Memoirs of Marie Antoinette, cidevant Queen of France. [Two lines from Brantome]

MEMOIRS OF THE QUEEN OF FRANCE.

CHAPTER I.

THAT warmth of temperament, which afterwards led Marie to an almoſt unequalled extreme of libidinous exceſſes, began very early to diſplay itſelf. At an age when moſt children are ſtrangers to ſexual ſenſations, and all are ignorant of their cauſe and tendency, Antoinette had become acquainted with the myſteries of love. Before ten years had revolved over her head, ſhe was often ſurprized in giving practical leſſons to her ſiſters, and in many other acts of juvenile wantonneſs.

We cannot pretend to ſay with certainty on whom ſhe deigned to beſtow the enjoyment of her virgin charms. Her firſt amours were probably conducted with a circumſpection which may have eluded diſcovery. It is, however, well known, that, at the age of fourteen, beauty was not thought the only circumſtance in which ſhe bore a reſemblance to the goddeſs of love. Variety, even then, was talked of in the German court, as pleaſing to Antoinette, and it was generally ſuppoſed not to have been wanting to her enjoyments.

What was ſuſpected in Germany, was, afterwards, when ſhe reſided in France, fully eſtabliſhed as a fact. Succeſſively angered by what they conſidered an unmerited diſmiſſion, or proud of having been encircled in the arms of royalty, the favourites of Antoinette, from time to time, gratified their reſentment or their vanity, by diſcovering their connexion with her.

The cardinal de Rohan was at this time ambaſſador at the court of Vienna. He became enamoured with the charms of Antoinette. Unprincipled in his morals, herculean and handſome in his perſon, he dared to love, and he dared to hope. He improved the firſt opportunity of declaring his paſſion, and met with a reception, of which he had no great reaſon to complain. He was gently chidden for his preſumption, and forbidden in the moſt unforbidding manner to perſiſt; while the artful glances of her eyes contradicted every word that fell from her lips. This interview, as might be expected, added new heat to the ardent wiſhes of this illuſtrious hypocrite. A flame was now kindled in his boſom, which burnt till it produced his deſtruction. He now uſed every artifice of which he was maſter, to bring his deſign on her to a conſummation. But all his exertions proved ineffectual; and he returned to France in diſappointment, and almoſt in deſpair.

His want of ſucceſs, at this time, was chiefly owing to a previous engagement on the part of Antoinette. A young German officer, with whom ſhe accidentally became acquainted, being poſſeſſed of a perſon with which 〈◊〉 was delighted, read his good fortune in her eyes, and inſtantly made ſome tender advances, which were received in the kindeſt manner. From this moment, a voluptuous intercourſe commenced between this happy couple, that exiſted for a length of time, far exceeding the duration of her ſubſequent amours. It was, however, at laſt broken off by her departure for France; but ſhe ſeemed, through life, to entertain an increaſing fondneſs for the delightful tactics, in which ſhe had been inſtructed by this military Adonis.

It was ſoon after the connexion between Antoinette and this officer was formed, that the cardinal made his declaration to her. We need not be ſurprized at the mildneſs of the anſwer he received: it was ſuch as might be expected from ſuch a woman. She was ſeldom diſpleaſed by ſolicitations of this kind, and, poſſeſſed of too much humanity to exerciſe the cruelty of repulſion, even when ſhe did not grant, ſhe hardly denied.

CHAPTER II.

IT is unneceſſary here to detail the circumſtances which led to an union of the houſes of Auſtria and Bourbon, by the marriage of Marie Antoinette with the dauphin, ſince Louis XVI. king of France. This pretended reconciliation was inſincere on the Auſtrian ſide. When Antoinette was about to depart from Vienna for France, ſhe entered into a league with her brother, Joſeph II. emperor of Germany, againſt the liberty, property, and even the exiſtence of the people of France, ſolemnly ſwearing to accompliſh, if poſſible, the deſtruction of that nation, which ſhe ſtill viewed with the antipathy of a natural enemy. And to this horrid engagement ſhe proved faithful, as the ſequel of theſe memoirs will evince.

On her leaving Vienna, her mother, the great Maria Thereſa, is ſaid to have been tranſported with joy at the idea of the evils impending over France, in being ſubjected to a queen like Antoinette. Anticipating that ruin, which ſhe doubted neither the inclination nor the ability of her daughter to effect, ſhe exclaimed, Now am I revenged on France!

Marie Antoinette arrived in France in the year 1768. She was then in her ſeventeenth year. Her beauty, at all times incomparable, was now at its acmè. By the plenitude of her health, and the vivacity of her deſires, her cheeks were fluſhed into a bloom, that, to the whiteneſs of a neck and boſom, which ſeemed animated alabaſter, formed a contraſt the moſt captivating. With her eyes ſhe could do what ſhe pleaſed; yet when left to themſelves they beamed nothing but innocent frankneſs, angelic benevolence, and mild dignity. Her perſon, proportioned with the moſt ſtriking ſymmetry, was tall and majeſtic. She might, in ſhort, have been taken as a perfect model, for another Venus de Medicis. No one beheld her without admiration; and no one will read her hiſtory without deteſtation. Poſſeſſed of ſuch charms, had ſhe not wandered into every ſhameful exceſs, and committed every crime that could alienate affection, ſhe had been adored by the people of France, who had long diſtinguiſhed themſelves by a blind attachment to their ſovereigns.

Born for pleaſures, and availing herſelf of that licentiouſneſs of manners which reigned at court, Marie Antoinette, on her arrival, ſacrificed nothing to etiquette. She entered alone, and whenever ſhe judged proper, into the apartment of Louis XV. And under the pretext of ſhewing herſelf to a people, whom, ſhe ſaid, ſhe loved, and whoſe affections ſhe wiſhed to obtain, ſhe walked out ten times a day, without eſcort. Her firſt lady of honor, Madame de Noailles, preſumed to repreſent to her the impropriety of ſuch conduct. Her advice was, however, turned to ridicule, and procured her the nick-name of Madame Etiquette.

Even the dauphin grew uneaſy at that licentious gaity, and contempt of decorum, which were now daily exhibited in the conduct of Antoinette. Happy had it been for France, if her conduct had excited in his breaſt that averſion which ſhe merited. But poſſeſſed of every artifice of her ſex, as well as all its charms, ſhe knew how to captivate the moſt inſenſible; and ſhe duped the heart of Louis into the moſt extravagant fondneſs, and inſpired his boſom with the moſt implicit confidence.

Meanwhile, Madame, the cidevant counteſs of Provence, conceived the moſt inveterate hatred againſt Antoinette. She beheld her beauty with all the pangs and all the malevolence of envy; and equally hurt by the ſuperiority of her charms and her power, ſhe ſecretly determined on revenge.

The counteſs d'Artois became alſo diſſatisfied with Antoinette. The attentions which the huſband of the former laviſhed on the latter, were beheld with jealous apprehenſion. The counteſs had indeed never been perfectly pleaſed with his behaviour. From their earlieſt connexion, ſhe had found herſelf under the humiliating neceſſity of ſharing his favors with the vileſt of her ſex.

Antoinette and theſe two women, whoſe diſpoſitions bore a near reſemblance to her own, were ever meditating miſchiefs. Their huſbands were all equally puſillanimous. Monſieur, the vaineſt and moſt pedantic man in the kingdom, devoted all his moments to his favorite ſtudies of literature. Deſtitute of ſenſibility, and a ſtranger to every ſocial paſſion, he ſeemed as incapable of feeling as the mouldy volumes, to pore over which was his only delight and employment. Philanthropic ſpeculations, and the philoſophy of humanity, had never gained admittance to his thoughts. The count d'Artois was continually plunged in the moſt ſhameful debaucheries, and ran with unſlackening pace the round of exceſſes, in daily diſſipation and nocturnal riot. The temper of the dauphin was mild and phlegmatic; and his heart was fortunately incapable of acute ſenſation. His genius early diſcovered itſelf to be a mechanical one; and he always appeared to be happier in a forge than in a palace. While employed in the former, a lively fancy might have imagined him fabricating chains for the nation, which he was deſtined to govern. He, however, diſplayed leſs ingenuity in his attempts to fix them on his ſubjects, than in manufacturing them.

Maurepas was at this time preſident of the council. Equally indifferent to all political events, he knew no ſolicitude except for his ſtomach. He was the moſt confirmed of epicures. Too careleſs for the miniſtry, and, at the ſame time, too amiable to be excluded from ſociety; while he neglected the former, he was the delight and the ſoul of the latter.

The count d'Artois, who poſſeſſed an handſome figure, and a countenance full of vivacity, now attracted the eyes of Marie Antoinette. The reputation which he had acquired among women, had excited, in her breaſt, a wiſh to know the validity of its foundation; and ſhe determined to encourage the attentions which he paid her. She had alſo another motive for favoring the advances of the count. She had become ſolicitous to experience maternal feelings, which ſhe imagined muſt be delightful. She had alſo, on her departure from Germany, received an injunction from Maria Thereſa, to become, if poſſible, a mother. By her cohabitation with Louis, her fertility had not been rendered apparent. Whether this circumſtance was owing to impotence on his part, or to ſome phyſical contrariety of temperament, we are unable to determine. Be this as it may, ſhe conſidered d'Artois as the man, in the world, beſt adapted to the gratification of all her wiſhes.

The aſſiduities of the count were now increaſed, and they were received with the higheſt complacency. His attachment to the queen was now talked of as having become mutual, and gave origin to much ſcandal. Nor were the reports which were circulated on this occaſion confined to the court of France; they even reached the ears of the empreſs; and it may be well imagined that they ſuffered no diminution by tranſportation. She was not ſurpriſed at the crime, but ſhe was alarmed by the imprudence of her daughter. In order, however, to obtain more accurate information on this ſubject than could be derived from common fame, ſhe wrote to the cardinal de Rohan, requeſting him to give her an account of the conduct of Antoinette. The deſires which the latter formerly excited in his boſom, had yet ſuffered no abatement. He viewed the count d'Artois as a dangerous and ſucceſsful rival; and, anxious to effect a diſſolution of his connexion with Antoinette, he wrote an anſwer to Thereſa, which rather magnified than palliated the fault of her daughter. Of this letter we inſert a copy.

Madam,

My zealous attachment to the illuſtrious houſe of Auſtria; the veneration with which you have inſpired me; and the generous reception with which I was honoured at your court, when I was ſent thither by my king; all theſe induce me to yield an obedience to your commands which deeply wounds my heart. Ah, why have you not charged ſome other with the execution of this too painful commiſſion!

It is, alas! but too true, madam, that Antoinette, ſince her arrival in France, has forgotten all thoſe leſſons of wiſdom and virtue with which your parental tenderneſs was pleaſed to enrich her at parting. My duty obliges me to tell you the afflicting truth, that ſhe has become a finiſhed coquette, and that ſhe yields herſelf almoſt wholly up to exceſſes. A report is confidently circulated, that ſhe prefers her brother-in-law to her huſband. May God avert an event ſo dreadful! Yet appearances, in this unhappy affair, but ill agree with our virtuous wiſhes.

Thus have I given your majeſty all the information in my power. May it enable you to conduct her again in the path of duty; and that my affectionate zeal may have the felicity of co-operating with your majeſty, is the moſt ardent wiſh of,

Madam, Your very obedient, And moſt reſpectful humble ſervant, (Signed) L. DE ROHAN.

This letter, being afterwards found among the papers of the empreſs, was ſent to Antoinette by her brother. This gave additional force to that reſentment which ſhe had already conceived againſt its author: and in order to render her vengeance complete, ſhe ſolicited for him the moſt eminent places, to make his fall the more humiliating

CHAPTER III.

AS variety was ever the paſſion of Antoinette, her connexion with the count now ſuffered an interval, which was occupied by a new and more pleaſing object. The count Dillon, (often called the handſome Dillon) now returned to court, where he had formerly been a page. He now attracted every eye, and the queen was not the laſt on whom he made an impreſſion. He was not permitted long to remain ignorant of the havock he had made in the heart of his ſovereign; nor was the conſummation of her ardent deſires long poſtponed.

