETTE. This gorgeous mansion of the monarchs of France presents a front eight hundred feet in length, and has connected with it fifteen pro- jecting buildings of spacious dimensions, dec- orated with Ionic columns and pilasters, con- stituting almost a city in itself. One great gallery, adorned with statuary, paintings, and architectural embellishments is two hundred and thirty-two feet long thirty broad and thirty-seven high and lighted by seventeen large windows. Many gorgeous salons, fur- nished with the most costly splendor, a ban- queting room of the most spacious dimensions where luxurious kings have long rioted in mid- night revels, an opera house and a chapel, whose beautifully fluted pillars support a dome which is the admiration of all who look up upon its graceful beauty, combine to lend attractions to these royal abodes such as few other earthly mansions can rival and none perhaps eclipse. The gardens in the midst of which this volup- tuous residence reposes are equal in splendor to the palace they are intended to adorn. Here the kings of France had rioted in boundless profusion, and every conceivable appliance of pleasure was collected in these abodes, from which all thoughts of retribution were stu- diously excluded. The expense incurred in rearing and embellishing this princely struc- ture has amounted to uncounted millions. But we must not forget that these millions were M.ai Hi j\.ii,toin,i,i,i,a. Fi ontupn ce The Arrest of the Royal Family at A^arennes. iSee p. 158. ) BRIDAL DAYS. 47 wrested from the toiling multitude, who dwelt in mud hovels, and ate the coarsest food, that their proud and licentious rulers might be ''clothed in purple and fine linen, and fare sumptuously every day." Such was the home to which the beautiful Maria Antoinette, the bride of fifteen, was introduced ; and in the midst of temptations to which such volup- tuousness exposed her, she entered upon her dark and gloomy career. This, however, was but one of her abodes. It was but one even of her country seats. At Versailles there were other palaces, in the construction and the em- bellishment of which the revenues of the king- dom had been lavished, and in whose luxurious chambers all the laws of God had been openly set at defiance by those earthly kings who ever forgot that there was one enthroned above them as the King of kings. Within the circuit of the park are two smaller palaces, called the Great and the Little Trianon. These may be called royal resi- dences in miniature; seats to which the king and queen retired when desirous of laying aside their rank and state. The Little Trianon was a beautiful palace, about eighty feet square. It was built by Louis XY. for Madame du Barri. Its architectural style was that of a Koman pavilion, and it was sur- rounded with gardens ornamented in the high- est attainments of French and English art, 48 MARIA ANTOINETTE. diversified with temples, cottages, and cas- cades. This was the favorite retreat of Maria Antoinette. This she regarded as peculiarly her home. Here she was for a time comparatively happy. Though living in the midst of all the jealousies, and intrigues, and bickerings of a court, and though in heart deeply pained by the strange indifference and neglect which her husband manifested toward her person, the buoyancy of her youthful spirit enabled her to triumph, in a manner, over those influences of depression, and she was the life and the orna- ment of every gay scene. As her mind had been but little cultivated, she had but few re- sources within herself to dispel that ennui which is the great foe of the votaries of fash- ion ; and, unconscious of any other sources of enjoyment, she plunged with all the zest of novelty into an incessant round of balls, operas, theaters, and masquerades. Her mind, by nature, was one of the noblest texture, and by suitable culture might have exulted in the appreciation of all that is beautiful and sublime in the world of nature and in the realms of thought. She loved the retirement of the Little Trianon. She loved, in the com- parative quietude of that miniature palace, of that royal home, to shake off all the restraints of regal state, and to live with a few choice friends in the freedom of a private lady. Un- attended she rambled among the flowers of the BRIDAL DAYS. 49 garden; and in the bright moonlight, leaning upon the arm of a female friend, she forgot, as she gazed upon the moon, and the stars, and all the somber glories of the night, that she was a queen, and rejoiced in those emotions common to every ennobled spirit. Here she often lingered in the midst of congenial joys, till the murmurs of courtiers drew her away to the more exciting, but far less satisfying scenes of fashionable pleasure. She often lamented bitterly, and even with tears, her want of in- tellectual cultivation, and so painfully felt hr inferiority when in the society of ladies of intelligence and highly-disciplined minds, that she sought to surround herself with those whose tastes were no more intellectual than her own. "What a resource," she once ex- claimed, ''amid the casualties of life, is a well- cultivated mind ! One can then be one's own companion, and find society in one's own thoughts." Here, in her Little Trianon, she made several unavailing attempts to retrieve, by study, those hours of childhood which had been lost. But it was too late. For a few days, with great zeal and self-denial, she would persevere in secluding herself in the library with her books. But it was in vain for the Queen of France to strive again to become a schoolgirl. Those days had passed forever. The innumerable interruptions of her station frustrated all her endeavors, and she was com- 50 MARIA ANTOINETTE. pelled to abandon the attempt in sorrow and despair. "We know not upon how trivial events the great destinies of the world are suspended; and had the Queen of France possessed a highly-disciplined mind — had she been familiar with the teachings of history, and been capable of inspiring respect by her intellectual attain- ments, it is far from impossible that she might have lived and died in peace. But almost the only hours of enjoyment which shone upon Maria while Queen of France, was when she forgot that she was a queen, and, like a village maiden, loitered through the gardens and the groves in the midst of which the Little Trianon was embowered. The enemies of Maria had sedulously en- deavored to spread the report through France that she was still in heart an Austrian ; that she loved only the country she had left, and that she had no affection for the country over which she was to reign as queen. They falsely and malignantly spread the report that she had changed the name of Little Trianon into Little Vienna. The rumor spread rapidly. It ex- cited great displeasure. The indignant denials of Maria were disregarded. Thus the number of her enemies was steadily increasing. • Another unfortunate occurrence took place, which rendered her still more unpopular at court. Her brother Maximilian, a vain and foolish young man, made a visit to his sister BRIDAL DAYS. 51 at the court of Yersailles, not traveling in his own proper rank, but under an assumed name. It was quite common with princes of the blood-rojal, for various reasons, thus to travel. The young Austrian prince insisted that the first visit was due to him from the princes of the royal family in France. They, on the contrary, insisted that, as he was not traveling in his own name, and in the recognition of his own proper rank, it was their duty to regard him as of the character lie had assumed, and as this was of a rank inferior to that of a royal prince, it could not be their duty to pay the first visit. The dispute ran high. Maria, seconded by the Abbe Yermond, took the part of her brother. This greatly offended many of the highest nobility of the realm. It be- came a family quarrel of great bitterness. A thousand tongues were busy whispering mali- cious accusations against Maria. Eibald songs to sully her name were hawked through the streets. Care began to press heavily upon the brow of the dauphiness, and sorrow to spread its pallor over her cheeks. Her high spirit could not brook the humility of en- deavoring the refutation of the calumnies urged against her. Still, she was too sensitive not to feel them often with the intensest anguish. Her husband was comparatively a stranger to her. He bowed to her with much civility when they met, but never addressed her with a 5— Antoinette 52 MARIA ANTOINETTE. word or gesture of tenderness, or manifested the least desire to see her alone. One even- Louis and Maria at Little Trianon. ing, when walking in the garden of Little Trianon, he astonished the courtiers, and almost overpowered Maria with delightful emotions, by offering her his arm. CHAPTER in. MAKIA ANTOINETTE ENTHEONED. In the year 1774, about four years after the marriage of Maria Antoinette and Louis, the dissolute old king, Louis XY., in his palace at Versailles, surrounded by his courtiers and his lawless pleasures, was taken sick. The dis- ease soon developed itself as the smallpox in its most virulent form. The physicians, knowing the terror with which the conscience- smitten monarch regarded death, feared to in- form him of the nature of his disease. ** What 'are these pimples," inquired the king, ''which are breaking out all over my body?" *'They are little pustules," was the reply, ** which require three days in forming, three in suppurating, and three in drying." The dreadful malady which had seized upon the king was soon, however, known throughout the court, and all fled from the infection. The miserable monarch, hated by his subjects, de- spised by his courtiers, and writhing under 53 54 MARIA ANTOINETTE. the scorpion lash of his own conscience, was left to groan and die alone. It was a horrible termination of a most loathsome life. The vices of Louis XY. sowed the seeds of the French Eevolution. Two dissolute women, notorious on the page of history, each, in their turn, governed him and France. The Marchioness du Pompadour was his first favor- ite. Ambitious, shrewd, unprincipled, and avaricious, she held the weak-minded king en- tirely under her control, and spread throughout the court an influence so contaminating that the whole empire was infected with the demor- alization. Upon this woman he squandered almost the revenues of the kingdom. The cel- ebrated Pare au Cerf, the scene of almost un- paralleled voluptuousness, was reared for her at an expense of twenty millions of dollars. After her charms had faded, she still contrived to retain her political influence over the pliant monarch, until she died, at the age of forty- four, universally detested. Madame du Barri, of whom we have before spoken, succeeded the Marchioness du Pompa- dour in this post of infamy. The king lav- ished upon her, in the short space of eight years, more than ten millions of dollars. For her he erected the Little Trianon, with its gar- dens, parks, and fountains, a temple of pleas- ure dedicated to lawless passion. The king had totally neglected the interests of his ma- ENTHRONED. 55 jestic empire, consecrating every moment of time to his own sensual gratification. The revenues of the realm yvere squandered in the profligacy and carousings of his court. The people were regarded merely as servants who were to toil to minister to the voluptuous in- dulgence of their masters. They lived in pen- ury, that kings and queens, and courtiers might revel in all imaginable magnificence and luxury. This was the ultimate cause of that terrible outbreak which eventually crushed Maria Antoinette beneath the ruins of the French monarchy. Louis XY., in his shame- less debaucheries, not only expended every dollar upon which he could lay his hands, but at his death left the kingdom involved in a debt of four hundred millions of dollars, which was to be paid from the scanty earnings of peasants and artisans whose condition was hardly superior to that of the enslaved labor- ers on the plantations of Carolina and Louis- iana. But I am wandering from my story. In a chamber of the palace of the Little Trianon we left the king dying of the con- fluent smallpox. The courtiers have fled in consternation. It is the hour of midnight, the 10th of May, 1774. The monarch of France is alone as he struggles with the king of terrors. No attendants linger around him. Two old women, in an adjoining apartment, occasionally look in upon the mass of corrup- 56 MARIA ANTOINETTE. tion upon the royal couch, which had already lost every semblance of hunaanity. The eye is blinded. The swollen tongue cannot articulate. "What thought of remorse or terror may be riot- ing through the soul of the dying king no one knows, and — no one cares. A lamp flickers at the window, which is a signal to those at a safe distance that the king still lives. Its feeble flame is to be extinguished the moment life departs. The courtiers, from the windows of the distant palace, watch with the most in- tense solicitude the glimmering of that mid- night taper. Should the king recover, they dreaded the reproach of having deserted him in the hour of his extremity. They hope, so earn- estly, that he may not live. Should he die, they are anxious to be the first in their con- gratulations to the new king and queen. The hours of the night linger wearily away as ex- pectant courtiers gaze impatiently through the gloom upon that dim torch. The horses are harnessed in the carriages, and waiting at the doors, that the courtiers, without the loss of a moment, may rush to do homage to the new sovereign. The clock was tolling the hour of 12 at night when the lamp was extinguished. The miserable king had ceased to breathe. The ensuing scene no pen can delineate or pencil paint. The courtiers, totally forgetful of French etiquette, rushed down the stairs, Maria Antoinette- The Attack on the Bastile. {See p. 101.) 6— Antoinette ENTHRONED. 57 crowded into their carriages, and the silence of night was disturbed by the clattering of the horses' hoofs, as they were urged, at their ut- most speed, to the apartments of the dauphin. There Maria Antoinette and Louis, with a few fami]y friends, were awaiting the antici- pated intelligence of the death of their grand- father the king. Though neither of them could have cherished any feelings of affection for the dissolute old monarch, it was an hour to awaken in the soul emotions of the deepest melancholy. Death had approached, in the most frightful form, the spot on earth where, probably, of all others, he was most dreaded. Suddenly a noise was heard, as of thunder, in the antechamber of the dauphin. It was the rush of the courtiers from the dead monarch to bow at the shrine of the new dispensers of wealth and power. This extraordinary tumult, in the silence of midnight, conveyed to Maria and Louis the first intelligence that the crown of France had fallen upon their brows. Louis was then twenty-four years of age, modest, timid, and conscientious. Maria was twenty, mirthful, thoughtless, and shrinking from re- sponsibility. They were both overwhelmed, and, falling upon their knees, exclaimed, with gushing tears, *'0 God! guide us, protect us; we are too young to govern." The Countess de Noailles was the first to salute Maria Antoinette as Queen of France. 58 MARIA ANTOINETTE. She entered the private salon in which they were sitting, and requested their majesties to enter the grand audience hall, where the princes and all the great officers of state were anxious to do homage to their new sovereigns. Maria Antoinette, leaning upon her husband's arm, and with her handkerchief held to her eyes, which were bathed in tears, received these first expressions of loyalty. There was, however, not an individual found to mourn for the departed king. No one was willing to en- danger his safety by any act of respect toward his remains. The laws of France required that the chief surgeon should open the body of the departed monarch and embalm it, and that the first gentleman of the bedchamber should hold the head while the operation was performed. * ' You will see the body properly embalmed ? ' ' said the gentleman of the bedchamber to the surgeon. * 'Certainly," was the reply; '*and you will hold the head?" Each bowed politely to the other, without the exchange of another word. The body, un- opened and unembalmed, was placed by a few under servants in a coffin, which was filled with the spirts of wine, and hurried, without an at- tendant mourner, to the tomb. Such was the earthly end of Louis XV. In an hour he was forgotten, or remembered but to be despised. At 4 o'clock of that same morning, the ENTHRONED. t)9 young king and queen, with the ^vhols court in retinue, left Versailles, in their carriages, for Ghoisy. The morning was cold, dark, and cheerless. The awful death of the king, and the succeeding excitements, had impressed the com- pany with gloom. Maria Antoinette rode in the carriage with her husband, and with one or two other members of the royal family. For some time they rode in silence, Maria, a child of impulse, weeping profusely from the emotions which moved her soul. But, ere long, the morning dawned. The sun rose bright and clear over the hills of France, and the whole beautiful landscape glittered in the light of the most lovely of spring mornings. Insensibly the gloom of the mind departed with the gloom of night. Conversation commenced. The mournful past was forgotten in anticipa- tion of the bright future. Some jocular remark of the young king's sister elicited a gen- eral burst of laughter, when, by common con- sent, they wiped away their tears, banished all funereal looks, and, a merry party, rode merrily along, over hill and dale, to a crown and a throne. Little did they dream that these sunny hours and this flowery path but conducted them to a dungeon and the guillo- tine. The coronation soon took place at Eheims, with the greatest disply of festive magnificence. The novelty of a new reign, with a youthful 60 MARIA ANTOINETTE. king and queen, elated the versatile French, and loud and enthusiastic were the acclamations with which Louis and Maria Antoinette were greeted whenever they appeared. They were both, for a time, very popular with the nation at large, though there was in the court a party hostile to the queen, who took advantage of every act of indiscretion to traduce her char- acter and to expose her to ignominy. In these efforts they succeeded so effectually as to over- whelm themselves in the same ruin which they had brought upon their victim. A deep-seated but secret grief still preyed upon the heart of Maria. Though four years since her marriage had now passed away, she was still compara- tively, a stranger to her husband. He treated her with respect, with politeness, but with cold reserve, never approaching her as his wife. The queen, possessing naturally a very affectionate disposition, was extremely fond of children. Despairing of ever becoming a mother herself, she thought of adopting some pleasant child to be her playmate and friend. One day, as she was riding in her carriage, a beautiful little peasant boy, about five years of age, with large blue eyes and flaxen hair, got under the feet of the horses, though he was extricated without having received any injury. As the grandmother rushed from the cottage door to take the child, the queen, standing up in her carriage, extended her arms to the old woman, and said : ENTHRONED. 01 ''The child is mine. God has giveia it to me to rear and to cherish. Is his mother alive?" *'No, madame!" was the reply of the old woman. ''My daughter died last winter, and left five small children upon my hands." "I will take this one, " said the queen, "and will also provide for all the rest. Will you consent?" "Indeed, madame," exclaimed the cottager, "they are too fortunate. But I fear Jemmie will not stay with you. He is very wayward. ' ' The postilion handed Jemmie to the queen in the carriage, and she, taking him upon her knee, ordered the coachman to drive imme- diately to the palace. The ride, however, was anything but a pleasant one, for the un- governed boy screamed and kicked with the utmost violence- during the whole of the way. The queen was quite elated with her treasure ; for the boy was extremely beautiful, and he was soon seen frolicking around her in a white frock trimmed with lace, a rose-colored sash, with silver fringe, and a hat decorated with feathers. I may here mention that the petted favorite grew up into a monster of ingratitude, and became one of the most sanguinary actors in the scenes of terror which subsequently ensued. One would think that the enemies of Maria Antoinette could hardly take advantage of this 62 MARIA ANTOINETTE. circumstance to "her injury ; but they atro- ciously affirmed that this child was her own unacknowledged offspring, whose ignominious birth she had concealed. They represented the whole adventure but a piece of trickery on her jjart, to obtain, without suspicion, posses- sion of her own child. Such accusations were borne upon the wings of every wind throughout Europe, and the deeply-injured queen could only submit in silence. Another little incident, equally trivial, was magnified into the grossest of crimes. The Duke de Lauzun appeared one evening at an entertainment with a very magnificent plume of white heron's feathers. The queen casually expressed her admiration of its beauty. A lady immediately reported to the duke the re- marks of the queen, and assured him that it would be a great gratification to her majesty to receive a present of the plume.' He, the next morning, sent the plume to the queen. She was quite embarrassed, being unwilling to accept the plume, and yet fearing to wound the feelings of the duke by refusing the pres- ent. She, on the whole, however, concluded to retain it, and wore it 07ice, that she might not seem to scorn the present, and then laid it aside. It is difficult to conceive how the queen could have conducted more discreetly in the affair. Such was the story of **The Heron's Plume." It was, however, mali- ENTHRONED. 63 ciously reported through Paris that the queen was indecently receiving presents from gentle- men as her lovers. "The Heron's Plume" figured conspicuously in many a satire in prose and verse. These shafts, thrown from a thousand unseen hands, pierced Maria Antoin- ette to the heart. This same Duke de Lauzun, a man of noted profligacy, subsequently be- came one of the most uorelenting foes of the queen. He followed La Fayette to America, and then returned to Paris, to plunge, with the most reckless gayety, into the whirlpool of human passions boiling and whirling there. In the conflict of parties he became a victim. Condemned to death, he was imprisoned in the Conciergerie. Imbruted by atheism, he en- tered his cell with a merry song and a joke. He furnished a sumptuous repast for the prisoners at the hour appointed for his execu- tion, and invited the jailers for his guests. "When the executioners arrived, he smilingly accosted them. *' Gentlemen, I am very happy to see you ; just allow me to finish these nice oysters." Then, very politely taking a decanter of wine, he said, "Your duties will be quite arduous to-day, gentlemen ; allow me the pleasure of taking a glass of wine with you." Thus merrily he ascended the cart, and beguiled the ride from the prison to the guillotine with the most careless pleasantries. Gayly tripping up the steps, he placed him* 64 MARIA ANTOINETTE. self in the fatal instrument, and a smile was upon his lips, and mirthful words were falling upon the ears of the executioners, when the slide fell, and he was silent in death. That soul must indeed be ignoble which can thus enter the dread unseen of futurity. There is no end to these acts of injustice in- flicted upon the queen. The influences which had ever surrounded her had made her very fond of dress and gayety. She was devoted to a life of pleasure, and was hardly conscious that there was anything else to live for. In fetes, balls, theaters, operas, and masquerades, she passed night after night. Such was the only occupation of her life. The king, on the contrary, had no taste for any of these amuse- ments. Uncompanionable and retiring, he lived with his books, and in his workshop making trinkets for children. Always retiring to rest at the early hour of 11 o'clock pre- cisely, he left the queen to pursue her pleas- ures until the dawn of the morning, unat- tended by him. It was very imprudent in Maria Antoinette thus to expose herself to the whispers of calumny. She was young, inexpe- rienced, and had no judicious advisers. One evening she had been out in her car- riage, and was returning at rather a late hour, the lady of the palace being with her, when her carriage broke down at her entrance into Paris. The queen and the duchess were both Maria Antoinette, . The Bread Riots. {See}). 107.) ENTHRONED. 