There was optimism everywhere. I heard it whispered that the old methods were passing, now that the people were to have a hand in managing the country’s affairs. That was what the States-General was all about. The King was a good man. He had invited the States-General.
Taxes were to be abolished—or equally shared. Bread would be cheap.
France was to be a heaven on earth.
I remember that day clearly. I was so unhappy. I hated the warm sunshine, the faces of the people, their cheering voices (none of the cheers were for me). The bands were playing. There were the French and Swiss Guards. Six hundred men in black with white cravats and slouched hats marched in the procession. They were the Tiers Etai, deputies of the commoners from all over the country; there were three hundred and seventy-four lawyers among them. Following these men were the Princes, and the most notable of these was the Due d’Orieans, who was already well known to the people as their friend. What a contrast the nobles made with those men in black—in lace and gold and enormous plumes waving in their hats. There were the Cardinals and Bishops in their rochets and violet robes— a magnificent sight. No wonder the people had waited for hours to see them pass. In that procession were men whose names were to haunt me in the years ahead—Mirabeau, Robespierre; and the Cardinal de Rohan was there too.
My carriage was next. I sat very still looking neither to right nor left. I was aware of the hostile silence. I caught whispers of “The Austrian Woman!”
“Madame Deficit.”
“She is not wearing the necklace today.” Then someone shouted “Vive d’Orieans.” I knew what that meant.
Long live my enemy. They were shouting for him as I rode by.
I tried not to think of them. I must smile. I must remember that my little son would be watching the procession from the veranda over the stables where I had ordered he should be taken.
I thought of him instead of these people who showed so clearly that they hated me. I said to myself: “What should I care for them? Only let him grow strong and well and I shall care for nothing else.”
I could hear the crowd shouting for my husband as his carriage came along. They did not hate him. I was the foreigner, the author of all their misfortunes. They had chosen me for the scapegoat.
How glad I was to return to my apartments, the ordeal over.
I was sitting at my dressing-table, my women about me. I was tired, but I knew I should not sleep when I retired to bed. Madame Campan had placed four wax tapers on my toilette table and I watched her light them. We talked of the Dauphin and his latest sayings and how he had enjoyed the procession; and suddenly the first of the candles went out of its own accord.
I said: “That is strange. There is no draught And I signed to Madame to relight it.
This she did, and no sooner had she done so than the second candle went out.
There was a shocked silence among the women. I gave a nervous laugh and said: “What candles are these, Madame Campan? Both go out.”
“It is a fault in the wick, Madame,” she said.
“I doubt not.” Yet the manner in which she said it suggested that she did doubt her statement.
A few minutes after she had lighted the second candle the third went out.
Now I felt my hands trembling.
“There is no draught,” I said.
“Yet three of these candles have gone out … one after another.”
“Madame,” said my good Campan, it is surely a fault. “
There have been so many misfortunes,” I said.
“Do you think, Madame Campan, that misfortune makes us superstitious?”
“I believe this could well be so, Madame,” she answered.
“If the fourth taper goes out, nothing can prevent my looking upon it as a fatal omen.”
She was about to say something reassuring when the fourth taper went out.
I felt my heart heavy. I said: “I will go to bed now. I am very tired.”
And I lay in bed, thinking of the hostile faces in the procession, the whispering voices; and of the little face which I had seen from the stable veranda.
And I could not sleep.
We were summoned to Meudon—Louis and I—and we set out with all speed.
I sat by my son’s bed; he did not wish me to go. His hot little hand was in mine and he kept whispering, “Maman, my beautiful Maman.”
I felt the tears running-down my cheeks and I could not stop them.
“You are crying for me, Maman,” he said, ‘because I am dying, but you must not be sad. We all have to die. “
I begged him not to speak. He must save his breath.
“Papa will look after you,” he said.
“He is a good kind man.”
Louis was deeply affected; I felt his hand on my shoulder, kind and tender. It was true he was a good man. I thought of how we had longed for children, how we had suffered because we could not have a son, and now how we suffered because we had one.
Little Louis-Joseph was fighting for his life. I think he was trying to cling to it because he knew I so much warned him to live. He was thinking of me even in those last moments.
I cried to myself: “Oh God, leave me my son. Take anything from me but leave me my son.”
But one does not make bargains with God.
I felt a warm hand in mine and there was my youngest boy. Louis had sent for my daughter and son to remind me that they were left to me.
On one side of me my lovely ten-year-old daughter, and on the other, four-year-old Louis Charles
“You should comfort your mother,” said the King gently.
And I held my children close to me and was, in some measure, comforted.
The Fourteenth of July
2th June 1789: Nothing. The stag was hunted at Saint-Appoline and I was not there. ith July 1789; Nothing.
MADAME CAMPAN MEMOIRS
I have just come from Versailles. Monsieur Necker is dismissed. This is the signal for a St. Bartholomew’s day of the patriots. This evening the Swiss and German battalions will slit our throats. We have but one resource: To Arms.
