And, in addition to this daily increase of their danger which such denunciations could not fail to augment, the royal family were now suffering inconveniences which even those whose measures had caused them had never designed.  They were in the most painful want of money.  The agitation of the last two years had rendered the treasury bankrupt.  The paper money, which now composed almost the whole circulation of the country, was valueless.  While, as it was in this paper money (assignats, as the notes were called, as being professedly secured by assignments on the royal domains and on the ecclesiastical property which had been confiscated), that the king’s civil list was paid, at the latter end of each month it was not uncommon for him and the queen to be absolutely destitute.  It was with great reluctance that they accepted loans from their loyal adherents, because they saw no prospect of being able to repay them; but had they not availed themselves of this resource, they would at times have wanted absolute necessaries.[8]

The royal couple still kept their health, the king’s apathy being in this respect as beneficial as the queen’s courage:  they still rode a great deal when the weather was favorable; and on one occasion, at the beginning of 1792, the queen, with her sister-in-law and her daughter, went again to the theatre.  The opera was the same which had been performed at the visit in October; but this time the Jacobins had not been forewarned so as to pack the house, and Madame du Gazon’s duet was received with enthusiasm.  Again, as she sung “Ah, que j’aime ma maitresse!” she bowed to the royal box, and the audience cheered.  As if in reply to one verse, “Il faut les rendre heureux,” “Oui, oui!” with lively unanimity, came from all parts of the house, and the singers were compelled to repeat the duet four times.  “It is a queer nation this of ours,” says the Princess Elizabeth, in relating the scene to one of her correspondents, “but we must allow that it has very charming moments.[9]”

A somewhat curious episode to divert their minds from these domestic anxieties was presented by an embassy from the brave and intriguing Sultan of Mysore, the celebrated Tippoo Sahib, who sought to engage Louis to lend him six thousand French troops, with whose aid he trusted to break down the ascendency which England was rapidly establishing in India.  Tippoo backed his request, in the Oriental fashion, by presents, though not such as, in the opinion of M. Bertrand, were quite worthy of the giver or of the receiver.  To the king he sent some diamonds, but they were yellow, ill-cut, and ill-set; and the rest of the offering was composed of a few pieces of embroidered silk, striped cloth, and cambric:  while the queen’s present consisted of nothing more valuable than a few bottles of perfume of no very exquisite quality, and a few boxes of powdered scents, pastils, and matches.  The king and queen gave nearly the whole present to M. Bertrand for his grandchildren, the queen only reserving a bottle of attar of rose and a couple of pieces of cambric; and that chiefly to afford a pretext for seeing M. Bertrand once or twice, without his reception being imputed to a desire to promote some Austrian intrigue; for the Jacobins had lately revived the clamor against Austrian influence with greater vehemence than ever.