Deſtitute of wit, and unamiable in his manners, count Dillon was recommended by nothing but beauty. Such is the portrait of the hero of the day. The inſinuating queen had, however, the art to make her unſuſpecting huſband the friend of this unprincipled and ungrateful villain. When he played, the king condeſcended to be his banker, and heaped on him many diſtinguiſhing favors. A glaring indiſcretion, however, between the lovers at length alarmed the king. The queen gave a ball, at which ſhe ſcarcely danced except with Dillon. At length, pretending fatigue, ſhe threw herſelf into a chair, and preſently after complained of a moſt intolerable palpitation of the heart. The count ran, in a fright, to her aſſiſtance; and, unconſcious of the preſence of the company, thruſt his hand into her boſom, the ſeat of the complaint. As inattentive as the count to the company which gathered round in mute aſtoniſhment at his temerity, the queen forgot to remove the welcome intruder. The king at laſt ſaid ſomething expreſſive of ſurpriſe and diſpleaſure, and Dillon retired. She, however, with an embrace, and a few tender words, appeaſed his indignation, and removed his ſuſpicions. Even Dillon himſelf was by her artful management, ſoon reinſtated in the favor and confidence of Louis. For ſome time ſubſequent to this reconciliation, the lovers lived in the happieſt and moſt ſecure familiarity.

But the time when Dillon was to return to his regiment at length arrived, and the lovers were forced to feel the pangs of ſeparation. In vain did Antoinette ſolicit a diſpenſation for the colonel, repreſenting to M. Mayenne how neceſſary this officer was in her balls and promenades. He was obliged to depart, but madame de Guémenée ſoon dried the tears of Antoinette; and ſome ladies of the camp as quickly conſoled M. Dillon.

About this time happened the death of Louis XV. ſirnamed the Well-Beloved; and the huſband of Antoinette ſucceeded to the throne of France, by the title of Louis XVI. Our heroine now found herſelf in poſſeſſion of that ſovereignty, for which ſhe had waited, from the firſt moment of her arrival in France, with the moſt impatient expectation. Regardleſs of decorum, ſhe made no effort to conceal the joy which ſhe felt at this event. The grateful tear of filial affection could not indeed have been expected to flow from the eyes of ſuch a woman; but the appearance, at leaſt, of grief would have been aſſumed on this occaſion, had ſhe not loſt all reſpect for decency. But far from that, her balls and entertainments now became more gay, ſuperb and frequent. The circle of her pleaſures was enlarged, and ſhe daily plunged into new exceſſes. The unparalleled licence of her conduct excited the indignation of the virtuous, and it ſcandalized even the leaſt ſcrupulous. The princeſs de Marſan, and madame de Maurepas, preſumed to repreſent to Antoinette the impropriety of ſuch proceedings, and remonſtrated againſt them in ſtrong, though reſpectful terms. This however produced only ridicule and reſentment on the part of the queen.

CHAPTER IV.

IN 1775 the court went to Rheims, where the ceremony of the conſecration of Louis XVI. was performed. Notwithſtanding the low ſituation of the finances, and the remonſtrances of her huſband, who preached nothing but economy, Antoinette cauſed the preparations for this journey to be of the moſt expenſive kind. The moſt magnificent equipages, with perſonal ornaments the moſt ſuperb and coſtly, were provided by her direction. And as the public treaſury was already too much exhauſted to anſwer theſe enormities of expence, ſhe had recourſe to a number of uſurers, from whom very large ſums were obtained, by promiſes of moſt extravagant gratuities from the public coffers, as ſoon as they ſhould be filled by monies extorted from the nation.

The evening previous to their departure, Louis, with tears of tenderneſs, pathetically exhorted Antoinette to a conduct which ſhould contradict all that ſcandal which had been circulated in conſequence of her levities and miſconduct. Ever prompt to diſſemble, ſhe embraced him with pretended affection, and ſolemnly declared ſhe would be guided by his counſel. Her language appeared to be that of truth and ſweetneſs; but her perfidious heart was full of falſehood.

Behold our heroine now at Rheims, plunged into a ſea of licentiouſneſs. On her arrival at this place, ſhe wholly ſeparated her court from that of the king's, and rendered it a pantheon of pleaſure. Here prudiſh modeſty found no admiſſion; decency and ſobriety were conſidered as impertinents, and the firſt in merit was the firſt in vice. Feats of gallantry were the ſplendid achievements of thoſe who were moſt emulous of glory; and the buſineſs of all was intrigue. Here Antoinette, inſtead of appearing like the auguſt queen of an amiable nation, became a Venus, in real life, ſurrounded with her nymphs and votaries. Neither did ſhe forget that her huſband was a Vulcan, and as ſuch he was treated. The young due de Coigny was choſen as her favorite Mars; and, if we except the circumſtance of the net, the whole of this poetic fable, even to the nudity of the happy couple, was realized.

Such was the ſtate of Antoinette and her court, during her reſidence at Rheims. Even that tranſparent veil, which ſhe had earleſsly thrown over her adulterous amours at Verſailles, was now laid aſide; and the conſtraint of ſecrecy was no longer conſidered as compatible with the dignity of royal wantonneſs. All regard for reputation, all apprehenſion of publicity was now diſmiſſed; and even her looſeſt moments were ſcarce guarded from the general eye by the umbrage of privacy.

L' Iſle d' Amour, a ſmall but delightful iſland, ſituated in the river near Rheims, was the favorite ſcene of her anti-conjugal gambols. She indeed rendered it the reſidence of the deity whoſe name it bears, and fixed unequivocal propriety to its appellation. It became, in fact, another Cyprus; and, as the preſiding power was preſent to regulate her ſacrifices, it may be well preſumed they were neither few nor ſmall.

On the evening of the ninth of June, 1775, Antoinette gave a moſt brilliant ſupper at this favorite Iſle. The king received a ſlight invitation to this nocturnal feaſt, but as ſhe wiſhed and expected, he refuſed to go. This infamous night was deſtined to voluptuous exceſſes, to which ſhe was apprehenſive his preſence might have given ſome conſtraint. From this banquet all ceremony and etiquette were baniſhed; and every gueſt, of either ſex, followed the example of the queen, and drank like true Germans. Immediately after ſupper the attendants were diſmiſſed, and on a ſignal given by Antoinette, the lights were extinguiſhed. All now wandered at hazard in the adjacent grove, in order to give, as chance might happen to pair them, a promiſcuous conſummation to theſe bacchanalian orgies. Antoinette, who undoubtedly ſhould be recorded by the faithful hiſtorian as the original inventor of this refined ſpecies of revelry, was not diſappointed of that pleaſure which ſhe expected to derive from the execution of this ingenious project. By an artful addreſs, ſhe now taſted all the raptures of that ſudden variety, the enjoyment of which ſhe had anticipated. The inexpreſſible tranſports of this night are known to have afforded her a ſource of delightful recollection, and to have long been the favorite topic of her confidential converſations.

The king, although he did not ſuſpect the infidelity of Antoinette, diſapproved theſe nocturnal riots. The next day he ſpoke of her conduct as light and improper; and ended his ſermon, ſo diſagreeable to her, by an expreſs interdiction of her viſits to the Iſle d' Amour. She complained of this tyranny, as ſhe termed it, of her royal ſpouſe; but the ſurly monarch was peremptory, and ſhe was obliged to yield obedience.

The pompous ceremony of conſecration being over, the court returned to Verſailles. The celebrated Montanſier, who was a manager of theatrical exhibitions in this city, being overwhelmed with debt, had at this time formed the plan of a fraudulent bankruptcy. This circumſtance being communicated to the queen, ſhe undertook to patronize this retailer of licentious pleaſure. She extricated her from the labyrinth in which ſhe was involved, by paying all her debts; and ſhe even extended her bounty ſo far as to enable la Montanſier to continue her buſineſs. The lewd and indecent plays which were introduced to the public by this manager, were happily calculated to pleaſe the taſte of Antoinette; ſhe became a conſtant attendant on them. She, on theſe occaſions, was uſually accompanied by her aſſiduous brother-in-law, the count d'Artois. The king beheld theſe irregularities with painful anxiety; and often beſought the queen, with tears in his eyes, to deſiſt from courſes of life ſo deſtructive to domeſtic felicity, and ſo productive of public infamy. Finding every remonſtrance ineffectual, he at length determined to enforce a reformation by different and more ſpirited means.

One night Antoinette and d'Artois, returning from Trianon, as uſual, at a very late hour, on preſenting themſelves at the gate of the caſtle, were refuſed admittance

〈…〉 by the centinel. Enraged at this unexpected detention, the count had recourſe to execrations and menaces, both of which proved equally ineffectual. The guard remained inflexible, alledging, in juſtification of his conduct, that he had received his orders from the king's own mouth, and it was his duty and determination to execute them. Antoinette then diſcovered herſelf, and in a tranſport of rage, demanded, if he dared to oppoſe the paſſage of the queen? The ſoldier anſwered, that orders had been given him indefinitely, and without exception, to ſuffer no perſon whatever to enter the palace by that gate after a certain hour; and thoſe who ſhould oppoſe his obedience to theſe orders, would do it at the peril of their lives. In fine, the illuſtrious couple were reduced to the neceſſity of returning to the theatre of Montanſier, in order to avail themſelves of a private paſſage leading from thence to the palace. They were obliged even to ſolicit a light from the ſoldiers in the ſalle-des-gardes. The next morning, Antoinette complained bitterly to the king, of the unprecedented rudeneſs with which ſhe had been treated by the audacious centinel. The ſurly monarch, ſhrugging up his ſhoulders, replied, that he himſelf had given the guard his orders, not wiſhing his houſe to be diſturbed by profligate revellers after he was in bed.

Antoinette ſighed for revenge on the author of this mortifying and ridiculous adventure, and determined to avail herſelf of the ſureſt means of procuring it, by perſevering in her licentious exceſſes.

About this time the queen was declared to be pregnant; and this event gave birth to an infinite variety of opinions. The wiſe ones themſelves knew not with certainty where the ſuſpicion ought to be fixed; but moſt circumſtances ſeem to have united to point out the duke de Coigny as a parental agent in this affair. Her pregnancy was dated from a time when ſhe was known to have had an appointment with this healthy and handſome young nobleman. At a certain ball ſhe had been ſuddenly miſſed, and, as afterwards appeared, was about the ſame time ſeen to enter a retired apartment with him. The king, however, was the greateſt dupe. He indeed flattered himſelf that he was the father of the child, and congratulated himſelf with rapturous deluſion, on the expectation of the offspring which was haſtening to the world. The courtiers favored the deception, and applauded the fond credulity of this father in imagination. The delivery of the queen, when it arrived, was ſlow, painful, and dangerous. Vermont her accoucheur, however, ſaved her life by a blood-letting, which he performed in contradiction to the opinion of other gentlemen of the faculty, who had been conſulted on this occaſion. Meantime her lovers, apprehenſive that in this ſtate of agony ſhe might make unfortunate diſcoveries, were filled with the utmoſt confuſion. The duke de Coigny particularly, ſhewed marks of the greateſt anxiety, and made, in his diſtreſs, a ſpectacle at once diverting and pitiable. The labor, however, at length ended happily; on which the king leaped about in an ecſtaſy of joy, preſſing the hand of Vermont, and calling him his guardian angel. In imitation of the example of Henry IV. he exhibited the infant to the aſſembly, with an air of inexpreſſible ſatisfaction, and addreſſing himſelf to M. d'Algire, preſident of the parliament, exclaimed, Behold this child, my dear friend, and acknowledge in it the ſemblance of its father!

CHAPTER V.

WHEN the queen recovered from her illneſs, a different round of amuſements was introduced at Verſailles. This conſiſted of balls and promenades, particularly nocturnal ones. Every fine evening the court aſſembled on the terrace before the palace. Here perſons of all ranks were collected; even the vileſt and loweſt women of Verſailles were not excluded. In theſe ſcenes of riot, the actors were generally in maſquerade. This ſpecies of diſguiſe, with the ſecurity of night, often veiled tranſactions which might well retire from the beams of day, and with which the hiſtorian declines to ſtain his page. The gardes-françaiſes, were, on theſe occaſions, inſtructed to play airs, which being laſciviouſly tender, were happily calculated to influence the looſer paſſions. Biron, an officer in the gardes-du-corps, took particular pains to acquaint himſelf with what paſſed at theſe meetings, and he afterwards took equal pains to make it public. It would be tedious to relate the various adventures of Antoinette during this ſummer.

