“The duke was sedulously engaged in endeavoring to find a tutor for his sons. The eldest, the Duke of Valois,4 was then eight years old. He consulted me on the selection of a fit person. I proposed several, among others M. de Schomberg; but, none of them meeting his favor, I said, with a laugh, ‘Well, then, what do you think of me?’ ‘Why not?’ replied he, seriously: ‘the thing is decided; you must be their tutor.’ I confess that the manner of the duke impressed me deeply with the thought of doing something so glorious to myself, and so unprecedented in the history of education. The arrangement was accordingly made, and it was agreed that I should be the absolute mistress of their education. The Duke of Chartres offered me twenty thousand francs, which I refused; and that I gratuitously educated three princes is an undisputed fact. The Duchess of Chartres was delighted with the plan; and I may truly say it was generally approved of.
“About this time, I published ‘Adèle et Théodore.’ This work at once insured the suffrages of the public, and the irreconcilable hatred of all the so-called philosophers and their partisans.
“Having chosen M. Lebrun as under-governor for the young princes, I gave him private instructions relative to their education. He kept a daily journal of their studies and behavior, which I commented upon in the evening. I thought this journal would be interesting to the duke and duchess; but they always refused to read it, saying that they confided entirely in me. I found some very bad habits in my pupils. When I read history to them, the Duke of Valois yawned and stretched himself, sometimes lying down on the sofa, and putting his feet upon the table. I reproved him for this in such a manner that he felt no resentment. As soon as the sense of the thing was clearly presented to him, he listened with attention.
“Every Saturday we received company at ‘Belle Chasse.’ I established this rule to form the princes in politeness, and to accustom them to the habit of listening to conversation. When Mademoiselle Orleans was seven years old, she played on the harp in a surprising manner. I can truly say, that I never knew a single defect in this princess. She possessed all the virtues. The Duke of Montpensier, the second son, had a feeling and generous heart, a natural elegance of person, and something romantic about his face, disposition, and manners. The youngest of the three princes, the Count of Beaujolais, was equally charming in face, talent, and disposition. Even his faults were amiable. We thought that he resembled Henry IV. To continue the portraits of ‘Belle Chasse,’ I must speak of Pamela. She had a beautiful face; she never told a single falsehood; she ran like Atalanta, but her mind was lazy to a degree; she had no memory, and was very volatile.
“The Duke of Orleans purchased St. Leu, a charming residence, where we passed eight months of the year. There was a fine garden, in which my pupils dug with their own hands. The gardener was a German, and only spoke to them in German; in our walks we spoke English, and we supped in Italian. I invented little games, and dramatic pieces for representation, and we performed historic pictures. In the winter, at Paris, I continued to make every moment useful. I had a turning machine put in my chamber, and all the children learned to turn. We also made morocco portfolios, baskets, artificial flowers, and the Duke of Valois and the Duke of Montpensier made a table with drawers for a poor woman of St. Leu.
“Upon the death of his father, the old Duke of Orleans, the Duke of Chartres took the title of Orleans, and my eldest pupil that of Chartres.
“Amidst all my engagements, I continued my private studies with ardor, and soon published my ‘Veilléss du Chateau.’ I also wrote my ‘Palace of Truth,’ and the ‘Two Reputations,’ at this time. The former work was translated, in the course of a year, into all the European languages. My first work upon religion, which I wrote for my pupils, completed the degree of horror in which I was held by the philosophers. It was entitled ‘Religion considered as the only Basis of Happiness and true Philosophy.’ While writing this work, I experienced the greatest misfortune of my life. My eldest daughter died, at the age of twenty-one. She expired with the calmness and piety of an angel. Being unable to find any relief from my affliction, I set about finishing my work on religion; and, on looking at the place where I left off, I found it was the chapter ‘On Christian Resignation.’
“Grief had so great an effect upon me, that my physicians directed me to go to Spa. Thither the duke and duchess and my pupils accompanied me. This took place in July, 1787.
