e Terror would have
ceased long before it did.

I made three portraits of Mme. Du Barry. In the first I painted her at
half length, in a dressing-gown and straw hat. In the second she is
dressed in white satin; she holds a wreath in one hand, and one of her
arms is leaning on a pedestal. The third portrait I made of Mme. Du
Barry is in my own possession. I began it about the middle of
September, 1789. From Louveciennes we could hear shooting in the
distance, and I remember the poor woman saying, "If Louis XV. were
alive I am sure this would not be happening." I had done the head, and
outlined the body and arms, when I was obliged to make an expedition
to Paris. I hoped to be able to return to Louveciennes to finish my
work, but heard that Berthier and Foulon had been murdered. I was now
frightened beyond measure, and thenceforth thought of nothing but
leaving France. The fearful year 1789 was well advanced, and all
decent people were already seized with terror. I remember perfectly
that one evening when I had gathered some friends about me for a
concert, most of the arrivals came into the room with looks of
consternation; they had been walking at Longchamps that morning, and
the populace assembled at the Etoile gate had cursed at those who
passed in carriages in a dreadful manner. Some of the wretches had
clambered on the carriage steps, shouting, "Next year you will be
behind your carriages and we shall be inside!" and a thousand other
insults.

As for myself, I had little need to learn fresh details in order to
foresee what horrors impended. I knew beyond doubt that my house in
the Rue Gros Chenet, where I had settled but three months since, had
been singled out by the criminals. They threw sulphur into our cellars
through the airholes. If I happened to be at my window, vulgar
ruffians would shake their fists at me. Numberless sinister rumours
reached me from every side; in fact, I now lived in a state of
continual anxiety and sadness. My health became sensibly affected, and
two of my best friends, the architect Brongniart and his wife, when
they came to see me, found me so thin and so changed that they
besought me to come and spend a few days with them, which invitation I
thankfully accepted. Brongniart had his lodgings at the Invalides,
whither I was conducted by a physician attached to the Palais Royal,
whose servants wore the Orleans livery, the only one then held in any
respect. There I was given everything of