The next that we ſhall notice is her famous one with a clerk of the ſecretary at war. He was natural ſon to a certain counteſs, who, if any credit be due to fame, would have found it difficult to aſcertain his father. By her patronage he had obtained the place, which he now occupied under the ſecretary. The deſires of the queen were no ſooner excited, than ſhe reſolved on 〈◊〉 immediate gratification. In order to effect this, one Campan, a valet de chambre, to whom the office of the queen's confidential ambaſſador was not a new one, was ordered to introduce the clerk into her cloſet. Accuſtomed to tranſactions of this nature, this adroit procurer executed the orders of Antoinette with expedition and ſucceſs. An interview ſoon took place; the clerk could not ſufficiently congratulate himſelf on this unexpected felicity, and Antoinette was but too happy in the poſſeſſion of a lover, whom nature ſeemed to have endowed with abilities ſuited to her deſires. When the unthinking ecſtaſy of their firſt interviews gave way to reflection, it occurred to the queen, that by the frequent viſits of this favorite ſcrivener to her apartment, ſuſpicions might be exolted, equally fatal to him and to her. On this occaſion, ſhe had immediate recourſe to the advice of her privy-counſellor Campan; and the following artifice was finally determined to be put in practice. The clerk was to be furniſhed from time to time with pieces of muſic, under a pretext of copying which for the queen, he made her frequent and unſuſpected viſits. By this ingenious contrivance, the happy couple continued their clandeſtine meetings, for ſome length of time, in ſecurity; but, by ſome accident, the count d'Artois was at length led to ſuſpect their connection, and accuſed the queen of it. It might be imagined, that on this occaſion ſhe would have had recourſe to thoſe acts of deception, in which ſhe had acquired an unrivalled proficiency. But far from that, ſhe frankly acknowledged her extravagant fondneſs for this handſome Hercules; believing her gallant brother-in-law too liberal in his ſentiments to cenſure her with ſeverity. She, at the ſame time, expreſſed her apprehenſions that the amour might be diſcovered by the king, and requeſted the advice of fraternal friendſhip, concerning its future management. D'Artois wholly diſapproved the connection, and inſiſted on her never ſeeing the clerk again. Such was her ſituation with the count at this time, that ſhe found herſelf under the neceſſity of conſenting to a ſtrict compliance with his wiſhes. She therefore declared ſhe would be entirely guided by his counſel, and deſired him to diſpoſe of the young man at his own pleaſure. The count was pleaſed with this commiſſion, which he executed but too faithfully. In a few days afterwards the clerk was aſſaſſinated on the road which leads from Paris to Verſailles.

CHAPTER VI.

THE winter which followed this adventure was, like the preceding, ſacrificed at the ſhrine of licentious diſſipation. It was, however, if poſſible, more luxurious and expenſive. La Bertin and Guimard were now preferred to the honourable place of the queen's private miniſtreſſes. La Bertin was a milliner, and Guimard an opera girl. Of all the celebrated prieſteſſes of Venus, never were any more deeply verſed in her arts and myſteries than theſe. Having practiſed with unremitting aſſiduity from early life, they had now attained to almoſt unrivalled eminence. Antoinette, ever the patroneſs of this ſpecies of merit, determined to reward that abundance of it which ſhe diſcovered in this virtuous couple. It appeared to her a kind of injuſtice, that talents worthy to be ſubſervient only to royal luxury, ſhould be proſtituted to plebeian pleaſure. She therefore raiſed them to the rank of her confidential friends. Happy had it been for France, had Louis XVI. diſcovered as much ſagacity as Antoinette in the choice of his miniſters. Sully, Colbert, and Richlieu, for management and fineſſe, were ſcarce to be compared with La Bertin and Guimard. While the amours of the queen were under the direction of theſe machiavelian females, they were veiled from the public eye with the moſt artful ſecrecy. It cannot therefore be expected, that we ſhould give a particular account of them.

So capricious however was Antoinette, that even the moſt important ſervices could not long ſecure her favour. She ſoon grew tired of practiſing what ſhe termed the timid caution of La Bertin and Guimard. Impatient of the reſtraints of that ſecrecy to which they adviſed, ſhe gradually cooled in her friendſhip towards them, and at length diſmiſſed them from her ſervice.

About this time, Madame Jules de Polignac was brought to bed. The court, on this occaſion, paſſed ſeveral days in revelry and rejoicings. The queen was ſuppoſed to pay the utmoſt attention to her friend la Polignac, to keep continually at her bed-ſide, and to become, in fact, her nurſe. She was lodged in an apartment of Vaudreuil, at Paris. Thoſe who were unacquainted with the intrigues of court, thought it very ſingular, that la Polignac had not been lodged in the palace of Verſailles, which would have appeared at once more natural and decent. Let ſuch be informed, that it was infinitely more convenient that ſhe ſhould be with Vaudreuil. The daily viſits of the queen to Paris were owing to other motives than thoſe of female friendſhip. Madame la Polignac had been familiar with Vandreuil, and ſhe had become the mother of a ſon. La Polignac was however uſed with tenderneſs and generoſity. The queen made her a preſent of a box of jewels, valued at 80,000 livres, and the king, influenced by her example, forgot his uſual parſimony, and gave her an equal ſum in ſilver. She was alſo preſented with the duchy of Mayenne, worth the trifling ſum of 1,400,000 livres. To this laſt piece of liberality Mr. Neckar preſumed to make ſome oppoſition. But he found this only gave diſpleaſure, and recollecting the fall of Mr. Turgot, he prudently determined to comply with the royal whim of the moment. He therefore only adviſed that inſtead of the duchy in queſtion, the lady ſhould be put in poſſeſſion of nearly its value in ready money. This propoſal, being ſatisfactory to the parties concerned, was immediately put in execution.

Meantime the very frequent paſſings and repaſſings of the queen from Verſailles to Paris which had taken place, gave much uneaſineſs to the Pariſians. Accuſtomed to reſpect the decency of majeſty, and to view with awe the ſplendor of ſovereignty, they could not contemplate without indignation ſuch ſhameful degradations of royalty, and ſuch a waſte of favors on one ſo undeſerving. La Polignac became more than ever the object of public hatred. The ſcandalous profuſion with which the national treaſury had been poured into her lap, could not but excite the anger of thoſe from whom it had been previouſly extorted for very different purpoſes. The queen was ſurrounded by the family of this favorite, and ſhe had loaded all its members with innumerable favors. The aſcendency which la Polignac now acquired is at once ſurpriſing and incredible. A few weeks after the birth of her child ſhe was attacked by a dangerous indiſpoſition, on which occaſion the queen diſcovered the utmoſt concern, and cauſed ſome apartments near her own to be prepared in the moſt elegant and expenſive manner for the accommodation of la Polignac. She was immediately removed thither, and till ſhe recovered none could have acceſs to her except Vaudreuil and the queen. On the reeſtabliſhment of her health, it was thought highly convenient, that ſhe ſhould ſtill continue to occupy thoſe apartments. Here was found as convenient a rendezvous as could be wiſhed, for the meetings of the queen and her privy council. Here they aſſembled to debate on the moſt important points of policy. Here were diſcuſſed and determined, in the laſt reſort, peace and war, finance, policy, the diſgracing of miniſters, or the degree of confidence which might be placed in them, and, in ſhort, all affairs of ſtate were agitated and managed in this cabinet. The king was ſometimes admitted into this aſſembly, to ratify their ridiculous deciſions; but the honor of entering into their conſultations was never accorded to him. The queen had acquired ſuch an aſcendency over him, that her ſolicitations were very ſeldom ineffectual.

Sometimes the king, aſtoniſhed at the propoſitions and deciſions of this female cabal, refuſed the ſanction of his authority, till he ſhould conſult the ancient Compte. On theſe occaſions he was uſually ſtopped, and impriſoned in the arms of Antoinette, until he was forced to grant his conſent; either being melted into compliance by her affected tenderneſs, or apprehenſive of being ſtifled with embraces, if he perſiſted in his refuſal. But, if he ſometimes eſcaped, the queen immediately cauſed ſomething to be ſaid to the mentor of her royal lord, which induced him to give ſuch advice alone as accorded with her wiſhes.

Vaudreuil and Beſenval, and ſome other men, were admitted to theſe conferences. Madame Jules de Polignac, Madame de Grammont, and Madame Deſmaine were three principal female members; the latter of whom acted the part of miniſter of foreign affairs.

It may not be improper in this place, to give a ſlight ſketch of the characters of ſome of thoſe, who thus directed the movements of France, and treated the moſt important affairs of ſtate with as much levity, as the fold of a garment, or the change of a faſhion.

CHAPTER VII.

WE begin with Vaudreuil. Vaudreuil inherited nothing from his father, who was a good man, but his name. He had been commandant of St. Domingo. Poſſeſſed of an ambitious and intriguing diſpoſition, but, at the ſame time, neither ſagacious nor active, he courted fortune long in vain. He, at length, grew weary of the fruitleſs purſuit, entirely neglected buſineſs, and gave himſelf up to pleaſure. Fortune, as if ſoftened by neglect, now loaded him with favours, and placed him high in preferment. He was introduced at court by a gentleman of the Helvetic cantons, not unknown in the catalogue of royal favors.

Beſenval was one of thoſe, whoſe minds are always governed by the circumſtances of the moment. Incapable of permanent ideas, or extenſive views, he varied with every variation of affairs, and traverſed to every puff of air. Ambitious, inſenſible, and vain, the meaneſt of ſycophants, and the moſt unbluſhing of hypocrites, he deſerted entirely the urbanity of his fellow-citizens, to practize knavery in courts. It is this Beſenval, who, with unparalleled effrontery, preſumed to put his merit in competition with that of the virtuous veteran d'Affry, whoſe place had excited his envy. Although his ambition was in ſome meaſure diſappointed, yet he ſucceeded ſo far as to procure d'Affry, through the compte d'Artois, a multitude of mortifications, which the honeſt old ſoldier felt the more ſenſibly, from his being conſcious that he did not merit them; and, at the ſame time, being unable either to repulſe or revenge them. They were inflicted by the authority of the queen, and by the hand of d'Artois.

Dillon, Coigny, and Vermont, whom we have before mentioned, had a voice in their councils. The illuſtrious Campan was alſo admitted; and he was indeed an important member, although ſuſpected to be the ſon of a footman, of the houſe of Ventadour, of which even himſelf had once the honor of wearing the livery. This hero, ſo worthy the favor of a great princeſs, was the perpetual ſecretary of this honorable committee. To this ſecond Bonneau, who was indeed more artful than the firſt, the queen owed the new invention of giving her orders, and managing her aſſignations, by muſic. This contrivance was conſidered by its author, as a chef d'oeuvre. It was this chevalier of the order of St. Lazarus, who uſed to carry muſic to be copied, to wait an anſwer at the ſtair-caſe head, introduce the copyiſt, and guard the door.

At length, ſome matters which had been agitated in this cabinet, by chance, took air. This was wholly attributed to Madame de Chatillon, who was ſuppoſed to have placed an improper confidence in the marquis d'Entragues, with whom ſhe had been familiarly acquainted at Beſençon. This cunning courtier had determined never to diſcover this intrigue; but ſome things which had accidentally eſcaped him, had excited ſuſpicions in the boſom of his friend the prince de Montbarry. This miniſter, who had long ſhewed his diſpleaſure at the licentiouſneſs of the queen, and the treacheries of the compte d'Artois, was now hated by the courtiers of both parties. He had taken the liberty of criticiſing with ſeverity the miniſterial meaſures of Maurepas, and his private life was examined with as little ceremony as his public.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE queen was now a ſecond time declared pregnant. This event was diſcloſed in a manner ſurpriſingly ſingular. The queen cordially deteſted M. de Maurepas; nor was ſhe fonder of the ancient counteſs, his wife, or their relations, the abbé de Verry, and madame Seguin. Not ignorant of this circumſtance, the antique couple conducted themſelves accordingly, aiming at that neutral tenor of conduct which neither ſolicited the friendſhip of the queen, nor furniſhed her with a pretence for anger. At the moment when the breach was imagined to be wider than ever, Antoinette went to the houſe of the count, and cauſed herſelf to be announced. Good morning, papa, cried ſhe, on ſeeing the count, you are undoubtedly aſtoniſhed at this viſit, but I flatter myſelf that when we part you will not be diſſatisfied with it.