“It was now becoming the fashion to ridicule the monarchy, and preparations were making for the revolution. I was of no party but that of religion. I desired to see the reformation of certain abuses, and I saw with joy the demolition of the Bastile. It is impossible to give an idea of the sight; this redoubtable fortress was covered with men, women, and children, all working with unequalled ardor.
“As soon as the Duke of Chartres had attained his seventeenth year, the Duke of Orleans informed me that his education was at an end; but the Duke of Chartres was so attached to me that he said he would come daily till he was eighteen, to take his lessons as usual. He never failed to do this, which was admirable in a young prince who had now become his own master.
“During my residence at ‘Belle Chasse,’ my second daughter, Pulchérie, married the Viscount de Valence. She was seventeen years old, beautiful and accomplished. Soon after this event, M. de Genlis came into possession of the property of the Maréchale d’Etrée. On finding himself suddenly possessed of one hundred thousand francs a year, he urged me to quit ‘Belle Chasse,’ and reside with him. But I could not support the idea that any one else should finish the education of my pupils, and carry from me all the honors. I have since bitterly repented this failure in my duty. M. de Genlis now took the name of Marquis de Sillery.
“Having always felt an extreme desire of travelling in England, I separated from my pupils for the first time. My journey was marked by many distinctions. I received proofs of esteem from many distinguished persons – Fox, Sheridan, Burke, Miss Burney, &c. The Prince of Wales invited me to an entertainment, and was full of attention to me. I passed three days at the country-house of the celebrated Mr. Burke; here I met Sir Joshua Reynolds. I dined with the queen at Windsor. Lord Mansfield, the celebrated English judge, came to see me, and gave me a beautiful moss-rose tree. Horace Walpole invited me to breakfast in his Gothic priory. After having visited Wales, I returned at length to France. I arrived at St. Leu, after an absence of six weeks, to the great joy of my pupils, as well as my own.
“A short time after, the marriage of Mademoiselle d’Orleans with the Duke of Angoulême was resolved on. An interview took place between them at Versailles, and the marriage was publicly talked of. The revolution, which suddenly burst upon us at this time, overthrew all our plans and projects.
“I was soon called upon to feel the most heart-rending sorrow at the death of my mother, whom I tended during three whole days and nights, without ever going to bed, or leaving her for a moment. My pupils wished, of their own accord, to be present at the funeral, for they truly loved her, and joined most sincerely and affectionately in grief for her loss.
“It now became obvious that a melancholy change had taken place in the conduct of the Duchess of Orleans to me, after twenty years of the warmest and closest intimacy. In consequence of this, I determined on retiring from her household altogether. My feelings were still more aggravated by the want of any specific charge, or any explanation on the part of the duchess. I wrote a letter to the duke, asking leave to resign my place; but this he would not grant, promising to arrange affairs in a few days. In the interval, Mademoiselle, seeing me sorrowful and dejected, perceived the plan I had in view. One day, she swooned away in the garden, and the consequence was, a promise from me, ‘that I would not leave her of my own free will.’ I then wrote a long explanatory letter to the duchess, using all possible arguments to induce her to restore me to her confidence. This she did not do, but consented to meet me as usual, and to allow her family to suppose the ‘difference’ between us adjusted: at the same time, she desired that not a word should pass between us relative to our misunderstanding.
“I was meditating, one morning, upon this painful position of affairs, when the door opened, and the duchess appeared. She rushed in, bid me be quiet, drew a paper from her pocket, which she read in a loud voice and with great rapidity. The purport of this was, that I must withdraw immediately, and that in a private manner, to prevent unnecessary affliction to Mademoiselle; if I did not do so, there was no public exposure I might not dread, and she would never see me again in the course of her life. After some expostulations with the duchess, who, I saw, was influenced by my enemies, I promised to do as she required. Before I left, I wrote three letters to Mademoiselle d’Orleans, to be given to her at different periods of the day. The duke felt the most profound chagrin, and, attributing all these troubles to the counsels of Madame de Chastelleux, desired her to seek some other abode. The consequence was, the duchess made a demand to be separated from her husband.
