MADAME CAMPAN'S narrative breaking off abruptly at the time of the painful
end met with by her sister, we have supplemented it by abridged accounts
of the chief incidents in the tragedy which overwhelmed the royal house
she so faithfully served, taken from contemporary records and the best
historical authorities.
The Royal Family in the Temple.
The Assembly having, at the instance of the Commune of Paris, decreed that
the royal family should be immured in the Temple, they were removed
thither from the Feuillans on the 13th of August, 1792, in the charge of
Potion, Mayor of Paris, and Santerre, the commandant-general. Twelve
Commissioners of the general council were to keep constant watch at the
Temple, which had been fortified by earthworks and garrisoned by
detachments of the National Guard, no person being allowed to enter
without permission from the municipality.
The Temple, formerly the headquarters of the Knights Templars in Paris,
consisted of two buildings,--the Palace, facing the Rue de Temple, usually
occupied by one of the Princes of the blood; and the Tower, standing
behind the Palace.
[Clery gives a more minute description of this singular building: "The
small tower of the Temple in which the King was then confined stood with
its back against the great tower, without any interior communication, and
formed a long square, flanked by two turrets. In one of these turrets
there was a narrow staircase that led from the first floor to a gallery on
the platform; in the other were small rooms, answering to each story of
the tower. The body of the building was four stories high. The first
consisted of an antechamber, a dining-room, and a small room in the
turret, where there was a library containing from twelve to fifteen
hundred volumes. The second story was divided nearly in the same manner.
The largest room was the Queen's bedchamber, in which the Dauphin also
slept; the second, which was separated from the Queen's by a small
antechamber almost without light, was occupied by Madame Royale and Madame
Elisabeth. The King's apartments were on the third story. He slept in
the great room, and made a study of the turret closet. There was a
kitchen separated from the King's chamber by a small dark room, which had
been successively occupied by M. de Chamilly and M. de Hue. The fourth
story was shut up; and on the ground floor there were kitchens of which no
use was made." --"Journal," p. 96.]
The Tower was a square building, with a round tower at each corner and a
small turret on one side, usually called the Tourelle. In the narrative
of the Duchesse d'Angouleme she says that the soldiers who escorted the
royal prisoners wished to take the King alone to the Tower, and his family
to the Palace of the Temple, but that on the way Manuel received an order
to imprison them all in the Tower, where so little provision had been made
for their reception that Madame Elisabeth slept in the kitchen. The royal
family were accompanied by the Princesse de Lamballe, Madame de Tourzel
and her daughter Pauline, Mesdames de Navarre, de Saint-Brice, Thibaut,
and Bazire, MM. de Hug and de Chamilly, and three men-servants--An order
from the Commune soon removed these devoted attendants, and M. de Hue
alone was permitted to return. "We all passed the day together," says
Madame Royale. "My father taught my brother geography; my mother history,
and to learn verses by heart; and my aunt gave him lessons in arithmetic.
My father fortunately found a library which amused him, and my mother
worked tapestry . . . . We went every day to walk in the garden, for
the sake of my brother's health, though the King was always insulted by
the guard. On the Feast of Saint Louis 'Ca Ira' was sung under the walls
of the Temple. Manuel that evening brought my aunt a letter from her
aunts at Rome. It was the last the family received from without. My
father was no longer called King. He was treated with no kind of respect;
the officers always sat in his presence and never took off their hats.
They deprived him of his sword and searched his pockets . . . . Petion
sent as gaoler the horrible man--[Rocher, a saddler by trade] who had
broken open my father's door on the 20th June, 1792, and who had been near
assassinating him. This man never left the Tower, and was indefatigable
in endeavouring to torment him. One time he would sing the 'Caramgnole,'
and a thousand other horrors, before us; again, knowing that my mother
disliked the smoke of tobacco, he would puff it in her face, as well as in
that of my father, as they happened to pass him. He took care always to be
in bed before we went to supper, because he knew that we must pass through
his room. My father suffered it all with gentleness, forgiving the man
from the bottom of his heart. My mother bore it with a dignity that
frequently repressed his insolence." The only occasion, Madame Royale
adds, on which the Queen showed any impatience at the conduct of the
officials, was when a municipal officer woke the Dauphin suddenly in the
night to make certain that he was safe, as though the sight of the
peacefully sleeping child would not have been in itself the best
assurance.
