nothing affected about her, nothing theatrical, neither passion,
despair, nor the spirit of revenge. According to the expressions of
Roederer, who never left her, "she was a woman, a mother, a wife in
peril; she feared, she hoped, she grieved, and she took heart again."
She was also a queen, and the daughter of Maria Theresa. Her anxiety
and grief were restrained or concealed by {277} her respect for her
rank, her dignity, and her name. When she reappeared amidst the
courtiers in the Council Hall, after having dissolved in tears in
Thierry's room, the redness of her cheeks and eyes had disappeared.
The courtiers said to each other: "What serenity! what courage!"
The struggle might still seem doubtful. Something like two hundred
noblemen who had spontaneously repaired to the King, seven hundred and
fifty Swiss, and nine hundred mounted gendarmes posted at the
approaches of the Tuileries were the last resources of the
commander-in-chief of the French army. The Swiss, who through some
one's extreme imprudence had not cartridges enough, were posted in the
apartments, the chapel, and at the entry of the Royal Court. Baron de
Salis, as the oldest captain of the regiment, commanded at the
stairways. A reserve of three hundred men, under Captain Durler, was
stationed in the Swiss Court, before the Pavilion of Marsan. The
National Guards belonging to the sections _Petits-Peres_ and the
_Filles-Saint-Thomas_ showed themselves well disposed toward the King;
but it was different with the other companies. As to the mounted
gendarmes, Louis XVI. could not count on them, and before the riot
ended they were to join the insurgents in spite of all the efforts made
by their royalist officers. The artillerists of the National Guard,
charged with serving the cannons placed in the courts and before the
palace doors to defend the entry, were to act in the same manner.
{278}
Like the Swiss, the two hundred noblemen, martyrs to the old French
ideas of honor, had resolved to be loyal unto death. With their silk
coats and drawing-room swords, they seemed as if they had come to a
fete instead of a combat. The servants of the chateau joined them.
Some of them had pistols and blunderbusses. Some, for lack of other
weapons, had taken the tongs from the chimneys. They jested with each
other over their accoutrements. No, no; there was nothing laughable in
these champions of misfortune. They represented the past, with its
ancient fidelity to the altar and the throne. A great poet who had the
spirit of divination, Heinrich Heine, wrote on November 12, 1840, as if
he foresaw February 24, 1848: "The middle classes will possibly make
less resistance than the aristocracy would do in a similar case. Even
in its most pitiable weakness, its enervation by immorality and its
degeneration through flattery, the old nobility was still alive to a
certain point of honor unknown to our middle classes, who have become
prosperous by industry, but who will perish by it also. Another 10th
of August is predicted for these middle classes; but I doubt whether
the industrial Knights of the throne of July will prove themselves as
heroic as the powdered marquises of the old regime who, in silk coats
and flimsy dress swords, opposed the people who invaded the Tuileries."
The greater part of these noblemen, volunteers for the last conflict,
were old men with white hair. There were also children among them.
{279} M. Mortimer-Ternaux, author of the _Histoire de la Terreur_, has
remarked: "Was not this a time to exclaim with Racine:--
"'See what avengers arm themselves for the quarrel?'
"Who could have told Louis XIV., when in the midst of the splendors of
his court he was present at the performance of _Athalie_, that the poet
was predicting, through the mouth of Joad, the fate reserved for his
great-grandson?" The royalist National Guards who were in the
apartments considered the volunteer noblemen as companions in arms.
They shook hands with each other amid cries of "Long live the King!
Long live the National Guard!" But the troops outside did not share
these sentiments. Jealous of the royalists assembled in the palace,
they wanted to have them sent out. A regimental commander having come
to make known this desire to Louis XVI., Marie Antoinette exclaimed:
"Nothing can separate us from these gentlemen; they are our most
faithful friends. They will share the dangers of the National Guard.
They will obey us. Put them at the cannon's mouth, and they will show
you how men die for their King."
