The Clouds Gather
Occasionally and at considerable intervals Harry received letters
from his father. The latter said that there was great excitement
in England over the events which had taken place in France, and
that his mother was rendered extremely anxious by the news of the
attacks upon chateaux, and the state of tumult and lawlessness
which prevailed. They thought he had better resign his situation
and return home.
Harry in his replies made light of the danger, and said that after
having been treated so kindly it would be most ungrateful of him
to break the engagement he had made for three years, and leave his
friends at the present moment. Indeed, he, like all around him,
was filled with the excitement of the time. In spite of the almost
universal confusion and disorder, life went on quietly and calmly
at the chateau. The establishment was greatly reduced, for few of
the tenants paid their rents; but the absence of ceremonial brought
the family closer together, and the marquis and his wife agreed that
they had never spent a happier time than the spring and summer of
1791.
The news of the failure of the king's attempt at flight on the
20th of June was a great shock to the marquis. "A king should never
fly," he said; "above all, he should never make an abortive attempt
at flight. It is lamentable that he should be so ill-advised."
At the end of September the elections to the Legislative Assembly as
it was now to be called, resulted in the return of men even more
extreme and violent than those whom they succeeded.
"We must go to Paris," the marquis said one day towards the end of
October. "The place for a French nobleman now is beside the king."
"And that of his wife beside the queen," the marquise said quietly.
"I cannot say no," the marquis replied. "I wish you could have stayed
with the children, but they need fear no trouble here. Ernest is
nearly seventeen, and may well begin, in my absence, to represent
me. I think we can leave the chateau without anxiety, but even were
it not so it would still be our duty to go."
"There is another thing I want to speak to you about before we
start," the marquise said. "Jeanne is no longer a child, although
we still regard her as one; she is fifteen, and she is graver
and more earnest than most girls of her age. It seems ridiculous
to think of such a thing, but it is clear that she has made this
English lad her hero. Do you not think it better that he should
go? It would be unfortunate in the extreme that she should get to
have any serious feelings for him."
"I have noticed it too, Julie," the marquis said, "and have smiled
to myself to see how the girl listens gravely to all he says, but
I am not disposed to send him away. In the first place, he has done
a great deal of good to the boys, more even than I had hoped for.
Ernest now thinks and speaks for himself, his ideas are broader, his
views wider. He was fitted before for the regime that has passed;
he is rapidly becoming fit to take his part in that which is to
come.
"In the next place, my dear, you must remember the times have
changed. Mademoiselle Jeanne de St. Caux, daughter of a peer and
noble of France, was infinitely removed from the son of an English
doctor; but we seem to be approaching the end of all things;
and although so far the law for the abolition of titles has been
disregarded here, you must prepare yourself to find that in Paris
you will be no longer addressed by your title, and I shall be
Monsieur de St. Caux; or may be they will object both to the de
and the St., and I shall find myself plain Monsieur Caux."
"Oh, Edouard!" the marquise exclaimed aghast.
"I am quite in earnest, my dear, I can assure you. You will say
she is still the heiress of a portion of our estates, but who can
say how long the estates will remain after the title is gone? Just
as the gentlemen of the pave object to titles because they have
none themselves, so being penniless they will object to property,
and for aught I know may decree a general division of lands and
goods."
"Impossible, Edouard!"
"Not at all impossible, Julie. The beggars are on horseback, and
they intend to ride. Last week I called in from my bankers, all
the cash at my disposal, about five thousand louis, and to-morrow
du Tillet is going to start for Holland. He will hand it over to
a banker there to forward to Dr. Sandwith, to whom I have written
asking him to undertake the charge. If you will take my advice you
will forward at the same time all your jewelry. If things go wrong
it will keep us in our old age and furnish a dot for our daughters.
"The jewels of the St. Caux have always been considered as equal
to those of any family in France, and are certainly worth half a
million francs even to sell. Keep a few small trinkets, and send
all the others away. But I have wandered from my subject. Under
these circumstances I think it as well that we should not interfere
in the matter you speak of. Personally one could not wish for a
better husband for one of our daughters than this young Englishman
would make.
"His father is a gentleman, and so is he, and in such times as
are coming I should be glad to know that one of my girls had such
a protector as he would make her; but this is, as you said at first,
almost ridiculous. He is two years older than she is, but in some
respects she is the elder; he regards her as a pretty child, and
all his thoughts are given to his studies and his sports.