65 masked, and, stepping into an adjoining shop, as they were unknown, the queen ordered one of the footmen to call a common hackney- coach, and they, both entering, drove to the opera house, with very much the same sense of the ludicrous in being found in so plebeian a vehicle, as a New York lady would feel on passing through Broadway in a handcart or on a wheelbarrow. The fun-loving queen was so entertained with the whimsical adventure that she could not refrain from exclaiming, as soon as she entered the opera house, to the intimate friends she met there, *'Only think! I came to the opera in a hackney-coach! Was it not droll? was it not droll?" The news of the indiscretion spread. All Paris was full of the adventure. Eumor, with her thousand tongues, added innumerable embellishments. Neither the delicacy nor the dignity of the queen would allow her seriously to attempt the refutation of the calumny that, neglected by her husband, she had been out in disguise to meet a nobleman renowned for his gallant- ries. Nothing can be more irksome than the fri- volities of fashionable lifa. To spend night after night, of months and years, in an inces- sant round of the same trivial gayeties, so ex- hausts all the susceptibilities of enjoyment that life itself becomes a burden. Louis XIV. had created for himself a sort of elysium of 66 MARIA ANTOINETTE. voluptuousness in the celebrated gardens of Marly. Spread out upon the gentle declivity of an extended hill were grounds embellished in the highest style of art, and intended to rival the garden of Eden itself in every con- ceivable attraction. Pavilions of gorgeous architecture crowned the summit of the hill. Elowers, groves, enchanting walks, and stat- ues of most voluptuous beauty, fountains, lakes, cascades foaming over channels of whitest marble — all the attractions of nature and art were combined to realize the most fanciful dreams of splendor and luxury. Pleasure was the only god here adored ; but, like all false gods, he but rewarded his vota- ries with satiety and disgust. The queen, with her brilliant retinue, made a monthly visit to these palaces and pleasure- grounds, and with music, illumination, and dances, endeavored to beguile life of its cares. A noisy concourse, glittering with diamonds and all the embellishments of wealth, thronged the embowered avenues and the sumptuous halls. And while the young, in the mazes of the dance, and in the uneasy witchery of win- ning and losing hearts, were all engrossed, the old, in the still deeper but ignoble passion of deoperate gaming, forgot gliding time and ap- proaching eternity. But the spirit of Maria was soon weary of this heartless gayety. Each succeeding visit became more irksome, £knd at ENTHRONED. 67 last, in inexpressible disgust with the weary monotony of fashionable dissipation, she de- clared that she would never enter the gardens of Marly again. But she must have some occupa- tion. "What shall she do to give wings to the lagging hours? *'Has your majesty," timidly suggests a lady of the court, **ever seen the sun rise?" "The sun rise!" exclaimed the queen; **no, never! "What a beautiful sight it must be! What a romantic adventure! we will go to- morrow morning." The plan was immediately arranged. The prosaic king would take no part in it. He pre- ferred quietly to slumber upon his pillow. A few hours after midnight, the queen, with several gentlemen, and her attendant ladies, all in high glee, left the palace in their car- riages to ascend the lofty eminence of the gar- dens of Marly to witness the sublime spectacle. Thousands of the humbler classes had already left their beds and commenced their daily toil, as the brilliant cavalcade swept by them on this novel excursion. It was, however, a freak so strange, so unaccountable, so contrary to anything ever known before, that this nocturnal party became the theme of universal conversa- tion. It was whispered that there must have been some mysterious wickedness connected with an adventure so marvelous. Groups upon the Boulevards inquired, '*Why is the queen 68 MARIA ANTOINETTE. thus frolicking at midnight without her hus- band?" In a few days a ballad appeared, which was sung by the vilest lips in the ware- houses of infamy, full of the most malignant charges against the queen. Maria Antoinette was imprudent, very imprudent, and that was her only crime. Still, the young queen must have amuse- ments. She is weary of parade and splendor, and seeks in simplicity the novelty of enjoy- ment. Dressed in white muslin, with a plain straw hat, and a little switch in her hand, she might often be seen walking on foot, followed by a single servant, through the embowered paths which surrounded the Petit Trianon. Through lanes and byways she would chase the butterfly, and pick flowers free as a peasant girl, and lean over the fences to chat with the country maids as they milked the cows. This entire freedom from restraint was etiquette in the court of Vienna ; it was regarded as bar- barism in the court of Versailles. The cour- tiers were amazed at conduct so unqueenly. The ceremony-stricken dowagers were shocked. Pairs, France, Europe, were filled with stories ^of the waywardness, and eccentricities, and improprieties of the young queen. The loud complaints were poured so incessantly in the ear of Maria Theresa that at last she sent a special ambassador to Versailles, in disguise, as a spy upon her daughter. He reported, *'The queen is imprudent, that is all." ENTHRONED. 69 There happened, in a winter of unusual in- clemency, a heavy fall of snow. It was a rare sight at Versailles. Maria Antoinette, re- minded of the merry sleigh rides she had en- joyed in the more northern home of her child- hood, was eager to renew the pleasure. Some antiquated sledges were found in the stables. New ones, gay and graceful, were constructed. The horses, with nodding plumes, and gor- geous caparisons, and tinkling bells, dazzled the eyes of the Parisians as they swept through the Champs Elysees, drawing their loads of lords and ladies enveloped in furs. It was a new amusement — an innovation. Envious and angry lips declared that *'the Austrian, with an Austrian heart, was intruding the customs of Vienna upon Paris.* These ungenerous complaints reached the ear of the queen, and she instantly relinquished the amusement. Still the queen is weary. Time hangs heavily upon her hands. All the pleasures of the court have palled upon her appetite, and she seeks novelty. She introduces into the retired apartments of the Little Trianon, '^blindman's buff," '*fox and geese," and other similar games, and joins heartily in the fun and the frolic. *'A queen playing blind- man's buff!" Simpletons — and the world is full of simpletons — raised their hands and eyes in affected horror. Private dramatic en- tertainments were got up to relieve the tedium 70 MARIA ANTOINETTE. of unemployed time. The queen learns her part, and appears in the character and costume of a peasant girl. Her genius excites much admiration, and. intoxicated with this new pleasure, she repeats the entertainment, and alike excels in all characters, whether comic or tragic. The number of spectators is gradually increased. Louis is not exactly pleased to see his queen transformed into an actress, even in the presence only of the most intimate friends of the court. Half jocosely, half seriously, amid the rounds of applause with which the royal actress is greeted, he hisses. It was deemed extremely derogatory to the dignity of the queen that she should indulge in such amusements, and every gossiping tongue in Paris was soon magnifying her indiscretions. Eight years had now passed away since the marriage of Maria Antoinette, and still she was in name only the wife of Louis. She was still a young lady, for he had never yet ap- proached her with any familiarity with which he would not approach any young lady of his court. But about this time the king gradually manifested more tenderness toward her. He began really and tenderly to love her. "With tears of joy, she confided to her friends the great change which had taken place in his con- duct. The various troubles and embarrass- ments which began now to lower about the throne and to darken their path, bound their ENTHRONED. 71 sympathies more strongly together. Stren- uous efforts were made to alienate the king from the queen by exciting his jealousy. Maria was accused of the grossest immoralities, and insinuations to her injury were ever whis- pered into the ear of the kiog. One morning Madame Campan entered the queen's chamber when she was in bod. Several letters were lying upon the bed by her side, and she was weeping as though her heart would break. She immediately exclaimed, covering her swollen eyes with her hands, ''Oh! I wish that I were dead ! I wish that I were dead ! The wretches ! the monsters ! what have I done that they should treat me thus ! it would be better to kill me at once." Then, throwing her arms around the neck of Madame Campan, she burst more passionately into tears. All attempts to console her were unavailing. Neither was she willing to confide the cause of her heart-rend- ing grief. After some time she regained her usual serenity, and said, with an attempted smile, *'I know that I have made you very un- comfortable this morning, and I must set your poor heart at ease. You must have seen, on some fine summer's day, a black cloud sud- denly appear, and threaten to pour down upon the country and lay it in waste. The lightest wind drives it away, and the blue sky and serene weather are restored. This is just the image of what has happened to me this morn- ing." 72 MARIA ANTOINETTE. Notwithstanding, however, these efforts of the malignant, the king became daily more and more strongly attached to the queen. In the embarrassments which were gathering around him, he felt the support of her ener- getic mind, and looked to her counsel with continually increasing confidence. It was about nine years after their marriage when their first child was born. Three others were subsequently added to their family. Two, however, of the children, a son and a daughter, died in early childhood, leaving two others, Maria Theresa and Louis Charles, to share and to magnify those woes which subsequently overwhelmed the whole royal family. During all these early years of their reign, Versailles was their favorite and almost con- stant abode. They were visited occasionally by monarchs from the other courts of Europe, whom they entertained with the utmost dis- play of royal grandeur. Bonfires and illumi- nations turned night into day in the groves and gardens of those gorgeous palaces. Thousands were feasted in boundless profusion. Millions of money were expended in the costly amuse- ments of kings, and queens, and haughty nobles. The people, by whose toil the reve- nues of the kingdom were furnished, looked from a humble distance upon the glittering throng, gliding through the avenues, charioted in splendor, and now and then a deep thinker, Mai la into nettt La Fayette Reassuring the Queen. {Seep. 108) ENTHRONED. TS struggling against poverty and want, would thus soliloquize: "Why do we thus toil to minister to the useless luxury of these our im- perious masters? Why must I eat black bread, and be clothed in the coarsest garments, that these lords and ladies may glitter in jewelry and revel in luxury ? Why must my children toil like bond slaves through life, that the children of these nobles may be clothed in purple and fine linen, and fare sumptuously every day?" The multitude were bewildered by the glare of royalty. But here and there a sullen fishwoman, leading her ragged, half-starved children, would mumble and mutter, and curse the "Austrian," as the beautiful queen swept by in her gorgeous equipage. These discontents and portentous marmurswere spreading rapidly, when neither king, queen, nor courtiers dreamed of their existence. A few had heard of America, its freedom, its equality, its fame even for the poorest, its competence. La Fayette had gone to help the Republicans crush the crown and the throne. Franklin was in Paris, the ambassador from America, in garb and demeanor as simple and frugal as the humblest citizen, and all Paris gazed upon him with wonder and admiration. A few bold spirits began to whisper, "Let us also have no king." The fires of a volcano were kindling under the whole structure of 74 MARIA ANTOINETTE. French society. It was time that the mighty fabric of corruption should be tumbled into the dust. The splendor and the extravagance of these royal festivities added but fuel to the flame. The people began to compute the ex- pense of bonfires, palaces, equipages, crown jewels, and courtiers. It is extremely imper- tinent, Maria thought and said, for the people to meddle in matters with which they have no concern. Slaves have no right to question the conduct of their masters. It was the misfor- tune of her education, and of the influences which ever surrounded her, that she never imagined that kings and queens were created for any other purpose than to live in luxury. The Empress Catharine II. of Eussia, as these discontents were loud and threatening, wrote to Maria Antoinette a letter, in which she says, ''Kings and queens ought to proceed in their career undisturbed by the cries of the people, as the moon pursues her course unim- peded by the howling of dogs." This was then the spirit of the throne. And now the davs of calamity began to grow darker. Intrigues were multiplied, involving Maria in interminable difficulties. There were instinctive presentiments of an approach- ing storm. Death came into the royal palace, and distorted the form of her eldest son, and by lingering tortures dragged him to the grave. And then her little daughter was taken ENTHRONED. 75 from her. Maria watched at the couch of suffering and death with maternal anguish. The glowing heart of a mother throbbed within the bosom of Maria. The heartlessness and Festivities at Versailles. emptiness of all other pursuits had but given intensity to the fervor of a mother's love. Though but twenty -three years of age, she had drained every cup of pleasure to its dregs. And now she began to enter upon a path every year more dark, dreary, and desolate. CHAPTEB IV. THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. About this time there occurred an event which, though apparently trivial, involved consequences of the most momentous impor- tance. It was merely the fraudulent purchase of a necklace, by a profligate woman, in the name of the queen. The circumstances were such as to throw all France into agitation, and Europe was full of the story. '^Mind that miserable affair of the necklace," said Talley- rand; **I should be nowise surprised if it should overturn the French monarchy." To understand this mysterious occurrence, we must first allude to two very important char- acters implicated in the conspiracy. The Cardinal de Eohan, though one of the highest dignitaries of the church, and of the most illustrious rank, was a young man of vain and shallow mind, of great profligacy of character, and perfectly prodigal in squander- ing, in ostentatious pomp, all the revenues within his reach. He had been sent an am- bassador to the court of Vienna. Surrounding himself with a retinue of spendthrift gentle- 76 THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 77 men, he endeavored to dazzle the Austrian capital with more than regal magnificence. Expending six or seven hundred thousand dol- lars in the course of a few months, he soon be- came involved in inextricable embarrassments. In the extremity of his distress, he took ad- vantage of his official station, and engaged in smuggling with so much effrontery that he almost inundated the Austrian capital with French goods. Maria Theresa was extremely displeased, and, without reserve, expressed her strong disapproval of his conduct, both as a bishop and as an ambassador. The cardinal was consequently recalled, and, disappointed and mortified, he hovered around the court of Versailles, where he was treated with the ut- most coldness. He was extremely anxious again to bask in the beams of royal favor. But the queen indignantly repelled all his ad- vances. His proud spirit was nettled to the quick by his disgrace, and he was ripe for any desperate adventure to retrieve his ruined for- tunes. There was, at the same time, at Versailles, a very beautiful woman, the Countess Lamotte. She traced her lineage to the kings of France, and, by her vices, struggled to sustain a style of ostentatious gentility. She was consumed by an insatiable thirst for recog- nizer!, rank and wealth, and she had no con- science to interfere, in the slightest degree, 78 MARIA ANTOINETTE. with any means which might lead to those re- sults. Though somewhat notorious, as a woman of pleasure, to the courtiers who flitted around the throne, the queen had never seen her face, and had seldom heard even her name. Versailles was too much thronged with such characters for any one to attract any special attention. Maria Antoinette, in her earlier days, had been extremely fond of dress, and particularly of rich jewelry. She brought with her from Vienna a large number of pearls and diamonds. Upon her accession to the throne, she received, of course, all the crown jewels. Louis XV. had also presented her with all the jewels be- longing to his daughter, the dauphiness, who had recently died, and also with a very mag- nificent collar of pearls, of a single row, the smallest of which was as large as a filbert. The king, her husband, had, not long before, presented her with a set of rubies and diamonds of a fine water, and with a pair of bracelets which cost forty thousand dollars. Boehmer, the crown jeweler, had collected, at a great ex- pense, six pear-formed diamonds, of prodi- gious size. They were perfectly matched, and of the finest water. They were arranged as earrings. He offered them to the queen for eighty thousand dollars. The young and royal bride could not resist the desire of adding them, costly as they were, to her casket of THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. ?9 gems. She, however, economically removed two of the diamonds which formed the tops of the clusters, and replaced them by two of her own. The jeweler consented to this arrange- ment, and received the reduced price of seventy-two thousand dollars, to be paid in equal installments for five years, from the private purse of the queen. Still the queen felt rather uneasy in view of her unnecessary purchase. Murmurs of her extravagance began to reach her ears. Satiated with gayety and weary of jewels, as a child throws aside its playthings, Maria Antoinette lost all fondness for her costly treasures, and began to seek novelty in the utmost simplicity of attire, and in the most artless joys of rural life. Her gorgeous dresses hung neglected in their ward- robes. Her gems, "of purest ray serene,'* slept in the darkness of the unopened casket. The queen had become a mother, and all those warm and noble affections which had been diffused and wasted upon frivolities, were now concentrated with intensest ardor upon her children. A new era had dawned upon Maria Antoinette. Her soul, by nature exalted, was beginning to find objects worthy of its ener- gies. Eapidly she was groping her way from the gloom of the most wretched of all lives — a life of pleasure and of self-indulgence — to the true and ennobling happiness of benevolence and self-sacrifice. 80 MARIA ANTOINETTE. Bcehraer, the jeweler, unaware of the great change which had taken place in the character of the queen, resolved to form for her the most magnificent necklace which was ever seen in Europe. He busied himself for several years in collecting the most valuable diamonds cir- culating in commerce, and thus composed a necklace of several rows, whose attractions, he hoped, would be irresistible to the queen. In the purchase of these brilliant gems the jeweler had expended far more than his own fortune. For many of them he owed large sums, and his only hope of paying these debts was in effecting a sale to the queen. Boehmer requested Madame Campan to in- form the queen what a beautiful necklace he had arranged, hoping that she might express a desire to see it. This, however, Madame Campan declined doing, as she did not wish to tempt the queen to incur the expense of three hundred and twenty thousand dollars, the price of the glittering bauble. Boehmer, after endeavoring for some time in vain to get the gems exposed to the eye of the queen, in- duced a courtier high in rank to show the superb necklace to his majesty. The king, now loving the queen most tenderly, wished to see her adorned with this unparalleled orna- ment, and sent the case to the queen for her inspection. Maria Antoinette replied that she had already as many beautiful diamonds THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 81 as she desired ; that jewels were now worn but seldom at court; that she could not think it right to encourage so great an expense for such ornaments; and that the money they would cost would be much better expended in build- ing a man-of-war. The king concurred in this prudent decision, and the diamonds were returned to the jeweler from their majesties with this answer: *'We have more need of ships than of diamonds. " Boehmer was in great trouble, and knew not what to do. He spent a year in visiting the other courts of Europe, hoping to induce some of the sovereigns to purchase his necklace, but in vain. Almost in despair, he returned again to Versailles, and proposed the king should take it, and pay for it partly in instalments and partly in life annuities. The king men- tioned it again to the queen. She replied, that if his majesty wished to purchase the necklace, and keep it for their daughter, he might do so. But she declared that she her- self should never be willing to wear it, for she could not expose herself to those censures for extravagance which she knew would be lavished upon her. The jeweler complained loudly and bitterly of his misfortune. The necklace having been exhibited all over Europe, his troubles were a matter of general conversation. After several months of great perplexity and anxiety, Boeh- I — Antoinette 82 MARIA ANTOINETTE. mer succeeded in gaining an audience of the queen. Passionately throwing himself upon his knees before her, clasping his hands and bursting into tears, he exclaimed : *' Madame, I am disgraced and ruined if jou do not purchase my necklace. I cannot outlive my misfortunes. When I go hence I shall throw myself into the river." The queen, extremely displeased, said : * Eise, Boehmer! I do not like these rhap- sodies ; honest men have no occasion to fall upon their knees to make known their requests. If you were to destroy yourself, I should re- gret you as a madman in whom I had taken an interest, but I should not be responsible for that misfortune. I not only never ordered the article which causes your present despair, but, whenever you have talked to me about fine col- lections of jewels, I have told you that I should not add four diamonds -to those I aready possessed. I told you myself that I de- clined taking the necklace The king wished to give it to me; I refused him in the same manner. Then never mention it to me again. Divide it, and endeavor to sell it piecemeal, and do not drown yourself. I am very angry with you for acting this scene of despair in my presence, and before this child. Let me never see you behave thus again. Go!" Boehmer, overwhelmed with confusion, re- tired, and the queen, oppressed with a multi- THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 83 tude of gathering cares, for some months thought no more of him or of his jewels. One day the queen was reposing listlessly upon her couch with Madame Campan and other ladies of honor about her, when, suddenly addressing Madame Campan, she iaquired : *'Have you ever heard what poor Boehmer did with his unfortunate necklace?" *'I have heard nothing of it since he left you," was the reply, *' though I often meet him." **I should really like to know how the un- fortunate man got extricated from his embar- rassments," rejoined the queen; ''and, when you next see him, I wish you would inquire, as if from your own interest in the aifair, without any allusion to me, how he disposed of the article. " In a few days Madame Campan met Boeh- mer, and, in reply to her interrogatories, he informed her that the sultan at Constantinople had purchased it for the favorite sultana. The queen was highly gratified with the good fortune of the jeweler, and yet thought it very strange how the grand seignior should have purchased his diamonds at Paris. Matters continued in this state for some time, until the baptism of the Duke d 'Angouleme, Maria Antoinette's infant son. The king made his idolized boy a baptismal present of a diamond epaulette and buckles, which he purchased of 84 MARIA ANTOINETTE. Boehmer, and directed him to deliver to the queen. As the jeweler presented them, he slipped into the queen's hand a letter, in the form of a petition, containing the following expression : **I am happy to see your majesty in the pos- session of the finest diamonds in Europe ; and I entreat your majesty not to forget me." The queen read this strange note aloud, again and again exclaiming : ** What does the man mean? He must be insane!" She quietly lighted the note at a wax taper which was standing near her, and burned it, remark- ing that it was not worth keeping. Afterward, as she reflected more upon the enigmatical nature of the communication, she deeply re- gretted that she had not preserved the note. She pondered the matter deeply and anxiously, and at last said to Madame Campan : *'The next time you see that man, I wish that you would tell him that I have lost all taste for diamonds ; that I never shall buy another as long as I live ; and that, if I had any money to spare, I should expend it in purchasing lands to enlarge the grounds at St. Cloud." A few days after this, Boehmer called upon Madame Campan at her country house, ex- tremely uneasy at not having received any an- swer from the queen, and anxiously inquired if Madame Campan had no commission to him THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 85 from her majesty. Madame Campan faith- fully repeated to him all that the queen had requested her to say. *'But, " rejoined Boehmer, *Hhe answer to the letter I presented to her ! To whom must I apply for that?" ''To no one," was the reply; "her majesty burned your memorial, without even compre- hending its meaning." **Ah, madame!" exclaimed the man, trem- bling with agitation, "that is impossible; the queen knows that she has money to pay me." "Money, M. Boehmer!" replied the lady, "your last accounts against the queen were discharged long ago." "And are you not in the secret?" he re- joined. "The queen owes me three hundred thousand dollars, and I am ruined by her neg- lect to pay me. ' ' "Three hundred thousand dollars!" ex- claimed Madame Campan, in amazement; "man, you have lost your senses! For what does she owe you that enormous sum?" "For the necklace, madame, " replied the jeweler, now pale and trembling with the ap- prehension that he had been deceived. "The necklace again!" said Madame Cam- pan. "How long is the queen to be teased about that necklace? Did not you yourself tell me that you had sold it at Constantino- ple?" 86 MARIA ANTOINETTE. *'The queen," added Boehmer, '^requested me to make that reply to all who inquired upon the subject, for she was not willing to have it known that she had made the purchase. She, however, had determined to have the necklace, and sent the Cardinal de Kohan to me to take it in her name." *^You are utterly deceived, Boehmer," Madame Campan replied; ''the queen knows nothing about your necklace. She never speaks even to the Cardinal de Eohan, and there is no man at court more strongly disliked by her." **Tou may depend upon it, madame, that you are deceived yourself," rejoined the jeweler. *'She must hold private interviews with the cardinal, for she gave to the cardial six thousand dollars, which he paid me on account, and which he assured me he saw her take from the little porcelain secretary next the fireplace in her boudoir.''