“After my departure, I received letters from the duke, begging me to return to his daughter, as he felt assured that her death would be the consequence of my continued absence. I accordingly returned, and found my dear pupil in a state that pierced me to the heart. My solicitude soon restored her to health, but my tranquillity was forever lost. The cause of the sudden dislike of the duchess was evidently the difference of our political opinions. I never in my life interfered in political affairs, but I have at all times been monarchical, as all my works demonstrate. It is also true that I have always detested despotism, lettres de cachets, and arbitrary imprisonment.
“After the flight of the king to Varennes, and his forced return to Paris, I was burning with a desire to leave France, and the duke at last gave me leave. The physicians ordered Mademoiselle to go to England, to take the Bath waters. We accordingly went there, and staid at that place two months. We then travelled through the English counties, visited the caverns of Derbyshire and the Isle of Wight.
“The close of my stay in England was imbittered by the most mournful anticipations, for party spirit gave me every reason to fear the efforts and enemies of the house of Orleans, and I received anonymous letters of the most alarming nature. Among others was one which threatened to set fire to our house at night. In September, 1792, while we were at Bury, in Suffolk, I learned by the French papers that a powerful party were desirous of bringing the king and queen to judgment. Immediately after the massacres in the prisons in the same month, I received a singular letter from the Duke of Orleans, telling me to return to France immediately with his daughter. I answered him that I would not do so, as it was absurd to choose such a period for her return.
“My well-founded fears increasing daily, I met with several alarming adventures, which proved that I was an object of suspicion in France. In November, the Duke of Orleans again sent for his daughter. Upon this, I determined to take Mademoiselle back to France, deliver her up into her father’s hands, give up my place as governess, and return immediately to London. We set out on our return, in November, for Dover. We had a stormy passage across the channel, landed, and proceeded rapidly to our residence in Paris. Here I found the Duke of Orleans, M. de Sillery, and some others. I delivered up Mademoiselle to her father, and told him my plan. The duke took me apart, and said, in a dejected manner, that, in consequence of my not returning when he sent the first time, his daughter, now fifteen, came under the new law, which placed her among the emigrants; that the matter was not entirely arranged, but that his daughter must go to Tournay, in Belgium, for a short time. He urged me so vehemently to go with her, that I consented.
“The same evening, M. Sillery took us to the theatre to dispel our melancholy ideas. At the play was Lord Edward Fitzgerald, who became violently in love with Pamela, from her resemblance to a former object of his affection. The next day, finding myself alone with the duke, whose manner struck me as very alarming, I spoke some words to him, upon which he said, surlily, that he had declared in favor of the Jacobins. I remonstrated with him in vain. In the evening, I had a long conversation with M. de Sillery, and entreated him, with tears in my eyes, to leave France. But all my arguments were unavailing, and I left the next morning for Tournay, with the most mournful presages.
“At the first post-house we found Lord Edward Fitzgerald, whose love for Pamela made him follow us to Tournay. We had scarcely reached the place, when he asked the hand of Pamela in marriage. I showed him the papers proving her to be the daughter of a man of high birth, of the name of Seymour. After having obtained the consent of his mother, the Duchess of Leinster, to the marriage, it was concluded; and in two days the new-married couple set out for England. I felt great joy in seeing the fortunes of this beloved child so honorably secured.
“Meanwhile, three weeks had elapsed without hearing from the duke. At last news came of the horrible catastrophe of the king’s death. The Duke of Chartres, who joined us at Tournay, showed me a letter from his father, which began thus: ‘My heart is oppressed with sorrow; but, for the interests of France and of liberty, I have thought it my duty…!’ &c. My unfortunate husband wrote at the same time, and sent me copies of his opinion at the king’s trial. This was thus expressed: ‘I do not vote for death, first because the king does not merit it; secondly, because we have no right to sit as his judges; and, lastly, because I consider his condemnation as the greatest political fault that can be committed.’ The letter concluded thus: ‘I am perfectly sure, then, in pronouncing this opinion, I have signed my death-warrant.’