Clery, the valet de chambre of the Dauphin, having with difficulty
obtained permission to resume his duties, entered the Temple on the 24th
August, and for eight days shared with M. de Hue the personal attendance;
but on the 2d September De Hue was arrested, seals were placed on the
little room he had occupied, and Clery passed the night in that of the
King. On the following morning Manuel arrived, charged by the Commune to
inform the King that De Hue would not be permitted to return, and to offer
to send another person. "I thank you," answered the King. "I will manage
with the valet de chambre of my son; and if the Council refuse I will
serve myself. I am determined to do it." On the 3d September Manual
visited the Temple and assured the King that Madame de Lamballe and all
the other prisoners who had been removed to La Force were well, and safely
guarded. "But at three o'clock," says Madame Royale, "just after dinner,
and as the King was sitting down to 'tric trac' with my mother (which he
played for the purpose of having an opportunity of saying a few words to
her unheard by the keepers), the most horrid shouts were heard. The
officer who happened to be on guard in the room behaved well. He shut the
door and the window, and even drew the curtains to prevent their seeing
anything; but outside the workmen and the gaoler Rocher joined the
assassins and increased the tumult. Several officers of the guard and the
municipality now arrived, and on my father's asking what was the matter, a
young officer replied, 'Well, since you will know, it is the head of
Madame de Lamballe that they want to show you.' At these words my mother
was overcome with horror; it was the only occasion on which her firmness
abandoned her. The municipal officers were very angry with the young man;
but the King, with his usual goodness, excused him, saying that it was his
own fault, since he had questioned the officer. The noise lasted till
five o'clock. We learned that the people had wished to force the door,
and that the municipal officers had been enabled to prevent it only by
putting a tricoloured scarf across it, and allowing six of the murderers
to march round our prison with the head of the Princess, leaving at the
door her body, which they would have dragged in also."
Clery was not so fortunate as to escape the frightful spectacle. He had
gone down to dine with Tison and his wife, employed as servants in the
Temple, and says: "We were hardly seated when a head, on the end of a
pike, was presented at the window. Tison's wife gave a great cry; the
assassins fancied they recognised the Queen's voice, and responded by
savage laughter. Under the idea that his Majesty was still at table, they
placed their dreadful trophy where it must be seen. It was the head of
the Princesse de Lamballe; although bleeding, it was not disfigured, and
her light hair, still in curls, hung about the pike."
At length the immense mob that surrounded the Temple gradually withdrew,
"to follow the head of the Princess de Lamballe to the Palais Royal."
[The pike that bore the head was fixed before the Duc d'Orleans's window
as he was going to dinner. It is said that he looked at this horrid sight
without horror, went into the dining-room, sat down to table, and helped
his guests without saying a word. His silence and coolness left it
doubtful whether the assassins, in presenting him this bloody trophy,
intended to offer him an insult or to pay him homage.--DE MOLLEVILLE'S
"Annals of the French Revolution," vol. vii., p. 398.]
Meanwhile the royal family could scarcely believe that for the time their
lives were saved. "My aunt and I heard the drums beating to arms all
night," says Madame Royale; "my unhappy mother did not even attempt to
sleep. We heard her sobs."
In the comparative tranquillity which followed the September massacres,
the royal family resumed the regular habits they had adopted on entering
the Temple. "The King usually rose at six in the morning," says Clery.
"He shaved himself, and I dressed his hair; he then went to his
reading-room, which, being very small, the municipal officer on duty
remained in the bedchamber with the door open, that he might always keep
the King in sight. His Majesty continued praying on his knees for some
time, and then read till nine. During that interval, after putting his
chamber to rights and preparing the breakfast, I went down to the Queen,
who never opened her door till I arrived, in order to prevent the
municipal officer from going into her apartment. At nine o'clock the
Queen, the children, and Madame Elisabeth went up to the King's chamber to
breakfast. At ten the King and his family went down to the Queen's
chamber, and there passed the day. He employed himself in educating his
son, made him recite passages from Corneille and Racine, gave him lessons
in geography, and exercised him in colouring the maps. The Queen, on her
part, was employed in the education of her daughter, and these different
lessons lasted till eleven o'clock. The remaining time till noon was
passed in needlework, knitting, or making tapestry. At one o'clock, when
the weather was fine, the royal family were conducted to the garden by
four municipal officers and the commander of a legion of the National
Guard. As there were a number of workmen in the Temple employed in pulling
down houses and building new walls, they only allowed a part of the
chestnut-tree walk for the promenade, in which I was allowed to share, and
where I also played with the young Prince at ball, quoits, or races. At
two we returned to the Tower, where I served the dinner, at which time
Santerre regularly came to the Temple, attended by two aides-de-camp. The
King sometimes spoke to him,--the Queen never.
"After the meal the royal family came down into the Queen's room, and
their Majesties generally played a game of piquet or tric-trac. At four
o'clock the King took a little repose, the Princesses round him, each with
a book . . . . When the King woke the conversation was resumed, and I
gave writing lessons to his son, taking the copies, according to his
instructions, from the works of, Montesquieu and other celebrated authors.
After the lesson I took the young Prince into Madame Elisabeth's room,
where we played at ball, and battledore and shuttlecock. In the evening
the family sat round a table, while the Queen read to them from books of
history, or other works proper to instruct and amuse the children. Madame
Elisabeth took the book in her turn, and in this manner they read till
eight o'clock. After that I served the supper of the young Prince, in
which the royal family shared, and the King amused the children with
charades out of a collection of French papers which he found in the
library. After the Dauphin had supped, I undressed him, and the Queen
heard him say his prayers. At nine the King went to supper, and
afterwards went for a moment to the Queen's chamber, shook hands with her
and his sister for the night, kissed his children, and then retired to the
turret-room, where he sat reading till midnight. The Queen and the
Princesses locked themselves in, and one of the municipal officers
remained in the little room which parted their chamber, where he passed
the night; the other followed his Majesty. In this manner was the time
passed as long as the King remained in the small tower."
