King and the Assembly of what was in the air. All day he tried his best
to quiet the people and induce them to give up the march. He forbade the
National Guards to leave their posts, and at first they obeyed him. But
presently deputation after deputation came to him. “General,” said one
of his men, “we do not think you a traitor; but we think the government
betrays you. It is time that this end. We cannot turn our bayonets
against women crying to us for bread. The people are miserable; the
source of the mischief is at Versailles; we must go seek the King and
bring him to Paris.”
That was the view of the Guards, and it grew more and more positive.
Armed crowds were leaving the city, dragging cannon, and at last the
Guards surrounded their commander and declared their intention to march
and to take him with them. So finally Lafayette set out for Versailles,
preceded and followed by an immense rabble of men and women.
Meantime the couriers sent by Lafayette to Versailles had reported the
news of the march of the mob. The Assembly could think of nothing that
would pacify the people, and contented itself with sending messengers to
the King, who happened to be hunting in the Versailles forests. Louis
returned to his palace to find his body-guards, the Swiss and the
Flanders Regiment, drawn up in the courtyards as though to withstand a
siege.
In the middle of the afternoon the first crowd of women, led by Maillard
beating his drum, arrived at Versailles. Some marched to the Assembly
and shouted to the deputies to pass laws at once that should lower the
price of bread. Others paraded through the streets, and still others
went to the palace to see the King, who received them very kindly and
tried to assure them that he entirely agreed with all their wishes.
But the royal family had taken alarm and wanted to fly from the
palace. Their carriages were ordered out, and the body-guards placed
in readiness to serve as escort. This plan became known, however, and
when the carriages drove out from the great stables some of the National
Guards themselves seized the horses’ heads and turned them back.
The National Assembly itself was in an uproar. The President, Mounier,
left the chamber to see the King, and when he came back he found a fat
fishwoman making a speech to the crowd from his own chair. The Assembly
had taken power and authority away from the King; now the mob was bent
on doing the same thing to the Assembly.
At eleven o’clock that evening Lafayette reached Versailles with his
National Guards and the rest of the rabble from Paris. On the way he
had tried to curb the rougher part of the crowd and had made his troops
stop and renew their oaths of allegiance “to the nation, the law, and
the King.” He went at once to the palace to receive King Louis’ orders,
but the Swiss guards would not let him enter until he agreed to go
in without any of the people from Paris. When he did enter he found
the halls and rooms filled with courtiers. One of them, seeing him,
exclaimed, “Here is Cromwell!” Lafayette answered instantly, “Cromwell
would not have entered alone.”
The King received him cordially, and told him to guard the outside
of the palace, leaving the inside to the protection of the royal
body-guards. Lafayette then saw that his men were bivouacked for the
night, quieted noisy marchers, and felt that, at least for the time,
Versailles was at rest. Worn out with the day’s exertions the Marquis
finally got a chance to sleep.
Early next day, however, the mob burst forth again. A crowd fell to
disputing with the royal body-guards at one of the gates to the palace,
rushed the soldiers, and broke into the inner court. Up the stairs they
streamed, killing the guards that tried to oppose them. Marie Antoinette
had barely time to fly from her room to that of the King before the
rioters reached her apartment, crying out threats against her.
As soon as he heard of all this Lafayette sent two companies of soldiers
to clear the mob from the palace. When he arrived himself he found the
people all shouting “To Paris!” He saw at once that his National Guards
were not to be trusted to oppose the crowd, and urged the King to agree
to go to Paris. Louis consented, and Lafayette went out on the balcony
and announced the King’s decision.
This appeased the throng somewhat, and Lafayette asked the King to
appear on the balcony with him. Louis stepped out and was greeted with
cheers of “_Vive le roi!_” Then Lafayette said to the Queen, “What are
your intentions, madame?”
“I know the fate which awaits me,” answered Marie Antoinette, “but my
duty is to die at the feet of the King and in the arms of my children.”
“Well, madame, come with me,” said Lafayette.
“What! Alone on the balcony? Have you not seen the signs which have been
made to me?”
