with them under guise of prayer-book some of those witty and licentious novels which are to be compared only to the 'Satyricon > of Petronius. These charming women "violated all the common duties of life, and gave very pleasant little suppers." They had effaced the negative from the seventh Commandment, and made marriage, as the witty Sophie Arnould felicitously defined it, "the sacrament of adultery." The treasury was drained to enrich favorites, and to supply splendid fêtes. "Sometimes," says Louis Blanc, "there were cavaliers emulous of the preux de Charlemagne, who in sumptuous gardens, under trees upon which were suspended shields and lances, feigned a magic sleep, till the Queen appearing deigned to break the spell. Sometimes after reading of the loves of deer, these cavaliers took it into their heads to transform themselves into stags, and to hide themselves clothed in skins in the thickest part of the shady park. In the days when the nobility had manly passions, they amused themselves with tournaments which counterfeited war; now it was dancers who, mingling with the nobles, wore the colors of their ladies in fêtes counterfeiting tournaments!" What could France think of her aristocracy, while the highest people in the realm were objects of contempt? Her Queen, the lovely Marie Antoinette, whom France had welcomed with such rapture and such pride, what figure did she make in this dissolute court? Did she set an august example of virtue and of regal grandeur? Could hopes be formed of her? Alas, no! Young, ardent, quick-blooded, fond of pleasure, reckless as to means, careless of appearances, she was no longer the queen to whom a gallant Brissac, pointing to a jubilant crowd, could say, "Behold! they are so many lovers!" She had become the object of hatred. She had been imprudent, perhaps worse; and princely libelers had circulated atrocious charges against her. She had forgotten herself so far as to appear at the Bal de l'Opéra. She had worn a heron's plume which Lauzun had taken from his hat to give her. It was said that dancing with Dillon, and thinking herself out of hearing, she had told him to feel how her heart beat; to which the King sternly replied, "Monsieur Dillon will take your word for it, madame!" This and more was said of her; and an irritated nation eagerly credited the odious reports which transformed their young Queen into a Messalina. That she was libeled, no one pretends to doubt; but then those libels were almost universally accredited. And the King? His great occupation was lock-making! His brothers were less innocently employed: the one devoting himself to intrigue, a shameless libeler and daring conspirator; and the other to flaunting at bals masqués. Thus were the great names of France illustrious only in the annals of debauchery or folly; and the people asked themselves, "Are these our rulers?" The few exceptions to the general degradation only make the degradation more patent. Nobles, heretofore so proud, were now ambitious of repairing their ruined fortunes by marrying the daughters of opulent financiers. The courts of justice were scandalized by trials for robbery, in which noblemen figured as criminals. Not only had they lost their selfrespect, but they had also lost the respect of the nation. Seriousness and serious topics were by no means banished: they were only transformed into agréments. Philosophy was rouged and wore a hoop. It found ready admission into all salons. Ruddy lips propounded momentous problems; delicate fingers turned over dusty folios. The "high argument" of God's existence and man's destiny, the phenomena of nature, the deepest and most inscrutable of questions, were discussed over the supper table, where bons-mots and champagne sparkled as brightly as the eyes of the questioners. No subject was too arid for these savant-asses (to use Mademoiselle de Launay's admirable expression): mathematics did not rebut them; political economy was charming; and even financial reports were read as eagerly as romances. And amidst this chaos of witticisms, paradoxes, and discussions, colonels were seated, occupied with embroidery or with parfilage; noblemen made love to other noblemen's wives; while a scented abbé "Fait le procès au Dieu qui le nourrit." Society never exhibited greater contrasts nor greater anarchy; old creeds and ancient traditions were crumbling away; and amidst the intellectual orgies of the epoch the most antagonistic elements had full play. D'Alembert, Lalande, Lagrange, Buffon, and Lavoisier, were jostled by Cagliostro, Mesmer, Saint-Martin, and Weishaupt: the exact sciences had rivals in the wildest chimeras and quackeries. Atheists proclaimed with all the fervor of conviction their faith in the eternal progress of humanity; skeptics |