I.
The National Assembly, wearied with two years of existence, relaxed in
its legislative movement: from the moment when it had nothing more to
destroy, it really was at a loss what to do. The Jacobins took umbrage
at it, its popularity was disappearing, the press inveighed against it,
the clubs insulted it; the worn-out tool by which the people had
acquired conquest, it felt the people were about to snap it asunder if
it did not dissolve of its own accord. Its sittings were inanimate, and
it was completing the constitution as a task inflicted on it, but at
which it was discouraged before completion. It had no belief in the
duration of that which it proclaimed imperishable. The lofty voices
which had shaken France so long were now no more, or were silent from
indifference. Maury, Cazalès, Clermont Tonnerre seemed careless of
continuing a conflict in which honour was saved, and in which victory
was henceforth impossible. From time to time, indeed, some burst of
passion between parties interrupted the usual monotony of these
theoretical discussions. Such was the struggle of the 10th of June
between Cazalès and Robespierre with respect to the disbanding the
officers of the army. "What is it," exclaimed Robespierre, "that the
committees propose to us? to trust to the oaths, to the honour of
officers, to defend a constitution which they detest! of what honour do
they talk to us? What is that honour more than virtue and love of
country? I take credit to myself for not believing in such honour."
Cazalès himself arose indignantly. "I could not listen tamely to such
calumniating language," he exclaimed. At these words violent murmurs
arose on the left, and cries (order! to the Abbaye! to the Abbaye!)
burst forth from the ranks of the revolution: "What," said the royalist
orator, "is it not enough to have restrained my indignation on hearing
two thousand citizens thus accused, who in all moments of peril have
presented an example of most heroic patience! I have listened to the
previous speaker, because I am, and I assert it, a partisan of the most
unlimited declaration of opinions; but it is beyond human endurance for
me to conceal the contempt I feel for such diatribes. If you adopt the
disbanding proposed you will no longer have an army, our frontiers will
be delivered up to foreign invasion, and the interior to excesses and
the pillage of an infuriated soldiery." These energetic words were the
funeral oration of the old army, the project of the committee was
adopted.
The discussion on the abolition of the punishment of death presented to
Adrien Duport an opportunity to pronounce in favour of the abolition one
of those orations which survive time, and which protest, in the name of
reason and philosophy, against the blindness and atrocity of criminal
legislation. He demonstrated with the most profound logic that society,
by reserving to itself the right of homicide, justifies it to a certain
extent in the murderer, and that the means most efficacious for
preventing murder and making it infamous was to evince its own horror of
the crime. Robespierre, who subsequently was fated to allow of unlimited
immolation, demanded that society should be disarmed of the power of
putting to death. If the prejudices of jurists had not prevailed over
the wholesome doctrines of moral philosophy, who can say how much blood
might not have been spared in France.
But these discussions confined to the interior of the Manège, occupied
less public attention than the fierce controversies of the periodical
press. Journalism, that universal and daily _forum_ of the people's
passions, had expanded with the progress of liberty. All ardent minds
had eagerly embraced it, Mirabeau himself having set the example when he
descended from the tribune. He wrote his letters to his constituents in
the _Courrier de Provence_. Camille Desmoulins, a young man of great
talent but weak reasoning powers, threw into his lucubrations for the
press the feverish tumult of his thoughts. Brissot, Gorsas, Carra,
Prudhomme, Fréron, Danton, Fauchet, Condorcet, edited democratic
journals: they began by demanding the abolition of royalty, "the
greatest scourge," said the _Revolutions de Paris_, "which has ever
dishonoured the human species." Marat seemed to have concentrated in
himself all the evil passions which ferment in a society in a state of
decomposition: he constituted himself the permanent representative of
popular hate. By pretending this, he kept it up, writing all the while
with bitterness and ferocity. He became a cynic in order the more
intimately to know the masses. He assumed the language of the lowest
reprobates. Like the elder Brutus, he feigned idiocy, but it was not to
save his country, it was to urge it to the uttermost bounds of madness,
and then control it by its very insanity. All his pamphlets, echoes of
the Jacobins and Cordeliers, daily excited the uneasiness, suspicions,
and terrors of the people.
"Citizens," said he, "watch closely around this palace: the inviolable
asylum of all plots against the nation, there a perverse queen lords it
over an imbecile king and rears the cubs of tyranny. Lawless priests
there consecrate the arms of insurrection against the people. They
prepare the Saint Bartholomew of patriots. The genius of Austria is
there, hidden in the committees over which Antoinette presides; they
correspond with foreigners, and by concealed means forward to them the
gold and arms of France, so that the tyrants who are assembling in arms
on your frontier may find you famished and disarmed. The
emigrants--d'Artois and Condé--there receive instructions of the coming
vengeance of despotism. A guard of Swiss stipendiaries is not enough for
the liberticide schemes of the Capets. Every night the good citizens who
watch around this den see the ancient nobility entering stealthily and
concealing arms beneath their clothes. Can knights of the poignard be
any thing but the enrolled assassins of the people? What is La Fayette
doing,--is he a dupe or an accomplice? Why does he leave free the
avenues of the palace, which is only opened for vengeance or flight? Why
do we leave the Revolution incomplete, and also leave in the hands of
our crowned enemy, still in the midst of us, the time to overcome and
destroy it? Do you not see that specie is disappearing and assignats are
discredited? What means the assemblings on your frontier of emigrants
and armed bodies, who are advancing to enclose you in a circle of iron?
What are your ministers doing? Why is not the property of emigrants
confiscated, their houses burnt, their heads set at a price? In whose
hands are arms? In the hands of traitors. Who command your troops?
traitors! Who hold the keys of your strong places? traitors, traitors,
traitors, everywhere traitors; and in this palace of treason, the king
of traitors! the inviolable traitor, the king! They tell you that he
loves the constitution,--humbug! he comes to the Assembly,--humbug; the
better he conceals his flight. Watch! watch! a great blow is preparing,
is ready to burst; if you do not prevent it by a counter-blow more
sudden, more terrible, the people and liberty are annihilated."
These declarations were not wholly void of foundation. The king, honest
and good, did not conspire against his people, the queen did not think
of selling to the House of Austria the crown of her husband and her son.
If the constitution now completed had been able to restore order to the
country and security to the throne, no sacrifice of power would have
been felt by Louis XVI.: never did prince find more innate in his
character the conditions of his moderation: that passive resignation,
which is the character of constitutional sovereigns, was his virtue. He
neither desired to reconquer nor to avenge himself. All he desired was,
that his sincerity should be appreciated by the people, order
re-established within and power without; that the Assembly, receding
from the encroachments it had made on the executive power, should raise
the constitution, correct its errors, and restore to royalty that power
indispensable for the weal of the kingdom.
The queen herself, although of a mind more powerful and absolute, was
convinced by necessity, and joined the king in his intentions; but the
king, who had not two wills, had nevertheless two administrations, and
two policies, one in France with his constitutional ministers, and
another without with his brothers, and his agents with other powers.