^ ''Did the cardinal himself assure you of this?" inquired Madame Campan. "Yes, madame," was the reply. "What a detestable plot! There is not one word of truth in it; and you have been mis- erably deceived," "I confess, " Boehmer rejoined, now trem- bling in every joint, "that I have felt very anx- ious about it for some time; for the cardinal assured me that the queen would wear the THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 87 necklace on Whitsunday. I was, however, alarmed in seeing that she did not wear it, and that induced me to write the letter to her majesty. But what shall I do?" **Go immediately to Versailles, and lay the whole matter before the king. But you have been extremely culpable, as crown jeweler, in acting in a matter of such great importance without direct orders from the king or queen, or their accredited minister." *'I have not acted," the unhappy man re- plied, "without direct orders. I have now in my possession all the promissory notes, signed by the queen herself ; and I have been obliged to show those notes to several bankers, my creditors, to induce them to extend the time of my payments." Instead, however, of following Madame Campan's judicious advice, Boehmer, half de- lirious with solicitude, went directly to the cardinal, and informed him of all that had transpired. The cardinal appeared very much embarrassed, asked a few questions, and said but little. He, however, wrote in his diary the following memorandum: *'0n this day, August 3, Boehmer went to Madame Campan's country house, and she told him that the queen had never had his necklace, and that he had been cheated." Boehmer was almost frantic with terror, for the lorn of the necklace was his utter and irre- 88 MARIA ANTOINETTE. mediable ruin. Finding no relief in his intei view with the cardinal, he hastened to Little Trianon, and sent a message to the queen that Madame Campan wished him to see her imme- diately. The queen, who knew nothing of the occurrences we have just related, exclaimed : *'That man is surely mad. I have nothing to say to him, and 1 will not see him." Ma- dame Campan, however, immediately called upon the queen, for she was very much alarmed by what she had heard, and related to her the whole occurrence. The queen was exceedingly amazed and perplexed, and feared that it was some deep-laid plot to involve her in difficul- ties. She questioned Madame Campan very minutely in reference to every particular of the interview, and insisted upon her repeating the conversation over and over again. They then went immediately to the king, and narrated to him the whole affair. He, aware of the many efforts which had been made to traduce the character of Maria Antoinette, and to ex- pose her to public contumely, was at once con- vinced that it was a treacherous plot of the cardinal in revenge for his neglect at court. The king instantly sent a command for the cardinal to meet him and the queen in the king's closet. He was, apparently, anticipat- ing the summons, for he, without delay, ap- peared before them in all the pomp of his pon- tifical robes, but was nevertheless so embar- Maria Antoinette, The Royal Family in Despair. {See p. 170.) THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 89 rassed that he could with difficulty articulate a sentence. ''You have purchased diamonds of Boeh- mer?" inquired the king. *'Yes, sire," was the trembling reply. ''What have you done with them?" the king added. "I thought," said the cardinal, "that they had been delivered to the queen." "Who commissioned you to make this pur- chase?" "The Countess Lamotte," was the reply. "She handed me a letter from the queen re- questing me to obtain the necklace for her. I truly thought that I was obeying her majesty's wishes, and doing her a favor, by taking this business upon myself." "How could you imagine, sir," indignantly interrupted the queen, "that I should have selected you for such a purpose, when I have not even spoken to you for eight years? and how could you suppose that I should have acted through the mediation of such a char- acter as the Countess Lamotte?" The cardinal was in the most violent agita- tion, and, apparently hardly knowing what he said, replied: "I see plainly that I have been duped. I will pay for the necklace myself. I suspected no trick in the affair, and am ex- tremely sorry that I have had anything to do with it." 90 MARIA ANTOINETTE. He then took a letter from his pocket directed to the Countess Lamotte, and signed with the queen's name, requesting her to secure the purchase of the necklace. The king and queen looked at the letter, and instantly pronounced it a forgery. The king then took from his own pocket a letter addressed to the jeweler Boehmer, and^ handing it to De Eohan, said : *'Are you the author of that letter?'* The cardinal turned pale, and, leaning upon his hand, appeared as though he would fall to the floor. "I have no wish, cardinal," the king kindly replied, *'to find you guilty. Explain to me this enigma. Account for all these maneuvers with Boehmer. Where did you obtain these securities and these promissory notes, signed in the queen's name, which have been given to Boehmer?" The cardinal, trembling in every nerve, faintly replied, "Sire, I am too much agitated now to answer your majesty. Give me a little time to collect my thoughts." "Compose yourself, then, cardinal," the king added. "Go into my cabinet. You will there find papers, pens, and ink. At your leisure write what you have to say to me." In about half an hour the cardinal returned with a paper, covered with erasures, and alterations, and blottings, as confused and un- . THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 91 satisfactory as his verbal statements had been. An officer was then summoned into the royal presence, and commanded to take the cardinal into custody and conduct him to the Bastile. He was, however, permitted to visit his home. The cardinal, contrived, by the way, to scribble a line upon a scrap of paper, and, catching the eye of a trusty servant, he, unobserved, slipped it into his hand. It was a direction to the servant to hasten to the palace, with the utmost possible speed and commit to the flames all of his private papers. The king had also sent officers to the cardinal's palace to seize his papers and seal them for examination. By almost superhuman exertions the cardinal's servant first arrived at the palace, which was at the distance of several miles. His horse dropped dead in the courtyard. The import- ant documents, which might, perhaps, have shed light upon this mysterious affair, were all consumed. The Countess Lamotte was also arrested, and held in close confinement to await her trial. She had just commenced living in a style of extraordinary splendor, and had vast sums at her disposal, acquired no one knew how. It is difficult to imagine the excitement which this story produced all over Europe. It was represented that the queen was found engaged in a swindling transaction with a profligate woman to cheat the crown jeweler out of gems 92 MARIA ANTOINETTE. of inestimable value, and that, being detected, she was employing all the influence of the crown to shield her own reputation by consigning the innocent cardinal to infamy. The enemies of the queen, sustained by the ecclesiastics gen- erally, rallied around the cardinal. The king and queen, feeling that his acquittal would be the virtual condemnation of Maria Antoinette, and firmly convinced of his guilt, exerted their utmost influence in self-defense to bring him to punishment. Rumors and counter rumors floated through Yersailles, Paris, and all the courts of the continent. The tale was rehearsed in salon and cafe with every conceivable addi- tion and exaggeration, and the queen hardly knew which way to turn from the invectives which were so mercilessly showered upon her. Her lofty spirit, conscious of rectitude, sustained her in public, and there she nerved herself to appear with firmness and equanimity. But in the retirement of her boudoir she was unable to repel the most melancholy imaginings, and often wept with almost the anguish of a burst- ing heart. The sunshine of her life had now disappeared. Each succeeding day grew darker and darker with enveloping glooms. The trial of the cardinal continued, with various interruptions, for more than a year. Yery powerful parties were formed for and against him. All France was agitated by the protracted contest. The cardinal appeared THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 93 before his judges in mourning robes, but with all the pageantry of tbe most imposing eccles- iastical costume. He was conducted into court with much ceremony, and treated with the greatest deference. In the trying moment in which he first appeared before his judges, his courage seemed utterly to fail him. Pale and trembling with emotion, his knees bent under him, and he had to cling to a support to pre- vent himself from falling to the floor. Five or six voices immediately addressed him in- tones of sympathy, and the president said: *'His eminence the cardinal is at liberty to sit down, if he wishes it." The distinguished prisoner immediately took his seat with the members of the court. Having soon recovered in some degree his composure, he arose, and for half an hour addressed his judges, with much feeling and dignity, repeating his pro- testations of entire innocence in the whole affair. At the close of this protracted trial, the car- dinal was fully acquitted of all guilt by a majority of three voices. The king and queen were extremely chagrined at this result. Dur- ing the trial, many insulting insinuations were thrown out against the queen which could not easily be repelled. A friend who called upon her immediately after the decision, found her in her closet weeping bitterly. *'Come, " said Maria, ''come and weep for your queen, in- 94 MARIA ANTOINETTE. suited and sacrificed by cabal and injustice.'* The king came in at the same moment, and said: *'You find the queen much afiiicted; sho has great reason to be so. They were determ^ ined throughout this affair to see only an ecclesiastical prince, a Prince de Eohan, while he is, in fact, a needy fellow, and all this was but a scheme to put money into his pockets. It is not necessary to be an Alexander to cut this Gordian knot." The cardinal subse- quently emigrated to Germany, where he lived in comparative obscurity till 1803, when he died. The Countess Lamotte was brought to trial, but with a painfuUy different result. Dressed in the richest and most costlj robes, the dis- solute beauty appeared before her judges, and astonished them all by her imperturbable self- possession, her talents, and her cool effrontery. It was clearly proved that she had received the necklace ; that she had sold here and there the diamonds of which it was composed, and had thus come into possession of large sums of money. She told all kinds of stories, contra- dicting herself in a thousand ways, accusing now one and again another as an accomplice, and unblushingly declaring that she had no intention to tell the truth, for that neither she nor the cardinal had uttered one single word before the court which had not been false. She was found guilty, and the following horri- THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 95 ble sentence was pronounced against her ; that she should be whipped upon the bare back in the courtyard of the prison ; that the letter V should be burned into the flesh on each shoul- der with a hot iron ; and that nhe should be imprisoned for life. The king and queen were as much displeased with the terrible bar- barity of the punishment of the countess as they were chagrined at the acquittal of the car- dinal. As the countess was a descendant of the royal family, they felt that the ignomin- ious character of the punishment was intended as a stigma upon them. As the countess was sitting one morning in the spacious room provided for her in the prison, in a loose robe, conversing gayly with some friends, and surrounded by all the appli- ances of wealth, an attendant appeared to con- duct her into the presence of the judges. Totally unprepared for the awful doom im- pending over her, she rose with careless alac- rity and entered the court. The terrible sen- tence was pronounced. Immediately terror, rage, and despair seized upon her, and a scene of horror ensued which no pen can describe. Before the sentence was finished, she threw herself upon the floor, and uttered the most piercing shrieks and screams. The tumult of agitation into which she was thrown, dreadful as it was, relaxed not the stern rigor of the law. The executioner immediately seized her, 8 — Antoinetta 96 MARIA ANTOINETTE. and dragged her, shrieking and struggling in a delirium of frenzy, into the courtyard of the prison. As her eye fell upon the instru- roents of her ignominious and brutal punish- ment, she seized upon one of her executioners with her teeth, and tore a mouthful of flesh from his arm. She was thrown upon the ground, her garments, with relentless violence, were stripped from her back, and the lash mercilessly cut its way into her quivering nerves, while her awful screams pierced the damp, chill air of the morning. The hot irons were brought, and simmered upon her recoil- ing flesh. The unhappy creature was then carried, mangled and bleeding, and half-dead with torture, and terror, and madness, to the prison hospital. After nine months of im- prisonment she was permitted to escape. She fled to England, and was found one morning dead upon the pavements of London, having been thrown from a third story window in a midnight carousal. Such was the story of the Diamond Necklace. Though no one can now doubt that Maria An- toinette was perfectly innocent in the whole affair, it, at the time, furnished her enemies with weapons against her, which they used with fatal efficiency. It was then represented that the Countess Lamotte was an accomplice of the queen in the fraudulent acquisition of the necklace, and that the Cardinal de Kohan Maria Antoinette Louis XVI, and the Mob. {Seep. 175.) THE DIAMOND NECKLACE. 97 was their deluded but innocent victim. The horrible punishment of Madame Lamotte, who boasted that royal blood circulated in her veins, was understood to be in contempt of royalty, and as the expression of venomous feeling toward the queen. Both Maria An- toinette and Louis felt it as such, and were aggrieved by the acquittal of the cardinal and the barbarous punishment of the countess. Whether the cardinal was a victim or an ac- complice is a question which never has been, and now never can be, decided. The mystery in which the affair is involved must remain a mystery until the secrets of all hearts are re- vealed at the great day of judgment. If he was the guilty instigator, and the poor countess but his tool and victim, how much has he yet to be accountable for in the just retributions of eternity ! There were three suppositions adopted by the community in the attempt to solve the mystery of this transaction : 1. The first was, that the queen had really employed the Countess Lamotte to obtain the necklace by deceiving the cardinal. That it was a trick by which the queen and the count- ess were to obtain the necklace, and, by selling it piecemeal, to share the spoil, leaving the cardinal responsible for the payment. This was the view the enemies of Maria Antoinette, almost without exception, took of the case; and the sentence of acquittal of the cardinal^ 98 MARIA ANTOINETTE. and the horrible condemnation of the countess, were intended to sustain this view. This opinion, spread through Paris and France, was very influential in rousing that animosity which conducted Maria Antoinette to sufferings more poignant and to a doom more awful than the Countess Lamotte could possibly endure. 2. The second supposition was that the car- dinal and the countess forged the signature of the queen to defraud the jeweler ; that they thus obtained the rich prize of three hundred and twenty thousand dollars, intending to divide the spoil between them, and throw the obloquy of the transaction upon the queen. The king and queen were both fully convinced that this was the true explanation of the fraud, and they retained this belief undoubted until they died. 3. The third supposition, and that which now is almost universally entertained, was, that the crafty woman Lamotte, by forgery, and by means of an accomplice, who very much, in figure, resembled Maria Antoinette, completely duped the cardinal. His anxiety was such to be restored to the royal favor, that he eagerly caught at the bait which the wily countess presented to him. But, whoever may have been the guilty ones, no one now doubts that Maria Antoinette was entirely innocent. She, however, experienced all the ignominy she could have encountered had sh^ beeu ja- volved in the deepest guilt. • CHAPTEK Y. THE MOB AT VEBSAILLES. The year 1789 opened upon France lower- ing with darkness and portentous storms. The events to which we have alluded in the preced- ing chapters, and various others of a similar nature, conspired to foment troubles between the French monarch and his subjects, which were steadily and irresistibly increasing. The great mass of the people, ignorant, degraded, and maddened by centuries of oppression, were rising, with delirious energy, to batter down a corrupt church and a despotic throne, and to overwhelm the guilty and the innocent alike in indiscriminate ruin. The storm had been gathering for ages, but those who had been mainly instrumental in raising it were now slumbering in their graves. Mobs began to sweep the streets of Paris, frenzied with rum and rage, and all law was set at defiance. The king, mild in temperament, and with no force of character, was extremely averse to any measures o£ violence. The queen, far more fc^fVf 99 100 MARIA ANTOINETTE. energetic, with the spirit of her heroic mother, would have quelled these insurrections with the strong arm of military power. The king at last was compelled, in order to protect the royal family from insult, to encamp his army around his palaces; and long trains of artillery and of cavalry incessantly traversed the streets of Versailles, to prop the tottering monarchy. As Maria Antoinette, from the windows, looked down upon these formidable bands, and saw the crowd of generals and col- onels who filled the salons of the palace, her fainting courage was revived. The sight of these soldiers, called to quell the insurgent people, roused the Parisians to the intensest fury. *'Toarms! to arms! the king's troops are coming to massacre us, " resounded through the streets of Paris in the gloom of night, in tones which caused the heart of every peaceful citizen to quake with terror. The infuriated populace hurled themselves upon the few troops who were in Paris. Many of the sol- diers of the king threw down their arms and fraternized with the people. Others were withdrawn, by order of Louis, to add to the forces which were surrounding his person at Versailles. Paris was thus left at the mercy of the mob. The arsenals were ransacked, the powder magazines were broken open, pikes were forged, and in a day, as it were, all Paris was in arms. Thousands of the noble and the THE MOB AT VERSAILLES. 101 wealthy fled in consternation from these scenes of ever-accumulating peril, and bands of fero- cious men and women, from all the abodes of infamy, with the aspect and the energy of demons, ravaged the streets. When the morning of the 14th of March, 1789, dawned upon the city, a scene of terror and confusion was witnessed which baffles all description. In the heart of Paris there was a prison of terrible celebrity, in whose dark dungeons many victims of oppression and crime had perished. The Bastile, in its gloomy strength of rock and iron, was the great instrument of terror with which the kings of France had, for centuries, held all restless spirits in subjection. Now, the whole popu- lation of Paris seemed to be rolling like an inundation toward this apparently impreg- nable fortress, resolved to batter down its exe- crated walls. **To the Bastile! to the Bas- tile!" was the cry which resounded along the banks of the Seine, and through every street of the insurgent metropolis ; and men, women, and boys poured on and poured on, an inter- minable host, choking every avenue with the agitated mass, armed with guns, knives, swords, pikes — dragging artillery bestrode by amazons, and filling the air with the clamor of Pandemonium. A conflict, fierce, short, bloody, ensued, and the exasperated multitude, many of them bleeding and maddened by wounds. 102 MARIA ANTOINETTE. clambered over the walls and rushed through the shattered gateways, and, with yells of triumph, became masters of the Bastile. The heads of its defenders were stuck upon poles upon the battlements, and the mob, intoxicated with the discovery of their resistless power, were beginning to inquire in what scenes of violence they should next engage. At mid- night, couriers arrived at Versailles, informing the king and queen of the terrible insurrections triumphant in the capital, and that the royal troops everywhere, instead of being enthusias- tic for the defense of the king, manifested the strongest disposition to fraternize with the populace. The tumult in Paris that night was awful. The rumor had entered every ear that the king was coming with forty thousand troops to take dreadful vengeance in the indis- criminate massacre of the populace. It was a night of sleeplessness and terror — the carnival of all the monsters of crime who thronged that depraved metropolis. The streets were filled with intoxication and blasphemy. No dwell- ing was secure from pillage. The streets were barricaded, pavements torn up, and the roofs of houses loaded with the stones. All the energies of the queen were aroused for a vigorous and heroic resistance. She strove to inspire the king with firmness and courage. He, however, thought only of con- cessions. He wished to win back the love of THE MOB AT VERSAILLES. 103 his people by favors. He declared openly that never should one drop of blood be shed at his command ; and, with the heroism of endur- ance, which he abundantly possessed, and to prove that he had been grossly calumniated, he left Versailles in his carriage to go unprotected to Paris, into the midst of the infuriated pop- ulace. Just as he was entering his carriage on this dangerous expedition, he received intelli- gence that a plot was formed to assassinate him on the way. This, however, did not in the slightest degree shake his resolution. The agony of the queen was irrepressible as she bade him adieu, never expecting to see him again. The National Assembly, consisting of nearly twelve hundred persons, was then in session at Versailles, the great majority of them sym- pathizing with the populace, and yet were alarmed in view of the lawless violence which their own acts had awakened, and which was everywhere desolating the land. As, on the morning of the 17th of July, the king entered his carriage with a slender retinue, and with no military protection, to expose himself to the dangers of his tumultuous capital, this whole body formed in procession on foot and followeVi- him. A countless throng of artisans and peasants flocked from all the streets of Versailles, and poured in from the surround- ing country, armed with scythes and blud- 104 MARIA ANTOINETTE. geons, and joined the strange cavalcade. Every moment the multitude increased, and the road, both before and behind the king, was so clogged with ihe accumulating mass, that seven hours passed before the king arrived at the gates of the city. During all this time he was exposed to every conceivable insult. As Louis was conducted to the Hotel de Ville, a hundred thousand armed men lined the way, and he passed along under the arch of their sabers crossed over his head. The cup of deg- radation he was compelled to drain to its dregs. While the king was absent from Versailles on this dreadful visit, silence and the deepest gloom pervaded the palace. The queen, ap- prehensive that the king would be either mas- sacred or retained a prisoner in Paris, was overwhelmed with the anguish of suspense. She retired to her chamber, and, with con- tinually gushing tears prepared an appeal to the National Assembly commencing with these words: ''Gentlemn I come to place in your hands the wife and family of your sovereign. Do not suffer those who have been united in heaven to be put asunder on earth." Late in the evening the king returned to the inexpres- sible joy of his household. But the narrative he gave of the day's adventure plunged them all again into the most profound grief. The visit of the king had no influence in THE MOB AT VERSAILLES. 