Interesting society—Anecdotes of the past Terror—Casimir—The Restoration—Madame Royale—Louis XVIII.—The coiffeur of Marie Antoinette—The regicide—Return of the Orléans family—An astrologer—A faithful servant—Society of the Restoration—Isabey—Meyerbeer—Conclusion.
Capital letter A
ALL the great artists, musicians, actors, and literary people who had returned to Paris after the Terror came to the salon of Mme. de Genlis; and many were the strange and terrible stories they had to tell of their escapes and adventures.
Talma had, in the kindness of his heart, concealed in his house for a long time two proscribed men. One was a democrat and terrorist, who had denounced him and his wife as Girondins. For after the fall of Robespierre the revolutionary government, forced by the people to leave off arresting women and children, let the royalists alone and turned their fury against each other. Besides this democrat who was hidden in the garret, he had a royalist concealed in the cellar. They did not know of each other’s presence, and Talma had them to supper on alternate nights after the house was shut up. At last, as the [467] terrorist seemed quite softened and touched and polite, Talma and his wife thought they would venture to have them together. At first all went well, then after a time they found out who each other were; and on some discussion arising, their fury broke forth—
“Only a royalist would say that!”
“Only a terrorist could speak so!”
“You speak like a villain!”
“You think like a scoundrel!”
“If ever we get the upper hand!”
“If ever we get our revenge!”
They both sprang up, declaring it was better to die than to stay with such a monster, and left the room.
After this Talma kept them separate; they were in the house several weeks unknown to each other until it was safe for them to be let out. [136]
Even among the revolutionists there was sometimes a strange mixture of good and evil. The Auvergnat deputy Soubrany was proscribed by his friends, and met Fréron in the street, who said—
“What are you doing here? We have just proscribed you!”
“Proscribed me?”
“Yes. Save yourself; come to my house, you can hide safely; they won’t look for you there. Only make haste.”
“I can’t. I must go home.”
“Why? It will be putting your head in the wolf’s mouth.”
“I must go back to my house. An emigré is [468] hidden there. I alone know the secret of his hiding-place; if I do not let him out he will be starved to death.”
He returned in time to save the emigré, but not himself.
Mme. de Genlis was very happy at the Arsenal with Casimir and a little boy named Alfred, whom she had adopted.
Casimir was already seventeen, a great comfort, and very popular. He had been on a visit to London, when, as he returned with Prince Esterhazy, who had a boat of his own, he had a message at Dover from Pamela begging him to go to her. Since the arrest and death of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, she had married Mr. Pitcairn, American Consul at Hamburg, but was overwhelmed with debts, and for some reason insisted on coming to Paris. She was hiding from her creditors, and appealed to Casimir, who gave her fifty louis and hid her on board the boat. She had with her her daughter by Lord Edward Fitzgerald, and stayed some time at Paris, in spite of the representations of Mme. de Genlis that she ought to go back to her husband at Hamburg.
For nine years Mme. de Genlis lived at the Arsenal, and then moved to another apartment, but was always surrounded with friends and consideration. Except amongst her immediate relations and adopted children, she was not so deeply loved as Mme. Le Brun, or even the eccentric Mme. de Stael, but her acquaintance and friendship was sought by numbers of persons, French [469] and others, who were attracted by her books, conversation, musical, and other talents.
With the fall of the Empire departed her pension and all assistance from the Government.
She had long renounced and repented of her proceedings of former days, and was now extremely royalist, but the daughter of Marie Antoinette was not likely to receive one who had been, if not implicated, at any rate hand-and-glove with the enemies of her mother.
With the deepest reluctance Louis XVIII. yielded to what he was assured to be an absolute necessity and allowed, as Napoleon had found it necessary to allow, more than one even of the regicides, who had survived and were powerful, to hold office during his reign. Their powerful support was declared to be indispensable to the safety of the monarchy, and the union of parties which he hoped to achieve.
But, except in cases of absolute political necessity and at the entreaty of him, who was now not only her uncle and adopted father, but her king, the Duchesse d’Angoulême would receive no one who had in any way injured her mother. She would have nothing to do with Mme. de Stael, and would not even receive Mme. Campan, because she did not believe she had been always thoroughly loyal to her; though in that many people said she was mistaken. Mme. Campan, in her memoirs, professes the greatest affection and respect for her royal mistress, and during the Empire, she always kept in her room a bust of the Queen.
