THE OPENING OF THE STATES-GENERAL.
On the morning of the 5th of May, 1789, the solemn opening of the
States-General of France was to occur at Versailles. This early date
was appointed for the convocation of the estates, in order to be
able to protract as much as possible the ceremonial proceedings. But
at the same time this occasion was to be improved in preparing a
sensible humiliation for the members of the Third Estate.
In the avenue of the Versailles palace a large and fine hall was
fixed upon as the most appropriate place for receiving the twelve
hundred representatives of France, and a numerous company of
spectators besides; and, being chosen, was appropriately fitted up.
Louis XVI. himself, who was very fond of sketching and drawing
architectural plans, had busied himself in the most zealous way with
the arrangements and decorations of the hall.
It had long been a matter of special interest to the king to fit up
the room which was to receive the representatives of the nation, in
a manner which would be worthy of so significant an occasion. He had
himself selected the hangings and the curtains which were to protect
the audience from the too glaring light of the day.
When the members of the Third Estate arrived, they saw with the
greatest astonishment that they were not to enter the hall by the
same entrance which was appropriated to the representatives of the
nobility and the clergy, who were chosen at the same time with
themselves. While for the last two the entrance was appointed
through the main door of the hall, the commoners were allowed to
enter by a rear door, opening into a dark and narrow corridor,
where, crowded together, they were compelled to wait till the doors
were opened.
Almost two hours elapsed before they were allowed to pass out of
this dark place of confinement into the great hall, at a signal from
the Marquis de Brize, the master of ceremonies.
A splendid scene now greeted their eyes. The Salle de Menus, which
had been fitted up for the reception of the nobility, displayed
within two rows of Ionic pillars, which gave to the hall an unwonted
air of dignity and solemnity. The hall was lighted mainly from
above, through a skylight, which was covered with a screen of white
sarcenet. A gentle light diffused itself throughout the room, making
one object as discernible as another. In the background the throne
could be seen on a richly ornamented estrade and beneath a gilded
canopy, an easy-chair for the queen, tabourets for the princesses,
and chairs for the other members of the royal family. Below the
estrade stood the bench devoted to the ministers and the secretaries
of state. At the right of the throne, seats had been placed for the
clergy, on the left for the nobility; while in front were the six
hundred chairs devoted to the Third Estate.
The Marquis de Brize, with two assistant masters of ceremonies, now
began to assign the commoners to their seats, in accordance with the
situation of the districts which they represented.
As the Duke d'Orleans appeared in the midst of the other deputies of
Crespy, there arose from the amphitheatre, where the spectators sat,
a gentle sound of applause, which increased in volume, and was
repeated by some of the commoners, when it was noticed that the duke
made a clergyman, who had gone behind him in the delegation from
this district, go in front of him, and did not desist till the
round-bellied priest had really taken his place before him. In the
mean time the bench of the ministers had begun to fill. They
appeared as a body, clothed in rich uniforms, heavy with gold. Only
one single man among them appeared in simple citizen's clothing, and
bearing himself as naturally as if he were engaged in business of
the state, or in ordinary parlor conversation, and by no means as if
taking part in an extraordinary solemnity. As soon as he was seen,
there arose on all sides, as much in the assembly as on the tribune,
a movement as of joy which culminated in a general clapping of
hands.
The man who received this salutation was the newly-appointed
minister of finance, Necker, to whom the nation was looking for a
reestablishment of its prosperity and of its credit.
Necker manifested only by a thoughtful smile, which mounted to his
earnest, thought-furrowed face, that he was conscious to whom the
garland of supreme popularity was extended at this moment.
Next, the deputation of Provence appeared, in the midst of which
towered Count Mirabeau, with his proud, erect bearing, advancing to
take the place appointed for him. His appearance was the sign for a
few hands to commence clapping in a distant part of the hall, in
honor of a man so much talked of in Prance, and of whom such strange
things were said. But at this instant the king appeared, accompanied
by the queen, followed by the princes and princesses of the royal
family.