“Yes, madame, but let us go.”
Marie Antoinette agreed, and stepped out with her children. The crowd
cried, “No children!” and they were sent back. The mob was making too
much noise for Lafayette to speak to them, so instead he took the
Queen’s hand, and, bowing low, kissed it. The crowd, always ready to go
from one extreme to another, immediately set up shouts of “Long live the
General! Long live the Queen!”
King Louis then asked Lafayette about the safety of his body-guards.
Lafayette stuck a tricolor cockade in the hat of one of these soldiers,
and taking him on to the balcony, embraced him. The mob’s answer was
cheers of “_Vive les gardes du corps!_”
So peace was restored for the time. Fifty thousand people marched back
to Paris, the King and the royal family in their carriage, Lafayette
riding beside them. Close to them marched the royal body-guards, and
close to the latter came the National Guards. And the crowd shouted with
exultation at having forced their sovereign to do their will.
At the gates of the city the mayor met the procession and made a
patriotic address. From there they went to the Hôtel de Ville, where
more speeches were made, and it was late in the day before Louis XVI.
and Marie Antoinette and their children were allowed to take refuge in
the Palace of the Tuileries.
Lafayette, who had played with the Queen and her friends in the gardens
at Versailles when he was a boy, had stood by her loyally on that day
when the mob had vowed vengeance against her. He believed in liberty and
constitutional government, but he also believed in order. He wanted to
protect the weak and defenseless, and he hated the excesses of the mob.
He thought he could reproduce in France what he had seen accomplished
in America. But conditions were too different. The people of France had
been ground down too long by their nobles. Their first taste of liberty
had gone to their heads like strong wine. So, like a boat that has lost
its rudder, the ship of state of France plunged on to the whirlpool of
the French Revolution.
X
STORM-CLOUDS OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
King Louis XVI., Queen Marie Antoinette, and their children were now
virtually prisoners in the Palace of the Tuileries in Paris, the nobles
were leaving France for their own safety, and the Assembly was trying
to govern the country. But the Assembly was very large and unwieldy,
and its members were more interested in making speeches denouncing the
present laws than in trying to frame new ones. Lafayette was commander
of the National Guard, and so in a way the most powerful man in France,
although the most able statesman and leader was Mirabeau. Occasionally
Lafayette found time to attend the meetings of the Assembly, and at one
of these sessions a deputy demanded that all titles of nobility should
be abolished. Another member objected, saying that merit ought to be
recognized, and asking what could be put in the place of the words,
“Such a one has been made noble and count for having saved the State on
such a day.”
Lafayette rose at once to answer. “Suppress the words ‘made noble and
count,’” said he; “say only, ‘Such a one saved the State on such a day.’
It seems to me that these words have something of an American character,
precious fruit of the New World, which ought to aid much in rejuvenating
the old one.”
The measure was carried immediately, and Lafayette dropped from his
name both the “marquis” and the “de.” He never used them again; and
when, after the French Revolution was over, all titles were restored,
Lafayette, steadfast to his convictions, never called himself or allowed
himself to be addressed as the Marquis de Lafayette, but was always
known simply as General Lafayette.
Lafayette did all he could to ease the difficult position of King
Louis, though relations between the two men were necessarily strained,
since the King could hardly look with pleasure on the commander of the
National Guard, who held his office from the Assembly and people and
not from the crown. Louis chafed at having to stay in the Tuileries and
wanted to go hunting in the country, but the people would not allow
this. And it fell to Lafayette to urge the King to show as little
discontent as possible, which naturally made the sovereign resentful
toward the General.