On the other hand, any one who had been faithful and loyal to her parents, now met with their reward.
There was at Versailles a certain Laboullé, coiffeur to Louis XV., and to Marie Antoinette when the Dauphine. He invented a perfume which he called eau Antoinette, and which was so much in vogue that he opened a perfume shop at Versailles, which was patronised by Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette when they came to the throne. He married, and the Queen was very kind to his wife, whom she used to employ in her various charities; and was devoted to her.
It is satisfactory to know that the brutal, dastardly conduct of the Versailles populace was at any rate punished, in a way they probably had not thought of. The departure of the King and court ruined the place, before so prosperous. The population shrunk to a third of its former numbers.
The Laboullé moved to Paris, and opened a shop at 83, rue de la Roi, afterwards rue Richelieu, which soon became the centre of Royalist plots.
During the captivity of the Queen, Mme. Laboullé was always trying to get to her and very often succeeded; when she always took her some of the perfume. These excellent people saved the lives of numbers of royalists, and how they themselves escaped the guillotine, only Providence can tell. When the surviving members of the royal family returned, the Duchesse d’Angoulême sent for her, expressed her deep gratitude, and always loved and protected her.
The saintly character of the Duchess, however, [471] made her forgive and even help those who repented and suffered, even though they had been the bitterest enemies of her family. [138]
During her exile in England, she was in the habit of visiting and helping the French who were poor or sick, and one day being in a hospital, and seeing a French soldier evidently very ill, she spoke to him with compassion and offered him money, which he refused, with a strange exclamation, apparently of horror.
“Take it, mon ami,” she said, “I am your country-woman, you need not be ashamed to receive a little help from me.”
“I know you are French, Madame,” he muttered with embarrassment.
“You know me, then?”
“Yes, Madame.”
“Well, then, that is all the more reason why you should not refuse what I offer you.”
“On the contrary, Madame——” he stammered.
“Comment! on the contrary? What do you mean? Tell me.”
“I cannot explain,” said the man uneasily.
“I entreat you to tell me; have you anything against me?”
The soldier burst into tears.
“You are suffering,” said the Duchess; “come confide in me, we are both French in a foreign land, and ought to help and comfort each other.” [139]
“Alas! Madame, the sight of you recalls to me a [472] recollection so fearful, that I would give my life to blot it out of my memory. I was one of those who beat the drums in the place de la Révolution on the 27th January.”
The Princess turned pale, trembled, and held out the gold, saying—
“In the name of him who is gone, I bring you this help; he loved all Frenchmen.”
And she turned away, leaving the soldier in tears.
When Madame Royale was at last released from prison, she did not know the fate of her brother and her aunt, Madame Elizabeth. On hearing that they were dead, she declared that she did not wish to live herself; but her heart soon turned to her French relations, and her one wish was to get to them.
Madame Vigée Le Brun
MADAME ROYALE
She was, however, first sent to her mother’s family in Austria, where she was received, of course, with great affection, but kept as much as possible from seeing even the French emigrés, of whom there were so many in Austria. The Austrian plan was to marry her to one of the archdukes, her cousins, and then claim for her the succession to Burgundy, Franche Comté, and Bretagne; to all of which she would, in fact, have had a strong claim if France could have been dismembered; as these provinces all went in the female line, and had thus been united to the kingdom of France.
Of course the plan was visionary, and the provinces had been so long incorporated into France, that even if the allies had consented to the dismemberment, the nation would never have submitted to it.
It would have perhaps been no wonder if, after all she had suffered in France, she had identified herself with her mother’s family, and in another home and country forgotten as far as she could the land which must always have such fearful associations for her. But it was not so. Her father had told her that she was to marry no one but her cousin, the Duc d’Angoulême, who, failing her brother, would succeed to the crown; and had written to the same effect to his brother the Comte de Provence.
The Princess had therefore, as soon as she could get away from Austria, joined her uncles and aunts and married the Duc d’Angoulême, concentrating all her affection upon those remaining members of her family, who received her with the deepest joy and tenderness.
Louis XVIII. says of her—
“Madame Royale united all the virtues of her own sex with the energy of ours. She alone would have been able to reconquer our sceptre if, like her grandmother, Marie Thérèse, she had had the command of an army....”
