te he had kept there had been more than royal and royal in
the dazzling French manner, which was perturbing to a woman of Marie
Therese's solid German notions. His hunting-parties, his supper-parties,
the fetes he gave upon every occasion, the worldly inventiveness, the
sumptuousness and reckless extravagance that made each of these affairs
seem like a supplement to "The Arabian Nights' Entertainments," the
sybaritic luxury of his surroundings, the incredible prodigality of
his expenditure, all served profoundly to scandalize and embitter the
Empress.

That a priest in gay, secular clothes should hunt the stag on horseback
filled her with horror at his levity; that he should flirt discreetly
with the noble ladies of Vienna made her despair of his morals; whilst
his personal elegance and irresistible charm were proofs to her of a
profligacy that perverted the Court over which she ruled.

She laboured for the extinction of his pernicious brilliance, and
intrigued for his recall. She made no attempt to conceal her hostility,
nor did she love him any the better because he met her frigid
haughtiness with an ironical urbanity that seemed ever to put her in the
wrong. And then one day he permitted his wit to be bitingly imprudent.

"Marie Therese," he wrote to D'Aiguillon, "holds in one hand a
handkerchief to receive her tears for the misfortunes of oppressed
Poland, and in the other a sword to continue its partition."

To say that in this witticism lay one of the causes of the French
Revolution may seem at first glance an outrageous overstatement. Yet
it is certain that, but for that imprudent phrase, the need would never
have arisen that sent Rohan across the Park of Versailles on that August
night to an assignation that in the sequel was to place a terrible
weapon in the hands of the Revolutionary party.

D'Aiguillon had published the gibe. It had reached the ears of Marie
Antoinette, and from her it had travelled back to her mother in Vienna.
It aroused in the Empress a resentment and a bitterness that did not
rest until the splendid Cardinal-Prince was recalled from his embassy.
It did not rest even then. By the ridicule to which the gibe exposed
her--and if you know Marie Therese at all, you can imagine what that
meant--it provoked a hostility that was indefatigably to labour against
him.

The Cardinal was ambitious, he had confidence in his talents and in
the driving force of his mighty family, and he looked to be