other at every moment. According to one, the king had taken the road to
Metz, to another, the royal family had escaped by a drain. Camille
Desmoulins excited the people's mirth as the most insulting mark of
their contempt. The walls of the Tuileries were placarded with offers of
a small reward to any one who would bring back the noxious or unclean
animals that had escaped from it. In the garden, in the open air, the
most extravagant proposals were made. "People," said one of these
orators, mounting on a chair, "it will be unfortunate, should this
perfidious king be brought back to us,--what should we do with him? He
would come to us like Thersites to pour forth those big tears, of which
Homer tells us; and we should be moved with pity. If he returns, I
propose that he be exposed for three days to public derision, with the
red handkerchief on his head, and that he be then conducted from stage
to stage to the frontier, and that he be then kicked out of the
kingdom."
Fréron caused his papers to be sold amongst the groups. "He is gone,"
said one of them, "this imbecile king, this perjured monarch. She is
gone, this wretched queen, who, to the lasciviousness of Messalina,
unites the insatiable thirst of blood that devoured Medea. Execrable
woman, evil genius of France, thou wast the leader, the soul of this
conspiracy." The people repeating these words, circulated from street
to street these odious accusations, which fomented their hate, and
envenomed their alarm.
XVI.
It was only at ten o'clock that three cannon shots proclaimed (by order
of the municipal and departmental authorities) the event of the night to
the people. The National Assembly had already met; the president
informed it that M. Bailly, the mayor of Paris, was come to acquaint
them that the king and his family had been carried off during the night
from the Tuileries by some enemies of the nation; the Assembly, who were
already individually aware of this fact, listened to the communication
with imposing gravity. It seemed as though at this moment the critical
juncture of public affairs gave them a majestic calmness, and that
all the wisdom of the great nation was concentrated in its
representatives--one feeling alone dictated every act, every thought,
every resolution,--to preserve and defend the constitution, even
although the king was absent, and the royalty virtually dead. To take
temporary possession of the regency of the kingdom, to summon the
ministers, to send couriers on every road, to arrest all individuals
leaving the kingdom; to visit the arsenal, to supply arms, to send the
generals to their posts, and to garrison the frontiers,--all this was
the work of an instant; there was no "right," no "left," no "centre;"
the "left" comprised all. The Assembly was informed that one of the
aides-de-camp of M. de La Fayette, sent by him on his own
responsibility, and previous to any orders from the Assembly, was in the
power of the people, who accused M. de La Fayette and his staff of
treason; and messengers were sent to free him.
The aide-de-camp entered the chamber and announced the object of his
mission; the Assembly gave a second order, sanctioning that of M. de La
Fayette, and he departed. Barnave, who perceived in the popular
irritation against La Fayette a fresh peril, hastened to mount the
tribune; and although up to that period he had been opposed to the
popular general, he yet generously, or adroitly, defended him against
the suspicions of the people, who were ready to abandon him. It was
said that for some days past Lameth and Barnave, in succeeding Mirabeau
in the Assembly, felt, like himself, the necessity of some secret
intelligence with this remnant of the monarchy. Much was said of secret
relations between Barnave and the king, of a planned flight, of
concealed measures; but these rumours, accredited by La Fayette himself
in his Memoirs, had not then burst forth; and even at this present
period they are doubtful. "The object which ought to occupy us," said
Barnave, "is to re-establish the confidence in him to whom it belongs.
There is a man against whom popular movement would fain create distrust,
that I firmly believe is undeserved; let us throw ourselves between this
distrust and the people. We must have a concentrated, a central force,
an arm to act, when we have but one single head to reflect. M. de La
Fayette, since the commencement of the revolution, has evinced the
opinions and the conduct of a good citizen. It is absolutely necessary
that he should retain his credit with the nation. Force is necessary at
Paris, but tranquillity is equally so. It is you, who must direct this
force."
These words of Barnave were voted to be the text of the proclamation. At
this moment information was brought that M. de Cazalès, the orator of
the _côté droit_, was in the hands of the people, and exposed to the
greatest danger at the Tuileries.
Six commissioners were appointed to go to his succour, and they
conducted him to the chamber. He mounted the tribune, irritated at once
against the people, from whose violence he had just escaped, and against
the king, who had abandoned his partisans without giving them any timely
information.
"I have narrowly escaped being torn in pieces by the people," cried he;
"and without the assistance of the national guard, who displayed so much
attachment for me--." At these words which indicated the pretension to
personal popularity lurking in the mind of the royalist orator, the
Assembly gave marked signs of disapprobation, and the _côté gauche_
murmured loudly. "I do not speak for myself," returned Cazalès, "but for
the common interest. I will willingly sacrifice my petty existence, and
this sacrifice has long ago been made; but it is important to the whole
empire that your sittings be undisturbed by any popular tumult in the
critical state of affairs at present, and in consequence I second all
the measures for preserving order and tranquillity that have just been
proposed." At length, on the motion of several members, the Assembly
decided, that in the king's absence, all power should be vested in
themselves, and that their decrees should be immediately put in
execution by the ministers without any further sanction or acceptance.
The Assembly seized on the dictatorship with a prompt and firm grasp,
and declared themselves permanent.
XVII.
Whilst the Assembly, by the rights alike of prudence and necessity,
seized on the supreme power, M. de La Fayette cast himself with calm
audacity amidst the people, to grasp again, at the peril of his life,
the confidence that he had lost. The first impulse of the people would
naturally be to massacre the perfidious general, who had answered for
the safe custody of the king with his life, and had yet suffered him to
escape. La Fayette saw his peril, and, by braving, averted the tempest.
One of the first to learn the king's flight, from his officers, he
hurried to the Tuileries, where he found the mayor of Paris, Bailly, and
the president of the Assembly, Beauharnais. Bailly and Beauharnais
lamented the number of hours that must be lost in the pursuit before the
Assembly could be convoked, and the decrees executed. "Is it your
opinion," asked La Fayette, "that the arrest of the king and the royal
family is absolutely essential to the public safety, and can alone
preserve us from civil war?" "No doubt can be entertained of that,"
returned the mayor and the president. "Well then," returned La Fayette,
"I take on myself all the responsibility of this arrest;" and he
instantly wrote an order to all the national guards and citizens to
arrest the king. This was also a dictatorship, and the most personal of
all dictatorships, that a single man, taking the place of the Assembly,
and the whole nation, thus assumed. He, on his private authority and the
right of his civic foresight, struck at the liberty and perhaps the life
of the lawful ruler of the nation. This order led Louis XVI. to the
scaffold, for it restored to the people the victim who had escaped
their clutches. "Fortunately for him," he writes in his Memoirs, after
the atrocities committed on these august victims, "fortunately for him,
their arrest was not owing to his orders, but to the accident of being
recognised by a post-master, and to their ill arrangements." Thus the
citizen ordered that which the man trembled to see fulfilled; and tardy
sensibility protested against patriotism.