But even these harmless pursuits were too often made the means of further
insulting and thwarting the unfortunate family. Commissary Le Clerc
interrupted the Prince's writing lessons, proposing to substitute
Republican works for those from which the King selected his copies. A
smith, who was present when the Queen was reading the history of France to
her children, denounced her to the Commune for choosing the period when
the Connstable de Bourbon took arms against France, and said she wished to
inspire her son with unpatriotic feelings; a municipal officer asserted
that the multiplication table the Prince was studying would afford a means
of "speaking in cipher," so arithmetic had to be abandoned. Much the same
occurred even with the needlework, the Queen and Princess finished some
chairbacks, which they wished to send to the Duchesse de Tarente; but the
officials considered that the patterns were hieroglyphics, intended for
carrying on a correspondence, and ordered that none of the Princesses work
should leave the Temple. The short daily walk in the garden was also
embittered by the rude behaviour of the military and municipal gaolers;
sometimes, however, it afforded an opportunity for marks of sympathy to be
shown. People would station themselves at the windows of houses
overlooking the Temple gardens, and evince by gestures their loyal
affection, and some of the sentinels showed, even by tears, that their
duty was painful to them.
On the 21st September the National Convention was constituted, Petion
being made president and Collot d'Herbois moving the "abolition of
royalty" amidst transports of applause. That afternoon a municipal
officer attended by gendarmes a cheval, and followed by a crowd of people,
arrived at the Temple, and, after a flourish of trumpets, proclaimed the
establishment of the French Republic. The man, says Clery, "had the voice
of a Stentor." The royal family could distinctly hear the announcement of
the King's deposition. "Hebert, so well known under the title of Pere
Duchesne, and Destournelles were on guard. They were sitting near the
door, and turned to the King with meaning smiles. He had a book in his
hand, and went on reading without changing countenance. The Queen showed
the same firmness. The proclamation finished, the trumpets sounded
afresh. I went to the window; the people took me for Louis XVI. and I was
overwhelmed with insults."
After the new decree the prisoners were treated with increased harshness.
Pens, paper, ink, and pencils were taken from them. The King and Madame
Elisabeth gave up all, but the Queen and her daughter each concealed a
pencil. "In the beginning of October," says Madame Royale, "after my
father had supped, he was told to stop, that he was not to return to his
former apartments, and that he was to be separated from his family. At
this dreadful sentence the Queen lost her usual courage. We parted from
him with abundance of tears, though we expected to see him again in the
morning.
[At nine o'clock, says Clery, the King asked to be taken to his family,
but the municipal officers replied that they had "no orders for that."
Shortly afterwards a boy brought the King some bread and a decanter of
lemonade for his breakfast. The King gave half the bread to Clery,
saying, "It seems they have forgotten your breakfast; take this, the rest
is enough for me." Clery refused, but the King insisted. "I could not
contain my tears," he adds; "the King perceived them, and his own fell
also."]
They brought in our breakfast separately from his, however. My mother
would take nothing. The officers, alarmed at her silent and concentrated
sorrow, allowed us to see the King, but at meal-times only, and on
condition that we should not speak low, nor in any foreign language, but
loud and in 'good French.' We went down, therefore, with the greatest joy
to dine with my father. In the evening, when my brother was in bed, my
mother and my aunt alternately sat with him or went with me to sup with my
father. In the morning, after breakfast, we remained in the King's
apartments while Clery dressed our hair, as he was no longer allowed to
come to my mother's room, and this arrangement gave us the pleasure of
spending a few moments more with my father."
[When the first deputation from the Council of the Commune visited the
Temple, and formally inquired whether the King had any complaint to make,
he replied, "No; while he was permitted to remain with his family he was
happy."]
The royal prisoners had no comfort except their affection for each other.
At that time even common necessaries were denied them. Their small stock
of linen had been lent them; by persons of the Court during the time they
spent at the Feuillans. The Princesses mended their clothes every day,
and after the King had gone to bed Madame Elisabeth mended his. "With
much trouble," says Clrry, "I procured some fresh linen for them. But the
workwomen having marked it with crowned letters, the Princesses were
ordered to pick them out." The room in the great tower to which the King
had been removed contained only one bed, and no other article of
furniture. A chair was brought on which Clery spent the first night;
painters were still at work on the room, and the smell of the paint, he
says, was almost unbearable. This room was afterwards furnished by
collecting from various parts of the Temple a chest of drawers, a small
bureau, a few odd chairs, a chimney-glass, and a bed hung with green
damask, which had been used by the captain of the guard to the Comte
d'Artois. A room for the Queen was being prepared over that of the King,
and she implored the workmen to finish it quickly, but it was not ready
for her occupation for some time, and when she was allowed to remove to it
the Dauphin was taken from her and placed with his father. When their
Majesties met again in the great Tower, says Clery, there was little
change in the hours fixed for meals, reading, walking and the education of
their children. They were not allowed to have mass said in the Temple,
and therefore commissioned Clery to get them the breviary in use in the
diocese of Paris. Among the books read by the King while in the Tower
were Hume's "History of England" (in the original), Tasso, and the "De
Imitatione Christi." The jealous suspicions of the municipal officers led
to the most absurd investigations; a draught-board was taken to pieces
lest the squares should hide treasonable papers; macaroons were broken in
half to see that they did not contain letters; peaches were cut open and
the stones cracked; and Clery was compelled to drink the essence of soap
prepared for shaving the King, under the pretence that it might contain
poison.