Baron de Breteuil, and M. de Calonne, rivals in intrigue, spake and
diplomatised in his name. The king disowned them, sometimes with, and
sometimes without, sincerity, in his official letters to ambassadors.
This was not hypocrisy, it was weakness; a captive king, who speaks
aloud to his jailers and in whispers to his friends, is excusable. These
two languages not always agreeing, gave to Louis XVI. the appearance of
disloyalty and treason: he did not betray, he hesitated.
His brothers, and especially the Comte d'Artois, did violence from
without to his wishes, interpreting his silence according to their own
desires. This young prince went from court to court to solicit in his
brother's name the coalition of the monarchical powers against
principles which already threatened every throne. Received graciously at
Florence by the Emperor of Austria, Leopold, the queen's brother, he
obtained a few days afterwards at Mantua the promise of a force of
35,000 men. The King of Prussia, and Spain, the King of Sardinia,
Naples, and Switzerland, guaranteed equal forces. Louis XVI. sometimes
entertained the hope of an European intervention as a means of
intimidating the Assembly, and compelling it to a reconciliation with
him; at other times he repulsed it as a crime. The state of his mind in
this respect depended on the state of the kingdom; his understanding
followed the flux and reflux of interior events. If a good decree, a
cordial reconciliation with the Assembly, a return of popular applause
came to console his sorrows, he resumed his hopes, and wrote to his
agents to break up the hostile gatherings at Coblentz. If a new _émeute_
disturbed the palace--if the Assembly degraded the royal power by some
indignity or some outrage--he again began to despair of the
Constitution, and to fortify himself against it. The incoherence of his
thoughts was rather the fault of his situation than his own; but it
compromised his cause equally within and without. Every thought which is
not at unity destroys itself. The thought of the king, although right in
the main, was too fluctuating not to vary with events, but those events
had but one direction--the destruction of the monarchy.
II.
Nevertheless, in the midst of these vacillations of the royal will, it
is impossible for history to misunderstand that from the month of
November 1790 the king vaguely meditated a plan of escape from Paris in
collusion with the emperor. Louis XVI. had obtained from this prince the
promise of sending a body of troops on the French frontier at the moment
when he should desire it; but had the king the intention of quitting the
kingdom and returning at the head of a foreign force, or simply to
assemble round his person a portion of his own army in some point of the
frontier, and there to treat with the Assembly? This latter is the more
probable hypothesis.
Louis XVI. had read much history, especially the history of England.
Like all unfortunate men, he sought, in the misfortunes of dethroned
princes, analogies with his own unhappy position. The portrait of
Charles I., by Van Dyck, was constantly before his eyes in his closet in
the Tuileries; his history continually open on his table. He had been
struck by two circumstances; that James II. had lost his throne because
he had left his kingdom, and that Charles I. had been beheaded for
having made war against his parliament and his people. These reflections
had inspired him with an instinctive repugnance against the idea of
leaving France, or of casting himself into the arms of the army. In
order to compel his decision one way or the other in favour of one of
these two extreme parties, his freedom of mind was completely oppressed
by the imminence of his present perils, and the dread which beset the
château of the Tuileries night and day had penetrated the very soul of
the king and queen.
The atrocious threats which assailed them whenever they showed
themselves at the windows of their residence, the insults of the press,
the vociferations of the Jacobins, the riots and murders which
multiplied in the capital and the provinces, the violent obstacles which
had been opposed to their departure from St. Cloud, and then the
recollections of the daggers which had even pierced the queen's bed on
the evening of the 5th to the 6th of October, made their life one
continued scene of alarms. They began to comprehend that the insatiate
Revolution was irritated even by the concessions they had made; that the
blind fury of factions which had not paused before royalty surrounded by
its guards, would not hesitate before the illusory inviolability decreed
by a constitution; and that their lives, those of their children, and
those of the royal family which remained, had no longer any assurance of
safety but in flight.
Flight was therefore resolved upon, and was frequently discussed before
the time when the king decided upon it. Mirabeau himself, bought by the
court, had proposed it in his mysterious interviews with the queen. One
of his plans presented to the king was, to escape from Paris, take
refuge in the midst of a camp, or in a frontier town, and there treat
with the baffled Assembly. Mirabeau remaining in Paris, and again
possessing himself of the public mind, would lead matters, as he
declared, to accommodation, and a voluntary restoration of the royal
authority. Mirabeau had carried these hopes away with him into the tomb.
The king himself, in his secret correspondence, testified his repugnance
to intrusting his fate into the hands of the ringleader of the factions.
Another cause of uneasiness troubled the king's mind, and gave the queen
great anxiety; they were not ignorant that it was a question without,
either at Coblentz or in the councils of Leopold and the King of
Prussia, to declare the throne of France virtually vacant by default of
the king's liberty, and to nominate as regent one of the emigrant
princes, in order that he might call around him with a show of legality
all his loyal subjects, and give to foreign troops an incontestible
right of intervention. A throne even in fragments will not admit of
participation.
An uneasy jealousy still prevailed in the midst of so many other alarms
even in this palace, where sedition had already effected so many
breaches. "M. le Comte d'Artois will then become a hero," said the queen
ironically, who at one time was excessively fond of this young prince,
but now hated him. The king, on his part, feared that moral forfeiture
with which he was menaced, under pretence of delivering the monarchy. He
knew not which to fear the most, his friends or his enemies. Flight
only, to the centre of a faithful army, could remove him from both these
perils; but flight was also a peril. If he succeeded, civil war might
spring up, and the king had a horror of blood spilled in his defence; if
it did not succeed, it would be imputed to him as a crime, and then who
could say where the national fury would stop? Forfeiture, captivity,
death, might be the consequence of the slightest accident, or least
indiscretion. He was about to suspend by a slender thread his throne,
his liberty, his life, and the lives a thousand times more dear to
him--those of his wife, his two children, and his sister.
His tormenting reflections were long and terrible, lasting for eight
months, during which time he had no confidants but the queen, Madame
Elizabeth, a few faithful servants within the palace, and the Marquis de
Bouillé without.
III.