At the entrance of the king, the whole assembly broke into a loud,
enthusiastic shout of applause and of joy. The Third Estate as well,
at a signal from Count Mirabeau, had quickly risen, but continued to
stand without bending the knee, as had been, at the last time when
all the estate were assembled, the invariable rule. Only one of the
representatives of the Third Estate, a young man with energetic,
proud face, and dark, glowing eyes, bent his knee when he saw the
queen entering behind the king. But the powerful hand of his
neighbor was laid upon his shoulder and drew him quickly up.
"Mr. Deputy," whispered this neighbor to him, "it becomes the
representatives of the nation to stand erect before the crown."
"It is true, Count Mirabeau," answered Toulan. "I did not bend my
knee to the crown, but to the queen as, a beautiful woman."
Mirabeau made no reply, but turned his flaming eyes to the king.
Louis XVI. appeared that day arrayed in the great royal ermine, and
wore upon his head a plumed hat, whose band glistened with great
diamonds, while the largest in the royal possession, the so-called
Titt, formed the centre, and threw its rays far and wide. The king
appeared at the outset to be deeply moved at the reception which had
been given him. A smile, indicating that his feelings were touched,
played upon his face. But afterward, when all was still, and the
king saw the grave, manly, marked faces of the commoners opposite
him, his manner became confused, and for an instant he seemed to
tremble.
The queen, however, looked around her with a calm and self-possessed
survey. Her fine eyes swept slowly and searchingly over the rows of
grave men who sat opposite the royal couple, and dwelt a moment on
Toulan, as if she recalled in him the young man who, two years
before, had brought the message of Cardinal Rohan's acquittal. A
painful smile shot for an instant over her fine features. Yes, she
had recognized him; the young man who, at Madame de Campan's room,
had sworn a vow of eternal fidelity to her. And now he sat opposite
her, on the benches of the commoners, among her enemies, who gazed
at her with angry looks. That was his way of fulfilling the vow
which he had made of his own free will!
But Marie Antoinette wondered at nothing now; she had witnessed the
falling away of so many friends, she had been forsaken by so many
who were closely associated with her, and who were indebted to her,
that it caused her no surprise that the young man who hardly knew
her, who had admired her in a fit of youthful rapture, had done like
all the rest in joining the number of her enemies.
Marie Antoinette sadly let her eyes fall. She could look at nothing
more; she had in this solemn moment received a new wound, seen a new
deserter!
Toulan read her thoughts in her sad mien, on her throbbing forehead,
but his own countenance remained cheerful and bright.
"She will live to see the day when she will confess that I am her
friend, am true to her," he said to himself. "And on that day I
shall be repaid for the dagger-thrusts which I have just received
from her eyes. Courage, Toulan, courage! Hold up your head and be
strong. The contest has begun; you must fight it through or die!"
But the queen did not raise her head again. She looked unspeakably
sad in her simple, unadorned attire--in her modest, gentle bearing--
and it was most touching to see the pale, fair features which sought
in vain to disclose nothing of the painful emotions of her soul.
The king now arose from his throne and removed his plumed hat. At
once Marie Antoinette rose from her armchair, in order to listen
standing to the address of the king.
"Madame," said the king, bowing to her lightly, "madame, be seated,
I beg of you."
"Sire," answered Marie Antoinette, calmly, "allow me to stand, for
it does not become a subject to sit while the king is standing."
A murmur ran through the rows of men, and loud, scornful laughter
from one side. Marie Antoinette shrank back as if an adder had
wounded her, and with a flash of wrath her eyes darted in the
direction whence the laugh had come. It was from Philip d'Orleans.
He did not take the trouble to smooth down his features; he looked
with searching, defiant gaze over to the queen, proclaiming to her
in this glance that he was her death-foe, that he was bent on
revenge for the scorn which she had poured out on the spendthrift-
revenge for the joke which she had once made at his expense before
the whole court. It was at the time when the Duke d'Orleans,
spendthrift and miser at the same time, had rented the lower rooms
of his palace to be used as stores. On his next appearance at
Versailles, Marie Antoinette said: "Since you have become a
shopkeeper, we shall probably see you at Versailles only on Sundays
and holidays, when your stores are closed!" Philip d'Orleans thought
of this at this moment, as he stared at the queen with his laughing
face, while his looks were threatening vengeance and requital.