CAMELLE DES MOULINS AT THE PALAIS ROYALE
Still the people spoke of the King with affection and appeared to think his character favourable to the desire of the nation for the reform of what was called abuses; but they imagined that he was restrained by the opinions and influence of the Comte d’Artois and the Queen; and those two august personages were therefore objects of hatred to the malcontents.
LOUIS XVI’S JOURNAL
The four candles had gone out and it seemed that the lights of my life were going out for me. Two children lost in less than two years. I turned to those left to me—my serene and lovely daughter, whom I called affectionately Mousseline, loving and calm, never causing me anxiety, and my dearest son. The new Dauphin was very different from his brother, wilful yet lovable, and even more passionately devoted to me; he was by nature gay, and one of the best tonics I could have during those days of mourning was to hear his merry laughter as he played his games. He was self-willed, and showed temper if he could not have his own way—but what child of four does not? But he could always be brought to obedience when I showed that I wished it. He adored his sister and it was a pleasure to see them together, for she liked to mother him and he wanted to share everything he had with her.
Like most boys his great passion was for uniforms and soldiers; and he was a great favourite with the guards and would watch them from the windows or better still go out into the garden and march along beside them.
His charm endeared him to all. I called him my chou d’amour I did not wish him to be too much aware of his position; yet on the other hand I always remembered my husband’s complaint that he had never been educated to understand states craft I had even wondered whether this neglect was in some way responsible for our present difficulties.
So I talked to my son about the change his brother’s death bad made in his future.
“So you see, my darli
ng,” I said, ‘you have now become the Dauphin.”
He nodded while he traced a pattern with his fat little finger on my dress.
“Which means you will one day be the King of France. Think of that.”
He looked at me gravely.
“I’ll tell you something better, Maman,” he said.
“Shall I?”
I lifted him on to my lap.
“What could be better, dearest?”
He put his mouth close to my ear and whispered: “Moufflet is my dog now.”
I held him to me too tightly, apparently, for he said:
“Maman, it is good to be loved, but sometimes it hurts.”
I felt a rush of emotion. And I thought: Oh, my little one, how right you are I
Life was moving fast towards some fearful climax, and the death of my son had temporarily made me forget this, for during those first days of grief I did not care much what happened. But now I realised that I had others to consider. The first meeting of the States-General had been held in the Sane des Menus and there the King, Baretin, the Keeper of the Seals, and Necker had spoken. Necker explained to the Assembly that they had been called together at the express wish of the King, whose chief point was that the two wealthy orders—the nobility and the clergy—were willing to make great sacrifices for the sake of the country. Something happened which was significant of the new mood of the people. Having uncovered his head while speaking, the King replaced his hat, at which point the custom was that the nobles should remove theirs and the members of the Third Estate kneel. This the latter declined to do, and put on their hats.
Indignation was expressed by the nobles and someone called out an order to the Third Estate to take off their hats. It was immediately apparent that ‘they obstinately refused to do this; and what would have happened I cannot say if my husband had not with great presence of mind removed his own hat; which gesture meant that everyone else must do the same—even the churlish members of the Third Estate. Thus it seemed that an unpleasant contretemps was avoided. But this was symbolic of the struggle which was about to begin with the nobles and clergy on one side and the members of the Third Estate on the other.
The name which was on everyone’s tongue was that of the Comte de Mirabeau. He was an aristocrat by birth but had been made to suffer greatly during his childhood by a sadistic father, who had beaten and tortured him and even sent him to prison. He was a brilliant man and by placing himself on the side of the Third Estate he had greatly strengthened that body and it very soon became apparent that there was to be a conflict between the Third Estate and the rest of the States-General.
The Third Estate had set itself up as the National Assembly; foj they declared they represented ninety-six per cent of the nation. They began to make their rules and announced that they would draw up a Constitution setting out how much power belonged to the King.
The Due de Luxembourg, who was the President of the Nobility, called on the King in company with the Cardinal de la Rochefoucauld and talked earnestly to him. “The Monarchy will be lost if Your Majesty does not dissolve the States-General,” said de la Rochefoucauld. The King was in a dilemma.
He wished to please all, he said.
He summoned Necker, who advised him to act in a conciliatory fashion.
I was against this. Something told me that the States-General was planning our destruction. I was on the side of the Due de Luxembourg and the Cardinal de la Rochefoucauld, who were asking that the States-General be disbanded. The Deputies, I said, were a pack of madmen. We must dismiss them.
Louis as usual could not make up his mind. I could see him swaying towards Necker’s views and then to mine. He compromised. He would not, he said, treat with rebels.
On the 20th of June, the King was out hunting at Le Butard and the Assembly wished to meet. The Sane des Menus Plaisirs was shut, so they held their meeting in the tennis court, and there they swore not to dissolve until they had fulfilled the wish of the people and a Constitution had been granted.