During the winter of 1789-90 Lafayette was busy trying to keep order
in Paris and drilling the Guard. He sent the Duke of Orleans, who had
been stirring up the worst elements to dethrone Louis XVI. and make him
king instead, in exile from the country. Violent bread riots broke out
and mobs tried to pillage the convents, but Lafayette and his Guards
prevented much damage being done. It took all his tact and perseverance
to handle these soldiers under his command; they were quick-tempered
and restive under any authority, and only too ready to follow the last
excitable speaker they had heard. Lafayette said to his officers,
“We are lost if the service continues to be conducted with such great
inexactitude. We are the only soldiers of the Revolution; we alone
should defend the royal family from every attack; we alone should
establish the liberty of the representatives of the nation; we are the
only guardians of the public treasury. France, all Europe, have fixed
their eyes on the Parisians. A disturbance in Paris, an attack made
through our negligence on these sacred institutions, would dishonor us
forever, and bring upon us the hatred of the provinces.”
He did not want any great office or power for himself, his desires were
always very much like those of George Washington, he simply wanted to
serve the sacred cause of liberty. Yet he was at that time the most
powerful and the most popular man in France. The court, though it
disliked him as the representative of the people, depended on him for
its personal safety. The Assembly relied on him as its guardian, the
soldiers trusted him as their commander, and the people considered him
their bulwark against any return to the old despotism.
Through all this time he wrote regularly to Washington, and when, by his
orders, the Bastille was torn down he sent the keys of the fortress to
his friend at Mount Vernon. The keys were sent, he wrote, as a tribute
from “a son to an adopted father, an aide-de-camp to his general, a
missionary of liberty to her patriarch.”
On the first anniversary of the storming of the Bastille, July 14,
1790, a great celebration was held in Paris. A vast crowd of more than
three hundred thousand persons, including the court, the Assembly, the
National Guard, and men from the provinces as well as from the city, met
in the amphitheatre of the Champs de Mars to swear obedience to the new
constitution which was to govern them all. First Louis XVI. took the
oath, and then Lafayette, who was made for that day commander-in-chief
of all the armed forces of France, stepped forward, placed the point of
his sword on the altar, and took the oath as the representative of the
French people. A great roar of voices greeted the commander’s words.
But although Lafayette meant to remain faithful to the principles of a
constitutional monarchy, the mass of his countrymen soon showed that
they had no such intention. Disorder and rioting grew more frequent,
the people demanded more of the Assembly than the latter felt it could
grant, the Guards grew increasingly unpopular as the symbol of a law
and order the mob did not like. Within the Assembly itself there were
many quarrels and wrangles; sometimes the mob vented its feelings on
an unpopular member by attacking his house. And as often as not the
National Guards, when they were sent to protect property, joined with
the crowd and helped to destroy it instead.
In February, 1791, a crowd from Paris attacked the fortress of
Vincennes, which had once been a state prison, but had been unused
for some time. Lafayette, with his staff and a considerable number of
National Guards, marched out to the place, quelled the disturbance, and
arrested sixty of the ringleaders. When he brought his prisoners back to
the city he found the gates of the Faubourg St. Antoine closed against
him, and he had to threaten to blow the gates open with cannon before
the people would allow him to enter. All the way to the Conciergerie,
where he took his prisoners, the General and his soldiers were targets
for the abuse of the crowds.
On the same day some of the nobles who lived in the neighborhood of the
royal palace of the Tuileries, hearing of the attack at Vincennes,
thought that the King might also be in danger, and went to the palace,
armed with pistols and daggers. This angered the National Guards who
were posted about the Tuileries and who thought that the noblemen were
poaching on their territory. The King had to appear in person to settle
the dispute, and even then some of the nobles were maltreated by the
soldiers. Immediately revolutionary orators made use of the incident
to inflame the people’s mind, representing that the King’s friends had
planned to murder officers of the Guards.
It was clear that the National Guards were growing less and less
trustworthy, and equally evident that the people of Paris were becoming
more and more hostile to their King. Louis disliked staying at the
Tuileries, where he was constantly under the eyes of enemies, and at
Easter decided to go to the palace of St. Cloud, which was near Paris,
and celebrate the day there. Word of this got abroad, and the people
grumbled; more than that they said that Louis should not go to St.
Cloud.
On the morning of April eighteenth the King and his family entered their
traveling-carriage, only to have an angry crowd seize the horses’ heads
and forbid the King to move. Louis appealed to the National Guards
who were in attendance, but the soldiers took the side of the people
and helped to block the way. The mob swarmed close to the carriage,
insulting the King and his servants. Louis had courage. He put his head
out at the window and cried, “It would be an astonishing thing, if,
after having given liberty to the nation, I myself should not be free!”
