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 THE PARLOUR LIBRARY. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 PICTURES 
 
 1'IRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 B.,Ch.B. 
 
 

 
 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION; 
 
 BEING EPISODES FROM 
 
 THE HISTORY OF THE GIRONDISTS. 
 
 A. DE LAMAKTINE, 
 
 SUMMARY OF THE INTERMEDIATE EVENTS. 
 
 LONDON: 
 SIMMS AND M'lNTYHE, 
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW, AND DONEGALL STREET, BELFAST. 
 1860.
 
 PICTUEES 
 
 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION, 
 
 SUMMARY. 
 
 COMMENCEMENT OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 THE causes of the great French Revolution of 1789, 
 be easily traced to the gross misgovernment to which 
 France had been subjected for successive centuries. No 
 other European kingdom had so ill-defined a constitution. 
 There was no law, even the most elementary, which had 
 not been disputed at some time or other. 
 
 The rival, and often hostile provinces, had each different 
 usages and customs which sometimes stood in place of laws, 
 but which, however, were liable to be violated at any time 
 by the will or the caprice of the sovereign. The nobles were 
 a privileged class exempt from taxes, and still retaining, in 
 the midst of European advancement, all the seignorial rights 
 of the feudal ages over their serfs. The people had neither 
 freedom nor justice, although the taxes pressed exclusively 
 upon them; the parliaments had no power; and the king 
 and nobles ruled the twenty-three millions that composed 
 the nation, as a conqueror might rule an enslaved and tri- 
 butary province. Thus the French peasant had neither 
 rights nor property to give him an interest in preserving the 
 established order of things ; and the poverty, ignorance, and 
 misery of the masses continued to produce that blind hatred 
 of the aristocracy, that deadness to all moral feeling, and 
 that savage ferocity of revenge, with which they repaid 
 their wrongs upon their masters when the chances of the 
 
 2049775 '
 
 6 
 
 KIHST FPvEN'CII REVOLUTION. 
 
 revolution gave them the opportunity. France was go- 
 verned by custom or caprice, but never by la\v. 
 
 Although the oppression to which the nation was sub- 
 jected reached its culminating point in the age of Louis 
 XIV. yet the splendour and brilliancy of the court hid the 
 misery of the people. His fifty -six years of war had 
 exhausted the finances of the kingdom, while his cold- 
 blooded cruelties to Protestants, the Dragonnades, the war 
 against the peasants in Cevennes, and the Revocation of the 
 Edict of Xantes, by which two hundred thousand Protestants 
 were forced to quit France, had exasperated a large portion 
 of the nation, and considerably weakened that love for 
 monarchy which, until the revolution, seemed almost a re- 
 ligion with the French. The arbitrary power of Louis XIV. 
 kept the parliaments under complete control ; still, even in 
 his reign, endeavours had been made to reform abuses and 
 to resist the imposition of taxes at the sole pleasure of the 
 sovereign. 
 
 These parliaments were principally composed of men of 
 the tiers ctat, who constantly, but with little success, 
 strove to stand as a barrier between the king and the 
 people. After the death of Louis XIV. the re-action com- 
 menced. The idea of social and political changes became 
 familiar to men's minds, and each year led onwards to revo- 
 lution by every path. His strong hand had sustained des- 
 potism and extravagance against all opposition ; but on the 
 accession of the weak and frivolous Louis XV. the dissen- 
 sions between the king and parliament grew more frequent and 
 violent; while at the same time the nobles became disgusted 
 with a court where all favours were distributed solely through 
 the influence of the king's unworthy favourites, and where 
 the Bastile for life, or even loss of life itself, was the com- 
 mon penalty awarded for a jest or an epigram reflecting on 
 the favourites of the hour. But while the extreme licen- 
 tiousness of the court was bringing monarchy into contempt, 
 and the political ascendancy of the clergy and nobles was 
 gradually on the decline, the power of the people progressed 
 daily. 
 
 The middle class, which had grown up between the lords 
 and serfs, those two classes into which alone society is
 
 SUM MART. 7 
 
 divided in its first period of civilization, began to awake to 
 the consciousness that all the talent, energy, and working mind 
 of the country was with them, while at the same time they 
 found themselves excluded from all its honours, and in the pos- 
 session of no legal rights. The new literature soon gave a 
 definite form to their feelings, and taught them that tyranny 
 only existed by their sufferance. To the elegant and re- 
 fined men of letters of the seventeenth century, who adorned 
 the heroic, serious, and believing age of Louis XIV. had 
 succeeded the philosophical mockers and sceptics of the 
 eighteenth, to whom everything became a subject for dis- 
 cussion or ridicule. The first principles of morals, religion, 
 and government, were alike subjected to the tribunal of 
 their individual reason, and nothing, up to the Divine Being 
 himself, was sacred from their speculations. 
 
 The American revolution, towards the close of the cen- 
 tury, hastened the development of the bold social theories 
 advanced, by showing how successfully they might be realised ; 
 so that while the philosophers interpreted the vague, floating 
 thoughts of the people in words, the American revolution 
 revealed them in action. The new and exciting events of 
 that war kindled all hearts, though none saw clearly the 
 result. Louis XVI. himself sent troops to aid Washington ; 
 and the young nobility joined the cry of Freedom, little 
 thinking they were aiding the destruction of their own order 
 and building the scaffold for the king. After the puerile 
 frivolities and degrading immoralities of Louis XV.'s court, 
 this new drama of life, so exciting in its progress, so serious 
 and noble in its aim, had an irresistible charm for all those 
 earnest minds whose strong passions and enthusiasm had 
 hitherto found no adequate sphere of action. The fundamen- 
 tal principles, also, upon which the Americans proceeded to 
 form their government, were peculiarly attractive to that 
 age which analysed all traditions of belief, speculated upon 
 all, but reverenced none. 
 
 The young and ardent, inexperienced, but eager for ex- 
 citement, are easily kindled by lofty abstractions ; and the 
 youth of France flung themselves with as much eagerness 
 into the theories of the rights of man, promulgated by 
 Paine, as into the theories of the existence of a God started
 
 8 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 by Voltaire. All men felt that a great change was inevi- 
 table ; and at that time the whole nation, king, nobles, and 
 people, went forth to meet it with hope and joy. But the 
 speculative spirit, once aroused, stops at nothing: once 
 question the basis of the routine laws by which men sutler 
 themselves to be governed, and the foundations of all go- 
 vernment are no longer secure. The time came when the 
 middle class asked " Of what use are these nobles this 
 class which does nothing for the country, yet absorbs all its 
 wealth this favoured class, exempt from taxes, yet appro- 
 priating to its own order all honours, favours, dignities, and 
 endowments in court, church, and state? The people toil, 
 but the nobles enjoy." The poorer clergy and curates 
 readily joined the ranks of the discontented, for they, too, 
 felt that all the benefits were reaped by others; the labour 
 only was for them. The noblesse of France, vain, weak, 
 frivolous, dissolute, and ignorant, did nothing for their coun- 
 try to entitle them to those vast privileges they enjoyed, 
 originally conferred in compensation for warlike services 
 rendered in the old feudal times to the sovereign ; while in 
 the energetic and working ranks of the middle class, were to 
 be found all the intellect, talent,- enterprise, and education of 
 France. In a contest between the two, it was evident that 
 intelligence and numerical strength must, and had the right, 
 to conquer. The masses of the people, brutalized by cen- 
 turies of oppression, and neglect of all mental culture, were 
 never at any time more than an instrument in the hands of 
 the revolutionists. They felt only that they were misera- 
 ble, indigent, and enslaved, and rushed with blind ferocity 
 at any class above them, to do the terrible work of their 
 leaders, according as a Marat, a Danton, or a Robespierre 
 slipped the leash. The revolution received its first impulse 
 undoubtedly from the nobility, but was accomplished by the 
 middle classes, and that with a wisdom, dignity, and deco- 
 rum suited to the solemn work. That it was rendered a 
 world's wonder of crime and horror, was owing to the un- 
 restrained passions of a degraded populace, excited, from the 
 basest motives of envy, self-interest, and mutual hatred, by 
 a few men whose names will remain for ever in history 
 branded with the deepest infamy.
 
 SUMMARY. 9 
 
 Of all the kings who had reigned in France since Henri 
 Quatre, Louis XVI. was the most calculated by his natu- 
 rally amiable disposition, pure mode of life, and simple inex- 
 pensive habits, to carry out the wishes of the people, and 
 accede to their demands for freedom and participation in all 
 rights and honours, as befitted an advanced and enlightened 
 age. But he found the finances of the kingdom in a state 
 of the utmost confusion; distress prevailed everywhere; 
 bankruptcy and famine were the two most prominent evils 
 to be first averted. All his efforts, therefore, and those of 
 his successive ministers, were directed to this point. ]\I. 
 Neckar, father of the celebrated Madame de Stael, published 
 whilst minister, a survey of the state of the finances, the 
 amount of the royal expenditure, the secret and public pen- 
 sion lists, and announced the annual deficit, which was then 
 above two millions. Every one read this publication with 
 avidity, and the people learned, for the first time, at what 
 a vast expense they maintained this royalty which seemed 
 so useless; and what enormous sums of money, wrung from 
 them, the only taxpayers, were lavished upon nobles, pen- 
 sioners, courtiers, and favoured members of those privileged 
 classes who paid no taxes. This was the first direct appeal 
 to the common understanding of the people, and streng- 
 thened their animosity against the aristocracy. Gradually, 
 not a reformation, but a total abolition of the existing order 
 of things became the familiar idea, as a remedy for all evils. 
 An overtaxed and impoverished people very naturally begin 
 to question the necessity of supporting the grandeurs of a 
 proud, selfish aristocracy, and the useless pomps of royalty 
 at their own expense; and the French troops who returned 
 from America with Lafayette about this time, after assisting 
 to found a republic there, brought back with them not 
 only a heightened ardour for liberty, but the knowledge of 
 how well and cheaply countries may be governed without 
 kings. 
 
 Louis XVI. on learning the amount of the deficit, in- 
 stantly endeavoured to introduce economy into all depart- 
 ments, including his own household; but these measures 
 only disgusted the courtiers, and were of little avail to meet 
 the deficiency. His next effort was to pass an edict,
 
 10 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 authorising the assessment of two new taxes. This edict 
 the parliament refused to register. Thus, king and parlia- 
 ment were brought into collision, and the first impetus 
 given to the revolutionary torrent. He then convened an 
 assembly of the notables, or privileged classes, and de- 
 manded from them a participation in the expenses of the 
 state. They refused. Thus, being unsupported by the 
 court, the parliament, or the aristocracy, he at length re- 
 luctantly consented to the demand, preferred on all sides, 
 for the assembling of the States General. 
 
 This body, which fairly represented the whole French 
 people, lords, clergy, and commons, would alone be ade- 
 quate, it was asserted, to effect those fundamental changes 
 in the government which every one felt were imminent and 
 irresistible. Yet its powers were known more from tradition 
 than usage. Since 1614, they had not been once convened ; 
 and during five centuries, had appeared in history but eigh- 
 teen times. However, at this period, their assemblage was 
 eagerly desired by the nation. They were convoked osten- 
 sibly as regenerators and legislators, and their being sum- 
 moned was deemed a pledge that the revolution was 
 henceforth to be a fact. 
 
 The members amounted in number to 1200. 600 of 
 the privileged nobles and clergy, and 600 of the commons, 
 or tiers etat. 
 
 On the 5th of May, 1 789, they met at Versailles. It was 
 the first clay of the revolution; but as yet all wore the 
 appearance of a festival. Great excitement prevailed, and 
 the commons particularly were scrutinized by the court 
 with anxious solicitude. The king took his seat on the 
 throne ; and the queen, then in all the lustre of her beauty, 
 was likewise present. The nobles came habited in black 
 faced with silver, and plumed hats, a la Henri Quatre. The 
 members of the tiers etat were dressed simply, without 
 either lace or plumes; but amongst them was one man 
 who attracted every eye he whose immense genius gave 
 the first uniform direction to all the wild irregular impulse 
 of the revolution Mimbeau. Another, then unknown, 
 unnoticed, contemptible in appearance, without genius, 
 daring, or courage, but who was destined to turn France
 
 SUMMARY. 1 1 
 
 into a field of carnage, and drown the revolution iu blood 
 was Robespierre. In the ranks of the commons were also 
 found the most eminent literary men of the kingdom. 
 Theorists profound and subtle like the Abbe Sieyes, philo- 
 sophers like Bailli, whose calm, wise, upright, noble nature, 
 helped mainly to achieve the revolution, and whom the 
 revolution sent to the scaffold; men earnest, ardent, and 
 eloquent, who came to the work of legislation with a serious 
 and profound sense of the noble mission entrusted to them, 
 and who fulfilled it uobly; and young and fiery aspirants 
 after all heights to which human ambition can climb; ar- 
 dent revolutionists, who had an interest in change, but none 
 in the stability of the existing order of things. Thus, the 
 genius, intelligence, and energy of France was with the 
 tiers etat; and the nobles, with only the old worn-out pre- 
 judice of birth and title in their favour, vainly tried to 
 compete with them for the possession of power. A long 
 debate ensued, as to how they should vote : whether in one, 
 or like the English, in distinct chambers. The commons de- 
 sired the first mode, the nobles the second. Finally, after 
 five weeks' debate, the inferior clergy and some of the 
 nobles joined the tiers etat, who, thereupon, constituted 
 themselves a complete legislative body, entirely competent, 
 within itself for the whole work of organizing a constitu- 
 tion, and adopted the name of the National Assembly. 
 This was the first step towards the abolition of classes. 
 The king, being justly alarmed, announced his intention 
 to meet the three estates in person, but not this self-consti- 
 tuted democratic body. The Commons' Hall, the largest, 
 was selected for the Seance Royale; and workmen were 
 ordered to make the necessary preparations in it; so that 
 when the commons arrived as usual, they were forbidden 
 entrance by armed guards. Thus expelled, as they ima- 
 gined with intentional insult, they repaired to an adjacent 
 tennis-court, Bailli, the President, at their head. There 
 they held their sitting, and, with uplifted hands, they took 
 the solemn oath known as the oath of the tennis-court 
 never to separate until the kingdom was regenerated, and 
 the constitution established on a solid basis. By this act, 
 the assembly declared itself sovereign. Every step was
 
 12 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 still onward to revolution. The king afterwards held a 
 royal sitting, and dissolved the assembly in person with 
 expressions of anger, then retired, followed by the nobles 
 and clergy; but the commons refused to disperse, and 
 passed a decree, declaring their persons inviolable. " What 
 means this insulting dictation ?" exclaimed Mirabeau ? 
 "Who commands? your proxy. Who gives you impe- 
 rious laws? your proxy: he who should receive them 
 from us who are invested with a political and inviolable 
 priesthood." That day the king's authority fell for ever, 
 and the Assembly remained in permanence. 
 
 The king then surrounded Versailles with troops, to over- 
 awe the Assembly, and exiled Neckar, the popular minister. 
 This step excited great indignation in Paris. A young man, 
 with a pistol in hand, harangued the mob, and bade them rush 
 to arms. It was Camille Desmoulins. He proposed, like- 
 wise, a cockade, as a badge for the patriots. " Shall it be 
 green, for Hope?" he asked. " Green, green!" shouted the 
 populace; and tearing the branches from the trees, they 
 attached them to their hats, till all the chestnut trees of 
 Paris were despoiled. The insurrection was rapidly organ- 
 ized. The mob broke open the arsenal and armed them- 
 selves, and the French Guards fraternized with the people. 
 It was at this crisis that the municipal authorities of Paris 
 enrolled a burgess militia to protect the city, under the 
 name of the National Guard, with Lafayette for com- 
 mander; and the greeu cockade was replaced by the red 
 and blue, the colours of the capital. An alarm spread that 
 the king's foreign regiments were marching on Paris, and 
 that the cannon of the Bastile was pointed upon the Rue 
 St. Antoine. Instantly shouts resounded from every quarter 
 "To the Bastile 1" Some individual struck one of the 
 chains of the great bridge with a hatchet, and thus gave 
 the impulse to the multitude. They rushed to the attack, 
 assisted by the militia, and the cannon of the French 
 Guards. After four hours' siege the Bastile was taken ; 
 and the whole feudal power and prestige of the king and 
 aristocracy of France, fell with it. 
 
 From that day the lower classes became conscious of their 
 strength, and have ever since made it felt wherever there
 
 SL'-MMAKV. 13 
 
 was opportunity. When the king heard the tidings, he ex- 
 claimed " It is a revolt." " Xo, sire," replied his minister, 
 " it is a revolution." 
 
 The Assembly had annihilated the moral power of the 
 crown, the people its physical power, and the king had no 
 other policy left but submission. The nobles began to emi- 
 grate, and thus left him without any barrier between the 
 throne and the commons. The Assembly ruled France, and 
 the mob occasionally overawed the Assembly. The Assembly 
 itself, however, like all large bodies of men, was divided into 
 three classes, the Conservatives, Moderates, and Ultra-Re- 
 publicans. The first still wished for a king as the apex of 
 government. 
 
 At that time it was the strongest party in France, and 
 had the middle class for its support. Mirabeau, Lafayette, 
 and Bailli were its leaders the orator, the general, and the 
 president. The second class, viz. the moderate republicans, 
 comprised the men of letters, who had all along felt jealous 
 of the privileged classes : these men wished for an aristocracy 
 of talent. The third, or ultras, or, "les Enrages," as they 
 were termed, were laughed at as fanatics by the Assembly ; 
 but their violent and unscrupulous propositions never failed 
 to carry with them the feelings of the populace. Each party 
 in turn ruled France: the Monarchists, the Girondists, and 
 the Jacobins. 
 
 After the insurrection at Paris, the Assembly continued 
 its work of legislation without further opposition from the 
 king. At one sitting the privileged classes of their own 
 accord renounced all their ancient rights, including that of 
 immunity from taxes ; all the distinctive privileges of pro- 
 vinces, towns, and corporate bodies were likewise abolished, 
 and from the extent of the renunciations made on that day, 
 it received the name of " the day of sacrifices." This one 
 day in itself accomplished a revolution; the whole system of 
 feudality, with all seignorial rights, was destroyed at once. 
 All Frenchmen were henceforth equal; the people legally 
 equal to the nobles, while physically and numerically they 
 were beyond them. 
 
 As yet, none had ventured to touch the crown. The 
 king was still permitted to retain his nominal position and
 
 14 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 title, but he had no longer any significance in the constitu- 
 tion. Each day his prerogative was abridged, yet the 
 populace still persisted in attributing all the evils of their 
 condition to his influence, or still more to that of the 
 queen, who was hated as an alien, a supposed enemy to the 
 revolution, and one whose influence with the king, they 
 imagined, was always successfully opposed to the demands of 
 the nation. But not even the shadow of a king suffered by 
 the Assembly could satisfy the ultra-republicans. It was pro- 
 posed to allow him a Veto on the decrees of the Assembly ; 
 but this power, vested in a single individual who could thus 
 at any time stop the progress of revolution, alarmed the na- 
 tion, and the Veto became the rallying cry of insurrection. 
 
 The National Assembly made no effort to repress these 
 excesses, until they thought monarchy was completely 
 humbled : it was then too late. The mob, once loosed as an 
 instrument, soon became unguidable, and the Parisian popu- 
 lace now vociferously demanded that both king and Assembly 
 should leave Versailles and come to Paris, where both 
 would be under the surveillance of the revolutionary clubs. 
 
 The first deputation from Paris to force the Assembly to 
 quit Versailles, was, however, dispersed by Lafayette and 
 Bailli. After that, the people became still further excited 
 against the court, by hearing of the banquet at Versailles, 
 given by the officers quartered there to some new regiments 
 on their arrival. At this banquet the king and queen ap- 
 peared, and white cockades were distributed to the officers, 
 who in return swore eternal fidelity to the royal cause. 
 This was considered as a pledge against the nation, and 
 excited deep indignation at Paris. Great distress, too, 
 prevailed at this time, in consequence of the failure of the 
 harvest, and women ran wildly through the streets shout- 
 ing, "Bread I bread!'' Suddenly, a cry arose "To Ver- 
 sailles 1" The multitude re-echoed it, and instantly rushed 
 to the Hotel do Ville, broke open the gates, seized the 
 arms there, and set forward to Versailles, a mob of women 
 marching at their head. Lafayette, alarmed for the result, 
 followed them with the national guards, and reached Ver- 
 sailles a few hours after their arrival, but no violence had 
 been attempted. At night all seemed tranquil. Lafayette
 
 SUMMARY. 1 5 
 
 retired to rest; but towards morning the mob broke into 
 the palace, penetrated to the queen's chamber, murdered 
 her guards, and plunged their pikes into her bed, from 
 which she had only just time to escape by a private door 
 into the king's apartment. 
 
 Lafayette arrived after all this had happened, and easily 
 cleared the palace with his troops ; but the mob re-assem- 
 bled in the court-yard, and demanded to see the king. He 
 appeared, and promised to return with them to Paris. 
 They next summoned the queen. Though at the peril of 
 her life, she appeared on the balcony with her two child- 
 ren ; her countenance pale but dignified, her hair dishevelled. 
 "Xo children!" they exclaimed; and the queen putting 
 them back, stood with her arms folded looking down upon 
 the mass of fierce and armed men, who were ready to kill 
 her at a word. But her beauty and courage seemed to 
 affect the multitude, and for the last time the shout was 
 heard of " Vive la Seine/" 
 
 The mob refused to return to Paris without the royal 
 family, and Lafayette with his national guards supported 
 their demand. There was no alternative, therefore, but to 
 consent. The return was one continued scene of horror 
 and insult for the king and queen, and after they arrived 
 at the Tuileries they were nothing more than prisoners. 
 The capture of the Bastile was the first triumph of the 
 people. This return from Versailles, with all its disgusting 
 atrocities, was the second. Henceforth the royalist party 
 ceased to have either influence or power. 
 
 At this time was formed the celebrated Jacobin Club, 
 where the most fiery of the ultra party met to criticise or 
 denounce the acts of the Assembly. Its organization be- 
 came powerful, and branch societies were formed in all the 
 provinces. They instantly acquired immense influence; 
 for the most violent and levelling doctrines are always sure 
 to be supported by the great mass of the people. 
 