This was defying the King, for it was the King’s right to dissolve the Assembly when he so wished.
When Louis discovered that the oath had been taken in the tennis court he was as undecided as ever. On one side were those who declared that the men who were now called rebels should be driven away by the military; and on the other was Necker, advising conciliatory methods.
Mirabeau, the strength behind the Third Estate, then announced that the National Assembly would only give way at the point of the bayonet, while Jean Sylvain Bailly, the President of the National Assembly, added that the nation once assembled could be dismissed by no one.
And the nation had assembled. That was what we did not realise soon enough. The Due d’Orleans, who had added his voice to that of the Third Estate, had been spreading sedition in the Palais Royale and was encouraging agitators. Each day there were meetings; new pamphlets were appearing several times a day.
The words Liberty and the People had a magic quality. There was an air of tension through Versailles and the whole of Paris.
And there was fear everywhere. We could not guess what would happen next. Axel spoke to me; he said: You know that I shall always be here if I am wanted. ” And I felt happier than I had for some time.
Perhaps he, as a foreigner, one who mingled with the people of Paris, understood the situation far more than we could. We did not believe that the Monarchy was tottering; we could not conceive it; but he had mingled with those crowds in the Palais Royale, he had heard the mutterings of the people.
It was necessary for Louis to go to Paris to attend a meeting of the States-General and I was worried as to what would happen there. I could not forgive Necker for not accompanying him. The man was annoyed because the King would not take his advice, and although I had asked him specially to be with the King, be had failed to do so.
Louis’s great quality was his courage. I never saw fear in him as in most men. If he took the wrong action which he did so often it was never through fear. Now that he had decided to be firm I knew that if someone could put up a good argument in favour of changing that firmness he would waver again. His trouble was that he must listen, be must see all angles of a situation, and there were too many in every case.
At the Assembly he made a firm declaration. He would not allow any changes of institutions, by which he meant the Army. He would make taxation equal; the nobility and the clergy should resign their privileges. He wished advice as to bow to abolish lettres de cachet.
When he left he ordered that the Assembly should be disbanded for the night, but no one obeyed the order. And when the Master of Ceremonies, the Marquis de Breze, announced the meeting closed and advised all to go home, Mirabeau stood up and shouted that they would go when they wished, and as for Breze, he could go back to those who sent him; and he repeated that only by the use of bayonets could they be separated.
But how typical of Louis to lose firmness as quickly as he had put it on. When Breze reported to him, he merely shrugged his shoulders and said: “Very well. Let them stay where they are.”
Then be made a mistake. He dismissed Necker and called in de Breteuil to take his place.
I was with die children reading to them aloud from the fables of La Fontaine. My daughter leaned against my chair following the text as I read and my son sat in my lap watching my lips and every now and then he would shriek with laughter as some phase of the story struck him as particularly funny.
It was easy at moments like these to forget what was happening all about us.
We were at the Trianon, which seemed to have changed its character in the last year or so. The theatre remained shut. I had no heart for it.
Often I would wander through the gardens with Gabrielle and we would try not to speak of the fears that were in our hearts. I was no longer surrounded by gay young men. They had been robbed of those sinecures which they bad all sought and which I had delighted to bestow upon them. They were a little sullen. We shall all be bankrupt,” was
their cry.
I had stopped reading and dosed the book.
I wish to show you my flowers,” said Louis Charles And so we went out into the garden to that little patch which I had given him all for his own—for he delighted in flowers, and already, with the help of the gardeners, was cultivating them.
“Flowers and soldiers, Maman,” he had said, “I do not know which I love best.”
And hand in hand we walked out into the gardens and my dear villagers of the Hameau came out to curtsy and adore my children with their eyes; and no one would have guessed what was happening in the outside world. And yet again the Trianon was my haven.
My son released my hand and ran on ahead.
He reached his garden and stood waiting for us. I have been talking to a grasshopper,” he said.
“He’s been laughing at an old ant. But he won’t laugh, will be. Ataman, when the winter comes.”
When did you speak to the grasshopper, my love? “
“Just now. You couldn’t see him. He ran out of the book while you were reading.”
He looked at me seriously.
“You are making that up,” said his sister.
But he swore he wasn’t.
“I take my oath,” he said.
I laughed. But his way of exaggerating did disturb me a little. It was not that he did not mean to be truthful;
he had such a vivid imagination.
Then he was picking flowers and presenting them to me and his sister.
“Maman,” he said, ‘when you go to a ball I will make you a necklace of flowers. “
“Will you, darling?”
“A beautiful, beautiful one. It’ll be better than a diamond necklace.”
Always close to me were the warning shadows.
I picked him up suddenly and kissed him fiercely.
Td far rather have the flowers,” I said.
The Queen`s Confession Page 37