In November the King and all the family had feverish colds, and Clery had
an attack of rheumatic fever. On the first day of his illness he got up
and tried to dress his master, but the King, seeing how ill he was,
ordered him to lie down, and himself dressed the Dauphin. The little
Prince waited on Clery all day, and in the evening the King contrived to
approach his bed, and said, in a low voice, "I should like to take care of
you myself, but you know how we are watched. Take courage; tomorrow you
shall see my doctor." Madame Elisabeth brought the valet cooling
draughts, of which she deprived herself; and after Clery was able to get
up, the young Prince one night with great difficulty kept awake till
eleven o'clock in order to give him a box of lozenges when he went to make
the King's bed.
On 7th December a deputation from the Commune brought an order that the
royal family should be deprived of "knives, razors, scissors, penknives,
and all other cutting instruments." The King gave up a knife, and took
from a morocco case a pair of scissors and a penknife; and the officials
then searched the room, taking away the little toilet implements of gold
and silver, and afterwards removing the Princesses' working materials.
Returning to the King's room, they insisted upon seeing what remained in
his pocket-case. "Are these toys which I have in my hand also cutting
instruments?" asked the King, showing them a cork-screw, a turn-screw,
and a steel for lighting. These also were taken from him. Shortly
afterwards Madame Elisabeth was mending the King's coat, and, having no
scissors, was compelled to break the thread with her teeth.
"What a contrast!" he exclaimed, looking at her tenderly. "You wanted
nothing in your pretty house at Montreuil."
"Ah, brother," she answered, "how can I have any regret when I partake
your misfortunes?"
The Queen had frequently to take on herself some of the humble duties of a
servant. This was especially painful to Louis XVI. when the anniversary
of some State festival brought the contrast between past and present with
unusual keenness before him.
"Ah, Madame," he once exclaimed, "what an employment for a Queen of
France! Could they see that at Vienna! Who would have foreseen that, in
uniting your lot to mine, you would have descended so low?"
"And do you esteem as nothing," she replied, "the glory of being the wife
of one of the best and most persecuted of men? Are not such misfortunes
the noblest honours?"--[Alison's "History of Europe," vol. ii., p. 299.]
Meanwhile the Assembly had decided that the King should be brought to
trial. Nearly all parties, except the Girondists, no matter how bitterly
opposed to each other, could agree in making him the scapegoat; and the
first rumour of the approaching ordeal was conveyed to the Temple by
Clery's wife, who, with a friend, had permission occasionally to visit
him. "I did not know how to announce this terrible news to the King," he
says; "but time was pressing, and he had forbidden my concealing anything
from him. In the evening, while undressing him, I gave him an account of
all I had learnt, and added that there were only four days to concert some
plan of corresponding with the Queen. The arrival of the municipal
officer would not allow me to say more. Next morning, when the King rose,
I could not get a moment for speaking with him. He went up with his son
to breakfast with the Princesses, and I followed. After breakfast he
talked long with the Queen, who, by a look full of trouble, made me
understand that they were discussing what I had told the King. During the
day I found an opportunity of describing to Madame Elisabeth how much it
had cost me to augment the King's distresses by informing him of his
approaching trial. She reassured me, saying that the King felt this as a
mark of attachment on my part, and added, 'That which most troubles him is
the fear of being separated from us.' In the evening the King told me how
satisfied he was at having had warning that he was to appear before the
Convention. 'Continue,' he said, 'to endeavour to find out something as
to what they want to do with me. Never fear distressing me. I have
agreed with my family not to seem pre-informed, in order not to compromise
you.'"
On the 11th December, at five o'clock in the morning, the prisoners heard
the generale beaten throughout Paris, and cavalry and cannon entered the
Temple gardens. At nine the King and the Dauphin went as usual to
breakfast with the Queen. They were allowed to remain together for an
hour, but constantly under the eyes of their republican guardians. At
last they were obliged to part, doubtful whether they would ever see each
other again. The little Prince, who remained with his father, and was
ignorant of the new cause for anxiety, begged hard that the King would
play at ninepins with him as usual. Twice the Dauphin could not get
beyond a certain number. "Each time that I get up to sixteen," he said,
with some vexation, "I lose the game." The King did not reply, but Clery
fancied the words made a painful impression on him.
At eleven, while the King was giving the Dauphin a reading lesson, two
municipal officers entered and said they had come "to take young Louis to
his mother." The King inquired why, but was only told that such were the
orders of the Council. At one o'clock the Mayor of Paris, Chambon,
accompanied by Chaumette, Procureur de la Commune, Santerre, commandant of
the National Guard, and others, arrived at the Temple and read a decree to
the King, which ordered that "Louis Capet" should be brought before the
Convention. "Capet is not my name," he replied, "but that of one of my
ancestors. I could have wished," he added, "that you had left my son with
me during the last two hours. But this treatment is consistent with all I
have experienced here. I follow you, not because I recognise the
authority of the Convention, but because I can be compelled to obey it."