Meantime what had become of Petion, whose business it was, as mayor, to
defend the palace? Summoned to the Tuileries, he arrived there at
eleven in the evening. As Louis XVI. said to him: "It seems there is a
great deal of commotion?"--"Yes, sire," he replied, "the excitement is
great." And he {280} enlarged upon the measures he claimed that he had
taken, and his pretended haste to wait upon the King. In going out, he
came face to face with M. de Mandat, who, as general-in-chief of the
National Guard, was in command of all military forces. "Why,"
exclaimed he, "have the police refused cartridges to the National Guard
when they have wasted them on the Marseillais? My men have only four
charges apiece; some of them have not one. No matter; I answer for
everything; my measures are taken, providing I am authorized, by an
order signed by you, to repel force by force." Not daring to avow his
complicity with the riot, Petion signed the order demanded. Then he
made his escape under pretext of inspecting the gardens, and fell
amongst some royalist National Guards, who reprimanded him severely.
He began to fear being kept at the Tuileries as a hostage, to guarantee
the palace against the attempts of the populace, and went to the
Assembly. It had adjourned at ten o'clock the evening before, but on
account of the crisis had met again at two in the morning. The
Assembly knew the gravity of the danger as well as the King did; but
through a ridiculous and culpable point of honor, it affected not to
recognize it, and devoted to the reading of a colonial report the
moments it should have employed in saving that Constitution it had
sworn to maintain. Petion merely put in an appearance in the Hall of
the Manege. But he took good care not to return to the Tuileries. At
half-past three in the morning the {281} rolling of a carriage was
heard from the palace. It was that of the mayor, going back empty. He
had not dared to get into it, and had only sent his coachman an order
to return when he found himself in safety at the mayoralty, whither he
had made his way on foot.
Meanwhile, some hundred unknown individuals, who gathered at the
Hotel-de-Ville, and surreptitiously made their way into one of the
halls, had formed an insurrectionary Commune. On their own authority
they appointed commissaries of sections, and dismissed the staff of the
National Guard, who were very much in their way; but retained in office
Manuel as procurator and Petion as mayor. This new municipality, whose
very existence was unknown at the palace, had just learned that Mandat,
general-in-chief of the National Guard, had a document in his pocket by
which Petion authorized him to oppose force to force. It was necessary
to get rid of this document at any cost. The municipality sent Mandat
an order to come to the Hotel-de-Ville. He knew nothing about the
revolution that had just taken place there. And yet he hesitated to
obey. A secret presentiment took possession of his soul. Finally, at
the instance of Roederer, he decided, towards five in the morning, to
leave the Tuileries and go to that Hotel-de-Ville, which was to be so
fatal to him. When he came before the municipality he was surprised to
see new faces.
He was accused of having intended to disperse "the {282} innocent and
patriotic column of the people," and sentenced to be taken to the Abbey
prison. It was a sentence of death. Mandat was massacred on the steps
of the Hotel-de-Ville. A pistol-shot brought him down. Pikes and
sabres finished him. His body was thrown into the Seine. Such was the
first exploit of the new Commune. It preluded thus the massacres of
September. "Mandat's death," says Count de Vaublanc in his Memoirs,
"was, beyond any doubt, the chief cause of the calamities of the day.
If he had attacked the rebels as soon as they came near the palace, he
could have dispersed them with ease. They took a long time to form and
set off; and, being undecided and uneasy, they often halted. No troop
marching from a given point in this immense city knew whether it was
seconded by the rebels from other quarters, and lost much time in
making sure." The second exploit of the Commune was to confine Petion
at the mayoralty under the guard of six men. A voluntary captive, this
accomplice of the insurrection rejoiced at a measure which sheltered
him from every danger. As M. Mortimer-Ternaux has observed: "On this
fatal night, when the passion of the royalty was fulfilled, Petion
doubled the parts of Judas and Pontius Pilate. Like Judas, he went at
nightfall to give the kiss of peace to Louis XVI. by assuring him of
his loyalty; like the Roman governor, he proclaimed at daybreak the
impotence with which he had stricken himself, and washed his hands of
all that was to happen."
{283}
When the first fires of this fatal day were kindling in the sky, Marie
Antoinette experienced a profound emotion. Looking with melancholy at
the horizon which began to lighten: "Sister," said she to Madame
Elisabeth, "come and see the sun rise." It was the sun that was to
illumine the death-struggle of royalty. Sinister omen! the sun was red
as blood.