At this point Lafayette and the mayor, Bailly, arrived, and urged
the mob and the Guards to keep the peace and disperse. The crowd was
obstinate; most of the Guards were openly rebellious. Then Lafayette
went to the royal carriage, and offered to use force to secure the
King’s departure if Louis would give the word. The King answered
promptly, “It is for you, sir, to see to what is necessary for the due
fulfilment of your constitution.” Again Lafayette turned to the mob and
addressed it, but it showed no intention of obeying his orders, and at
last he had to tell Louis that it would be dangerous for him to drive
forth. So the King and his family returned to the Tuileries, fully
aware now that they were prisoners of the people and could not count on
the protection of the troops.
Everywhere it was now said that the King must obey “the supreme will of
the people.” Louis protested; he went to the National Assembly and told
the deputies that he expected them to protect his liberty; but Mirabeau,
the leader who had used his influence on behalf of the sovereign in
earlier meetings, was dead, and the party of Robespierre held the upper
hand. The Assembly had no intention of opposing the people, and paid
little heed to the King’s demands.
Lafayette saw that a general whose troops would not obey him was a
useless officer, and sent in his resignation as commander of the Guards.
But the better element in Paris wanted him to stay, and the more loyal
of the troops begged him to resume his command. No one could fill his
place, and so he agreed to take the office again. He went to the Commune
of Paris and addressed its members. “We are citizens, gentlemen, we
are free,” said he; “but without obedience to the law, there is only
confusion, anarchy, despotism; and if this capital, the cradle of
the Revolution, instead of surrounding with intelligence and respect
the depositaries of national power, should besiege them with tumult,
or fatigue them with violence, it would cease to be the example of
Frenchmen, it would risk becoming their terror.”
The Commune applauded his words, and he went forth again as
Commander-in-chief, the Guards taking a new oath to obey the laws. But
at the same time the Jacobins, or revolutionaries, placarded the walls
of Paris with praises of the soldiers who had rebelled and feasted them
as models of patriotism.
Meantime King Louis and his closest friends determined that the royal
family must escape from the Tuileries. Careful plans were laid and
a number of the nobles were told of them. Rumors of the intended
escape got abroad, but such rumors had been current for the past year.
Lafayette heard them and spoke of them to the King, who assured him that
he had no such design. Lafayette went to the mayor, Bailly, and the two
men discussed the rumor, concluding that there was nothing more to it
than to the earlier stories.
The night of June twentieth was the time chosen by the King and his
intimate friends. Marie Antoinette placed her children in the care of
Madame de Tourzel, her companion, saying, “The King and I, madame, place
in your hands, with the utmost confidence, all that we hold dear in the
world. Everything is ready; go.” Madame de Tourzel and the children went
out to a carriage, driven by the Count de Fersen, and rode along the
quays to a place that had been decided on as the rendezvous.
Lafayette and Bailly had spent the evening with the King. As soon as
they had gone, to disarm suspicion Louis undressed and got into bed.
Then he got up again, put on a disguise, and walked down the main
staircase and out at the door. He reached his carriage, and waited a
short time for the Queen, who presently joined him; and then the royal
couple drove out of Paris.
The flight was not discovered until about six o’clock in the morning.
Then Lafayette hurried to the Tuileries with Bailly. He found that a
mob had already gathered there, vowing vengeance on all who had had
charge of the King. With difficulty he rescued the officer who had
been on guard the night before. He sent messengers in every direction
with orders to stop the royal fugitives. He went to the Assembly, and
addressed it. At the Jacobin Club, Danton, the fiery orator, declared,
“The commander-general promised on his head that the King would not
depart; therefore we must have the person of the King or the head of
Monsieur the commander-general!” But Lafayette’s reputation was still
too great for him to be reached by his enemies.
