The occurrences at the Place Louis xv. on the marriage festivities at Paris are generally known.  The conflagration of the scaffolds intended for the fireworks, the want of foresight of the authorities, the avidity of robbers, the murderous career of the coaches, brought about and aggravated the disasters of that day; and the young Dauphiness, coming from Versailles, by the Cours la Reine, elated with joy, brilliantly decorated, and eager to witness the rejoicings of the whole people, fled, struck with consternation and drowned in tears, from the dreadful scene.  This tragic opening of the young Princess’s life in France seemed to bear out Gassner’s hint of disaster, and to be ominous of the terrible future which awaited her.

In the same year in which Marie Antoinette was married to the Dauphin, Henriette Genet married a son of M. Campan, already mentioned as holding an office at the Court; and when the household of the Dauphiness was formed, Madame Campan was appointed her reader, and received from Marie Antoinette a consistent kindness and confidence to which by her loyal service she was fully entitled.  Madame Campan’s intelligence and vivacity made her much more sympathetic to a young princess, gay and affectionate in disposition, and reared in the simplicity of a German Court, than her lady of honour, the Comtesse de Noailles.  This respectable lady, who was placed near her as a minister of the laws of etiquette, instead of alleviating their weight, rendered their yoke intolerable to her.

“Madame de Noailles,” says Madame Campan, “abounded in virtues.  Her piety, charity, and irreproachable morals rendered her worthy of praise; but etiquette was to her a sort of atmosphere; at the slightest derangement of the consecrated order, one would have thought the principles of life would forsake her frame.

“One day I unintentionally threw this poor lady into a terrible agony.  The Queen was receiving I know not whom,—­some persons just presented, I believe; the lady of honour, the Queen’s tirewoman, and the ladies of the bedchamber, were behind the Queen.  I was near the throne, with the two women on duty.  All was right,—­at least I thought so.  Suddenly I perceived the eyes of Madame de Noailles fixed on mine.  She made a sign with her head, and then raised her eyebrows to the top of her forehead, lowered them, raised them again, then began to make little signs with her hand.  From all this pantomime, I could easily perceive that something was not as it should be; and as I looked about on all sides to find out what it was, the agitation of the Countess kept increasing.  The Queen, who perceived all this, looked at me with a smile; I found means to approach her Majesty, who said to me in a whisper, ’Let down your lappets, or the Countess will expire.’  All this bustle arose from two unlucky pins which fastened up my lappets, whilst the etiquette of costume said ’Lappets hanging down.’”