heathen raging furiously against him, and a great army, trained in our own schools of warfare, turning against us the lessons we had taught them, stimulated by the priesthood, encouraged, perhaps aided, by the nobles of the land, and with all the resources of the country at their command; but, seeing this, he saw also something beyond, grand in the distance; he saw the manhood of England going out to meet it.'

With this eloquent peroration Mr. Kaye lets fall the curtain on the first act of the great drama he has undertaken to illustrate. The work could not possibly have been entrusted to better hands. No other man could have had access to such abundant materials, many of them of a highly confidential nature; and very few would have displayed, in their selection, such delicate reticence combined with such fearless outspokenness. It is evidently a greater pleasure to Mr. Kaye to praise the deserving than to find fault with the unworthy; and even when compelled to blame he ever seeks to temper justice with mercy, though he never screens an offender at the expense of historic veracity. His portraitures of individual character are marked by bold outline, complemented by a most finished elaboration of details. His style is throughout dignified, sonorous, and well-sustained. And did it even so chance that this great work were never completed, this one volume alone would be a noble contribution to the literature of the country, and a lasting monument to its author's diligence, impartiality, and love of truth.

ART. II. Marie Antoinette. Correspondance inedité de Marie Antoinette.' Paris, 1864.

THIS volume has been read with avidity, and we are not at all surprised at the circumstance. The life and conduct of Marie Antoinette will command general attention and interest so long as mankind entertain sympathy for the tragic side of human existence, are attracted to the appalling scenes of the greatest drama of modern history, and seek to understand the character of a prominent actor and illustrious victim in the chaotic strife of the French Revolution. Who has not felt and pitied the contrast between the golden and brilliant dawn of that fair orb of Imperial state and its dim setting in enduring gloom after a course of chequered or lurid fortunes? Who has not mourned over the tale of that life, in youth lapped in the

splendours of Versailles and encircled by the homage of a nation, in early womanhood pitilessly exposed to the serpent tooth of far-spreading slander, in later years hurled down to darkness, without a hope on this side of the grave, without a friend to support or comfort, with a frenzied people as a judge and executioner? Who has not grieved as he marks the events which, like a resistless sequence of fate, exposed the Queen, even in the midst of her Court, to the shafts of calumny and popular odium, made her, ignorant of her real position and of the terrible future before her, the representative of a Palace faction in a death struggle with an infuriated nation, and handed her over to swift destruction, as if to expiate in her own person the crimes and failings of the French Monarchy? And who, as he sees in what opposite lights of stern censure or enthusiastic praise the subject of this history has been placed by those who view it from different sides, does not often feel perplexity and doubt as to what was the real character of the Queen,-whether hers was a great and noble nature, the victim of a most mournful destiny, or whether, as her detractors assert, she was a corrupt and intriguing woman, that deserved the death she would have inflicted on thousands, had her devices succeeded, or whether her fate is a signal instance how fearful, in some difficult conjunctures, may be the results of a want of experience, of indiscretion, of ignorance of fact, even though associated with real goodness, with moral purity, and with a fine understanding?

Such being the interest which belongs to the life and career of Marie Antoinette, an authentic correspondence from her pen, that follows the changing course of her fortunes, has naturally commanded a great deal of attention. This volume consists of a series of letters, written by the Queen from 1770 to 1792, that is, from the time of her first appearance in France as the bride of Louis XVI. to a few months before she confronted the judicial murderers of the Revolutionary tribunals. These letters form a running commentary on her acts, her thoughts, her opinions, and her life, throughout this long and memorable period,-how she felt in the early days of her marriage, when not a cloud seemed to dim her prospects,-what was the character of the social life of the Court of Louis XV. and her husband,-what were the secret causes of her unpopularity even long before the outbreak of the Revolution,-how she viewed the approach of that dark portent, and what attitude she held towards it,-and what during its tremendous progress were her hopes, her fears, her plans, and her conduct. In short, to use the words of their editor, these letters are an autobiography of the Queen; and written, as they usually are, to friends, and for the most part

6

Her youth and first appearance in France.

39

without any reserve, they throw the clearest light on her character, and unfold many of the secrets of history. For ourselves, we have read them with deep interest; and although their genuineness has been doubted by some who are fond of starting cavils, we believe internal evidence alone should convince any one they are not forgeries; and we see no reason whatever to question the positive assurance of their editor, that M. D'Hunolstein is in possession of the originals in the handwriting of the Queen, and that this volume is a faithful copy, 'the only changes that have been made being in a few imperfections in spelling.'