The Marquis de Bouillé, cousin of M. de La Fayette, was of a character
totally different to that of the hero of Paris. Severe and stern
soldier, attached to the monarchy by principle, to the king by an almost
religious devotion, his respect for his sovereign's orders had alone
prevented him from emigrating; he was one of the few general officers
popular amongst the soldiers who had remained faithful to their duty
amidst the storms and tempests of the last two years, and who, without
openly declaring for or against these innovations, had yet striven to
preserve that force which outlives, and not unfrequently supplies, the
deficiency of all others,--the force of discipline. He had served with
great distinction in America, in the colonies in India, and the
authority of his character and name had not as yet lost their influence
over the soldiery; the heroic repression of the famous outbreak amongst
the troops at Nancy in the preceding August had greatly contributed to
strengthen this authority; and he alone of all the French generals had
re-obtained the supreme command, and had crushed insubordination. The
Assembly, alarmed in the midst of its triumphs by the seditions amongst
the troops, had passed a vote of thanks to him as the saviour of his
country. La Fayette, who commanded the citizens, feared only this rival
who commanded regiments, he therefore watched and flattered M. de
Bouillé. He constantly proposed to him a coalition of their forces, of
which they would be the commanders-in-chief, and by thus acting in
concert secure at once the revolution and the monarchy. M. de Bouillé,
who doubted the loyalty of La Fayette, replied with a cold and sarcastic
civility, that but ill concealed his suspicions. These two characters
were incompatible,--the one was the representative of modern patriotism,
the other of ancient honour: they could not harmonise.
The Marquis de Bouillé commanded the troops of Loraine, Alsace,
Franche-Comté, and Champagne, and his government extended from
Switzerland to the Sambre. He had no less than ninety battalions of
foot, and a hundred and four squadrons of cavalry under his orders. Out
of this number the general could only rely upon twenty battalions of
German troops and a few cavalry regiments; the remainder were in favour
of the Revolution: and the influence of the clubs had spread amongst
them the spirit of insubordination and hatred for the king; the
regiments obeyed the municipalities rather than their generals.
IV.
Since the month of February, 1791, the king, who had the most entire
confidence in M. de Bouillé, had written to this general that he wished
him to make overtures to Mirabeau, and through the intervention of the
Count de Lamarck, a foreign nobleman, the intimate and confidential
friend of Mirabeau. "Although these persons are not over estimable,"
said the king in his letter, "and although I have paid Mirabeau very
dearly, I yet think he has it in his power to serve me. Hear all he has
to say, without putting yourself too much in his hands." The Count de
Lamarck arrived soon after at Metz. He mentioned to M. de Bouillé the
object of his mission, confessed to him that the king had recently given
Mirabeau 600,000f. (24,000_l._), and that he also allowed him 50,000f. a
month. He then revealed to him the plan of his counter-revolutionary
conspiracy, the first act of which was to be an address to Paris and the
Departments demanding the liberty of the king. Every thing in this
scheme depended upon the rhetoric of Mirabeau. Carried away by his own
eloquence, the salaried orator was ignorant that words, though
all-powerful to excite, are yet impotent to appease; they urge nations
forward, but nothing but the bayonet can arrest them. M. de Bouillé, a
veteran soldier, smiled at these chimerical projects of the citizen
orator; but he did not, however, discourage him in his plans, and
promised him his assistance: he wrote to the king to repay largely the
desertion of Mirabeau; "A clever scoundrel," said he, "who perhaps has
it in his power to repair through cupidity the mischief he has done
through revenge;" and to mistrust La Fayette, "A chimerical enthusiast,
intoxicated with popularity, who might become the chief of a party, but
never the support of a monarchy."
After the death of Mirabeau, the king adhered to the project with some
modification; he wrote in cypher to the Marquis de Bouillé at the end
of April, to inform him that he should leave Paris almost immediately
with his family in one carriage, which he had ordered to be built
secretly and expressly for this purpose; and he also desired him to
establish a line of posts from Châlons to Montmédy, the frontier town he
had fixed upon. The nearest road from Paris to Montmédy was through
Rheims; but the king having been crowned there dreaded recognition. He
therefore determined, in spite of M. de Bouillé's reiterated advice, to
pass through Varennes. The chief inconvenience of this road was, that
there were no relays of post-horses, and it would be therefore necessary
to send relays thither under different pretexts; the arrival of these
relays would naturally create suspicion amongst the inhabitants of the
small towns. The presence of detachments along a road not usually
frequented by troops was likewise dangerous, and M. de Bouillé was
anxious to dissuade the king from taking this road. He pointed out to
him in his answer, that if the detachments were strong they would excite
the alarm and vigilance of the municipal authorities, and if they were
weak they would be unable to afford him protection: he also entreated
him not to travel in a berlin made expressly for him, and conspicuous by
its form, but to make use of two English carriages, then much in vogue,
and better fitted for such a purpose; he, moreover, dwelt on the
necessity of taking with him some man of firmness and energy to advise
and assist him in the unforeseen accidents that might happen on his
journey; he mentioned as the fittest person the Marquis d'Agoult, major
in the French guards; and he lastly besought the king to request the
Emperor to make a threatening movement of the Austrian troops on the
frontier near Montmédy, in order that the disquietude and alarm of the
population might serve as a pretext to justify the movements of the
different detachments and the presence of the different corps of cavalry
in the vicinity of the town.
The king agreed to this, and also to take with him the Marquis d'Agoult;
to the rest he positively refused to accede. A few days prior to his
departure he sent a million in assignats (40,000_l._) to M. de Bouillé,
to furnish the rations and forage, as well as to pay the faithful troops
who were destined to favour his flight. These arrangements made, the
Marquis de Bouillé despatched a trusty officer of his staff, M. de
Guoguelas, with instructions to make a minute and accurate survey of the
road and country between Châlons and Montmédy, and to deliver an exact
report to the king. This officer saw the king, and brought back his
orders to M. de Bouillé.
In the meantime M. de Bouillé held himself in readiness to execute all
that had been agreed upon; he had sent to a distance the disaffected
troops, and concentrated the twelve foreign battalions on which he could
rely. A train of sixteen pieces of artillery was sent towards Montmédy.
The regiment of _Royal Allemand_ arrived at Stenay, a squadron of
hussars was at Dun, another at Varennes; two squadrons of dragoons were
to be at Clermont on the day the king would pass through; they were
commanded by Count Charles de Damas, a bold and dashing officer, who had
instructions to send forward a detachment to Sainte Menehould, and fifty
hussars, detached from Varennes, were to march to Pont Sommeville
between Châlons and Sainte Menehould, under pretence of securing the
safe passage of a large sum of money sent from Paris to pay the troops.
Thus once through Châlons the king's carriage would be surrounded at
each relay by tried and faithful followers. The commanding officers of
these detachments had instructions to approach the window of the
carriage whilst they changed horses, and to receive any orders the king
might think proper to issue. In case his majesty wished to pursue his
journey without being recognised, these officers were to content
themselves with ascertaining that no obstacle existed to bar the road.
If it was his pleasure to be escorted, then they would mount their men
and escort him. Nothing could be better devised, and the most inviolable
secrecy enveloped all.
The 27th of May the king wrote that he should set out the 19th of the
next month between twelve and one at night; that he should leave Paris
in a hired carriage, and at Bondy, the first stage out of Paris, he
should take his berlin; that one of his body guard, who was to serve as
courier, would await him at Bondy; that in case the king did not arrive
before two, it was because he had been arrested on his way; the courier
would then proceed alone to Pont Sommeville to inform M. de Bouillé the
scheme had failed, and to warn the general, and those of his officers
engaged in the plot, to provide for their own safety.