Quitting the Tuileries, La Fayette went to the Hôtel de Ville, on
horseback. The quays were crowded with persons whose anger vented itself
in reproaches against him, which he supported with the utmost apparent
serenity. On his arrival at the Place de Grève, almost unattended, he
found the duke d'Aumont, one of his officers, in the hands of the
populace, who were on the point of massacring him; and he instantly
mingled with the crowd, who were astonished at his audacity, and rescued
the duke d'Aumont. He thus recovered by courage the dominion, which he
would have lost (and with it his life) had he hesitated.
"Why do you complain?" he asked of the crowd. "Does not every citizen
gain twenty sous by the suppression of the civil list? If you call the
flight of the king a misfortune, by what name would you then denominate
a counter-revolution that would deprive you of liberty?" He again
quitted the Hôtel de Ville with an escort, and directed his steps with
more confidence towards the Assembly. As he entered the chamber, Camus,
near whom he seated himself, rose indignantly: "No uniforms here," cried
he; "in this place we should behold neither arms nor uniforms." Several
members of the left side rose with Camus, exclaiming to La Fayette,
"Quit the chamber!" and dismissing with a gesture the intimidated
general. Other members, friends of La Fayette, collected round him, and
sought to silence the threatening vociferations of Camus. M. de La
Fayette at last obtained a hearing at the bar. After uttering a few
common places about liberty and the people, he proposed that M. de
Gouvion, his second in command, to whom the guard of the Tuileries had
been intrusted, should be examined by the Assembly. "I will answer for
this officer," said he; "and take upon myself the responsibility." M. de
Gouvion was heard, and affirmed that all the outlets from the palace had
been strictly guarded, and that the king could not have escaped by any
of the doors. This statement was confirmed by M. Bailly, the mayor of
Paris. The intendant of the civil list, M. de Laporte, appeared, to
present to the Assembly the manifesto the king had left for his people.
He was asked, "How did you receive it?" "The king," replied M. de
Laporte, "had left it sealed, with a letter for me." "Read this letter,"
said a member. "No, no," exclaimed the Assembly, "it is a confidential
letter, we have no right to read it." They equally refused to unseal a
letter for the queen that had been left on her table. The generosity of
the nation, even in this moment, predominated over their irritation.
The king's manifesto was read amidst much laughter and loud murmurs.
"Frenchmen," said the king in this address to his people, "so long as I
hoped to behold public happiness and tranquillity restored by the
measures concerted by myself and the Assembly, no sacrifice was too
great; calumnies, insult, injury, even the loss of liberty,--I have
suffered all without a murmur. But now that I behold the kingdom
destroyed, property violated, personal safety compromised, anarchy in
every part of my dominions, I feel it my duty to lay before my subjects
the motives of my conduct. In the month of July, 1789, I did not fear to
trust myself amongst the inhabitants of Paris. On the 5th and 6th of
October, although outraged in my own palace, and a witness of the
impunity with which all sorts of crimes were committed, I would not quit
France, lest I should be the cause of civil war. I came to reside in the
Tuileries, deprived of almost the necessaries of life; my body-guard was
torn from me, and many of these faithful gentlemen were massacred under
my very eyes. The most shameful calumnies have been heaped upon the
faithful and devoted wife, who participates in my affection for the
people, and who has generously taken her share of all the sacrifices I
have made for them. Convocation of the States-general, double
representation granted to the third estate (_le tiers état_), reunion of
the orders, sacrifice of the 20th of June,--I have done all this for the
nation; and all these sacrifices have been lost, misinterpreted, turned
against me. I have been detained as a prisoner in my own palace; instead
of guards, jailers have been imposed on me. I have been rendered
responsible for a government that has been torn from my grasp. Though
charged to preserve the dignity of France in relation to foreign powers,
I have been deprived of the right of declaring peace or war. Your
constitution is a perpetual contradiction between the titles with which
it invests me, and the functions it denies me. I am only the responsible
chief of anarchy, and the seditious power of the clubs wrests from you
the power you have wrested from me. Frenchmen, was this the result you
looked for from your regeneration? Your attachment to your king was wont
to be reckoned amongst your virtues; this attachment is now changed into
hatred, and homage into insult. From M. Necker down to the lowest of the
rabble, every one has been king except the king himself. Threats have
been held out of depriving the king even of this empty title, and of
shutting up the queen in a convent. In the nights of October, when it
was proposed to the Assembly to go and protect the king by its presence,
they declared it was beneath their dignity to do so. The king's aunts
have been arrested, when from religious motives they wished to journey
to Rome. My conscience has been equally outraged; even my religious
principles have been constrained: when after my illness I wished to go
to St. Cloud, to complete my convalescence, it was feared that I was
going to this residence to perform my pious duties with priests who had
not taken the oaths; my horses were unharnessed, and I was compelled by
force to return to the Tuileries. M. de La Fayette himself could not
ensure obedience to the law, or the respect due to the king. I have been
forced to send away the very priests of my chapels, and even the adviser
of my conscience. In such a situation, all that is left me is to appeal
to the justice and affection of my people, to take refuge from the
attacks of the factions and the oppression of the Assembly and the
clubs, in a town of my kingdom, and to resolve there, in perfect
freedom, on the modifications the constitution requires; of the
restoration of our holy religion; of the strengthening of the royal
power, and the consolidation of true liberty."
The Assembly, who had several times interrupted the reading of this
manifesto by bursts of laughter or murmurs of indignation, proceeded
with disdain to the order of the day, and received the oaths of the
generals employed at Paris. Numerous deputations from Paris and the
neighbouring departments came successively to the bar to assure the
Assembly that it would ever be considered as the rallying point by all
good citizens.
The same evening the clubs of the Cordeliers and the Jacobins caused the
motions for the king's dethronement to be placarded about. The club of
the Cordeliers declared in one of its placards that every citizen who
belonged to it had sworn individually to poignard the tyrants. Marat,
one of its members, published and distributed in Paris an incendiary
proclamation. "People," said he, "behold the loyalty, the honour, the
religion of kings. Remember Henry III. and the duke de Guise: at the
same table as his enemy did Henry receive the sacrament, and swear on
the same altar eternal friendship; scarcely had he quitted the temple
than he distributed poignards to his followers, summoned the duke to his
cabinet, and there beheld him fall pierced with wounds. Trust then to
the oaths of princes! On the morning of the 19th, Louis XVI. laughed at
his oath, and enjoyed beforehand the alarm his flight would cause you.
The Austrian woman has seduced La Fayette last night. Louis XVI.,
disguised in a priest's robe, fled with the dauphin, his wife, his
brother, and all the family. He now laughs at the folly of the
Parisians, and ere long he will swim in their blood. Citizens, this
escape has been long prepared by the traitors of the National Assembly.
You are on the brink of ruin; hasten to provide for your safety.