“Seeing that Belgium was about to fall into the hands of the Austrians, and that it would be impossible for us to fly either to France or to foreign countries, I had the most anxious desire to be recalled to my country. Hence I strongly solicited my return; and I was informed, in March, 1793, that the Duke of Orleans was to obtain the recall of Mademoiselle, but that mine would be delayed. Whilst one day sitting in my room, M. Crépin, an army commissary, whom I had previously known, entered the room, and told me that the Austrians would be in Tournay the next day. Seeing my distress at this intelligence, he offered me an asylum at a farm of his near Valenciennes, so secluded that I might stay there for months in safety. I joyfully accepted his proposal, and we left Tournay in a few days. Circumstances, however, did not allow us to take advantage of this kind offer. We were surrounded by danger; troops marching in disorder, soldiers making a tumultuous noise, filled us with terror. We stopped a short time at St. Amand, where arrests were constantly made, and all proved to me that the system of proscription was established.
“Having providentially escaped from St. Amand, I immediately set off for Switzerland. After travelling seven days, we reached Schafhausen. My satisfaction on reaching a neutral territory was great. The Duke of Chartres joined us here. We soon after went to Zug, and took a small house, in a secluded situation, on the banks of the lake, not far from the town. Here I wrote to the Duchess of Orleans, – for the duke was in prison, – and entreated her to send me orders respecting Mademoiselle d’Orleans as soon as possible; but I received no answer.
“We should have remained longer at Zug, but we became known, and the magistrates were reproached for having given us refuge; we were therefore obliged to consult as to our future destination. We formed a thousand romantic projects, and abandoned them as fast as made. The Duke of Chartres insisted upon continuing with us, which made it impossible for us to remain unknown. I finally determined to write to M. de Montesquiou, who lived at Bremgarten, who was himself a refugee, and possessed great influence in Switzerland. I described to him the condition of my unfortunate pupils, and begged him to allow them an asylum in the convent, near the town. M. de Montesquiou wrote me a most polite and obliging answer, and took upon himself to get Mademoiselle d’Orleans and myself into this convent, called St. Claire. The Duke of Chartres resolved to make a pedestrian tour through Switzerland, where he was taken for a German. How often, since my misfortunes, have I congratulated myself on the education I had given him, – on the languages I had taught him, – on having accustomed him to despise effeminacy, and habituate himself to fatigue! All that he was indebted for to the chance of birth and fortune he had lost; and nothing now remained to him but what he held from nature and from me.5
“We entered the convent under feigned names. Mine was Madame Lenox, aunt of Mademoiselle Stuart, my sister’s daughter. The duke then left us, and, after his journey through Switzerland, he entered the college of the Grisons incognito, as professor of mathematics. In this quiet of the convent, the health of Mademoiselle was nearly restored. While here came news of a horrid catastrophe, on November 9th, 1793, and I became ill… I concealed from Mademoiselle the death of her unfortunate father, but dressed her in mourning, as if for the queen of France.6
“About this time, a violent dispute arose between the inhabitants of Bremgarten: two parties were formed, and an order was obtained, by people hostile to M. de Montesquiou, that all the French should leave the place. Hearing that the Princess of Conti, the aunt of Mademoiselle d’Orleans, was residing in Switzerland, Mademoiselle, at my urgent request, wrote to her to ask permission to join her. She received a very kind letter, saying that the princess would receive her niece. On the day before the carriage was sent to take her from me, my emotion was excessive. I determined to spare both of us the pain of this cruel separation. I accordingly shut myself in my room, at the arrival of the Countess de Pont, who was to take away my interesting charge, telling the servant to say that I had gone to some distance.