The king now began the speech with which he proposed to open the
assembly of his estates. The queen listened with deep emotion; a
feeling of unspeakable sorrow filled her soul, and despite all her
efforts her eyes filled with tears, which leisurely coursed down her
cheeks. When, at the close of his address, the king said that he was
the truest and most faithful friend of the people, and that France
had his whole love, the queen looked up with a gentle, beseeching
expression, and her eyes seemed as if they wanted to say to the
deputies, "I, too, am a friend of the people! I, too, love France!"
The king ended his address; it was followed by a prolonged and
lively clapping of hands, and sitting down upon the chair of the
throne, he covered his head with the jewelled chapeau.
At the same moment all the noblemen who were in the hall put on
their own hats. At once Count Mirabeau, the representative of the
Third Estate, put on his hat; other deputies followed his example,
but Toulan, whom Mirabeau had before hindered from kneeling--Toulan
now wanted to prevent the proud democrats covering themselves in
presence of the queen.
"Hats off!" he cried, with aloud voice, and here and there in the
hall the same cry was repeated.
But from other sides there arose a different cry, "Hats on! Be
covered!"
Scarcely had the ear of the king caught the discordant cry which
rang up and down the hall, when he snatched his hat from his head,
and at once the whole assembly followed his example.
Toulan had gained his point, the assembly remained uncovered in
presence of the queen.
At last, after four long, painful hours, the ceremony was ended; the
queen followed the example of the king, rising, greeting the
deputies with a gentle inclination of her head, and leaving the hall
at the side of the king.
Some of the deputies cried, "Long live the king!" but their words
died away without finding any echo. Not a single voice was raised in
honor of the queen! But outside, on the square, there were confused
shouts; the crowd of people pressed hard up to the door, and called
for the queen. They had seen the deputies as they entered the hall;
they had seen the king as he had attended divine service at the
church of St. Louis. Now the people were curious to see the queen!
A joyful look passed over the face of the queen as she heard those
cries. For a long time she had not heard such acclaims. Since the
unfortunate 1786, since the necklace trial, they had become more
rare; at last, they had ceased altogether, and at times the queen,
when she appeared in public, was hailed with loud hisses and angry
murmurs.
"The queen! The queen!" sounded louder and louder in the great
square. Marie Antoinette obeyed the cry, entered the great hall, had
the doors opened which led to the balcony, went out and showed
herself to the people, and greeted them with friendly smiles.
But, instead of the shouts of applause which she had expected, the
crowd relapsed at once into a gloomy silence. Not a hand was raised
to greet her, not a mouth was opened to cry "Long live the queen!"
Soon, however, there was heard a harsh woman's voice shouting, "Long
live the Duke d'Orleans! Long life to the friend of the people!"
The queen, pale and trembling, reeled back from the balcony, and
sank almost in a swoon into the arms of the Duchess de Polignac, who
was behind her. Her eyes were closed, and a convulsive spasm shook
her breast.
Through the opened doors of the balcony the shouts of the people
could be heard all the time, "Long live the Duke d'Orleans!"
The queen, still in her swoon, was carried into her apartments and
laid upon her bed; only Madame de Campan remained in front of it to
watch the queen, who, it was supposed, had fallen asleep.
A deep silence prevailed in the room, and the stillness awoke Marie
Antoinette from her half insensibility. She opened her eyes, and
seeing Campan kneeling before her bed, she threw her arms around the
faithful friend, and with gasping breath bowed her head upon her
shoulder.
"Oh, Campan," she cried, with loud, choking voice, "ruin is upon me!
I am undone! All my happiness is over, and soon my life will be over
too! I have to-day tasted of the bitterness of death! We shall never
be happy more, for destruction hangs over us, and our death-sentence
is pronounced!"