From this day forward the king met with insults whichever way he
turned,--even at the doors of his own apartments. It was resolved by
the National Assembly that all the men in France should be armed and
wear a uniform, and be called the National Guard. One day the Dauphin's
footmen all appeared in this uniform, and the king's porters, and almost
every man about the palace. What displeased the king yet more was, that
the singers in the royal chapel appeared in the same dress. It was
absurd and shocking to see their part of divine service performed by men
in the uniform of grenadiers. The king said so, and forbade that any
person should appear in his presence again in that dress. But the time
was past for the king's orders to be obeyed. He was destined to grow
weary enough of the sight of this uniform.
A great part of the king's own guard had joined the revolutionary party;
but one company remained, whose commanding officer was proud of their
loyalty, and declared he could answer for its continuance. He was
mistaken, however. One morning, at the end of July, when the royal
family rose and looked out from their windows, they did not see a single
sentinel anywhere about the palace. Such a sight had never been
witnessed before as the palace of Versailles without a guard. On
inquiry, it turned out that the whole company had marched away in the
night, to join their former comrades in Paris.
During the month of August, crowds had at various times assembled in
Paris, with the declared purpose of going to Versailles, to separate the
king from his bad advisers, and to bring the little Dauphin to Paris, to
be brought up better than he was likely to be at home. One would think
that such assemblages and such declarations would alarm the king and
queen, and cause them to make some preparations for putting themselves,
or at least the Dauphin, in safety. Because these crowds were several
times dispersed, however, the royal family appear to have thought
nothing of the danger: and in September they committed an act of
imprudence which brought upon them the worst that was threatened. The
truth is, they were ignorant of all that it most concerned them to know.
They did not understand the wants of the people, nor the depth of their
discontent; nor had they any idea of the weakness, ignorance, and
prejudice of the gentlemen and ladies about them, whose advice they
asked, and on whose narrow views they acted. There were a few wise and
good men in the nation who understood both sides of the question, and
who were grieved for the hardships of the people, and for the sufferings
of the royal family; and happy would it have been for all if the king
and queen could have been guided by these advisers. The chief and best
of these was that excellent patriot and loyal subject the Marquis
Lafayette. While he was adored by the people, he did all in his power
to aid and save the royal family; but, unhappily, the king distrusted
him, and the queen could not endure him. She not only detested his
politics, but declared that she believed him (the most honourable man in
the world) to be a traitor, and laid on him the blame of misfortunes
which he had no hand in causing, and for which he grieved.
The king had a regiment from Flanders on whom he was sure he could rely.
It came into some one's head that if this regiment and the faithless
body-guard could be brought together, the loyalty of the latter might be
revived and secured. So there was an entertainment given in the theatre
of the palace of Versailles, where the soldiers of the two regiments
were to make merry, sitting alternately at table. Such a feast, if
every man there was loyal in the extreme, could signify little, while
there was out of doors a whole rebellious nation,--millions of hungry
wretches clamouring for food and good government; and, whether such a
meeting signified much or little, it was certain that the king and his
family, should have had nothing to do with it, after he had been to
Paris to assure the people of his reliance upon them, assuming their
cockade as a declaration that he was in earnest.
The friends of the royal family thought this,--even the queen's own
ladies. One of them was requested by the queen to enter the theatre,
and observe what passed, in order to report it to the king and her.
What was the surprise of this lady, when in the midst of the
entertainment, the doors were thrown open, and their majesties appeared,
the queen having the Dauphin in her arms! The sight of them, looking
gratified and trustful, roused all the loyalty of the soldiers present;
and some imprudent acts were done. The queen's ladies handed white
cockades to the officers; the party drank the healths of the king and
queen, omitting that of the nation; they cheered the loyal air, "O,
Richard! O my king, the world is all forsaking thee:" and the whole
company were presently in a delirium of hope, and of defiance of the
people of Paris. The queen afterwards declared in public that she was
delighted with the Thursday's entertainment; and this set the people
inquiring what had delighted her so much. They made many inquiries.