V.
After the receipt of these last orders, M. de Bouillé despatched the
Duke de Choiseul to Paris, with orders to await the king's instructions,
and to precede his departure by twelve hours. M. de Choiseul was to
desire his servants to be at Varennes on the 18th with his own horses,
which would draw the king's carriage; the spot where the horses were
placed was to be clearly explained to the king, in order that they might
be changed without any loss of time. On his return M. de Choiseul had
instructions to take the command of the hussars posted at Pont
Sommeville, to await the king, to escort him with his hussars as far as
Sainte-Menehould, and to station his troopers there, with positive
orders to allow no one to pass on the road from Paris to Verdun, and
from Paris to Varennes, for four and twenty hours after the king's
arrival. M. de Choiseul received from M. de Bouillé orders signed by the
king himself, enjoining him, as well as all the other commanding
officers of the detachments, to employ force, should it be necessary, to
rescue his majesty if the populace attempted to lay violent hands on
him. In case the carriage was stopped at Lyons, M. de Choiseul was to
give instant information to the general to assemble all the detachments,
and march to the king's rescue. He received six hundred louis in gold,
to distribute amongst the soldiers, and thus insure their fidelity, when
the king arrived and made himself known to them.
M. de Guoguelas left at the same for Paris, to reconnoitre the roads a
second time, passing by Stenay, Dun, Varennes, and Sainte Menehould, and
to explain clearly to the king the topography of the country; he was
also to bring back the latest orders for M. de Bouillé, and to return to
Montmédy by another route. The Marquis de Bouillé left Metz himself,
under pretence of visiting the fortresses under his command, and drew
near Montmédy. The 15th he was at Longwy, where he received a message
from the king, informing him that they had put off their journey for
four and twenty hours, in consequence of the necessity of concealing
the preparations for their departure from a femme de chambre of the
queen, a fanatical democrat, who was fully capable of betraying them,
and whose duties only terminated on the 19th. His majesty added that the
Marquis d'Agoult would not accompany him, because Madame de Tourzel, the
governess of the royal children, had claimed the privileges of her post,
and wished to accompany them.
This delay rendered necessary counter-orders of the most fatal nature;
all the arrangements as to time and place were thus thrown out. The
detachments were forced to remain at places they were only to have
marched through, and the relays stationed on the road might be
withdrawn. However, the Marquis de Bouillé remedied all these evils as
far as was in his power; sent modified orders to the commanders of the
detachments, and advanced in person the 20th to Stenay, which was
garrisoned by the Royal Allemand regiment, on whose fidelity he could
rely. The 21st he assembled the generals under his orders, informed them
that the king would pass in the course of the night by Stenay, and would
be at Montmédy the next evening; he ordered General Klinglin to prepare
under the guns of the fortress a camp of twelve battalions and
twenty-four squadrons; the king was to reside in a chateau behind the
camp: this chateau would thus serve as head quarters, and the king's
position would be at once more secure and more dignified surrounded by
his army. The generals did not hesitate for an instant. M. de Bouillé
left General de Hoffelizze at Stenay with the Royal Allemand regiment,
with orders to saddle the horses at night fall, to mount at daybreak and
to send at ten o'clock at night a detachment of fifty troopers between
Stenay and Dun, to await the king and escort him to Stenay.
At night M. de Choiseul quitted Stenay with several officers on
horseback, and advanced to the very gate of Dun, but he would not enter
lest his presence might in any way work on the people. There he awaited,
in silence and obscurity, the courier who was to precede the carriages
by an hour. The destiny of the monarchy, the throne of a dynasty, the
lives of the royal family, king, queen, princess, children, all weighed
down his spirit and lay heavily on his heart. The night seemed
interminable, yet it passed without the sound of horses' feet
announcing to the group who so anxiously awaited the intelligence, that
the king of France was saved or lost.
VI.
What passed at the Tuileries during these decisive hours? the secret of
the projected flight had been carefully confined to the king, the queen,
the princess Elizabeth, two or three faithful attendants, and the Count
de Fersen, a Swedish gentlemen who had the care of the exterior
arrangements confided to him. Some vague rumours, like presentiments of
coming events, had, it is true, been bruited amongst the people for some
days past, but these rumours originated rather in the state of popular
excitement than any actual disclosures of the intended departure. These
reports, however, which were constantly transmitted to M. de La Fayette
and his staff, occasioned a stricter _surveillance_ round the palace and
the king's apartments. Since the 5th and 6th of October the household
guards had been disbanded; the companies of the body guard, every
soldier of whom was a gentleman and whose honour, descent, ancient
traditions, and party feeling assured their fidelity, existed no longer;
that respectful vigilance that rendered their service a matter of duty
with them, had given place to the jealous watchfulness of the national
guard, who were rather spies on the king than guardians of the monarchy.
The Swiss guards still, it is true, surrounded the Tuileries, but they
only occupied the exterior posts; the interior of the Tuileries, the
staircases, the communications between the apartments, were guarded by
the national guards. M. de La Fayette was constantly going to and fro,
his officers at night were at every issue, and they had secret orders
not to allow even the king to quit the palace after midnight. To this
official vigilance was now joined the secret and close _espionage_ of
the numerous domestics of the palace, amongst whom revolutionary feeling
had crept in to encourage treachery, and sanction ingratitude: amongst
them, as amongst their superiors, betrayal was termed virtue, and
treason, patriotism. Within the walls of the palace of his fathers the
king could alone count on the queen, his sisters, and a few nobles still
faithful in his misfortunes, and even whose gestures were duly reported
to M. de La Fayette. This general had driven by violence from the
Tuileries many of the faithful gentlemen who had come to strengthen the
guard, on the day of the _émeute_ at Vincennes. The king had witnessed,
with tears in his eyes, his most faithful adherents ignominiously driven
from his palace and exposed by his official protector to the insults and
outrages of the populace. Thus the royal family could hope to find no
one disposed to aid their escape without the palace walls.
VII.
The Count de Fersen was the principal agent and confidant of this
hazardous enterprise. Young, handsome, and accomplished, he had been
admitted during the happy years of Marie Antoinette's life to the
parties and fêtes of Trianon. It was said, that a chivalrous admiration,
to which respect alone prevented his giving the name of love, had bound
him to the queen. And now this admiration had been changed into the most
passionate devotion to her in misfortune. The queen perceived this, and
when she reflected to whom she could confide the safety of the king and
her children, she thought of M. de Fersen--he instantly quitted
Stockholm, saw the king and queen, and undertook to prepare for the
flight the carriages, which were to meet them at Bondy. His position as
a foreigner favoured his plans, and he combined them with a skill only
equalled by his fidelity. Three soldiers of the body guard, MM. de
Valorg, de Moustier, et de Maldan, were taken into his confidence, and
the parts they were to play were fully explained to them; they were to
disguise themselves as servants, mount behind the carriages, and protect
the royal family at all risks. The names of three obscure gentlemen
effaced that day the names of the courtiers. Should they be discovered,
their fate was sealed; but in the hope of aiding the escape of their
king, they courageously offered themselves as a sacrifice to the popular
fury.