Of their entry into Paris, he says—
“I was in an open carriage with Madame Royale by my side, [140] MM. de Condé were opposite; my brother and the Duc de Berri rode by us ... the Duc d’Angoulême was still in the south.... I saw nothing but rejoicing and goodwill on all sides; they cried ‘Vive le Roi!’ as if any other cry were impossible.... The more I entreated Madame Royale to control her emotion, for we were approaching the Tuileries, the more difficult [474] it was for her to restrain it. It took all her courage not to faint or burst into tears in the presence of all these witnesses.... I myself was deeply agitated, the deplorable past rising before me.... I remembered leaving this town twenty-three years ago, about the same time of year at which I now returned, a King.... I felt as if I should have fallen when I saw the Tuileries. I kept my eyes away from Madame Royale for fear of calling forth an alarming scene. I trembled lest her firmness should give way at this critical moment. But arming herself with resignation against all that must overwhelm her, she entered almost smiling the palace of bitter recollections. When she could be alone the long repressed feelings overflowed, and it was with sobs and a deluge of tears that she took possession of the inheritance, which in the natural course of events must be her own.
“How thankful I was to find myself alone in the room occupied first by my brother, then by Buonaparte, to which I came back after so long an absence: absolute solitude was a necessity to my mind. I prayed and groaned without interruption, which relieved me; then I resolved irrevocably to act in such a manner as never to expose France or my family to the Revolution which had just ended.... I lay down in the bed of Buonaparte, it had also been that of the martyr king, and at first I could not sleep ... like Richard III. I saw in a vision those I had lost, and in the distance enveloped in a sanguinary cloud I seemed to see menacing phantoms.”
With the King returned those that were left of the Orléans family. The best of the sons of égalité, the Comte de Beaujolais had died in exile, so also had the Duc de Montpensier. The Duchess Dowager, saintly and good as ever, Mademoiselle d’Orléans and the Duc de Chartres remained. Both the latter had made their submission and expressed their repentance to the King, who in accepting the excuses of the Duc de Chartres said—
“Monsieur, you have much to do to repair the crimes of your father. I have doubtless forgotten them, but my family, but France, but Europe will find it difficult not to remember them.... In accepting the name of égalité you left the family of Bourbon, nevertheless I consent to recall you into it.... Duc d’Orléans, it is finished, from to-day alone we will begin to know each other.”
The Duke wished to make his excuses to Madame Royale, but she said it would be long before she could bear to see him. [142]
Mme. de Genlis was received with affection by her old pupils, and had a pension from them during the rest of her life.
The Duc d’Orléans, leaving the room when she came to see them, returned, bringing his young wife, who said graciously, “Madame, I have always longed to know you, for there are two things I love passionately, your pupils and your books.”
Mme. de Genlis, though she did not go much into society, being now exceedingly royalist, was [476] presented at court, and must have recalled those far off days when she drove down to Versailles with Mme. de Puisieux to be presented to the magnificent Louis XV.
A curious story is told, that at the time when Louis XIV. was building the palace of Versailles, his then all-powerful mistress, Mme. de la Vallière, said to him that he must, according to the custom, have the horoscope cast of the palace. He laughed at her superstition, but told her he would leave the matter to her. She accordingly consulted an astrologer, who said, “After a hundred years the kings of France will leave Versailles.”
“Will they ever return?” she asked, to which he replied—
“No; the people will not allow it.”
Louis XIV., to whom the idea of the people “allowing” the King to do anything he chose must have appeared ludicrous, replied that their love for their King would, indeed, be excessive if they would not bear him out of their sight, and ended by saying—
“I envy my successors!”
The tone of society was entirely different during the Restoration from that of the Empire. The lavish expenditure in entertainments, dress, and daily life was no longer the fashion. An expensive toilette at any but a very great festivity was no longer correct, and even at court the extravagant splendour of the costumes of the Imperial court was not encouraged. The principal people were no longer those who possessed enormous fortunes which they were eager to spend; the [477] nobles and gentlemen whose names were the most distinguished at the court of Louis XVIII. being most of them nearly if not quite ruined.
Their property had been confiscated, their estates seized, and their h?tels and chateaux either burnt or sold.
In some cases it was possible to recover part, though often only a fragment of their possessions; in other cases not: it depended to a great extent what or who the forfeited estates belonged to. Sometimes, as in the case of the Duchess d’Ayen, people who had not emigrated, were allowed, even if they were murdered, to leave their estates to their families; but the whole state of things seemed an inextricable confusion impossible to explain; especially in a work of this kind.