"Why was this Flanders regiment brought to Versailles?"
"How did it happen that the king had at present double the usual number
of his Swiss guards?"
"Where were all those foreign officers from, who were seen in the
streets in strange uniforms?" The people, exasperated afresh by finding
that, though the harvest was over, there was still a scarcity of bread,
were in a temper to believe the worst that was told them; and it seems
now very probable that much of it was true. They were told that these
same soldiers had breakfasted together, and that they had planned to
march upon the National Assembly, and destroy it. They heard a report
that the king meant to go away to Metz, and to return at the head of an
army, and to crush all those who had risen against him. Nothing could
now prevent the people from doing what they had threatened--going to
Versailles, to separate the king from his evil counsellors, and bring
the Dauphin to Paris. Some went further than this, saying to General
Lafayette that the king was too weak to reign; that they would destroy
his guards, make him lay down his crown, and declare the Dauphin king,
with Lafayette and others to manage the affairs of the empire till the
boy should be of age.
This was said to Lafayette on the morning of the 5th of October.
Grieved as he was to see that the mob were resolved to go to Versailles,
he saw what he must do, since he could not keep them back. He detained
them as long as he could by speeches and arguments, while he sent
messengers by every road to Versailles, to give notice of what might be
expected; and he declared his intention of leading the march when the
people could be detained no longer. Several of his messengers were
stopped: but some who went by by-roads reached Versailles, and gave the
alarm. Meantime, he contrived to make the march so slow, as that he and
his thirty thousand followers were nine hours going the twelve miles to
Versailles. Lest the royal family should not be gone, as he hoped, he
made the crowd halt on the ridge of the hill which overlooked
Versailles, and swear, with their right hands lifted up towards heaven,
to respect the king's dwelling, and be faithful to the orders of the
Assembly they themselves had chosen. Unhappily, all he did was of
little use. He arrived at near midnight; but another mob--a mob of
women, savage because their children were hungry--had been in possession
of Versailles since three in the afternoon.
Though it became rainy during the latter half of the day, so that the
thousands out of doors were all wet to the skin, the morning had been
fair; and the king went out hunting, as usual, while the queen spent the
morning at her favourite little estate of Trianon. The Dauphin was at
home, with his new governess, the Marchioness de Tourzel, little
dreaming, poor child, that there were people already on the road from
Paris who wanted to make him a king instead of his father. One of the
ministers hearing unpleasant rumours, took horse, and went to try to
find the king. He met him in the woods, some way from home, and
conjured him to make haste back. The king, however, rode as slowly as
possible, till more messengers appeared with news that a mob of
desperate women was actually entering the avenue. Then he had to spur
his horse; and he arrived safe. The queen had returned before him. She
had been sitting, alone and disconsolate, in her grotto at Trianon,
reflecting on the miserable prospects of her family, when a line was
brought to her from one of the ministers, begging that she would hasten
home. As soon as the king returned, orders were given to have the
carriages ready at the back doors of the palace; and the children (kept
out of sight) were equipped for a journey.
The want of decision in the royal movements, as usual, ruined
everything. When the king had received and dismissed a deputation of
the women, there was a shout of "Long live the king!" and he then
thought it would not be necessary to go. Not long afterwards, when the
people were seen to be as angry as ever, and to be insulting the royal
guard, the carriages were again ordered. Some of them, empty, attempted
to pass the back gates, to ascertain whether others might follow with
the family: but the mob were now on the watch, and the carriages were
turned back. The hour for escape was gone by.
When little Louis was got ready for the journey, it was by candlelight,
and past bedtime. Perhaps he was not sorry when his things were taken
off again, and he was laid in his bed, instead of getting into the
carriage on a pouring rainy night, to pass through or near a disorderly
mob, who might be heard from within the palace crying "Bread! Bread!"