105 diminishing tho horrors of the scenes now hourly enacted in the French capital. His friends were openly massacred in tho streets, hung up at the lampposts, and roasted at slow fires, while their dying agonies were but the subjects of derision. The contagion of crime and cruelty spread to every other city in the empire. The higher nobility and the more wealthy citizens began very generally to aban- don their homes, seeing no escape from these dangers but by x)recipitate flight to foreign lands. Such was the state of affairs, when the officers of some of the regiments assembled at Versailles for the i)rotection of the king had a public banquet in the salon of the opera. All the rank and elegance which had ventured yet to linger around the court graced tho feast with their presence in tho surrounding boxes. In the midst of their festivities their chival- rous enthusiasm was excited in behalf of the king and queen. They drank their health — they vowed to defend them even unto death. Wine had given fervor to their loyalty. The ladies showered upon them bouquets, waved their handkerchiefs, and tossed to them white cockades, tho emblem of Bourbon x^ower. And now the cry arose, loud, and long, and enthu- siastic, for the king and queen to come and show themselves to their defenders. The door suddenly opened, and the king and queen ap- peared. Enthusiasm injiiiodiatQly rose almost 106 MARIA ANTOINETTE. to frenzy. The hall resounded with accla- mations, and the king, entirely unmanned by these expressions of attachment, burst into tears. The band struck up the pathetic air, "O Kichard! O my king! the world abandons you." There was no longer any bounds to the transport. The officers and the ladies mingled together in a scene of indescribable enthusiasm. The tidings of this banquet spread like wild- fire through Paris, magnified by the grossest exaggerations. It was universally believed that the officers had contemptuously trampled the tricolored cockade, the adopted emblem of popular power, under their feet; that they had sharpened their sabers, and sworn to extermi- nate the National Assembly and the people of Paris. All business was at a stand. No laborer was employed. The provisions in the city were nearly all consumed. No baker dared to appear with his cart, or farmer to send in his corn, for pillage was the order of the day. The exasperated and starving people hung a few bakers before their own ovens, but that did not make bread any more plenty- The populace of Paris were now starving, liter- ally and truly starving. A gaunt and haggard woman seized a drum and strode through the streets, beating it violently, and mingling with its din her shrieks of ''Bread! bread!" A few boys follow her — then a score of female furiea — and then thousands of desperate n^ea, THE MOB AT VERSAILLES. lOl' The swelling inundation rolls from street to street; the alarm bells are rung; all Paris com- poses one mighty, resistless mob, motiveless, aimless, but ripe for any deed of desperation. The cry goes from mouth to mouth. "To Yer- sailles! to Versailles!" Why, no one knows, onl^^ that the king and queen are there. Im- petuously as by a blind instinct the monster mass moves on. La Fayette at the head of the National Guard knows not what to do, for all the troops under his command sympathize Avith the people and will obey no orders to re- sist them. He therefore merely follows on with his thirty-five thousand troops to watch the issue of events. The king and queen are warned of the approaching danger, and Louis entreats Maria Antoinette to take the children in the carriages and flee to some distant place of safety. Others join most earnestly in the entreaty. "Nothing," replies the queen, "shall induce me, in such an extremity, to be separated from my husband. I know that they seek my life. But I am the daughter of Maria Theresa, and have learned not to fear death." From the windows of their mansion the dis- orderly multitude were soon described, in a dense and apparently interminable mass, pour- ing along through the broad avenues toward the palaces of Versailles. It was in the even- ing twilight of a dark and rainy day. Like ocean tides, the frantic mob rolled in from 108 MARIA ANTOINETTE. every direction. Their shouts and revels swelled upon the night air. The rain began to fall in torrents. They broke into the houses for shelter; insulted maids and matrons; tore down everything combustible for their watch fires ; massacred a few of the bodyguard of the queen, and, with bacchanalian songs, roasted their horses for food. And thus passed the hours of this long and dreary night, in hideous outrages for which one can hardly find a parallel in the annals of New Zealand cannibalism. The immense gardens of Ver- sailles were filled with a tumultuous ocean of half-frantic men and women, tossed to and fro in the wildest and most reckless excitement. Toward morning, the queen, worn out with excitement and sleeplessness, having received from La Fayette the assurance that he had so posted the guard that she need be in no appre- hension of personal danger, had retired to her chamber for rest. The king had also retired to his apartment, which was connected with that of the queen by a hall, through which they could mutually pass. Two faithful sol- diers were stationed at the door of the queen's chamber for her defense. Hardly had the queen placed her head upon her pillow before she heard a dreadful clamor upon the stairs — the discharge of firearms, the clashing of swords, and the shouts of the mob rushing upon her door. The faithful guard, bleeding THE MOB AT VERSAILLES. 109 beneath the blows of the assailants, had only time to cry to the queen, *'Fly ! fly for your life!" when they were stricken down. The queen sprang from her bed, rushed to the door leading to the king's apartments, when, to her dismay, she found that it was locked, and that the key was upon the other side. With the energy of despair, she knocked and called for help. Fortunately, some one rushed to her rescue from the king's chamber and opened the door. The queen had just time to slip through and again turn the key, when the whole raging mob, with oaths and impreca- tions, burst into the room, and pierced her bed through and through with their sabers and bayonets. Happy would it have been for Maria if in that short agony she might have died. But she was reserved by a mysterious Providence for more prolonged tortures and for a more dreadful doom. A few of the National Guard, faithful to the king, rallied around the royal family, and La Fayette soon appeared, and was barely able to protect the king and queen from massacre. He had no power to effectually resist the tem- pest of human jjassion which was raging, but was swept along by its violence. Nearly all of the interior of the palace was ransacked and defiled by the mob. The bloody heads of the massacred guards, stuck upon pikes, were raised up to the windows of the king, to insult 9 — Antoinette 110 MARIA ANTOINETTE. and to terrify the royal family with these hideous trophies of the triumph of their foes. At length the morning succeeding this dread- ful night dawned lurid and cheerless. It was the 8th of October, 1789. Dark clouds over- shadowed the sky, showers of mist were driven through the air, and the branches of the trees swayed to and fro before the driving storm. Pools of water filled the streets, and a count- less multitude of drunken vagabonds, in a mass so dense as to be almost impervious, besieged the palace, having no definite plan or desire, only furious with the thought that now was the hour in which they could wreak vengeance upon aristocrats for ages of oppression. Muskets were continually discharged by the more desperate, and bullets passed through the windows of the palace. Maria Antoinette, in these trying scenes, indeed appeared queenly. Her conduct was heroic in the extreme. Her soul was nerved to the very highest acts of fearlessness and magnanimity. Seeing the mob in the courtyard below ready to tear in pieces some of her faithful guard whom they had captured, regardless of the shots which were whistling by her, she persisted in expos- ing herself at the open window to beg for their lives; and when a friend, M. Luzerne, placed himself before her, that his body might be her shield from the bullets, she gently, but firmly, with her hand, pressed him away, saying: THE MOB AT VERSAILLES. Ill *'ThG king cannot afford to lose so faithful a servant as you are." At length the crowd began vigorously to shout: "The queen! the queen!" demanding that she should appear upon the balcony. She immediately came forth, with her children at her side, that, as a mother, she might ap- peal to their hearts. The sight moved the sympathies of the multitude; and execrating, as they did, Maria Antoinette, whom they had long been taught to hate, they could not have the heart, in cold blood, to massacre these in- nocent children. Thousands of voices simul- taneously shouted : "Away with the children !'* Maria, apparently without the tremor of a nerve, led back her children, and again appear- ing upon the balcony alone, folded her aims, and, raising her eyes to heaven, stood before them, a self-devoted victim. The heroism of the act changed for a moment hatred to admi- ration. Not a gun was fired; there was a moment of silence, and then one spontaneous burst of applause rose apparently from every lip, and shouts of "Vive la reine! vive la reine!" pierced the skies. And now the universal cry ascends: "To Paris! to Paris!" La Fayette, with the deep- est mortification, was compelled to inform the king that he had no force at his disposal suffi- cient to enable him to resist the demands of the mob. The king, seeing that he was en- il2 MARIA ANTOINETTE. tirely at the mercy of his foes, who were acting without leaders and without plan, as the ca- price of each passing moment instigated, said: **You wish, my children, that I should accom- pany you to Paris. I cannot go but on condi- tion that I shall not be separated from my wife and family." To this proposal there was a tumultuous assent. At 1 o'clock, the king and queen, with their two children, entered the royal carriage to be escorted by the trium- phant mob as captives to Paris. Behind them, in a long train, followed the carriages of the king's suite and servants. Then fol- lowed twenty-five carriages filled with the members of the National Assembly. After them came the thirty-five thousand troops of the National Guard; and before, behind, and around them all, a hideous concourse of vaga- bonds, male and female, in uncounted thou- sands, armed with every conceivable weapon, yelling, blaspheming, and crowding against the carriages so that they surged to and fro like ships in a storm. This motley multitude kept up an incessant discharge of firearms loaded with bullets, and the balls often struck the ornaments of the carriages, and the king and queen were often almost suffocated with the smoke of powder. The two bodyguard, who had been massa- cred while so faithfully defending the queen at the door of her chamber, were beheaded, and, THE MOB AT VERSAILLES. ilo their gory heads affixed to pikes, were carried by the windows of the carriage, and pressed upon the view of the wretched captives with every species of insult and derision. La Fayette was powerless. He was borne along resistlessly by this whirlwind of human pas- sions. None were so malignant, so ferocious, so merciless, as the degraded women who mingled with the throng. They bestrode the cannon singing the most indecent and insulting songs. "We shall now have bread," they ex- claimed; "for we have with us the baker, and the baker's wife, and the baker's boy." Dur- ing seven long hours of agony were the royal family exposed to these insults, before the un- wieldly mass had urged its slow way to Paris. The darkness of night was settling down around the city as the royal captives were led into the Hotel de Yille. No one seemed then to know what to do, or why the king and queen had been brought from Versailles. The mayor of the city received them there with the exter- nal mockery of respect and homage. He had them then conducted to the Tuileries, the gor- geous city palace of the kings of France, now the prison of the royal family. Soldiers were stationed at all the avenues to the palace, ostensibly to preserve the royal family from danger, but, in reality, to guard them from escape. A moment before the queen entered her car- 114 MARIA ANTOINETTE. riage for this march of humiliation, she hastily retired to her private apartment, and, bursting into tears, surrendered herself to the most un- controllable emotion. Then immediately, as if relieved and strengthened by this flood of tears, she summoned all her energies, and ap- peared as she had ever appeared — the invincible sovereign. Indeed, through all these dreadful scenes she never seemed to have a thought for herself. It was for her husband and her chil- dren alone that she wept and suffered. Through all the long hours of the night succeeding this day of horror, Paris was one boiling caldron of tumult and passion. Eioting and violence filled all its streets, and the clamor of madness and inebriation drove sleep from every pillow. The excitement of the day had been too terrible to allow either the king or the queen to attempt repose. The two children, in utter exhaustion, found a few hours of agitated slumber from the terror with which they had so long been ap- palled. But in the morning, when the dau- phin awoke, being but six or eight years of age, hearing the report of musketry and the turmoil still resounding in the streets, he threw his arms around his mother's neck, and, as he clung trembling to her bosom, exclaimed: *'0h, mother! mother! is to-day yesterday again?" Soon after, his father came into the room. The little prince, to whom sorrow had given a maturity above his years, contemplated his THE MOB AT VERSAILLES. 115 father for a moment with a pensive air, went up to him and said: ''Dear father, why are your people, who formerly loved you so well, now, all of a sudden, so angry with you? And what have you done to irritate them so much?" The king thus replied: "I wished, my dear child, to render the people still happier than they were. I wanted money to pay the ex- penses occasioned by wars. I asked the parlia- ment for money, as my predecessors have always done. Magistrates composing the par- liament opposed it, and said that the people alone had a right to consent to it. I assembled the principal inhabitants of every town, whether distinguished by birth, fortune, or talents, at Versailles. That is what is called the States- General, When they were assem- bled, they required concessions of me which I could not make, either with due respect for myself or with justice to you, who will be my successor. "Wicked men, inducing the people to rise, have occasioned the excesses of the last few days. The ^eqp^e must not be blamed for them." While these terrific scenes were passing in Paris and in France, the majority of the nobility were rapidly emigrating to find refuge in other lands. Every night the horizon was illumined by the conflagration of their chateaus burned down by mobs. Many of them were mercilessly tortured to death. Large numbers, 116 MARIA ANTOINETTE. however, gathering around them such treasures as could easily be carried away, escaped to Germany on the frontiers of France. Some fifteen hundred of these emigrants were at Coblentz, organizing themselves into a military band, seeking assistance from the Austrian monarchy, and threatening, with an over- whelming force of invasion, to recover their homes and their confiscated estates, and to rescue the royal family. The populace in Paris were continually agitated with the rumors of this gathering army at Goblentz. As Maria was an Austrian, she was accused of being in correspondence with the emigrants, and of striving to rouse the Austrian monarchy to make war upon France, and to deluge Paris with the blood of its citizens. Most inflamma- tory placards were posted in the streets. Speeches full of rancor and falsehood were made to exasperate the populace. And when the fishwomen wished to cast upon the queen some epithet of peculiar bitterness, they called her *' The Austrian." It is confidently asserted that the mob was instigated to the march to Versailles by the emissaries of the Duke of Orleans, the father of Louis Philippe. The duke hoped that the royal family, terrified by the approach of the infuriated multitude, would enter their car- riages and flee to join the emigrants at Cob- lentz. The throne would then be vacant, and THE MOB AT VERSAILLES. lit the people woul^ make tbe Duke of Orleans, who, to secure this result, had become one of the most violent of the Democrats, their king. It was a deeply-laid plot and a very plausible enterprise. But the king understood the plan, and re- fused thus to be driven from the throne of his fathers. He, however, entreated the queen to take the children and escape. She resolutely declared that no peril should induce her to for- sake her husband, but that she would live or die by his side. During all the horrors of that dreadful night, when the palace at Ver- sailles was sacked, the duke, in disguise, with his adherents, was endeavoring to direct the fury of the storm for the accomplishment of this purpose. But his plans were entirely frustrated. The caprice seized the mob to carry the king to Paris. This the Duke of Orleans of all things dreaded ; but matters had now passed entirely beyond his control. Rumors of the approaching invasion were fill- ing the kingdom with alarm. There was a large minority, consisting of the most intelli- gent and wealthy, who were in favor of the king, and who would eagerly join an army coming for his rescue. Should the king escape and head that army, it would give the invaders a vast accession of moral strength, and the in- surgent people feared a dreadful vengeance. Consequently, there were great apprehensions 118 MARIA ANTOINETTE. entertained that the king migjit escape. The leaders of the populace were not yet prepared to plunge him into prison or to load him with chains. In fact, they had no definite plan be- fore them. He was still their recognized king. They even pretended that he was not their captive — that they iiad politely, affection- ately invited him, escorted hini on a visit to his capital. They entreated the king and queen to show that they had no desire to escape, but were contented and happy, by en- tering into all the amusements of operas, and theaters, and balls. But in the meantime they doubled the guards around them, and drove away their faithful servants, to place others at their tables and in their chambers who should be their s]3ies. But two days after these horrid outrages, in the midst of which the king and queen were dragged as captives to Paris, the city sent a deputation to request the queen to appear at the theater, and thus to prove, by participating in those gay festivities, that it was with pleas- ure that she resided in her capital. With much dignity the queen replied : " I should, with great pleasure, accede to the invitation of the people of Paris ; but time must be allowed me to soften the recollection of the distressing events which have recently occurred, and from which I have suffered so severely. Having come to Paris preceded by the heads of my THE MOB AT VERSAILLES. 119 faithful guards, who perished before the door of their sovereign, I cannot think that such an entry into the capital ought to be followed by rejoicings. But the happiness I have always felt in appearing in the midst of the inhabi- tants of Paris is not effaced from my memory ; and I hope to enjoy that happiness again, so soon as I shall find myself able to do so." The queen was, however, increasingly the object of especial obloquy. She was accused of urging the king to bombard the city, and to adopt other most vigorous measures of resist- ance. It was affirmed that she held continual correspondence with the emigrants at Coblentz, and was doing all in her power to rouse Austria to come to the rescue of the king. Maria would have been less than the noble woman she was if she had not done all this, and more, for the protection of her husband, her child, and herself. She inherited her mother's superior- ity of mind and mental energy. Had Louis possessed her spirit he might have perished more heroically, but probably none the less surely, Maria did, unquestionably, do every- thing in her power to rouse her husband to a more energetic and manly defense. Genera- tions of kings, by licentiousness, luxury, and oppression ; by total disregard of the rights of the people, and by the haughty contempt of their sufferings and complaints, had kindled flames of implacable hatred against ail kingly 120 ' MARIA ANTOINETTE. power. Circumstances, over which neither Louis nor Maria had any control, caused these flames to burst out with resistless fury around the throne of France, at the time in which they happened to be seated upon it. Though there never had been seated upon that throne more upright, benevolent, and conscientious monarchs, they were compelled to drain to the dregs the poisoned chalice which their ances- tors had mingled. Perhaps this world pre- sents no more affecting illustration of that mys- terious principle of the divine government, by which the transgressions of the parents are visited upon the children. Louis XIY., as haughty and oppressive a monarch as ever trod an enslaved people into the dust, died peace- fully in his luxurious bed. His descendant, Louis XYL, as mild and benignant a sovereign as ever sat upon an earthly throne, received upon his unresisting brow the doom from which his unprincipled ancestors had escaped. It is difficult for us, in the sympathy which is excited for the comparatively innocent Maria Antoinette and Louis, to remember the ages of wrong and outrage by which the popular exas- ' peration had been raised to wreak itself in in- discriminating atrocities. There is but one solution to these mysteries: ** After death comes the judgment." CHAPTEE VI. THE PALACE A PRISON. The king and queen now found themselves in the gorgeous apartments of the Tuileries, surrounded with all the mockery of external homage, but incessantly exposed to^ the most ignominious insults, and guarded with sleep- less vigilance from the possibility of escape. The name of the queen was the watchword of popular execration and rage. In the pride of her lofty spirit, she spurned all apologies, ex- planations, or attempts at conciliation. In- closing herself in the recesses of her palace, she heard with terror and resentment, but with an unyielding soul, the daily acts of violence perpetrated against royalty and all of its friends. All her trusty servants were removed, and spies in their stead occupied her parlors and her chambers. Trembling far more for her husband and her children than for herself, every noise in the streets aroused her appre- hensions of a new insurrection. And thus, for nearly two years of melancholy days and sor- rowful nights, the very nobleness of her nature, glowing with heroic love, magnified her an- " 121 122 MARIA ANTOINETTE. gtiish. The terror of the times had driven nearly all the nobility from the realm. The court was forsaken, or attended only by the detested few who were forced as ministers upon the royal family by the implacable popu- lace. Every word and every action of Maria Antoinette were watched, and reported by the spies who surrounded her in the guise of serv- ants. To obtain a private interview with any of her few remaining friends, or even with her husband, it was necessary to avail herself of private staircases, and dark corridors, and the disguise of night. The queen regretted ex- tremely that the nobles, and others friendly to royalty, should, in these hours of gathering danger, have fled from France. When urged to fly herself from the dangers darkening around her, she resolutely refused, declaring that she would never leave her husband and children, but that she would live or die with them. The queen, convinced of the impolicy of emigration, did everything in her power to induce the emigrants to return. Urgent letters wore sent to them, to one of which the queen added the following postcript with her own hand: "If you love your king, your religion, your government, and your country, return! return ! return ! Maria Antoinette. " The emi- grants were severely censured by many for abandoning their king and country in such a crisis. But when all law was overthrown, and THE PALACE A PRISON. 1 23 the raging mob swayed hither and thither at its will, and nobles were murdered on the high- way or hung at lamp posts in the street, and each night the horizon was illumined by the conflagation of their chateaus, a husband and father can hardly be severely censured for en- deavoring to escape with his wife and children from such scenes of horror. A year of gloom now slowly passed away, almost every moment of which was imbittered by disappointed hopes and gathering fears. The emigrants, who were assembled at Cob- lentz, on the frontiers of Germany, were organ- izing an army for the invasion of France and the restoration of the regal power. The people were very fearful that the king and queen might escape, and, joining the emigrants, add immeasurably to their moral strength. There were thousands in France, overawed by the terrors of the mob, who would most eagerly have rallied around the banners of such an invading army, headed by their own king. Louis, however, with his characteristic want of energy, was very unwilling to assume a hostile attitude toward his subjects, and still vainly hoped, by concessions and by the exhibition of a forgiving spirit, to reconcile his disaffected people. On the morning after the arrival of the king and queen at the Tuileries, an occurrence took place highly characteristic of the times. A 10 — Antoinette 124 MARIA ANTOINETTE. crowd of profligate women, the same who be- strode the cannon the day before, insulting the queen with the most abusive language, col- lected under the queen's windows, upon the terrace of the palace. Maria, hearing their outcries, came to the window. A furious ter- magant addressed her, telling her that she must dismiss all such courtiers as ruin kings, and that she must love the inhabitants of her good city. The queen replied : *'I have loved them at Versailles, and will also love them at Paris.'