Instantly choose a dictator; let your choice fall on the citizen who has
up to the present displayed most zeal, activity, and intelligence; and
do all he bids you do to strike at your foes; this is the time to lop
off the heads of Bailly, La Fayette, all the scoundrels of the staff,
all the traitors of the Assembly. A tribune, a military tribune, or you
are lost without hope. At present I have done all that was in the power
of man to save you. If you neglect this last piece of advice, I have no
more to say to you, and take my farewell of you for ever. Louis XVI., at
the head of his satellites, will besiege you in Paris, and the friend of
the people will have a burning pile (_four ardent_) for his tomb, but
his last sigh shall be for his country, for liberty, and for you."
XVIII.
The members of the constitutional party felt it their duty to attend the
sitting of the Jacobins on the 22d, in order to moderate its ardour.
Barnave, Siéyès, and La Fayette also appeared there, and took the oath
of fidelity to the nation. Camille Desmoulins thus relates the results
of this sitting:
"Whilst the National Assembly was decreeing, decreeing, decreeing, the
people were acting. I went to the Jacobins, and on the Quai Voltaire I
met La Fayette. Barnave's words had begun to turn the current of popular
opinion, and some voices cried 'Vive La Fayette.' He had reviewed the
battalions on the quay. Convinced of the necessity of rallying round a
chief, I yielded to the impulse that drew me towards the white horse.
'Monsieur de La Fayette,' said I to him in the midst of the crowd, 'for
more than a year I have constantly spoken ill of you, this is the moment
to convict me of falsehood. Prove that I am a calumniator, render me
execrable, cover me with infamy, and save the state.' I spoke with the
utmost warmth, whilst he pressed my hand. 'I have always recognised you
as a good citizen,' returned he; 'you will see that you have been
deceived; our common oath is to live free, or to die--all goes
well--there's but one feeling amongst the National Assembly--the common
danger has united all parties.' 'But why,' I inquired, 'does your
Assembly affect to speak of the carrying off (_enlèvement_) of the king
in all its decrees, when the king himself writes that he escaped of his
own free will? what baseness, or what treason, in the Assembly to employ
such language, when surrounded by three millions of bayonets.' 'The word
_carrying off_ is a mistake in dictation, that the Assembly will
correct,' replied La Fayette; then he added, 'this conduct of the king
is infamous.' La Fayette repeated this several times, and shook me
heartily by the hand. I left him, reflecting that possibly the vast
field that the king's flight opened to his ambition, might bring him
back to the party of the people. I arrived at the Jacobins, striving to
believe the sincerity of his demonstrations, of his patriotism, and
friendship; and to persuade myself of this, which, in spite of all my
efforts, escaped by a thousand recollections, and a thousand issues."
When Camille Desmoulins entered Robespierre was in the tribune: the
immense credit that this young orator's perseverance and
incorruptibility had gained him with the people, made his hearers crowd
around him.
"I am not one of those," said he, "who term this event a disaster; this
day would be the most glorious of the Revolution, did you but know how
to turn it to your advantage. The king has chosen to quit his post at
the moment of our most deadly perils, both at home and abroad. The
Assembly has lost its credit; all men's minds are excited by the
approaching elections. The emigrés are at Coblentz. The emperor and the
king of Sweden are at Brussels; our harvests are ripe to feed their
troops; but three millions of men are under arms in France, and this
league of Europe may easily be vanquished. I fear neither Leopold, nor
the king of Sweden. That which alone terrifies me, seems to reassure all
others. It is the fact that since this morning all our enemies affect to
use the same language as ourselves. All men are united, and in
appearance wear the same aspect. It is impossible that all can feel the
same joy at the flight of a king who possessed a revenue of forty
millions of francs, and who distributed all the offices of state amongst
his adherents and our enemies; there are traitors, then, among us; there
is a secret understanding between the fugitive king and these traitors
who have remained at Paris. Read the king's manifesto, and the whole
plot will be there unveiled. The king, the emperor, the king of Sweden,
d'Artois, Condé, all the fugitives, all these brigands, are about to
march against us. A paternal manifesto will appear, in which the king
will talk of his love of peace, and even of liberty; whilst at the same
time the traitors in the capital and the departments will represent you,
on their part, as the leaders of the civil war. Thus the Revolution will
be stifled in the embraces of hypocritical despotism and intimidated
moderatism.
"Look already at the Assembly: in twenty decrees the king's flight is
termed carrying off by force (_enlèvement_). To whom does it intrust the
safety of the people? To a minister of foreign affairs, under the
inspection of diplomatic committee. Who is the minister? A traitor whom
I have unceasingly denounced to you, the persecutor of the patriot
soldiers, the upholder of the aristocrat officers. What is the
committee? A committee of traitors composed of all our enemies beneath
the garb of patriots. And the minister for foreign affairs, who is he? A
traitor, a Montmorin, who but a short month ago declared a perfidious
_adoration_ of the constitution. And Delissart, who is he? A traitor, to
whom Necker has bequeathed his mantle to cover his plots and
conspiracies.
"Do you not see the coalition of these men with the king, and the king
with the European league? That will crush us! In an instant you will see
all the men of 1789--mayor, general, ministers, orators,--enter this
room. How can you escape Antony?" continued he, alluding to La Fayette.
"Antony commands the legions that are about to avenge Cæsar; and
Octavius, Cæsar's nephew, commands the legions of the republic.
"How can the republic hope to avoid destruction? We are continually told
of the necessity of uniting ourselves; but when Antony encamped at the
side of Lepidus, and all the foes to freedom were united to those who
termed themselves its defenders, nought remained for Brutus and Cassius,
save to die.
"It is to this point that this feigned unanimity, this perfidious
reconciliation of patriots, tends. Yes, this is the fate prepared for
you. I know that by daring to unveil these conspiracies I sharpen a
thousand daggers against my own life. I know the fate that awaits me;
but if, when almost unknown in the National Assembly, I, amongst the
earliest apostles of liberty, sacrificed my life to the cause of truth,
of humanity, of my country; to-day, when I have been so amply repaid for
this sacrifice, by such marks of universal goodwill, consideration, and
regard, I shall look at death as a mercy, if it prevents my witnessing
such misfortunes. I have tried the Assembly, let them in their turn try
me."
XIX.
These words so artfully combined, and calculated to fill every breast
with suspicion, were hailed like the last speech of a martyr for
liberty. All eyes were suffused with tears. "We will die with you,"
cried Camille Desmoulins, extending his arms towards Robespierre, as
though he would fain embrace him. His excitable and changeable spirit
was borne away by the breath of each new enthusiastic impulse. He passed
from the arms of La Fayette into those of Robespierre like a courtezan.
Eight hundred persons rose _en masse_; and by their attitudes, their
gestures, their spontaneous and unanimous inspiration, offered one of
those most imposing tableaux, that prove how great is the effect of
oratory, passion, and circumstance over an assembled people. After they
had all individually sworn to defend Robespierre's life, they were
informed of the arrival of the ministers and members of the Assembly who
had belonged to the club in '89, and who in this perilous state of their
country, had come to fraternise with the Jacobins.