Madame de Maurepas, who was in the apartment, now aroſe to withdraw, that ſhe might not incommode the buſineſs of that private interview with her huſband, which appeared to be the object of this viſit. The queen, perceiving her intention, prevented her departure. "My dear counteſs," ſaid ſhe, you muſt not leave me. I have need of your friendſhip as well as that of your worthy huſband. The ſecret which I am about to confide to him, muſt alſo be entruſted to you. I muſt on this occaſion ſolicit you both to become my parents, protectors and counſellors. But before we proceed to my affairs, let us begin by conſigning our paſt animoſities to eternal oblivion, and uniting ourſelves in the firmeſt bonds of amity. I muſt frankly acknowlege, that I have ſometimes conducted myſelf unworthily towards you; but this was wholly owing to the diſadvantageous impreſſions concerning you which were forced on my mind by your unprincipled enemies. Here you behold the only origin of that unmerited indifference, with which I have ſometimes treated you. Had, I known you better, I had eſteemed you more, I am now undeceived, and I ſhall confide to you, without reſerve, the moſt important of ſecrets.

"Know then," continued ſhe, I am pregnant! . . . . You appear to be rejoiced at this event, but it fills my boſom with anxiety and alarm. I muſt explain myſelf; it is painful to be explicit; but your goodneſs encourages me, and I will proceed without reſerve.—The king, miſtruſtful of his own impotence, has conceived unhappy ſuſpicions concerning this event. Theſe ſuſpicions have been ſtrengthened and increaſed by the cauſtic raillery of Monſieur and Madame, who have not ſpared their royal brother on this occaſion. My huſband, my infant, and myſelf have been handled with equal ſeverity by their unmerciful wit. The counteſs d'Artois is alſo my enemy; and her ſtupid clamours may do me much injury. But I may ſet all their malice at defiance, if you are my friends; let me believe this, and my tortured boſom will recover its former tranquillity. If you prove inflexible, and remain unmoved at my diſtreſs, I am loſt forever!

Verſed in all the arts of diſſimulation, and acquainted with every avenue to the heart, Antoinette, as ſhe uttered theſe laſt words, affected to faint, and ſunk apparently inſenſible from her chair. This completed her victory. The count and his wife ran about the apartment like diſtracted perſons, and recovered not the uſe of their reaſon till the queen was reſtored to life by the attendants, who had ruſhed in, on being alarmed by the cries of this pair of reverend dupes. The attendants were then diſmiſſed, and the count and counteſs, drowned in tears, threw themſelves at the feet of the queen, declaring that they were entirely at her devotion, and ſwearing eternal fidelity.

After theſe aſſurances, and not till then, Antoinette came entirely to herſelf; and without quitting that melting modulation of voice, which ſhe had aſſumed in the former part of her narration, ſhe thus continued it with all the pathos of diſſembled grief.

Believe me, my friends, I am the innocent victim of the falſehood of others, and my own credulity. I am betrayed by the perfidious counſels of the artful Beſenval. He inſinuated that the people of France were ſcandalized at my levity, and diſſatisfied with my ſterility. He then intimated that the only means of recovering their reſpect and conciliating their affection, was, to preſent the people with a prince, and the throne with a ſucceſſor. I at firſt imagined theſe repreſentations deſtitute of foundation; but he cauſed Vaudreuil and Coigny, to whom he knew I ſometimes entruſted my domeſtic chagrins, to reaſon with me in the ſame manner. They never approached me without repreſenting my huſband and my people diſpleaſed that I had you borne no ſon. They painted to my view in colors the moſt alarming, the humility of divorce, and the horrors of proſcription. I was at length overcome. But, conſcious as I was of the inefficacy of conjugal endearments, I found myſelf compelled to have recourſe to infidelity. I was not led to the commiſſion of this error by wantonneſs; but driven, as I imagined, by neceſſity. It was therefore a miſtake of the judgment, not a crime of the heart. Your goodneſs will deem me not wholly inexcuſable, although I have been betrayed into a momentary weakneſs. I have thus frankly told you the origin of my preſent ſituation You alone can repreſent it in a proper light to the king; you alone can preſerve me from ruin!

Bleſſed be thy offspring, illuſtrious princeſs! exclaimed the counteſs, all ſhall be well. We lament what has happened, but it is irrevocable. It is not for as to cenſure ſo amiable a ſovereign. It is rather our duty to guard her reputation in the moment of danger. Go, my dear count, now is the time to avail yourſelf of that aſcendency, which you have acquired over the mind of the king. Go, and make an effort to render yourſelf worthy of the confidence repoſed in you by our auguſt queen.

Marie Antoinette was too cunning not to ſeize on this moment of enthuſiaſm. Falling on the neck of the counteſs, ſhe embraced her with tears of gratitude, and inſiſted on her coming with the count her huſband, to ſup with her at court that evening, when the count might have an opportunity of executing with the king thoſe friendly offices which he had promiſed in her favor. They accepted the invitation, and appeared at court accordingly. During ſupper they were treated with the moſt diſtinguiſhing attentions, and the warmeſt marks of reconciliation and eſteem. To the courtiers this unexpected event was an aſtoniſhing and inſcrutible paradox. All were ignorant of its cauſe, and the preſumptions formed concerning it, were all wide from reality.

When the reſt of the court retired, the count remained with the king; and after a moſt artful preface, for the fabrication of which he was well qualified, announced the pregnancy of the queen. At firſt a frown appeared on the monarch's brow; but the perſuaſive eloquence of Maurepas diſſipated the gathering ſtorm, and at length prevailed on him to believe he had a ſecond time become a parent. In order to account for the conduct of Marie Antoinette on this occaſion, it is neceſſary to inform the reader, that Louis had been led to entertain ſuſpicions concerning her former pregnancy, which ſhe had found it difficult to obviate. Languiſhing with her own unſatisfied deſires, and enraged by the provoking temperance of her huſband's paſſions, ſhe had often reproached him with want of ſenſibility, and intimated her conviction of his impotence. He had been an eye witneſs to much of the levity of her conduct: and the buſy crowd by which he was ſurrounded had often filled his ears with inſinuations, that her career of licentiouſneſs had not ſtopped ſhort of the extreme of infidelity. The ſcruples cauſed by theſe circumſtances were, however, at length overcome by the artful Maurepas.

The day ſucceeding this farce, the court aſſumed a new appearance. The credulous monarch publicly declared the joyful news, nor did he attempt to conceal the tranſports with which it inſpired him. He no longer ſaluted the gallants of his wife, with the malignant glances of ſilent jealouſy; but in the fulneſs of his heart embraced all he met, proclaiming, in a voice of ecſtaſy, the glad tidings.

The Auſtrian heroine, being delivered from all her fears, purſued her ordinary round of licentiouſneſs with increaſed ardor. Wholly abſorbed in his delightful dream of paternity, the monarch no longer viewed her conduct with ſuſpicious vigilance; he was, beſides, too grateful to offer the authoreſs of his felicity the unkindneſs of conſtraint. He ceaſed to liſten to the inſinuations of the enemies of Antoinette, and regarded their repreſentations againſt her as the offspring of falſehood and calumny. That ſtrong averſion with which all men turn from the idea of a deficient virility, ſtrengthened his credulity, and ſhut his ears againſt conviction. On all thoſe glaring facts, which, armed in all the energy of demonſtration, from time to time, ſtood forth to encounter his deluſion, he obſtinately cloſed his eyes.

CHAPTER IX.

THE pregnancy of the queen meantime advanced, which was not, however, according to the etiquette of court, declared in the fifth month, on account of the ſarcaſms which it was apprehended this event might produce. Madame, particularly, ſpared nobody; and the moſt perfect hatred always exiſted between her and the queen.

The joy occaſioned by this pregnancy ſuffered ſome interruption from the recurrence of an inconvenience to which the queen had long been ſubject. It conſiſted in what is termed in medical language, a prolapſus uteri, cauſed by the unbounded exceſs to which ſhe gave herſelf up, in the enjoyment of her favorite Tribades. This circumſtance was attributed however to want of ſkill in the queen's accoucheur, Vermond. He nevertheleſs kept in favor, as well as his brother, the abbè de Vermond, who uſed to entertain, in his queen, the taſte of depravity and the privation of morals!

The duc de Nivernois, the gamblers of the court, the bankers Chalabre and Poincot, the wanton Juers, the little Campan, with a number of muſicians and ſingers, compoſed the ſociety to which Marie Antoinette gave the preference. Such is the dignity which the throne of France was to receive from the daughter of Maria Tereſa.

The wicked counſels which had been given her by Joſeph II. on her departure from the German court, ſhe kept conſtantly in mind. But, to render their execution practicable, it was neceſſary to remove a miniſter who had always been declared her enemy.

She was not, indeed, ignorant of the mean; of diſembarraſſing herſelf from a refractory miniſter.—By the death of the aged Maurepas, ſhe had proved the infallibility of the receipt. But ſuſpicions had ariſen; and a ſecond uſe of poiſon might have opened the eyes of France.

The troubles of the emperor, from day to day, increaſed; and he in vain attempted to calm the minds of his ſubjects, who deteſted his oppreſſion, and ſeemed inclined to diſengage their necks from the odious yoke of tyranny. His treaſury needed freſh ſupplies▪ but he had no other reſource than the queen of France. She, with the aſſiſtance of the comptroller Joliete-Fleury, cauſed a number of very conſiderable ſums to be privately tranſmitted to the emperor.

This miniſter being diſgraced, Antoinette endeavored to get him replaced by means of a creature who was one of her confidents; but her hopes could not be accompliſhed. Dormeſſon proved intractable; and ſhe found herſelf deprived of the means of ſuccouring her brother, at the very moment when the villain Calonne was in poſſeſſion of he tinances, and could ſquander them at pleaſure. This mercileſs blood-ſucker, this ſoul of corruption, who was inſenſible to the cries of pain, and ſported with the public miſery, was quite the proper perſon to ſecond her deſtructive ſchemes.

CHAPTER X.

CHARLES Philip d'Artois had, for ſome time, behaved with unuſual coolneſs to his ſiſter-in-law. His paſſion for her became weakened by her intrigues. It was not till fear removed her other lovers that he reſumed his place. Impelled by the moſt alarming apprehenſions of diſcovery, they had ſucceſſively forſaken her; while ſhe in vain employed wanton looks, and expreſſive touches, to prevent their departure. Their ardor having abated, they ſhrunk away with horror, at the idea of being caught in the arms of the queen. She therefore clung to her brother-in-law, who, leſs fearful of the dangers of the connection, ſupplied the place of Coigny, Dillon, Vaudreuil, &c.

The wife pretended, that of this return of tenderneſs the Dauphin was the offspring. And this ſuſpicion was even circulated in the ballads of the day.

The voluptuous d'Artois, a man of little refinement in his pleaſures, was intimately connected with the duc de Chartres, then Philip Capet, or d'Orleans. They collected in their travels nothing except an ample ſtock of vices and follies. Engliſh cuſtoms, manners, and faſhions made ſuch an impreſſion on the frivolous minds of theſe opera-knights of ſcandalous adventures, that, when they returned to France, they made it their only buſineſs to ape the manners of the people of Great Britain. The courtiers, thoſe vile ſycophants, in their turn, copied d'Artois and de Chartres: and, in a ſhort time, all became Engliſh in the court and in the city; the king, and the egotiſt, Staniſlaus-Xavier, only excepted.