* *'Tes! yes!" answered another. *'Butyou wanted to besiege the city and have it bom- barded. And you wanted to fly to the fron- tiers and join the emigrants." The queen mildly replied: *'You have been told so, my friends, and have believed it, and that is the cause of the unhappiness of the people and of the best of kings." Another addressed her in German, to which the queen answered: *'I do not understand you. I have become so entirely French as even to have forgotten my mother tongue." At this they all clapped their hands, and shouted: '* Bravo! bravo!" They then asked for the ribbons and flowers out of her hat. Her majesty unfastened them herself, and then tossed the-iQ out of the window to the women. They were received with great eagerness, and divided among the party ; and for half an hour THE PALACE A PRISON. 125 ihey kept up the incessant shout: ** Maria Antoinette forever ! Our good queen forever ! ' ' In the course of a few weeks some of the de- voted friends of the queen had matured a plan by which her escape could be, without difficulty, effected. The queen, whose penetrating mind fully comprehended the peril of her situation, replied, while expressing the deepest gratitude to her friends for their kindness : **I will never leave either the king or my children. If I thought that I alone were obnoxious to public hatred, I 'would instantly offer my life as a sacrilice. But it is the throne which is aimed at. In abandoning the king, no other advan- tage can be obtained than merely saving my life; and I will never be guilty of such an act of cowardice. ' ' The following letter, which she wrote at this time to a friend, in reply to a letter of sym- pathy in reference to the outrage which had torn her from Versailles, will enable one to form a judgment of her situation and state of mind at that time. "I shed tears of affection on reading your sympathizing letter. You talk of my courage ; it required much less to go through the dreadful crisis of that day than is now daily necessary to endure our situa- tion, our own griefs, those of our friends, and those of the persons who surround us. This is a heavy weight to sustain and but for the strong ties by which my heart is bound to my 126 MARIA ANTOINETTE. husband, ray children, and my friends, I should wish to sink under it. But you bear me up. I ought to sacrifice such feelings to your friendship. But it is I who bring mis- fortune on you all, and all your troubles are on my account." The queen now lived for some time in much retirement. She employed the mornings in superintending the education of her son and daughter, both of whom received all their les- sons in her presence, and she endeavored to occupy her mind, continually agitated as it was by ever-recurring scenes of outrage and of danger, by working large pieces of tapestry. She could not sufficiently recall her thoughts from the anxieties which continually engrossed them to engage in reading. The king was extremely unwilling to seek protection in flight, lest the throne should be declared vacant, and he should thus lose his crown. He was ever hoping that affairs would take such a turn that harmony would be restored to his distracted kingdom. Maria Antoinette, however, who had a much more clear discern- ment of the true state of affairs, soon felt con- vinced that reconciliation, unless effected by the arm of power, was hopeless, and she ex- erted all her influence to rouse the king to vig- orous measures for escape. While firmly re- solved never to abandon her husband and her family to save her own life, she still became THE PALACE A PRISON. 127 very anxious that all should endeavor to escape together. About this time the Marquis of Favras was accused of having formed a plan for the rescue of the royal family. He was very hastily tried, the mob surrounding the tribunal and threatening the judges with instant death un- less they should condemn him. He was sen- tenced to be hung, and was executed, sur- rounded by the insults and execrations of the populace of Paris. The marquis left a wife and a little boy overwhelmed with grief and in hopeless poverty. On the following Sunday morning, some extremely injudicious friends of the queen, moved with sympathy for the desolated family, without consulting the queen upon the subject, presented the widow and the orphan in deepest mourning at court. The husband and father had fallen a sacrifice to his love for the queen and her family. The queen was extremely embarrassed. What course could she with safety pursue? If she should yield to the dictates of her own heart, and give expression to her emotions of sympathy and gratitude, she would rouse to still greater fury the indignation of the populace who were accusing her of the desire to escape, and who considered this desire as one of the greatest of crimes. Should she, on the other hand, sur- render herself to the dictates of prudence, and aeglect openly to manifest any special interest 128 MARIA ANTOINETTE. in their behalf, how severely must she be cen- sured by the Loyalists for her ingratitude to- ward those who had been irretrievably ruined through their love for her. The queen was extremely pained by this un- expected and impolitic presentation; for the fate of others, far dearer to her than her own life, were involved in her conduct. She with- drew from the painful scene to her private apartment, threw herself into a chair, and, weeping bitterly, said to an intimate friend : *'We must perish! We are assailed by men who possess extraordinary talent, and who shrink from no crime. We are defended by those who have the kindest intention, but who have no adequate idea of our situation. They have exposed me to the animosity of both parties by presenting to me the widow and the son of the Marquis of Favras. Were I free to act as my heart impels me, I should take the child of the man who has so nobly sacrificed himself for us, and adopt him as my own, and place him at the table between the king and myself. But, surrounded by the assassins who have destroyed his father, I did not dare even to cast my eyes upon him. The Eoyal- ists will blame me for not having appeared in- terested in this poor child. The Eevolutionists will be enraged at the idea that his presenta- tion should have been thought agreeable to me. ' ' The nest day the queen sent, by a con- THE PALACE A PRISON. 1^9 fidential friend, a purse of gold to Madame Favras, and assured her that she would ever watch, with the deepest interest, over her for- tune and that of her son. Innumerable plans were now formed for the rescue of the royal family, and abandoned. The king could not be roused to energetic action. His passive courage was indomitable, but he could not be induced to act on the offensive, and, still hoping that by a spirit of conciliation he might win back the affections of his people, he was extremely reluctant to take any measures by which he should be arrayed in hostility against them. Maria, on the con- trary, knew that decisive action alone could be of any avail. One night, about 10 o'clock, the king and queen were sitting in their private apartment of the Tuileries, endeavoring to be- guile the melancholy hours by a game of cards. The sister of the king, Madame Elizabeth, with a very pensive countenance, was kneeling upon a stool, by the side of the table, over- looking the game. A nobleman. Count d'lnis- dal, devotedly attached to the fortunes of the royal family, entered, and, in a low tone of voice, informed the king and queen that a plan was already matured to rescue them that very night ; that a section of the National Guard was gained over, that sets of fleet horses were placed in relays at suitable distances, that car- riages were ready, and that now they only 130 MARIA ANTOINETTE. wanted the king's consent, and the scheme, at midnight, would be carried into execution. The king listened to every word without the movement of a muscle of his countenance, and, fixing his eyes upon the cards in his hand, as if paying no attention to what had been said, uttered not a syllable. For some time there was perfect silence. At last Maria Antoinette, who was extremely anxious- that the king should avail himself of this opportunity for escape, broke the embarrassing silence by say- ing: **Do you hear, sir, what is said to us?" ''Yes," replied the king, calmly, ''I hear," and he continued his game. Again there was a long silence. The queen, extremely anxious and impatient, for the hour of midnight was drawing near, again interrupted the silence by saying earnestly: ''But, sir, some reply must be made to this communication." The king paused for a momeot, and then, still look- ing upon the cards in his hand, said: "TAe king cannot consent to he carried off.'' Maria Antoinette was greatly disappointed at the want of decision and of magnanimity implied in this answer. She, however, said to the nobleman very eagerly : "Be careful and report this answer correctly, the king cannot consent to be carried off." The king's answer was doubtless intended as a tacit consent, while he wished to avoid the responsibility of partici- pating in the design. The count, however. THE t^ALACEl A PRISON. 131 was greatly displeased at this answer, and said to his associates: "I understand it per- fectly. He is willing that we should seize and carry him, as if by violence, but wishes, in case of failure, to throw all the blame upon those who are periling their lives to save him." The queen hoped earnestly that the enterprise would not be abandoned, and sat up till after midnight preparing her cases of valua- bles, and anxiously watching for the coming of their deliverers. But the hours lingered away, and the morning dawned, and the palace was still their prison. The queen, shortly after, remarking upon this indecision of the king, said: ^*We must seek safety in flight. Our peril increases every day. No one can tell to what extremities these disturb- ances will lead. ' ' La Fayette had informed the king, that, should he see any alarming movement among the disaffected, threatening the exposure of the royal family to new acts of violence, he would give them an intimation of their danger by the discharge of a few cannon from the battery upon the Pont Neuf. One night the report of guns from some casual discharge was heard, and the king, regarding it as the warn- ing, in great alarm flew to the apartments of the queen. She was not there. He passed hastily from room to room, and at last found her in the chamber of the dauphin, with her 13^ MARIA ANtOtNETTEi two children in her arms. ''Madame, " said the king to her, "I have been seeking you. I was very anxious about you." ''You find me," replied the queen, pointing to her children, "at my station." Several unavailing attempts were made at this time to assassinate the queen. These dis- coveries, however, seemed to cause Maria no alarm, and she could not be induced to adopt any precautions for her personal safety. Earely did a day pass in which she did not encounter, in some form, ignominy or insult. As the heat of summer came on, the royal family removed to the palace of St. Cloud without any opposition, though the National Guard followed them, professedly for their protection, but, in reality, to guard against their escape. Here another plan was formed for flight. The different members of the royal family, in disguise, were to meet in a wood four leagues from St. Cloud. Some friends of the royal family, who could be perfectly re- lied upon, were there to join them. A large carriage was to be in attendance, sufficient to conduct the whole family. The attendants at the palace would have no suspicion of their escape until 9 o'clock in the evening, as the royal carriages were frequently out until that hour, and it would then take some time to send to Paris to call together the National Assembly at midnight, and to send couriers to THE PALACE A PRISON. 133 overtake the fugitives. Thus, with fleet horses and fresh relays, and having six or seven hours the start, the king and queen might hope to escape apprehension. The queen very highly approved of this plan, and v^^as very anxious to have it carried into execu- tion. But, for some unknown reason, the at- tempt was relinquished. There were occasional exhibitions of strong individual attachment for the king and queen, which would, for a moment, create the illusion that a reaction had commenced in the public mind. One day the queen was sitting in her apartment at St. Cloud, in the deepest dejec- tion of spirits, mechanically working upon some tapestry to occupy the joyless and linger- ing hours. It was 4 o'clock in the afternoon. The palace was deserted and silent. The very earth and sky seemed mourning in sympathy with the mourning queen. Suddenly, an un- usual noise, as of many persons conversing in an undertone, was heard beneath the window. The queen immediately rose and went to the window ; for every unaccustomed sound was, in such perilous times, an occasion of alarm. Below the balcony, she saw a group of some fifty persons, men and women, from the coun- try, apparently anxious to catch a glimpse of her. They were evidently humble people, dressed in the costume of peasants. As soon as they saw the queen, they gave utterance to 134 MARIA ANTOINETTE. the most passionate expressions of attachment and devotion. The queen, who had long been accustomed only to looks and words of defiance and insult, was entirely overpowered by these kind words, and could not refrain from burst- ing into tears. The sight of the weeping queen redoubled the affectionate emotions of the loyal group, and, with the utmost enthus- iasm, they reiterated their assurances of love and their prayers for her safety. A lady of the queen's household, apprehensive that the scene might arrest the attention of the numer- ous spies who surrounded them, led her from the window. The affectionate group, appre- ciating the prudence of the measure, with tears of sympathy expressed their assent, and with prayers, tears, and benedictions, retired. Maria was deeply touched by these unwonted tones of kindness, and, throwing herself into her chair, sobbed with uncontrollable emotion. It was long before she could regain her ac- customed composure. Many unsuccessful attempts were made at this time to assassinate the queen. A wretch by the name of Kotondo succeeded one day in scaling the walls of the garden, and hid him- self in the shrubberj^ intending to stab the queen as she passed in her usual solitary promenade. A shower prevented the queen from going into the garden, and thus her life was saved. And yet, though the assassin was THE PALACE A PRISON. 135 discovered and arrested, the hostility of the public toward the royal family was such that he was shielded from punishment. The king and queen occasionally h eld priv- ate interviews at midnight, with chosen friends, secretly introduced to the palace, in the apartment of the queen. And there, in low tones of voice, and fearful of detection by the numerous spies which infested the palace, they would deliberate upon their peril, and upon the innumerable plans suggested for their extrication. Some recommended the resort to violence ; that the king should gather around him as many of his faithful subjects as possi- ble, and settle the difficulties by an immediate appeal to arms. Others urged further com- promise, and the spirit of conciliation, hoping that the king might thus regain his lost popu- larity, and re-establish his tottering throne. Others urged, and Maria coincided most cor- dially in this opinion, that it was necessary for the royal family to escape from Paris im- mediately, which was the focus of disaffection, and at a safe distance, surrounded by their armed friends, to treat with their enemies and to compel them to reasonable terms. The in- decision of the king, however, appeared to be an insuperable obstacle in the way of any de- cisive action. One day a delegation appeared before the royal family from the Conquerors of the Bas- 136 MARIA ANTOINETTE. tile, with a new year's gift for the young dau- phin. The present consisted of a box of domi- noes curiously wrought from the stone of which that celebrated state prison was built. It was an ingenious plan to insult the royal family under the pretense of respect and affection, for on the lid of the box there was engraved the fol- lowing sentiment : ' * These stones, from the walls which inclosed the innocent victims of arbi- trary power, have been converted into a toy, to be presented to you, monseigneur, as an homage of the people' s love, and to teach you the extent of their power. ' ' About this time, the two aunts of the king left France, ostensibly for the purpose of traveling, but, in reality, as an experiment, to see what opposition would be made to prevent members of the royal family from leaving the kingdom. As soon as their intention was known, it excited the greatest popular ferment. A vast crowd of men and women assembled at the palace, to prevent, if possible, with law- less violence, their departure. It was merely two elderly ladies who wished to leave France, but the excitement pervaded even the army, and many of the soldiers joined the mob in the determination that they should not be per- mitted to depart. The traces of the carriages were cut, and the oflQcers, who tried to protect the princesses, were nearly murdered. The whole nation was agitated by the attempts of Maria A it int,li The Princess Lamballe Bstore the Tribunal. {See p. 202. ) THE PALACE A PRISON. 137 these two peaceful ladies to visit Eome. When at some distance from Paris, they were arrested, and the report of their arrest was sent to the National Assembly. The king found the excitement so great, that he wrote a letter to the Assembly, informing them that his aunts wished to leave France to visit other countries, and that, though he witnessed their separation from him and his family with much regret, he did not feel that he had any right to deprive them of the privilege which the hum- blest citizens enjoyed, of going whenever and wherever they pleased. The question of their detention was for a long time debated in the Assembly. '*What right," said one, **have we to prohibit these ladies from traveling.'* *' We have a law, " another indignantly re- plied, "paramount to all others — the law which commands us to take care of the public safety." The debate was finally terminated by the caustic remark of a member who was ashamed of the protracted discussion. "Europe," said he, "will be greatly aston- ished, no doubt, on hearing that the National Assembly spent four hours in deliberating upon the departure of two ladies who preferred hear- ing mass at Eome rather than at Paris." The debate was thus terminated, and the ladies were permitted to depart. Early in the spring of 1791, the king and queen, who had been passing some time in 11 — Antoinetts 138 MARIA ANTOINETTE. Paris at the Tuileries, wished to return to their country seat at St. Cloud. Many members of the household had already gone there, and din- ner was prepared for the royal family at the palace for their reception. The carriages were at the door, a^nd, as the king and queen were descending, a great tumult in the yard arrested their attention. They found that the guard, fearful that they might escape, had mutinied, and closed the door of the palace, declaring that they would not let them pass. Some of the personal friends of the king inter- posed in favor of the insulted captives, and en- deavored to secure for them more respectful treatment. They were, however, seized by the infuriated soldiers, and narrowly escaped with their lives. The king and queen returned in humiliation to their apartments, feeling that their palace was indeed a prison. They, how- ever, secretly did not regret the occurrence, as it made more public the indignities to which they were exposed, and would aid in justifying before the community any attempts they might hereafter make to escape. The king had at length become thoroughly aroused to a sense of the desperate position of his affairs. But the royal family was watched so narrowly that it was now extremely difficult to make any preparations for departure ; and the king and queen, both having been brought up surrounded by the luxuries and restraints THE PALACE A PRISON. 13§ of a palace, knew so little of the world, and yet were so accustomed to have their own way, that they were entirely incapable of forming any judicious plan for themselves, and, at the same time, they were quite unwilling to adopt the views of their more intelligent friends. They began, however, notwithstanding the most earnest remonstrances, to make preparations for flight by providing themselves with Qvery conceivable comfort for their exile. In vain did their friends assure them that they could purchase anything they desired in any part of Europe; that such quantities of luggage would be only an incumbrance ; that it was dangerous, under the eyes of their vigilant enemies, to be making such extensive prepara- tions. Neither the king nor queen would heed such monitions. The queen persisted in her resolution to send to Brussels, piece by piece, all the articles of a complete and extensive wardrobe for herself and her children, to be ready for them there upon their arrival. Ma- dame Campan, the intimate friend and com- panion of the queen, was extremely uneasy in view of this imprudence; but, as she could not dissuade the queen, she went out again and again, in the evening and in disguise, to pur- chase the necessary articles and have them made up. She adopted the precaution of pur- chasing but few articles at any one shop, and of employing various seamstresses, lest sus- 140 MARIA ANTOINETTE. picion should be excited. She had the gar- ments made for the daughter of the queen, cut by the measure of another young lady who exactly resembled her in size. Gradually they thus filled one large trunk with clothing, which was sent to the dwelling of a lady, one of the friends of the queen, who was to convey it to Brussels. The queen had a very magnificent dressing- case, which cost twelve hundred dollars. This she also determined that she could not leave behind. It could not be taken from the palace, and sent away out of the country, without at- tracting attention, and leading at once to the conviction that the queen was to follow it. The queen, in her innocent simplicity of mankind, thought that the people could be blinded like children, by telling them that she intended to send it as a present to the Archduchess Chris- tina. However, by the most earnest remon- strances of her friends, she was induced only so far to change her plan as to consent that the charge d'affaires from Vienna should ask her at her toilet, and in the presence of all around her, to have just such a dressing-case made for the archduchess. This plan was carried into execution, and the dressing-case was thus publicly made ; but, as it could not be finished in season, the queen sent her own dressing- case, saying that she would keep the new one herself. It, however, did not deceive the spies THE PALACE A PRISON. 141 who surrounded the queen. They noticed all these preparations, and communicated them to the authorities. She also very deliberately collected all her diamonds and jewels in her private boudoir, and beguiled the anxious hours in inclosing them in cotton and packing them away. These diamonds, carefully boxed were placed in the hands of the queen's hair- dresser, a man in whom she could confide to be carried by him to Brussels. He faithfully fulfilled his trust. But one of the women of the queen whom she did not suspect of treach- ery, but who was a spy of the Assembly, en- tered her boudoir by false keys when the queen was absent, and reported all these proceedings. The hair-dresser perished upon the scaffold for his fidelity. Let the name of Leonard be honored. The infamous informer has gone to oblivion, and we will not aid even to embalm her name in contempt. The Mob March inaj to A^ersailles. 2 mm W' ^^^ ■ ,■ t^ » "^^^(ff---. S[^S^^55-X CHAPTEK yn. THE FLIGHT. The ferment in the National Assembly was steadily and strongly increasing. Every day brought new rumors of the preparation of the emigrants to invade France, aided by the armies of monarchical Europe, and to desolate the rebellious empire with fire and sword. Tidings were floating upon every breeze grossly exaggerated of the designs of the king and queen to escape, to join the avenging army and to wreak a terrible vengeance upon their country. Furious speeches were made in the Assembly and in the streets, to rouse to mad- ness the people, now destitute of work and of bread. "Citizens," 'ferociously exclaimed Marat, ** watch, with an eagle eye, that palace, the impenetrable den where plots are ripening against the people. There a perfidious queen lords it over a treacherous king, and rears the cubs of tyranny. Lawless priests there con- secrate the arms which are to be bathed in the blood of the people. The genius of Austria is there, guided by the Austrian Antoinette. The emigrants are there stimulated in their 142 THE FLIGHT. 143 thirst for vengeance. Every night the nobil- ity, with concealed daggers, steal into this den. They are knights of the poniard — as- sassins of the people. Why is not the prop- erty of emigrants confiscated — their houses burned — a price set upon their heads? The king is ready for flight. Watch ! watch ! a great blow is preparing— is ready to burst; if you do not prevent it by a counter blow more sudden, more terrible, the people and liberty are annihilated." The king and queen, in the apartments where they were virtually imprisoned, read these angry and inflammatory appeals, and both now felt that no further time was to be lost in at- tempting to effect their escape. It was known that the brother of the king, subsequently Charles X., was going from court to court in Europe, soliciting aid for the rescue of the illustrious prisoners. It was known that the King of Austria, brother of Maria Antoinette, had promised to send an army of thirty-five thousand men to unite with the emigrants at Coblentz in their march upon Paris. Every monarch in Europe was alarmed, in view of the instability of his own throne, should the rebellion of the people against the throne in France prove triumphant; and Spain, Prussia, Sardinia, Naples, and Switzerland had guar- anteed equal forces to assist in the re-establish- ment of the French monarchy. It is not 144 MARIA ANTOINETTE. strange that the exasperation of the people should have been aroused by the knowledge of these facts beyond all bounds. And their leaders were aware that they were engaged in a conflict in which defeat was inevitable death. The king had now resolved, if possible, to escape. He. however, declared that it never was his intention to join the emigrants and in- vade France with a foreign force. That, on the contrary, he strongly disapproved of the measures adopted by the emigrants as calcu- lated only to increase the excitement against the throne, and to peril his cause. He de- clared that it was only his wish to escape from the scenes of violence, insult, and danger to which he was exposed in Paris, and some- where on the frontiers of his kingdom to sur- round himself by his loyal subjects, and there endeavor amicably to adjust the difficulties which desolated the empire. The character of the king renders it most probable that such was his intention, and such has been the ver- dict of posterity. But there was another source of embarrass- ment which extremely troubled the royal family. The emigrants were deliberating upon the ex- pediency of declaring the throne vacant by de- fault of the king's liberty, and to nominate his brother M. le Comte d'Artois regent in his stead. The king greatly feared this moral for- feiture of the throne with which he was men- THE FLIGHT. 