"Monsieur le President," cried Danton, "if the traitors venture to
present themselves, I undertake solemnly either that my head shall fall
on the scaffold, or to prove that their heads should roll at the feet of
the nation they have betrayed."
The deputies entered: Danton, recognising La Fayette amongst them,
mounted the tribunal, and addressing the general, said:--"It is my turn
to speak, and I will speak as though I were writing a history for the
use of future ages. How do you dare, M. de La Fayette, to join the
friends of the constitution; you, who are a friend and partisan of the
system of the two chambers invented by the priest Siéyès, a system
destructive of the constitution and liberty? Did you not yourself tell
me that the project of M. Mounier was too execrable for any one to
venture to reproduce it, but that it was possible to cause an equivalent
to it to be accepted by the Assembly? I dare you to deny this fact--that
damns you. How comes it that the king in his proclamation uses the same
language as yourself? How have you dared to infringe an order of the day
on the circulation of the pamphlets of the defenders of the people,
whilst you grant the protection of your bayonets to cowardly writers,
the destroyers of the constitution? Why did you bring back prisoners,
and as it were in triumph, the inhabitants of the Faubourg St. Antoine,
who wished to destroy the last stronghold of tyranny at Vincennes? Why,
on the evening of this expedition to Vincennes, did you protect in the
Tuileries assassins armed with poignards to favour the king's escape?
Explain to me by what chance, on the 21st June, the Tuileries was
guarded by the company of the grenadiers of the Rue de l'Oratoire, that
you had punished on the 18th of April for having opposed the king's
departure? Let us not deceive ourselves: the king's flight is only the
result of a plot; there has been a secret understanding, and you, M. de
La Fayette, who lately staked your head for the king's safety, do you by
appearing in this assembly seek your own condemnation? The people must
have vengeance; they are wearied of being thus alternately braved or
deceived. If my voice is unheard here, if our weak indulgence for the
enemies of our country continually endanger it, I appeal to posterity,
and leave it to them to judge between us."
M. de La Fayette, thus attacked, made no reply to these strong appeals;
he merely said that he had come to join the assembly, because it was
there that all good citizens should hasten in perilous times; and he
then left the place. The assembly having issued a decree next day
calling on the general to appear and justify himself, he wrote that he
would do so at a future period; he however never did so. But the motions
of Robespierre and Danton did not in the least injure his influence over
the national guard. Danton on that day displayed the greatest audacity.
M. de La Fayette had the proofs of the orator's venality in his
possession--he had received from M. de Montmorin 100,000 francs. Danton
knew that M. de La Fayette was well aware of this transaction; but he
also knew that La Fayette could not accuse him without naming M. de
Montmorin, and without also accusing himself of participation in this
shameful traffic, that supplied the funds of the civil list. This double
secret kept them mutually in check, and obliged the orator and general
to maintain a degree of reserve that lessened the fury of the contest.
Lameth replied to Danton, and spoke in favour of concord. The violent
resolutions proposed by Robespierre and Danton had no weight that day at
the Jacobins' Club. The peril that threatened them taught the people
wisdom, and their instinct forbade their dividing their force before
that which was unknown.
XX.
The same evening the National Assembly discussed and adopted an address
to the French nation, in these terms:--
"A great crime has been committed. The king and his family have been
_carried off_, (the continuance of this pretended _enlèvement_ of the
king excited loud murmurs,) but your representatives will triumph over
all these obstacles. France wishes to be free, and she shall be; the
Revolution will not retrograde. We have saved the law by resolving that
our decrees shall be the law. We have saved the nation by sending to the
army reinforcements of 300,000 men. We have saved public peace by
placing it under the safeguard of the zeal and patriotism of the armed
citizens. In this position we await our enemies. In a manifesto dictated
to the king by those who have offered violence to his affection for his
people, you are accused--the constitution is accused--the law of
impunity of the 6th of October is accused. The nation is more just, for
she does not accuse the king of the crimes of his ancestors. (Applause.)
"But the king swore on the 14th of July to protect this constitution; he
has therefore consented to perjure himself. The changes made in the
constitution of the kingdom are laid to the charge of the _soidisant_
factious. A few factious? that is not sufficient; we are 26,000,000 of
factious. (Loud applause.) We have re-constructed the power, we have
preserved the monarchy, because we believe it useful to France. We have
doubtless reformed it, but it was to save it from its abuses and its
excesses; we have granted a yearly sum of 50,000,000 of francs to
maintain the legitimate splendour of the throne. We have reserved to
ourselves the right of declaring war, because we would not that the
blood of the people should belong to the ministers. Frenchmen! all is
organised, every man is at his post. The Assembly watches over all. You
have nought to fear save from yourselves, should your just emotion lead
you to commit any violence or disorders. The people who seek to be free
should remain unmoved in great crises.
"Behold Paris, and imitate the example of the capital. All goes on as
usual; the tyrants will be deceived. Before they can bend France beneath
their yoke, the whole nation must be annihilated. Should despotism
venture to attempt it, it will be vanquished; or even though it
triumph, it will triumph over nought save ruins!" (Loud and unanimous
applause followed the conclusion of the address.)
The sitting which had been suspended during an hour, re-opened at
half-past nine. Much agitation prevailed in the chamber, and the words
_He is arrested! He is arrested!_ ran along the benches, and from the
benches to the tribune. The president announced that he had just
received a packet containing several letters which he would read; at the
same time recommending them to abstain from any marks of approbation or
disapprobation. He then opened the packet amidst a profound silence, and
read the letters of the municipal authorities at Varennes and of St.
Menehould brought by M. Mangin, surgeon, at Varennes. The Assembly then
nominated three commissioners out of the members to bring the king back
to Paris. These three commissioners were Barnave, Pétion, and
Latour-Maubourg, and they instantly started off to fulfil their mission.
Let us now for a brief space leave Paris a prey to all the different
emotions of surprise, joy, and indignation excited by the flight and
arrest of the king.
XXI.
The night at Varennes had been passed by the king, the queen, and the
people in alternate feelings of hope and terror. Whilst the children,
fatigued with a long day's journey, and the heat of the weather, slept
soundly, the king and queen, guarded by the municipal guards of
Varennes, discussed, in a low voice, the danger of their position, their
pious sister, Madame Elizabeth, prayed by their side; her kingdom was,
indeed, "in heaven." Nothing had induced her to remain at the court,
from which she was estranged, alike by her piety and her renouncement of
all worldly pleasure, but her affection for her brother, and she had
shared only the sorrows and sufferings of the throne.