 After their establishment in Paris, the Assembly pro- 
 ceeded in the work of legislation. They abolished tithes, 
 and confiscated the church lands, nearly one half of the 
 entire landed property of the kingdom, which property was 
 thus resumed by the nation to meet the exigencies of the
 
 16 HliSl' MIENCH 
 
 state, and an issue of paper money was adopted, called 
 assignees, secured upon these church lands. Talleyrand, 
 Bishop of Autun, was the proposer of this measure for the 
 spoliation of the clergy. They next formed a new consti- 
 tution for the church, making it independent of the See 
 of Rome; and all those who did not subscribe were de- 
 prived of their benefices. Talleyrand, and two other bishops, 
 with a few of the minor clergy, took the new oath, but the 
 church as a body refused, and these non-juring priests 
 became, in consequence, great favourites with the people, 
 particularly in the provinces. All titles of honour and 
 even of courtesy were afterwards abolished: "Citizen"' was 
 the only mode of address permissible. 
 
 Thus power, property, and pride were crushed by the 
 new constitution. The loss of tithes had alienated the 
 clergy from the revolution, the loss of titles converted the 
 noblesse into its irreconcilable enemies. The roads were now 
 crowded with emigrants hastening to join the Count d'Artois 
 at Coblentz, where he was organizing a counter revo- 
 lutionary party to aid the army of invasion, whose object 
 was to restore arbitrary power in France. 
 
 Still the Assembly proceeded in its great work of clearing 
 away abuses. Penal laws against Protestants, and torture 
 and imprisonment without judicial authority, were abolished. 
 All the criminal jurisprudence of England was introduced. 
 Liberty of conscience, liberty of the press, and legal rights 
 for all, were established. The right of the people to equal 
 justice was recognized for the first time in the constitution, 
 and the organization of the national guard, composed of 
 citizens, was a guarantee that these rights would not be 
 taken from them. It was the security of the people against 
 the army of the king. 
 
 "The will of the nation is the source of all power," was the 
 fundamental axiom of the Assembly. All civil offices were 
 filled by popular election. Birth had no longer its absurd, 
 unjust, hereditary rights. Every path was open to talent 
 and enterprize. The promotions in the army, hitherto 
 engrossed by the young nobles, now proceeded by seniority. 
 This measure at once secured the affection of the soldiers, 
 although it excited the disgust of the noblesse, who no
 
 SU.MMAKY. 17 
 
 longer coalesced with the revolution, but sought secretly to 
 undermine it. This step forced the ultras to extremes, and the 
 Jacobins roused the mob to resist the re-action of the nobles. 
 Then arose that intense hatred of the aristocracy, that 
 fierce war of the poor against the rich, who it was imagined, 
 stood between the people and their rights, and who really did 
 so. For if the foreign troops had been successful in their 
 invasion of France, no doubt the court would have retaliated 
 on the popular party, and arbitrary power have been restored. 
 It was not in human nature that the nobles should aid com- 
 placently a revolution which totally crushed their order. No 
 one believed the king sincere when he went in person to 
 the Assembly to accept the constitution. He was at that 
 time planning his escape from Paris where he con- 
 sidered himself, and was in reality, a prisoner. He had 
 now neither a party nor an army to stand between him 
 and the Assembly. A king can only meet pnblic opinion by 
 force, or enter into treaty with it; but force requires an 
 army, and almost all the troops were on the side of the 
 people. The king, therefore, acceded to all the Assembly 
 proposed to him, without offering any opposition. 
 
 Mirabeau, the inspiring genius of the revolution, now 
 wished to arrest its fatal progress. In the Assembly he 
 waged fierce war against the Jacobins, and all his endea- 
 vours were directed to save the king and aid his escape to 
 Compeigne, where he would be under the protection of the 
 troops commanded by the Marquis de Bouille, a known and 
 devoted royalist, though trusted by the Assembly with the 
 command of the army of the frontier. But the death of 
 Mirabeau, in 1791, deprived the king of this powerful 
 auxiliary. 
 
 At this time a coalition of European powers was formed 
 against France. It was the interest of all kings to put 
 down an Assembly which had announced itself the propa- 
 gandist of revolution, and the advocate of the rights of 
 man against the despotism of governments. Austria, Spain, 
 Prussia, England, Russia, the German circles, Sweden, 
 and all the princes of the House of Bourbon, entered into 
 this coalition ; and at a conference held at Mantua, in May, 
 1791, the number of troops which each state was to supply 
 
 B
 
 18 FIRST FKENOII HEYOLUTION. 
 
 for the invasion of France was agreed upon; while the 
 Prince of Conde at Worms, and the Count d'Artois at 
 Coblentz, were to organize an army of emigrants to assist 
 the allies.* 
 
 Louis XVI. however, wished to make a last attempt to 
 retrieve his position in the constitution through the medium 
 of French troops, without the aid of foreign swords. For 
 this purpose he renewed the correspondence with the 
 Marquis de Bouille, commenced by Mirabeau, intending if 
 possible to fly from his Paris prison, and throw himself 
 upon the fidelity of the troops encamped at Montmedy, 
 under command of the marquis. 
 
 But flight was hazardous and difficult. Lafayette guarded 
 the Tuileries with 800 men and two pieces of cannon; and 
 different events proved to the king that he was not only a 
 prisoner, but wholly in the power of the national guard. 
 Once, when he publicly attempted to remove to St. Cloud, 
 he was forced back by the guard tinder Lafayette's orders. 
 These sinister events impressed on the king's mind the 
 necessity for flight, and at the same time that it should be 
 conducted with the profoundest secrecy. 
 
 THE FLIGHT TO VAKENNES. 
 
 TOWARDS the end of April the king wrote in cypher to the 
 Marquis de Bouille, informing him of his intention to quit 
 Paris immediately with all his family. They were to occupy 
 a single carriage, which he had ordered to be constructed for 
 the express purpose, and he desired him to establish a chain 
 of posts from Chalons to Montmedy, the frontier town at 
 which he wished to arrive. 
 
 From Paris to Montmedy the shortest road lay through 
 Kheims, but as the king had been crowned there he feared 
 recognition, and resolved, in spite of the remonstrances of 
 M. de Bouille, to go by Varennes. 
 
 * Austria was to send 35,000 men; the German circle 15,000; the 
 Swiss 15,000; and Spain 20,000.
 
 THE FLIGHT TO VABENNEiJ. 19 
 
 This route had tho disadvantage of not being furnished 
 throughout with relays of post-horses. It would be neces- 
 sary therefore to supply this want under different pretexts, 
 although these relays might naturally excite suspicions 
 amongst the inhabitants of the small towns, and the presence 
 of military detachments likewise, in places not habitually 
 frequented by troops, was open to a similar danger. M. de 
 Bouille consequently tried to dissuade the king from select- 
 ing this road: representing that if the detachment were 
 strong it would arouse the vigilance of the municipal 
 authorities, and if weak it would be unable to afford 
 him protection. He further requested him not to travel in 
 a berlin constructed for the purpose, or in any way re- 
 markable in its form, but to employ instead two light 
 English carriages, such as were then in fashion. Above all 
 he insisted on the necessity of taking with him some man 
 of firmness and decision in whom he could place implicit 
 trust, to advise and sustain him in all the perils of so hazar- 
 dous a journey, and suggested for the purpose the Marquis 
 d' Ago tilt, major in the French guards. Lastly, he prayed 
 the king to induce the emperor to order an apparently hos- 
 tile advance of the Austrian troops towards the frontiers 
 near Moutmedy, in order that the consequent alarm of the 
 people might serve as a pretext for the concentration of 
 troops and cavalry around that town. The king promised 
 this, and also to bring with him the Marquis d'Agoult, but 
 refused all the rest. A few days before his departure he 
 sent a million in assignats to M. de Bouille, for the secret 
 purchase of rations and forage, as well as for the pay of 
 those faithful troops who were to assist in his escape. 
 
 These arrangements having been completed, M. de Bouille 
 despatched a trusty officer of his staff, M. de Guoguelas, to 
 make an inspection of the entire road between Chalons and 
 Montmedy, and furnish a minute and exact report of it to 
 the king. This officer had an interview with the king and 
 brought back his orders to M. de Bouille. 
 
 Mean while M. de Bouille had taken every precaution to 
 ensure the success of the project. The patriot troops were re- 
 moved to a distance, and twelve foreign battalions on whom 
 he could rely, along with a train of artillery consisting of
 
 20 MUST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 sixteen pieces of cannon, were concentrated upon Montmedy. 
 The Royal German regiment entered Stenay, one squadron 
 of hussars was at Dun, another at Varennes, and two 
 squadrons of dragoons were to meet the king at Clermont 
 on the day of his arrival there. They were commanded by 
 Count Charles de Damas, a bold and spirited officer, who 
 had orders to send on a detachment from thence to Saiute 
 Menehould ; besides fifty hussars detached from Varennes, 
 which were to proceed to Pont Sommevelle, between Chalons 
 and Sainte Menehould, under pretence of securing the safe 
 transmission of a sum of money sent from Paris for the pay 
 of the troops. 
 
 Thus, Chalons once passed, the king's carriage would 
 find escorts of faithful troops at every relay, and the com- 
 manders of each detachment had orders to approach the 
 royal party while they changed horses, in case the king 
 had any commands to give. If he desired to proceed unre- 
 cognised they were merely to see that no obstacle existed to 
 retard his progress, and were then to follow him slowly at 
 a little distance on the same road; but in case he wished 
 to be escorted, they were to order their troops to mount 
 and accompany him. 
 
 No plan could have been more sagely devised, and the 
 most profound secrecy shrouded all these combinations. 
 
 On the 27th of May, the king wrote that he had fixed 
 his departure for the 19th of the following month. That 
 he would leave Paris in a hired carriage, and at Bondy, the 
 first stage from Paris, would take his own berlin. That 
 one of his gardes du corps, selected to act as courier, was 
 to await him at Bondy, and in case the king did not 
 arrive there by two o'clock, it would be a sign that he was 
 arrested. The courier was then to proceed alone to Pont 
 Sommevelle, announce to the general that the scheme had 
 failed, and warn him and the other officers compromised to 
 provide for their own safety. 
 
 Having received these final directions, M. de Bouille 
 despatched the Duke de Choiseul to Paris, there to await 
 the king's orders, and precede his departure by twelve hours.
 
 THE FLIGHT TO VARENNES. 21 
 
 The duke's servants were to be at Varennes on the 18th, 
 with his own horses for the use of the king's carriage, and 
 their station in the town was to be explained so exactly to 
 the king, that the change of horses could be effected without 
 any hesitation or loss of time. M. de Choiseul had orders 
 to take the command of the hussars at Pont Sommevelle on 
 his return, to await the king there, escort him to Sainte 
 Menehould, and leave his troop stationed there with strict 
 orders not to permit any one to pass from Paris to Varennes, 
 or from Paris to Verdun, during the twenty-four hours that 
 followed the king's departure. He also received orders 
 from M. de Bouille, signed by the king himself, authorising 
 him, as well as the other commanders of detachments, to 
 employ force if necessary for the safety and preservation of 
 his majesty and the royal family, and to rescue him from 
 the people should they endeavour to seize his person. In 
 case the carriages were stopped at Chalons, M. de Choiseul 
 was to give notice to the general, assemble all the detach- 
 ments, and march to the deliverance of the king, and he 
 received six hundred louis in gold, to distribute amongst 
 the soldiers, in order to excite their feelings of devotion 
 at the moment when the king should appear and make 
 himself known. 
 
 M. de Guoguelas left at the same time for Paris to 
 reconnoitre the road once more, passing through Stenay, 
 Dun, Varennes, and Sainte Menehould, so that he might 
 be able to impress the topography of the country clearly on 
 the king's memory. He was to return to Montmedy by 
 another route and bring back the latest instructions to M. 
 de Bouille. The Marquis de Bouille himself left Metz 
 under pretence of making a tour of inspection of those 
 places under his command, and approached nearer to Mont- 
 medy. On the 15th he was at Longwy; when there he 
 received a message from the king, informing him that their 
 departure was unavoidably delayed for twenty-four hours, in 
 order to conceal their preparations from nfemme-de-chambre 
 of the queen's a fanatical democrat, quite capable of 
 denouncing them, and whose service only terminated on 
 the 19th. His majesty also added that they could not 
 bring the Marquis d'Agoult with them, because Madame
 
 li'J FIKST FRENCH DEVOLUTION. 
 
 de TourEel, governess to the royal children, claimed the 
 rights of her station, and insisted on accompanying them. 
 
 This fatal delay rendered counter orders necessary, and 
 all the precise arrangements respecting place and time were 
 thereby deranged. Passing detachments were obliged to 
 become stationary, the relays of horses prepared might be 
 withdrawn; nevertheless, the Marquis de Bouille endea- 
 voured to counteract all these evils as far as possible, and 
 gent modified orders to the heads of detachments, while he 
 himself advanced to Stenay on the 20th, where the German 
 Eoyals, a regiment on which he could rely, were stationed. 
 
 There, on the 2 1 st, he assembled the generals under his 
 orders, informed them that the king would pass through 
 Stenay during the night, and that he would arrive next 
 morning at Montmedy; and General Klingin was charged 
 to prepare a camp there of twelve battalions and twenty-four 
 squadrons under the protection of the cannon of the place. 
 The king was to be located in a chateau behind the camp; 
 which chateau would also serve as head-quarters. The posi- 
 tion of the king would thus seem more dignified, and be more 
 secure in the midst of his troops than within the walls of a 
 fortified town. The generals evinced no hesitation in second- 
 ing the project; and M. de Bouille left General Hoffelizze 
 at Stenay, in command of the German Royals, with orders 
 to saddle their horses at nightfall, mount at daybreak, and 
 at ten o'clock in the evening send forward a detachment of 
 fifty dragoons on the road between Stenay and Dun, there to 
 await the king and escort him to Stenay. 
 
 At night, M. de Choiseul left Stenay himself on horse- 
 back, accompanied by several officers, and advanced to the 
 very gates of Dun, but would not enter least his presence 
 might excite suspicions amongst the people. There, in 
 silence and darkness, he awaited the arrival of the courier 
 who was to precede the royal carriages by one hour. The 
 destinies of a monarchy, the throne of a dynasty, the lives 
 of an entire royal family, king, queen, princess, children, 
 weighed down his soul. The night seemed an age to him, 
 nevertheless it passed away without the sound of a horse's 
 foot coming to announce to the group concealed under the 
 trees whether the king of France was saved or lostl
 
 THE FLIGHT TO VAUENNES. 23 
 
 Mean time, what was passing at the Tuileries during 
 these decisive hours? The secret of the projected flight 
 had been religiously confined to the king, the queen, 
 Madame Elizabeth, a few faithful servants, and the Count 
 de Fersen, a Swedish nobleman, who had been charged with 
 the exterior preparations. Vague rumours, it is true, like the 
 shadows of coming events, had been current amongst the 
 people for some days previous ; but these rumours were owing 
 rather to the unsettled state of men's minds, than to any 
 positive revelation made by the confidants of the flight. 
 They had the effect, however, of making Lafayette and his 
 staff redouble their vigilant watch around the palace, and 
 even in the interior of the king's apartments. Since the 
 events of the 5th and 6th of October, the household troops 
 had been disbanded. The companies of the gardes du corps, 
 every soldier of which was a noble, and whose inviolable 
 fidelity was assured by their rank, honour, blood, traditions, 
 and esprit du corps, existed no longer. The respectful 
 vigilance which made their services to the royal family 
 seem a kind of homage, had given place to the sullen sur- 
 veillance of the national guards, who acted as spies upon the 
 king, rather than guards attending upon, the monarch. 
 
 The Swiss guards, it is true, still surrounded the 
 Tuileries, but they only occupied the exterior posts. The 
 interior, the staircases, and the communications between the 
 different apartments, were all entrusted to the national guard. 
 M. de Lafayette was liable to be there at any moment; his 
 officers prowled about at night through the corridors, and they 
 had orders, not written, but tacitly understood, to prevent 
 even the king himself from leaving the palace after midnight. 
 
 To this official watch was added the still more minute, 
 though secret espionage of the servants of the household, 
 amongst whom the spirit of the revolution had insinuated 
 itself to encourage treachery, and sanctify ingratitude. 
 Within the walls of this palace of his ancestors, the king 
 could rely on no hearts save those of the queen, his sister, 
 and some few courtiers who sympathised with his misfor- 
 tunes, but whose very gestures were reported to M. de 
 Lafayette. Some loyal gentlemen, who had come to offer 
 their services to strengthen the private guard of the apart-
 
 24 FZKSf JFKKNCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 ments on the day of the tumult at Versailles, had been 
 even expelled from the palace with violence and insults, and 
 the king, with tears in his eyes, was obliged to witness this 
 shameless expulsion of his most devoted friends from his 
 own dwelling, at the bidding of the revolutionary general, 
 and beheld them delivered up by his official protector to 
 the jeers and outrages of the mob. 
 
 The royal family therefore could not expect to find any 
 one within the palace willing to favour their escape. 
 
 The Count de Fersen was the principal confidant, and 
 almost the sole agent of this hazardous enterprize. Young, 
 handsome, and devoted, he had been admitted, during the 
 brilliant period of Marie Antoinette's life, to the intimacies of 
 the Trianon, and it was said that a chivalrous adoration, to 
 which respect alone prevented him giving the name of love, 
 had from that time attached him to the queen. 
 
 The worship of beauty had become in the soul of the 
 Swede a passionate devotion to misfortune. The instinct 
 of the queen did not deceive her, when, on anxiously con- 
 sidering to whose fidelity and zeal the safety of the king 
 and of her children might be confided, her thoughts were 
 directed to Count de Ferseu. At the first hint, he quitted 
 Stockholm, had an interview with the king and queen, and 
 took upon himself the preparation of the carriage which was 
 to await the august family at Bondy. As a foreigner his 
 arrangements were not liable to suspicion, and he combined 
 them with a discretion equal to his devotion. Three of the 
 old gardes du corps, MM. de Valory, De Moustier, and De 
 Maldan, were taken into his confidence, and instructed by 
 him in the parts they were to enact agreeably to the king's 
 wishes. Disguised as domestics, they were to take their 
 places on the outside of the carriage, and would thus be at 
 hand to protect the royal family against all the perils of 
 the journey. These three obscure provincial names were 
 honoured that day above many a courtier's. In case the king 
 were arrested they foresaw their fate ; but to be the saviours 
 of their sovereign they courageously offered themselves as 
 victims to the populace.
 
 THE FLIGHT TO VARENN.S. 25 
 
 The queen's mind had for a long time been occupied by 
 this idea of flight. So long previously as the month of 
 March, one of her women had been instructed to forward to 
 Brussels complete sets of clothing for the princess royal and 
 the dauphin, and everything necessary for herself during 
 the journey she had sent on to her sister the Archduchess 
 Christine, gouvernante of the Low Countries, under pre- 
 tence of making her a present. Her diamonds and jewels 
 she confided to Leonard, her hairdresser, who left Paris 
 along with the Duke de Choiseul. These slight indica- 
 tions of a meditated flight had not escaped the treacherous 
 vigilance of one of her women. She had noted the whis- 
 perings and gestures, portfolios lying open on the table, 
 and parurcs of jewels missing from their cases. These 
 symptoms she denounced to M. de Gouvion, aide-de-camp 
 to M. de Lafayette, with whom she was on terms of inti- 
 macy, and he instantly gave information to his commander 
 and to the Mayor of Paris. 
 
 These denunciations, however, had been renewed so fre- 
 quently, and from all directions, without any event happen- 
 ing to confirm their truth, that at last they gained little 
 credence; but, on this day, her information was of such 
 a character that double measures of precaution were taken 
 for the night. Under different pretexts, M. de Gouvion 
 introduced numerous officers of the national guard into the 
 palace, and placed them at the several doors, while he him- 
 self, with five commanding officers, passed a part of the night 
 watching at the door of the apartment formerly occupied 
 by the Duke de Villequier, which had been specially recom- 
 mended to his vigilance. He had been told, which was 
 true, that a secret corridor led from the queen's cabinet to 
 the apartment of the aged captain of the guard ; and that 
 the king, whom it was well known was an expert lock- 
 smith, had manufactured false keys which could open all 
 the doors. 
 
 In short, these reports, which spread from the national 
 guards to the clubs, transformed every patriot that night 
 into a jailer of the king. In the journal of Camille Des- 
 moulins of this date, 20th of June, 1791, we find him observ- 
 ing: "The evening passed quietly at Paris. I returned,
 
 26 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 at eleven o'clock, from the Jacobin club with Dantou and 
 some other patriots, and we met no one the whole way but 
 a single patrol. Paris seemed to me so deserted on this 
 night, that I could not help making the remark. One of 
 our party, Freron, who had a letter in his pocket warning 
 him that the king would escape that night, had been to 
 observe the palace, and saw M. de Lafayette enter it 
 about eleven o'clock." 
 
 The same Camille Desmoulins recounts farther on the 
 instinctive agitation of the people on this fatal night. He 
 says: "The night on which the family of the Capets took 
 flight, one Busebi, a peruke-maker, called on Hucher, a 
 baker, and sapper in the battalion of the Theatins, to com- 
 municate to him his fears with reference to all he had heard 
 about the king's flight. Then they ran to awaken their 
 neighbours, and soon assembled about thirty, who proceeded 
 in a body to M. de Lafayette, and told him of the king's 
 intention, requiring him to take immediate measures to 
 oppose it. He only laughed, and recommended them to go 
 home quietly. In order not to be arrested on their return, 
 they demanded the pass-word, which he gave. Furnished 
 with this they hastened to the Tuileries, but no movement 
 was visible, except a set of hackney coachmen drinking round 
 one of the small ambulatory shops, which generally stand 
 near the wicket of the Carrousel. They made the tour of 
 the courts as far as the door of the Manege, where 
 the Assembly is held, and perceived nothing suspicious; 
 but on their return they observed with surprise that all 
 the hackney coaches had disappeared, which led them to 
 conjecture that some of these carriages were engaged in the 
 service of the persons who were to accompany this un- 
 worthy family." 
 
 It is evident that this excited state of the public mind, 
 combined with the extreme severity of the king's imprison- 
 ment, made the escape of so many persons a matter of 
 considerable difficulty. Nevertheless, whether it were ow- 
 ing to the connivance of some of the national guards, who 
 had that day demanded the custody of the interior posts, and 
 shut their eyes to the infraction of the orders they had re- 
 ceived ; or to the very able measures taken by Count Fersen ;
 
 THE FLIGHT TO VARENNES. 
 
 or that Providence wished to shed a last gleam of hope and 
 safety upon those who were so soon to be crushed by so 
 many misfortunes, certain it is that the guards were de- 
 ceived, their vigilance was in vain, and the revolution, for 
 one brief moment, allowed its prey to escape it. 
 