145 aced under the pretense of delivering him. He was justly apprehensive that the advance of an invading army, under the banners of his brother, would be the signal for the immediate destruction of himself and family. Flight, consequently, had become his only refuge; and flight was encompassed with the most fear- ful perils. Long and agonizing were the months of deliberation in which the king and queen saw these dangers hourly accumulating around them, while each day the vigilance of their enemies was redoubled, and the chances of escape diminished. The following plan was at last adopted for the flight. The royal family were to leave Paris at midnight in disguise, in two carriages, for Montmedy, on the frontiers of France and Germany, about two hundred miles from Paris. This town was within the limits of France, so that the king could not be said to have fled from his kingdom. The nearest road and the great public throughfare led through the city of Kheims; but, as the king had been crowned there, he feared that he might meet some one by whom he would be recognized, and he therefore determined to take a more circuitous route, by by-roads and through small and unfrequented villages. Eelays of horses were to be privately conveyed to all these villages, that the carriages might be drawn on with the greatest rapidity, and 110 MARIA ANTOINETTE. small detachments of soldiers were to be stationed at important posts, to resist any interruption which might possibly be at- tempted by the peasantry. The king also had a large carriage built privately, expressly for himself and his family, while certain nec- essary attendants were to follow in another. The Marquis de Bouille, who commanded a portion of the troops still faithful to the king, was the prime confidant and helper in this movement. He earnestly, but in vain, en- deavored to induce the king to make some alterations in this plan. He entreated him, in the first place, not to excite suspicion by the use of a peculiar carriage constructed for his own use, but to make use of common carriages such as were daily seen traversing the roads. He also besought him to travel by the com- mon highway, where relays of horses were at all times ready by night and by day. He represented to the king that, should he take the unfrequented route, it would be necessary to send relays of horses beforehand to all these little villages; that so unusual an occurrence would attract attention and provoke inquiry. He urged also upon the king that detachments of troops sent along these solitary roads would excite curiosity, and would inevitably create suspicion. The king, however, self-willed, refused to heed these remonstrances, and per- sisted in his own plan. He, however, con- THE FLIGHT. 147 sented to take with him the Marquis d'Agoult, a man of great firmness and energy, to advise and assist in the unforeseen accidents which might embarrass the enterprise. He also re- luctantly consented to ask the Emperor of Austria to make a threatening movement to- ward the frontier, which would be an excuse for the movement through these villages of de- tachments of French troops. These arrangements made, the Marquis de Bouille sent a faithful officer to take an accurate survey of the road, and present a report to the king. He then, under various pretexts, re- moved to a distance those troops who were known to be disaffected to the royal cause, and endeavored to gather along the line of flight those in whose loyalty he thought he could con^de. /At the palace of the Tuileries, the secret of the contemplated flight had been confided only to the king, the queen, the Princess Elizabeth, sister of the king, and two or three faithful attendants. The Count de Fersen, a most noble-spirited young gentleman from Sweden, most cheerfully periled his life in undertaking the exterior arrangements of this hazardous enterprise. He had often been admitted, in the happy days of Maria Antoinette, to the parties and fetes which lent wings to the hours at the Little Trianon, and chivalrous admira- tion of her person and character induced him 148 MARIA ANTOINETTE. to consecrate himself with the most passionate devotion to her cause. Three soldiers of the bodyguard, Yalorg, Monstrei, and Maldan, were also received into confidence, and unhesi- tatingly engaged in an enterprise in which suc- cess was extremely problematical, and failure was certain death. They, disguised as serv- ants, were to mount behind the carriages, and protect the royal family at all risks. The night of the 20th of June at length ar- rived, and the hearts of the royal inmates of the Tuileries throbbed violently as the hour approached which was to decide their destiny. At the hour of 11, according to their custom, they took leave of those friends who were in the habit of paying their respects to them at that time, and dismissed their attendants as if to retire to their beds. As soon as they were alone, they hastily, and with trembling hands, dressed themselves in the disguises which had been prepared for their journey, and by differ- ent doors and at different times left the palace. It was the dark hour of midnight. The lights glimmered feebly from the lamps, but still there was the bustle of crowds coming and going in those ever-busy streets. The queen, in her traveling dress, leaning upon the arm of one of the bodyguard, and leading her little daughter Maria Theresa by the hand, passed out at a door in the rear of the palace, and hastened through the Place du Carrousel, and, THE FLIGHT. 149 losing her way, crossed the Seine by the Pont Koyal, and wandered for some time through the darkest and most obscure streets before she found the two hackney-coaches which were waiting for them at the Quai des Theatins. The king left the palace in a similar manner, leading his son Louis by the hand. He also lost his way in the unfrequented streets through which it was necessary for him to pass. The queen waited for half an hour in the most in- tense anxiety before the king arrived. At last, however, all were assembled, and, entering the hackney-coaches, the Count de Fersen, dis- guised as a coachman, leaped up on the box, and the wheels rattled over the pavements of the city as the royal family fled in this ob- scurity from their palace and their throne. The emotions excited in the bosoms of the illustrious fugitives were too intense, and the perils to which they were exposed too dreadful, to allow of any conversation. Grasping each other's hands, they sat in silence through the dark hours, with the gloomy remembrance of the past oppressing their spirits, and with the dread that the light of morning might introduce them to new disasters. A couple of hours of silence and gloom passed slowly away, and the coaches arrived at Bondy, the first stage from Paris. The gray dawn of the morning was just appearing in the east as they hurriedly changed their coaches for the large traveling 1^0 MARIA ANTOINETTE. carriage the king had ordered and another coach which there awaited them. Count de Fersen kissed the hands of the king and queen, and leaving them, according to previous ar- rangements, with their attendants hastened the same night by another route to Brussels, in order to rejoin the royal family at a later period. The king's carriages now rolled rapidly on toward Chalons, an important town on their route. The queen had assumed the title and character of a German baroness returning to Frankfort with her two children ; the king was her valet de chambre, the Princess Elizabeth, the king's sister, was her waiting maid. The passport was made out in the following manner : '^**Permit to pass Madame the Baroness of Korf, who is returning to Frankfort with her two children, her waiting-maid, her valet de chamhre, and three domestics. *'The Minister of Foreign Affairs. , *'MONTMORIN.'V At each post-house on the road relays of eight horses were waiting for the royal car- riages. When the sun rose over the hills of France they were already many leagues from the capital, and as the carriages rattled furi- ously along over hill and dale, the unwonted spectacle on tlitit unfrequented road attracted THE FLIGHT. 151 much attentioD. At every little village where they stopped fur an exchange of horses, the villagers gathered in groups around the car- riages, admiring the imposing spectacle. The king was fully aware that the knowledge of his escape could not long be concealed from the authorities at Paris, and that all the resources of his foes would immediately be put into req- uisition to secure his arrest. They there- fore pressed on with the utmost speed, that they might get as far as possible on their way before the pursuit should commence. The re- markable size and structure of the carriage which the king had caused to be constructed, the number of horses drawing the carriages, the martial figures and commanding features of the three bodyguard strangely contrasting with the livery of menials, the portly appearance and kingly countenance of Louis, who sat in a corner of the carriage in the garh oi a, valet de chamhre, all these circumstances conspired to excite suspicion and to magnify the dangers of the royal family. They, however, proceeded without interruption until they arrived at the little town of Montmirail, near Chalons, where, unfortunately, one of the carriages broke down, and they were detained an hour in making re- pairs. It was an hour of intense anxiety, for they knew that every moment was increasing the probability of their capture. The carriage, however, was repaired, and they started again lZ — Antoinette 152 MARIA ANTOINETTE. on their flight. The sun shone brightly upon the fields, which were blooming in all the ver- dure of the opening summer. The seclusion of the region through which they were passing was enchanting to their eyes, weary of looking out upon the tumultuous mobs of Paris. The children, worn out by the exhaustion of a sleep- less night, were peacefully slumbering in their parents' arms. Each revolution of the wheels was bringing them nearer to the frontier, where their faithful friend, M. de Bouille, was wait- ing, with his loyal troops, to receive them. A gleam of hope and joy now rose in their bosoms ; and, as they entered the town of Cha- lons, at 3 : 30 o'clock in the afternoon, smiles of joy lighted their countenances, and they began to congratulate themselves that they were fast approaching the end of their dangers and their sufferings. As the horses were chang- ing, a group of idlers gathered around the car- riages. The king, emboldened by his dis- tance from the capital, imprudently looked out at the window of the carriage. The post- master, who had been in Paris, instantly recognized the king. He, however, without the manifestation of the least surprise, aided in harnessing the horses, and ordered the postilion to drive on. He would not be an accomplice in arresting the escape of the king. At the next relay, at Point Sommeville, quite a concourse gathered around the carriages, and THE FLIGHT. 153 ibe populace appeared uneasy and suspicious. They watched the travelers very narrowly, and were observed to be whispering with one another, and making ominous signs. No one, however, ventured to make any movement to detain the carriages, and they proceeded on their way. A detachment of fifty hussars had been appointed to meet the king at this spot. They were there at the assigned moment. The breaking down of the carriage, however, de- tained the king, and the hussars, observing the suspicions their presence was awaking, de- parted half an hour before the arrival of the carriages. Had the king arrived but one half hour sooner, the safety of the royal family would have been secured. The king was sur- prised and alarmed at not meeting the guard he had anticipated, and drove rapidly on to the next relay at Sainte Menehould. It was now 7 : 30 o'clock of a beautiful summer's evening. The sun was just sinking below the horizon, but the broad light still lingered upon the val- leys and the hills. As they were changing the horses, the king, alarmed at not meeting the friends he expected, put his head out of the window to see if any friend was there who could inform him why the detachments were detained. The son of the postmaster instantly recognized the king by his resemblance to the imprint upon the coins in circulation. The report was immediately whispered about among 154 MARIA ANTOINETTE. the crowd, but there was not sufficient force, upon the spur of the moment, to venture to de- tain the carriages. There was in the town a detachment of troops, friendly to the king, who would immediately have come to his rescue had the people attempted to arrest him. It was whispered among the dragoons that the king was in the carriage, and the commandant immediately ordered the troops to mount their horses and follow to protect the royal family ; but the National Guard in the place, far more numerous, surrounded the barracks, closed the stables, and would not allow the soldiers to de- part. The king, entirely unconscious of these movements, was pursuing his course toward the next relay. Young Drouet, however, the post- master's son, had immediately, upon recogniz- ing the king, saddled his fleetest horse, and started at his utmost speed for the post-house at Varennes, that he might, before the king's arrival, inform the municipal authorities of his suspicions, and collect a sufficient force to detain the travelers. One of the dragoons, witnessing the precipitate departure of Drouet, and suspecting its cause, succeeded in mount- ing his horse, and pursued him, resolved to overtake him, and either detain him until the king had passed, or take his life. Drouet, however, perceiving that he was pursued, plunged into the woods, with every by-path of which he was familiar, and, in the darkness of THE FLIGHT. 155 the night, eluded his pursuer, and arrived at Yarennes, by a very much shorter route than the carriage road, nearly two hours before the king. He immediately communicated to a band of young men his suspicions, and they, emulous of the glory of arresting their sovereign, did not inform the authorities or arouse the populace, but, arming them- selves, they formed an ambush to seize the persons of the travelers. It was 7 : 30 o'clock of a cold, dark, and gloomy night, when the royal family, exhausted with twenty-four hours of incessant anxiety and fatigue, arrived at the few straggling houses in the outskirts of the village of Varennes. They there confi- dently expected to find an escort and a relay ol horses provided by their careful friend, M. Bouille, A small river passes through the little town of Varennes, dividing it into two portions, the upper and lower town, which villages are con- nected by a bridge crossing the stream. The king, by some misunderstanding, expected to find the relay upon the side of the river before crossing the bridge. But the fresh horses had been judiciously placed upon the other side of the river, so that the carriages, having crossed the bridge at full speed, could more easily, ^ith a change of horses, hasten unmolested on their way. The king and queen, greatly alarmed at finding no horses, left the carriage, 156 ' MARIA ANTOINETTE. and wandered about in sad perplexity for half an hour, through the dark, silent, and deserted streets. In most painful anxiety they returned to their carriages, and decided to cross the river, hoping to find the horses and their friends in the upper town. The bridge was a narrow stone structure with its entrance sur- mounted by a gloomy demilune arch, upon which was reared a tower, a relic of the feudal system, which had braved the storms of cen- turies. Here, under this dark archway, Drouet and his companions had formed their ambus- cade. The horse had hardly entered the gloomy pass, when they were stopped by a cart which had been overturned, and five or six armed men, seizing their heads, ordered the travelers to alight and exhibit their passports. The three bodyguard seized their arms, and were ready to sacrifice their lives in the attempt to force the passage, but the king would allow- no blood to be shed. The horses were turned round by the captors, and the carriages were escorted by Drouet and his comrades to the door of a grocer named Sausse, who was the humble mayor of this obscure town. At the same time, some of the party rushed to the church, mounted the belfry, and rang the alarm bell. The solemn booming of that midnight bell roused the affrighted inhabitants from their pillows, and soon the whole population was gathered around the carriages and about THE FLIGHT. 157 the door of the grocer's shop. It was in vain for the king to deny his rant. His marked features betrayed him. Clamor and confusion filled the night air. Men, women, and chil- dren were running to and fro ; the populace were arming, to be prepared for any emergency ; and the royal family were worn out by sleep- lessness and toil. At last Louis made a bold appeal to the magnanimity of his foes. Tak- ing the hand of Sauase, he said : **Yes! I am your king, and in your hands I place my destiny, and that of my wife, my sis- ter, and my children. Our lives and the fate of the empire depend upon you. Permit me to continue my journey. I have no design of leaving the country. I am but going to the midst of a part of the army, and in a French town to regain my real liberty, of which the factions at Paris deprive me. From thence I wish to make terms with the assembly, who, like myself, are held in subjection through fear. I am not about to destroy, but to save and to secure the constitution. If you detain me, I my- self, France, all, are lost. I conjure you, as a father, as a man, as a citizen, leave the road free to us. In an hour we shall be saved, and with us France is saved. And, if you have any re- spect for one whom you profess to regard as your master, I command you, as your king, to permit us to depart." The appeal touched the heart of the grocer 158 MARIA ANTOINETTE. and the captor^ by whom the king was sur* rounded. Tears came into the eyes of many, they hesitated : the expression of their coun- tenances showed that they would willingly, if they dared to consult the dictates of their own hearts, let the king pass on. A more affecting scene can hardly be imagined. It was mid- night. Torches and flambeaux were gleaming around. Men, women, and children were hurrying to and fro in the darkness. The alarm bell was pealing out its hurried sounds through the still air. A crowd of half -dressed peasants and artisans was rapidly accumulat- ing about the inn. The king stood pleading with his subjects for liberty and life, far more moved by compassion for his wife and children than for himself. The children, weary and terrified, and roused suddenly from the sleep in which they had been lost in their parents' arms, gazed upon the strange scene with unde- fined dread, unconscious of the magnitude of their peril. The queen, seated upon a bale of goods in the shop, with her two children cling- ing to her side, plead, at times with the tears of despair, and again with all the majesty of her queenly nature, for pity -or for justice. She hoped that a woman's heart throbbed be- neath the bosom of the wife of the mayor, and made an appeal to her which one would think that, under the circumstances, no human heart could have resisted. THE FLIGHT. 159 **Tou are a mother, madame/* said the queen in most imploring accents, "you are a wife! the fate of a wife and mother is in your hands. Think what I must suffer for these children — for my husband. At one word from you I shall owe them to you. The Queen of France will owe you more than her kingdom — more than life. ' ' ** Madame," coldly replied the selfish and calculating woman, *'I should be happy to help you if I could without danger. You are think- ing of your husband, 1 am thinking of mine. It is a wife's first duty to think of her own hus- band." The queen saw that all appeals to such a spirit must be in vain, and, taking her two children by the hand, with Madame Elizabeth ascended the stairs which conducted from the grocer's shop to his rooms above, where she was shielded from the gaze of the crowd. She threw herself into a chair, and, overwhelmed with anguish, burst into a flood of tears. The alarm bell continued to ring; telegraphic dis- patches were sent to Paris, communicating tid- ings of the arrest; the neighboring villagers flocked into town; the National Guard, com- posed of people opposed to the king were rapid- ly assembled from all quarters, and the streets barricaded to prevent the possibility of any rescue by the soldiers who advocated the royal cause. Thus the dreadful hours lingered away 160 MARIA ANTOINETTE. till the morning dawned. The increasing crowd stimulated one another to ferocity and barbarity. Insults, oaths, and imprecations incessantly fell upon the ears of the captives. The queen probably endured as much of mental agony that night as the human mind is capable of enduring. The conflict of indignation, ter- ror, and despair was so dreadful, that her hair, which the night previous had been auburn, was in the morning white as snow. This extraor- dinary fact is well attested, and indicates an enormity of woe almost incomprehenaible. There was no knowledge in Paris of the king*8 departure until 7 o'clock in the morn- ing, when the servants of the palace entered the apartments of the king and queen, and found the beds undisturbed and the rooms de- serted. The alarm spread like wildfire through the palace and through the city. The alarm bells were rung, cannon were fired, and the cry resounded through the streets, ''The king has fled! the king has fled!" The terrified popu- lace were expecting almost at the next moment to see him return with an avenging army to visit his rebellious subjects with the most terrible retribution. From all parts of the city, every lane, and street, and alley leading to the Tuileries was thronged with the crowd, pouring on, like an inundation, toward the de- serted palace. The doors were forced open, and the interior of the palace was instantly lO — Antoinette THE FLIGHT. 161 filled with the swarming multitudes. The mob from the streets polluted the sanctuaries of royalty with every species of vulgarity and ob- scenity. An amazon market-woman took pos- session of the queen's bed, and, spreading her cherries upon it, she took her seat upon the royal couch, exclaiming, *' To-day it is the nation's turn to take their ease." One of the caps of the queen was placed in derision upon the head of a vile girl of the street. She ex- claimed that it would sully her forehead, and trampled it under her feet with contempt. Every conceivable insult was heaped upon the royal family. Placards posted upon the walls offered trivial rewards to any one who would bring back the noxious animals which had fled from the palace. The metropolis was agitated to its very center, and the most vigor- ous measures immediately adopted to arrest the king, if possible, before he should reach the friends who could afford him protection. This turmoil continued for many hours, till the cry passed from mouth to mouth, and filled the streets, "He is arrested! he is arrested!" CHAPTER Vin. THE BETUBN TO PARIS. During all the long hours of the night, while the king was detained in the grocer's shop at Varennes, he was, with anxiety inde- scribable, looking every moment for soldiers to appear, sent by M. Bouille for his rescue. But the National Guard, which was composed of those who were in favor of the Revolution, were soon assembled in such numbers as to render all idea of rescue hopeless. The sun rose upon Yarennes but to show the king the utter desperation of his condition, and he re- signed himself to despair. The streets were filled with an infuriated populace, and from every direction the people were flocking toward the focus of excitement. The children of the royal family, utterly exhausted, had fallen asleep. Madame Elizabeth, one of the most lovely and gentle of earthly beings, the sister of the king, who, through all these trials, and, indeed, through her whols life, manifested peculiarly the spirit of heaven, was, regardless of herself, earnestly praying for support for her brother and sister, 162 IHE RETURN TO tARIS. 