Every day, new races at Vincennes, on the plain of Sablons, added a new varniſh to the follies of theſe princes. The French people, whoſe morality is pleaſure, flocked in multitudes to theſe diverſions, as if they went there to be ſpectators of ſome important event: even mechanics univerſally deſerted their ſhops, to behold the ridiculous ſpectacle of princes dreſſed like Engliſh grooms. On the vigor and intrepidity of theſe valiant Jockies hung the fate of fortunes! Theſe two unworthy branches of the blood of the Bourbons acquired as much glory by ſuch ruinous parties, as by their famous exploits at Gibraltar, and in the affair of Oueſſant.

Habited like an Amazon, and mounted on a ſuperb palfry, Marie Antoinette ſhowed herſelf the friend of their pleaſures, becauſe they favored her own. But before entering into particulars, I ought to give my readers an anecdote which muſt forever eſtabliſh the economical character of Louis XVI.

The French monarch, who now for once through complaiſance left his forge, and ſuffered himſelf to be conducted to a race, was ſupplied by his ſpouſe with wherewithal to intereſt himſelf in it. At firſt, however, he refuſed to bet; but ſeeming at length to yield to the importunity of the queen, he anſwered her, with that ſimplicity which characteriſed him, and an unmeaning ſmile, Is it your wiſh? Well, ſo it ſhall be. I conſent. I will bet a crown on my brother's

〈…〉 horſe! This was, at that time, attributed to the parſimony of Louis. It was, however, a diſcreet leſſon to fools, who ruin themſelves by being too deeply intereſted in theſe amuſements.

When the races were ſcarce finiſhed, Antoinette uſed to depart, like a flaſh, for Trianon, where ſhe did not long wait to be joined by her voluptuous brother-in-law; and theſe clandeſtine interviews uſually terminated in the moſt luxurious exceſſes. They both laid aſide all reſerve, and gave an unbounded looſe to every wantonneſs which their inflamed imaginations, and their inebriated ſenſes could ſuggeſt.

It will be imagined from the good underſtanding which now reigned between theſe illuſtrious and inceſtuous lovers, that Charles Philip occupied all the thoughts of his ſiſter-in-law. But conſtancy was not the favorite virtue of the queen of France.

In order to eſcape the prying vigilance of that ſurrounding ſuſpicion which continually watched her amorous adventures, our heroine frequently made a ſpecious pretence of indiſpoſition. She now declared, that the air of a court but ill agreed with her ſituation, and that ſolitude had become neceſſary, as well to the health of her body, as the tranquillity of her mind. Her phyſicians, being bribed for that purpoſe, publicly aſſerted, that a temporary retirement into the country would be extremely proper, and that this removal was rendered indiſpenſable by its probable utility. Laden with this paſſport of the faculty, to which Louis blindly ſubſcribed, ſhe fled from the dangers with which ſhe was ſurrounded at court, to revel in certain temples, where ſhe preſided in quality of high prieſteſs.

The comte d'Artois was certainly not addicted to jealouſy. He never loved with an ardor ſufficient to give birth to this hateful paſſion. The appearance of it, however, he was ſometimes induced to aſſume, by his ſelf-love. While Antoinette was engaged in theſe ſhameful adventures, d'Artois, one day, accuſed her of what he called infidelity. The queen, wholly ignorant of the female art of bluſhing, heard him without the leaſt emotion. She then, with that effrontery which is ſo natural to her, diſcovered to the compte her peculiar taſte for variety, and particularly expatiated on her fondneſs for the charming Ferſenne; and, in fine, intimated that d'Artois had become indifferent to her. This frankneſs of Antoinette was not diſpleaſing to Charles Philip. There is ſometimes an aſtoniſhing harmony, between ſouls of congenial baſeneſs.

CHAPTER XI.

THE handſome Ferſenne, a colonel in the regiment of Royal Swedes, was now the happy man. He had long been enamoured of the queen, and ſhe had rewarded his earlieſt advances with ſuch tender and expreſſive glances, that he was convinced he was not to languiſh a long time for the poſſeſſion of the object of his deſires.

One day as Ferſenne, abſorbed in this tender and delightful reverie, ſauntered about the orange-grove of the château de Verſailles, he was obſerved by Antoinette. Their eyes ſoon met, and ſhe looked a ſignal, which left him no further room to doubt his happineſs. Returning to her apartment, ſhe meditated only on the means of effecting an happy iſſue to this charming adventure; and, for this purpoſe, ſhe ſent one of her pages to her favorite colonel, with a ſmall box, in which was encloſed the following billet.

FLORA TO ZEPHYR. My dear Zephyr,

I HAVE for ſome time obſerved that you frequent the parterres, of which I am miſtreſs; and regard with attention the flowers which are under my dominion. What are your deſigns, and what are your wiſhes? You have excited my ſuſpicions; and I am alarmed for the ſafety of my flowers. Raviſh them not ungenerouſly away; remember that I am their queen, and ſhall puniſh him who ſteals my favorite treaſure.

This evening at nine. I ſhall be at Trianon. If Zephyr ſhould be touched by the inquietude of Flora, let him be there to calm her fears, and ſooth the chagrin with which ſhe is conſumed. He will be introduced by the governor of my gardens.

The queen did not wait long for an anſwer. The box was returned by the ſame poſt. On opening it, the queen found the following.

ZEPHYR TO FLORA.

IT is with indifference that Zephyr views the flowers of Flora; when he viſits her parterres, it is in hopes of finding their queen, and it is her alone he wiſhes to behold. Yet, when he is in her preſence, his mouth is cloſed with reſpect, and his eyes are the ſilent interpreters of his heart.

This evening at nine, love and gratitude will carry Zephyr to Trianon. Then will he ſtrive to baniſh the inquietude of Flora, and to convince her of the ſincerity of his profeſſions.

Punctual to the moment, Ferſenne was introduced to an apartment in which Antoinette already waited his arrival with the moſt lively impatience. Her intimate confidant, Bazin, was the Mercury of this interview. This vile and cringing valet was accuſtomed to this office. Little did he think himſelf diſgraced by the title of pimp, provided it were to an illuſtrious perſonage.

From this period their interviews became frequent, and continued for a length of time, which exceeded the uſual duration of the amours of Antoinette. Her taſte for change, however, returned, and ſhe ſighed for a ſucceſſor to the exhauſted Ferſenne.

She was heſitating on whom to beſtow this place, when the counteſs Valois de la Motte was preſented to the queen by la Miſery, her firſt femme de chambre. This unfortunate counteſs appeared at court, to ſolicit the poſſeſſion of the territory of Fontété, which had been enjoyed by her anceſtors.

Antoinette affected to patroniſe her demand, guided, as ſhe pretended, by a principle of equity. It was, however, with a view of acquiring a claim to her gratitude, that Antoinette intereſted herſelf in this affair. She therefore uſed her influence with Colonne, to obtain a trifling augmentation of the penſion, which the counteſs already received from the court. By the addition of 700 livers to the 800, which had before been granted to enable her to ſupport with proper dignity the name of Valois, the queen hoped to accompliſh her deſigns.

The cardinal de Rohan had not yet renounced the projects which his paſſion for Antoinette had formerly inſpired. He ſtill watched all her movements, and intercepted all her looks. He early diſcovered her intentions reſpecting la Motte, before they were even ſuſpected by the latter. This he immediately communicated to the counteſs, hoping, by this office of apparent friendſhip, to render her ſubſervient to his views.

In the progreſs of this affair, Antoinette was inſenſibly conducted towards that vengeance which ſhe had long ſecretly meditated againſt the cardinal. But his deſtruction did not prove ſo complete as ſhe wiſhed it to have been. A ſcaffold was the fate which her humanity intended him.

The collar on which the queen had ſo pertinaciouſly fixed her affections, was at length obtained. Lexclaux, her ſecret meſſenger, was charged with its delivery. She received it with tranſport; and, in that moment, ſwore to make it the inſtrument of the cardinal's ruin. It was not her intention to have involved the counteſs de la Motte in thoſe misfortunes which afterwards overwhelmed her. Theſe were produced by an unforſeen concurrence of circumſtances. Concerning this event, there were, in Paris, almoſt as many opinions as perſons.

It is impoſſible to repreſent in their true colours, all the horrors which were produced by this wicked action of Antoinette. One of its effects, however, (dreadful as it is) muſt not be omitted. In conſequence of this affair, the two ſhoulders of the counteſs de la Motte were marked and branded with four ſcandalous lines of verſe, (with which we ſhall not diſgrace our page) on the 10th of July, 1786, by virtue of a decree of the parliament.

It was neceſſary, in order to complete the purpoſe of Marie Antoinette, that theſe diamonds ſhould be entirely at her own diſpoſal; and this was, in a ſhort time effected. The benefactions which ſhe was now enabled to beſtow on her favorites appeared the more generous, becauſe they were valuable; and they were conferred with a better grace, as they coſt her nothing.

By theſe benefactions was the unfortunate counteſs de la Motte afterwards conducted to an infamous poſt, to ſuffer that undeſerved mark of ignominy which ſhe received from the hand of a public executioner.

The niceſt artifice, and the moſt exquiſite hypocriſy, were now neceſſary to extricate our heroine from a ſituation ſo critical. Had the baſeneſs of her conduct been diſcovered, ſhe would have been covered with ſhame and infamy. But on this occaſion, governed by her ordinary principles, ſhe made a ſacrifice of innocence, to add a few moments to the exiſtence of her already expiring honor. She therefore availed herſelf of every precaution, and folded her atrocity in the moſt impenetrable veil that the moſt unprincipled and artful of minds could form.

Conſcious that the ſmalleſt degree of confidence on this ſubject might prove deſtructive, the queen conducted herſelf with the ſtricteſt reſerve. In vain did the crafty and ſagacious baron de Breteuil endeavor to draw from her the ſecret, by confident demands, or by inſidious inquiries. With unſhaken firmneſs ſhe perſevered in denying that this toy had ever been in her poſſeſſion. She uniformly aſſerted that ſhe knew as little of the matter as la Motte. Theſe declarations ſhe continued to repeat, till la Motte was loſt!

The queen thus eſcaped a proceſs, the whole infamy of which was due to her alone. Her name was no longer mentioned but as having been abuſed; and an univerſal indignation was expreſſed againſt thoſe ſuppoſed impoſtors, who had dared to defame

CARDINAL DE ROHAN AND ANTOINETTE. Forget my rank when we 〈◊〉 blisses prove: For both are slaves, and sovereigns both in love. their ſovereign, in hopes to ſcreen their guilty heads from juſtice.

A ſentence, which violated every principle of law and equity, was now pronounced, and innocence was its victim.

Notwithſtanding the ſilence which was enjoined with regard to this affair by the miniſterial inquiſition, the queen was not the leſs defamed in the opinion of the public. She, however, loſt nothing of her ſecurity. She ſtill kept in poſſeſſion three hundred and fifty-ſix diamonds, of the collar which ſhe had ſo handſomely obtained; and from which ſhe ſtill hoped one day to diſplay a ſet of bracelets ſimilar to thoſe worn by the queen of England. The tricks and intrigues of the count de Vergennes, in the courſe of this iniquitous affair, taught the queen how neceſſary it was to beware of him. And, as crimes coſt her nothing, ſhe now meditated one againſt him, the execution of which ſoon followed.

The ill ſucceſs of the emperor's own affairs, together with the turn which the affair of the collar had taken in France, had now rendered him inconſolable. All his projects were now diſappointed. Although he had before received a ſufficient number of proofs of the wickedneſs of his ſiſter, and of the imbecility of the cardinal de Rohan; yet his falſe policy had perſuaded him that his ambition might be ſatisfied, and his views fulfilled by the aſſiſtance of this miniſter, who would not have heſitated to ſecond that confuſion in the ſtate which the emperor meditated, and of which he knew how to profit.

Mean time the mind of Antoinette was wholly occupied by the moſt execrable of deſigns; and anticipated the glory to be acquired by its execution. One of her enemies was however yet alive. Plans were formed to bring about his expulſion from court. Accuſations, founded in truth, were in vain ſought for, to occaſion his baniſhment; and the efforts of calumny ſerved only to brighten his triumph.