“As the moment arrived for the departure, Mademoiselle d’Orleans came along my passage, and stopped before the door. I heard her sighs and lamentations… I heard the carriage roll away; and one must feel a mother’s love, to conceive the emotions that overpowered me. I heard from her the next day, and I also wrote her my last letter of advice. Her departure rendered the spot she had left completely hateful to me, and I most anxiously wished to leave the place. I had, besides, been cruelly persecuted since my residence there. I was often attacked in the most absurd manner in the newspapers. One of them stated that I, loaded with favors by the court of France, had been concerned in all the intrigues of the revolution. Not knowing how to get passports I at last thought of writing to Dr. Hoze, a skilful physician, who lived at Bremgarten. He kindly sent me both passports and a servant to accompany me. I departed, promising the nuns to return and spend the remainder of my life with them. We travelled night and day, till we arrived at Utrecht. From this place, I got into a wretched post-wagon, with a man who was going to Hamburg. We reached that place July 23d, 1794. Hearing of an inn kept by a person of the name of Plock, I went there, and had the fortune not to meet with any emigrants. Here I staid nine months, in complete incognito, and in very agreeable society. It was here that I enjoyed the first consolation I received since my misfortunes – here that I learned several most important events – the fall of Robespierre, and the peace concluded with Russia.
“I now went to board with M. de Valence at his country-house, five leagues from Hamburg. At this place I wrote my ‘Précis de Conduite,’ which produced such a powerful effect in my favor. I soon left for Berlin, in Prussia. I took lodgings with Mademoiselle Bocquet, who kept a boarding-school. Here I made several charming acquaintances; but my cruel fortunes still triumphed. I was informed that great exertions were making to get me out of the kingdom. It had been rumored that the Abbé Sièyes, whom I had never even seen, had made me a visit. The king said he ‘would not banish me from his library, but that he would not allow me to remain in his territories.’ Accordingly a police officer came with an order for me to leave the kingdom in two hours. This was a real thunderbolt. Leaving all my effects behind me, I got into a carriage and drove away. We were obliged to travel to the frontiers without stopping, except for meals. Three weeks after I reached Hamburg, I received my baggage and manuscripts from Berlin. During my stay here, I saw Pamela and her husband. I soon perceived that Lord Edward had imbibed opinions dangerous to his own government, and feared that he was about to engage in some desperate enterprise.
“I now went to Holstein, and took up my abode with M. Peterson, in a delightful thatched cottage. The family was charming, and the rural style of living just what I liked. I assisted in churning the butter, and fed on the most delicious red partridges. I here performed a literary labor that greatly fatigued me. In the morning, I wrote the ‘Petits Emigrés,’ and in the evening, I occupied myself with the ‘Vœux Téméraires.’ Beside this, I wrote all the fables of ‘Herbier Moral.’
“I learned by the newspapers that Lord Edward Fitzgerald was arrested in consequence of intrigues in Ireland.7 I found also that my brother had perished at sea. I became now seriously ill, was attacked with fever, and recovered only as by a miracle. The king of Prussia, Frederic William II., having died in 1797, his son, the prince royal, authorized me to return to Berlin, where ‘I should always find peace and repose.’ Though still weak, I set out, arrived there in safety, and was received with delight by Mademoiselle Bocquet. She had prepared for me a charming apartment, fitted up with all the attention of kind friendship.”
We have thus far presented an abridgment of Madame de Genlis’s own narrative: we must now hasten to the conclusion. Under the consulship of Bonaparte, who had a favorable opinion of her talents, she returned to Paris, and became one of his admirers and panegyrists. After the restoration of the Bourbons, she wrote in defence of monarchy and religion.
Her pen seemed inexhaustible, and she continued at intervals to pour forth its productions upon the public. She had passed her eightieth year when her “Memoirs” were written. She lived to witness the astonishing events of July, 1830, and to see her former pupil raised to the throne under the title of Louis Philippe. She died December 31st, 1830, aged 84 years.
The character of Madame de Genlis is not without marks of weakness, and she has been charged even with gross departures from the path of rectitude. On this point, however, the proof is not clear. Her “Memoirs” display a degree of vanity only to be palliated by the customs of her sex in France; and her opinions on public affairs appear to have fluctuated with her fortunes. Yet, as a writer, particularly of works of fiction, which blend instruction with amusement, and have especially in view the inculcation of just sentiments, she has had few equals. Her “Palace of Truth,” and “Tales of the Castle,” are among the most captivating, yet useful books of the kind, that were ever penned. Some of her works are exceptionable in respect to their tendency; yet, on the whole, we are bound to assign to her the credit of an excellent heart, and a high order of genius. Her works have been published in eighty-four volumes, duodecimo.