{284}
XXVIII.
THE MORNING OF AUGUST TENTH.
The fatal day began. It was five o'clock in the morning. The Queen
made her children rise, lest the swords of the insurgents should
surprise them in their beds. The Dauphin, unaccustomed to being called
so early, stared with surprise at the spectacle presented by the court
and garden. "Mamma," said he, "why should any one harm papa? He is so
good!" Then, turning to a little girl who was his usual companion in
his games, he addressed her these words, which prove how well, in spite
of his age, he knew the peril he was in: "Here, Josephine, take this
lock of my hair, and promise to wear it as long as I am in danger."
Led by their chief, Marshal de Mailly, an old man of eighty-six, the
two hundred noblemen, who had assembled in the Gallery of Diana, passed
in review before the royal family with those of the National Guards who
were royalists. "Sire," exclaimed the old marshal, bending his knee,
"here are your faithful nobles who have hastened to re-establish Your
Majesty on the throne of your ancestors."--"For this once," responded
Louis XVI., "I consent that {285} my friends should defend me; we will
perish or save ourselves together." The last defenders of the throne
shed tears of fidelity and tenderness. They kneeled before Marie
Antoinette, and entreated the honor of kissing her hand. Never had the
Queen appeared more gracious and majestic. The National Guards,
enchanted, loaded their arms with transport. The Queen seized the
Dauphin in her arms and held him above their heads like a living
standard. The young men shouted: "Long live the Kings of our fathers!"
And the old men cried: "Long live the King of our children!"
At the gates of the Tuileries the tide was rising. Vanguards of the
insurrection, the Marseillais arrived unhindered. The municipality had
succeeded in removing the cannons which were to have prevented approach
by way of the Pont-Neuf and the Pont-Royal. Mandat was no longer there
to issue orders. Nothing impeded the march of the faubourgs.
And yet resistance might still have been possible. It is Barbaroux,
the fierce revolutionist himself, who says so. "All the faults
committed by the insurrection, the wretched arrangement of the
attacking party, the terror of some and the ignorance of others, the
forces at the palace, all made the victory of the court certain, if the
King had not left his post. If he had shown himself on horseback, a
large majority of the people of Paris would have pronounced for him."
Napoleon, who was an eye-witness, had said the night before to Pozzo di
Borgo, that with two {286} battalions of Swiss and some cavalry he
would undertake to give the rioters a lesson they would remember. In
the evening of August 10, he wrote to his brother Joseph: "According to
what I saw of the temper of the crowd in the morning, if Louis XVI. had
mounted a horse, he would have gained the victory." Very few of the
insurgents were seriously determined on a revolt. Most of them marched
blindly, not knowing, and not even asking, whither they went.
Westermann had been obliged to threaten Santerre, and even to put his
sword against his breast, in order to induce him to march. A great
number of the people of the faubourgs, uneasy as to the result of the
enterprise, said that, considering the preparations made by the palace,
it would be better to defer the matter to another day. The unarmed
crowd followed through mere curiosity, and were ready to take flight at
the first discharge of musketry. According to Count de Vaublanc, the
Swiss, if they had been commanded by a good officer from four o'clock
in the morning, would have sufficed to disperse the multitude as they
came up, and possibly might have won the day for the King without
bloodshed. "Thus, the best of princes rendered useless the courage of
his defenders, and to spare the blood of his enemies accomplished the
ruin of his friends. All his virtues turned against him and brought
him to his ruin." M. de Vaublanc says again in his Memoirs: "At six in
the morning those who were in revolt had not yet assembled. How much
time had been lost, how {287} much was still to be lost! It was too
evident that no military judgment had presided over that strange
disposition of troops, so placed within and without the palace as to be
unable to give each other mutual support; a military man knows too well
the value of the briefest moments, he knows too well how quickly
victory can be decided by attacking the flank of a multitude with a
small number of brave men. If the King had appointed one of the
generals near him absolute master of operations, no doubt this general
would have given the rebels no time to unite.... Alas! Louis XVI. had
three times more courage than was necessary to conquer, but he knew not
how to avail himself of it." Such also was the opinion of M. Thiers,
who, in his _Histoire de la Revolution francaise_, says: "It must be
repeated, the unfortunate Prince feared nothing for himself. He had,
in fact, refused to wear a wadded vest, as he had done on July 14,
saying that on a day of combat he ought to be as much exposed as the
least of his servants. Courage did not fail him then, and afterwards
he displayed a bravery that was noble and elevated enough; but he
lacked boldness to take the offensive.... It is certain, as has been
frequently said, that if he had mounted a horse and charged at the head
of his troops, the insurrection would have been put down."