Many cases there were of romantic devotion and loyalty, by which the property of a family had been partly saved for the owners by their faithful servants. Such was the story of the Marquis de ——, whose castle was burnt, and who with his wife perished in the flames. Their two boys managed to escape, but not together. One took refuge in England; the other in Germany, neither of them knowing of the existence of the other.
When the Revolution was over, they both came back to France and strange to say, met and recognised each other at the ruins of their own chateau. While they stood mournfully gazing at them, a regiment of cavalry passed by. The eyes of the commander fell upon them, and suddenly he ordered the regiment to halt, and calling the two young men, said—
“Are you not the MM. ——?”
On hearing that they were, he remarked—
“I am afraid, Messieurs, that you are very badly off.”
They could not deny this; and to their astonishment the officer, hurriedly saying that he was born on their estate, pressed a purse of gold into the hand of one and marched off. The country was still in a state of anarchy and they never could discover who their benefactor was.
They stood in astonishment looking after the soldiers, and then turning, walked sorrowfully back to the ruins, where a decently dressed working man who had been observing them, came up and again asked them the same question.
“Are you not the MM. de ——?”
“Yes, we are,” replied the brothers.
“Well, I am ——. I was head-gardener at the chateau in the old time, and now, Messieurs, if you will honour me by coming to my house and accepting some refreshment, I will show you something that will surprise you.”
The young men gladly went in, and after giving them an excellent déjeuner, their host lighted a candle, took a spade, and told them to follow him. He led them into the garden, cleared away some earth with his spade, and uncovered a stone. This he lifted up, disclosing an underground passage through which he led the way. It ended in a cavern in which lay the whole of their family plate and valuables which this excellent man had saved and concealed during all these years.
“Here is the family plate which I was able to secure for you,” said he. “I always kept it in hope of your return.”
Overcome with joy and gratitude the eldest brother, to whom according to the custom of their family it all belonged, divided the property, which was immensely valuable, into three portions, giving one to his brother, one to the faithful gardener, and keeping one himself, with the proceeds of which they each bought an estate. The sons of the gardener, who were educated with their own, became, one a successful merchant, the other an officer in the French Navy. [143]
There was, of course, a great mixture of new and old, many quarrels and much ill-feeling: increased by the extreme animosity and pretensions on both sides.
The emigrés were not likely to forget the murder of those dear to them, their long years of poverty and exile, and to see with patience their homes and possessions in the hands of strangers.
The newly risen were uneasy and jealous of the [480] emigrés, and not unnaturally irritated at the provocation they often gave them and the scorn with which they were not seldom treated.
Louis XVIII. had enough to do to hold the balance between those who wanted everything put back exactly as it was before ‘89, and those who were in continued fear of the revival of the old state of things. However, he managed to do so, and kept his crown, which unfortunately his successor could not.
It is a singular thing that all the three races, Capétien, Valois, and Bourbon should have ended with three brothers.
The Marquis de Boissy, a devoted Royalist with a long pedigree, went to one of the court balls in the dress of a Marquis of the court of Louis XV. On one of the princes of the blood observing to him—
“That is a curious dress of yours, Monsieur,” he replied, looking round the ball room:
“It is a dress that belonged to my grandfather, Monseigneur; and I think that if every one here had got on the dress of his grandfather, your Highness would not find mine the most curious in the room.”
Gérard
JUDITH PASTA
Mme. de Genlis had friends amongst old and new, French and foreign. The Vernets, Mme. Le Brun, Mme. Grollier, Gros, Gerard, Isabey, Cherubini, Halévy, all the great singers and musicians were among her friends. She lived to see the first years of the brilliant, too short career of Malibran. Pasta, Grassini, Talma, Garat, and numbers of other artistic celebrities mingled with [481] her literary friends. The household of Isabey was like an idyl. He had met his wife in the Luxembourg gardens, a beautiful girl who went there to lead about her blind father. They married and were always happy though for a long time poor. But the fame of Isabey rose; he was professor of painting at the great school of Mme. Campan, where every one under the Empire sent their daughters. He painted Joséphine and all the people of rank and fashion, and received them all at his parties in his own h?tel. Mme. Isabey lived to be eighty-eight, always pretty and charming. Her hair was white, she always dressed in white lace and muslin, and had everything white in her salon, even to an ivory spinning wheel.
