ers who
inhabited each. In the long cottage, close upon the lake, dwelt the
Seigneur du Village, no less a personage than Louis XV.; Louis XVI.,
the Dauphin, was the Bailli; near his cottage is that of Monseigneur the
Count d'Artois, who was the Miller; opposite lived the Prince de Conde,
who enacted the part of Gamekeeper (or, indeed, any other role, for it
does not signify much); near him was the Prince de Rohan, who was the
Aumonier; and yonder is the pretty little dairy, which was under the
charge of the fair Marie Antoinette herself.

I forget whether Monsieur the fat Count of Provence took any share of
this royal masquerading; but look at the names of the other six actors
of the comedy, and it will be hard to find any person for whom Fate
had such dreadful visitations in store. Fancy the party, in the days of
their prosperity, here gathered at Trianon, and seated under the tall
poplars by the lake, discoursing familiarly together: suppose of a
sudden some conjuring Cagliostro of the time is introduced among them,
and foretells to them the woes that are about to come. "You, Monsieur
l'Aumonier, the descendant of a long line of princes, the passionate
admirer of that fair queen who sits by your side, shall be the cause of
her ruin and your own,* and shall die in disgrace and exile. You, son
of the Condes, shall live long enough to see your royal race overthrown,
and shall die by the hands of a hangman.** You, oldest son of Saint
Louis, shall perish by the executioner's axe; that beautiful head, O
Antoinette, the same ruthless blade shall sever." "They shall kill me
first," says Lamballe, at the queen's side. "Yes, truly," replies the
soothsayer, "for Fate prescribes ruin for your mistress and all who love
her."*** "And," cries Monsieur d'Artois, "do I not love my sister, too?
I pray you not to omit me in your prophecies."

* In the diamond-necklace affair.

** He was found hanging in his own bedroom.

*** Among the many lovers that rumor gave to the queen, poor
Ferscu is the most remarkable. He seems to have entertained
for her a high and perfectly pure devotion. He was the chief
agent in the luckless escape to Varennes; was lurking in
Paris during the time of her captivity; and was concerned in
the many fruitless plots that were made for her rescue.
Ferscu lived to be an old man, but died a dreadful and
violent death. He was dragged from his carriage by the mob,