 That night, before retiring to rest, the king and queen 
 received as usual all who were in the habit of paying their 
 respects to them at that hour, nor did they dismiss their 
 attendants earlier than was customary; but, as soon as 
 they were alone they hastily assumed the simple travelling 
 dresses suitable to the characters they were to sustain. Made- 
 moiselle Elizabeth and the children then joined them in the 
 queen's chamber, from whence, by a secret communication, 
 they gained the apartment of the Duke de Villequier, and 
 quitted the palace at intervals in separate groups, in order 
 not to attract the attention of the sentinels on duty by 
 the appearance of so many persons at a time. 
 
 Owing to the number of people, both on foot and in car- 
 riages, who were leaving the palace after the coucher of 
 the king, an attendance which Count Fersen, no doubt, 
 had caused to be greater than usual that evening under dif- 
 ferent pretexts, they reached the Carrousel, mingling with 
 the crowd without being recognised. The queen leaned on 
 one of the gardes du corps, and held the Princess Royal 
 by the hand. In crossing the Carrousel, they met M. de 
 Lafayette, with one or two officers of his staff, on his way 
 to the Tuileries to assure himself that all the strict mea- 
 sures he had ordered, in consequence of the revelations of 
 the day, had been attended to. 
 
 The queen trembled at the sight of the man who repre- 
 sented, in her eyes, insurrection and captivity; but in 
 escaping him she fancied she had escaped the whole na- 
 tion, and smiled as she made a remark on the deception 
 practised on this jailer, who would be unable next day to 
 produce his prisoners to the people. 
 
 Madame Elizabeth, leaning also upon one of the garde.? 
 du corps, followed at a little distance. The king, by his 
 own desire, left the palace the last, accompanied by the 
 dauphin, then seven years old; while Count Fersen, dis-
 
 28 FIKST FRENCH REVOLUTIOi-T. 
 
 guised as a coachman, walked a short way before him, and 
 acted as guide. 
 
 The rendezvous of the royal family was fixed at the Quai 
 des Theatins, where two hired carriages awaited them. The 
 queen's waiting-women and the Marchioness de Tourzel, 
 had preceded them there. 
 
 In the midst of the agitation caused by so perilous and 
 complicated a project, the queen and her guides crossed the 
 Pont Royal, and turned down the Rue du Bac; but, soon 
 perceiving her error, she became greatly alarmed, and 
 hastily retraced her steps. The king and dauphin being 
 obliged to proceed through by-streets, and across a different 
 bridge, were half an hour later. It seemed an age to the 
 queen and his sister. At length they all arrived, and 
 sprang into the first carriage; Count Fersen jumped on the 
 box, seized the reins, and drove the royal family himself to 
 Bondy, the first stage between Paris and Chalons. There, 
 thanks to his exertions, the travellers found everything pre- 
 pared, the berlin constructed for the king, and a cabriolet 
 in addition, with the horses ready harnessed to each. The 
 queen's two waiting-women, and one of the disguised 
 guards, entered the cabriolet. The king and queen, the 
 dauphin and his sister, Madame Elizabeth and the Mar- 
 chioness de Tourzel, took their places in the berlin, while 
 two of the gardes du corps seated themselves, one on the 
 box and the other behind the carriage. 
 
 Count Fersen kissed the hands of the king and queen, 
 confided them to the care of Providence, and returned to 
 Paris, which he left that same night by another road for 
 Brussels, intending to join the royal family at a later period. 
 At the same hour Monsieur, the king's brother, Count de 
 Provence, left the palace of the Luxembourg for Brussels, 
 and arrived there in safety without being recognised. 
 
 The king's carriages proceeded on the road to Chalons, 
 relays of eight horses awaiting them at every stage. This 
 large number of horses ; the size and remarkable form of the 
 berliii ; the number of travellers who occupied the interior ; 
 the gardes du corps, whose livery accorded so ill with their 
 noble physiognomy and bearing; the Bourbon features
 
 . THE FLIGHT TO VAREXNES. 29 
 
 of Louis XVI. buried in a corner of the carriage, 
 contrasting so strangely with the character of valet de 
 chambre which he had adopted; all these circumstances 
 were sufficient to awaken suspicions upon the road, and 
 compromise the safety of the royal family ; but their pass- 
 port, signed by the minister for foreign affairs, removed all 
 objections. It stated that, by command of the king, no ob- 
 struction was to be offered to the passage of Madame la 
 Baronne de Korf, on her way to Frankfort with her two 
 children, an attendant, a valet de chambre, and three domes- 
 tics, and was signed, "Montmorin, minister of foreign 
 affairs." 
 
 This foreign name, the title of German baroness, the pro- 
 verbial opulence of the Frankfort bankers, to whom the people 
 were accustomed to attribute all the most singular and 
 splendid equipages, had been admirably calculated on by 
 Count Fersen to account for whatever might seem strange 
 or suspicious in the royal cortege. Accordingly, the car- 
 riages passed on without exciting any public attention until 
 they reached Montmirail, a small town between Meaux and 
 Chalons. Here they were obliged to stop for an hour, in 
 order to have some damages to the berlin repaired. This 
 delay of an entire hour, in which the flight of the monarch 
 from the Tuileries might be discovered, and pursuers sent 
 upon their track, filled the fugitives with consternation. 
 However, the repairs were quickly executed, and the tra- 
 vellers set forth again, little imagining that one lost hour 
 would cost the lives of four out of the five royal personages 
 who composed the party. 
 
 Their security and confidence was now almost complete. 
 The successful result of their flight from the palace and from 
 Paris ; the punctuality of the relays ; the loneliness of the 
 roads; the inattention of the towns and villages through 
 which they passed; so many dangers left behind them; 
 safety and salvation so near; every turn of the wheels 
 bringing them nearer to M. de Bouille and the faithful troops 
 which he had stationed to receive them ; the very beauty of 
 the season and of the day, so exhilarating to eyes that for 
 two years previously had looked on nothing but the seditions 
 mob of the Tuileries, or a forest of bayonets beneath their
 
 30 FIRST FKENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 windows in the hands of an excited populace all these 
 things calmed and soothed their feelings, and disposed them 
 to believe that Providence had at last declared for them, and 
 that the pure and fervent prayers of their young children, 
 whom they pressed to their hearts, and of the angel on earth 
 who accompanied them in the form of Madame Elizabeth, 
 had finally conquered their evil destiny. 
 
 They entered Chalons under the happiest auspices. It 
 was now half-past three in the afternoon, and this was the 
 only large town through which they had to pass. A few 
 idle loiterers gathered round the carriage while they changed 
 horses, and the king imprudently showed his face at the 
 window. He was recognised instantly by the innkeeper; 
 but this worthy man felt that the life of his sovereign 
 . was in his hands, and without betraying his emotion by a 
 single glance or gesture of astonishment, he endeavoured to 
 distract the attention of the crowd, assisted to yoke the 
 horses himself, and urged the postilions to depart. This 
 man's soul, at least, is free from the blood of his king. 
 
 As the carriages rolled through the gates of Chalons, the 
 king, the queen, and Madame Elizabeth exclaimed, with 
 one breath, "We are saved I" and in fact the king's safety, 
 now that Chalons was passed, depended no longer upon 
 chance but on prudence and force. The first relay of troops, 
 as we have said, was to meet them at Pont Sommevelle. 
 By order of M. de Bouille", M. de Choiseul and M. de Guo- 
 guelas, with a detachment of fifty hussars, were to await 
 the king there, and escort him, or follow him, according to 
 his pleasure. Further, as soon as they perceived the royal 
 equipages, an hussar was to be sent on to St. Menehould and 
 from thence to Clermont, to give notice of their approach. 
 The king was certain, therefore, of finding devoted and 
 armed friends awaiting him ; but he found no one. M. de 
 Choiseul and De Guoguelas, and their fifty hussars, had de- 
 parted half an hour before. The populace seemed disturbed 
 and excited. They prowled round the carriage, muttering, 
 and examining the travellers with suspicious glances. How- 
 ever no one dared to oppose their departure; and at half- 
 past seven in the evening, the king reached St. Menehould. 
 At that season of the year it was still broad daylight; and
 
 THE FLIGHT TO VARENNES. 31 
 
 the king, by a natural movement of anxiety, from having 
 already passed two of the military stations without meeting 
 his friends, put his head out of the window to seek amongst 
 the crowd for some glance of intelligence, or some officer who 
 would explain the reason why the detachments were absent. 
 This movement was fatal to him. The son of the innkeeper, 
 Drouet, recognised the king immediately, although he had 
 never seen him before, by his likeness to the effigy of Louis 
 XVI. on the coin of the realm. 
 
 Nevertheless, as the horses were already harnessed, the 
 postilions mounted, and the town occupied by a detachment 
 of dragoons, who were able to force a passage for the king, 
 the young man dared not venture alone upon the task of 
 arresting the progress of the carriages at this place. 
 
 The commander of the detachment of dragoons, who was 
 on the watch for the royal carriages, had likewise recog- 
 nised them by the description which had been given to him, 
 and instantly ordered his troop to mount and follow the 
 king. But the report having already spread amongst the 
 national guards of St. Menehould of the resemblance be- 
 tween the travellers and the portraits of the royal family, 
 they surrounded the barracks, closed the door of the stables, 
 and resolutely opposed the departure of the dragoons. 
 During this rapid and instinctive movement of the people, 
 the innkeeper's son saddled his best horse and set off at full 
 gallop to precede the arrival of the carriages at Varennes, 
 communicate his suspicions to the municipal authorities, 
 and incite the patriots to seize the person of the monarch. 
 Whilst this man, bearing the king's destinies in his hands, 
 gallopped onwards to Varennes, the king himself pursued the 
 same road, unconscious of all danger. Drouet was certain 
 of arriving first, for the road from St. Menehould to Varennes 
 describes a considerable angle, and passes round by Clare- 
 mont, where another relay was to be obtained; while the 
 straight road, accessible only to foot passengers and horse- 
 men, avoids Claremont, and proceeds direct to Varennes : thus 
 shortening the distance between that place and St. Mene- 
 hould by four leagues. 
 
 Drouet had therefore the advantage by several hours,
 
 32 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 and destruction travelled more rapidly than safety. Yet 
 by a strange entanglement of the threads of destiny, death 
 followed close behind Drouet, though without his knowledge, 
 at the very same moment that he was hastening on to 
 bring death to his unsuspecting sovereign. A quarter-master 
 of the troop which was shut up in the barracks at St. Mene- 
 hould, had alone found means to escape from the vigilance 
 of the people, and having been informed by his command- 
 ing officer of the precipitate departure of Drouet and its 
 probable motive, he mounted his horse and set off full speed 
 in pursuit on the road to Varennes, certain of coming up 
 with him and resolved to kill him on the spot. Drouet soon 
 appeared in sight, but the dragoon still kept at a sufficient 
 distance to avoid exciting his suspicion, watching meanwhile 
 for some favourable opportunity, some lonely turn of the 
 road, to rush upon him and despatch him at once. Drouet, 
 however, who kept turning round frequently to see if he 
 were pursued, observed the manoeuvres of the horseman 
 and guessed his design. So, being a native of the district, 
 and well acquainted with all the by-roads, he plunged sud- 
 denly into a cross path, and getting under cover of a wood 
 which completely hid him from his pursuer, he gallopped on 
 at the top of his speed to Varennes. 
 
 When the king reached Clermont he was recognised by 
 Count Charles de Damas who awaited him at the head of 
 two squadrons; but the municipal authorities, who were 
 filled with vague suspicions in consequence of the pro- 
 tracted stay of the troops, ordered the dragoons not to quit 
 the town, although they did not oppose the departure of 
 the carriages. The troops sided with the people, and the 
 count, abandoned by his squadrons, could only manage to 
 leave the town himself, along with one subaltern officer and 
 three of the men. They gallopped after the king to Varennes, 
 but the succour was too weak or too tardy to be of service. 
 The royal family, shut up in their berlin, and not per- 
 ceiving any obstacle opposed to their progress, remained 
 quite ignorant of these sinister incidents. It was half past 
 eleven at night when they arrived at the suburbs of the 
 little town of Varennes. All slept or seemed to sleep in 
 the place. All was silent and deserted. It will be remem-
 
 THE FLIGHT TO VARENNIS. 33 
 
 bered that Vareunes, not being one of the direct stages from 
 Chalons to Montmedy, the king was not to expect post- 
 horses there, but those of M. de Choiseul were to await 
 him at a particular spot in the town, and conduct the 
 carriages on to Dun and Stenay, where M. de Bouille was 
 to receive the king. We have seen, however, that the two 
 officers, M. de Choiseul and M. de Guoguelas, who were to 
 have waited at Pont Sommevelle with their fifty hussars for 
 the king and follow in his rear, neither waited for him 
 nor followed him. In place, therefore, of proceeding to 
 Varennes along with the royal carriages, these officers, on 
 quitting Pont Sommevelle, had brought their troop by another 
 road which avoids St. Menehould, but increases the distance 
 between Pont Sommevelle and Varennes by several leagues. 
 The object of this change of route was to avoid passing 
 again through St. Menehould, where the presence of the 
 military the night before had excited great agitation. The 
 result was that neither M. de Choiseul nor M. de Guoguelas, 
 these two confidants and guides of the flight, reached 
 Varennes until an hour after the arrival of the king. 
 
 The royal carriages had stopped at the entrance of the 
 town, and the king astonished at not finding either M. de 
 Choisenl, or M. de Guoguelas, or relays, or escort, waited 
 with anxiety for the sound of the approaching horses, which 
 he hoped might be brought to them at the sound of the 
 postilions' whips, to enable them to continue their journey. 
 The three gardes du corps alighted from the carriage and 
 went from door to door, inquiring where the horses had 
 been placed, but no one could tell them. 
 
 The little town of Varennes is divided into two parts 
 the upper and lower town, separated by a river and a 
 bridge. M. de Guoguelas had placed the horses in the 
 lower town, at the farther side of the bridge. This was a 
 prudent measure in itself; for in case of any popular com- 
 motion, the bridge could be crossed by the Clermont horses, 
 and the change then effected on the other side with 
 greater ease and security. The king should have been 
 informed of this, but he was not. Greatly agitated, he and
 
 34 FIRST FRENCH UEVOLUriON. 
 
 the queen alight from the carriage, and wander for half an 
 hour through the deserted streets of the upper town, trying 
 in vain to discover the relays. They knock at every door 
 where they see a light, and inquire, but no one understands 
 them. At length, in utter discouragement, they return to 
 the carriages, which the postilions threaten to leave, and 
 carry off the horses with them. By dint of gold and pro- 
 mises, however, they prevail on these men to remount and 
 drive them on through the town. The carriages move on 
 again. The fugitives become calmer. They attribute the 
 accident to some mistake, and console themselves by think- 
 ing that in a few moments more they will be safe in the 
 camp of M. de Bouille. 
 
 The upper town is traversed without meeting with any 
 opposition. The closed houses seem buried in the profound- 
 est repose. A few men are watching, but these men are 
 silent and concealed. 
 
 At the entrance of the bridge, which divides the upper 
 from the lower town, there is a tower, built over a massive, 
 sombre, and narrow archway, through which carriages are 
 obliged to pass at a slow pace, and where the least obstacle 
 would obstruct their progress. It is a remnant of feudal- 
 ism: a sinister snare laid in the olden times by the nobles 
 for the people, and where, by a strange retaliation, the 
 people were one day to capture a monarchy. Scarcely 
 had the carriages entered this gloomy arch, when the horses 
 stopped, frightened at an overturned cart and some other 
 obstacles in their way. Instantly five or six armed men 
 darted from the obscurity, rushed to the horses heads and 
 to the doors and seats, and ordered the travellers to alight 
 and accompany them to the mayoralty, to have their pass- 
 ports examined. The man who thus commanded his king 
 was Drouet. No sooner had he arrived at Varennes from 
 St. Menehould, than he hastened to arouse all the young 
 patriots of his acquaintance from their slumbers, communi- 
 cated his suspicions, and incited them to attempt an arrest. 
 Not quite certain yet of the accuracy of his conjectures, 
 or wishing to reserve to themselves the glory of capturing 
 the king of France, they neither warned the municipality, 
 awoke the town, nor excited the populace. To have the
 
 THE FLIGHT TO VARENNES. 35 
 
 whole guidance of the plot flattered their patriotism. They 
 felt as if they themselves were the entire nation. 
 
 At the sudden appearance of these men, their shouts, 
 and their flashing sabres and bayonets, the three guards du 
 corps grasped their concealed weapons, and looked to the 
 king for orders, but he forbade them using violence to effect 
 a passage for him. The horses, consequently, were turned 
 back, and the carriages, escorted by Drouet and his friends, 
 were conducted to the house of a grocer, named Sausse, who 
 was also procureur-syndic of Varennes. There they made the 
 king and his family alight to have their passports examined, 
 that the suspicions of the people might be cleared up. 
 While Drouet and his companions ran to arouse the town, 
 ring the bells, and sound the tocsin, the alarmed inhabi- 
 tants woke up, the national guards of the town and neigh- 
 bouring villages ran, one by one, to M. Sausse's door, while 
 others hastened in groups to the quarters of the military, 
 to try and seduce the troops from their allegiance, or to 
 disarm them. In vain did the king attempt to deny his 
 rank; his features and those of the queen betrayed them. 
 At last he acknowledged himself to the mayor and the 
 municipal officers; and taking M. Sausse's hand, exclaimed, 
 " Yes, I am your king! and I confide my destiny, and that 
 of my wife, my sister, and my children, to your loyalty. 
 Our lives, the fate of the empire, the peace of the kingdom, 
 the safety of the constitution are in your hands. Let me 
 depart. I am not flying to the foreigner. I am not quit- 
 ting the kingdom, but, in the midst of my army, and in a 
 French town, I wish to regain my real liberty, of which the 
 factious at Paris have deprived me. From thence I can 
 freely co-operate with the Assembly, who now, like me, arc 
 overawed by fear of the populace. I am not going to de- 
 stroy, but to guard and secure the constitution. If you 
 detain me it is lost for ever, I along with it, and, perhaps, 
 France also. As a man, a husband, a father, and a citizen, 
 I conjure yon, let us be free to proceed! One hour more, 
 and we are saved, and France is saved with us! And if 
 you still preserve in your hearts that loyalty which you 
 profess in words for him who was your master, I order you, 
 as your king!"
 
 36 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION*. 
 
 These men, touched by his words, and respectful in 
 their violence, hesitated and seemed conquered. It was 
 evident from their expression and their tears that they 
 were straggling between natural pity for so sudden a 
 reverse of fortune, and their duty as patriots. The spec- 
 tacle of their king a suppliant, holding their hands in his, 
 of their queen, by turns majestic and imploring, who strove 
 by despair or prayers to wring from their lips the permis- 
 sion to depart, completely melted them. Had they only 
 listened to their feelings, they would have yielded ; but they 
 began to fear that the responsibility of this indulgence would 
 fall on themselves. The people would demand an account 
 of their king, the nation of its chief. Selfishness hardened 
 their hearts. The wife of M. Sausse, in whose heart the 
 queen hoped to find an ally, remained the most insensible 
 of all, though her husband frequently seemed to ask her 
 opinion by his looks. Whilst the king harangued the muni- 
 cipal authorities, the weeping queen, seated in the shop 
 between two bales of goods, with her children in her arms, 
 showed them to Madame Sausse, and exclaimed, " You are 
 a mother, madame, you are a wife ! The fate of a wife and 
 mother is in your hands! Think of what I must feel for 
 these children, for my husband. But one word, and I will 
 owe them all to you! The queen of France will owe you 
 more than her kingdom, more than her life!" 
 
 "Madame," replied the grocer's wife, with that common- 
 place good sense natural to hearts in which calculation has 
 stifled all generosity, "I would willingly serve you; but while 
 you are thinking of the king, I am thinking of M. Sausse. 
 A wife must think of her husband." 
 
 All hope is lost when pity can no longer be found even 
 in the heart of a woman. The queen, indignant and angry, 
 retired along with Madame Elizabeth and her children to 
 two small rooms at the top of Madame Sausse's house. Here 
 she burst into tears. The king below, surrounded by muni- 
 cipal officers and national guards, had likewise renounced the 
 hope of softening them, and kept continually ascending and 
 descending the little wooden staircase leading from the shop, 
 going from the queen to his sister, and from his sister to 
 his children. What he could not gain from pity, he still
 
 THE FLIGHT TO VARENNES. 37 
 
 hopes may be obtained by time and force. He cannot be- 
 lieve that these men, who evince so much sensibility of 
 heart and reverence towards his person, will really persist 
 in detaining him until they receive orders from the National 
 Assembly. In any case he is certain of deliverance before 
 the couriers despatched to Paris can return, for M. de 
 Bouille and his army are at hand, and he only wonders 
 that the guard has not already appeared. 
 
 Nevertheless, hour after hour strikes, the night passes, 
 but no succour comes. 
 
 The officer commanding the squadron of hussars at Varennes 
 had not been entrusted by M. de Bouille with the entire details 
 of the plot. He had been merely told that a large sum of 
 money was to pass that way, and that he was to convoy it 
 safely. No courier preceded the king's carriage ; no horse- 
 man had been sent from St. Menehould to bid him assemble 
 his troop. MM. de Choiseul and De Guoguelas, who ought 
 to have been at Varennes before the king, and communi- 
 cated to this officer the final secret orders, were not there. 
 The officer was therefore wholly left to act as his own 
 conjectures might guide him. Two other officers, who had 
 the entire confidence of the general, were sent by him to 
 Varennes, unaccompanied by troops, but they remained in 
 the lower town, at the same inn where the horses were 
 placed which M. de Choiseul destined for the king's car- 
 riages, and knew nothing of what was passing in the other 
 quarter of the town. They waited patiently, therefore, for 
 the arrival of M. de Guoguelas, but were aroused only by 
 the sound of the tocsin. Meanwhile M. de Choiseul and 
 M. de Guoguelas, along with Count Charles de Damas and 
 his three faithful dragoons, gallopped to Varennes, after hav- 
 ing escaped with difficulty from the insurrection of the 
 squadron at Clermont. When they reached the gate of the 
 town, however, they were recognised by the national guard, 
 who stopped them and compelled the little band to dis- 
 mount before they would permit them to enter. They 
 demand permission to speak to the king. It is granted. 
 But the king forbids them to use violence. Every moment
 
 38 FIRST TRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 he expects to be rescued by the superior forces of M. de 
 Bouille. M. de Guoguelas, nevertheless, leaves the house, 
 and seeing the hussars mingled with the people in the square, 
 wishes to put then' loyalty to the test. " Hussars," ex- 
 claimed he, imprudently, " are you for the nation or the 
 king?" " Vive la nation.'" responded the soldiers, "we 
 stand by it, and will ever stand by it." The populace ap- 
 plaud. A sergeant of the national guard assumes the 
 command of the troop, and their commanding officer escapes. 
 He hastens to join the two others in the lower town, who 
 are guarding M. de Choiseul's horses, and the three leave 
 the place and make the best of their way to Dun to give 
 warning to the general. These two officers had been fired 
 on when they attempted to see the king after learning of his 
 arrest. 
 