They went a great deal into society and to the court balls under Napoleon; and Isabey used to design her dresses and make them up on her in this way: when her hair was done and she was all ready except her dress, he would come with a great heap of flowers, ribbons, gauze, crêpe, &c., and with scissors and pins cut out and fasten on the drapery according to his taste so skilfully that it never came off, and looked lovely. On one occasion when they were not well off he cut out flowers of gold and silver paper and stuck them with gum upon tulle; it was pronounced the prettiest dress in the room.
Before the coronation of Napoleon, the latter said to him, “Make two large water-colour sketches of the procession with correct costumes, every one in their right place. I will send them to study your designs, which will be exhibited in the great [482] gallery of the Tuileries, so that there may be no confusion.”
“Sire, when are these two pictures to be exhibited?”
“The day after to-morrow.”
Isabey bought boxes full of little dolls, masses of materials and pins; dressed them all from the Empress to the last page, and after working two days and nights went to the Tuileries.
“Ah! there you are, Isabey. You have brought me the designs I ordered?”
“A peu près, Sire,” and he pointed to a heap of enormous cases in the courtyard, which in about an hour he had arranged in the gallery in perfect order, much to the delight of the Emperor, who burst into a fit of laughter when he saw them.
After the alarms of the Hundred Days and all the misfortunes involved, it took some time to restore order and security. For a long time the Champs-Elysées were not safe to walk in after dark.
One morning the concierge of an isolated house there was asked by a tall, thin man in black, with a strange look whether there was not a pavilion in the garden to let.
“Yes, sir.”
“Is it quite out of the way of every one?”
“Very far, sir.”
“So that one would be quite alone? No one could hear anything that went on there?”
The concierge did not half like this, but winter was coming on and a pavilion in the middle of a large garden was difficult to let.
“I will take it for three months, here is the rent in advance and a louis besides. Keep the key. I will come in this evening. If any friends arrive before, take them there and ask them to wait till I come.”
“Monsieur has forgotten to tell me his name.”
“Name! Oh! my name is the devil,” and he hurried away.
After dark a man wrapped in a great cloak, under which he carried some large thing, his hat pulled over his eyes, rang and said “The Devil.”
The pavilion was pointed out, and several others followed, all with cloaks concealing more large objects.
“It cannot be Satan,” said the wife of the concierge, “but it may be conspirators.”
“It is a gang of assassins,” said he, “bringing bodies of victims to bury in the garden.” Just then the man who had hired the pavilion came in; the wife followed him and rushed back pale with terror.
“Go and fetch the police! go quick! They are murdering some one. I heard cries, groans, and chains! Run, if you want to save him from these wretches!”
Hurrying away, the concierge soon re-appeared with the police and two soldiers. They proceeded to the pavilion; the door was locked, and just then a strange cry arrested their attention. They beat at the door ordering it to be opened, which it immediately was by a man, who said—
“What are you doing here? What do you want?”
“What are you about yourself? I am a police officer, and I arrest you in the King’s name as a criminal.”
“You arrest me as a criminal? and for what?” while a burst of laughter was heard inside.
“Come, Monsieur,” said the police official, “I see there is some mistake. What is your name?”
“Meyerbeer, but that does not tell you much.”
“But what is your country and profession?”
“I am German, a composer of music, I see no harm in all that.”
“Nor I either,” said the police officer, laughing; “but why then did you say you were the devil, and what are you and your companions doing?”
They let him in, and he saw musicians with desks and instruments, practising for the infernal scene in “Robert le Diable,” which Meyerbeer was going to bring out, and which sufficiently accounted for the chains, groans, and cries of that celebrated chorus.
Mme. de Genlis lived to see her great-grandchildren, and also to see her pupil, the Duc de Orléans, upon the throne. She had never, of course, again the life of riches and splendour which for many years she had enjoyed; but she was philosophical enough not to trouble herself much about that; she had the interest of her literary pursuits, a large circle of acquaintances, the affection of her family and of her adopted children. Alfred turned out extremely well, and Casimir made an excellent marriage, settled at Mantes and devoted himself to good works, so that his adopted mother said his [485] household was saintly. She was always welcome there.
The errors of her youth she abandoned and regretted, and her latter years had by no means the dark and gloomy character that she had pictured to herself, when she left the Palais Royal and fled from France and the Revolution, in whose opening acts she had rejoiced with Philippe-égalité.
The End