Toward six o'clock the King went out on the balcony. He was saluted
with acclamations. Then he went down the great staircase with the
Queen to {288} inspect the troops stationed in the courtyards. As one
of his gentlemen-of-the-chamber, Emmanuel Aubier, has remarked: "He had
never made war himself during his reign; there had never been a war on
the continent; he was so unfortunate as to be wanting in grace, even
awkward, and to look thoughtful rather than energetic,--a thing
displeasing to French soldiers." Instead of putting on a uniform and
mounting a horse, he wore a purple coat, of the shade used as mourning
for kings, on this fatal day when he was to wear mourning for the
monarchy. Unspurred, unbooted, shod as if for a drawing-room, with
white silk stockings, his hat under his arm, his hair out of curl and
badly powdered, there was nothing martial, nothing royal about him. At
this hour, when what was needed was the attitude and the fire of a
Henry IV., he looked like an honest country gentleman talking with his
farmers. The first condition of inspiring confidence is to possess it.
Louis XVI.'s aspect was much more that of a victim than a sovereign.
The cries of "Long live the King!" which would have been enthusiastic
for a prince ready to battle for his rights and reconquer his realm at
the sword's point, were few and sad. After having inspected the troops
in the courts, Louis XVI. decided to inspect those in the garden also.
The Queen returned to the palace, and he continued his rounds.
The loyal National Guards, comprising the companies of the
_Petits-Peres_ and the _Filles-Saint-Thomas_, were drawn up on the
terrace between the palace and {289} the garden. They received the
King sympathetically and advised him to continue his inspection as far
as the Place Louis XV. At this moment a battalion of the National
Guards from the Saint-Marceau section defiled before him, uttering
shouts of hatred and fury. Louis XVI. was undisturbed by this. He
remained calm, and when this battalion had got into position, he
tranquilly reviewed it. Then he walked on again and crossed the entire
garden. The battalion of the _Croix-Rouge_, which was on the terrace
beside the water, cried from a distance: "Down with the veto! Down
with the traitor!" On the terrace of the Feuillants, at the other
side, there was an equally violent crowd. The King, calm as ever, went
on to the swing-bridge by which the Tuileries was entered from Place
Louis XV. He was well enough received by the troops stationed there.
But his return to the palace could not but be difficult. The National
Guards of the _Croix-Rouge_ had broken rank and come down from the
terrace beside the river to the garden, and pressed around the King
with menacing shouts. The unfortunate monarch could only re-enter the
palace where he had but a few moments more to stay, by calling to his
aid a double row of faithful grenadiers. The ministers who were at the
windows became alarmed. One of them, M. de Bouchage, cried: "Great
God! it is the King they are hooting! What the devil are they doing
down there? Quick; we must go after him!" And he hastened to descend
into the garden with his colleague, {290} Bigot de Sainte-Croix, to
meet his master. The Queen, who beheld the sight, shed tears. The two
ministers brought back Louis XVI. He came in out of breath, and
fatigued by the heat and the exercise he had taken, but otherwise
seeming very little moved. "All is lost," said the Queen. "This
review has done more harm than good."
From this moment bad tidings succeeded each other without interruption.
They were apprised of the formation of the new Commune, Mandat's
murder, the march of the faubourgs, and the arrival of the first
detachments of rioters. The Marseillais debouched into the Carrousel,
and sent an envoy to demand that the gate of the Royal Court should be
opened. As it remained closed, they knocked on it with repeated blows,
while the National Guards said: "We will not fire on our brothers."
Would resistance have been possible even at this moment; that is to
say, between seven and eight in the morning? M. de Vaublanc thought
so. "I do not know," he writes, "to what section the first band that
arrived on the Carrousel belonged; it was in disorder and badly armed.