 In these different vicissitudes the entire night had passed 
 away, and already the national guards from the neigh- 
 bouring villages, were hastening in arms into Varenncs. 
 Barriers were raised between the upper and lower towns, 
 and couriers were despatched by the municipal authorities 
 to those of Metz and Dun, desiring them to send troops 
 and cannon, in all haste, to Varennes, to prevent the rescue 
 of the king by M. de Bouille's army, which was approach- 
 ing. Meanwhile the king, the queen, Madame Elizabeth, 
 and the children lay down to rest for a few moments, dressed 
 as they were, in the little rooms of Madame Sausse's house, 
 while the threatening tramp of gathering feet, and the 
 voices of the excited populace increased every moment be- 
 neath their windows. Such was the state of things at 
 Varennes up to seven in the morning. The queen never 
 slept : all the outraged feelings of a wife, a mother, a queen 
 anger, terror, and despair raged so fearfully in her soul, 
 that her hair, which was brown when she retired to rest, 
 was white as snow next morning when she arose.
 
 [MARY. 
 
 [The flight of the king, which was not discovered until 
 seven o'clock the following morning, excited the greatest 
 alarm and indignation throughout Paris. Lafayette and 
 his staff were loudly denounced as traitors, and escaped with 
 difficulty from being massacred by the mob. It was be- 
 lieved that the triumph of the allies was now secure; that 
 civil war and the invasion of France was henceforth certain, 
 and that Louis XVI. and his brothers, aided by a foreign 
 army, would return to re-establish the old regime of des- 
 potism, and crush the constitution, to Avhich they now found 
 the king had never given a sincere adhesion. 
 
 The members of the National Assembly met immediately, 
 and assumed the executive power. Royalty seemed now 
 permanently abolished, and the power of the Assembly be- 
 came, in consequence, completely uncontrolled. By the 
 calm, wise, and prudent measures they adopted, public 
 tranquillity was preserved. A proclamation was issued to 
 calm the people. They sent commissioners to the troops 
 to receive their oaths of fidelity, no longer due to the king, 
 and ordered the minister for foreign affairs to make known 
 to Europe their pacific intentions. Thus suddenly called 
 upon to exercise all the powers of a dictatorship, the As- 
 sembly behaved Avith a dignity and discretion suited to the 
 important crisis : and France learned by experience that a 
 king was by no means necessary to the well government of 
 a country. The Jacobins of the clubs alone rejoiced at the 
 kiug's flight, as they looked upon a republic as now certain, 
 in place of that mock royalty hitherto supported by the 
 Assembly. No one expected the king would ever return as 
 a prisoner. His flight had preceded all pursuit by too many 
 hours, and once in the vicinity of M. de Bouille's camp, 
 they concluded that a capture would be impossible. But 
 while the members of Assembly were debating in the even- 
 ing on the address to the French nation, in which they as- 
 sumed the supreme power, the president received a sealed 
 packet from the authorities at Varcnnes. It contained the
 
 40 IIIIST FRENCH ntVOLlTIOX. 
 
 particulars of the king's arrest. The members listened to 
 the contents in profound silence, and then nominated three 
 commissioners to proceed instantly to Varennes and bring 
 back the royal family to Paris. The three named were 
 Barnave, Petion, and Latour-Maubouvg.] 
 
 THE 11ETURX. 
 
 THE night was passed at Varennes, both by the king and 
 the people, in alternate emotions of hope and fear. "While the 
 children slept, worn out by the long journey during a burn- 
 ing summer's day, and untroubled by apprehensions for their 
 fate, the king and queen, who were not permitted to remain 
 out of sight of the municipal guard, conversed in low tones 
 upon the terrible position in which they were placed. Their 
 pious sister, Mademoiselle Elizabeth, prayed beside them. 
 Her kingdom was in heaven. Affection for her brother 
 had alone induced her to become a resident at the court, 
 from which her piety and distaste for pleasure naturally 
 estranged her: she took part only in the tears and sorrows 
 of the throne. 
 
 The captives were still far from despairing. They never 
 doubted but that M. de Bouille would march all night to 
 their assistance, as soon as tidings of the arrest were 
 brought to him by some of the officers he had posted on 
 the road by which the king had passed. They attributed 
 his delay merely to the necessity of collecting sufficient force 
 to oppose the numerous bauds of national guards whom the 
 sound of the tocsin had summoned to Varennes. Every 
 instant they expected his appearance, and the least move- 
 ment of the people, the slightest clang of arms in the street, 
 seemed to them to announce his arrival. The courier sent 
 to Paris by the municipality to receive the orders of the 
 assembly had not left until three in the morning. Twenty 
 hours must elapse before he could arrive at Paris, as many 
 more before he could return. The time necessary for con- 
 voking the Assembly, and the debate would take three or 
 four hours more. Here then were forty-eight hours, aj;
 
 THE RETURN. 4 1 
 
 least, which M. de Bouille had in advance of the orders 
 from Paris. 
 
 Besides, in what state was Paris itself since the flight of 
 the king had been announced! Perhaps terror and repen- 
 tance filled every mind. Or would not anarchy now rise up 
 and crush the feeble barriers which an Assembly, anarchical 
 itself, could alone oppose to it? Would not the first cry 
 of treason be the tocsin of the people ? Had not Lafayette 
 been probably massacred as a traitor ? The national guards 
 once disbanded, would not the loyal citizens regain their 
 influence as leaders, during the first alarm of the factious 
 anarchists ? Who would give orders ? Who would exe- 
 cute them? Would not the nation, trembling and disor- 
 ganised, fall prostrate once more at the feet of its sovereign? 
 Such were the chimeras, the flattering hopes and the final 
 illusions with which the unfortunate royal fugitives en- 
 deavoured to sustain themselves, while cooped up in their 
 narrow and stifling apartment on that fatal night. 
 
 The king had been allowed to communicate freely with 
 several officers of the different detachments, M. de Guo- 
 guelas, M. de Damas, and M. de Choiseul, among the num- 
 ber. The procureur-syndic and the municipal officers of 
 Yarennes, evinced both respect and pity for the king even 
 while executing what they conceived to be their duty. 
 The people do not pass suddenly from reverence to out- 
 rage. There is a moment of hesitation before every act 
 of sacrilege, when the perpetrators still seem to venerate 
 what they are about to profane. The municipality of 
 Varennes and M. Sausse believed they were saving the 
 nation, but were far from wishing to insult the king as a 
 prisoner. He was guarded like a sovereign as well as 
 like a captive. The king observed all this, and flattered 
 himself that, at the first demand of M. de Bouille, respect 
 would prevail over patriotism, and that he would be 
 restored to liberty. This conviction he expressed to the 
 officers. One of them, M. Derlons, who commanded the 
 squadron of hussars posted at Dun, between Varennes and 
 Stenay, had been informed of the king's arrest at two 
 o'clock in the morning, by the commanding officer of the 
 Varennes detachment who had escaped from that town.
 
 42 1IRST 1-KENCII KEVOLUTION. 
 
 M. Derlons, without awaiting the orders of his general, but 
 anticipating them with great good sense aud energy, had 
 ordered his troop to mount, and placing himself at their 
 head, gallopped to Varennes to carry off the king by force. 
 But on reaching the gates, he found them barricaded and 
 defended by a large body of national guard?, who refused 
 entrance to his troop of hussars. 
 
 Leaving his squadron outside, M. Derlons then dismounted 
 and demanded to see the king himself; to this they con- 
 sented. His object was first to inform the king that M. de 
 Bouille was aware of his arrest, and preparing to march to 
 his rescue at the head of the German Royal regiment. 
 Secondly, he wished to ascertain by his own observation, 
 whether it were possible for his squadron to force a passage 
 against all obstacles, penetrate to the upper town, and carry 
 off the king. The barricades, however, seemed insur- 
 mountable to cavalry. He therefore asked the king what 
 should be done. "Tell M. de Bouille," replied the monarch, 
 " that I am a prisoner and can give no orders. I fear that 
 he can do nothing for "me, but I desire him to do all he 
 can." 
 
 M. Derlons, who was an Alsacian and spoke German, 
 turned to address a few words in that language to the 
 queen, hoping thus to receive some orders without their 
 being comprehended by the persons present at the inter- 
 view. But the queen interrupted him, saying, "Speak 
 French, sir, they are listening to us." M. Derlons was 
 silent, and withdrew in despair, but remained with his 
 troop of hussars outside the gates of Varennes, awaiting 
 the arrival of M. de Bouille with his additional forces. 
 
 M. de Lafayette's aide-de-camp, M. Iiomeuf, who had 
 been sent by that general with the order of the Assembly, 
 reached Varennes at half-past seven. The queen, who was 
 acquainted with him, reproached him in the most touching 
 manner for the odious mission with which he was charged. 
 M. Eomeuf endeavoured in vain to calm her irritation by 
 every mark of respect and devotion compatible with the 
 rigour of his orders; but the indignant queen, passing from 
 invective to tears, gave uncontrolled course to her feelings 
 of despair: and when M. Romeuf placed the order of the
 
 THE RETURN. 43 
 
 Assembly upon the dauphin's bed, she seized it, flung it on 
 the ground, and trampled it beneath her feet, exclaiming, 
 that such a paper would sully the bed of her son. "In the 
 name of your safety and your glory, madame," said the 
 young officer, "I entreat you to controul your emotions. 
 Would you wish that any one but myself had been wit- 
 ness to such a paroxysm of despair?" 
 
 The preparations for departure were hastened as much 
 as possible, in the fear that M. de Bouille might arrive with 
 his troops, force an entrance into the town, or block up the 
 road. The king, however, sought every motive for delay. 
 Every minute gained now increased the chance of his de- 
 liverance, and he disputed them one by one with his guards. 
 At the instant they were entering the carriage one of the 
 queen's women feigned a sudden and serious illness. The 
 queen refused to travel without her; and only yielded at 
 last to threats of violence, and the cries of the impa- 
 tient populace. She would suffer no one to lay hands 
 upon her sou, but carried him in her arms herself and 
 placed him in the carriage. At last the royal cortege set 
 out, escorted by three or four thousand of the national 
 guards, and proceeded slowly on the way to Paris. 
 
 But how had M. de Bouille been employed during this 
 long agony of the king? We left him at the gates of 
 Dun, two leagues from Varennes, awaiting the arrival of 
 the couriers who were to precede the carriage. The night 
 passed without his seeing any one, and at four in the morn- 
 ing, fearing that he might be discovered, he returned to 
 Stenay, in order to be near his troops in case they should 
 be required to assist the king. It was half-past four when 
 he reached Stenay. Just then the two officers whom he 
 had posted there the evening before, and the commander 
 who had been deserted by his squadron, informed him that 
 the king had been arrested at eleven o'clock on the even- 
 ing previous. Almost stupified at the intelligence, and 
 astonished at receiving it so late, he gave instant orders to 
 the German Royals, who were at Stenay, to mount and fol- 
 low him. The colonel of this regiment had received orders 
 the night before to keep the horses saddled. This order 
 had not been executed. Three quarters of an hour were
 
 44 1-iilST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 lost in preparation, though M. de Bouille sent reiterated 
 messages to the barracks by his own son. The general's 
 principal dependance was on this regiment, and when they 
 had formed outside the town, he addressed them frankly, 
 in order to ascertain their disposition : 
 
 "Your king," he said, "was coming to throw himself upon 
 your loyalty, and had arrived within a few leagues of you, 
 when the people of Varenues arrested him. Will you leave 
 him to insult and captivity in the hands of the munici- 
 pality? Here are his orders. He awaits you. He counts 
 the minutes. Let us march to Varennesl Let us fly to 
 deliver him, and to restore him to the nation and to liberty. 
 I march along with you. Follow me 1" 
 
 Loud acclamations followed these words, and M. de 
 Bouille having distributed five or six hundred louis amongst 
 the soldiers, the regiment set forward. A rough and moun- 
 tainous road lies between Stenay and Varennes for nine 
 leagues, but they traversed it rapidly. At a short distance 
 from Varennes they came up with the advanced guard of 
 the German Eoyals, who had been stopped at the entrance 
 to a wood, and fired on by the national guards. The 
 general charged, and dispersed their opponents; then 
 taking the command of the advanced guard himself, 
 reached Varennes at a quarter past nine. The regiment 
 arrived soon after, and M. de Bouille was reconnoitering the 
 town preparatory to an attack, when he perceived a troop 
 of hussars, likewise apparently taking observations. It 
 M r as the squadron from Dun commanded by M. Derlons, 
 who had passed the night there waiting for reinforcements. 
 M. Derlons immediately hastened to the general, and in- 
 formed him that the king had quitted Varennes an hour 
 and a half before. He added further, that the bridge of 
 the town was broken down, and the streets barricaded; 
 that the hussars of Clermont and Varennes had fraternized 
 with the people, and that the commanders of these detach- 
 ments, MM. de Choiseul, De Damas, and De Guoguelas, were 
 prisoners. M. de Bouille, dejected but not discouraged, 
 resolved to follow the king by avoiding Varennes, and 
 rescue him from the hands of the national guards ; for this 
 purpose he endeavoured to find a ford by which the regi-
 
 THE RETURN. 4o 
 
 meut might cross the river, but though one existed it could 
 not be discovered. While thus engaged, he learned that 
 the garrisons of Verdun and Metz were advancing with 
 cannon to assist the people. The country also was covered 
 with national guards and tcoops. His cavalry began to 
 waver, and the horses, fatigued by nine miles of a bad road, 
 were, he knew, quite unfit for the rapid movement necessary 
 to reach St. Menehould before the king. All energy fled 
 with hope. The German Royals turned rein, and their 
 general led them back in silence to the gates of Stenay. 
 Followed by a few of his officers, those alone who were 
 most implicated, M. de Bouille reached Luxembourg, and 
 crossed the frontier amid a shower of balls, wishing for 
 death more than anxious to escape punishment. 
 
 Meanwhile, the royal carriages retraced their way rapidly 
 to Chalons, escorted by troops of national guards who were 
 relieved at every stage. The whole population thronged 
 the roads, as they passed along, to see this captive king 
 brought back in triumph by the people, who believed that 
 he had betrayed them. The pikes and bayonets of the 
 national guards could scarcely force a passage through the 
 dense mass which every moment grew vaster and more 
 menacing. Cries and gestures of fury, the laughter of 
 mockery and scorn, arose unceasingly from the multitude. 
 The carriages passed on through a never-ending yell of 
 insult and opprobrium. At every turn of the wheels the 
 horrible chorus concluded or recommenced. It was a 
 Calvary of sixty leagues in length, every step of which was 
 a torture. One gentleman, M. de Dampierre, an old cour- 
 tier who had all his life been accustomed to venerate 
 royalty, advanced to offer some respectful words of com- 
 passion to his sovereign, but he was instantly massacred 
 beside the wheels of the carriages, and the royal family had 
 to pass over his bleeding body. Fidelity was the only 
 crime which this crowd of frantic savages could not pardon. 
 The king and queen, already prepared for the sacrifice of 
 their lives, summoned up all their dignity and courage to 
 die as became them. Passive courage was the virtue of
 
 4G FIRST FREKCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 Lonis XVI. as if Heaven, which destined him for a martyr, 
 had given him this heroic power of sufferance, which cannot 
 combat but knows how to die. The queen found in the 
 pride of her race and her blood a stimulus of hatred against 
 the people, sufficient to enable her to receive in silent con- 
 tempt the insults with which they profaned her. Madame 
 Elizabeth prayed for succour from on high, and the chil- 
 dren gazed with wonder on the fury of this people whom 
 they had been taught to love, but who never appeared to 
 them except in paroxysms of hatred and rage. Xever 
 would the august family have reached Paris alive, if the 
 commissioners of the Assembly had not arrived in time to 
 impose restraint upon the mob by their presence, and inti- 
 midate and control the rising sedition. 
 
 The commissioners met the king's carriages between 
 Dormans and Epernay. They read aloud the orders of the 
 Assembly which gave them absolute command over the 
 troops and national guards throughout the entire line, and 
 empowered them not only to watch over the safety of the 
 king, but to maintain strictly the respect due to his royalty 
 and his person. 
 
 Barnave and Pethion immediately entered the king's car- 
 riage to share his dangers and shield him by their bodies. 
 They succeeded in preserving him from death, but not from 
 outrage. The rage of the populace, compelled to abandon 
 the carriages, took a wider range : every one suspected even 
 of pity was cruelly maltreated. An ecclesiastic having ap- 
 proached the king, and showing by the expression of his coun- 
 tenance some marks of respect and grief, was torn from his 
 horse, and would have been murdered before the very eyes 
 of the queen, if Barnave, by a noble instinct of generosity, 
 had not almost flung himself from the carnage, exclaiming, 
 "Frenchmen I nation of heroes ! will you become a horde 
 of assassins?" Madame Elizabeth, struck with admiration at 
 Barnave's courage, and fearing that if he left the carriage, 
 the mob would murder him, held him by the cloak while ho 
 harangued the furious multitude. From that moment, thi.3 
 amiable princess, the queen, and the king himself, cherished 
 a secret regard for Barnave. One generous heart amidst 
 so many cruel ones, filled their souls with a kind of coufi-
 
 THE RETURN. 47 
 
 dcnce in the young deputy. They had only known him 
 before as one of the most celebrated amongst the factious; 
 they had only heard his voice when it announced to them 
 misfortunes; but now they were astonished to find a kind 
 and respectful protector in the man whom they had hi- 
 therto considered only as an insolent enemy. 
 
 The features of Barnave were strongly marked, but grace- 
 ful and open iu their expression, his manners and conver- 
 sation were elegant and polished, and his bearing now seemed 
 mournful and saddened in the presence of so much beauty, so 
 much grandeur, and so deep a fall. The king, in the intervals 
 of calm and silence, often spoke to him, and particularly upon 
 passing events. Barnave answered like a man devoted to 
 liberty, but still faithful to the throne, and who never sepa- 
 rated his plans for the regeneration of the nation from his at- 
 tachment to royalty. Full of respect and attention to the queen, 
 Madame Elizabeth, and the august children, he endeavoured to 
 turn their eyes from the perils and humiliations of the journey. 
 Restrained, no doubt, by the presence of his colleague, Pe- 
 tition, he dared not avow openly the soft emotions of pity, 
 admiration, and respect which had conquered him during the 
 journey; but this conquest was evinced by his actions, and 
 a mutual treaty was concluded by their glances. The royal 
 family felt they had gained Barnave, if all other hopes had 
 fallen ; and his conduct from that day forth justified the confi- 
 dence of the queen. Bold and daring against tyranny, he had 
 no strength to resist weakness, beauty, and misfortune. This 
 cost him his life, but has made his memory honourable. 
 Until then he had been only eloquent ; now he proved him- 
 self the possessor of a soul full of sensibility. Pethion, on 
 the contrary, remained cold as a fanatic, and rude as a 
 vulgar parvenu. He affected a brusque familiarity with the 
 royal family, eat in presence of the queen, and flung the peel 
 of the fruit out of the window across the king's face. When 
 Madame Elizabeth poured him out some wine, he lifted the 
 glass to show he had enough, but made no acknowledgment 
 to her; and when Louis asked him if he were for the system 
 of two chambers or for a republic, Pethion replied " For 
 a republic, certainly, if I thought my country sufficiently 
 ripe for such a form of government." The king, hurt and
 
 48 FIUST FKENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 offended by the answer, made no reply, and never opened 
 his lips again until they reached Paris. 
 
 The commissioners had written from Dormans to the As- 
 sembly, stating the road they had selected for the king'a 
 return and the day and hour of his arrival. The approaches 
 to Paris were particularly dangerous, from the masses of 
 infuriated people through which the cortege would have to 
 pass. The Assembly, therefore, redoubled their efforts, and 
 employed every measure which energy or prudence could 
 suggest to secure the inviolability of the king's person, and 
 the people themselves seemed to have recovered a sense of 
 their own dignity in presence of this great triumph which 
 fortune had granted them: they were resolved not to dis- 
 honour their own victor} 7 . Thousands of placards were 
 posted everywhere " Whoever applauds the king shall be 
 beaten: whoever insults him shall be hung" 
 
 The king had slept at Meaux, and the commissioners 
 sent on from thence to request that the Assembly would 
 hold itself in permanence until the king's arrival, in order 
 to be prepared for any events which his entry into Paris 
 might excite. The Assembly, accordingly, did not separate. 
 
 The hero of the day, the true author of the arrest, Drouet, 
 son to the innkeeper of St. Menehould, appeared before the 
 members and gave his evidence. "I was," said he, "formerly 
 a soldier in Conde's regiment of dragoons, and my comrade 
 Guillaume served at one time in the Queen's dragoons. 
 On the 21st of June, at half-past seven in the evening, 
 two carriages with eleven horses got a fresh relay at St. 
 Menehould. I recognised the king and queen; but fearing 
 that I might be deceived, and wishing to assure myself of 
 the truth, I mounted and rode to Varennes by a short road, so 
 as to arrive there before the carriages. I reached the town 
 at eleven o'clock. It was night, and every one was asleep. 
 The carriages arrived, but were delayed by a dispute be- 
 tween the couriers and the postilions, who refused to go 
 farther. I said to my comrade ' Guillaume, art thou a 
 good patriot?' ' Never doubt it,' replied he. ' Well, then,' 
 said I, ' the king is here ; let us stop him.' So we over- 
 turned a cart, filled with goods, under the arch of the bridge, 
 and got together eight stout fellows to assist us. As soon
 
 THE KETURN. 49 
 
 as the carriage appeared we demanded the passports. 'We 
 are in haste, gentlemen,' said the queen. But we insisted, 
 and brought them all back to the mayor's house. When 
 there, Louis said of his own accord, 'I am your king! be- 
 hold your queen and my children I Treat us with that respect 
 which Frenchmen have always shown to their sovereigns.' 
 But we made him prisoner. The national guards col- 
 lected, and the hussars took our side ; so, after having done 
 our duty, we returned home amidst the acclamations of our 
 fellow-citizens, and have come to-day to offer to the National 
 Assembly the homage of our services. 1 ' 
 
 When he concluded, Drouet and Guillaume were over- 
 whelmed with applause by the members. 
 