She had in her poſſeſſion the famous receipt of Catharine de Medicis. The aged Maurepas had fallen a victim to its fatal effects; even in the moment, when the queen profeſſed a ſincere reconciliation, and ſwore to receive his adviſe ever after with the higheſt deference. But ſhe embraced only that ſhe might ſtrangle. She determined to beſtow on Vergennes a ſimilar doſe; and the execrable Polignac was fixed on as her aſſiſtant in the commiſſion of this crime. For this purpoſe, a reconciliation with this infamous woman became neceſſary. This the artful Antoinette effected without difficulty. The fatal poiſon was artfully prepared, and ſpeedily given. The count de Vergennes was ſeized with a mortal languor, and ſoon expired.

The reconciliation between the queen and Polignac furniſhed matter for much ſlander. The infamous attachment of Antoinette became the ſubject of public converſation and univerſal cenſure. But ſhe laughed at ſarcaſm, and liſtened to her own infamy without bluſhing.

The emperor ſtill nouriſhed the hope of effecting an inteſtine diviſion in France. He communicated his projects to his ſiſter; and ſhe ſeconded them with all her influence.

Jules de Polignac became the favorite of Antoinette, and the ſoul of all her pleaſures. They were now inſeparable companions, and all the moments which the queen could ſnatch from the company of Louis were devoted to this libidinous ducheſs. She puniſhed the indolence of the king by the moſt abominable commerce, which ſhe now ſcarce took pains to conceal from him.

Sometimes the count d'Artois joined in their leud orgies; but the queen feared his approach. She knew that able gameſters do not play for nothing. The royal family muſt already have been conſiderably augmented; but for the abortive noſtrums given to Antoinette by Polignac. And the queen determined that future recourſe to their aid ſhould be unneceſſary.

Her conduct in the meantime continued to be a ſubject of popular animadverſion; and from day to day epigrams, paſqui • ades, and ballads were publiſhed, which proved the infamous depth to which ſhe had ſunk in the eſtimation of France. Of this general cenſure ſhe could not long remain ignorant. When ſhe diſcovered it, the hatred which ſhe had conceived againſt France was increaſed; and from that moment ſhe ſwore its deſtruction.

The means were eaſy. The miniſter had long foretold the ruin which ſhe had meditated. One circumſtance was now wanting, and this haſtened to arrive.

Deluded by appearances, Louis ſlept in fancied ſecurity.

The princes of the blood royal of the houſe of Bourbon had given frequent proofs of decided patriotiſm, and were in poſſeſſion of the public eſteem. But ſhe conſidered them as ſo many weathercocks which might be turned at pleaſure by the lighteſt wind. She thought nothing more eaſy than to diſcover their ſentiments, and ſubject them to her own management.

During this time ſhe ſuffered much from the jealous, fierce, and impetuous temper of the ducheſs de Polignac, which had now ariſen to an inſupportable exceſs.

The time of Antoinette was at this period divided between the gratification of her looſer wiſhes, her ſervices to the emperor, and her attentions to the princes of the blood. The firſt of theſe occupations was always her higheſt concern. Her brother now ſtood in need of immediate ſupplies, which ſhe undertook to procure him. And to make the princes ſubſervient to her wiſhes, it was neceſſary to flatter their ambition. The ſoul of Antoinette was alone capable of executing a project ſo perfidious and ſo deſtructive as that in which ſhe was engaged.

D'Artois, without being envious of the crown, had laviſhed upon it all his cares. But the birth of a duke of Normandy, which was indeed the effect of his own exertions, cauſed him to ſhed tears of rage. And now was formed the moſt horrid and deteſtable of triumvirates. The members mutually engaged their ſeveral dependents, and ſwore the deſtruction of the people, and the total ruin of France. The prince d'Artois entered fully and cordially into this plot. He had peculiar reaſons for becoming an enemy to his countrymen. On his return from his glorious expedition to Gibraltar, they had unmercifully loaded him with the moſt inſupportable raillery. He ſtill felt the diſgraceful wounds which his honor had received, and he ſighed for revenge.

An unexpected reſiſtance from a parliament, on whoſe aſſiſtance this league had placed much dependence, cauſed the commencement of this enterprize to prove abortive. The intractability of the parliament was at firſt ſuppoſed to be a mere feint. The league perſuaded the royal lion to roar, in order to frighten this diſobedient and ridiculous areopagus to its duty. But the parliament ſtill continued refractory; the Pariſians alſo mutinied and inveſted the Palais. The inregiſterment of the extravagant edict which had been dictated by Louis, was now entruſted to d'Artois, who began the buſineſs by giving the moſt inconteſtible proofs of his ferocious and ſanguinary character, and ended it with the ſame paltroonery as at Gibraltar. He mounted the grand eſcalier, ſwearing like a demoniac, his mouth foaming and his eyes flaſhing with rage. But this ebullition of his ſpirits was ſoon cooled, and the hero deſcended fearfully, precipitately, and ſhamefully. He flew to his carriage, but too happy to have eſcaped the vengeance of an audacious hand which had been raiſed againſt him.

On his return to Verſailles, he aſſured the king that he in future might take on himſelf the trouble of cauſing his will to be executed.

The capital remained in a ſtate of agitation and alarm. The corps de garde were attacked and defeated; and ſoon after followed the famous genuflexion before the ſtatue of Henry IV. This ſpectacle drew tears from all who reflected how much his reign differed from the preſent.

The league beheld with ſecret ſatisfaction theſe troubles and diſſenſions, which preſaged thoſe calamities to the production of which they aſpired. Senſible, however, of the neceſſity of circumſpection, they waited in ſilence for the arrival of the firſt favorable occaſion, of which they determined to profit. During this interval Antoinette beſtowed her time on a new ſpecies of amuſement.

As hobby-horſes were faſhionable at court, Antoinette now made choice of one for herſelf, and hers was a buffoon. That illuſtrious punſter, the Marquis de Bièvre, was elevated to this honorable poſt. He had recommended himſelf to the queen by numerous inſipid epigrams, which he had made at his leiſure, and diſtributed among the courtiers; a ſet of beings, who, as they were deſtitute of learning and taſte, were incapable of a juſt appreciation of literary merit, and from whom it need not be ſurpriſing that his ſenſeleſs performances received the tribute of admiration and applauſe.

After the queen had made choice of this ſon of dullneſs for a preſident, ſhe ſelected from the herd of ſycophants which ſurrounded her, a number of members, qualified, in different degrees, by talents of a ſimilar nature, and formed what ſhe denominated a cabinet of wit, or bureau d'eſprit. The wit of this ſociety conſiſted wholly of puns; and it was in fact reſolved at one of their meetings, that any member who ſhould ſpeak a certain number of minutes without making a pun, ſhould be conſidered as having committed a crime, for which the penalty of being ſtiled leze-fantaſie ſhould be incurred. By the force of royal example, the rage for punning became at length ſo prevalent, that it was viſible in public writings of the moſt ſerious and important kind. Puns might be found in edicts, proclamations of the king, bills of taxation, and even in arrêts of the council. But the worſt pun of all was the royal majeſty itſelf.

The queen was for a while in raptures with this ſelect ſociety; and moſt of its members ſhared the felicity of being led to Trianon by the allurements of their royal patroneſs. But as nothing could boaſt the power of pleaſing her for any great length, ſhe ſoon neglected this favorite coterie, and their meetings became leſs frequent, and in fine were thought of no more.

CHAPTER XII.

ABOUT this time the miniſter, Calonne, became obnoxious to the queen. Being either unable or unwilling to ſupply her with the enormous ſums which ſhe from day to day demanded from the national treaſury, he had ventured on giving a denial to ſome requeſts of this nature. This audacious conduct excited her reſentment, and cauſed her to meditate his ruin. Verſed in all the arts of intrigue, and indefatigable in the purſuit of revenge, ſhe ſcon diſcovered the means of effecting his diſgrace. She cauſed private information to be given him, by ſome of her creatures, that a certain rival, anxious to obtain the place in the miniſtry which Calonne occupied, had determined on his aſſaſſination. This treacherous fiction was communicated in a manner which gave it a face of probability, and carried with it a conviction that produced the deſired effect. The miniſter, prudently eſteeming it a leſs misfortune to reſign his employment than to be deprived of his life, retired from office with fearful precipitation.

Archbiſhop Brienne, an impious and unprincipled character, ſucceeded Calonne as financier. His adminiſtration ſoon proved how deſtitute of diſcernment was that ſovereign who elevated him to this illuſtrious employment. He managed the national treaſury like a patrimony in which himſelf poſſeſſed a ſole and individual propriety. All his actions were devoted to one purpoſe, that of increaſing his own eſtate. Antoinette and d'Artois found him the moſt inconvenient perſon in the world to have the management of the treaſury; for the ſums which he embezzled from it were embezzled only for himſelf.

Louis, whoſe confidence in his miniſter was unbounded, ſubmitted to his wife and brother the whole management of the moſt important affairs of his council. He, from time to time, without examination or thought, put the royal ſignature to every decree which was preſented to him. When he demanded if his people were happy, he was always anſwered in the affirmative, and he gave himſelf no further concern about the matter. Every murmur of the nation was intercepted in its paſſage to the ears of the monarch; and as he did not hear the groans of his ſubjects, he ſuſpected not the pains they ſuffered. He was indeed ſometimes arouſed to a little uneaſineſs when he contemplated the wretched ſituation of his finances, of which he could not be kept wholly ignorant; but he was ſoon lulled to ſleep again by the artifices of thoſe by whom he was ſurrounded.

As, during the adminiſtration of Briennes, Antoinette and d'Artois were denied that acceſs to the national treaſury, by which their enormous expenditures had before been ſupported, they now found themſelves under the neceſſity of having recourſe to private frauds. There was in Paris at this time, one M. Pinet, who, by a variety of ſcandalous means, had acquired immenſe riches. To him repeated applications were made for large ſums, which were not obtained without great difficulty, and many promiſes, of which the queen was ſufficiently laviſh, of moſt extravagant gratuities, to be paid, together with the principal, at a ſhort credit. Theſe ſums were quickly expended in riot and diſſipation by Antoinette and her beloved brother-in-law; and when the time of payment arrived they had nothing to remit. But the mind or the queen, ever fertile in expedients, ſoon deviſed the means of being extricated from this difficulty: ſhe gave the word, and Pinet ſuddenly diſappeared, and was heard of no more. Several others are ſaid to have ſuffered a fate ſimilar to that of Pinet; and this inhuman traffic was carried on for ſome years. This pair of royal robbers drained the purſes of many citizens of Paris and Verſailles, who had been immenſely rich. They began theſe negociations with ſmiles and promiſes of favor, and uſually ended them with death or the Baſtille. Moſt of theſe deluded money-lenders, after diſcovering how much they had been duped, complained, with an imprudent bitterneſs, of the injuries they had ſuffered. Le Noir and his cabal were at this time wholly at the devotion of the queen and her brother-in-law. Le Noir was governor of the Baſtille, and he heſitated not to grant lettres de cachet whenever they were demanded for the purpoſe of ſilencing audacious murmurs. The papers of the perſon impriſoned fell of courſe into the hands of le Noir, and he, from time to time, diſpoſed of them as directed by his royal miſtreſs.

This torrent of iniquity ſwelled to a moſt enormous height, and in its courſe bore down compaſſion, humanity and juſtice; ruined many of the moſt valuable citizens, and deſtroyed many of the firſt eſtates in France. This mode of raſing money became, however, ſo notorious at length, that it could no longer be practiſed.