VIII.
The queen had for many months entertained the project of escape. Since
the month of March she had commissioned one of her waiting-maids to
procure her from Brussels a complete wardrobe for Madame and the
Dauphin; she had sent most of her valuables to her sister, the
Archduchess Christina, the regent of the Low Countries, under pretence
of making her a present; her diamonds had been intrusted to her
hair-dresser, Leonard, who had started before herself with the Duke de
Choiseul. These slight indications of a projected flight had not
entirely escaped the vigilance of a waiting-maid; this woman had noticed
that whispered conversations were carried on; she had seen desks opened
on the table, and empty jewel boxes lying about; she denounced these
facts to M. de Gouvion, M. de La Fayette's _aide-de-camp_, whose
mistress she was, and M. de Gouvion reported all again to the mayor of
Paris and his general. But these denunciations had been so often made,
and by so many different persons, and had so often proved false, that
now but little importance was attached to them. However, in consequence
of the revelations of this woman, a stricter watch than usual was kept
around the chateau. M. de Gouvion detained several officers of the
national guard under various pretexts in the palace, he placed them at
the different doors, and he himself, with five _chefs-de-bataillon_,
passed part of the night at the door of the apartment formerly occupied
by the Duke de Villequier, which had been specially pointed out to him.
He had been told (which was the case) that there existed a secret
communication from the queen's cabinet to the apartment of the former
captain of the guard; and that the king, who it is well known was an
expert locksmith, had made false keys that opened all the doors; at last
these reports (that went the round of all the clubs) transformed every
patriot on that night into the king's gaoler. We read with surprise in
the journal of Camille Desmoulins of the 20th of June, 1791:--"The
evening passed most tranquilly at Paris; I returned at eleven o'clock
from the Jacobins' Club with Danton and several other patriots; we only
met a single patrole all the way. Paris appeared to me that night so
deserted, that I could not help remarking it. One of us, Fréron, who had
in his pocket a letter warning him that the king would escape that
night, wished to observe the chateau; he saw M. de La Fayette enter it
at eleven."
A little further on Camille Desmoulins relates the restless fears of
the people on the fatal night. "The night," says he "on which the family
of the Capets escaped, Busebi, a perruke-maker in the Rue de Bourbon,
called on Hucher, a baker and Sapeur in the Bataillon of the Théatins,
to communicate his fears on what he had just learnt relative to the
king's projected flight. They instantly aroused their neighbours, to the
number of thirty, and went to La Fayette to inform him of the fact, and
to summon him to take instant measures to prevent it. M. de La Fayette
laughed, and advised them to go home. In order to avoid being stopped by
the patrols, they asked for the pass-word, which he gave them. Armed
with this they hastened to the Tuileries, where nothing was visible
except several hackney coachman drinking round one of the small shops
near the wicket gate of the Carrousel. They inspected all the courts
until they came to the door of the Manége without perceiving anything
suspicious, but at their return they were surprised to find that every
hackney coach had disappeared, which made them conjecture that these
coaches had been used by some of the attendants of this unworthy
(_indigne_) family."
It is too evident from the state of agitation of the public mind and the
severity of the king's captivity, how difficult it must have been.
However, either owing to the connivance of some of the national guards
who had on that day demanded the custody of the interior posts, and who
winking at this infraction of the orders,--to the skilful management of
the Count de Fersen,--or that providence afforded a last ray of hope and
safety to those whom she was so soon about to overwhelm with
misfortunes, all the watchfulness of the guardians was in vain, and the
Revolution suffered its prey for some time to escape.
IX.
The king and queen received, as was their custom at their _coucher_,
those persons who were in the habit of paying their respects to them at
that time, nor did they dismiss their servants any earlier than was
their wont. But no sooner were they alone than they again dressed
themselves in plain travelling dress adapted to their supposed station.
They met Madame Elizabeth and their children, in the Queen's room, and
thence they passed by a secret communication into the apartment of the
Duke de Villequier, first gentleman of the bed-chamber, and left the
palace at intervals, in order that the attention of the sentinels in the
court might not be attracted by the appearance of groups of persons at
that late hour; owing to the bustle of the servants and workpeople
leaving the chateau, and which M. de Fersen had no doubt taken care
should on that evening be greater than usual, they arrived, without
having been recognised, at the Carrousel. The queen leaned on the arm of
one of the body guard, and led Madame Royal by the hand. As she crossed
the Carrousel she met M. La Fayette with one or two officers of his
staff proceeding to the Tuileries, in order to satisfy himself that the
measures ordered in consequence of the revelations made that day had
been strictly complied with. She shuddered as she recognised the man who
in her eyes was the representative of insurrection and captivity, but in
escaping him she fancied she had escaped the whole nation, and smiled as
she thought of his appearance the next day when he could no longer
produce his prisoners to the people. Madame Elizabeth also held the arm
of one of the guards, and followed them at some distance, whilst the
king, who had insisted upon being the last, held the Dauphin (who was in
his seventh year) by the hand. The Count de Fersen, disguised as a
coachman, walked a little ahead of the king to show him the way. The
meeting place of the royal family was on the Quai des Théatins, where
two hackney coaches awaited them; the queen's waiting women, and the
Marquise de Tourzel had preceded them.
Amidst the confusion of so dangerous and complicated a flight, the queen
and her guide crossed the Pont Royal and entered the Rue de Bac, but
instantly perceiving their error, with hasty and faltering steps they
retraced their road. The king and his son, obliged to traverse the
darkest and least frequented streets to arrive at the rendezvous, were
delayed half an hour, which seemed to his wife and sister an age. At
last they arrived, sprang into the coach, the Count de Fersen seized the
reins and drove the royal family to Bondy, the first stage between Paris
and Châlons: there they found, ready harnessed for the journey, a berlin
and a small travelling carriage; the queen's women and one of the
disguised body-guard got into the smaller carriage, whilst the king,
the queen, and the Dauphin, Madame Royale, Madame Elizabeth, and the
Marquise de Tourville took their places in the berlin; one of the
body-guard sat on the box, and the other behind, the Count de Fersen
kissed the hands of the king and queen, and returned to Paris, from
whence he went, the same night to Brussels by another road, in order to
rejoin the royal family at a later period. At the same hour Monsieur the
king's brother, Count de Provence, left the Luxembourg palace, and
arrived safely at Brussels.
X.