The prisoners were far from despairing yet; they had no doubt that M. de
Bouillé, warned by one of the officers whom he had stationed on the
road, would march all night to their assistance; and they attributed his
delay to the necessity of collecting a sufficient force to overpower
the numerous troops of national guards whom the sound of the tocsin had
summoned to Varennes. But at each instant they expected to see him
appear, and the least movement of the populace, the slightest clash of
arms in the streets, seemed to announce his arrival; the courier
despatched to Paris by the authorities of Varennes to receive the orders
of the Assembly, only left at three o'clock in the morning. He could not
reach Paris in less than twenty hours, and would require as much more
for his return; and the Assembly would require, at least three or four
hours more to deliberate; thus M. de Bouillé must have forty-eight
hours' start of any orders from Paris.
Moreover, in what state would Paris be? what would have happened there
at the unexpected announcement of the king's departure? Had not terror
or repentance taken possession of every mind; would not anarchy have
destroyed the feeble barriers that an anarchical assembly might have
opposed to it? Would not the cry of treason have been the first signal
of alarm? La Fayette have been torn to pieces as a traitor, and the
national guard disbanded? Would not the well-intentioned and loyal
citizens have again obtained the mastery over the factious and turbulent
in the confusion and terror that would prevail? Who would give orders?
who would execute them?
The nation trembling, and in disorder, would fall perhaps at the feet of
its king. Such were the chimæras, the last fond hopes of this
unfortunate family, and on which they sustained their courage, during
this fatal night, in the small and suffocating room into which they were
all crowded.
The king had been allowed to communicate with several officers: M. de
Guoguelas, M. de Damas, M. de Choiseul had seen him. The procureur
syndic, and the municipal officers of Varennes, showed both respect and
pity for their king, even in the execution of what they believed to be
their duty. The people do not pass at once from respect to outrage.
There is a moment of indecision in every sacrilegious act, in which they
seem yet to reverence that which they are about to destroy. The
authorities of Varennes and M. Sausse, although believing they were the
saviours of the nation, were yet far from wishing to offend the king,
and guarded him as much as their sovereign as their captive. This did
not escape the king's notice; he flattered himself that at the first
demand made by M. de Bouillé, respect would prevail over patriotism, and
that he would be set at liberty, and he expressed this belief to his
officers.
One of them, M. Derlons, who commanded the squadron of hussars stationed
at Dun, between Varennes and Stenay, had been informed of the king's
arrest at two o'clock in the morning by the commander of the detachment
at Varennes: having escaped this town, M. Derlons, without awaiting any
orders from the general, and anticipating them, he ordered his hussars
to mount, and galloped to Varennes, determined to rescue the king by
force. On his arrival at the gates of that town, he found them
barricaded and defended by a numerous body of national guards, who
refused to allow the hussars to enter the town. M. Derlons dismounted,
and leaving his men outside, demanded to see the king, which was
consented to. His aim was to inform the king that M. de Bouillé was
about to march thither at the head of the royal Allemand regiment, and
also to assure himself, if it was impossible for his squadron to force
the obstacles, to break down the barricades in the upper town, and carry
off the king. The barricades appeared to him impregnable to cavalry, he
therefore gained admittance to the king, and asked him what were his
orders. "Tell M. de Bouillé," returned the king, "that I am a prisoner,
and can give no orders. I much fear he can do no more for me, but I pray
him to do all he can." M. Derlons, who was an Alsatian, and spoke
German, wished to say a few words in that language to the queen, in
order that no person present might understand what passed. "Speak
French, sir," said the queen, "we are overheard." M. Derlons said no
more, but withdrew in despair; but he remained with his troop at the
gates of Varennes, awaiting the arrival of the superior forces of M. de
Bouillé.
XXII.
The aide-de-camp of M. de La Fayette, M. Romeuf, despatched by that
general, and bearer of the order of the Assembly, arrived at Varennes at
half-past seven. The queen, who knew him personally, reproached him in
the most pathetic manner with the odious mission with which his general
had charged him. M. Romeuf sought in vain to calm her indignation by
every mark of respect and devotion compatible with the rigour of his
orders. The queen then changing from invectives to tears, gave a free
vent to her grief. M. Romeuf having laid the order of the Assembly on
the Dauphin's bed, the queen seized the paper, threw it on the ground,
and trampled it under her feet, exclaiming, that such a paper would
sully her son's bed. "In the name of your safety, of your glory, madam,"
said the young officer, "master your grief; would you suffer any one but
myself to witness such a fit of despair?"
The preparations for their departure were hastened, through fear, lest
the troops of M. de Bouillé might march on the town, or cut them off.
The king used every means in his power to delay them, for each minute
gained gave them a fresh hope of safety, and disputed them one by one.
At the moment they were entering the carriage, one of the queen's women
feigned a sudden and alarming illness. The queen refused to start
without her, and only yielded at last to threats of force, and the
shouts of the impatient populace. She would suffer no one to touch her
son, but carried him herself to the carriage; and the royal cortège
escorted by three or four thousand national guards, moved slowly towards
Paris.
XXIII.
What was M. de Bouillé doing during this long and agonising night the
king passed at Varennes? He had, as we have already seen, passed the
night at the gates of Dun, two leagues from Varennes, awaiting the
couriers who were to inform him of the king's approach. At four in the
morning, fearing to be discovered, and having seen no one, he regained
Stenay, in order to be nearer his troops, in case any accident had
happened to the king. At half-past four he was at the gates of Stenay,
when the two officers whom he had left there the previous evening, and
the commanding officer of the squadron that had abandoned him, arrived
and informed him that the king had been arrested since eleven o'clock at
night. Stupified and astonished at being informed so late he instantly
ordered the royal Allemand regiment, which was at Stenay, to mount and
follow him. The colonel of this regiment had received the previous
evening orders to keep the horses saddled. This order had not been
executed, and the regiment lost three quarters of an hour, in spite of
the repeated messages of M. de Bouillé, who sent his own son to the
barracks. The general was powerless without this regiment, and no sooner
were they outside the town than M. de Bouillé endeavoured to ascertain
its disposition towards the king. "Your king," said he, "who was
hastening hither to dwell amongst you, has been stopped by the
inhabitants of Varennes, within a few leagues. Will you let him remain a
prisoner, exposed to every insult at the hands of the national guards?
Here are his orders: he awaits you; he counts every moment. Let us march
to Varennes. Let us hasten to deliver him, and restore him to the nation
and liberty."
Loud acclamations followed this speech. M. de Bouillé distributed 500 or
600 louis amongst the soldiers, and the regiment marched forward.
Stenay is at least nine leagues from Varennes, and the road very hilly
and bad. M. de Bouillé, however, used all possible dispatch, and at a
little distance from Varennes he met the advanced guard of the regiment,
halted at the entrance of a little wood, defended by a body of the
national guard. M. de Bouillé ordered them to charge, and putting
himself at the head of the troop, arrived at Varennes at a quarter to
nine, closely followed by the regiment. Whilst reconnoitring the town,
previous to an attack, he observed a troop of hussars, who appeared also
to watch the town. It was the squadron from Dun, commanded by M.