He then followed the Mayor to a carriage which waited, with a numerous
escort, at the gate of the Temple. The family left behind were
overwhelmed with grief and apprehension. "It is impossible to describe
the anxiety we suffered," says Madame Royale. "My mother used every
endeavour with the officer who guarded her to discover what was passing;
it was the first time she had condescended to question any of these men.
He would tell her nothing."
Trial of the King.--Parting of the Royal Family.--Execution.
The crowd was immense as, on the morning of the 11th December, 1792, Louis
XVI. was driven slowly from the Temple to the Convention, escorted by
cavalry, infantry, and artillery. Paris looked like an armed camp: all
the posts were doubled; the muster-roll of the National Guard was called
over every hour; a picket of two hundred men watched in the court of each
of the right sections; a reserve with cannon was stationed at the
Tuileries, and strong detachments patroled the streets and cleared the
road of all loiterers. The trees that lined the boulevards, the doors and
windows of the houses, were alive with gazers, and all eyes were fixed on
the King. He was much changed since his people last beheld him. The beard
he had been compelled to grow after his razors were taken from him covered
cheeks, lips, and chin with light-coloured hair, which concealed the
melancholy expression of his mouth; he had become thin, and his garments
hung loosely on him; but his manner was perfectly collected and calm, and
he recognised and named to the Mayor the various quarters through which he
passed. On arriving at the Feuillans he was taken to a room to await the
orders of the Assembly.
It was about half-past two when the King appeared at the bar. The Mayor
and Generaux Santerre and Wittengoff were at his side. Profound silence
pervaded the Assembly. All were touched by the King's dignity and the
composure of his looks under so great a reverse of fortune. By nature he
had been formed rather to endure calamity with patience than to contend
against it with energy. The approach of death could not disturb his
serenity.
"Louis, you may be seated," said Barere. "Answer the questions that shall
be put to you." The King seated himself and listened to the reading of
the 'acte enonciatif', article by article. All the faults of the Court
were there enumerated and imputed to Louis XVI. personally. He was charged
with the interruption of the sittings of the 20th of June, 1789, with the
Bed of Justice held on the 23d of the same month, the aristocratic
conspiracy thwarted by the insurrection of the 14th of July, the
entertainment of the Life Guards, the insults offered to the national
cockade, the refusal to sanction the Declaration of Rights, as well as
several constitutional articles; lastly, all the facts which indicated a
new conspiracy in October, and which were followed by the scenes of the
5th and 6th; the speeches of reconciliation which had succeeded all these
scenes, and which promised a change that was not sincere; the false oath
taken at the Federation of the 14th of July; the secret practices of Talon
and Mirabeau to effect a counter-revolution; the money spent in bribing a
great number of deputies; the assemblage of the "knights of the dagger" on
the 28th of February, 1791; the flight to Varennes; the fusilade of the
Champ de Mars; the silence observed respecting the Treaty of Pilnitz; the
delay in the promulgation of the decree which incorporated Avignon with
France; the commotions at Nimes, Montauban, Mende, and Jales; the
continuance of their pay to the emigrant Life Guards and to the disbanded
Constitutional Guard; the insufficiency of the armies assembled on the
frontiers; the refusal to sanction the decree for the camp of twenty
thousand men; the disarming of the fortresses; the organisation of secret
societies in the interior of Paris; the review of the Swiss and the
garrison of the palace on the 10th August; the summoning the Mayor to the
Tuileries; and lastly, the effusion of blood which had resulted from these
military dispositions. After each article the President paused, and said,
"What have you to answer?" The King, in a firm voice, denied some of the
facts, imputed others to his ministers, and always appealed to the
constitution, from which he declared he had never deviated. His answers
were very temperate, but on the charge, "You spilt the blood of the people
on the 10th of August," he exclaimed, with emphasis, "No, monsieur, no; it
was not I."
All the papers on which the act of accusation was founded were then shown
to the King, and he disavowed some of them and disputed the existence of
the iron chest; this produced a bad impression, and was worse than
useless, as the fact had been proved.
[A secret closet which the King had directed to be constructed in a wall
in the Tuileries. The door was of iron, whence it was afterwards known by
the name of the iron chest. See Thiers, and Scott.]
Throughout the examination the King showed great presence of mind. He was
careful in his answers never to implicate any members of the constituent,
and legislative Assemblies; many who then sat as his judges trembled lest
he should betray them. The Jacobins beheld with dismay the profound
impression made on the Convention by the firm but mild demeanour of the
sovereign. The most violent of the party proposed that he should be
hanged that very night; a laugh as of demons followed the proposal from
the benches of the Mountain, but the majority, composed of the Girondists
and the neutrals, decided that he should be formally tried.
After the examination Santerre took the King by the arm and led him back
to the waiting-room of the Convention, accompanied by Chambon and
Chaumette. Mental agitation and the length of the proceedings had
exhausted him, and he staggered from weakness. Chaumette inquired if he
wished for refreshment, but the King refused it. A moment after, seeing a
grenadier of the escort offer the Procureur de la Commune half a small
loaf, Louis XVI. approached and asked him, in a whisper, for a piece.
"Ask aloud for what you want," said Chaumette, retreating as though he
feared being suspected of pity.
"I asked for a piece of your bread," replied the King.