The king's carriage rolled on the road to Châlons, and relays of eight
horses were ordered at each post-house: this number of horses, the
remarkable size and build of the berlin, the number of travellers who
occupied the interior, the three body guards, whose livery formed a
strange contrast to their physiognomy and martial appearance, the
Bourbonian features of Louis XVI. seated in a corner of the carriage,
and which was totally out of character with the _rôle_ of valet de
chambre the king had taken on himself,--all these circumstances were
calculated to excite distrust and suspicion, and to compromise the
safety of the royal family. But their passport removed all
objections,--it was perfectly formal, and in these terms: "_De par le
roi. Mandons de laisser passer Madame la baronne de Korf, se rendant à
Franckfort avec ses deux enfants, une femme de chambre, un valet de
chambre, et trois domestiques_." And lower down, "_Le Ministre des
Affaires étrangeres_, MONTMORIN."
This foreign name, the title of German Baroness, the proverbial wealth
of the bankers of Frankfort, to whom the people were accustomed to
attribute everything that was singular and bizarre, had been most
admirably combined by the Count de Fersen, to account for anything
strange or remarkable in the appearance of the royal equipages; nothing,
however, excited attention, and they arrived without interruption at
Montmirail, a little town between Meaux and Châlons: there some
necessary repairs to the berlin detained them an hour; this delay,
during which the king's flight might be discovered, and couriers
despatched to give information to all the country, threw them into the
greatest alarm.
However the carriage was soon repaired, and they once more started on
their journey, ignorant that this hour's delay would ultimately cost the
lives of four out of five persons who composed the royal family.
They were full of security and confidence; the success with which they
had escaped from the palace, the manner in which they had left Paris,
the punctuality with which the relays were furnished, the loneliness of
the roads, the absence of anything like suspicion or vigilance in the
towns they had passed through, the dangers they had left behind them,
the security they were so fast approaching, each turn of the wheel
bringing them nearer M. de Bouillé and his faithful troops; the beauty
of the scene and the time, doubly beautiful to their eyes, that for two
years had looked on nought save the seditious mob that daily filled the
courts of the Tuileries, or the glittering bayonets of the armed
populace beneath their windows,--all this seemed to them as if
Providence had at last taken pity on them, that the fervent and touching
prayers of the babes that slept in their arms, and of the angelic Madame
Elizabeth had at last vanquished the fate that had so long pursued them.
It was under the influence of these happy feelings that they entered
Châlons, the only large town through which they had to pass, at
half-past three in the afternoon. A few idlers gathered round the
carriage whilst the horses were being changed; the king somewhat
imprudently put his head out of the window, and was recognised by the
post-master; but this worthy man felt that his sovereign's life was in
his hands, and without manifesting the least surprise, he helped to put
to the horses, and ordered the postilions to drive on; he alone of this
people was free from the blood of his king. The carriage passed the
gates of Châlons, the king, the queen, and madame Elizabeth exclaimed,
with one voice, "We are saved." Châlons once passed, the king's security
no longer depended on chance, but on prudence and force. The first relay
was at Pont Sommeville. It will be remembered, that in obedience to the
orders of M. de Bouillé, M. de Choiseul and M. de Guoguelas, at the head
of a detachment of fifty hussars, were to meet the king and follow in
his rear, and besides, as soon as the king's carriage appeared, to send
off an hussar to warn the troops at Sainte Menehould and at Clermont of
the vicinity of the royal family. The king felt thus certain of meeting
faithful and armed friends; but he found no one, M. de Choiseul, M. de
Guoguelas, and the fifty hussars had left half an hour before. The
populace seemed disturbed and restless; they looked suspiciously at the
travellers, and whispered from time to time in a low voice with each
other. However, no one ventured to oppose their departure, and the king
arrived at half past seven at Sainte Menehould; at this season of the
year, it was still broad daylight; and alarmed at having passed two of
the relays without meeting the friends he expected, the king by a
natural impulse put his head out of the window, in order to seek amidst
the crowd for some friend, some officer posted there to explain to him
the reason of the absence of the detachments: that action caused his
ruin. The son of the post-master, Drouet, recognised the king, whom he
had never seen, by his likeness to the effigy on the coins in
circulation.
Nevertheless as the horses were harnessed, and the town occupied by a
troop of dragoons, who could force a passage, the young man did not
venture to attempt to detain the carriages at this spot.
XI.
The officer commanding the detachment of dragoons in the town, was also,
under pretence of walking on the Grand Place, on the watch for the royal
carriages, which he recognised instantly, by the description of them
with which he was furnished. He ordered his soldiers to mount and follow
the king; but the national guards of Sainte Menehould, amongst whom the
rumour of the likeness between the travellers and the royal family had
been rapidly circulated, surrounded the barracks, closed the stables,
and opposed by force the departure of the soldiers. During this rapid
and instinctive movement of the people, the post-master's son saddled
his best horse, and galloped as fast as possible to Varennes, in order
to arrive before the carriages, inform the municipal authorities of his
suspicions, and arouse the patroles to arrest the monarch. Whilst this
man, who bore the king's fate, galloped on the road to Varennes, the
king himself, unconscious of danger, pursued his journey towards the
same town. Drouet was certain to arrive before the king; for the road
from Sainte Menehould to Varennes forms a considerable angle, and passes
through Clermont, where a relay of horses was stationed; whilst the
direct road, accessible only to horsemen, avoids Clermont, runs in a
straight line to Varennes, and thus lessens the distance between this
town and Menehould by four leagues. Drouet had thus two hours before
him, and danger far outstripped safety. Yet by a strange coincidence
death followed Drouet also, and threatened without his being aware of
it, the life of him who in his turn (and without _his_ knowledge)
threatened the life of his sovereign.
A quarter-master (maréchal des logis) of the dragoons shut up in the
barracks at Sainte Menehould, had alone found means to mount his horse,
and escape the vigilance of the people. He had learnt from his
commanding officer of Drouet's precipitate departure, and, suspecting
the cause, he followed him on the road to Varennes, resolved to overtake
and kill him; he kept within sight of him, but always at a distance, in
order that he might not arouse his suspicions, and with the intention of
overtaking and killing him at a favourable opportunity, and at a retired
spot. But Drouet, who had repeatedly looked round to ascertain whether
he were pursued, had conjectured his intentions; and, being a native of
the country, and knowing every path, he struck into some bye roads, and
at last under cover of a wood he escaped from the dragoon and pursued
his way to Varennes.