Little Louis did not know all the disorders of that mob. Thousands of
women, wet to the skin, were calling out "Bread! Bread!" till they were
hoarse. They threatened his mother's life, believing that to her
influence and her extravagance it was owing that their children had no
bread. Some sat upon the cannon they had brought. Some dried their wet
clothes at the fires that blazed on the ground: and haggard and fierce
did the faces of both men and women look in the light of these fires.
By the orders of certain officers and members of the Assembly,
provisions were brought from the shops of Versailles; and groups were
seen eating bread and sausages, and drinking wine, in the great avenue;
and not there only, but in the House of Assembly itself,--the
parliament-chamber of Versailles. Hundreds of poor women, wet and
dirty, rushed in there, and sat eating their sausages while the members
were in debate, breaking in sometimes with, "What's the use of all this?
What we want is bread." The king was told of what was going forward;
and yet it was six hours before he could make up his mind what answer to
give to the messages sent him by deputations from the rioters. The
answer he gave at last, late at night, could be no other than that which
they chose to have; though the king was well aware that the people did
not know what they were asking, and that he should never be able to
satisfy them. What they asked, and made him promise in writing, was an
abundance of food--"a free circulation of corn," as they called it,--
believing that the wealthy, and the millers and bakers under them, kept
large hidden stores of grain, in order that bread might be dear.
Louis understood nothing of all this; but he was aware that all was
confusion and danger. About two hours after midnight everybody in the
palace was suddenly relieved, and led to believe that the danger was
past. General Lafayette entered, and pledged his life that they should
be safe: and everybody was accustomed to rely on Lafayette's word. He
happened to be mistaken this time,--to think better of the temper of the
people outside than they deserved; but what he said he fully believed.
With him came some messengers from Paris, to entreat the king, among
other things, to come and live among his people at Paris. This was the
very thing the king was least disposed to do; but he dared not say "No."
He promised to consider of it. Lafayette and his companions then went
away; and between two and three o'clock almost everybody but the guards
went to bed.
I say _almost_ everybody. The queen desired her ladies to go to rest;
but two of them were still uneasy and distrustful, and thought that the
queen's servants should not all sleep while thousands of people who
hated her were round about the very doors. They watched in the
ante-chamber: and it was their vigilance which saved her life.
About five in the morning the Dauphin was snatched from his bed, and
carried into his father's room. There were his mother, aunt, and
sister; and his mother was in a passion of tears. Clinging round the
king's neck, she cried, "O! Save me! Save me and my children!" There
was a dreadful noise. Not only was there the clamour of an angry
multitude without, but a hammering and battering at all the doors, and
fierce cries, and clashing of arms--all the dreadful sounds of
fighting--from the queen's apartments. The mob had indeed forced their
way in. Her two watchful ladies had heard the shout from the corridor,
given by a faithful guard at the peril of his life, "Save the queen!"
They lifted her from her bed, threw a dressing-gown over her, and
hurried her across a great apartment which divided her rooms from the
king's. This was her only way of escape, and even this appeared at
first to be closed; for the door which led from the queen's
dressing-room to this apartment--a door which was always kept fastened
on the inside--was now, by some accident, found to be locked on the
outside. It was a moment of dreadful suspense,--for the fighting behind
came nearer. The ladies called so loud that a servant of the king's
heard them, and ran to unlock the door. Even as they crossed the large
apartment, the mob were battering at the doors.
Presently some soldiers came from the town: and General Lafayette
appeared, addressing the people in passionate speeches, in favour of
respecting the persons and dwelling of the royal family. The palace was
soon cleared; but the terrors of the household did not disperse with the
intruders who occasioned them.
It is believed that this sudden uproar was caused by a quarrel between
one of the body-guards and the people without. Some shots were fired;
and a young man, known to the mob, was killed. They were instantly in a
rage, shook at the gates, burst in, and, as they hated the queen most,
sought her first.
This was the last night that the royal family ever spent in their palace
of Versailles.