"Divide it with me," said Chaumette. "It is a Spartan breakfast. If I
had a root I would give you half."--[Lamartine's "History of the
Girondists," edit. 1870, vol. ii., p. 313.]
Soon after six in the evening the King returned to the Temple. "He seemed
tired," says Clery, simply, "and his first wish was to be led to his
family. The officers refused, on the plea that they had no orders. He
insisted that at least they should be informed of his return, and this was
promised him. The King ordered me to ask for his supper at half-past
eight. The intervening hours he employed in his usual reading, surrounded
by four municipals. When I announced that supper was served, the King
asked the commissaries if his family could not come down. They made no
reply. 'But at least,' the King said, 'my son will pass the night in my
room, his bed being here?' The same silence. After supper the King again
urged his wish to see his family. They answered that they must await the
decision of the Convention. While I was undressing him the King said, 'I
was far from expecting all the questions they put to me.' He lay down
with perfect calmness. The order for my removal during the night was not
executed." On the King's return to the Temple being known, "my mother
asked to see him instantly," writes Madame Royale. "She made the same
request even to Chambon, but received no answer. My brother passed the
night with her; and as he had no bed, she gave him hers, and sat up all
the night in such deep affliction that we were afraid to leave her; but
she compelled my aunt and me to go to bed. Next day she again asked to
see my father, and to read the newspapers, that she might learn the course
of the trial. She entreated that if she was to be denied this indulgence,
his children, at least, might see him. Her requests were referred to the
Commune. The newspapers were refused; but my brother and I were to be
allowed to see my father on condition of being entirely separated from my
mother. My father replied that, great as his happiness was in seeing his
children, the important business which then occupied him would not allow
of his attending altogether to his son, and that his daughter could not
leave her mother."
[During their last interview Madame Elisabeth had given Clery one of her
handkerchiefs, saying, "You shall keep it so long as my brother continues
well; if he becomes ill, send it to me among my nephew's things."]
The Assembly having, after a violent debate, resolved that Louis XVI.
should have the aid of counsel, a deputation was sent to the Temple to ask
whom he would choose. The King named Messieurs Target and Tronchet. The
former refused his services on the ground that he had discontinued
practice since 1785; the latter complied at once with the King's request;
and while the Assembly was considering whom to, nominate in Target's
place, the President received a letter from the venerable Malesherbes,
[Christian Guillaume de Lamoignon de Malesherbes, an eminent French
statesman, son of the Chancellor of France, was born at Paris in 1721. In
1750 he succeeded his father as President of the Court of Aids, and was
also made superintendent of the press. On the banishment of the
Parliaments and the suppression of the Court of Aids, Malesherbes was
exiled to his country-seat. In 1775 he was appointed Minister of State.
On the decree of the Convention for the King's trial, he emerged from his
retreat to become the voluntary advocate of his sovereign. Malesherbes
was guillotined in 1794, and almost his whole family were extirpated by
their merciless persecutors.]
then seventy years old, and "the most respected magistrate in France," in
the course of which he said: "I have been twice called to be counsel for
him who was my master, in times when that duty was coveted by every one. I
owe him the same service now that it is a duty which many people deem
dangerous. If I knew any possible means of acquainting him with my
desires, I should not take the liberty of addressing myself to you." Other
citizens made similar proposals, but the King, being made acquainted with
them by a deputation from the Commune, while expressing his gratitude for
all the offers, accepted only that of Malesherbes.
[The Citoyenne Olympia Degonges, calling herself a free and loyal
Republican without spot or blame, and declaring that the cold and selfish
cruelty of Target had inflamed her heroism and roused her sensibility,
asked permission to assist M, de Malesherbes in defending the King. The
Assembly passed to the order of the day on this request.--BERTRAND DE
MOLLEVILLE, "Annals," edit. 1802, vol, viii., p. 254.]
On 14th December M. Tronchet was allowed to confer with the King, and
later in the same day M. de Malesherbes was admitted to the Tower. "The
King ran up to this worthy old man, whom he clasped in his arms," said
Clery, "and the former minister melted into tears at the sight of his
master."
[According to M. de Hue, "The first time M. de Malesherbes entered the
Temple, the King clasped him in his arms and said, 'Ah, is it you, my
friend? You fear not to endanger your own life to save mine; but all will
be useless. They will bring me to the scaffold. No matter; I shall gain
my cause if I leave an unspotted memory behind me.'"]
Another deputation brought the King the Act of Accusation and the
documents relating to it, numbering more than a hundred, and taking from
four o'clock till midnight to read. During this long process the King had
refreshments served to the deputies, taking nothing himself till they had
left, but considerately reproving Clery for not having supped. From the
14th to the 26th December the King saw his counsel and their colleague M.
de Size every day. At this time a means of communication between the
royal family and the King was devised: a man named Turgi, who had been in
the royal kitchen, and who contrived to obtain employment in the Temple,
when conveying the meals of the royal family to their apartments, or
articles he had purchased for them, managed to give Madame Elisabeth news
of the King. Next day, the Princess, when Turgi was removing the dinner,
slipped into his hand a bit of paper on which she had pricked with a pin a
request for a word from her brother's own hand. Turgi gave this paper to
Clery, who conveyed it to the King the same evening; and he, being allowed
writing materials while preparing his defence, wrote Madame Elisabeth a
short note. An answer was conveyed in a ball of cotton, which Turgi threw
under Clery's bed while passing the door of his room. Letters were also
passed between the Princess's room and that of Clery, who lodged beneath
her, by means of a string let down and drawn up at night. This
communication with his family was a great comfort to the King, who,
nevertheless, constantly cautioned his faithful servant. "Take care," he
would say kindly, "you expose yourself too much."