D'Artois, that illuſtrious knave, fertile in expedients, ſuggeſted one to our heroine, which, in the event, proved very advantageous to this luxurious pair. He put her in mind of the aſcendency which ſhe had over her huſband, and the advantages that might be derived from it. Infected by the inebriety of the tumultuous paſſions of thoſe by whom he was ſurrounded, the king had almoſt loſt ſight of himſelf. He had become leſs ſevere in his economy, which he now frequently relaxed in favor of good cheer. He had, in ſhort, either to diſſipate the gloom of anxiety, or gratify a depraved appetite, contracted an habit of drinking to conſiderable exceſs. In the moments of intoxication, his fondneſs for his faithful Antoinette was redoubled, and in the ardor of affection, inſpired at once by love and wine, he could refuſe nothing to the idol of his ſoul. By the advice of d'Artois, Antoinette prevailed on her royal ſpouſe, in one of theſe paroxyſms, to ſign a paper containing a ſolemn abdication of his kingdom. This, however, was extorted from him with great difficulty, and the queen, in effecting it, brought into exerciſe every artifice of which ſhe was miſtreſs. Tears, careſſes and threats were alternately employed for ſome time in vain; but at length Louis was overcome, and ſuffered the pen to be put into his hand, which, being guided by Antoinette, reluctantly made the important ſignature. When the king recovered from his intoxication, he recollected with ſhame and diſtreſs the fatal folly of which he had been guilty the preceding evening, and flew to the queen with anxious haſte, intending, if poſſible, to perſuade her to reſign the inſtrument he had executed, almoſt in a ſtate of inſenſibility. This was what ſhe wiſhed and expected; ſhe had now an opportunity of taking the advantage of his fears, which ſhe improved to its utmoſt bounds. She at firſt peremptorily refuſed to part with the writing, and every argument of Louis proved ineffectual, till he offered her an enormous ſum of money to be paid from his treaſury in exchange for it. This propoſal prevailed on her, and a compromiſe took place. The ſtipulated ſum was actually paid, and divided between Antoinette and the contriver of this admirable plot. This event alſo operated in their favor with Brienne, who now no longer remained intractable. He began, like Calonne, to perceive that he could not enjoy the fruits of his villainies in ſafety without conſenting to a diviſion of them. His ill-gotten treaſure, while it ſecretly delighted his archiepiſcopal boſom, made him tremble with apprehenſions of diſcovery and puniſhment. He therefore cordially entered into the meaſures of Antoinette and d'Artois, and paid from the treaſury, without objection, the enormous ſums demanded, reſting his hopes of impunity in caſe of extremity, on the king's ſignature, which was given into his poſſeſſion. It muſt have appeared ſurpriſing to Louis, that the fondneſs of his wife ſhould have redoubled at the moment when he had leaſt reaſon to expect it. This was in fact the caſe; and his ſuſpicions were from day to day increaſed by her frequent ſolicitations for orders on the treaſury, which were always enforced by a profuſion of careſſes, and of theſe at other times ſhe had of late been ſufficiently parſimonious. Being thus arouſed to ſome vigilance, the monarch at length diſcovered the colluſion between the queen, d'Artois and Brienne. He was now confirmed in his opinion, and immediately diſmiſſed Brienne from office: he alſo behaved to Antoinette for a while with unuſual coldneſs; but he could never prevail on himſelf to treat her with that contempt ſhe deſerved.

Our pair of royal libertines being now once more reduced to extremity, entered upon the execution of a plot which they had often contemplated, and from which human nature revolts. This had been attempted once before, but unſucceſsfully, at the time of the cataſtrophe of the Palais de Juſtice. D'Artois now made every poſſible exertion to rally the male-contents. The moment that his ſiſter-in-law informed him that they could no longer have acceſs to the treaſury, he employed himſelf, in compliance with her advice, in laying the foundation of the moſt deteſtable of ariſtocracies. All the Polignacs, as will readily be imagined, were imitated, and the favorite Jules was particularly commiſſioned to bring over the princes of the blood, over whom ſhe had much influence. The pleaſures of Maria Antoinette now ſuffered an interval. The management of her creatures, the deſtruction of the throne, and the eſtabliſhment of that deſpotiſm for which ſhe labored, occupied all her thoughts. Beſenval, Broglie, d'Autichamp, and many others, entered with ardor into this infernal league. Madame Jules de Polignac neglected nothing that could expedite the completion of this monſtrous aſſociation. She promiſed penſions, places, and dignities with unlimited profuſion; nor did ſhe heſitate at proſtitution where ſhe imagined it would prove the moſt powerful bribe. By theſe various means ſhe added conſiderable numbers to the league. She perſuaded not only the princes of the blood royal, Conde, Conti, Bourbon, &c. but alſo a great many male-contents of the clergy, ſeveral diſgraced courtiers and noblemen who had been diſplaced by the king.

Antoinette was unanimouſly named chief of this horrible conſpiracy. There could not indeed be a more proper leader than this inhuman woman, who might well be ſtiled a fourth fury. The prince de Lambiſc was appointed general, and Beſenval his aid. D'Artois, Conde, Conti, and Bourbon were elected as a council to adviſe with Antoinette in the regulation of meaſures, and the reſt were to act in obedience to their directions. After the cabal had, in the opinion of Antoinette, d'Artois, and the council, become ſufficiently numerous, the following articles, being previouſly prepared for the purpoſe, were ſubſcribed and ſolemnly ſworn to, at one of their meetings, by every member.

ARTICLE I.

An oath, the moſt ſolemn and inviolable that can be invented, ſhall be pronounced by every member of this aſſociation before proceeding to buſineſs; and the ſlighteſt infraction of this oath ſhall be puniſhed with immediate death.

ARTICLE II.

Every military officer who is a member of this aſſociation, ſhall uſe his warmeſt endeavors to ſecure to our intereſt the ſubaltern officers, ſoldiers, and foreigners in the ſeveral corps to which they belong, (without, however, intirely diſcloſing to them our deſigns) in ſuch a manner that the troops under their command may be ready, on the ſhorteſt notice, for any operations which may be judged expedient.

ARTICLE III.

The prince de Lambiſc, who has done this aſſociation the honor to become a member thereof, obliges himſelf to bring into our ſervice the Germans under his command, and ſhall uſe every effort to induce them to ſerve us with inviolable fidelity.

ARTICLE IV.

We name the prince de Lambiſc generaliſſimo, and he ſhall be immediately cauſed to take the oath of office in that quality.

ARTICLE V.

Theſe articles being eſtabliſhed, each prince of the blood royal ſhall from that moment uſe every exertion to ſecure the aid of their dependants and others, and ſhall endeavor to inſpire them with thoſe ſentiments of hatred for the French nation ſo neceſſary to the execution of our deſigns.

ARTICLE VI.

We proſcribe the duke of Orleans, he being beloved by the people, and they in return by him; and he conſequently an enemy to our views.

ARTICLE VII.

As our intereſt requires vigilance, exactitude, promptneſs and fidelity; and as it is highly important that our meaſures ſhould be purſued with order, deciſion and unanimity, all ſecret advices ſhall be communicated to the whole aſſociation; queſtions ariſing on theſe or other occaſions ſhall be determined by a majority. The majority ſhall alſo determine the fate of miniſters and others whom it may be found neceſſary to remove.

ARTICLE VIII.

There ſhall be in this aſſociation a general and a particular committee; the general committee ſhall conſiſt of all the members, and the particular committee of a certain number, to be choſen by a majority: the former ſhall meet once a week, the latter every night.

ARTICLE IX.

A ſolemn oath ſhall be pronounced, that at the firſt ſignal of deſtruction the lives of none, except our friends and thoſe who join our ſtandard, ſhall be ſpared.

Theſe articles being confirmed by oath, Antoinette and her counſellors employed themſelves in appropriating to all concerned in the plot the different parts they were to act. Particular attention was paid to ſecuring thoſe whoſe fidelity was in any degree ſuſpected. Meaſures were likewiſe taken to ſecure to themſelves the diſpoſal of the throne, and to this end it was neceſſary to plan the deſtruction of its heirs.

Breteuil had, with the interpoſition of the court, given up his place to the ambitious Brienne. The latter was aſſiſted in his iniquitous enterprizes by le Juignè, archbiſhop of Paris. About the ſame time Brienne was made a cardinal. This was a ſtriking proof of the complacency with which the Holy Father viewed the abominations of the court of France.—But to return to Juignè; he was eminent in nothing but a connoiſſeur in champaigne; in every thing beſides he was ſtripped almoſt to idiocy. Necker, however, pretended to make grave ſpeculations with him on the diſaſters with which France was apparently threatened. Yet, in the end, this ſhameleſs apoſtate exhibited in his conduct an inconteſtible proof of his attachment to the views of Antoinette.

The Etats-Généraux were fortunately convoked at this time, and this circumſtance prevented the completion of the execrable deſign of the queen of France. It had been her intention and expectation to ſee the inhabitants of Paris maſſacred, and the city in flames at this time. The Tiers Etat, by their conduct, on the 22d of June, 1789, proved that they were capable of acting with firmneſs

During this criſis Villeduel, one of the creatures of Antoinette, aroſe from an intendancy to the miniſtry. He had inſtilled into his party all the principles of the logic of Richelieu and Saint Florentine: he knew how to protect the one and deſtroy the other. He was particularly ſerviceable to our illuſtrious heroine, by fabricating and circulating calumnies, at which he had an unrivalled talent.

Part of the nation, ſeemingly plunged in a lethargie ſleep, was at this time inſenſible to the wounds of oppreſſion and faction. If they were felt by others, they were endured in painful ſilence, or lamented with ſecret ſighs; for the voice of complaint was conſtantly puniſhed by new cruelties. Meantime Antoinette, in the intervals of relaxation from her criminal labors, repoſed on the boſom of pleaſures ſcarce leſs culpable.

She had not now for a long time viſited her new acquiſition, St. Cloud, and ſhe was inflamed with deſire to offer ſome ſacrifices to love within the walls of that voluptuous palace. To this end, ſhe made it a rendezvous for her aſſociates, and appointed aſſignations there with her more immediate favorites. Her beloved brother-in-law, and the Ducheſs de Polignac, were often joined in her aſſignations, and this illuſtrious trio, in theſe clandeſtine meetings, gave a-looſe to every wanton exceſs that their debauched minds could dictate.

Necker had often been tampered with, but he refuſed, with the firmneſs of a ſtoic, to come into the meaſures of Antoinette. For this reaſon the faction wiſhed him to be diſmiſſed from court; but the king could not at that time be perſuaded to conſent to it.

Meantime the faction, from day to day, increaſed, and the fatal moment of execution was at hand. The only thing which retarded its arrival was the great confidence placed by the king in his miniſter Necker. It was neceſſary he ſhould be deprived either of his office or his life; and, in caſe the former could not be effected, it was determined to have recourſe to the latter.— Juigne, the archbiſhop, one of the confederates, was conſidered by Antoinette and her council as the propereſt perſon to be employed in this buſineſs, and ſhe undertook to commiſſion and inſtruct him for the purpoſe. To this end ſhe ſent for the ambitious prelate, and addreſſed him in the manner following:—Is it not, my dear friend, unfortunate for us, that Necker, a man oppoſed to all our meaſures, and inflexible to all perſuaſion, ſhould continue in an office which gives ſuch influence in the ſtate? we think he ought to be removed; this, however, we find difficult to be effected. But aſſiſt us with your ſervices. Religion has placed in your hands arms which cannot fail of ſucceſs. Make uſe of them to cruſh this hydra who awes the nation, and would deſtroy it. Avail yourſelf of that aſcendency over the king which his weakneſs has given you. You know him well. He may eaſily be deceived by that impoſing exterior which you wear to ſuch advantage. Do this and we may expect every thing from your aſſiſtance, and you, on the other hand, may be ſure of protection and reward.

Being thus inſtructed, the hypocritical prelate ſought the king, and addreſſed him in the following manner:—Sire, art thou a king, and ſuffereſt irreligion to reign, as it were, conjointly with thee? It is an atheiſt who gives laws to France, under the title of a moſt Chriſtian King! What dreadful conſequences may we not expect from ſuch iniquities! Thinkeſt thou that the Being who inſtituted religion will protect its enemies? Expect rather to ſee the vengeance of the Moſt High poured out on yourſelf, your family and people. Behold the image, continued he, preſenting a crucifix; behold the image of your Saviour, who commands you by my voice to proſcribe Necker, that miſcreant who ſeeks the deſtruction of the nation, and injures the cauſe of our holy religion, by treating the miniſters thereof with contempt.