 The Assembly then decreed that as soon as Louis arrived 
 at the Tuileries a guard should be appointed, responsible 
 for his person, under the command of M. de Lafayette. 
 Malouet was the only speaker who had the courage to pro- 
 test against this imprisonment, "which," said he, "destroys 
 at once the inviolability of the king's person and the con- 
 stitution; the legislative and executive powers will hence- 
 forth be but one." Lameth combated this assertion of 
 Malouet's, and declared that the Assembly was justified in 
 seizing and preserving that dictatorial power, which neces- 
 sity had forced it to assume, until the constitution was esta- 
 blished; but that monarchy being a form necessary for the 
 centralisation of the forces of so great a nation, the Assembly 
 might afterwards define its power, and give it a distinct 
 authority. 
 
 At this moment the captive king was entering Paris. It 
 was seven o'clock in the evening of the 25th of June. On 
 the road from Meaux to the faubourgs the crowd had kept 
 continually increasing as he passed along, and all the concen- 
 trated passions of the city, of the Assembly, of the press, 
 and the clubs, raged with redoubled intensity amongst this 
 population of the environs of Paris. Their passions were 
 written on their faces, though their very violence kept them 
 in check. Indignation and contempt seemed to stifle anger 
 itself, and their insults were only muttered in low, sullen 
 tones. The populace wore a sinister, but not a furious 
 D
 
 50 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 aspect: a thousand eyes glanced death at the royal car- 
 nages, but no voice uttered the word. 
 
 This cold-blooded hate did not escape the notice of the 
 king. The day was intensely hot. The rays of a scorching 
 sun, reflected from the pavement and from the forest of 
 bayonets, were concentrated upon the royal carriage, in 
 which ten persons were squeezed together. Clouds of dust, 
 raised by the trampling of two or three hundred thousand 
 spectators, alone threw a veil from time to time over the 
 humiliation of the king and queen, and concealed them from 
 the insulting joy of the people. The steam from the horses, 
 the feverish breath of this excited multitude, pressing and 
 swaying around them, exhausted and tainted the atmos- 
 phere. The travellers could scarcely breathe. The perspira- 
 tion poured from the foreheads of the two children; and the 
 queen, trembling for their lives, and hoping to excite some 
 pity in the people, hastily lowered one of the carnage windows, 
 exclaiming, " Look, gentlemen ; see the state of my poor 
 children: we are suffocating 1" " We'll suffocate thee after 
 another fashion," muttered the ferocious men, in low tones, 
 around her. 
 
 From time to time the more violent of the rnob broke 
 through the line, pushed aside the horses, and reaching the 
 very door of the carriage, clambered up the steps. These 
 men, in whom no trace of pity was visible, stared in silence 
 upon the king, the queen, and the dauphin, seeming to me- 
 ditate the very worst of crimes, and to gorge their hatred 
 upon the humiliation of royalty. A few charges of the 
 gendarmerie would then re-establish order for a short time, 
 and thus the cortege proceeded, amid the clashing of sabres 
 and the cries of the men trampled under the feet of the 
 horses. 
 
 Lafayette, who feared some attack or ambuscade in the 
 streets of Paris, sent orders to General Dumas, commander 
 of the escort, not to cross the town ; and he himself placed 
 deep lines of troops all along the Boulevard, from the Bar- 
 riere de 1'Etoile to the Tuileries. The national guards oc- 
 cupied the front rank. The Swiss guards were also ranged 
 in file, but their flags were no longer lowered before their 
 master. No military honours were paid to the supreme
 
 THE IlETUKN. 51 
 
 chief of the army. The national guards gave no salute, but 
 looked on this procession as it passed by, in the attitude of 
 conscious force, indifference, and contempt. 
 
 The carriages entered the gardens of the Tuileries by the 
 drawbridge. Lafayette on horseback, at the head of his 
 staff, had gone out to meet the cortege and take the com- 
 mand. During his absence an immense crowd poured into 
 the gardens and terraces, and blocked tip the entrance of the 
 palace. It was with difficulty that the troops could clear a 
 passage through the tumultuous masses. The mob forced 
 every one to keep his hat on. M. do Gnillermy, a member 
 of the Assembly, alone remained uncovered, in spite of the 
 threats and insults which this mark of respect drew down 
 upon him ; and seeing that they were about to employ force 
 to constrain him to imitate the general insult, he flnng his 
 hat into the crowd, so far away that it could not be re- 
 covered. The queen just then perceived M. de Lafayette, 
 and, fearing for the lives of the faithful gardes du corps, Who 
 had been brought back with them, and were menaced by 
 the gestures of the crowd, cried out to him: "Monsieur de 
 Lafayette, save the gardes du corps!" 
 
 The royal family alighted at the end of the terrace. 
 Lafayette received them from the hands of Barnave and 
 Pethion, and the national guards carried the children in their 
 arms. One of the members of the left of the Assembly, the 
 Count de Noailles, stepped forward eagerly to offer the 
 queen his arm, but she drew back with a look of contempt, 
 and indignantly rejected the protection of an enemy; then, 
 perceiving a deputy of the right near her, she requested his 
 arm. Fallen, but not conquered by so many humiliations, 
 the dignity of the empire still reigned in the heart of the 
 woman, and displayed itself in her every gesture. 
 
 The prolonged shouts of the crowd, as the king entered 
 the Tuileries, announced to the Assembly that they had 
 triumphed. Agitation suspended the debates for half an 
 hour. A deputy rushed into the hall, exclaiming, that the 
 people had seized upon the three gardes du corps, and were 
 about to tear them in pieces. Twenty members instantly 
 started up and flew to save them. In a few minutes they
 
 5"2 FIKST FRENCH REVuLUTIOX. 
 
 returned. Seditioii had melted away before them. They 
 had seen Pethion, they said, making a rampart of his body 
 to protect the door of the king's carriage. Bsrnave eu- 
 tered a moment after, and mounted the tribune all covered 
 as he was with the dust of the roads. " We have fulfilled 
 our mission," said he, " to the honour of France and the 
 Assembly; we have preserved public tranquillity and as- 
 sured the safety of the king. The king himself tells us that 
 he had no intention of crossing the frontiers of the king- 
 dom % (Murmurs.) AYe have travelled with all the ra- 
 pidity possible from Meaux, to avoid the pursuit of M. de 
 Bouille's troops. The national guards and soldiers have done 
 their duty. The king is at the Tuileries." Pethion added, 
 in order to ingratiate himself with the people, "that it was 
 true an attempt had been made to sieze the gardes du 
 corps, and that he himself had been seized by the collar 
 and dragged from his station at the carriage door, but that 
 the intention of the people was strictly legal, and had no 
 other object but to enforce the execution of the law, which 
 commanded that all the accomplices of the king's flight 
 should be arrested." 
 
 It was decreed, immediately, that informations should be 
 taken by the tribunal of the district of the Tuileries on the 
 late events; and that three commissioners, appointed by 
 the Assembly, should receive the depositions of the king 
 and queen. "AVhat means this obsequious exception?" 
 exclaimed Robespierre. "You fear to degrade royalty by 
 delivering up the king and queen to the ordinary tribunal? 
 But no citizen, no man nor woman whatsoever, no matter 
 how exalted may be their rank, can ever be degraded by 
 the law." 
 
 Buzot supported Robespierre, but Duport opposed them; 
 and respect finally triumphed over outrage. The three 
 commissioners named were Tronchet, Daudre, and Duport. 
 
 Once more within his palace, Louis XVI. measured with 
 a glance the depth of his fall. Lafayette appeared before 
 him with all the forms of sympathy and respect, but with 
 the reality of command. 
 
 " Your majesty," said he, " is aware of my attachment
 
 THE RETURN. 53 
 
 to your person ; but aware, also, that if you separate your 
 cause from that of the people, by the people I must stand." 
 
 " True," replied the king; " I know it. You follow out 
 your principles. It is all an affair of party. I may tell 
 you frankly that until now I was not aware of the real 
 opinion of France. Hitherto I imagined that you had sur- 
 rounded me here with turbulent factions, who held your 
 opinions, for the purpose of deceiving me. This journey 
 has opened my eyes. I now know the true state of public 
 opinion." 
 
 "Has your majesty any commands to give me?" in- 
 quired Lafayette. 
 
 " It seems to me that I am more at your orders than 
 you are at mine," said the king, smiling. 
 
 The queen allowed the bitterness of her resentment to 
 appear more openly. She endeavoured to force the keys 
 of her travelling cases upon Lafayette; and when he de- 
 clined, she persisted in offering them; until, finding that he 
 would not take them from her hand, she placed them her- 
 self in his hat. 
 
 "Your majesty must have the trouble of taking them 
 up again,'' said Lafayette, " for I shall never touch them." 
 
 " Well, then," replied the queen, passionately, as she 
 took them up, " I shall find people less delicate than you!" 
 
 The king retired to write some letters in his private cabi- 
 net, which he afterwards sent by a footman to M. de La- 
 fayette for his inspection ; but the general appeared in- 
 dignant that so infamous an inquisition over the acts of 
 the king could be attributed to him. He wished that this 
 imprisonment should at least preserve all the appearance 
 of liberty. The routine of the palace proceeded as usual, 
 but Lafayette gave the password without receiving it 
 from the king. The gates of the courts and gardens were 
 kept locked: the royal family had to submit to Lafayette 
 the list of those persons whom they wished to receive. 
 Sentinels were placed in every hall, at all the doors, and in 
 the corridors intermediate between the apartment of the 
 king and that of the queen. The doors of these apartments 
 were obliged to remain open, and even the queen's bed was 
 kept in view of the guards. Suspicion dogged every
 
 54 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 movement, and no respect was paid to the instincts of 
 female delicacy. Every look, word, and gesture, that 
 passed between the king and queen, was watched and noted 
 down by spies ; and it was only by the connivance of some 
 of the sentinels that they could interchange a few hasty words. 
 An officer of the guards passed twenty-four hours in suc- 
 cession at the end of the dark corridor which led to the 
 queen's apartment. A single lamp was placed there, which 
 lent it a feeble light like the vault of a dungeon. This post, 
 generally shunned by the officers on service, was eagerly 
 sought after by others, who were secretly devoted to the 
 royal family. They affected unusual zeal in order to dis- 
 guise their respect. Saint Prix, a famous actor of the 
 Theatre Francais, often occupied this post, and connived at 
 hasty interviews between the king and his wife and sister. 
 At night one of the queen's women moved her bed 
 between that of her mistress and the open door of the 
 apartment, in order to hide the queen from the intrusive 
 glances of the guard. 
 
 Once, while this woman slept, the officer in command, 
 seeing that the queen was awake, ventured to approach the 
 couch of his sovereign, to give her in a low tone warning 
 and advice upon her position. The conversation awoke the 
 sleeping attendant. Struck with alarm at seeing a man in 
 uniform so near the royal bed, she was about to cry out for 
 help, when the queen enjoined her to be silent. " Fear 
 nothing," said she, " this man is a good Frenchman who 
 has been deceived as to the king's intentions and mine, but 
 whose words evince a sincere attachment to our persons." 
 
 Thus Providence made even their persecutors the means 
 of bringing some consolation to the victims. The king, 
 usually so resigned and impassable, sunk for a time under 
 the weight of so many griefs and misfortunes, and, absorbed 
 in his own thoughts, remained for ten entire days without 
 opening his lips to utter a word even to his family. His 
 last struggle with fate seemed to have exhausted his 
 strength. He felt himself conquered, and seemed to wish 
 that he might die at once. The queen, by throwing herself 
 at his feet and presenting his children to him, succeeded at 
 last in arousing him from this stupor. " Let us preserve
 
 SUMMARY. 55 
 
 all our strength," said she, "for this long combat with des- 
 tiny. Our destruction is inevitable, but we may yet choose 
 the attitude in which we fall. Let us die as sovereigns, and 
 not wait, without a struggle or without vengeance, till they 
 come and strangle us on the floor of our apartments.'' 
 The queen had the soul of a hero, Louis the XVI. that of a 
 sage; but the genius which combines wisdom with courage 
 was wanting to both. One knew how to combat, the 
 other to submit, but neither knew how to reign. 
 
 SUMMARY. 
 
 [After the return of the king, the republican party, which 
 hitherto had found no substantial pretext for manifesting 
 itself, came prominently forward. Robespierre and Pethiou 
 were its leaders in the assembly, Dariton and Camille Desmou- 
 lins in the clubs. They declared that the king had forfeited 
 his crown by flight, and they now demanded his abdication. 
 
 The constitutionalists, supported by Barnave, Bailli, and 
 Lafayette, who still desired a king as the apex of the 
 constitution, with difficulty maintained their position as 
 leaders in the assembly. The people sided with the 
 Jacobins, and drew up a petition, in which they denied the 
 competency of the Assembly, appealed from it to the 
 sovereignty of the people, and demanded a substitute for 
 Louis XVI. who, since his flight, they declared, had no 
 longer any rights but those of a private citizen. This peti- 
 tion was carried to the Champ-de-Mars and laid upon the 
 altar of the country; Danton harangued the multitude, and 
 two men suspected of being spies were massacred by the 
 mob, who paraded their heads on pikes. 
 
 Lafayette, at the head of ten thousand national guards, 
 arrived to disperse the rioters, accompanied by Bailli, 
 mayor of Paris. But they were assailed with stones, upon 
 which Lafayette ordered his troops to fire, and the people 
 fled at last, leaving numbers dead upon the field of federa- 
 tion ; their bodies were aftenvards thrown into the Seine. 
 
 The populace termed this day "the Massacre of the Champ- 
 dc-Mars." It was the first fierce struggle between the
 
 56 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 republican and constitutional parties, and was a prelude to 
 the massacres of the 10th of August. 
 
 This victory of Lafayette's, however, kept the Jacobins 
 in check for some time, and the assembly continued undis- 
 turbed for three months in the work of perfecting the 
 constitution. At length it was presented to the king, 
 whose acceptance of it was to be the signal for his release 
 from captivity. Louis offered no opposition. He went to 
 the Assembly accompanied by the queen, and took the 
 oaths necessary to maintain it. 
 
 From that time he ceased to be a hostage, and all re- 
 straint was removed. But it was decreed that if he quitted 
 the kingdom, leagued with foreign enemies, or violated his 
 oath to the constitution, by that act he lost his crown. A 
 general amnesty was then granted to all concerned in the 
 king's flight, and to the Jacobin rioters of the Champ-de- 
 Mars ; after which, the A ssembly, having nobly fulfilled the 
 oath of the Tennis-court, abdicated its own powers, and the 
 king in person dissolved it. 
 
 Thus ended the most glorious deliberative assembly 
 which Europe had ever witnessed; which in two years 
 had regenerated France, and without the aid of violence or 
 crime had accomplished the most remarkable revolution of 
 modern times. By their last decree they declared them- 
 selves ineligible for re-election; consequently the second 
 Assembly was wholly composed of new men, still further 
 steeped in that spirit of revolution which had been set in 
 motion, and without any of the practical experience of those 
 whom they succeeded. 
 
 The second or " Legislative Assembly," met on the 1st 
 of October, 1791. Its constitution was wholly popular. No 
 nobles nor clergy were amongst the deputies, and the monar- 
 chial element, in consequence, had scarcely an existence. 
 The higher classes seemed to have resigned the contest 
 with democracy, and the king was left weak and powerless, 
 without a party either in the nation or the Assembly to 
 sustain the fierce war which the republicans instantly com- 
 menced against the throne. Amongst the names found in 
 the new assembly were many which afterwards became 
 famous and infamous: St. Jnst, Couthon, Chabot, Merlin
 
 SUMMARY. 57 
 
 de Thionville, and Danton, were the leaders of the extreme 
 party; while Robespierre, who was not eligible to sit as a 
 member, supported them in the club of the Jacobins. Bris- 
 sot, Vergniaud, Louvet, Barbaroux, Buzot, Condorcet the 
 philosopher, Dumouriez, Roland, and others of equal note, 
 led the party of the Gironde, who have attained so brilliant 
 and mournful a celebrity in the history of the revolution, by 
 their eloquence, heroism, and death. 
 
 The Girondists were pure republicans, but they dreamed 
 of a rule in which intellect and talent should hold the place of 
 conventional rank, and supplant the fictitious pretensions of 
 royalty and aristocracy. Young, eloquent, gifted, ardent, 
 and ambitious, but hitherto poor, unhonoured, and obscure, 
 they were men who could only breathe freely in a revolu- 
 tion which opened to their powers and aspirations the broad 
 arena of a republic. 
 
 All genius is republican by instinct, and feels with a bit- 
 terness beyond any other class the homage paid to the 
 exterior symbol, while the true regality exists only within 
 them. They were the party of progress, of genius, and of 
 ideas ; infidels, like all the youth of that age, but with the 
 strong instincts of morality which always accompany high 
 intellectual endowments; men of large hearts, loving na- 
 tures, and pure lives. The constitutionalists who ruled the 
 first assembly vainly tried to maintain their position in the 
 second, though aided by Bailli, Lafayette, and Barnave. 
 They soon fell before the startling and thrilling oratory of 
 the young deputies from the Gironde. The word "republic" 
 had been only muttered before; now it was preached from 
 the tribune with all the bold unscrupulous eloquence of 
 genius, enthusiasm, and energy ; and a republic never yet was 
 preached without being welcomed by the people as a gospel ; 
 for none but the privileged classes, and they are bnt a frac- 
 tion in a nation, have an interest in upholding privileges. 
 
 Whilst the king, therefore, was trying to sustain his tot- 
 tering throne by dangerous negotiations with the allies, or 
 imprudent attempts to purchase the leaders of the people at 
 home, the Girondists and Jacobins, blended then under the 
 common name of patriots, were organizing a powerful public 
 opinion in favour of republicanism.]
 
 58 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 MADAME KOLAND. 
 
 THE home of a young woman, daughter to an engraver of 
 the Quai-des-Orfevres, was the place where the two great 
 parties of the revolution the Gironde and the Mountain 
 held their meetings. Here Pethion, Robespierre, Brissot, 
 Buzot, Vergniaud, Guadet, Gensonne, Louvet, Ducos, Foii- 
 frede, Sillery-Genlis, and others of less note, met, united, 
 and overturned the monarchy together; then separated, dis- 
 tracting the country with their dissensions, and each having 
 acquired power in turn, finally destroyed liberty while they 
 destroyed each other. It was not ambition, nor fortune, 
 nor celebrity, M r hich had successively attracted these political 
 leaders towards a woman at that time without position, 
 wealth, or fame: it was conformity of opinion. It was that 
 intense worship which gifted spirits love to render to a new 
 truth that promises happiness to humanity; it was the in- 
 visible attraction of a common faith, that communion of 
 the first neophytes in philosophy as in religion, when souls 
 blend in sympathy before they associate in action. Until 
 such a centre can be found, where the thoughts common to 
 any class of political regenerators may be developed and 
 organised, nothing can be accomplished. Revolutions are 
 but ideas: it is association which makes them facts. 
 
 The pure and ardent soul of a woman was worthy of 
 being the focus to which all the rays of the new truths 
 might converge; and her burning heart the flame to kindle 
 these new ideas into life, and light up the funeral pile for 
 the old worn-out institutions. 
 
 Men possess the genius of truth, women alone have its pas- 
 sion. Love is essential to all creatures, and it would seem 
 that even truth is of two sexes, like all else iu nature. A 
 woman is invariably at the foundation of every great move- 
 ment: one was wanting to the principle of the French revo- 
 lution, and philosophy found her in Madame Roland. 
 
 The historian, although hurried on by the quick succes- 
 sion of these events which he retraces, must yet pause 
 before this grave and expressive form, even as the passers-by
 
 MADAME ROLAND. 59 
 
 stopped to contemplate her sublime features and suow-rwhite 
 robe, as she passed to death in the tumbril which had 
 already conveyed its million of victims. 
 
 To comprehend her character we must follow her from her 
 father's workshop to the scaffold. In a woman, especially, 
 whatever is noble springs from her heart, and in the his- 
 tory of her private life we must learn the secret of her 
 public career. 
 
 Young, beautiful, and radiant with genius, Madame 
 Kolaud had been but recently married to a man of austere 
 manners, and who was already approaching the decline of 
 life. She was bo:u in that intermediate class where fami- 
 lies, scarcely yet emancipated from labour, hold a doubtful 
 position, as it were, between the hired workman and the 
 independent citizen; retaining in their manners the vir- 
 tues and the simplicity of the people, while at the same 
 time they enjoy all the advantages of social enlighten- 
 ment. At the destined epoch when aristocracies fall, it is 
 from this class that nations are regenerated. The vital 
 sap of the people is there. From such a class sprang Jean 
 Jacques Rousseau, the virile type of Madame Eoland's charac- 
 ter. A portrait taken in her childhood represents the young 
 girl in her father's workshop, holding a book in one hand and 
 in the other an engraver's tool. The portrait is a symbol 
 of the social condition in which she was born, the inter- 
 mediate point between the labour of the mind and that of 
 the hands. 
 
 Her father, Gratieu Phlipon, was an engraver and pain- 
 ter in enamel; and besides these two employments, dealt 
 in the sale of diamonds and jewels. He was a man whose 
 aspirations were always beyond his powers; an adventurer 
 in industry, who was perpetually periling his small capital 
 by endeavouring to increase it to the extent of his dreams 
 and his ambition. He adored his daughter, and disdained 
 to contemplate her future life as limited to a workshop. 
 For this reason he bestowed on her an education equal 
 to the highest position, as nature had given her a heart 
 fitted for the loftiest destinies. We know how invari-
 
 60 FIKST l-'UENCH KfcVULUTIOX. 
 
 ably characters such as this man possessed, introduce rest- 
 lessness, discontent, and vain chimeras into the hearts of 
 their households. 
 