"He has something of the English barbarian left in him, and is
absolutely indifferent to Jeanne's preference. A French lad at his
age would be flattered. This English boy does not notice it, or if
he notices it regards it as an exhibition of gratitude, which he
could well dispense with, for having saved her life.
"You can leave them with a tranquil heart, my dear. I will answer
for it that never in his inmost heart has the idea of his ever
making love to Jeanne occurred to this English lad. Lastly I should
be sorry for him to leave, because his good spirits and cheerfulness
are invaluable at present. Ernest is apt to be gloomy and depressed,
and cheerfulness is at a premium in France at present. Moreover,
should there be any difficulty or danger while we are absent I trust
very much to that lad's good sense and courage. That incident of
the dog showed how quick he is to plan and how prompt to carry his
plans into effect. It may seem absurd when there are several of
our staunch and tried friends here to rely in any way on a lad,
but I do so. Not, of course, as before our faithful friends, but
as one whose aid is not to be despised."
Thus it happened that on the same day that the marquis started for
Paris, M. du Tillet set out from the chateau taking with him some
trunks and packages which appeared but of little value and were
not likely to attract attention, but which contained a considerable
sum of money and the famous St. Caux jewels.
Life at the chateau was dull after the departure of its heads. They
had few visitors now; the most frequent among them being Victor
de Gisons. The estates of the duke, his father, adjoined those of
the marquis, and between him and Marie a marriage had long before
been arranged by their parents. For once the inclination of the
young people agreed with the wishes of the elders, and they were
warmly attached to each other. No formal betrothal, however, had
as yet taken place, the troubles of the times having caused its
postponement, although formerly it had been understood that in the
present autumn the marriage should be celebrated.
The young count had at the assembly of the States General been
a prominent liberal, and had been one of those who had taken his
seat with the third estate and had voted for the abolition of the
special privileges of the nobility, but the violence of the Assembly
had alarmed and disgusted him, and in the winter he had left Paris
and returned to his father's estates.
Ernest and Harry studied with the abbe, and fenced and rode as usual
with M. du Tillet after his return from Holland. The ever-darkening
cloud weighed upon their spirits, and yet life at the chateau was
pleasant. The absence of their parents and the general feeling of
anxiety knit the rest of the family closer together. Much of the
ceremonial observance which had, on his first arrival, surprised
and amused Harry was now laid aside. Marie, happy in the visits
of her lover and at the prospect of her approaching marriage, did
her best to make the house cheerful. Harry, who had not much liked
her at first, now found her most pleasant and agreeable, and the
younger girls walked in the grounds with their brothers and chatted
when they were gathered in the evening just as Harry's sisters had
done at home. Jeanne was, if the group broke up, generally Harry's
companion. Ever since the affair of the mad dog she had treated
him as her special friend, adopting all his opinions and falling
in with any suggestion he might make with a readiness which caused
Ernest one day to say laughingly to Harry:
"One would think, Harry that you were Jeanne's elder brother, not
I. She listens to you with a good deal more deference than she does
to me."
The winter came and went. From time to time letters arrived from
Paris, but the news was always in the same strain. Things were going
worse and worse, the king was little more than a prisoner in the
hands of the people of Paris. The violence of the Assembly was
ever on the increase, the mob of Paris were the real masters of
the situation, the greater part of the nobility had fled, and any
who appeared in the streets were liable to insult.
The feeling in the provinces kept pace with that in Paris. Committees
were formed in every town and village and virtually superseded the
constituted authorities. Numbers of chateaux were burned, and the
peasants almost universally refused any longer to pay the dues to
their seigneurs. But at present none dreamt of personal danger.
The nobles who emigrated did so because they found the situation
intolerable, and hoped that an army would be shortly raised and
set in motion by foreign powers to put down the movement which
constituted a danger to kings, nobles, and property all over Europe.
But as yet there was nothing to foreshadow the terrible events
which were to take place, or to indicate that a movement, which
began in the just demand of an oppressed people for justice and
fair treatment, would end in that people becoming a bloodthirsty
rabble, eager to destroy all who were above them in birth, education,
or intellect.