[The King's natural benevolence was constantly shown while in the Temple.
His own dreadful position never prevented him from sympathy with the
smaller troubles of others. A servant in the Temple named Marchand, the
father of a family, was robbed of two hundred francs, --his wages for two
months. The King observed his distress, asked its cause, and gave Clery
the amount to be handed to Marchand, with a caution not to speak of it to
any one, and, above all, not to thank the King, lest it should injure him
with his employers.]
During his separation from his family the King refused to go into the
garden. When it was proposed to him he said, "I cannot make up my mind to
go out alone; the walk was agreeable to me only when I shared it with my
family." But he did not allow himself to dwell on painful reflections.
He talked freely to the municipals on guard, and surprised them by his
varied and practical knowledge of their trades, and his interest in their
domestic affairs. On the 19th December the King's breakfast was served as
usual; but, being a fast-day, he refused to take anything. At dinner-time
the King said to Clery, "Fourteen years ago you were up earlier than you
were to-day; it is the day my daughter was born--today, her birthday," he
repeated, with tears, "and to be prevented from seeing her!" Madame
Royale had wished for a calendar; the King ordered Clery to buy her the
"Almanac of the Republic," which had replaced the "Court Almanac," and ran
through it, marking with a pencil many names.
"On Christmas Day," Says Clery, "the King wrote his will."
[Madame Royale says: "On the 26th December, St. Stephen's Day, my father
made his will, because he expected to be assassinated that day on his way
to the bar of the Convention. He went thither, nevertheless, with his
usual calmness."--"Royal Memoirs," p. 196.]
On the 26th December, 1792, the King appeared a second time before the
Convention. M. de Seze, labouring night and day, had completed his
defence. The King insisted on excluding from it all that was too
rhetorical, and confining it to the mere discussion of essential points.
[When the pathetic peroration of M, de Seze was read to the King, the
evening before it was delivered to the Assembly, "I have to request of
you," he said, "to make a painful sacrifice; strike out of your pleading
the peroration. It is enough for me to appear before such judges, and
show my entire innocence; I will not move their feelings.--"LACRETELLE.]
At half-past nine in the morning the whole armed force was in motion to
conduct him from the Temple to the Feuillans, with the same precautions
and in the same order as had been observed on the former occasion. Riding
in the carriage of the Mayor, he conversed, on the way, with the same
composure as usual, and talked of Seneca, of Livy, of the hospitals.
Arrived at the Feuillans, he showed great anxiety for his defenders; he
seated himself beside them in the Assembly, surveyed with great composure
the benches where his accusers and his judges sat, seemed to examine their
faces with the view of discovering the impression produced by the pleading
of M. de Seze, and more than once conversed smilingly with Tronchet and
Malesherbes. The Assembly received his defence in sullen silence, but
without any tokens of disapprobation.
Being afterwards conducted to an adjoining room with his counsel, the King
showed great anxiety about M. de Seze, who seemed fatigued by the long
defence. While riding back to the Temple he conversed with his companions
with the same serenity as he had shown on leaving it.
No sooner had the King left the hall of the Convention than a violent
tumult arose there. Some were for opening the discussion. Others,
complaining of the delays which postponed the decision of this process,
demanded the vote immediately, remarking that in every court, after the
accused had been heard, the judges proceed to give their opinion.
Lanjuinais had from the commencement of the proceedings felt an
indignation which his impetuous disposition no longer suffered him to
repress. He darted to the tribune, and, amidst the cries excited by his
presence, demanded the annulling of the proceedings altogether. He
exclaimed that the days of ferocious men were gone by, that the Assembly
ought not to be so dishonoured as to be made to sit in judgment on Louis
XVI., that no authority in France had that right, and the Assembly in
particular had no claim to it; that if it resolved to act as a political
body, it could do no more than take measures of safety against the
ci-devant King; but that if it was acting as a court of justice it was
overstepping all principles, for it was subjecting the vanquished to be
tried by the conquerors, since most of the present members had declared
themselves the conspirators of the 10th of August. At the word
"conspirators" a tremendous uproar arose on all aides. Cries of
"Order!"--"To the Abbaye!"--"Down with the Tribune!" were heard.
Lanjuinais strove in vain to justify the word "conspirators," saying that
he meant it to be taken in a favourable sense, and that the 10th of August
was a glorious conspiracy. He concluded by declaring that he would rather
die a thousand deaths than condemn, contrary to all laws, even the most
execrable of tyrants.
A great number of speakers followed, and the confusion continually
increased. The members, determined not to hear any more, mingled
together, formed groups, abused and threatened one another. After a
tempest of an hour's duration, tranquillity was at last restored; and the
Assembly, adopting the opinion of those who demanded the discussion on the
trial of Louis XVI., declared that it was opened, and that it should be
continued, to the exclusion of all other business, till sentence should be
passed.