 It was in this atmosphere of intellectual luxury and 
 physical wretchedness that the young girl grew up to 
 womanhood. Gifted with a precocious judgment, she 
 easily detected these domestic discrepancies, and took 
 refuge in the plain good sense of her mother from the illu- 
 sions of her father and the forebodings of the future. 
 
 Marguerite Bimont, such was her mother's name, brought, 
 as her marriage dower, much personal beauty, and a soul, 
 like her husband's, superior to their social position ; but her 
 angelic piety, and the resignation which it produces, kept 
 her safe equally from the temptations of ambition and those 
 of despair. The mother of seven children, who had all 
 been torn from her by death, she concentrated upon this 
 only daughter all the affection of her nature; but this very 
 love was a guarantee against any display of weakness in 
 the education of her child. She held the just balance be- 
 tween the heart and intellect, between imagination and rea- 
 son. The mould in which she cast this youthful soul was 
 graceful, but it was of brass. It might almost be imagined 
 that she forsaw the destinies of her child, and blended with 
 the accomplishments of a woman the sterner qualities that 
 make heroes and martyrs. 
 
 Nature assisted her admirably. In addition to ex- 
 treme intelligence, she had endowed the young pupil with 
 remarkable beauty. This beauty of her early years, of 
 which Madame Roland has traced the portrait with al- 
 most childish pleasure in the few happy pages of her me- 
 moirs, was then far from having acquired that character of 
 energy, melancholy, and majesty, which love, thought, and 
 misfortune afterwards bestowed on it. 
 
 A tall and elegant form, graceful falling shoulders, a well- 
 developed bust, which heaved with a strong and free respira- 
 tion ; a reserved and modest demeanour, yet with a carnage 
 of the head which betokened intrepidity; jet black glossy 
 hair; blue eyes which darkened by the shadows of thought; 
 and an expression which changed as rapidly as the soul 
 from tenderness to energy ; a nose chiselled like that of a
 
 MADAME KOLAND. 61 
 
 Grecian statue; a rather large mouth, which words as well 
 as smiles parted to display her dazzling teeth; a well- 
 turned and rounded chin, giving to the oval of her face that 
 voluptuous and feminine grace without which not even 
 beauty itself can excite love; a complexion varying with 
 the passing emotion of the moment, as it sent her blood in 
 a quicker current through her blue veins, or glowed in her 
 blushing cheek; a low, deep-toned voice, whose exquisite 
 modulations vibrated in unison with every feeling of her 
 heart a precious gift, for the voice, which is the revealer 
 of emotion in a woman, is the vehicle of persuasion for an 
 orator, and in both these characters she had a right to 
 this peculiar charm, and nature had conferred it on her in 
 the highest degree such, at the age of eighteen, was the 
 portrait of this young girl, whom obscurity kept for a long 
 time concealed beneath its shadow, as if to prepare a 
 stronger soul for the trials of life, and a victim more per- 
 fect for the embrace of death. 
 
 Her intellect illumined this lovely frame with a light so 
 startling and precocious that it seemed like inspiration. 
 She acquired everything without study, and the ordinary 
 education usual for her age and sex was insufficient for her 
 aspirations. Even the studies peculiar to men were but 
 toys for her mind to play with, though she could not exist 
 without acquiring them. Her powerful intellect required 
 every instrument of thought to wield and exercise. Theo- 
 logy, history, philosophy, music, painting, dancing, the 
 mathematical sciences, chemistry, the living and dead lan- 
 guages she learned all, and, still unsatiated, craved for 
 more. Every ray which the obscurity of her condition 
 allowed to penetrate into the laboratory of her father, she 
 made to converge towards her own mind and assist in 
 forming her ideas. Xo book which the young apprentices 
 brought to the workshop, or forgot there purposely on her 
 account, escaped her eager glance; and in this way she 
 secretly read Voltaire, Rousseau, Montesquieu, and all the 
 English philosophers. But her especial favourite was 
 Plutarch. "I shall never forget," she says, "the Lent of 
 1763, during which I carried my Plutarch to mass every 
 day in place of a prayer book. It is from that time I date
 
 62 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 the rise of those impressions and ideas which made me a 
 republican whilst never dreaming that I was becoming 
 one." 
 
 Next to Plutarch, Fenelon was the writer who most 
 moved her heart. Tasso and the poets took the next 
 place. Thus heroism, virtue, and love were poured at once 
 from their costliest vases into the soul of this woman, 
 destined to feel to the utmost the effect of these glorious 
 influences. While her imagination was thus kindled, her 
 reason remained cold, and her purity stainless. She 
 scarcely seems to have felt even the slightest or most fugi- 
 tive emotions of the heart and senses. "As I read," she 
 says, " behind the screen which separated my room from 
 my father's apartment, I sometimes felt my heart beat 
 quicker, and the blood rush to my face, while my trembling 
 voice betrayed my agitation. I was Eucharis to Telema- 
 chu?, or Herminia to Tancred. Nevertheless, although 
 quickly transformed into these heroines, I never dreamed of 
 becoming in my own person an object of love to any one. 
 I never applied their sentiments to myself, nor did they 
 awake in me a desire for anything around me. It was a 
 dream without an awaking. However, I remember having 
 felt much emotion at the sight of a young painter, named 
 Taboral, who came sometimes to my father's house. He 
 might have been about twenty, and had a sweet voice and 
 expressive face, which flushed up like that of a young girl. 
 When I heard him in the workshop, I often went in under 
 the pretence of searching for a pencil, or something or 
 other; but as his presence embarrassed as much as it 
 pleased me, I retired again more quickly than I had en- 
 tered, but with a beating of the heart, and a tremor of 
 emotion which I hastened te hide in the solitude of my own 
 little chamber." 
 
 Although her mother was very pious, she interdicted none 
 of these studies to her daughter. She wished to inspire her 
 with a feeling of religion, but not to force it on her. Full 
 of good sense and tolerance, she gave her up freely to the 
 dictates of her own reason, and sought neither to repress 
 nor dry up the current of her impulses. A religion which 
 was not a voluntary service seemed to her the worst of de-
 
 MADAME ROLAND. 6.3 
 
 gradations, and a species of slavery Avhich could not be 
 deemed an acceptable offering by the Divine Being. The 
 pensive soul of her daughter naturally turned towards the 
 great mysteries of our eternal happiness or misery, and 
 plunged itself earlier and deeper than others into the abysses 
 of the Infinite. The reign of feeling commenced in her with 
 the love of God, and the sublime delirium of her first pious 
 emotions which adorned and purified her earlier years, made 
 her resign the succeeding period of life to philosophy, and 
 seemed as if it retained its power to the last of preserving 
 her untouched by the storms of passion. Her youthful 
 devotion was ardent; it took its sombre colouring from her 
 soul, aspired to the cloister, and dreamed of martyrdom. 
 
 Having entered a convent, she found herself happy for a 
 brief period ; yielding up her thoughts to mysticism and her 
 heart to its first friendship. The monotonous regularity of 
 this life served to calm the activity of her mind, and she 
 delighted to steal away to the solitude of some shady tree, 
 to read or dream, in place of enjoying the hours of relaxa- 
 sion with her companions. Sensitive as Kousseau to the 
 beauty of the foliage, the rustling of the grass, and the per- 
 fume of flowers, she worshipped God while admiring his 
 works; then, overflowing with gratitude and deep joy, she 
 would hasten to adore him before the altar. There the 
 majestic pealing of the organ, united with the voices of the 
 youthful nuns, completed her ecstacy. Catholicism has all 
 these mystic fascinations for the senses, and voluptuous ex- 
 citements for the imagination. During her stay in the con- 
 vent a novice took the veil. Her presentation at the 
 grating, her white veil, her crown of roses, the soft and 
 soothing hymns which led her from the world to Heaven, 
 the mortuary cloth thrown over her buried beauty and pal- 
 pitating heart, made the young artist tremble and weep. 
 Destiny thus set before her an image of sacrifice and immo- 
 lation, and she felt already within herself the courage that 
 could accept them without a murmur. 
 
 The charm of these first religious emotions were never 
 effaced from her mind. Philosophy, which soon after be- 
 came her only worship, destroyed her faith, but left the im-
 
 64 FIRST FRENCH HtVOLUTION. 
 
 pressions it had created. The ceremonies of the church still 
 attracted her respect, though her reason repudiated its 
 mysteries. The spectacle of weak humanity, uniting to adore 
 and pray to the Father of men, touched her imagination. 
 The solemn music lifted her soul to Heaven, and she left a 
 Christian temple happier and better ; for the chords of emo- 
 tion, struck in youth, will still vibrate through after-life, 
 even the stormiest and most agitated. 
 
 This passionate attraction towards the Infinite, and this 
 sentiment of natural piety, continued to influence her after 
 her return home. " My father's house," she says, in her 
 memoirs, " had not the calm solitude of the convent, but 
 still there was pure air, and a fine view from the top of our 
 house, near the Pont Neuf, which pleased my dreamy and 
 romantic nature. How often from my window, which faced 
 the north, have I contemplated in deep emotion the vast 
 plain of Heaven, with its superb azure arch, so splendidly 
 delineated, from the pale blue of the east far off behind 
 the Pout-au-Cliauge, to the golden sunset dying away in 
 its pomp of changing purple light behind the trees of the 
 Champs Elysees and the houses of Chaillot! At the close 
 of every day I devoted a few moments to this exquisite re- 
 verie, while soft delicious tears flowed from my eyes, and 
 my heart, filled with unutterable emotions, felt a joy in life 
 itself, and a happiness in mere existence, that made it rise 
 towards the Being of Beings with a homage pure and wor- 
 thy of him." Alas ! when she wrote these lines, this nar- 
 row strip of the sky of Paris existed for her only in memory, 
 and the glorious sunset gleamed but in fancy on the dreary 
 walls of her prison. 
 
 But in these days she was happy with her aunt Auge- 
 lique and her mother, in what she calls the beautiful dis- 
 trict of the Isle St. Louis. There, on the tranquil banks 
 of the Seine, or along the silent quays, she took the air 
 during the summer evenings, contemplating the graceful 
 curves of the river or the rich country beyond. In the morn- 
 ing she paced along these same quays to attend mass in 
 the church, filled with a holy zeal, without meeting any
 
 MADAME ROLAND. 65 
 
 object in the monotonous scene to disturb the current of her 
 thoughts. Her father, who permitted her to continue her 
 course of profound study, and was highly flattered at her 
 success, yet wished his daughter to assist him in his own 
 employment: she learned to manage the graver, and suc- 
 ceeded in this as in all else. She received no salary, how- 
 ever; but sometimes she presented a head, or other work of 
 her own design, as a gift to her elderly relations on their 
 fete day. They bestowed on her, in return, some trinket, 
 or pretty article of dress, for which objects she confesses 
 ahvays to have had a strong partiality. 
 
 But this taste for dress, so natural to her sex and age, 
 did not prevent her attending to the humblest occupations 
 of the household. She did not blush to lay aside her ele- 
 gant and envied costume which she wore at church and the 
 promenade on Sundays, and assume a cotton gown during 
 the week when she went to market with her mother, or 
 sometimes even alone, to buy the parsley or salad which was 
 wanted for the cooking. True, she felt a little humiliated 
 by these domestic cares, which made her descend from the 
 heights of Plutarch or the heaven of her dreams; but she 
 blended so much grace and natural dignity even with her 
 lowest occupations, that the shopkeepers took a pleasure in 
 serving her first, and every one made way for her as she 
 entered. It was strange to see this Heloise of the eighteenth 
 century, who read the most profound works, explained the 
 mysteries of the universe, handled the pencil and the 
 graving tool, and within whose soul revolved systems of 
 lofty thought and passionate sentiment, descend to the 
 kitchen to perform the humblest duties of a menial. Yet it 
 was this very mixture of grave studies, elegant accomplish- 
 ments, and domestic employments, so wisely intermingled 
 by her mother, which formed her mind to meet all the vicis- 
 situdes of her career, and gave her the strength necessary 
 to support them. She was a second Rousseau at the Char- 
 mettes, piling up stacks of firewood for Madame de Warens 
 with the same hand which afterwards wrote the " Social 
 Contract;" or Philopccmen chopping wood.
 
 66 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 From the depths of this secluded life she sometimes got 
 a glimpse of the brilliant world revolving at a distance 
 above her; but these flashing gleams from aristocratic 
 society made her feel more indignant than dazzled. The 
 pride of this lofty aristocracy, which beheld without deign- 
 ing to notice her, weighed down her soul: a society in 
 which she had no place seemed to her badly constituted. 
 Yet it was not so much a feeling of envy, as a sense of in- 
 justice, that made her revolt against its conventional rules. 
 
 Gifted spirits have their places marked out for them by 
 nature, and when another steps before them, they feel it an 
 usurpation. They find society often inverting what nature 
 had designed, and they revenge themselves by despising it. 
 Hence arises the hatred which genius bears to power. 
 Genius dreams of an order of things in which rank should bo 
 assigned only to gifts and talents; whereas they generally 
 find themselves excluded from its benefits by the mere acci- 
 dent of birth. 
 
 There are few great souls who have not felt this bitter 
 injury of an inferior position, and who have not, conse- 
 quently, commenced life by an internal revolt against society. 
 Some sink down, wearied by discouragement; others, with 
 a loftier comprehension of their destiny, accept resignedly 
 the station assigned to them, feeling that to serve the world 
 with all earnestness is Still grander than to rule it. These 
 minds have reached the summit of virtue. Religion guides 
 its votaries thither in a day ; but philosophy requires a long 
 life, much misery, and, finally, death, before it can learn the 
 path. There are epochs when the noblest place the world 
 can offer is a scaffold. 
 
 The young republican girl was once taken by her 
 grandmother to an aristocratic mansion, where her humble 
 parents were sometimes admitted; but the tone of condes- 
 cending superiority with which they were received, filled 
 her with violent indignation. " My pride revolted," she 
 says, " the blood rushed to my face, I felt myself blushing 
 deeply. I did not, as yet, ask myself why such a lady was 
 seated on a sofa and my grandmother on a footstool; but I 
 had the feelings which lead tq such reflections ; and when
 
 MADAME ItOLAND. 67 
 
 the visit vras ended I felt relieved, as if a weight had been 
 removed from my breast.'' 
 
 Another time they brought her to spend a week at Ver- 
 sailles, in the palace of that king and queen whose throne she 
 was one day to undermine. Lodged in an attic, with one of 
 the servants of the palace, she had a close view of all that 
 luxury of royalty which she believed was purchased by the 
 misery of the people, and all that grandeur of the sove- 
 reign which is built upon the servility of courtiers. The 
 entertainments, the promenades, the amusements, the pre- 
 sentations, passed before her eyes in all their vanity and 
 all their pomp. This superstitious reverence for rank 
 and power was repugnant to a soul like hers, nourished 
 by philosophy, truth, liberty, and antique virtue. When 
 she attended any of these grand spectacles of the court, 
 the obscure names and humble dresses of the relations 
 who accompanied her, caused her to pass totally un- 
 noticed, with the exception perhaps of a few words, not of 
 favour, but of condescension, occasionally bestowed on her. 
 The consciousness that her youth, beauty, and genius ex- 
 cited no attention amidst this crowd, who worshipped only 
 rank and etiquette, was deeply wounding to her sensibility. 
 The intellect, pride, imagination, and deep seriousness of 
 her nature, were all outraged by the scenes she witnessed. 
 " I would rather," she exclaimed, " have the statues in the 
 garden than the living personages of the palace." When 
 her mother asked her if she were pleased with her visit, 
 " Yes, with its termination," she answered. " A few more 
 days of such a life, and I would detest the people I seo 
 around me to such a degree that I would not know what to 
 do with my hatred." 
 
 " Why, how did they offend you?'' asked her mother. 
 " They made me feel injustice, and contemplate ab- 
 surdity." 
 
 ^'hen looking on the splendours of that despotic court of 
 Louis XVI. which was fast sinking into corruption, she 
 thought of Athens; but she forgot the death of Socrates, 
 the exile of Aristides, and the condemnation of Phocion. 
 
 ' ; I did not foresee," she says, sadly, "while writing these 
 lines, that destiny had in store for me to be the witness of
 
 68 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 crimes equal to those of which those martyrs were the vic- 
 tims, and to participate in. their glory, after having pro- 
 fessed their principles." 
 
 Thus, everything prepared this woman to be the heroine 
 of a republic: her intellect, her character, and her studies. 
 Religion alone, then so powerful over her mind, could have 
 made her submit with resignation to the state in which God 
 had placed her. But philosophy became her faith, and this 
 faith formed part of her politics. The emancipation of na- 
 tions leagued itself in her mind with the emancipation of 
 thought; and she believed that in overturning thrones she 
 was working for man, and in overthrowing altars that she 
 was working for God. Such is the revelation which she 
 has herself made of the state of her mind at this period of 
 change. 
 
 In the mean time, many lovers sued for the hand of the 
 young maiden. Her father wished her to select one from 
 her own rank of life, and the class to which he belonged 
 himself. He loved and respected commerce, because he 
 looked upon it as the source of riches. His daughter des- 
 pised it, because, in her eyes, it was the source of avarice, 
 and the nourisher of cupidity. Men of trade, therefore, 
 were repugnant to her. She desired to find in her hus- 
 band ideas and sentiments analogous to her own. Her 
 ideal was an intellect, not a fortune. " Nourished from my 
 childhood up by the great thoughts of the great men of all 
 ages, familiarized with their lofty ideas and noble example 
 had I then lived with Plato, with all the philosophers, 
 poets, and politicians of antiquity, only to unite myself, at 
 last, with some shopkeeper, who could neither think with 
 me nor comprehend me I" 
 
 She who wrote this, was just at that period asked of 
 her parents in marriage by a rich butcher of the neigh- 
 bourhood. But she refused decidedly; and when assailed 
 by the unceasing solicitations of her father, replied " I do 
 not choose to descend from the world of my own noble 
 illusions. I do not seek a position, but a companion ; and 
 I shall die single, sooner than degrade my soul by a union 
 with a being who has not faculties to comprehend me."
 
 MADAME 110LAND. 09 
 
 Deprived of her mother by an early death, left alone in 
 the house of her father, who soon gave himself up to other 
 attachments, melancholy gained upon her soul, but did not 
 conquer it. She learned, henceforth, to rely upon herself, 
 and disciplined all the energies of her mind to resist the 
 evils of loneliness and misfortune. The Heloise of Rous- 
 seau, which she read about this time, made the same vivid 
 impression on her heart that Plutarch did on her mind. The 
 one made her dream of liberty, the other of happiness. One 
 strengthened, the other melted her to softness. Then arose 
 the desire of giving utterance to her feelings, and Sadness 
 was the muse that inspired her. She began to write, merely 
 to pour forth the fulness of her own thoughts, but without 
 any idea of becoming an authoress. However by these 
 solitary exercises she acquired that singular eloquence, 
 which often, at a later period, excited and animated her 
 friends. 
 
 Thus she advanced into womanhood, patient, yet strug- 
 gling with her destiny, when the man she had dreamed of in 
 her imagination, formed after the antique model, seemed at 
 last presented to her. This man was Roland de la Platiere. 
 
 He was introduced to her by one of her young friends 
 who had been lately married at Amiens, where Roland filled 
 the office of inspector of manufactures. 
 
 " This letter will be handed to you," wrote her friend, 
 " by the philosopher of whom I have sometimes spoken to 
 you M. Roland, a man of enlightened mind and antique 
 manners, in whom one cannot find anything to object to, ex- 
 cept his adoration of the ancients, his contempt for his own 
 times, and the rather too high estimation in which he holds 
 his own merits." " This portrait," writes Madame Roland, 
 " was a most discriminating one, and perfectly correct. I 
 saw a man of about fifty years of age, tall in stature, careless 
 and somewhat abrupt in his movements, like people who have 
 been accustomed to live much to themselves ; but his man- 
 ners were simple and easy, and, without having the elegance 
 of fashion, they combined the politeness of a well bred man 
 with the gravity of a philosopher. His face was extremely 
 thin and yellow, with regular, but not attractive features,
 
 70 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 and the hair on his forehead was already growing scant and 
 thin; but he had an expressive smile, and so much anima- 
 tion flashed over his countenance when he spoke, that he 
 seemed a different being while the excitement lasted. His 
 voice was deep and manly, his utterance concise, like one 
 who had a difficulty of breathing; his conversation was al- 
 ways full of matter, because his mind was full of ideas, and in- 
 terested the head more than the heart ; his diction was some- 
 times striking, but abrupt and inharmonious. It is a rare 
 gift," she adds, "this charm of an expressive voice, and exer- 
 cises a powerful influence upon the senses. The charm is 
 not in the quality of the tone particularly, but results from 
 that delicate sensibility which instinctively modulates the 
 intonations with every change of feeling." This is saying 
 tolerably plainly that Roland did not possess the gift. 
 
 Roland's family were of the class of respectable citizens; 
 they had held magisterial appointments, and made preten- 
 sions to nobility. He was the youngest of five brothers, 
 and destined for the church ; but to avoid this career, which 
 w r as odious to him, he fled from his father's house when he 
 was nineteen, and took refuge at Nantes. Here he entered 
 the service of a ship-builder, and was preparing to sail for 
 India, in order to devote himself wholly to commerce, when 
 illness attacked him as he was on the point of embarking. 
 A relative, who was inspector of manufactures at Rouen, 
 received him afterwards into his office. This branch of the 
 administration was then presided over by Tnrgot, and ani- 
 mated by his spirit. In superintending those manufactures 
 in which art was a requisite element, it became connected 
 necessarily with science in all its forms; and, in cultivating 
 political economy, it necessarily touched upon some of the 
 loftiest problems of government. This department was 
 thronged with philosophers, amongst whom Roland soon dis- 
 tinguished himself, and the government sent him to Italy, 
 to study there the progress of commerce. 
 
 He parted with much pain from his young friend, but kept 
 tip a regular correspondence with her. His letters were 
 chiefly on scientific subjects, and were intended to serve as
 
 MADAME ROLAND. 71 
 
 notes to the work which he purposed writing upon Italy. 
 Sentiment sometimes reveals itself in them beneath the 
 mantle of science ; but the letters resemble the lectures of a 
 philosopher more than the confidences of a lover. 
 