If the King had marched towards this troop at the head of a battalion
of the National Guard, if he had pronounced these words: 'I am your
King; I order you to lay down your arms,' the success would have been
decided. The flight of a single battalion of rebels would have
sufficed to frighten and disperse the others, even before they were
formed into line."
{291}
It was at this time that Roederer, instead of counselling resistance,
implored Louis XVI. to seek shelter in the Assembly for the royal
family. "Sire," he said in an urgent tone, "Your Majesty has not five
minutes to lose; there is no safety for you except in the National
Assembly. In the opinion of the department, it is necessary to go
there without delay. There are not men enough in the courtyards to
defend the palace; nor are they perfectly well-disposed. On the mere
recommendation to be on the defensive, the cannoneers have already
unloaded their cannons."--"But," said the King, "I did not see many
persons on the Carrousel."--"Sire," returned Roederer, "there are a
dozen pieces of artillery, and an immense crowd is arriving from the
faubourgs." The idea of a flight before the insurrection revolted the
Queen's pride. "What are you saying, Sir?" cried she; "you are
proposing that we should seek shelter with our most cruel persecutors!
Never! never! I will be nailed to these walls before I consent to
leave them. Sir, we have troops."--"Madame, all Paris is on the march.
Resistance is impossible. Will you cause the massacre of the King,
your children, and your servants?"
Louis XVI. still hesitating, Roederer vehemently insisted. "Sire,"
said he, "time presses; this is no longer an entreaty nor even a
counsel we take the liberty of offering you; there is only one thing
left for us to do now, and we ask your permission to take you away."
The King looked fixedly at his {292} interlocutor for several seconds;
then, turning to the Queen, he said: "Let us go," and rose to his feet.
Madame Elisabeth said: "Monsieur Roederer, do you answer for the King's
life?"--"Yes, Madame, with my own," responded the communal attorney.
Then, turning to the King: "Sire," said he, "I ask Your Majesty not to
take any of your court with you, but to have no cortege but the
department and no escort except the National Guard."--"Yes," replied
the King, "there is nothing but that to say." The Minister of Justice
exclaimed: "The ministers will follow the King."--"Yes, they have a
place in the Assembly."--"And Madame de Tourzel, my children's
governess?" said the Queen.--"Yes, Madame; she will accompany you."
Roederer then left the King's chamber, where this conversation had
taken place, and said in a loud voice to the persons crowding together
in the Council Hall: "The King and his family are going to the Assembly
without other attendants than the department, the ministers, and a
guard." Then he asked: "Is the officer who commands the guard here?"
This officer presenting himself, he said to him: "You must bring
forward a double file of National Guards to accompany the King. The
King desires it." The officer replied: "It shall be done." Louis XVI.
came out of his chamber with his family. He waited several minutes in
the hall until the guard should arrive, and, going around the circle
composed of some forty or fifty persons belonging to his court: "Come,
{293} gentlemen," said he, "there is nothing more to do here." The
Queen, turning to Madame Campan, said: "Wait in my apartment; I will
rejoin you or else send word to go I don't know where." Marie
Antoinette took no one with her except the Princess de Lamballe and
Madame de Tourzel. The Princess de Tarente and Madame de la
Roche-Aymon, afflicted at the thought of being left at the Tuileries,
went down with all the other ladies to the Queen's apartments on the
ground-floor.
La Chesnaye, who had succeeded to the command of the National Guard in
consequence of Mandat's death, put himself at the head of the escort.
This was formed of detachments from the most loyal battalions, the
_Petits-Peres_, the _Suite des Moulins_, and the _Filles-Saint-Thomas_,
re-enforced by about two hundred Swiss, commanded by the colonel of the
regiment, Marquis de Maillardoz, and the major, Baron de Bachmann. The
cortege reached the great staircase by way of the Council Hall, the
Royal Bedchamber, the OEil-de-Boeuf, the Hall of the Guards, and the
Hall of the Hundred Swiss. As he was passing through the
OEil-de-Boeuf, Louis XVI. took the hat of the National Guard on his
right, and replaced it by his own, which was adorned with white
feathers. The guard, surprised, removed the King's hat from his head
and carried it under his arm.