Therefore, although the Marquis de St. Caux foresaw the possibility
of confiscation of the property and abolition of all the privileges
of the nobility, he was under no uneasiness whatever as to the
safety of his children. His instructions were precise: that if a
small party of peasants attacked the chateau, and it was evident
that a successful resistance could be made, M. du Tillet should
send word down to the mayor of Dijon and ask for help, and should,
with the servants of the chateau, defend it; if it was attacked by
a large mob, no resistance was to be offered, but he was to abandon
it at once and journey to Paris with the children. But the time
went on without disturbance. In Dijon as elsewhere a committee
had been formed and had taken into its hands the entire control of
the management of the town. At its head was the son of the mayor,
Monsieur Lebat.
"I do not understand that young fellow," M. du Tillet said one day
on his return from Dijon. "I do not like him; he is ambitious and
pushing, he is the leader of the advanced party in Dijon, and is
in communication with the most violent spirits in Paris, but I am
bound to say that he appears most anxious to be of service to the
family. Whenever I see him he assures me of his devotion to the
marquis. To-day, Mademoiselle Marie, he prayed me to assure you
that you need feel no uneasiness, for that he held the mob in his
hand, and would answer for it that no hostile movement should be
made against the chateau, and in fact I know, for I have taken the
precaution of buying the services of a man who is upon the committee,
that Lebat has actually exerted himself to benefit us.
"It has several times been urged by the most violent section that
the mob should be incited to attack the chateau, but he has each
time successfully opposed the proposition. He has declared that while
no one is more hostile than himself to the privileges of seigneury,
and while he would not only abolish the nobles as a class but
confiscate their possessions, he considers that in the case of the
marquis nothing should be done until a decree to that effect is
passed by the Assembly.
"Until that time, he argues, the people should discriminate. The
chateaux of tyrants should be everywhere levelled to the ground,
but it would be unworthy of the people to take measures of vengeance
against those who have not notably ground down those dependent upon
them, and that, as the marquis has not pushed the privilege of his
class to the utmost, his chateau and property should be respected
until the Assembly pass a decree upon the subject."
"I am sure we are much indebted to this Monsieur Lebat," Marie
said. "He was here at the hunting party and seemed a worthy young
man of his class. Of course he was out of place among us, but for
a man in his position he seemed tolerable."
"Yes," Monsieur du Tillet agreed, but in a somewhat doubtful tone
of voice. "So far as assurances go there is nothing to be desired,
and he has, as I said, so far acted loyally up to them, and
yet somehow I do not like him. It strikes me that he is playing a
game, although what that game is I cannot say. At anyrate I do
not trust him; he speaks smoothly but I think he has a double face,
and that he is cruel and treacherous."
"That is not like you, Monsieur du Tillet," Marie laughed, "you
who generally have a good word for everyone. It seems to me that
you are hard upon the young man, who appears to be animated by
excellent sentiments towards us."
Spring came again. M. du Tillet learned that the mob of Dijon were
becoming more and more violent, and that spies and watchmen had
been told off to see that none of the family attempted to fly for
the frontier. He therefore wrote to the marquis urging that it
would be better that the family should move to Paris, where they
would be in no danger. In reply he received a letter begging him
to start as soon as the roads were fit for travel.
About the same time Victor de Gisons received a summons from his
father to join him in Paris.
The messenger who brought the letter to M. du Tillet brought one
also for Marie from the marquise, saying that the heads of both
families were of opinion that the marriage must be still further
postponed, as in the present state of affairs all private plans and
interests must be put aside in view of the dangers that surrounded
the king. Marie acquiesced in the decision, and bade her lover
adieu calmly and bravely.
"They are quite right, Victor; I have felt for some time that when
France was on the verge of a precipice it was not the time for her
nobles to be marrying. Noblesse oblige. If we were two peasants
we might marry and be happy. As it is we must wait, even though we
know that waiting may never come to an end. I have a conviction,
Victor, that our days of happiness are over, and that terrible
things are about to happen."
"But nothing that can happen can separate us, Marie."
"Nothing but death, Victor," she said quietly.
"But surely, Marie, you take too gloomy a view. Death, of course,
may separate all lovers; but there seems no reason that we should
fear him now more than at other times. A few farmers-general and
others who have made themselves obnoxious to the mob have been
killed, but what is that! There should at least be no hostility
to our order. Many of the nobles have been foremost in demanding
reforms. All have cheerfully resigned their privileges. There is
no longer the slightest reason for hostility against us."