163 Preparations were immediately made to for- ward the captives to Paris, lest the troops of M. Bouille, informed of their arrest, should come to their rescue. The king did everything in his power to delay the departure, and one of the women of the queen feigned sudden and alarming illness at the moment all of the rest had been pressed into the carriages. But the impatience of the populace could not thus be restrained. With shouts and threats they com- pelled all into the carriages, and the melan- choly procession, escorted by three or four thousand of the ISational Guaid, and -followed by a numerous and ever-increasing concourse of the people, moved slowly toward Paris. Hour after hour dragged heavily along as the fugitives, drinking the very dregs of humilia- tion, were borne hj their triumphant and exas- perated foes back to the horrors from which they had fled. The road was lined on either side by countless thousands, insulting the agonized victims with derision, menaces, and the most ferocious gestures. Yarennes is distant from Paris one hundred and eighty miles, and for this whole distance, by night and by day, with hardly an hour's delay for food or repose, the royal family were exposed to the keenest torture of which the spiritual nature is in this world susceptible. Every revolution of the wheels but brought them into contact with fresh vociferations of calumny. 164 MARIA ANTOINETTE. The«fury of the populace was so greai; tnat it was with difficulty that the guard could protect their captives from the most merciless massa- cre. Again and again there was a rush made at the carriages, and the mob was beaten back by the arms of the soldiers. One old gentle- man, M. Dampierre, ever accustomed to vener- ate royalty, stood by the roadside, affected by the profoundest grief in view of the melancholy spectacle. Uncovering his gray hairs, he bowed respectfully to his royal master, and ventured to give utterance to accents of sym- pathy. -The infuriated populace fell upon him like tigers, and tore him to pieces before the eyes of the king and queen. The wheels of the royal carriage came very near running over his bleeding corpse. The procession was at length met by com- missioners sent from the assembly to take charge of the king. Ashamed of the brutality of the people, Barnave and Petion, the two commissioners, entered the royal carriage to share the danger of its inmates. They shielded the prisoners from death, but they could not shield them from insult and outrage. An ecclesiastic, venerable in person and in char- acter, approached the carriages as they moved sadly along, and exhibited upon his features some traces of respect and sorrow for fallen royalty. It was a mortal offense. The brutal multitude would not endure a look even of THE RETURN TO PARIS. 165 sympathy for the descendant of a hundred kings. They rushed upon the defenseless clergyman, and would have killed him instantly had not Barnave most energetically interfered. "Frenchmen!" he shouted, from the carriage windows, "will you, a nation of brave men, become a people of murderers !" Barnave was a young man of much nobleness of character. His polished manners, and his sympathy for the wrecked and ruined family of the king, quite won their gratitude. Petion, on the contrary, was coarse and brutal. He was a Democrat in the worst sense of that abused word. He affected rude and rough familiarity with the royal family, lounged contemptuously upon the cushions, ate apples and melons, and threw the rind out of the window, careless whether or not he hit the king in the face. In all his remarks he seemed to take a ferocious pleasure in wounding the feelings of his vic- tims. As the cavalcade drew near to Paris, the crowds surrounding the carriages became still more dense, and the fury of the populace more unmeasured. The leaders of the National Assembly were very desirous of protecting the royal family from the rage of the mob, and to shield the nation from the disgrace of murdering the king, the queen, and their children in the streets. It was feared that, when the prisoners should lo — Antoinette 166 MARIA ANTOINETTE. enter the thronged city, where the mob had so long held undisputed sway, it would be impos- sible to restrain the passions of the multitude, and that the pavements would be defaced with the blood of the victims. Placards were pasted upon the walls in every part of the city, ** Who- ever applauds the king shall be beaten ; who- ever insults him shall be hung." As the car- riages approached the suburbs of the metrop- olis, the multitudes which thronged them be- came still more numerous and tumultuous, and the exhibitions of violence more appalling. All the dens of infamy in the city vomited their denizens to meet and deride, and, if pos- sible, to destroy the captured monarch. It was a day of intense and suffocating heat. Ten persons were crowded into the royal carriage. Not a breath of air fanned the fevered cheeks of the sufferers. The heat, reflected from the pavements and the bayonets, was almost in- supportable. Clouds of dust enveloped them, and the sufferings of the children were so great that the queen was actually apprehensive that they would die. The queen dropped the win- dow of the carriage, and, in a voice of agony, implored some one to give her a cup of water for her fainting child. "See, gentlemen," she exclaimed, "in what a condition my poor children are! one of them is choking." "We will yet choke them and you," was the brutal reply, "in another fashion." Several THE RETURN TO PARIS. 167 times the mob broke through the line which guarded the carriages, pushed aside the horses, and, mounting the steps, stretched their clinched fists in at the windows. The proces- sion moved perseveringly along in the midst of the clashing of sabers, the clamor of the blood- thirsty multitude, and the cries of men trampled under the hoofs of the horses. It was the 25th of June, 1791, at 7 o'clock in the evening, when this dreadful procession, passing through the Barrier de I'Etoile, en- tered the city, and traversed the streets, through double files of soldiers, to the Tuiler- ies. At length they arrived, half-dead with exhaustion and despair, at the palace. The crowd was so immense that it was with the ut- most difficulty that an entrance could be effected. At that moment, La Fayette, who had been adopting the most vigorous measures for the protection of the persons of the royal family, came to meet them. The moment Maria Antoinette saw him, forgetful of her own danger, and trembling for the bodyguard who had periled their lives for her family, she ex- claimed : " Monsieur La Fayette, save the body- guard." The king and queen alighted from the carriage. Some of the soldiers took the children, and carried them through the crowd into the palace. A member of the assembly, who had been inimical to the king, came for- ward and offered his arm to the queen for her 168 MARIA ANTOINETTE. protection. She looked him a moment in the face, and indignantly rejected the proffered aid of an enemy. Then, seeing a deputy who had been their friend, she eagerly accepted his arm, and ascended the steps of the palace. A prolonged roar, as of thunder, ascended from the multitudinous throng which surrounded the palace when the king and queen had en- tered, and the doors of their prison were again closed against them. La Fayette was at the head of the National Guard. He was a strong advocate for the rights of the people. At the same time, he wished to respect the rights of the king, and to sustain a constitutional monarchy. As soon as they had entered the palace, Maria Antoin- ette, with that indomitable spirit which ever characterized her, approached La Fayette, and offered to him the keys of her casket, as if he were her jailer. La Fayette, deeply wounded, refused to receive them. The queen indig- nantly, with her own hands, placed them in his hat. ''Your majesty will have the good- ness to take them back," said the marquis, "for I certainly shall not touch them." The position of La Fayette at this time was about as embarrassing as it could possibly have been ; and he was virtually the jailer of the royal family, answerable with his life for their safe keeping. He had always been a firm friend of civil and religious liberty. He THE RETURN TO PARIS. 169 was very anxious to see France blessed with those free institutions and that recognition of popular rights which are the glory of America, but he also wished to protect the king and queen from outrage and insult ; and a storm of popular fury had now risen which he knew not how to control or to guide. He, however, re- solved to do all in his power to protect the royal family, and to watch the progress of events with the hope of establishing constitu- tional liberty and a constitutional throne over France. The palace was now guarded, by command of the assembly, with a degree of rigor unknown before. The iron gates of the courts and garden of the Tuileries were kept locked. A list of the persons who were to be permitted to see the royal family was made out, and none others were allowed to enter. At every door sen- tinels were placed, and in every passage and in the corridor which connected the chambers of the king and queen, armed men were sta- tioned. The doors of the sleeping apartments of the king and queen were kept open night and day, and a guard was placed there to keep his eye ever upon the victims. No respect was paid to female modesty, and the queen was compelled to retire to her bed under the watchful eye of an unfeeling soldier. It seems impossible that a civilized people could have been guilty of such barbarism, But all sentiments of human- 170 MARIA ANTOINETTE. ity appear to have fled from France. One of the queen's women, at night, would draw her own bed between that of the queen and the open door, that she might thus partially- shield the person of her royal mistress. The king was so utterly overwhelmed by the magnitude of the calamities in which he was now in- volved, that his mind, for a season, seemed to be prostrated and paralyzed by the blow. For ten days he did not exchange a single word with any member of his family, but moved sadly about in the apathy of despair, or sat in moody silence. At last the queen threw her- self upon her knees before him, and, presenting to him her children, besought him, for her sake and that of their little ones, to rouse his fortitude. "We may all perish," she said, **but let us, at least, perish like sovereigns, and not wait to be strangled unresistingly upon the very floor of our apartments." The long and dreary months of the autumn, the winter, and the spring thus passed away, with occasional gleams of hope visiting their minds, but with the storm of revolution, on the whole, growing continually more black and terrific. General anarchy rioted throughout France. Murders were daily committed with impunity. There was no law. The mob had all power in their hands. Neither the king nor queen could make their appearance any- where without exposure to insult, yiolent THE RETURN TO PARIS. 171 harangues in the assembly and in the streets had at length roused the populace to a new act of outrage. The immediate cause was the refusal of the king to give his sanction to a bill for the persecution of the priests. It was the 20th of June, 1792. A tumultuous assem- blage of all the miserable, degraded, and vicious, who thronged the garrets and the cellars of Paris, and who had been gathered from all lands by the lawlessness with which crime could riot in the capital, were seen con- verging, as by a common instinct, toward the palace. They bore banners fearfully expres- sive of their ferocity, and filled the air with the most savage outcries. Upon the end of a pike there was affixed a bleeding heart, with the inscription: *'The heart of the aristoc- racy." Another bore a doll, suspended to a frame by the neck, with this inscription: "To the gibbet with the Austrian. ' * "With the fero- city of wolves, they surrounded the palace in a mass impenetrable. The king and queen, as they looked from their windows upon the mul- titudinous gathering, swaying to and fro like the billows of the ocean in a storm, and with the clamor of human passions, more awful than the voice of many waters, rending the skies, in- stinctively clung to one another and to their children in their powerlessness. Madame Elizabeth, with her saint-like spirit and her heaven-directed thoughts, was ever unmindful 172 MARIA ANTOINETTE* of her own personal danger in her devotion to her beloved brother. The king hoped that the soldiers who were stationed as a guard within the inclosures of the palace would be able to protect them from violence. The gates leading to the Place du Carrousel were soon shattered beneath the blows of axes, and the human tor- rent poured in with the resistlessness of a flood. The soldiers very deliberately shook the priming from their guns, as the emphatic expression to the mob that they had nothing to fear from them, and the artillerymen coolly directs their pieces against the palace. Axes and iron bars were immediately leveled at the doors, and they flew from their hinges; and the drunken and infuriated rabble, with clubs, and pistols, and daggers, poured, an intermin- able throng, through the halls and apartments where kings, for ages, had reigned in inap- proachable pomp and power. The servants of the king, in terror, fled in every direction. Still the crowd came rushing and roaring on, crashing the doors before them, till they ap- proached the apartment in which the royal family was secluded. The king, who, though deficient in active energy, possessed passive fearlerssness in the most eminent degree, left his wife, children, and sister clinging together, and entered the adjoining room to meet his assailants. Just as he entered the room, the door, which was bolted^ fell with a crash, and THE RETURN TO PARIS. 17^ the mob was before him. For a moment the wretches were held at bay by the calm dignity of the monarch, as, without the tremor of a nerve, he gazed steadily upon them. The crowd in the rear pressed on upon those in the advance, and three friends of the king had just time to interpose themselves between him and the mob, when the whole dense throng rushed in and filled the room. A drunken assassin, with a sharp iron affixed to a long pole, aimed a thrust violently at the king's heart. One blow from an heroic citizen laid him prostrate on the floor, and he was trampled under the feet of the throng. Oaths and imprecations filled the room ; knives and sabers gleamed, and yet the majesty of royalty, for a few brief moments, repelled the ferocity of the assassins. A few officers of the National Guard, roused by the peril of the king, succeeded in reaching him, and, crowding him into the embrasure of a window, placed themselves as a shield before him. The king seemed only anxious to with- draw the attention of the mob from the room in which his family were clustered, where he saw his sister, Madame Elizabeth, with ex- tended arms and imploring looks, struggling to come and share his fate. ' ' It is the queen ! ' ' was the cry, and a score of weapons were turned toward her. "No! no!" exclaimed others, *'it is Madame Elizabeth." Her gentle spirit, even in these degraded hearts, 174 MARIA ANTOINETTE. had won admiration, and not a blow fell upon her. **Ah!'* exclaimed Madame Elizabeth, **why do you undeceive them ? Gladly would I die in her place, if I might thus save the queen. ' ' By the surging of the crowd she was swept into the embrasure of another window, where she was hemmed in without any possi- bility of extrication. By this time the crowds were like locusts, climbing up the balconies, and pouring in at the windows, and every foot of ground around the palace was filled with the excited throng. Shouts of derision filled the air, while the mob without were incessantly crying: *' Have you killed them yet? Throw us out their heads. ' ' Almost miraculously, the friends surround- ing the king succeeded in warding off the blows which were aimed at him. One of the mob thrust out to the king, upon the end of a pike, a red bonnet^ the badge of the Jacobins, and there was a general shout: ''Let him put it on! let him put it on! It is a sign of patriot- ism. If he is a patriot he will wear it. " The king, smiling, took the bonnet and put it upon his head. Instantly there rose a shout from the fickle multitude, *' Vive le roi!'' The mob had achieved its victory, and placed the badge of its power upon the brow of the humbled monarch. There was at that time standing in the court- yard of the palace a young man, with the blood THE RETURN TO PARIS. 175 boiling with indignation in his veins, in view of the atrocities of the mob. The ignominious spectacle of the red bonnet upon the head of the king, as he stood in the recess of the win- dow, seemed more than this young man could endure, and, turning upon his heel, he hast- ened away, exclaiming: "The wretches! the wretches! they ought to be mown down by grape-shot." This is the first glimpse the Revolution presents of Napoleon Bonaparte. But while the king was enduring their tor- tures in one apartment, the queen was suffering indignities and outrages equally atrocious in another. Maria Antoinette was, in the eyes of the populace, the personification of every- thing to be hated. They believed her to be infamous as a wife; proud, tyrannical, and treacherous; that, as an Austrian, she hated France ; that she was doing all in her power to induce foreign armies to invade the French empire with fire and sword ; and that she had instigated the king to attempt escape, that he might head the armies. Maria, conscious of this hatred, was aware that her presence would only augment the tide of indignation swelling against the king, and she therefore remained in the bedchamber with her children. But her sanctuary was instantly invaded. The door of her apartment had been, by some friend, elosed and bolted. Its stout oaken panels were soon dashed in, and the door 176 MARIA ANTOINETTE. driven from its hinges. A crowd of miserable women, abandoned to the lowest depths of degradation and vulgarity, rushed into the apartment, assailing her ears with the most obscene and loathsome epithets the language could afford. The queen stood in the recess of a window, with queenly pride curbing her mortal apprehension. A few friends had gathered around her, and placed a table before her as a partial protection. Her daughter, an exceedingly beautiful girl of fourteen years of age, with her light brown hair floating in ringlets over her fair brow and shoulders, clung to her mother's bosom as if she thought not of herself, but would only, with her own body, shield her mother's heart from the dagger of the assassin. Her son, but seven years old, clung to his mother's hand, gazing with a bewildered look of terror upon the hideous spectacle. The vociferations of the mob were almost deafening. But the aspect of the group, so lovely and so helpless, seemed to disarm the hand of violence. Now and then, in the endless crowd defiling through the room, those in the advance, pressed resistlessly on by those in the rear, some one more tender- hearted would speak a word of sympathy. A young girl came crowded along, neatly dressed, and with a pleasing countenance. She, how- ever, immediately began to revile the queen in the coarsest language of vituperation. THE RETURN TO PARIS. 177 "Why do you hate me so, my friend?" said the queen kindly ; "have I ever done anything to injure or to offend you?" **No! you have never injured me,** was the reply, **but it is you who cause the misery of the nation.'* ''Poor child!" rejoined the queen, **you have been told so, and have been deceived. Why should I make the people miserable? I am the wife of the king — the mother of the dauphin ; and by all the feelings of my heart, as a wife and mother, I am a Frenchwoman. I shall never see my own country again. lean only be happy or unhappy in France. I was happy when you loved me." The heart of the girl was touched. She burst into tears, and exclaimed : ''Pardon me good queen, I did not know you ; but now I see that I have indeed been deceived, and you are truly good." Hour after hour of humiliation and agony thus rolled away. The National Assembly met, and in vain the friends of the king urged its action to rescue the royal family from the insults and perils to which they were exposed. But these efforts were met by the majority only with derision. They hoped that the terrors of the mob would compel the king here- after to give his assent to any law whatever which they might frame. At last the shades of night began to add their gloom to this awful 178 MARIA ANTOINETTE. scene, and even the most bitter enemies of the king did not think it safe to leave forty thou- sand men, inflamed with intoxication and rage, to riot, through the hours of the night, in the parlors, halls, and chambers of the Tuiler- ies. The president of the Assembly, at that late hour, crowded his way into the apartment where, for several hours, the king had been ex- posed to every conceivable indignity. The mysterious authority of law opened the way through the throng. **I have only just learned," said the presi- dent, **the situation of your majesty." **That is very astonishing, ' ' replied the king indignantly, "for it is a long time that it has lasted." The president, mounted upon the shoulders of four grenadiers, addressed the mob and urged them to retire, and they, weary with the long hours of outrages, slowly sauntered through the halls and apartments of the palace, and at 8 o'clock silence reigned, with the gloom of night, throughout the Tuileries. The moment the mob became perceptibly less, the king received his sister into his arms, and they hastened to the apartment of the queen. During all the horrors of this awful day, her heroic soul had never quailed; but, now that the peril was over, she threw herself upon the bosom of her husband, and wept in all the bitterness of inconsolable grief. As the family THE RETURN TO PARIS. 179 were locked in each other's arms in silent gratitude for their preservation, the king acci- dentally beheld in a mirror the red bonnet, which he had forgotten or virtue, condemned the possessor to the scaffold. Terror held its reign in every bosom. THE ROYAL PRINCESSES 247 No one was safe. The public became weary of these scenes of horror. A reaction com- menced. Many of the firmest Kepublicans, overawed by the tyranny of the mob. began secretly to long for the repose which kingly power had given the nation. Sympathy was excited for the woes of the imprisoned prince. It is difficult to record, without pleasure, that one of the first acts of this returning sense of humanity consisted in leading the barbarous Simon to the guillotine. History does not inform us whether he shuddered in view of his crimes under the ax. But his crimes were almost too great for humanity to forgive. Louis was placed under the care of more merciful keepers. His wasted frame and de- lirious mind, generous and affectionate even in its delirium, moved their sympathy and their tears. They washed and dressed their little prisoner; spoke to him in tones of kindness ; soothed and comforted him. Louis gazed upon them with a vacant air, hadly knowing, after more than two years of hatred, execra- tion, and abuse, what to make of expressions of gentleness and mercy. But it was too late. Simon had faithfully executed his task. The constitution of the young prince was hopelessly undermined. He was seized with a fever. The convention, ashamed of the past, sent the celebrated physician Dessault to visit him. The patient, inured to suffering, with blighted 248 MARIA ANTOINETTE. hopes and a crushed heart, lingered in silence and patience for a few days upon his bed, and died on the 9th of June, 1795, in the tenth year of his age. The change which had commenced in the public mind, preparing the way for Napoleon to quell these revolutionary horrors, was so great, that a very general feeling of sympathy was awakened by the death of the young prince, and a feeling of remorse pervaded the conscience of the nation. History contains few stories more sorrowful than the death of this child. To the limited vision of mortals, it is indeed inexplicable why he should have been left by that God, who rules in infinite wisdom and love, to so dreadful a fate. Eor the solution of this and all other inexplicable mysteries of the divine government, we must look forward to our immortality. But we must return to Maria Theresa. "We left her at midnight, delirious with grief and terror, upon the pallet of her cell, her aunt having just been torn from her embrace. Even the ravages of captivity had not destroyed the exceeding beauty of the princess, now sixteen years of age. The slow hours of that night of anguish lingered away, and the morning, cheerless and companionless, dawned through the grated window of her prison upon her woe. Thus days and nights went and came. She knew not what had been the fate of her mother. OQ O O >, "o THE ROYAL PRINCESSES. 249 She knew not what doom awaited her aunt. She could have no intercourse with her brother, who she only knew was suffering every con- ceivable outrage in another part of the prison. Her food was brought to her by those who loved to show their brutal power over the daughter of a long line of kings. Weeks and months thus rolled on without any alleviation — without the slightest gleam of joy or hope penetrating the midnight gloom of her cell. It is impossible for the imagination to paint the anguish endured by this beautiful, intel- lectual, affectionate, and highly-accomplished princess during these weary months of solitude and captivity. Every indulgence was withheld from her, and conscious existence became the most weighty woe. Thus a year and a half lingered slowly away, while the reign of terror was holding its high carnival in the streets of blood-deluged Paris, and every friend of royal- ty, of whatever sex or age, all over the empire, was hunted down without mercy. When the reaction awakened by these hor- rors commenced in the public mind, the rigor of her captivity was somewhat abated. The death of her brother roused in her behalf, as the only remaining child of the wrecked and ruined family, such a feeling of sympathy, that the Assembly consented to regard her as a prisoner of war, and to exchange her with the Austrian government for four French officers 19— Antoinette 250 MARIA ANTOINETTE. whom they held as prisoners. Maria Theresa was led, pale, pensive, heart-broken, hopeless, from her cell, and placed in the hands of the relatives of her mother. But her griefs had been so deep, her bereavements so ntter and heart-rending, that this change seemed to her only a mitigation of misery, and not an acces- sion of joy. She was informed of the death of her mother and her aunt, and, weeping over her desolation, she emerged from her prison cell and entered the carriage to return to the palaces of Austria, where her unhappy mother had passed the hours of her childhood. As she rode along through the green fields and looked out upon the blue sky, through which the summer's sun was shedding its beams — as she felt the pure air, from which she had so long been excluded, fanning her cheeks, and realized that she was safe from insults and once more free, anguish gave place to a calm and settled melancholy. She arrived in Vienna. Love and admiration encircled her. Every heart vied in endeavors to lavish soothing words and delicate attentions upon this stricken child of grief. She buried her face in the bosoms of those thus soliciting her love, her eyes were flooded with tears, and she sobbed with almost a bursting heart. After her arrival in Vienna, one full year passed away before a smile could ever be won to visit her cheek. Woes such as she had endured pass not away like the mists THE ROYAL PRINCESSES. 