 On his return she met him as a friend: his age, his man- 
 ners, his gravity, his laborious habits, made her look upon 
 him as a mere sage who existed solely upon reason. la 
 the union which they meditated there was nothing of love: 
 it resembled rather those antique associations of the days of 
 Socrates and Plato: one seeking a disciple more than a 
 wife, the other espousing a master rather than a husband. 
 M. Roland returned to Amiens: from thence he addressed a 
 letter to her father demanding her hand, but received a 
 blunt refusal. Her father in fact dreaded his austerity, 
 and feared that he might be accepting a tyrant for his 
 daughter and a censor for himself. 
 
 When she heard of the refusal, her indignation was ex- 
 treme, and she retired to a convent. Here she denied her- 
 self every luxury, and subsisted entirely on the coarsest food, 
 which she prepared with her own hands. She plunged more 
 deeply into study, and endeavoured thus to fortify her heart 
 against all the trials of adversity. She revenged herself 
 upon fate by proving that she merited the happiness which 
 was denied her. A visit to her friends in the evening, 
 an hour's walk in the morning in a garden surrounded by 
 high walls, that consciousness of strength which makes one 
 wrestle against fate, and that melancholy which subdues the 
 soul yet nourishes it by its owii sensibilities, were all that 
 aided her to endure the long winter months of her voluntary 
 captivity. 
 
 Still even her sacrifice was embittered by a feeling that 
 it was not appreciated. She had imagined that M. Roland, 
 on learning her resolution to retire from the world, would 
 have flown to tear her from the convent and unite their 
 destinies; but time rolled on, Roland came not, and wrote 
 but seldom. At last, at the end of six months, he came to 
 visit her, and felt his love revive again at the sight of his 
 young friend behind the grating. An offer of his hand was 
 renewed, and accepted by her; but so much coldness, hesi- 
 tation, and calculation, had destroyed the few illusions that
 
 72 niiST FKENCH REVOLUTION*. 
 
 remained in the young captive's breast, and reduced her 
 feelings to the level of a mere respectful esteem. She 
 rather devoted than gave herself to him. It seemed to her a 
 noble act to immolate herself to promote the happiness of a 
 worthy man; but the sacrifice was accomplished with all 
 the cold seriousness of reason, not with the passionate en- 
 thusiasm of the heart. Her marriage was in her eyes an 
 act of virtue, which she performed, not because it was 
 pleasing, but because she deemed it sublime. 
 
 The passionate disciple of Jean Jacques Rousseau is again 
 revealed at this decisive period of her existence, and her 
 marriage is an evident imitation of that of Heloise with 
 Monsieur de Volmar. But the bitterness of reality was not 
 long in making itself felt amidst the heroism of devotion. 
 " Whilst devoting myself," says she, " to the happiness of 
 the man to whom I was united, I began to perceive that 
 there was much in him wanting to complete my own. I 
 never for a moment doubted that he was the most excellent 
 of men, to whom it was an honour for me to belong; still 
 there was not enough of equality between us. His strong, 
 commanding character, added to twenty years seniority in 
 age, gave him two advantages over me, of which one might 
 well have been spared. 
 
 " If we lived in retirement, I found my clays pass wearily; 
 and, if we mixed in society, I found myself the object of 
 attention to persons who might, perhaps, have touched my 
 feelings too deeply. I therefore endeavoured to busy my- 
 self in my husband's occupations; I copied his manuscripts, 
 corrected his proofs, and fulfilled my task with an uncom- 
 plaining humility which contrasted strongly with my free 
 and independent nature. But this humility flowed from the 
 heart. I respected my husband so much, that I loved to 
 imagine him always superior to myself. I was so much 
 afraid of his passing frown, and so tenaciously did he hold 
 to his own opinions, that a long time elapsed before I could 
 even venture to contradict him. To these employments I 
 joined the cares of a household ; and observing that his de- 
 licate health required a particular regimen, I undertook to 
 prepare all his meals myself. In this way passed four years 
 at Amiens. I became a mother and a nurse; and we
 
 MADAME ROLAND, 73 
 
 worked together at the Encyclopedic Nouvelle, in which the 
 articles relative to commerce had been entrusted to him, 
 while our amusements were limited to a walk in the fields 
 outside the town, during the intervals of study." 
 
 Roland, who was selfish and dictatorial, had exacted from 
 his young wife a complete abandonment of all intimacy with 
 the youthful female friends whom she had loved at the con- 
 vent, and who were now resident at Amiens. He was 
 jealous of the least show of affection for another. His pru- 
 dence passed the bounds of reason; for to a union so solemn 
 as marriage the sympathies of friendship are absolutely 
 necessary. His tyranny, which demanded exclusive devo- 
 tion, was not compensated by love. If Madame Roland 
 remained firm to her vows, it was not that she was insen- 
 sible to the sacrifices demanded of her, but she felt a joy in 
 submitting to them from a sentiment of duty, as the stoic 
 takes a pride iu his resignation to suffering. 
 
 After some years passed at Amiens, Roland was removed 
 to a similar situation at Lyons, his native place. The 
 winter they spent in town, the summer in the family coun- 
 try seat where his mother still lived, respected by reason 
 of her age, but a troublesome meddling person in domestic 
 matters. Thus Madame Roland, in the full glow of youth, 
 beauty, and genius, found herself fettered and crushed 
 amidst the uncongenial elements of a harsh mother-in-law, 
 a rude brother-in-law, and a dictatorial husband. The most 
 passionate love would scarcely have been sufficient to compen- 
 sate for such a position ; she had nothing to make it 
 endurable but her sense of duty, her philosophy, her 
 employments, and her child. They were adequate however 
 to the task, and succeeded in transforming this unpromising 
 residence into an abode of harmony and peace. One feels a 
 pleasure in following her into this solitude, where her soul 
 was tempered for the struggle, as we make a pilgrimage to 
 the Cliarmettes to contemplate the still living springs of the 
 life and genius of Rousseau.
 
 74 FIRST FKEXCIl REVOLUTION. 
 
 At the foot of the mountains of Beaujolais, in the wide 
 spreading valley of the Saoue, facing the Alps, arise a series 
 of small hills like waves of sand, which the patient labourers 
 of these districts have covered with vines. Narrow, winding 
 ravines divide these hills, or expand at their base into ver- 
 dant meadows, through which flow silver thread-like stream- 
 lets from the neighbouring mountains, bordered along their 
 banks by willows, poplars, and birch trees, which mark the 
 course of the stream while they conceal its waters. The 
 sides and summits of these hills bear only a few wild peach 
 trees, which scarcely afford any shade to the grapes, and 
 some large walnut trees which are planted in the orchards 
 near the houses. It is on the declivity of one of these 
 sandy elevations that La Platiere, the paternal inheritance 
 of M. Roland, was situated. It was a low, small house, 
 with regular windows, and flat roof covered with red tiles, 
 which projected a little over the wall to protect the windows 
 from the rain in winter and the sun in summer. The ex- 
 terior, which boasted no architectural decoration, was coated 
 with white plaster, cracked and stained by time ; and five 
 stone steps, supported by a rusty iron balustrade, led up to 
 the entrance. Around the court-yard, in front, were ranges 
 of barns for the gathering-iu of the harvest, presses for the 
 vintage, wine-cellars, and a pigeon-house; while at the 
 back lay a small garden, with the beds bordered with box, 
 and pinks, and dwarf fruit trees. Beyond was an orchard, 
 and, farther on, a large enclosure of vines trellised in parallel 
 lines, between which ran narrow walks of turf. Such was 
 the place. Around, the eye might wander over the rugged 
 outline of the mountains of Beaujeu, the sides of which were 
 dotted with groves of dark pine trees, and divided by rich 
 meadows on which the cattle of Charolais were fattened, or 
 rest on the broad valley of the Saone, lying beneath like 
 an immense ocean of verdure; while the belt of the higher 
 Alps, covered with snow, and the dome of Mont Blanc 
 towering above all, served as a frame for the vast landscape. 
 There was something of the infinity of the sea in the 
 prospect; and if, on the one side, the secluded mountain 
 prospect tended to produce a meditative and resigned tone 
 of thought, on the other the wide expanse seemed to solicit
 
 MADAME ROLAND. 75 
 
 the mind to expand, and to bear the soul upwards to the 
 far off regions of hope and the lofty summits of imagination. 
 
 Such during apeiiod of five years was thehorizon of Madame 
 Roland's existence. There she plunged into the very pleni- 
 tude of that nature of which she had so often dreamed in 
 her childhood, but only knew by the narrow strip of sky 
 or the confused perspective of the royal forests visible over 
 the roofs of Paris from the upper window of her father's 
 house. It was amidst these congenial scenes that her 
 simple tastes and loving nature found a fitting aliment, and 
 her sensibilities adequate objects for their exercise. 
 
 Her life was divided between domestic duties, the cultiva- 
 tion of her mind, and active charity, which is the culture of 
 the heart. Adored by the peasants, to whom she seemed a 
 guardian angel, she devoted the savings of a very limited 
 income to the supply of all their physical wants, and the 
 knowledge of medicine she had acquired to the alleviation 
 of their maladies. Often was she sent for to visit a sick 
 person at three or four leagues distance ; and on Sundays 
 the entrance steps of her house were thronged with poor 
 people soliciting her aid and advice, or with convalescents 
 bringing her some token of their gratitude ; either baskets 
 of chestnuts, goat's -milk cheeses, or apples from their 
 orchards. She rejoiced to find the country people upright, 
 sensitive, and grateful, so different from the lower classes 
 in large cities; but the burning of the chateaux during the 
 riots and massacres of September, taught her in time that 
 these human Avaves, so calm in appearance, may be roused 
 into tempests more terrible than those of ocean, that society 
 must be restrained by institutions, as a river within its 
 banks, and that force is as necessary as justice for the 
 government of a people. 
 
 Meanwhile the revolution of 1789 came to startle her in 
 the quiet of her retirement. Intoxicated with philosophy, 
 enthusiastic for the ideal excellence of humanity, a wor- 
 shipper of ancient liberty, her soul kindled at the first sparks 
 from the focus of the new ideas. She believed that the 
 revolution would indeed be the instrument to regenerate 
 the human race, banish the misery of the toiling, suffering
 
 G FIRST FRENCH IJLVOLUTION. 
 
 classes, for whom her sympathies were so ardent, and re- 
 new the face of the world. There is imagination even in the 
 religion of lofty minds. The generous illusions to which 
 France gave herself up at this epoch, were equal to the noble 
 work which France had to accomplish. If she had not 
 hoped so much she would have dared nothing. In her faith 
 lay her strength. 
 
 From this moment a fire was kindled in Madame Ro- 
 land's soul, which was destined never to be extinguished 
 but in her blood. All the love which slumbered in her 
 heart without an object became converted into a passionate 
 enthusiasm for humanity. All her unsatisfied feelings, her 
 checked sensibilities too ardent without doubt to find a 
 sphere in the heart of any one man, were now lavished 
 upon a whole people. She loved the revolution as a lover, 
 and inspired her husband and his friends with her own 
 ardour. All the long pent-up passion of her nature now 
 poured itself forth in her words and opinions. She re- 
 venged herself on destiny, which had denied her happiness 
 for herself, by devoting her life to the happiness of others. 
 Happy and beloved, she would have been nothing more 
 than a woman: unhappy and isolated she became the 
 leader of a party. 
 
 The revolutionary sentiments of M. and Madame Roland 
 raised the whole commercial aristocracy of Lyons against 
 them immediately. In such a city money is the grand 
 object. All is calculation : their ideas have the heaviness and 
 immobility of material interests. Yet ideas flow on with 
 an irresistible force which attracts even the most stagnant 
 population into their current, and Lyons was at last not only 
 carried away but submerged by the new opinions of the 
 epoch. 
 
 M. Roland was returned as a member of the municipa- 
 lity at the very first election. There he openly declared 
 his opinions with the bluntness of decided conviction, and with 
 an energy inspired by his wife. Dreaded by the timid, but 
 adored by all those impatient for change, his name from 
 being a mark for scorn, became the rallying cry of the 
 people. Public favour recompensed him for the outrages
 
 MADAME ROLAND. i i 
 
 of the rich, and he was sent to Paris by the municipal 
 council to defend the commercial interests of Lyons in the 
 committees of the National Assembly. 
 
 Koland's connection with the philosophers and political 
 economists who formed the practical party of philosophy ; his 
 necessary intimacy with the influential members of the As- 
 sembly; his literary tastes, and above all, the irresistible in- 
 fluence which a young, eloquent, and enthusiastic woman 
 exercises over eminent men, attracting them and retaining 
 them around her, soon made the saloon of Madame Roland 
 the most ardent, if not yet the most brilliant focus of the re- 
 volution. The names of those who met there from the very 
 first, testify to the extreme opinions which were held by 
 them, and for such opinions the constitution of 1791 was 
 only a beginning. 
 
 It was on the 20th of February, 1791, that Madame 
 Roland returned to that Paris she had quitted nine years 
 before, a young, unknown, unnoticed girl. Now she ap- 
 peared as a flame to animate and inspire an entire party, 
 to found a republic, reign for a brief moment, and then die. 
 A confused foreshadowing of her destiny rose before her 
 soul. Genius and will know their strength. They feel their 
 power before it is recognised by others, and prophesy the fate 
 of their own mission. Madame Roland seemed borne along 
 irresistibly from the very first to fulfil hers. The day 
 after her arrival she attended a sitting of the Assembly. 
 There she saw the powerful Mirabeati, the wonderful Caza- 
 les, the audacious Maury, the crafty Lameth, the frigid 
 Barnave; and she remarked, with an envy amounting almost 
 to hatred, the superiority in language and demeanour dis- 
 played by the cote droit, the tone of authority which they 
 assumed, acquired by the habit of command and the consci- 
 ousness of the respect they inspired ; while the cote gauche 
 evinced inferiority in manner and a tone of insolence min- 
 g-led with subserviency. 
 
 Thus the old aristocracy still betrayed its noble blood, 
 and avenged itself, even after its defeat, on this democracy 
 which envied while it overthrew their order. Equality 
 may be proclaimed by law, but it is long before it can be 
 established amongst races. Nature is an aristocrat, and it
 
 78 FIRST FRENCH U EVOLUTION. 
 
 requires a long course of independence before a republican 
 people can acquire the graces or polished dignity of heredi- 
 tary uobility. Women are peculiarly sensitive to these 
 delicate shades of manner, and Madame Roland was struck 
 with them immediately; but far from being softened to- 
 wards the aristocracy by their evident superiority, she 
 rather hated them the more, and felt indignant against a 
 party which it was possible to overthrow, but impossible to 
 humble. 
 
 It was at this period that she and her husband allied 
 themselves with some of the most fervent amongst the new 
 apostles of the popular ideas. Xot the men who dazzled 
 by the brilliancy of their talents and enjoyed the favour of 
 the people, but those who seemed to love the revolution 
 for the revolution itself, and devote themselves, with a 
 sublime self-denial, not to the advancement of their position, 
 but to the progress of humanity. 
 
 Brissot was one of the first of these men. M. and 
 Madame Roland had for some time corresponded with him 
 on subjects connected with public economy and the grand 
 problems of liberty. Their ideas sympathised at once, and 
 expanded together. They were united already by all the 
 fibres common to revolutionary hearts, though as yet they 
 were unacquainted. Brissot, whose adventurous life and 
 unceasing contentions bore some analogy to the youth of 
 Mirabeau, had already distinguished himself as a journalist 
 and in the clubs. Madame Roland, therefore, awaited his 
 introduction to her with curiosity and respect. She was 
 eager to know if his features corresponded to his soul; for 
 it was her creed that character revealed itself by external 
 forms, and that intellect and virtue modelled the features, 
 as the statuary gives to the clay the visible forms of his 
 own ideas. 
 
 The first sight of Brissot undeceived her, but without 
 weakening her worship of him. He wanted that dignity of 
 attitude and gravity of character which would have suited 
 the dignity of his life and the gravity of his doctrines. 
 There was something in the politician that recalled the 
 pamphleteer. His levity displeased her; even his gaiety
 
 MADAME ROLAND. 79 
 
 seemed a profanation of those solemn ideas of which he was 
 the organ. The revolution, which gave so much passion to 
 his style, had failed to throw any passion into his counte- 
 nance ; neither was there in him enough of hatred against 
 the enemies of the people to satisfy her. The volatile mind 
 of Brissot seemed not to have consistency enough to 
 cherish a sentiment of self sacrifice or devotion. His 
 activity, and the versatility with which he turned his mind 
 to any subject made him rather appear au artistical com- 
 biner of ideas, than an apostle of a faith. People called 
 him an intriguer. 
 
 Brissot brought with him Pethion, his fellow disciple and 
 friend, who had already distinguished himself by two or 
 three speeches in the Assembly. Brissot, however, passed as 
 the inspirer of these discourses. Buzot and Robespierre, 
 likewise members of the assembly, were also introduced. 
 Buzot, whose pensive beauty, daring, and eloquence were 
 destined to excite the admiration and agitate the heart of 
 Madame Roland; and Robespierre, whose restless mind and 
 fanatical hatreds threw him even then, like a ferment of 
 agitation, into every meeting where people conspired in the 
 name of the nation. Others came^ also, whose names will 
 afterwards be distinguished in the history of this dawning 
 party, and they agreed with Brissot, Pethion, Buzot, and 
 Robespierre, to meet four times a week, in the evening, at 
 the house of Madame Roland. 
 
 The object of these meetings was to confer secretly upon 
 the weaknesses of the Constituent Assembly, upon the snares 
 laid by the aristocracy to impede the revolution, and on the 
 direction which they should give to all the floating, unsettled 
 ideas of the day, in order to achieve the triumph of their 
 principles. They chose the house of Madame Roland be- 
 cause it was situated in a central quarter, where all the 
 members could meet with facility. As in the conspiracy 
 of Harmodius, it was a woman who held the torch for the 
 conspirators. 
 
 Madame Roland thus found herself from the first the 
 centre of the movement party, and her unseen hand touched 
 the first threads of the still tangled web of revolution.
 
 80 FIKST FRENCH IlEVOLUflOX. 
 
 This position, the only one allowable to her sex, flattered 
 her pride and gratified her passion for politic?. She filled 
 it with that modesty, tact, and grace, which with her were 
 gifts of nature. Seated apart from the circle at her work- 
 table, she worked or wrote letters, apparently indifferent to 
 the discussions carried on, yet often so strongly tempted to 
 take part in them that she was forced to bite her lips in order 
 to repress the words. To her soul of energy and action those 
 long, verbose debates, unattended with any result, sometimes 
 seemed miserably contemptible; action evaporated in words, 
 and the hour passed away, bearing with it the opportunity 
 which never return?. 
 
 The victories of the National Assembly seemed at last to 
 satiate the victors. The leaders recoiled before the work of 
 their own hands, and began to enter into a treaty with the 
 aristocracy and the throne, in order to allow the king to 
 revise the constitution in a more monarchical spirit. The 
 deputies who met at Madame Roland's grew discouraged 
 and dispersed by degrees, until at length there remained 
 only the few men who adhere to principles without reference 
 to their success, and who attach themselves to a desperate 
 cause with the more ardour in proportion as fortune seems 
 to desert and betray it. Buzot, Pethion, and Robespierre 
 were of the number. 
 
 It is with a certain morbid curiosity that history endeavours 
 to discover what were the first impressions made on Madame 
 Roland by the man who, warmed at her hearth and received 
 with confidence into the secrets of their conspiracy, was one 
 day to overthrow the power of her party, immolate her 
 friends in heaps, and send herself to a scaffold. 
 
 No instinctive feeling of repulsion seemed at that t'me 
 to warn her that she was conspiring for her own destruction 
 while conspiring to aid the rise of Robespierre. If any 
 vague fear ever crossed her mind it was crushed by her 
 contempt for the man. Robespierre seemed at least honest 
 in his principles, and for this reason she was willing to 
 pardon his malicious tongue and affected style of speaking. 
 Like all men of one idea, Robespierre was tiresome and 
 uninteresting; nevertheless, in the committees at her house,
 
 MADAME ROLAND. 81 
 
 she observed the deep attention which he paid to all that was 
 said, waiting for the opinions of others before he gave his 
 own, and then merely stating it, without taking the trouble 
 of supporting it by argument. Like all imperious men, his 
 own conviction seemed to him a sufficient reason. The next 
 day he would mount the tribune, and profiting by the discus- 
 sion of the night before, forestall his friends and, in conse- 
 quence, often spoil their plan of action. When blamed for this 
 course of conduct, at Madame Roland's, he excused himself 
 carelessly, and these indiscretions were attributed to his youth 
 and vanity. Madame Roland, who felt persuaded that he was 
 sincerely devoted to liberty, mistook his reserve for timidity, 
 and his treachery for independence. A great cause covers 
 petty vices, and causes even the most sinister indications to 
 be passed over with favour and indulgence. " He defends 
 his principles with warmth and obstinacy," said she, " and 
 some courage is requisite to defend them at a time when 
 the supporters of the people are so miserably reduced in 
 number. The court hates him; we must therefore give 
 him our esteem. I like Robespierre on this account, and 
 though he pays me very little attention at our evening 
 meetings, yet he sometimes comes to beg a dinner from us. 
 I was greatly struck with the terror he exhibited the day 
 of the king's flight to Varennes. He said in the evening 
 at Pethion's, that the king never would have taken this 
 step without having organized in Paris a St. Bartholemew for 
 the patriots, and that he expected to die before twenty-four 
 hours were over. Buzot, Pethion, and Roland, asserted on 
 the contrary that this flight of the king's was a virtual 
 abdication, and that advantage should be taken of it to pre- 
 pare the public mind for a republic. Robespierre, sneering 
 and biting his nails, as was his usual custom, asked what 
 was the meaning of a republic?" 
 
 It was on this very day that the project of a journal, to 
 be called The Republican, was started by Brissot, Condorcet, 
 and Duchatelet. We see, therefore, that the idea of a 
 republic emanated from the Girondists before it was even 
 thought of by Robespierre, and that the 10th of August was 
 not an accidental riot, but the result of a conspiracy. 
 
 At the same epoch, Madame Roland, by one of those
 
 82 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 generous impulses common to noble natures, and which leave 
 a trace in the memory of even ingratitude itself, was the 
 means of saving Robespierre's life. After the massacre of 
 the Champ-de-Mars, Robespierre being accused of conspir- 
 ing with the authors of the petition for the forfeiture of 
 the king's rights, and menaced with the vengeance of the 
 national guards as a factions seditionist, was obliged to con- 
 ceal himself. On hearing this, Madame Roland went with 
 her husband, at eleven o'clock at night, to his obscure resi- 
 dence to offer him an asylum in their own house, as being safer 
 from detection ; but he had already fled from his lodgings. 
 She then went to Bnzot, their mutual friend, and conjured 
 him to go to the club of the Feuillant's, where he had great 
 influence, and hasten to exculpate Robespierre before the 
 decree of accusation could be issued against him. 
 