Derlons, who had passed the night here, awaiting reinforcements. M.
Derlons hastened to inform the general that the king had left the town
more than an hour and a half; he added, the bridge was broken, the
streets barricaded; that the hussars of Clermont and Varennes had
fraternised with the people, and the commanders of the detachments, MM.
de Choiseul, de Damas, and de Guoguelas, were prisoners. M. de Bouillé,
baffled, but not discouraged, resolved to follow the king, and rescue
him from the hands of the national guard. He despatched officers to find
a ford by which they could pass the river; but, unfortunately, although
one existed, they were unable to find it.
Whilst thus engaged, he learnt that the garrisons of Metz and Verdun
were advancing with a train of artillery to the aid of the people. The
country was swarming with troops and national guards. The troops began
to show symptoms of hesitation; the horses, fatigued by nine leagues
over a bad road, could not sustain the speed necessary to overtake the
king at Sainte Menehould. All energy deserted them with hope. The
regiment turned round, and M. de Bouillé led them back in silence to
Stenay; thence, followed only by a few of the officers most implicated,
he gained Luxembourg, and passed the frontier amidst a shower of balls,
and wishing for death more than he shunned the punishment.
XXIV.
The royal carriages, however, rolled rapidly along the road to Châlons,
attended by the national guard, who relieved each other in order to
escort them on; the whole population lined the road on either side, to
gaze upon a king brought back in triumph by the nation that believed
itself betrayed. The pikes and bayonets of the national guards could
scarcely force them a passage through this dense throng, that at each
instant grew more and more numerous, and who were never weary of
uttering cries of derision and menace, accompanied by the most furious
gestures.
The carriages pursued their journey amidst a torrent of abuse, and the
clamour of the people recommenced at every turn of the wheel. It was a
Calvary of sixty leagues, every step of which was a torture. One
gentleman, M. de Dampierre, an old man, accustomed all his life to
venerate the king, having advanced towards the carriage to show some
marks of respectful compassion to his master, was instantly massacred
before their eyes, and the royal family narrowly escaped passing over
his bleeding corpse. Fidelity was the only unpardonable crime amongst
this band of savages. The king and queen, who had already made the
sacrifice of their lives, had summoned all their dignity and courage, in
order to die worthily. Passive courage was Louis XVI.'s virtue, as
though Heaven, who destined him to suffer martyrdom, had gifted him with
heroic endurance, that cannot resist, but can die. The queen found in
her blood and her pride sufficient hatred for the people, to return
with inward scorn the insults with which they profaned her. Madame
Elizabeth prayed mentally for divine assistance; and the two children
wondered at the hatred of the people they had been taught to love, and
whom they now saw only a prey to the most violent fury. The august
family would never have reached Paris alive, had not the commissioners
of the Assembly, who by their presence overawed the people, arrived in
time to subdue and control this growing sedition.
The commissioners met the carriages between Dormans and Epernay, and
read to the king and people the order of the Assembly, giving them the
absolute command of the troops and national guards along the line; and
which enjoined them to watch not only over the king's security, but also
to maintain the respect due to royalty, represented in his person.
Barnave and Pétion hastened to enter the king's carriage, to share his
danger, and shield him with their bodies. They succeeded in preserving
him from death, but not from outrage. The fury of the people, kept aloof
from the carriages, found vent further off; and all persons suspected of
feeling the least sympathy were brutally ill-treated.
An ecclesiastic having approached the berlin, and exhibited some traces
of respect and sorrow on his features, was seized by the people, thrown
under the horses' feet, and was on the point of being massacred before
the queen's eyes, when Barnave, with a noble impulse, leant out of the
carriage. "Frenchmen," exclaimed he, "will you, a nation of brave men,
become a people of murderers?" Madame Elizabeth, struck with admiration
at his courageous interference, and fearing lest he might spring out,
and be in his turn torn to pieces by the people, held him by his coat
whilst he addressed the mob. From this moment the pious princess, the
queen, and the king himself conceived a secret esteem for Barnave. A
generous heart amidst so many cruel ones inspired them with a species of
confidence in the young _député_. They had known him only as a leader of
faction, and by his voice heard amidst all their misfortunes; and they
were astonished to find a respectful protector in the man whom they had
hitherto looked upon as an insolent foe.
Barnave's features were marked, yet attractive and open; his manners
polished, his language elegant; his bearing saddened by the aspect of
so much beauty, so much majesty, and so great a reverse of fortune. The
king in the intervals of calm and silence frequently spoke to him, and
discoursed of the events of the day. Barnave replied, with the tone of a
man devoted to liberty, but faithful still to the throne; and who in his
plans of regeneration, never separated the nation from the throne. Full
of attention to the queen, Madame Elizabeth, and the royal children, he
strove by every means in his power to hide from them the perils and
humiliations of the journey. Constrained, no doubt, by the presence of
his rough colleague, Pétion, if he did not openly avow the feeling of
pity, admiration, and respect which had conquered him during the
journey, he showed it in his actions, and a tacit treaty was concluded
by looks. The royal family felt that amidst this wreck of all their
hopes they had yet gained Barnave. All his subsequent conduct justified
the confidence of the queen. Audacious, when opposed to tyranny, he was
powerless against weakness, beauty, and misfortune; and this lost him
his life, but rendered his memory glorious. Until then he had been only
eloquent; he now showed that he possessed sensibility. Pétion, on the
contrary, remained cold as a sectarian, and rude as a _parvenu_; he
affected a brusque familiarity with the royal family, eating in the
queen's presence, and throwing the rind of fruit out of the window, at
the risk of striking the king's face. When Madame Elizabeth poured him
out some wine, he raised his glass without thanking her to show that he
had enough. Louis XVI. having asked him if he was in favour of the
system of the two chambers, or for the republic--"I should be in favour
of a republic," returned Pétion, "if I thought my country sufficiently
ripe for this form of government." The king, offended, made no reply,
and did not once speak until they arrived at Paris.