251 of the morDing. The hideous dream haunted her by day and by night. The headless trunks of her father, her mother, and her aunt were ever before her eyes. Her beloved brother, suffering and dying upon a beggar's bed, was ever present in her dreams while re- posing under the imperial canopy of the Aus- trian kings. The past had been so long and so awful that it seemed an ever-living reality. The sudden change she could hardly credit but as the delirium of a dream. Time, however, will diminish the poignancy of every sorrow save those of remorse. Maria was now again in a regal palace, surrounded with every luxury which earth could confer. She was young and beautiful. She was be- loved, and almost adored. Every monarch, every prince, every ambassador from a foreign court, delighted to pay her especial honor. No heart throbbed near her but with the desire to render her some compensation for the wrongs and the woes which had fallen upon her youthful and guileless heart. Wherever she appeared, she was greeted with love and homage. Those who had never seen her would willingly peril their lives in any way to serve her. Thus was she raised to consideration, and enshrined in the affections of every soul retaining one spark of noble feeling. The past receded further and further from her view, the present arose more and more vividly before 252 MARIA ANTOINETTE. the eye. Joy gradually returned to that bosom from which it had so long been a stranger. The flowers bloomed beautifully before her eyes, the birds sung melodiously in her ears. The fair face of creation, with mountain, vale, and river, beguiled her thoughts, and intro- duced images of peace and beauty to dispel the hideous phantoms of dungeons and misery. The morning drive around the beautiful metropolis ; the evening serenade ; the moon- light sail; and, above all, the voice of love, reanimated her heart, and roused her affections from the tomb in which they so long had slumbered. The smile of youth, though still pensive and melancholy, began to illumine her saddened features. Hope of future joy rose to cheer her. The Due d'Angouleme, son of Charles X., sought her as his bride, and she was led in tranquil happiness to the altar, feeling as few can feel the luxury of being tenderly beloved. Upon the fall of Napoleon she returned to France with the Bourbon family, and again moved, with smiles of sadness, among the brilliant throng crowding the palaces of her ancestors. The Kevolution of 1830, which drove the Bourbons again from the throne of France, drove Maria Theresa, now Duchesse d'Angouleme, again into exile. She resided for a time with her husband in the Castle of Holyrood, in Scotland, under the name of the THE ROYAL PRINCESSES. 253 Count and Countess of Main ; but the climate being too severe for her constitution, she left that region for Vienna. There she was re- ceived with every possible demonstration of respect and affection. ALTEIvIUS' Young People's Library. Price, 50 Cents Each. ROBINSON CRUSOE : His Life and Strange Surprising Adventures. With 70 beautiful illustrations by Walter Paget. Arranged for young readers. "There exists no work, either of instruction or entertainment, which has been more generally read, and universally admired." — J Falter Scott. ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND. With 42 illustrations by John Tenniel. " This is Carroll's immortal story." — Athencvuvi. " The most delightful of children's stories. Elegant and deli- cious nonsense." — Saturday Review. THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS AND WHAT ALICE FOUND THERE. (A companion to Alice in Wonderland.) With 50 illustrations by John Tenniel. " Not a whit inferior to its predecessor in grand extravagance of imagination, and delicious allegorical nonsense." — Quarter Iv Reviezo. BUNYAN'S PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. With 50 full-page and text illustrations. Pilgrim's Progress is the most popular story book in the world. With the exception of the Bible it has been translated into more languages than any other book ever printed. A CHILD'S STORY OF THE BIBLE. With 72 full-page illustrations. Tells in simple language and in a form fitted for the hands of the younger members of the Christian flock, the tale of God's dealings with his Chostn People under the Old Dispensation, with its foreshadowings of the coming of that Messiali who was to make all mankind one fold under one Shepherd. ALTEMUS* YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. A CHILD'S LIFE OF CHRIST. With 49 illustrations. God has implanted in the infant's heart a desire tohear of Jesus, and children are early attracted and sweetly riveted by the won- derful Story of the Master from the Manger to the Throne. In this little book we have brought together from Scripture every incident, expression and description within the verge of their com- prehension, in the effort to weave them into a memorial garland of their Saviour. THE FABLES OF JESOV. Compiled from the best ac- cepted sources. With 62 illustrations. The fables of yEsop are among the very earliest compositions of this kind, and probably have never been surpassed for point and brevity, as well as for the practical good sense they display. In their grotesque grace, in their quaint humor, in their trust in the simpler virtues, in their insight into the cruder vices, in their inno- cence of the fact of sex, ^sop's Fables are as little children — and for that reason will ever find a home in the heaven of little chil- dren's souls. THE SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON, or the Adventures of a Shipwrecked Family on an Uninhabited Island. With 50 illustrations. A remarkable tale of adventure that will interest the boys and girls. The father of the family tells the tale and the vicissitudes through which he and his wife and children pass, the wonderful discoveries they make, and the dangers they encounter. It is a standard work of adventure that has the favor of all who have read it. CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS AND THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. With 70 illustrations. It is the duty of every American lad to know the story of Chris- topher Columbus. In this book is depicted the story of his life and struggles ; of his persistent solicitations at the courts of Eu- rope, and his contemptuous receptions by the learned Geographical Councils, until his final employment by Queen Isabella. Records the day-by-day journeyings while he was pursuing his aim and his perilous way over the shoreless ocean, until he "gave to Spain a New World." Shows his progress through Spain on the occasion of his first return, when he was received with rapturous demon- strations and more than regal homage. His displacement by the ALTEMUS* YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. Odjeas, Ovandos and Bobadilas ; his last return in chains, and the story of his death in poverty and neglect. THE STORY OF EXPLORATION AND DISCOVERY IN AFRICA. With 80 illustrations. Records the adventures, privations, sufferings, trials, dangers and discoveries in developing the "Dark Continent," from the early days of Bruce and Mungo Park down to Livingstone and Stanley and the heroes of our own times. The reader becomes carried away by conflicting emotions of wonder and sympathy, and feels compelled to pursue the st ry, which he cannot lay down. No present can be more acceptable than such a volume as this, where courage, intrepidity, resource and devotion are so pleasantly mingled. It is very fully illustra- te I with pictures worthy of the book. GULLIVER'S TRAVELS INTO SOME REMOTE RE- GIONS OF THE WORLD. With 50 illustrations. In description, even of the most common-place things, bis power is often perfectly marvellous Macau'ay says of Swift: " Under a plain garb and ungainly depjttmtnt were concealed some of the choicest gifts that ever have been bestowed on any of the children of men — rare powers of observation, brilliant art, grotesque inven- tion, humor of the mo^t austere flavor, yet exquisitely delicious, eloquence singularly pure, manly and perspicuous." MOTHER GOOSE'S RHYMES, JINGLES AND FAIRY TALES. With 300 illustrations. "In this edition an excellent choice has been made from the standard ficti )n of the little ones. The abundant pictures are well- drawn and graceful, the effect frequently striking and always deco- rative." — Critic. "Only to see the book is to wish to give it to every child one knows. ' ' — Queen. LIVES OF THE PRESIDENTS OF THE UNITED STATES. Compiled frotn authoritative sources. With portraits of the Presidents ; and also of the unsuccessful candidates for the office; as well as the ablest of the Cabinet officers. This book should be in every home and school library. It tells, in an impartial way, the story of the political history of the United States, from the first Consiitutional convention to the last Presi- ALTEMUS' YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. dential nominations, it is just the book for intelligent boys, and it will help to make them intelligent and patriotic citizens. THE STORY OF ADVENTURE IN THE FROZEN SEA. With 70 illustrations. Compiled from authorized sources. We here have brought together the records of the attempts to reach the North Pole. Our object being to recall the stories of the early voyagers, and to narrate the recent efforts of gallant adven- turers of various nationalities to cross the "unknown and inacces- ible " threshold ; and to show how much can be accomplished by indomitable pluck and steady perseverance. Portraits and numer- ous illustrations help the narration. ILLUSTRATED NATURAL HISTORY. By the Rev. J. G. Wood. With 80 illustrations. Wood's Natural History needs no commendation. Its author has done more than any other writer to popularize the study. His work is known and admired overall the civilized world. The sales of his worl«»; in England and America have been enormous. The illustrations in this edition are entirely new, striking and life-like. A CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. By Charles Dickens. With 50 illustrations. Dickens grew tired of listening to his children memorizing the old fashioned twaddle that went under the name of English his- tory. He thereupon wrote a book, in his own peculiarly happy style, primarily for the educational advantage of his own children, but was prevailed upon to publish the work, and make its use gen- eral. Its success was instantaneous and abiding. BLACK BEAUTY; The Autobiography of a Horse. By Anna Sewell. With 50 illustrations. This NEW ILLUSTRATED EDITION is sure to Command attention. Wherever children are, whether boys or girls, there this Autobiog- raphy should be. It inculcates habits of kindness to all members of the animal creation. The literary merit of the book is excellent. THE ARABIAN NIGHTS'* ENTERTAINMENTS. With 50 illustrations. Contains the most favorably known of the stories. The text is somewhat abridged and edited for the young. It forms an excellent introduction to those immortal tales which have helped so long to keep the weary world young. ALTEMUS* YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES. By Hans Christian An- dersen. With 77 illustrations. The spirit of high moral teaching, and the delicacy of sentiment, feeling and expression that pervade these tales make these won- derful creations not only attractive to the young, but equally accept- able to those of mature years, who are able to understand their real significance and appreciate the depth of their meaning. GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES. With 50 illustrations. These tales of the Brothers Grimm have carried their names into every household of the civilized world. The Tales are a wonderful collection, as interesting, from a lit- erary pouit of view, as they are delightful as stories. GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR; A History for Youth. By Nathaniel Hawthorne. With 60 illustrations. The story of America from the landing of the Puritans to the acknozvledgment tmthoiit reserve of the Independence of the United States, told with all the elegance, simplicity, grace, clear- ness and force for which Hawthorne is conspicuously noted. FLOWER FABLES. By Louisa May Alcott. With colored and plain illustrations. A series of very interesting fairy tales by the most charming of American story-tellers. AUNT MARTHA'S CORNER CUPBOARD. By Mary and Elizabeth Kirby. With 60 illustrations. Stories about Tea, Coffee, Sugar, Rice and Chinaware, and other accessories of the well-kept Cupboard. A book full of in- terest for all the girls and many of the boys. WATER-BABIES; A Fairy Tale for a Land-Baby. By Charles Kingsley. With 94 illustrations. " Come read me my riddle, each good little man ; If you cannot read it, no grown-up folk can." BATTLES OF THE WAR FOR INDEPENDENCE. By Prescott Holmes. With 70 illustrations. A graphic and full history of the Rebellion of the American Col- onies from the yoke and oppression of England, with the causes ALTEMUS' YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. that led thereto, and including an account of the second war with Great Britain, and the War with Mexico. BATTLES OF THE WAR FOR THE UNION. By Prescott Holmes. With 80 illustrations. A correct and impartial account of the greatest civil war in th ■ annals of history. Both of these histories of American wars '■ r a necessary part of the education of all intelligent American bo\ - and girls. YOUNG PEOPLE'S HISTORY OF THE WAR WITH SPAIN. By Prescott Holmes. With 89 illustrations. This history of our war with Spain, in 1898, presents in a plain, easy style the splendid achievements of our army and navy, and the prominent figures that came into the public view during thut period. Its glowing descriptions, wealth of anecdote, accuracy ■ f statement and profusion of illustration make it a most desirable gift book for young readers. HEROES OF THE UNITED STATES NAVY. By Hartwell James. With 65 illustrations. The story of our navy is one of the most brilliant pages in the w rld's history. The sketches and exploits contained in this vol- ume cover our entire naval history from the days of the hone>t, rough sailors of Revolutionary times, with their cutlasses and boarding pikes, to the brief war of 1898, when our superbly aji- pointed warships destroyed Spain's proud cruisers by the merci If ss accuracy of their fire. MILITARY HEROES OF THE UNITED STATES. By Hartwell James. With 97 illustrations. In this volume the brave lives and heroic deeds of our military heroes, from Paul Revere to I.awton, are told in the most captiva- ting manner. The material for the work has been gathered from the North and the Souih alike. The volume presents all the im- portant f .cts in a manner enabling the young people of our united and prosperous land to easily become familiar with the command- ing figures that have arisen in our military history. UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; or Life Among the Lowly. By Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe. With 90 illustrations. ALTEMUS' YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. The unfailing interest in the famous old stjry suggested the need "of an edition specially prepared for young readers, and elaborately illustrated. This edition completely fills that want. SEA KINGS AND NAVAL HEROES. By Hartwell James. With 50 illustrations. The mo^t famous sea battles of the world, with sketches of the lives, enterprises and achievements of men who have become fam- ous in naval history. They are stories of brave lives in times of trial and danger, charmingly told for young people. POOR BOYS' CHANCES. By John Habberton. With 50 illustrations. There is a fascination about the. writings of the author of " Helen's Babies," from which none can escape. In this charm- ing volume, Mr. Habberton tells the boys of America how they can attain the highest positions in the land, without the struggles and privations endured by poor boys who rose to eminence and fame in former limes. ROMULUS, the Founder of Rome. By Jacob Abbott. With 49 illustrations. In a plain and connected narrative, the author tells the stories of the founder of Rome and his great ancestor, /Eneas. These are of necessity somewhat legendary in character, but are pre- sented precisely- as they have come down to us from ancient times. They are prefaced by an account of the life and inventions of Cad- mus, the " Father of the Alphabet," as he is often called. CYRUS THE GREAT, the Founder of the Persian Empire. By Jacob Abbott. With 40 illustrations. For nineteen hundred years, the story of the founder of the an- cient Persian empire has been read by every generation of man- kind. The story of the life and actions of Cyrus, as told by the author, presents vivid pictures of the magnificence of a monarchy that rose about five hundred years before the Christian era, and rolled on in undistarbj.l magnitude and glory for many centuries. ADVENTURES IN TOYLAND. By Edith King Hull. With 70 illustrations by Alice B. Woodward. The sayings and doings of the dwellers in toyland, related by one of them to a dear little girl. It is a delightful book for chil- dren, and admirably illustrated. 8 ALTEMUS' YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. DARIUS THE GREAT, King of the Medes and Persians. By Jacob Abbott. With 34 illustrations. No great exploits marked the career of this monarch, who was at one time the absolute sovereign of nearly one-half of the world. He reached his high position by a stratagem, and left behind him no strong impressions of personal character, yet, the history of his life and reign should be read along with those of Cyrus, Caesar, Hannibal and Alexander. XERXES THE GREAT, King of Persia. By Jacob Ab- bott. With 39 illustrations. For ages the name of Xerxes has been associated in the minds of men with the idea of the highest attainable human magnificence and grandeur. He was the sovereign of the ancient Persian em- pire at the height of its prosperity and power. The invasion of Greece by the Persian hordes, the battle of Thermopylae, the burn- ing of Athens, and the defeat of the Persian galleys at Salamis are chapters of thrilling interest. THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE. By Miss Mulock, author of John Halifax, Gentleman, etc. With 18 illustrations. One of the best of Miss Murlock's charming stories for children. All the situations are amusing and are sure to please youthful readers. ALEXANDER THE GREAT, King of Macedon. By Jacob Abbott. With 51 illustrations. Born heir to the throne of Macedon, a country on the confines of Europe and Asia, Alexander crowded into a brief career of twelve years a brilliant series of exploits. The readers of to-day , will find pleasure and profit in the history of Alexander the Great, a potentate before whom ambassadors and princes from nearly all the nations of the earth bowed in humility. PYRRHUS, King of Epirus. By Jacob Abbott. With 45 illustrations. The story of Pyrrhus is one of the ancient narratives which has been told and retold for many centuries in the literature, eloquence and poetry of all civilized nations. While possessed of extraordi- nary ability as a military leader, Pyrrhus actually accomplished nothing, but did mischief on a gigantic scale. He was naturally ALTEMUS' YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. of a noble and generous spirit, but only succeded in perpetrating crimes against the peace and welfare of mankind. HANNIBAL, the Carthaginian. By Jacob Abbott. With 37 illustrations. Hannibal's distinction as a warrior was gained during the des- perate contests between Rome and Carthage, known as the Punic wars. Entering the scene when his country was engaged in peace- ful traffic with the various countries of the known world, he turned its energies into military aggression, conquest and war, becoming himself one of the greatest military heroes the world has ever known. MIXED PICKLES. By Mrs. E. M. Field. With 31 illus- trations by T. Pym. A remarkably entertaining story for young people. The reader is introduced to a charming little girl whose mishaps while trying to do good are very appropriately termed " Mixed Pickles." JULIUS C^SAR, the Roman Conqueror. By Jacob Ab- bott. With 44 illustrations. ^ The life and actions of Julius C^sar embrace a period in Roman history beginning with the civil wars of Marius and Sylla and end- ing with the tragic death of Caesar Imperator. The work is an accurate historical account of the life and times of one of the great military figures in history, in fact, it is history itself, and as such is especially comm.ended to the readers of the present generation. ALFRED THE GREAT, of England. By Jacob Abbott. With 40 illustrations. In a certain sense, Alfred appears in history as the founder of the British monarchy : his predecessors having governed more like savage chieftains than English kings. The work has a special value for young readers, for the character of Alfred was that of an honest, conscientious and far-seeing statesman. The romantic story of Godwin furnishes the concluding chapter of the volume. WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR, of England. By Jacob Abbott. With 43 illustrations. The life and times of William of Normandy have always been a fruitful theme for the historian. War and pillage and conquest were at least a part of the everyday business of men in both Eng- lO ALTEMUS' YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. land and France : and the story of William as told by the author of this volume makes some of the most fascinating pages in his- tory. It is especially delightful to young reader?. HERNANDO CORTEZ, the Conqueror of Mexico. By Jacob Abbott. With 30 illustrations. In this volume the author gives vivid pictures of the wild and adventurous career of Cortez and his companions in the conquest of Mexico. Many good motives were united with those of ques- tionable character, in the prosecution of his enterprise, but in those days it was a matter of national ambition to enlarge the boundaries of nations and to extend their commerce at any cost. The career of Cortez is one of absorbing interest. THE LITTLE LAME PRINCE. B)^ Miss Mulock. With 24 illustrations. The author styles it "x\ Parable for Old and Young." It is in her happiest vein and delightfully interesting, especially to youthful readers. MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. By Jacob Abbott. With 45 illustrations. The story of Mary Stuart holds a prominent place in the present series of historical narrations. It has had many tellings, for the melancholy story of the unfortunate queen has always held a high placi in the estimation of successive generations of readers. Her story is full of romance and pathos, and the reader is carried along by conflicting emotions of wonder and sympathy. QUEEN ELIZABETH, of England. By Jacob Abbott. With 49 illustrations. In strong contrast to the story of Mary, Queen of Scots, is that , of Elizabeth, Queen of England. They were cousins, yet im- placaMe foes. Elizabeth's reign was in many ways a glorious ore, and her successes gained her the applause of the world. Tlic stirring tales of Drake, Hawkins and other famous mariners of her iime have been incorporated into the story of Elizabeth's life and reign. KING CHARLES THE FIRST, of England. By Jacob Abbott. With 41 illustrations. The well-known figures in the stormy reign of Charles I. are brought forward in this narrative of his life and times. It is his- tory lold in the most fascinating manner, and embraces the early ALTEMUS' YOUNG PEOPLE'S LIBRARY. II life of Charles ; the court of James I.; struggles between Charles and the Parliament ; the Civil war ; the trial and execution of the king. The narrative is impartial and holds the attention of the reader. KING CHARLES THE SECOND, of England. By Jacob Abbott. With ^S illustrations. Beginning with his infancy, the life of the «' Merry Monarch " is related in the author's inimitable style. His reign was signal- ized by many disastrous events, besides those that related to his personal troubles and embarrassments. There were unfortunate wars ; naval defeats ; dangerous and disgraceful plots and con- spiracies. Trobule sat very lightly on the shoulders of Charles II., however, and the cares of state were easily forgotten in the society of his court and dogs. THE SLEEPY KING. By Aubrey Hopwood and Seymour Hicks. With 77 illustrations by Maud Trelawney. A charmingly- told Fairy Tale, full of delight and entertain- ment. ^ The illustrations are original and striking, adding greatly to the interest of the text. MARIA ANTOINETTE, Queen of France. By John S. G. Abbott. With 42 illustrations. The tragedy of Maria Antoinette is one of the most mournful in the history of the worid. " Her beauty dazzled the whole king- dom," says Laraartine. Her lofty and unbendin■ 9?, -^ . X ■* ^# 9d, ■'o. K-^ ^ -O, ^ .^^ ^^ t \ '^^S ^ ^ V ^\\o.^ ^^ .-^ .^ s •^
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