The unfortunate royal family were finally arrested at Varennes and
brought back to Paris. Louis was received in an ominous silence by his
people. Lafayette met him at the gates and escorted him back to the
palace. There Lafayette said, “Sire, your Majesty is acquainted with my
personal attachment; but I have not allowed you to be unaware that if
you separated your cause from that of the people I should remain on the
side of the people.”
“That is true,” answered King Louis. “You have acted according to your
principles; it is an affair of party. At present, here I am. I will tell
you frankly, that up to these last days, I believed myself to be in a
vortex of people of your opinion with whom you surrounded me, but that
it was not the opinion of France. I have thoroughly recognized in this
journey that I was mistaken, and that this opinion is the general one.”
When Lafayette asked the King for his orders, the latter laughed and
said, “It seems to me that I am more at your orders than you are at
mine.”
The commander did all that he could to soften the hard position of the
royal captives, but he took care to see that the Tuileries was better
guarded after that.
Some Jacobins now petitioned the Assembly to dethrone the King, and
a great meeting was held in the Champs de Mars on the seventeenth
of July. As usual the meeting got out of hand and the mob turned to
murder and pillage. Lafayette and Bailly rode to the field with some of
their soldiers; Bailly proclaimed martial law and ordered the crowd to
disperse. Jeers and threats followed, and at last Lafayette had to give
his men the command to fire. A dozen of the mob were killed, and the
rest took to flight.
This seemed to bring peace again, but it was only the quiet that
precedes the thunder-storm. The Assembly finished its work on the
new constitution for France and the King signed it. Then Lafayette,
tired with his constant labors, resigned his commission and stated his
intention of retiring to private life. Paris voted him a medal and a
marble statue of Washington, and the National Guards presented him with
a sword forged from the bolts of the Bastille. At last he rode back
to his country home at Chavaniac, looking forward to rest there as
Washington looked for rest at his beloved Mount Vernon.
To friends at his home in Auvergne the General said, “You see me
restored to the place of my birth; I shall leave it only to defend or
consolidate our common liberty, if attacked, and I hope to remain here
for long.” He believed that the new constitution would bring liberty
and peace to his country. But the French Revolution had only begun its
course, and he was destined soon to be called back to its turmoil.
He had several months of rest in his home in the mountains, happy months
for his wife, who for two years had hardly ever seen her husband leave
their house in Paris without fearing that he might not return. She had
been a wonderful helpmate for the General during the turbulent course
of events since his return from America and had loyally entertained
the guests of every varying shade of political opinion who had flocked
to his house in the capital. But she liked to have her husband away
from the alarms of Paris and safe in the quiet of his country home at
Chavaniac. There he had more time to spend with her and their three
children, Anastasie, George Washington, and Virginia, who had been named
after the State where her father had won his military laurels.
The Legislative Assembly of France, which was trying to govern the
country under the new constitution, was finding the making of laws which
should satisfy every one a very difficult task. There were countless
cliques and parties, and each had its own pet scheme for making the
land a Utopia. The court party hoped that the more reckless element
would lose all hold on the people through its very extravagance, and so
actually encouraged many wildly absurd projects. The royalists were
always expecting that a counter-revolution would bring them back into
power, and the nobles who had left the country filled the border-towns
and plotted and conspired and used their influence to induce foreign
sovereigns to interfere and restore the old order in France. Naturally
enough news of these plots and conspiracies did not tend to make King
Louis or his nobles any more popular with the lawgivers in Paris.
In August, 1791, the King of Prussia and the Emperor of Austria met the
Count d’Artois and the Marquis de Bouillé at the town of Pilnitz and
formed an alliance against France, making the cause of Louis XVI. their
own. The royalists who had emigrated were delighted, and filled Europe
with statements of what they meant to do to the revolutionary leaders
when they won back their power. The revolutionists grew more and more
angry, and as they saw foreign troops gathering on the French frontiers
they decided that it was high time to oppose force with force. Narbonne,
the Minister of War, announced that the King and government meant to
form three armies of fifty thousand men each, and that the country had
chosen as commanding generals Rochambeau, Luckner, and Lafayette.