This inſolent ſpeech had the deſired effect on Louis. Terrified with the menaces of the prieſt, he ſeemed already to behold the pillars of heaven deſcending to cruſh him. Unable to reſiſt the fears that overwhelmed him, he ſent for the papers of Necker, and ordered him to retire from Paris in four and twenty hours.

At length arrived the evening when the bloody tragedy was to be executed, the evening of the 14th of July, 1789. The confederates were all prepared. The queen enjoyed the moſt confident hopes of ſucceſs, and anticipated the delights which ſhe expected would reſult from it. But, through ſome imprudence of Lambiſc, the plot took air, and the citizens of Paris were alarmed. The diſappointment, confuſion and terror which took poſſeſſion of the conſpirators when they learnt the Pariſians had taken arms, cannot be deſcribed. La Polignac, d'Artois, and ſeveral other members of the aſſociation, immediately betook themſelves to flight. The king repaired to the Hotel-de-ville, whither Antoinette was, in fact, pleaſed to ſee him go, although ſhe affected to be much grieved at parting with him.

CHAPTER XIII.

A NEW conſtitution was, ſoon after, eſtabliſhed by the people, and Antoinette, although ſhe ſecretly curſed the meaſure, had the policy to be apparently pleaſed, and to comply with the wiſhes of the people. Her engagements in political matters, however, cauſed no abatement in her fondneſs for riot, luxury and diſſipation. She found means to ſolace herſelf even under the mortification of her greateſt diſappointments. Mothier and La Fayette were ſucceſſively the generals of the people. Antoinette found them both extremely uſeful in affording an alleviation to the burthen of her griefs; and each of them performed the charitable taſk of giving conſolation to this diſtreſſed lady.

One day, as Antoinette and La Fayette were conſulting on meaſures to re-eſtabliſh her in the opinion of the public, they wandered into the Boſquet-de-Saint-Cloud. Warmed by the charms which the queen expoſed to his view, and emboldened by his political conſequence, the marquis preſumed to make her ſome propoſals of a tender nature. She recollected how much ſhe owed to Fayette, and ſhe was too juſt to prove ungrateful. He, in ſhort, found her as condeſcending as he could expect, and was proceeding to the conſummation of his wiſhes, when they were moſt unſeaſonably interrupted by a page, who had attended them on the walk, and now came to preſent the queen a neſt of beautiful young birds, which he had juſt found in the grove at ſome diſtance from the happy ſcene. His arrival, as may be eaſily imagined, was not very pleaſing to either of the lovers, and he was ordered, with ſome ſeverity, to retire immediately. This command was inſtantly obeyed, and the ſcene ſoon became too tender for deſcription.

La Fayette and Antoinette 〈◊〉 rash boy! while I my homage pay, Where joys 〈…〉 nestling Cupids play.

CHAPTER XIV.

ALL the enormous dilapidations of Antoinette, her innumerable amorous intrigues, her vices, her haughtineſs, and barbarity, all theſe obtained the pardon of the French nation. In ſpite of the diſtreſſed ſituation to which they had been reduced by the ſhameful irregularities and inhuman plots of their queen, a queen who no longer deſerved the title, ſhe was yet ſuffered to live unpuniſhed. But the generoſity of her people could make no impreſſion on her unfeeling heart. A ſtranger to every good, to every grateful ſentiment, ſhe was unable to arreſt herſelf in that headlong career of vice with which ſhe had ſet out in life, even when ſhe found herſelf ready to plunge into the gulph of ruin, which ſhe had prepared for her ſubjects. The commiſſion of every ſpecies of crimes was ſo incorporated with her conſtitution, that ſhe neither knew compunction, nor was capable of repentance; and ſhe perſevered in guilt till the eyes of her people were forced open. Such became the publicity of her vices, and ſo conſpicuous was the bitterneſs of her enmity to the nation to which ſhe ought to have performed the part of a parent and protectreſs, that longer ſubmiſſion to ſo vile a ſovereign would have forever characteriſed France as the moſt abject and deſpicable of nations.

After the revolution, the diſpotic club, of which Maria Antoinette was chief, did not entirely neglect their operations: the members of which it was compoſed continued to draw from her a contagion of ſentiment, which was induſtriouſly ſpread, and poiſoned many.

To what period, unhappy people, do you procraſtinate the day of your tranquillity? How long will you ſuffer men, or rather demons, who, while they ſtyle themſelves the fathers of their country, aim the poniard of death at its boſom, to enter your councils and legiſlatures? How long ſhall a Mauri, a Caſalès, a Duval, inſult your weakneſs, or rather your negligence, with impunity? How long will ye continue blind in the choice of your leaders, and gild the ſhoulders of thoſe whoſe hearts are rotten? How long will you ſuffer yourſelves to be made beaſts of burthen by the dregs of your former government, who wait but for a favorable opportunity to tear in pieces the hand that reaches to them the bread of nouriſhment, or leads them to the heights of preferment and office. Imitate the ſtatuary, who at his pleaſure breaks the idol which he made. But in breaking yours, let it be ſo done that the ſcattered pieces ſhall never become re-united.

One of thoſe writers, who, through fear, or affected modeſty, pretends to aim at the greateſt impartiality, ſpeaks of Antoinette in the following manner:—

I ſhall ſay but little of Marie Antoinette. Once, perhaps, too much adored, and now too much calumniated, ſhe appears neither to merit the extravagant eulogiums which have been laviſhed on the Dauphine, She was dauphine before ſhe was queen. nor the atrocious imputations which have been heaped on the queen. This muſt, however, be left for poſterity to determine. I ſhall not examine particularly into her attachment to a brother, to which, perhaps, may be owing ſome part of the preſent exhauſted ſtate of our finances, and the new ſacrifices which have been made by France to the houſe of Auſtria. I ſhall only ſay, that it is extremely difficult, not to ſay impoſſible, entirely to diveſt ourſelves of every ſentiment of tenderneſs for the country where we are born; for the parents who have careſſed, protected and nouriſhed us in our helpleſs infancy; and for thoſe who have earlieſt awakened in our boſoms thoſe ſoft affections which conſtitute the happineſs of mankind. It is difficult to forget the tender connexions of daughter, of ſiſter, of parent, and even thoſe who only owe their birth to the ſame ſoil; and it ſeems, that, were it practicable, it would do no honor to the ſoul capable of doing it. What then can be done to eſcape the dangers to which a ſtate is expoſed by the marriage of its monarch to a foreign queen? Let him chuſe a wife from his own nation. Such an alliance may at firſt appear unworthy the blood royal, for there being but one ſovereign, he muſt marry a ſubject. But now that the king is no more than the firſt citizen, he cannot diſhonor himſelf by giving his hand and his heart to a free citizen, who by her virtues and accompliſhments merited the love of her nation. This would undoubtedly excite the ambition of the family from which the queen might be choſen. This to be ſure is an evil, but far from being equal to thoſe we have always ſuffered from alliances with foreign families. In the former caſe, it is eaſy to reſiſt the machinations of a ſingle family; but in the latter, we muſt combat with empires.

The one ſometimes gives occaſions to domeſtic quarrels; the other frequently to wars, and almoſt always to very ruinous ſacrifices. In the former caſe, the national aſſembly ſhould confine the ambition of the family preferred: in the latter, the influence of a queen, whoſe heart is inimical to the nation, muſt always prove active and dangerous. I have thought it might be uſeful to render this idea public. It is at leaſt important enough to merit diſcuſſions. At the time theſe obſervations were made, France was under the government of a limited monarchy.

"Of Marie Antoinette I ſhall ſay nothing—." It is thus our impartial writer ſets off.—As for me, I ſhall ſay all that ought to be ſaid. I ſhall ſay, that the ſhocks given to our empire by its earlieſt ſovereigns were leſs violent than thoſe it has received from its more cruel enemy, Marie Antoinette. I ſhall ſay, that it was by her hand that M. de Vergennes died empoiſoned. It was ſhe who always aimed at the deſtruction of France, that, on its ruins, ſhe might enjoy the barbarous ſatisfaction of ſeeing her brother's empire enlarged. It was ſhe who forced the count d'Artois to become the aſſaſſin of his brother, after having been the defiler of his bed. I ſhall ſay, that thouſands have been ſubſervient to her pleaſures, and have almoſt all of them been afterwards ſacrificed by her own hand. It was ſhe, who, during their nocturnal orgies, blew up in their hearts the flame of civil war. It was ſhe, who, laying aſide her averſion to the national habit, did not bluſh to grant her favors to general Mothier, in order to concert with him her ſchemes of vengeance. It was through her influence that the aſſaſſin Bouillé was named to the expedition of Nancy. It was ſhe who cried, at the inſtant ſhe contemplated the innumerable victims of her barbarity, Why have not twenty-three millions ſuffered the ſame fate, that this odious nation might be extirpated from the face of the earth? Her own hand armed the chevaliers of the poniard. By her hand was prepared the poiſon with which Mirabeau died. Her murderous inſinuations inhumanized the heart of her huſband—a weak prince, but naturally good. It was by her pernicious counſels that the nuiſance of the Chapelle was projected. In ſhort, all our inteſtine quarrels, the invaſions which are preparing on all ſides, and in me word, all our calamities, paſt, preſent, and to come, derive their origin from the righteous hand of Antoinette.

"It is," continues our impartialiſt, for poſterity to judge.—Was it then for poſterity to pronounce the fate of Mandrin, Cartouch, and la Leſcombat, whoſe crimes are the crimes of infancy compared with thoſe of our heroine? Let us, in this place, quote a trifling adage which proves the veracity of the people, as much as it paints their weakneſs. Little villains are puniſhed, while great ones are reſpected.— Let us follow this writer a little further—I ſhall not inquire whether ſome part of the preſent exhauſted ſituation of our finances be not owing, &c. He will not inquire whether thoſe immenſe quantities of gold and ſilver which have been tranſmitted to the ſame brother, have contributed to exhauſt our finances! In the name of common ſenſe, if this be not worthy of inquiry, what is!

Purſuing our impartial author a little further, we find, that in conformity with his opinion, a woman ought to ſacrifice to paternal affection, even the duties of wife and mother! This is ſimilar to the logic of our higher clergy, who ſee nothing ſacred in the Holy Evangeliſts when they correſpond not with their own inclinations. Yet an apoſtle, when ſpeaking of the duties of the marriage ſtate, has formally declared, A man ſhall forſake his father and mother, and cleave unto his wife. And have women received a diſpenſation from what was preſcribed to men? In order to favor the ambitious deſigns of her own paternal family, ſhall a woman, with impunity, contrive the deſtruction of her houſehold, and thoſe about her? Shall ſhe, without being cited to the tribunal of public opinion, betray her huſband, and devote her children to ruin? No; even the woman in private life, who is capable of ſuch conduct, is a monſter of iniquity; and the queen, who heſitates not to ſoil the majeſty of a throne, to proſtitue her own perſon, and plot the deſtruction of twenty-three millions of people, is ten thouſand times more criminal, and deſerves to be extirpated from that ſociety whoſe ruin ſhe contemplated. It is undoubtedly highly proper, that the firſt magiſtrate of a free people chuſe his wife from among his fellow-citizens.

Even now, while I write, there are commotions in every ſection of the capital. Every ſoldier is flying to his arms. And why? I demand the reaſon why? It is becauſe General Bleuit ſolicits a diſmiſſion? And why does he ſolicit a diſmiſſion from a place in which his ſelf-love is ſo amply gratified? It is becauſe the people had the inſolence to oppoſe the departure of the king for St. Cloud, who from thence might have gone elſewhere. As the appetite ſometimes increaſes by eating, the deſire of travelling may redouble with the ſight of different places. The people had then the inſolence to deſpiſe the orders of a general they had choſen, and the ſame people now preſent themſelves in a body, at his hotel, to beg he will have the goodneſs to continue to abuſe them. Perhaps this requeſt, however, may be intended only to detain him in office till the new conſtitution be fully eſtabliſhed.

Here are hounded the principal events of the life of our heroine. Vigilant for the information of our fellow citizens, we aſſure them that nothing of importance in the future life of Antoinette ſhall eſcape our obſervation, and ſo ſoon as we ſhall be furniſhed with ſufficient matter, we will communicate it to them in another volume.

THE END.