"My dear Victor," Marie said quietly, "you do not ask a wild beast
about to rend his prey, what is the reason for his actions. I hope
I may be wrong; but at least, dear, we shall see each other again
before long, and, whatever troubles may come, will share them. My
mother in her letter yesterday said that she and the marquis had
determined that we should join them in Paris; for that although the
disorders have abated somewhat they are anxious at the thought of
our being alone here, and in the present position of things they
have no hope of being able to leave the king. She says my father
is very indignant at the great emigration of the nobility that
is going on. In the first place, he holds that they are deserting
their post in the face of the enemy; and in the second place, by
their assemblage across the frontier and their intrigues at foreign
courts against France they are causing the people to look with
suspicion upon the whole class."
"You have kept your good news till the last, Marie," Victor said.
"Here have we been saying good-bye, and it seems that we are going
to meet again very shortly."
"I have been bidding farewell," Marie said, "not to you, but to
our dream of happiness. We shall meet soon, but I fear that will
never return."
"You are a veritable prophet of ill to-day, Marie," Victor said
with an attempt at gaiety. "Some day, I hope, dear, that we shall
smile together over your gloomy prognostication."
"I hope so, Victor--I pray God it may be so!"
A week later three carriages arrived from Paris to convey the
family there; and upon the following day the whole party started;
the girls, the gouvernante, the abbe, and some of the female servants
occupying the carriages, Monsieur du Tillet, the boys, and several
of the men riding beside them as an escort.
They met with no interruption on the road, and arrived in Paris
on the last day of April, 1792. Harry was glad at the change. The
doings at Paris had been the subject of conversation and thought for
nearly two years, and he had caught the excitement which pervaded
France. He was tired of the somewhat monotonous life in the country,
and had for some time been secretly longing to be at the centre
of interest, and to see for himself the stirring events, of which
little more than a feeble echo had reached them at the chateau.
The change of life was great indeed; the marquis had thrown himself
into the thick of all that was going on, and his salon was crowded
every evening with those of the nobility who still remained In
Paris. But he was regarded as by no means a man of extreme views,
and many of the leaders of the party of the Gironde with whose names
Harry was familiar were also frequent visitors--Roland, Vergniaud,
Lanjuinais, Brissot, Guader, Lebrun, and Condorcer.
Harry was struck with the variety of conversation that went on at
these meetings. Many of the young nobles laughed and chatted with
the ladies with as much gaiety as if the former state of things
were continuing undisturbed; and an equal indifference to the public
state of things was shown by many of the elders, who sat down and
devoted themselves to cards. Others gathered apart in little groups
and discussed gloomily and in low tones the events of the day;
while others who were more liberal in their views gathered round the
deputies of the Gironde and joined in their talk upon the meetings
of the Assembly and the measures which were necessary to consolidate
the work of reform, and to restore peace and happiness to France.
The marquis moved from group to group, equally at home with all,
chatting lightly with the courtiers, whispering gravely with the
elders, or discussing with the tone of the man of the world the
views and opinions of the deputies. Victor de Gisons was constantly
at the house, and strove by his cheerfulness and gaiety to dissipate
the shade of melancholy which still hung over Marie.
Towards the end of July the Marquis de St. Caux and the little
body of royalists who still remained faithful to the king became
more and more anxious; the position of the royal family was now
most precarious; most of the troops in Paris had been sent to the
frontier, and those left behind were disorganized and ready to join
the mob. Two out of the three Swiss battalions had been sent away
and but one remained at the Tuileries. Of the National Guard only
the battalion of Filles St. Thomas and part of the battalion of
the Saints Pares could be trusted to defend the king. The rest were
opposed to him, and would certainly join the populace.
On the 14th of July a large number of National Guards from the
provinces had arrived in Paris; and the battalion from Marseilles,
the most violent of all, had, immediately that it arrived in the
city, come into collision with one of the loyal battalions.
The royalists were wholly without organization, their sole aim
being to defend the king should he be in danger, and if necessary
to die by his side.
On the evening before the 10th of August the tocsin was heard to
sound and the drums to beat to arms. All day there had been sinister
rumours circulating, but the king had sent privately to his friends
that the danger was not imminent and that he had no need of them;
however, as soon as the alarm sounded the marquis snatched up a
sword and prepared to start for the palace. He embraced his wife,
who was calm but very pale, and his children. Ernest asked to be
allowed to go with him, but the marquis said:
"No, my son, my life is the king's; but yours at present is due
to your mother and sisters."