The commissioners had written from Dormans to the Assembly, to inform
them what road the king would take, and at what day and hour he would
arrive. The approach to Paris offered increasing danger, owing to the
numbers and fury of the populace through which the king had to pass. The
Assembly redoubled its energy and precaution to assure the inviolability
of the king's person. The people, too, recovered the sentiment of their
own dignity before this great success fate granted them: they would not
dishonour their own triumph. Thousands of placards were stuck on the
walls--"_Whoever applauds the king shall be beaten; whoever insults him
shall be hung_." The king had slept at Meaux, and the commissioners
advised the Assembly to sit permanently, in order to be in readiness for
any unforeseen event that might take place on the king's arrival at
Paris; and the Assembly, consequently, did not dissolve. The hero of the
day, the author of the king's arrest, Drouet, son of the post-master of
Sainte Menehould, appeared before it, and gave the following
evidence:--"I have served in Condé's regiment of dragoons, and my
comrade, Guillaume, in the Queen's dragoons. The 21st of June, at seven
in the evening, two carriages and eleven horses arrived at Sainte
Menehould, and I recognised the king and queen; but, fearful of being
deceived, I resolved to ascertain the truth of this by arriving at
Varennes, by a bye-road, before the carriages. It was eleven o'clock,
and quite dark, when I reached Varennes; the carriages arrived also, and
were delayed by a dispute between the couriers and the postilions, who
refused to go any farther. I said to my comrade, 'Guillaume, are you a
good patriot?' 'Do not doubt it,' replied he. 'Well, then, the king is
here; let us arrest him.' We overturned a cart, filled with goods, under
the arch of the bridge; and when the carriage arrived, demanded their
passports. 'We are in a hurry, gentlemen,' said the queen. However, we
insisted, and made them alight at the house of the procureur of the
district; then, of his own accord, Louis XVI. said to us, 'Behold your
king--your queen--and my children! Treat us with that respect that
Frenchmen have always shown to their king.' We, however, detained him;
the national guards hastened to the town, and the hussars espoused our
cause; and after having done our duty, we returned home, amidst the
acclamations of our fellow-citizens, and to-day come to offer the homage
of our services to the National Assembly."
Drouet and Guillaume were loudly applauded after this speech.
The Assembly then decreed that immediately after the arrival of Louis
XVI. at the Tuileries, a guard should be given him, under the orders of
La Fayette, who should be responsible for his security. Malouet was the
only one who ventured to remonstrate against this captivity. "It at
once destroyed inviolability and the constitution; the legislative and
executive powers are now united." Alexandre Lameth opposed Malouet's
motion, and declared that it was the duty of the Assembly to assume and
retain, until the completion of the constitution, a dictatorship, forced
upon it by the state of affairs, but that the monarchy being the form of
government necessary to the concentration of the forces of so great a
nation, the Assembly would immediately afterwards resume a division of
powers, and return to the forms of a monarchy.
XXV.
At this moment the captive king entered Paris. It was on the 25th of
June, at seven o'clock in the evening. From Meaux to the suburbs of
Paris, the crowd thickened in every place as the king passed. The
passions of the city, the Assembly, the press, and the clubs worked more
intensely, and even closer in this population of the environs of Paris.
These passions, written on every countenance, were repressed by their
very violence. Indignation and contempt controlled their rage. Insult
escaped them only in under tones; the populace was sinister, and not
furious. Thousands of glances darted death into the windows of the
carriages, but not one tongue uttered a threat.
This calmness of hatred did not escape the king; the day was burning
hot. A scorching sun, reflected by the pavement and the bayonets, was
almost suffocating in the berlin, where ten persons were squeezed
together. Volumes of dust, raised by the trampling of two or three
hundred thousand spectators, was the only veil which from time to time
covered the humiliation of the king and queen from the triumph of the
people. The sweat of the horses, the feverish breath of this multitude
compact and excited, made the atmosphere dense and fetid. The travellers
panted for breath, the foreheads of the two children were bathed in
perspiration. The queen, trembling for them, let down one of the windows
of the carriage quickly, and addressing the crowd in an appeal to their
compassion, "See, gentlemen," she exclaimed, "in what a state my poor
children are--one is choking!" "We will choke you in another fashion,"
replied these ferocious men in an under tone.
From time to time violent attempts of the mob broke through the line,
pushed aside the horses, and men reaching the doors mounted on the
steps. Merciless ruffians, looking in silence on the king, the queen,
and the dauphin, seemed calculating on final crimes, and feeding on the
degradation of royalty. Bodies of _gendarmerie_ restored order from time
to time. The procession resumed its way in the midst of the clashing of
sabres, and the cries of men trampled under the horses' hoofs. La
Fayette, who feared attempts and surprises in the streets of Paris,
desired general Damas, the commandant of the escort, not to traverse the
city. He placed troops in deep line on the boulevard from the barrier De
l'Etoile to the Tuileries. The national guard bordered this line. The
Swiss guards were also drawn up, but their flags no longer lowered
before their master. No military honour was paid to the supreme head of
the army. The national guards, resting on their arms, did not salute
them, but saw the _cortège_ pass by in an attitude of force,
indifference, and contempt.
XXVI.
The carriages entered in the garden of the Tuileries by the turning
bridge. La Fayette, on horseback at the head of his staff, had gone to
meet the procession, and now headed it. During his absence an immense
crowd had filled the garden, the terraces, and obstructed the gate of
the chateau. The escort had the greatest difficulty in forcing its way
through this tumultuous mass. They made every man keep his hat on. M. de
Guillermy, a member of the Assembly, alone remained uncovered, in spite
of the threats and insults which this mark of respect brought down upon
him. It was then that the queen, perceiving M. de La Fayette, and
fearing for her faithful body-guard sitting in the carriage, and
threatened by the people, exclaimed, "Monsieur de La Fayette, save the
_gardes du corps_."
The royal family descended from the carriage at the end of the terrace.
La Fayette received them from the hands of Barnave and Pétion. The
children were carried in the arms of the national guard. One of the
members of the left side of the Assembly, the vicomte de Noailles,
approached the queen with eagerness, and offered his arm. The queen
indignantly rejected it, and cast a look of contempt at the offer of
protection from an enemy, then perceiving a deputy of the right,
demanded his arm. So much degradation might depress, but could not
overcome her. The dignity of the empire displayed itself unabated in the
gesture and the heart of the woman.
The prolonged clamours of the crowd at the entrance of the king at the
Tuileries announced to the Assembly its triumph. The excitement
suspended the sitting for nearly half an hour. A deputy, rushing into
the meeting, exclaimed that three _gardes du corps_ were in the hands of
the people, who would rend them in pieces. Twenty _commissaires_ went
out at the moment to rescue them. They entered some minutes afterwards.
The riot had been appeased by them. They stated that they had seen
Pétion protecting with his person the door of the king's carriage.
Barnave entered, mounted the tribune, covered as he was with the dust of
his journey, and said, "We have fulfilled our mission to the honour of
France and the Assembly; we have assured the public tranquillity and the
safety of the king. The king has declared to us that he had no intention
of passing the boundaries of the kingdom. (Murmurs.) We advanced rapidly
as far as Meaux, in order to avoid the pursuit of M. de Bouillé's
troops. The national guards and the troops have done their duty. The
king is at the Tuileries."
Pétion added, in order to flatter public opinion, that when the carriage
stopped some persons had attempted to lay hands on the _gardes du
corps_, that he himself had been seized by the collar and dragged from
his place by the carriage door, but that this movement by the people was
legal in its intention, and had no other object than to enforce the
execution of the law which had ordered the arrest of the accomplices of
the court. It was decreed that information should be drawn up by the
tribunal of the _arrondissement_ of the Tuileries concerning the king's
flight, and that three commissioners appointed by the Assembly should
receive the declarations of the king and queen. "What means this
obsequious exception?" exclaimed Robespierre. "Do you fear to degrade
royalty by handing over the king and queen to ordinary tribunals? A
citizen, a _citoyenne_, any man, any dignity, how elevated soever, can
never be degraded by the law." Buzot supported this opinion; Duport
opposed it. Respect prevailed over outrage. The commissioners named were
Tronchet, Dandré, and Duport.