The discussion was accordingly resumed on the 27th, and there was a
constant succession of speakers from the 28th to the 31st. Vergniaud at
length ascended the tribune for the first time, and an extraordinary
eagerness was manifested to hear the Girondists express their sentiments
by the lips of their greatest orator.
The speech of Vergniaud produced a deep impression on all his hearers.
Robespierre was thunderstruck by his earnest and, persuasive eloquence.
Vergniaud, however, had but shaken, not convinced, the Assembly, which
wavered between the two parties. Several members were successively heard,
for and against the appeal to the people. Brissot, Gensonne, Petion,
supported it in their turn. One speaker at length had a decisive
influence on the question. Barere, by his suppleness, and his cold and
evasive eloquence, was the model and oracle of the centre. He spoke at
great length on the trial, reviewed it in all its bearings--of facts, of
laws, and of policy--and furnished all those weak minds, who only wanted
specious reasons for yielding, with motives for the condemnation of the
King. From that moment the unfortunate King was condemned. The
discussion lasted till the 7th, and nobody would listen any longer to the
continual repetition of the same facts and arguments. It was therefore
declared to be closed without opposition, but the proposal of a fresh
adjournment excited a commotion among the most violent, and ended in a
decree which fixed the 14th of January for putting the questions to the
vote.
Meantime the King did not allow the torturing suspense to disturb his
outward composure, or lessen his kindness to those around him. On the
morning after his second appearance at the bar of the Convention, the
commissary Vincent, who had undertaken secretly to convey to the Queen a
copy of the King's printed defence, asked for something which had belonged
to him, to treasure as a relic; the King took off his neck handkerchief
and gave it him; his gloves he bestowed on another municipal, who had made
the same request. "On January 1st," says Clery, "I approached the King's
bed and asked permission to offer him my warmest prayers for the end of
his misfortunes. 'I accept your good wishes with affection,' he replied,
extending his hand to me. As soon as he had risen, he requested a
municipal to go and inquire for his family, and present them his good
wishes for the new year. The officers were moved by the tone in which
these words, so heartrending considering the position of the King, were
pronounced . . . . The correspondence between their Majesties went on
constantly. The King being informed that Madame Royale was ill, was very
uneasy for some days. The Queen, after begging earnestly, obtained
permission for M. Brunnier, the medical attendant of the royal children,
to come to the Temple. This seemed to quiet him."
The nearer the moment which was to decide the King's fate approached, the
greater became the agitation in, Paris. "A report was circulated that the
atrocities of September were to be repeated there, and the prisoners and
their relatives beset the deputies with supplications that they would
snatch them from destruction. The Jacobins, on their part, alleged that
conspiracies were hatching in all quarters to save Louis XVI. from
punishment, and to restore royalty. Their anger, excited by delays and
obstacles, assumed a more threatening aspect; and the two parties thus
alarmed one another by supposing that each harboured sinister designs."
On the 14th of January the Convention called for the order of the day,
being the final judgment of Louis XVI.
"The sitting of the Convention which concluded the trial," says Hazlitt,
"lasted seventy-two hours. It might naturally be supposed that silence,
restraint, a sort of religious awe, would have pervaded the scene. On the
contrary, everything bore the marks of gaiety, dissipation, and the most
grotesque confusion. The farther end of the hall was converted into
boxes, where ladies, in a studied deshabille, swallowed ices, oranges,
liqueurs, and received the salutations of the members who went and came,
as on ordinary occasions. Here the doorkeepers on the Mountain side
opened and shut the boxes reserved for the mistresses of the Duc
d'Orleans; and there, though every sound of approbation or disapprobation
was strictly forbidden, you heard the long and indignant 'Ha, ha's!' of
the mother-duchess, the patroness of the bands of female Jacobins,
whenever her ears were not loudly greeted with the welcome sounds of
death. The upper gallery, reserved for the people, was during the whole
trial constantly full of strangers of every description, drinking wine as
in a tavern.
"Bets were made as to the issue of the trial in all the neighbouring
coffee-houses. Ennui, impatience, disgust sat on almost every
countenance. The figures passing and repassing, rendered more ghastly by
the pallid lights, and who in a slow, sepulchral voice pronounced only the
word--Death; others calculating if they should have time to go to dinner
before they gave their verdict; women pricking cards with pins in order to
count the votes; some of the deputies fallen asleep, and only waking up to
give their sentence,--all this had the appearance rather of a hideous
dream than of a reality."
The Duc d'Orleans, when called on to give his vote for the death of his
King and relation, walked with a faltering step, and a face paler than
death itself, to the appointed place, and there read these words:
"Exclusively governed by my duty, and convinced that all those who have
resisted the sovereignty of the people deserve death, my vote is for
death!" Important as the accession of the first Prince of the blood was
to the Terrorist faction, his conduct in this instance was too obviously
selfish and atrocious not to excite a general feeling of indignation; the
agitation of the Assembly became extreme; it seemed as if by this single
vote the fate of the monarch was irrevocably sealed.
The President having examined the register, the result of the scrutiny was
proclaimed as follows
Against an appeal to the people........... 480
For an appeal to the people............... 283