ceeded in executing his instructions ("Memoirs of Mesdames," by
Montigny, vol. i.)]
me that she hoped, as well as wished, soon to return to France; that the
French would be much to be pitied if the excesses of the Revolution should
arrive at such a pitch as to force her to prolong her absence. I knew from
the Queen that the departure of Mesdames was deemed necessary, in order to
leave the King free to act when he should be compelled to go away with his
family. It being impossible that the constitution of the clergy should be
otherwise than in direct opposition to the religious principles of
Mesdames, they thought their journey to Rome would be attributed to piety
alone. It was, however, difficult to deceive an Assembly which weighed
the slightest actions of the royal family, and from that moment they were
more than ever alive to what was passing at the Tuileries.
Mesdames were desirous of taking Madame Elisabeth to Rome. The free
exercise of religion, the happiness of taking refuge with the head of the
Church, and the prospect of living in safety with her aunts, whom she
tenderly loved, were sacrificed by that virtuous Princess to her
attachment to the King.
The oath required of priests by the civil constitution of the clergy
introduced into France a division which added to the dangers by which the
King was already surrounded.
[The priests were required to swear to the civil constitution of the
clergy of 1790, by which all the former bishoprics and parishes were
remodelled, and the priests and bishops elected by the people. Most
refused, and under the name of 'pretres insermentes' (as opposed to the
few who took the oath, 'pretres assermentes') were bitterly persecuted. A
simple promise to obey the constitution of the State was substituted by
Napoleon as soon as he came to power.]
Mirabeau spent a whole night with the cure of St. Eustache, confessor of
the King and Queen, to persuade him to take the oath required by that
constitution. Their Majesties chose another confessor, who remained
unknown.
A few months afterwards (2d April, 1791), the too celebrated Mirabeau, the
mercenary democrat and venal royalist, terminated his career. The Queen
regretted him, and was astonished at her own regret; but she had hoped
that he who had possessed adroitness and weight enough to throw everything
into confusion would have been able by the same means to repair the
mischief he had caused. Much has been said respect
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