XXVII.
Once more in his own apartments, Louis XVI. measured with a glance the
depth of his fall. La Fayette presented himself with all the demeanour
of regret and respect, but with the reality of command. "Your majesty,"
said he to the king, "knows my attachment for your royal person, but at
the same time you are not ignorant that if you separated yourself from
the cause of the people, I should side with the people." "That is true,"
replied the king. "You follow your principles--this is a party matter,
and I tell you frankly, that until lately I had believed you had
surrounded me by a turbulent faction of persons of your own way of
thinking in order to mislead me, but that yours was not the real opinion
of France. I have learnt during my journey that I was deceived, and that
this was the general wish." "Has your majesty any orders to give me?"
replied La Fayette. "It seems to me," retorted the king with a smile,
"that I am more at your orders than you are at mine."
The queen allowed the bitterness of her ill-restrained resentment to
display itself. She wished to force on M. de La Fayette the keys of her
caskets, which were in the carriages: he refused. She insisted; and when
he was firm in his refusal, she placed them in his hat with her own
hands. "Your majesty will have the goodness to take them back," said M.
de La Fayette, "for I shall not touch them." "Well, then," answered the
queen, "I shall find persons less delicate than you." The king entered
his closet, wrote several letters, and gave them to a footman, who
presented them to La Fayette for inspection. The general appeared
indignant that he should be deemed capable of such an unworthy office as
acting the spy over the king's acts; he was desirous that the thraldom
of the monarch should at least preserve the outward appearance of
liberty.
The service of the chateau went on as usual; but La Fayette gave the
pass-word without first receiving it from the king. The iron gates of
the courts and gardens were locked. The royal family submitted to La
Fayette the list of persons whom they desired to receive. Sentinels were
placed at every door, in every passage, in the corridors between the
chambers of the king and queen. The doors of these chambers were
constantly kept open--even the queen's bed was inspected. Every place,
the most sacred, was suspected; female modesty was in no wise respected.
The gestures, looks, and words of the king and queen all were watched,
spied, and noted. They were obliged to manage by stealth some secret
interviews. An officer of the guard passed twenty-four hours at a time
at the end of a dark corridor, which was placed behind the apartment of
the queen's,--a single lamp lighted it, like the vault of a dungeon.
This post, detested by the officers on service, was sought after by the
devotion of some of them; they affected zeal, in order to cloak their
respect. Saint Prix, a celebrated actor of the Théâtre Français,
frequently accepted this post,--he favoured the hasty interviews of the
king, his wife, and sister.
In the evening one of the queen's women moved her bed between that of
her mistress and the open door of the apartment, that she might thus
conceal her from the eyes of the sentinels. One night the commandant of
the guard, who watched between the two doors, seeing that this woman was
asleep, and the queen was awake, ventured to approach the couch of his
royal mistress, and gave her in a low tone some information and advice
as to her situation. This conversation aroused the sleeping attendant,
who, alarmed at seeing a man in uniform close to the royal bed, was
about to call aloud, when the queen desired her to be silent, saying,
"Do not alarm yourself; this is a good Frenchman, who is mistaken as to
the intentions of the king and myself, but whose conversation betokens a
sincere attachment to his masters."
Providence thus made some of their persecutors to convey some
consolation to the victims. The king, so resigned, so unmoved, was bowed
for a moment beneath the weight of so many troubles--so much
humiliation. Such was his mental occupation, that he remained for ten
days without exchanging a word with one of his family. His last struggle
with misfortune seemed to have exhausted his strength. He felt himself
vanquished, and desired, it would almost seem, to die by anticipation.
The queen, throwing herself at his feet, and presenting to him his
children, forced him to break this mournful silence. "Let us," she
exclaimed, "preserve all our fortitude, in order to sustain this long
struggle with fortune. If our destruction be inevitable, there is still
left to us the choice of how we will perish; let us perish as
sovereigns, and do not let us wait without resistance, and without
vengeance, until they come and strangle us on the very floor of our own
apartments!" The queen had the heart of a hero; Louis XVI. had the soul
of a sage; but the genius which combines wisdom with valour was wanting
to both: the one knew how to struggle--the other knew how to
submit--neither knew how to reign.
XXVIII.
The effect of this flight, had it succeeded, would have wholly changed
the aspect of the Revolution. Instead of having in the king, captive in
Paris, an instrument and a victim, the Revolution would have had in an
emancipated king, an enemy or a mediator; instead of being an anarchy,
she would have had a civil war; instead of having massacres, she would
have gained victories; she would have triumphed by arms, and not by
executions.
Never did the fate of so many men and so many ideas depend so plainly on
a chance! And yet this was not a chance. Drouet was the means of the
king's destruction: if he had not recognised the monarch from his
resemblance with his portrait on the assignats--if he had not rode with
all speed, and reached Varennes before the carriages, in two hours more
the king and his family must have been saved. Drouet, this obscure son
of a post-master, sauntering and idle that evening before the door of a
cottage, decided the fate of a monarchy. He took the advice of no one
but himself--he set off, saying, "I will arrest the king." But Drouet
would not have had this decisive impulse if, at this moment, as it were,
he had not personified in himself all the agitation and all the
suspicions of the people. It was the fanaticism of his country which
impelled him, unknown to himself, to Varennes, and which urged him to
sacrifice a whole family of fugitives to what he believed to be the
safety of the nation.
He had not received instructions from anyone; he took upon himself alone
the arrest and the death that ensued. His devotion to his country was
cruel: his silence and commiseration would have drawn down minor
calamities.
As to the king himself, this flight was in him a fault if not a crime:
it was too soon or too late. Too late--for the king had already too far
sanctioned the Revolution, to turn suddenly against it without appearing
to betray his people and give himself the lie; too soon--for the
constitution which the National Assembly was drawing up was not yet
completed, the government was not yet pronounced powerless; and the foes
of the king and his family were not yet so decidedly menaced that the
care of his safety as a man should surpass his duties as a king. In case
of success, Louis XVI. had none but foreign forces to recover his
kingdom; in case of arrest, he found only a prison in his palace. On
which side soever we view it, flight was fatal--it was the road to shame
or to the scaffold. There is but one route by which to flee a throne and
not to die--abdication. On his return from Varennes, the king should
have abdicated. The Revolution would have adopted his son, and have
educated it in its own image. He did not abdicate--he consented to
accept the pardon of his people; he swore to execute a constitution from
which he had fled. He was a king in a state of amnesty. Europe beheld in
him but a fugitive from his throne led back to his punishment, the
nation but a traitor, and the Revolution but a plaything.