The first of these letters comprise the period when Marie Antoinette was Dauphiness of France, and moved amidst the splendours of Versailles a vision of innocence, grace, and loveliness. With almost childlike simplicity they describe her procession in state from Vienna to Paris,-how it rained poetry and 'acclamations around her,'-how at every town she was received by groups of peasants in their holiday attire, and, Watteaulike, masques were formed to welcome her, how the King and his Court went out to meet her, and the Dauphin said she 'was prettier than her picture,'-and how with tears of anxiety and hope, in the presence of Him who disposes of all, she heard pronounced the marriage blessing.' Alluding touchingly to the frightful catastrophe which happened upon her arrival in Paris, when the Dauphin and she resolved to spend their whole income in the relief of the sufferers,' they bring us next into the interior of Versailles, and reveal to us the tenor of her life. amidst the grandeur and trials of the Palace. In that Court of stiff ceremonial and state, side by side with hideous depravity and vice, where she had come rather to seal a policy than because her alliance was liked by any one, she shines, the observed of all observers, the glory of worn-out royalty and chivalry, the hope of all that was good in the noblesse, the desire of France, and the people's darling. She tells us how Louis XV. exclaims that he feels a youth of twenty in her presence, and often steals from Dubarry and solitude to sun himself in her innocent company, how even punctilious Madame Adelaide, who disapproved of the Austrian match, entrusted her with the key of her boudoir, and insisted on seeing her en famille,-how 'she watered the roses of Madame Victoire, and thus gained that princess's affection, and how sincerely Provence and D'Orleans tried to make her feel at home in their society. She describes how in the Presence Chamber the courtiers seem to wait on her looks,-how a word from her lips is the highest of favours,-how she sees her picture in every

street, and Paris greets her with loyal shouts,-how her miniature appears encircled with roses,-how poets compare her to Atalanta, as she trips along the terraces of Marli. In short, on the stream of her brilliant existence youth is at the prow and pleasure at 'the helm;' and to outward seeming her life appears a round of bright and joyous magnificence.

These letters, however, show how deceitful these gay appearances really were,-how early gathered around her path the elements of mistrust and suspicion,-what bitter cause of sorrow she had amidst the gorgeous pageants of royalty. She complains often of her isolation, that even with the King she is merely a stranger, that the family sometimes think her a foreigner, and that she is frequently made to feel that her marriage was only State policy. She is shocked at the authority of Dubarry, and chafes at the notion that a royal procuress should head an anti-Austrian faction, and sneer at the daughter of Maria Theresa. She is teased by the chill etiquette and endless ceremonials of Versailles, with its tedious repetition of pomp, and yearns for the family circle of Schoenbrunn, where existence is not purely artificial.' Yet these annoyances were comparatively trifling; and Marie Antoinette might have well been happy in the homage of all that was true and untainted among the aristocracy of France, and in the sincere devotion of the people, who looked to her as the hope of the future, had it not been for a secret cause of the most poignant domestic disappointment. These letters hint, what is already known through Madame Campan's interesting memoirs, that at this period of her early youth the Dauphin was only her husband in name; and the tone in which they refer to him as polite, timid, 'silent, undemonstrative,' reveal plainly her secret suffering. On the whole, even at this time her existence was not at all a happy one, and expressions of the following kind, which appear to us the anticipations of the future, occur repeatedly in this correspondence:

'My dear mother will excuse me if I let her know that now and then I feel so sad that I cannot shake it off. I am angry with myself for this, yet cannot help it; no doubt it arises from the change in my life, and my being without all my old friendships.

What would my mother say if she were to know that I am rather disposed to go home than to remain in exile? Yes, exile! Cruel destiny of the daughters of royalty, who can only marry at the other ends of Europe! I was surrounded by the cares and affection of a family that I adored, and now I am in the Unknown.'

Character of the Court of Louis XV.

41

The following is a vivid sketch of Louis XV. at this period, and of the entourage of French Royalty:

'I think I have been successful with the King; his goodness to me gives me great pleasure. I am not quite certain as to the real feelings of my aunts; they are sometimes demonstrative, sometimes cool; perhaps I do not judge them with justice. As for the Dauphin's sisters, they are always the same; Clotilde is sweetness itself, with good sense and a most amiable smile; Elizabeth is not unamiable, but rather vehement and self-sufficient; she is, however, only seven years old, and shows some charming traits of sensibility. Monsieur is a man who talks little, and keeps everything to himself; after hearing him rebuke poor Clotilde for a little mistake in grammar, I dare not open my mouth in his presence. It was at a drawing-room, and she did not know where to hide herself. The Comte D'Artois is as gay as a page; he troubles himself but little about grammar or anything. Madame Dubarry remains-I have not spoken to you about her before. I behaved towards this weakness of the King with all the reserve that you recommended. I have been obliged to sup with her; her manner was half respectful and embarrassed, and half that of a protector. I will not forget your advice, which I have never communicated even to the Dauphin. He hates her, but on account of the King is not wanting in respect. She has a most assiduous Court; the ambassadors go there, and every stranger of distinction seeks to be presented. I have heard curious anecdotes about this Court; they go there as if she really was Queen; she holds a drawingroom, and has a word for everybody. In short, she is Lady Paramount; as the saying is, it is wet because it pleases her; at bottom she is not an unamiable person. The Court is rather melancholy than gay; etiquette here is exceedingly disagreeable; for the rest I am sufficiently happy.'

Carlyle has painted with extraordinary power the last moments of Louis XV.,-the horrors of that revolting deathbed, the kingly sinner's fears and superstitions, the hollow selfishness of the troops of courtiers, who awaited his parting gasp with impatience, and the one touch of a nobler feeling, the devotion of his neglected daughters, who, at the imminent peril of their lives, to the last clung to the side of their parent. The following letter describes this scene-fit omen of the coming Revolution-in accurate, though less vivid colours :

'From the commencement of his malady he felt that he was lost; and if he had a hope, it was only for an instant. He took care from the first that he should not be interrupted in the due discharge of his religious duties. Dubarry disappeared; he saw her for the last time on the morning of the 4th, when she retired to a house of