It was twenty-four hours before he returned. His clothes were torn,
his head was bound up, and one of his arms disabled. The marquise
gave a cry of delight as he entered. No one had slept since he
left, for every hour fresh rumours of fighting had arrived, and
the sound of cannon and musketry had been heard in the early part
of the day.
"It is all over, wife!" he said. "We have done our best, but the
king will do nothing. We cannot say we have lost the battle, for
we have never tried to win it; but it would be the same thing in
the long run."
Before hearing what had passed the marquise insisted upon her husband
taking refreshment and having his wounds bound up and attended to.
When he had finished his meal the marquis began:
"We had a good deal of difficulty in getting into the Tuileries,
for the National Guard tried to prevent our passing. However, we
most of us got through; and we found that there were about a hundred
assembled, almost all men of family. The Marshal de Mailly led us
into the king's apartment.
"'Sire,' he said, 'here are your faithful nobles, eager to replace
your majesty on the throne of your ancestors.' The National Guard
in the palace withdrew at once, leaving us alone with the Swiss.
"We formed in the courtyard; and the king, with his hat in his hand,
walked down our ranks and those of the Swiss. He seemed without
fear, but he did not speak a word, and did nothing to encourage us.
Several of our party, in trying to make their way to the palace,
had been murdered, and the mob cut off their heads and put them on
pikes; and these were paraded in the streets within sight of the
windows. Roederer, the procureur-general of the department of Paris,
came to the king and pressed him to leave the Tuileries.
"'There are not five minutes to lose, sire,' he said. 'There is no
safety for your majesty but in the National Assembly.'
"The queen resisted; but upon Roederer saying that an enormous
crowd with cannon were coming, and that delay would endanger the
lives of the whole of the royal family, he went. But he thought of
us, and asked what was to become of us. Roederer said that, as we
were not in uniform, by leaving our swords behind us we could pass
through the crowd without being recognized. The king moved on,
followed by the queen, Madam Elizabeth, and the children. The crowd,
close and menacing, lined the passage, and the little procession
made their way with difficulty to the Assembly.
"We remained in the palace, and every moment the throng around
became more and more numerous. The cannon they brought were turned
against us. The first door was burst open, the Swiss did not fire,
the populace poured in and mixed with us and the soldiers. Some
one fired a gun. Whether it was one of the Swiss or one of the mob
I know not, but the fight began. The Swiss in good order marched
down the staircase, drove out the mob, seized the cannon the
Marseillais had brought, and turning them upon their assailants
opened fire. The mob fled in terror, and I believe that one battalion
would have conquered all the scum of Paris, had not the king, at
the sound of the first shot, sent word to the Swiss to cease firing.
They obeyed, and although the mob kept firing upon them from the
windows, the great part of them marched calm, and without returning
a shot, to the Assembly, where, at the order of the king, they laid
down their arms and were shut up in the church of the Feuillants.
"A portion of the Swiss had remained on guard in the Tuileries when
the main body marched away. The instant the palace was undefended
the mob burst in. Every Swiss was murdered, as well as many of
the servants of the queen. The mob sacked the palace and set it on
fire. When the Swiss left we had one by one made our way out by a
back entrance, but most of us were recognized by the mob and were
literally cut to pieces. I rushed into a house when assaulted,
and, slamming the door behind me, made my way out by the back and
so escaped them, getting off with only these two wounds; then I
hurried to a house of a friend, whom I had seen murdered before my
eyes, but his servants did not know of it, and they allowed me to
remain there till dark, and you see here I am."
"But what has happened at the Assembly and where is the king?" the
marquise asked, after the first exclamation of horror at the tale
they had heard.
"The king and his family are prisoners in the Temple," the marquis
said. "The Commune has triumphed over the Assembly and a National
Convention is to be the supreme power. The king's functions are
suspended, but as he has not ruled for the last three years that
will make little difference. A new ministry has been formed with
Danton, Lebrun, and some of the Girondists. He and his family are
handed over to the care of the Commune, and their correspondence is
to be intercepted. A revolutionary tribunal has been constituted,
when, I suppose, the farce of trying men whose only crime is loyalty
to the king is to be carried out.
"We must be prepared, my love, to face the worst. Escape is now
impossible, and, indeed, so long as the king and queen are alive I
would not quit Paris; but we must prepare for sending the children
away if possible."