On his arrival at Clermont the king was recognised by Count Charles de
Damas, who awaited his arrival at the head of two squadrons. Without
opposing the departure of the carriages, the municipal authorities,
whose suspicions had been in some measure aroused by the presence of the
troops, ordered the dragoons not to quit the town, and they obeyed these
orders. The Count de Damas alone, with a corporal and three dragoons,
found means to leave the town, and galloped towards Varennes at some
distance from the king, a too feeble or too tardy succour. The royal
family shut up in their berlin--and seeing that no opposition was
offered to their journey, was unacquainted with these sinister
occurrences. It was half past eleven at night, when the carriages
arrived at the first houses of the little town of Varennes; all were or
appeared to be asleep; all was silent and deserted. It will be
remembered, that Varennes not being on the direct line from Châlons to
Montmédy, the king would not find horses there. It had been arranged
between himself and M. de Bouillé, that the horses of M. de Choiseul
should be stationed beforehand in a spot agreed upon in Varennes, and
should conduct the carriages to Dun and Stenay, where M. de Bouillé
awaited them. It will also be borne in mind that in compliance with the
instructions of M. de Bouillé, M. de Choiseul and M. de Guoguelas, who,
with the detachment of fifty hussars, were to await the king at Pont
Sommeville, and then follow in his rear, had not awaited him nor
followed him. Instead of reaching Varennes at the same time as the king,
these officers on leaving Pont Sommeville had taken a road that avoids
Sainte Menehould, and thus materially lengthens the distance between
Pont Sommeville and Varennes. Their object in this was to avoid Sainte
Menehould, in which the passage of the hussars had created some
excitement the day previous. The consequence was, that neither M. de
Guoguelas, nor M. de Choiseul, these two guides and confidants of the
king's flight, were at Varennes on his arrival, nor did they reach there
until an hour after. The carriages had stopped at the entrance of
Varennes. The king, surprised to meet neither M. de Choiseul nor M. de
Guoguelas, neither escort nor relays, hoped that the cracking of the
postilions' whips would procure them fresh horses to continue their
journey. The three body-guards went from door to door, to inquire where
the horses had been placed, but could obtain no information.
XII.
The little town of Varennes is formed into two divisions, the upper and
lower town, separated by a river and bridge. M. Guoguelas had stationed
the fresh horses in the lower town on the other side of the bridge: the
measure was in itself prudent, because the carriages would cross the
bridge at full speed, and also, because in case of popular tumult, the
changing horses and departure would be more easy when the bridge was
once crossed; but the king should have been, but was not, informed of
it. The king and queen, greatly alarmed, left the carriage and wandered
about in the deserted streets of the upper town for half an hour,
seeking for the relays. In vain did they knock at the door of the houses
in which lights were burning, they could not hear of them. At last they
returned in despair to the carriages, from which the postilions, wearied
with waiting, threatened to unharness the horses: by dint of bribes and
promises, however, they persuaded them to remount and continue their
road: the carriages again were in motion, and the travellers reassured
themselves that this was nothing but a misunderstanding, and that in a
few moments they should be in the camp of M. de Bouillé. They traversed
the upper town without any difficulty, all was buried in the most
perfect tranquillity,--a few men alone are on the watch, and they are
silent and concealed.
Between the upper and lower town is a tower at the entrance of the
bridge that divides them; this tower is supported by a massive and
gloomy arch, which carriages are compelled to traverse with the greatest
care, and in which the least obstacle stops them; a relic of the feudal
system, in which the nobles captured the serfs, and in which by a
strange retribution the people were destined to capture the monarchy.
The carriages had hardly entered this dark arch than the horses,
frightened at a cart that was overturned, stopped, and five or six armed
men seizing their heads, ordered the travellers to alight and exhibit
their passports at the Municipality. The man who thus gave orders to his
sovereign was Drouet: scarcely had he arrived at Sainte Menehould than
he hastened to arouse the young _patriotes_ of the town, to communicate
to them his conjectures and his apprehensions. Uncertain as to how far
their suspicions were correct, or wishing to reserve for themselves the
glory of arresting the king of France, they had neither warned the
authorities nor aroused the populace. The plot awakened their
patriotism; they felt that they represented the whole of the nation.
At this sudden apparition, at these shouts, and the aspect of the naked
swords and bayonets, the body-guard seized their arms and awaited the
king's orders; but the king forbade them to force the passage, the
horses were turned round, and the carriages, escorted by Drouet and his
companions, stopped before the door of a grocer named Sausse, who was
at the same time Procureur Syndic of Varennes. There the king and his
family were obliged to alight, in order that their passports might be
examined, and the truth of the people's suspicions ascertained. At the
same instant the friends of Drouet rushed into the town, knocked at the
doors, mounted the belfry, and rang the alarm-bell. The affrighted
inhabitants awoke, the national guards of the town and the adjacent
villages hastened one after another to M. Sausse's door; others went to
the quarters of the troops, to gain them over to their interest, or to
disarm them. In vain did the king deny his rank--his features and those
of the queen betrayed them. He at last discovered himself to the mayor
and the municipal officers, and taking M. de Sausse's hand, "Yes," said
he, "I am your king, and in your hands I place my destiny, and that of
my wife, of my sister, and of my children; our lives, the fate of the
empire, the peace of the kingdom, the safety of the constitution even,
depends upon you. Suffer me to continue my journey; I have no design of
leaving the country; I am going in the midst of a part of the army, and
in a French town, to regain my real liberty, of which the factions at
Paris deprive me, and from thence make terms with the Assembly, who,
like myself, are held in subjection through fear. I am not about to
destroy, but to save and secure the constitution; if you detain me, the
constitution, I myself, France, all are lost. I conjure you as a father,
as a husband, as a man, as a citizen, leave the road free to us; in an
hour we shall be saved, and with us France is saved; and if you guard in
your hearts that fidelity your words profess for him who was your
master, I order you as your king."
XIII.
The men, touched by these words, respectful even in their violence,
hesitated, and seemed touched. It is evident, by the expression of their
features, by their tears, that they are wavering between their pity for
so terrible a reverse of fortune and their conscience as patriots. The
sight of their king, who pressed their hands in his, of their queen, by
turns suppliant and majestic, who strives by despair or entreaties to
wring from them permission to depart, unmanned them. They would have
yielded had they consulted the dictates of their heart alone; but they
began to fear for themselves the responsibility of their indulgence; the
people will demand from them their king, the nation its chief. Egotism
hardened their hearts; the wife of M. Sausse, with whom her husband
repeatedly exchanged glances, and in whose breast the queen hoped to
find pity and compassion, was the least moved of any. Whilst the king
harangued the municipal authorities, the queen, seated with her children
on her lap between two bales of goods in the shop, showed her infants to
Madame Sausse. "You are a mother, madame," said the queen; "you are a
wife; the fate of a wife and mother is in your hands--think what I must
suffer for these children, for my husband. At one word from you I shall
owe them to you; the queen of France will owe you more than her kingdom,
more than life." "Madame," returned the grocer's wife unmoved, with that
petty common sense of minds in which calculation stifles generosity, "I
wish it was in my power to serve you; you are thinking of the king; I am
thinking of M. Sausse. It is a wife's duty to think of her husband." All
hope is lost when no pity can be found in a woman's heart. The queen,
indignant and hurt, retired with Madame Elizabeth and the children into
two rooms at the top of the house, and there she burst into tears. The
king, surrounded by municipal officers and national guard, relinquished
all hope of softening them. He repeatedly mounted the wooden staircase
of the wretched shop; he went from the queen to his sister, from his
sister to his children; that which he had been unable to obtain from
pity she hoped to obtain from time and compulsion. He could not believe
that these men, who still showed something like feeling, and manifested
so much respect for him, would persist in their determination of
detaining him, and awaiting the orders of the Assembly. At all events he
felt certain that before the return of the couriers from Paris he should
be rescued by the forces of M. de Bouillé, by which he knew he was
surrounded without the knowledge of the people. He was only astonished
that these succours should delay their appearance so long. Hour after
hour chimed, the night wore away, and yet they came not.
XIV.
The officer who commanded the squadron of hussars stationed at Varennes
by M. de Bouillé was not entirely acquainted with the plan of action, or
its nature; he had merely been told that a large sum in gold would pass
through, and that it would be his duty to escort it. No courier preceded
the king's carriage, no messenger had arrived from Sainte Menehould to
warn him to assemble his troopers; MM. de Choiseul and de Guoguelas, who
were to be at Varennes before the king's arrival, and communicate to
this officer the last secret orders relative to his duty, were not
there; thus the officer was left with nothing but his own conjectures to
guide him. Two other officers, who were informed by M. de Bouillé of the
real facts, had been sent by the general to Varennes, but they remained
in the lower town at the same inn where the horses of M. de Choiseul had
been stationed; they were totally ignorant of all that was passing in
the upper town; they awaited, in compliance with their orders, the
arrival of M. de Choiseul, and were only aroused by the sound of the
alarm-bell.
M. de Choiseul and M. de Guoguelas, with count Charles de Damas, and his
three faithful dragoons, galloped towards Varennes, having with the
greatest difficulty escaped the insurrection of the squadrons at
Clermont. On their arrival at the gates of the town, three quarters of
an hour after the king's arrest, they were recognised and stopped by the
national guard, who, before they would allow the little troop to enter,
compelled them to dismount. They demanded to see the king, and this they
were permitted to do. The king, however, forbade them to use any
violence, as he expected every instant the arrival of M. de Bouillé's
superior force. M. de Guoguelas, however, left the house; and seeing the
hussars intermingled with the crowd that filled the streets, wished to
make trial of their fidelity. "Hussars," exclaimed he, imprudently, "are
you for the nation or the king?" "_Vive la nation_!" replied the
soldiers; "we are, and always shall be, in her favour." The people
applauded this declaration; and a sergeant of the national guard headed
them, whilst their commanding officer succeeded in making his escape,
and hastened to join the two officers, who, together with M. de
Choiseul's horses, had been stationed in the lower town, and they all
three quitted Varennes, and hastened to inform their general at Dun.
These officers had been fired upon, when, learning the royal carriages
had been stopped, they endeavoured to gain access to the king. The whole
night passed in these different occurrences. Already had the national
guards of the neighbouring villages arrived at Varennes; barricades were
erected between the upper and lower town; and the authorities sent off
expresses to warn the inhabitants of Metz and Verdun, and to demand that
troops and cannon might be instantly sent, to prevent the king being
rescued by the approaching troops of M. de Bouillé.
The king, the queen, Madame Elizabeth, and the children, lay down for a
short time, dressed as they were, in the rooms at M. Sausse's, amidst
the threatening murmurs of the people and the noise of footsteps, that
at each instant increased beneath their window. Such was the state of
affairs at Varennes at seven o'clock in the morning. The queen had not
slept; all her feelings as a wife, a mother, a queen--rage, terror,
despair,--waged so terrible a conflict in her mind, that her hair, which
had been auburn on the previous evening, was in the morning white as
snow.
XV.
At Paris the most profound mystery had covered the king's departure. M.
de La Fayette, who had twice been to the Tuileries, to assure himself
with his own eyes that his orders had been strictly obeyed, quitted it
at midnight, perfectly convinced that its walls would securely guard the
people's hostages. It was only at seven o'clock in the morning of the
21st of June, that the servants of the chateau, on entering the
apartments of the king and queen, found the beds undisturbed and the
rooms deserted, and spread the alarm amongst the palace guard. The
fugitive family had thus ten or twelve hours' start of any attempt that
could be made to pursue them; and even supposing it could be ascertained
which road they had taken, they could be only stopped by couriers, and
the body guard who accompanied the king would arrest the couriers
without difficulty. Moreover, no attempt could be made to oppose their
flight by force before they had reached the town in which were stationed
the detachments of M. de Bouillé.
All Paris was in the greatest confusion. The report flew from the
chateau, and spread like wildfire into the neighbouring _quartiers_, and
from thence into the faubourgs. The words, "The king has escaped," were
in every body's mouth; yet no one could believe it. Crowds flocked to
the chateau, to assure themselves of the fact--they questioned the
guards--inveighed against the traitors--every one believed that some
conspiracy was on the point of breaking out. The name of M. de La
Fayette, coupled with invectives, was on every tongue. "Is he a fool--is
he a confederate? how is it possible that so many of the royal family
could have passed the gates--the guards--without connivance?" The doors
were forced open, to enable the people to visit the royal apartments.
Divided between stupor and insult, they avenged themselves on inanimate
objects, for the long respect with which these dwellings of kings had
inspired them--and they passed from awe to derision. A portrait of the
king was taken from the bed-chamber and hung up at the gate of the
chateau, as an article of furniture for sale. A fruit woman took
possession of the queen's bed, to sell her cherries in, saying, "It is
to-day the nation's turn to take their ease."
A cap of the queen's was placed on the head of a young girl, but she
exclaimed it would sully her forehead, and trampled it under foot with
indignation and contempt. They entered the school-room of the young
dauphin--there the people were touched, and respected the books, the
maps, the toys of the baby king. The streets and public squares were
crowded with people; the national guards assembled; the drums beat to
arms; the alarm-gun thundered every minute. Men armed with pikes, and
wearing the _bonnet rouge_, reappeared, and eclipsed the uniforms.
Santerre, the brewer and agitator of the faubourgs, alone led a band of
2000 pikes. The people's indignation began to prevail over their terror,
and showed itself in satirical outcries and injurious actions against
royalty. On the Place de la Grève, the bust of Louis XVI., placed
beneath the fatal lantern, that had been the instrument of the first
crimes of the Revolution, was mutilated. "When," exclaimed the
demagogues, "will the people execute justice for themselves upon all
these kings of bronze and marble--shameful monuments of their slavery
and their idolatry?" The statues of the king were torn from the shops;
some broke them into pieces, others merely tied a bandage over the eyes,
to signify the blindness attributed to the king. The names of king,
queen, Bourbon, were effaced from all the signs. The Palais Royal lost
its name, and was now called Palais d'Orléans. The clubs, hastily
convoked, rang with the most frantic motions; that of the Cordeliers
decreed that the National Assembly had devoted France to slavery, by
declaring the crown hereditary; they demanded that the name of the king
should be for ever abolished, and that the kingdom should be constituted
into a republic. Danton gave it its audacity, and Marat its madness.