 Buzot hesitated for an instant, and then said: "I shall do 
 all I can to save this unfortunate young man, although I 
 am far from sharing the opinion that some persons entertain 
 concerning him. He thinks too much of himself to love 
 liberty; but he serves it, and that suffices me. I shall be 
 there to defend him." 
 
 Thus three of Robespierre's future victims were conspir- 
 ing together that night, without his knowledge, for the 
 safety of a man by whose word they were eventually to 
 die. How strange are the mysteries of destiny, and how 
 often are men tempted to their destruction by their virtues 
 as well as their crimes! Death is everywhere; btit in what- 
 ever shape it may come, virtue alone meets it without re- 
 morse. In the dungeons of the Conciergerie, Madame 
 Roland could look back upon this night with satisfaction. 
 If Robespierre thought of it in his day of power, the remem- 
 brance must have fallen colder on his heart than even the 
 axe of the executioner. 
 
 After the dispersion of the Constituent Assembly, M. and 
 Madame Roland having terminated their mission, quitted 
 Paris. Glowing with the excitement of factions and poli- 
 tics, she returned to La Platiere to manage her rustic 
 household and train her vines. But she had felt all the in- 
 toxicating influences of a revolution, and though distant she
 
 MADAME HOLAKK. 83 
 
 yet lived amidst its tumultuous movement. With Buzot 
 and Robespierre she kept up a correspondence: dry and 
 political with the latter, tender and sentimental with the 
 former. Her intellect, her soul, her heart, all recalled her 
 to Paris. She and her husband had many discussions, ap- 
 parently very impartial, as to whether they should bury 
 themselves in the country or return to the capital; but the 
 ambition of the one and the soul of the other had already 
 decided, and the most trifling pretext served to determine 
 their return. In the month of December they were again 
 installed in Paris. They found their friends at the height 
 of their success. Pethion had just been elected mayor, and 
 was creating a republic in the corporation ; Robespierre, in- 
 eligible for election as deputy to the new Assembly, had 
 raised a tribune for himself at the Jacobins. Brissot had 
 been returned as deputy to the Assembly in place of Biuot, 
 and his reputation as a writer and statesman made him the 
 oracle of the young Girondists, who, just arrived from their 
 department, with all the ardour of youth and impetuosity of a 
 second revolutionary flood, poured down into the channels 
 already prepared for them by Robespierre, Buzot, Danton, 
 and Brissot. Roland was on terms of intimacy with all these 
 men, but content to move in their shadow. He had one 
 of those solid reputations which exercise so much influence 
 over public opinion, because they never dazzle by display. 
 People spoke of him as a piece of antique virtue enveloped 
 in the simple exterior of a country gentleman. He was the 
 Sieyes of the party. They imagined deep thought lay be- 
 neath his silence, and oracles beneath his obscurity. The 
 genius of his young and brilliant wife brought him into 
 notice, and his mediocrity, the only quality which has the 
 power of neutralizing envy, preserved him from enemies. 
 As no one feared him as a rival, every one put him forward 
 to serve their own ends: Pethion, to shelter himself; 
 Robespierre, in order to undermine him; Brissot, that his 
 own bad reputation might be supported somewhat by his 
 friend's proverbial probity ; Buzot, Vergniaud, Louvet, Gen- 
 sonne, and the Girondists, out of respect for his knowledge, 
 and admiration of Madame Roland. Even the court sustained 
 him, from confidence in his honesty and contempt for his
 
 84 FIttST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 influence. Thus he advanced to power without giving the 
 impetus of movement, borne on by the favour of his party, 
 by the caprice of public opinion, which always inclines to 
 support what has been untried, and by the disdain of his 
 opponents and the genius of his wife. 
 
 SUMMARY. 
 
 [The National Assembly had regenerated France, but could 
 not check the march of revolution. Their successors found 
 nothing more to reform or destroy but the nominal sove- 
 reignty which, from veneration for a tradition, had been 
 still left a place in the constitution. The National Assembly 
 weakened the throne and left it tottering. Their king was 
 but a mere shadow, yet one which cost the nation thirty 
 million of francs a-year an expensive fiction, which it 
 was no wonder the men of the second Assembly, who dis- 
 dained all traditions but those of liberty, sought to over- 
 throw. It was an event which all men might have seen to 
 be inevitable. The king had been left the power of a veto 
 on the decrees of the Assembly, but it was evident that the 
 first exercise of it would be the signal for his downfall. 
 Men all-powerful, as were the members of the Assembly, 
 and supported by the army and the people, would scarcely 
 sanction the absurdity of allowing one individual, who 
 only held station and authority by their sufferance, to im- 
 pede or retard the progress of their wishes. At first the 
 Girondists and Jacobins coalesced, in order to annihilate 
 completely the party of the constitutionalists. In this they 
 succeeded. Bailli retired into private life, and Lafayette 
 resigned the command of the national guards and joined the 
 army of the frontier. Pethion was mayor of Paris, Du- 
 mouriez was given the command of the army, and Roland 
 became minister. Thus the Girondists were all powerful 
 in the Assembly; but though brilliant leaders they never 
 had the nation with them. The middle class citizens still 
 inclined to a monarchy, for the splendour of a court is 
 necessary to consume the luxuries of commerce ; and the
 
 SUMMARY. 85 
 
 mob, to whom the destruction of those above them always 
 seems progress, were for the Jacobin reign of levelling and 
 anarchy. Low intellects have but one instrument brutal 
 force, and they yearn to make it available. 
 
 To Louis XVI. the Girondists were particularly distaste- 
 ful, although, in compliance with the popular feeling, he 
 had been obliged to select his ministers from amongst 
 them; but the court looked on them as ultra-democrats, 
 and nicknamed them the sans culotte ministry, because 
 Roland appeared at the palace in a round hat and without 
 buckles in his shoes, which was a violation of all etiquette. 
 One of their first measures had been to deprive the king of 
 the title of majesty, and to decree him only a fantevil in 
 place of the throne when he visited the Assembly. They 
 next proposed some very severe enactments against emi- 
 grants, to which the king acceded, although his own bro- 
 thers were included in the number. 
 
 l>ut the strong coalition against France rendered these 
 precautions necessary, as the position of the nation was 
 daily becoming more dangerous. The allies demanded the 
 re-establishment of the monarchy in France in its former 
 independence, the restoration of the property of the clergy, 
 and also that Alsace should be given up to the German 
 princes, and Avignon to the pope. 
 
 With these demands the Assembly would not comply, 
 and they determined at once upon war. This resolution 
 was received with enthusiasm by the nation ; and the king 
 went in person to the Assembly, on the 20th of April, 
 1 792, to proclaim hostilities against the empire of Austria, 
 amidst the applauses of all parties. Thus commenced that 
 war of a quarter of a century, which changed for a time 
 every dynasty of Europe, and included within its limits the 
 Republic, the Empire, and the Restoration. 
 
 The first efforts of the French troops were unsuccessful, 
 owing, it was thought, to the influence of the clergy, who 
 aided the party of the emigration by every means in their 
 power, and incited their parishes to a counter revolution. 
 This led to a decree against the priests, by which all who 
 would not take the oath to the constitution were liable to 
 transportation; and another by which a camp of twenty
 
 86 l-IRST FRENCH REVuLUTIOX. 
 
 thousand men was to be formed outside Paris, as an army 
 of reserve for the defence of the capital. 
 
 The king refused his sanction to both these decrees: the 
 latter he considered as a plan to surround Paris with a 
 revolutionary army ready to support a republic when pro- 
 claimed by the Girondists, and he remained several days 
 without holding intercourse with his ministers. 
 
 It was then that Roland addressed to him the celebrated 
 letter, supposed to have been written by his wife, in which 
 he lectured the king on his constitutional duties with a seve- 
 rity and harshness which deeply irritated the monarch. 
 
 The result was the dismissal of the Girondist ministry, 
 who, the Assembly declared, " carried with them the regrets 
 of the nation." Lafayette at the same time endeavoured to 
 put down the clubs, whose terrible power was already begin- 
 ning to be felt with alarm; and the king secretly negotiated 
 with the princes of the coalition. He hoped everything from 
 time and the success of the allies. This opposition and the 
 menaced counter-revolution of the court, induced the Giron- 
 dists and Jacobins to unite their strength and seek support 
 from the people in order to alarm the king into submission. 
 An insurrection was resolved on; and the 20th of June, the 
 anniversary of the oath of the Tennis-court, was fixed upon, 
 as affording a pretext for assembling large masses of people. 
 The ostensible object of meeting was to present a petition to 
 the king and the Assembly, for the sanction of the decree 
 against the priests, and the formation of the camp at Paris. 
 Danton, Marat, Camille Desmoulins, Santerre, a brewer, 
 and Legendre, a butcher, with others of the most violent 
 orators of the clubs, undertook to organize the plan of the 
 insurrection. They met the night before, and Danton traced 
 on a map the course and gathering places of the populace. 
 Throughout all the lowest quarters of the town crowds were 
 first to be attracted together by seditious and exciting 
 speeches made by itinerant orators, and when the passions 
 of the people had been fully roused a simultaneous rush 
 was to be made from all quarters upon the Tuileries, with 
 the rallying cry of "Down with the Palace 1" Pethion, the 
 mayor of Paris, though aware of the projected attack, 
 affected not to give any credence to the report, aud took
 
 THE TWENTIETH OF JUNE. 87 
 
 110 measures to prevent the gatherings of the populace, 
 which he could easily have accomplished by calling out the 
 national guards; while the leaders of the Assembly laughed 
 derisively at the fears displayed by the court party, and 
 denounced their applications for assistance and means of 
 defence as calumnies against the innocence of the people, 
 who were only going, they maintained, to exercise their 
 constitutional right of presenting a petition to the king and 
 to the Assembly.] 
 
 THE TWENTIETH OF JUNE. 
 
 Ir was under these auspices that the 20th of June dawned 
 upon Paris. A second council, more secret and less numerous 
 than the former, had been held late the night previous by 
 the chiefs of the plot at the house of Santerrc. At mid- 
 night they separated, and each of them repaired to his post, 
 awoke his most trusted accomplices, and distributed them 
 in little groups, with directions to stop the workmen as they 
 left their homes, and collect them into crowds. 
 
 Santerre answered for the neutrality of the national 
 guards. " Be tranquil," he said to the conspirators, 
 " Pethion will be there." Pethion in reality had ordered 
 the battalions of the national guards under arms the night 
 before, not to oppose the columns of the people, bat to 
 fraternize with them, and serve as an escort to sedition. 
 
 This equivocal measure saved Pethion from any responsi- 
 bility in the eyes of the authorities, while it showed the 
 people that he favoured their plot. He said to one party, 
 / ivatch; to the other, / march with you. At daybreak the 
 battalions assembled and piled their arms in all the squares. 
 Santerre harangued his troop from the ruins of the Bastile, 
 while around him, from hour to hour, gathered crowds of an 
 excited, agitated, impatient populace, ready to fall upon the 
 town if he but gave the word. 
 
 Military uniforms were seen blended with the rags of 
 poverty. Detachments of invalids, gendarmes, national 
 guards, and volunteers, all received their orders from Sau- 
 terre, and transmitted them to the multitude. An instinctive
 
 88 Hi;ST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 discipline prevailed amidst the apparent disorder, and the 
 half popular, half military aspect of this immense camp of 
 the people, gave the assemblage rather the appearance of an 
 expedition, than of a seditious rising. The crowd recog- 
 nised its leaders, manoeuvred at their orders, followed their 
 flag*, obeyed their voice, and controlled even its impatience 
 to give the straggling and isolated files the appearance and 
 unity of simultaneous movement. Santerre, on horseback, 
 surrounded by a staff formed of men from the faubourgs, 
 gave the orders, fraternized with the citizens, shook hands 
 with the insurgents, and recommending silence and dignity 
 to the people, slowly formed his columns into marching order. 
 
 At eleven o'clock, the people set forward in the direction 
 of the Tuileries. It was estimated that twenty thousand men 
 left the Place de la Bastile. They were divided into three 
 bodies; the first, composed of battalions of the faubourgs, 
 armed with bayonets and sabres, was commanded by San- 
 terre; the second, formed of workmen and masses of the 
 populace unarmed, or armed only with pikes and sticks, was 
 under the orders of Saint Hurugc, the demagogue; the 
 third, a confused horde of men in rags, women, and children, 
 followed with wild gestures and disordered movements, a 
 young and beautiful woman dressed in man's attire, with a 
 sabre in her hand, a musket on her shoulder, who was 
 seated on a cannon drawn by workmen with naked arms. 
 
 This was Theroigne de Mericourt. 
 
 Santerre was the king of the faubourgs, and Saint Huruge 
 had been, since 1 789, the grand agitator of the Palais Royal. 
 
 The Marquis de Saint Huruge, born at Macon, of a rich 
 and noble family, was one of those men of tumult and tur- 
 bulence who seem to typify and represent in their own persons 
 the passions of the masses. His stature was lofty, his face 
 commanding, and his voice thundered above the roar of the 
 multitude. He had his fits of agitation, of fury, of repen- 
 tance, sometimes even of cowardly weakness; but his heart 
 was not cruel, it was his brain only that was not quite 
 sound. Too aristocratic to be envious, too rich to be a 
 spoliator, and with too much levity of disposition to be a 
 fanatic for principle, the revolution drew him on with a sort 
 of delirious fascination, as the rush of a rapid stream draws
 
 THE TWENTIETH OF JUNE. 89 
 
 after it the bewildered eyes of the gazer. There was mad- 
 ness in his life, and he loved the revolution in motion 
 because it resembled madness. Although still young, his 
 name, his honour, and his fortune had been already sacrificed 
 to gaming, vice and dissipation. At the Palais Royal, and 
 every other place where pleasure held her disordered revels, 
 he possessed that celebrity which is infamy. Every one knew 
 him by reputation. His family had sufficient influence to pro- 
 cure his imprisonment in the Bastile; but the 14th of July 
 had again set him free, and he swore to be revenged. He 
 kept his oath. Every faction in turn found in him an 
 indefatigable and voluntary accomplice. To the Duke of 
 Orleans, to Mirabeau, Danton, Camille Desmoulins, the 
 Girondists, Robespierre, his services were offered without 
 salary ever an adherent of the party that would go farthest 
 of the insurrection that promised the most ruins. Awake 
 before daybreak, present at every club, prowling about 
 through the night, he hastened at the slightest murmuring of 
 discontent to increase it at the least gathering of a crowd to 
 excite it to violence. He inflamed himself with the passions 
 of the populace before he comprehended them, and his voice, 
 his gestures, the wild expression of his features multiplied 
 these passions around him. He vociferated turbulence, he 
 breathed fever, he magnetized the undecided masses, they 
 followed where he led. He was in himself an insurrection. 
 
 After Saint Hurnge marched Theroigne de Mericourt. 
 Theroigne, or Lambeitine de Mericourt, who commanded 
 the third corps of the army of the faubourgs, was known 
 among the people as La Belle Liegeoise. The revolution 
 had attracted her to Paris as the whirlwind attracts all 
 objects into its vortex, and she became the Jeanne d'Aic 
 of the public streets. Outraged love had thrown her into 
 vice, and vice, at which she still blushed, gave her the 
 thirst for vengeance. In striking at the aristocrats she 
 thought to restore her honour, and fancied that her shame 
 could be washed out in blood. Theroigne was born at the 
 village of Mericourt, near Liege. Her family belonged to 
 the class of wealthy farmers, and she received an education 
 suitable to her position.
 
 00 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 At seventeen years of age her brilliant beauty attracted 
 the notice of a young nobleman, whose chateau adjoined her 
 father's residence. Loved, betrayed, abandoned, she fled 
 from the paternal home, and took refuge in England. After 
 a sojourn of some months in London she crossed over to 
 France, where she became acquainted with Mirabeau, and 
 through him with Sieyes, Joseph Chenier, Danton, Ilonsin, 
 Brissot, and Camille Desmoulins. Romme, a republican 
 mystic, inspired her with the principles of the German 
 Illuminati; thus, youth, love, revenge, and the contact 
 with the focus of a revolution, conspired to fever her brain, 
 and she lived in a delirium of passions, ideas, and pleasures. 
 
 From the first risings of the people she took her part 
 with them in the streets, and consecrated her beauty as the 
 standard of insurrection. Dressed in a riding habit of the 
 colour of blood, with a plume floating from her hat, a sabre 
 by her side, and two pistols in her belt, she was seen fore- 
 most in every revolt. When the gates of the Invalides was 
 forced, and the cannon seized, she was in the front rank of 
 the insurgents. At the attack on the Bastile, she was the 
 first to mount the breach, and the conquerors decreed 
 her on the spot a sabre of honour. It was she who led the 
 women from Paris to Versailles; and on horseback, by the 
 side of the ferocious Jourdan, sarnamed "the man with the 
 long beard," had brought back the king from thence; while 
 the heads of the gardes du corps, stuck as trophies upon 
 pikes, were carried before her, and she looked at them with- 
 out changing colour. Her words, though marked by a 
 foreign accent, had the eloquence of tumultuous feeling, and 
 her voice was often heard above the storms of the clubs, 
 overawing the members from her position in the galleries. 
 
 Sometimes she harangued at the Cordeliers. Camiile 
 Desmoulins speaks of the enthusiasm which one of her ex- 
 tempore speeches excited there. "Her images," he says, 
 "were taken from Pindar and the Bible. It was the 
 patriotism of a Judith." She proposed that a palace for 
 the National Representative Assembly should be built upon 
 the site of the Bastile. "To found and adorn this edifice," 
 (she said one day) "let us despoil ourselves of our brace- 
 lets, our gold, and our jewels; I shall be the first to show
 
 THE TWENTIETH OF JUNE. 91 
 
 the example," and she flung down hers upon the tribune. 
 Her ascendancy was so great over the populace that a sign 
 from her condemned or absolved a victim, and tho royalists 
 trembled to meet her. About this time, by one of those 
 chances which seem like an act of vengeance ordained 
 by destiny, she again met in Paris the young Belgian noble- 
 man who had betrayed and abandoned her. Her glance at 
 once told her seducer the danger he ran. He endeavoured 
 to appease her: he implored her pardon. "My pardon 1" 
 she exclaimed; "and at what price conld you purchase it? 
 My innocence gone, rny honour lost, the name of my family 
 stained, my brother and my sisters pursued in their own 
 country by the sarcasms of their relatives, the curses of 
 my father; my exile from my native land, my enrolment i;i 
 the infamous list of courtesans, the blood with which I stain 
 and will yet stain my hands ; my memory, execrated amongst 
 men, the infamous immortality attaching itself to my name, 
 in place of the immortality of virtue of which you taught 
 me to doubt is this what you would pay me for? Come 
 answer! Could you find upon the whole earth a sum suf- 
 ficient to recompense me for all I have lost?" Her guilty 
 lover was silent. Theroigne had not the generosity to for- 
 give him, and he perished in the massacres of September. 
 
 In proportion as the revolution became more sanguinary, 
 she plunged the deeper into it. The excitement of its wild 
 progress seemed necessary to her existence; yet her early 
 devotion to Brissot awoke again at the fall of the Girondists, 
 and made her eve* her strive to arrest the march of 
 revolution. But there were women even more degraded 
 and sanguinary than herself. These wretches, called the 
 Furies of the Guillotine, stripped the Belle Leigeoise, and 
 publicly scourged her on the terrace of the Tuileries, on the 
 31st of May. This punishment, more infamous than death, 
 overturned her intellect. She was taken from the streets and 
 flung into a common mad-house, where she lived for twenty 
 years. These twenty years were but one long paroxysm 
 of fury. In memory of the outrage she had endured, she 
 would suffer no clothes to be put on her; and still sanguinary 
 and violent in her delirium, would drag herself nearly naked 
 along the floor of the cell, and with her white hairs hanging
 
 92 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 in wild disorder about her, twist her lean hands in the grat* 
 ing of the windows, and, addressing an imaginary populace 
 below, demand from them the blood of Suleau. 
 
 Theroigne de Mericourt was followed by other demagogues, 
 less known to Paris but already celebrated in their own 
 districts, such as Rossignol, a working jeweller; Brierre, 
 a wine-seller; Gonor, one of the victims of the Bastile; 
 Jourdan, coupe-fete; Lazouski, the famous Polish Jacobin, 
 afterwards buried at the Carrousel by the people; and 
 Henriot, afterwards the trusted general of the Convention. 
 As the columns advanced through Paris they were increased 
 by new groups that debouched from the populous streets 
 opening upon the boulevards or the o/tays. At each fresh 
 influx of recruits, a shout of joy was raised from the centre 
 of the columns; the bands struck up the brutal and atrocious 
 air of Ca ira, that Marseillaise of assassins. The insurgents 
 sung it in chorus, and brandishing their weapons, menaced 
 with gestures the windows of all those suspected of being 
 aristocrats. But their arms bore no resemblance to the 
 flashing weapons of a regular army, which inspire at once 
 terror and admiration. They were of every form and 
 material; rude instruments snatched up by the mob in the 
 first impulse of fury or defence. Pikes, blunted lances, 
 roasting-spits, knives without handles, carpenters' hatchets, 
 masons' hammers, shoemakers' knives, paviors' levers, 
 smoothing irons, pokers, shovels, tongs, the meanest house- 
 hold utensils of poverty, the old irod%f the quays every- 
 thing had been converted into weapons by the people. 
 These strange, uncouth arms, all rusted, black, and hideous 
 to behold, each one of which could inflict a different wound, 
 seemed to multiply the horrors of death, by presenting it 
 in a thousand terrible and unknown forms. 
 
 There was a mixture of all ages, sexes, and conditions 
 in the crowd, a blending of all costumes rags beside uni- 
 forms, old men beside the young, even children carried by their 
 mothers, or dragged along by the hand ; others clinging to 
 their parents' clothes; courtesans, their robes of silk trail- 
 ing in the mud, boldness on their brows, and insult on their 
 lips; hundreds of the wretched women of the street, sura-
 
 TIIE TWENTIETH Oi" JUNE. 93 
 
 moned from the garrets of the faubourgs to swell the 
 numbers of the mob and excite commiseration, with their 
 faded friperies hanging in rags about them, their eyes sunk, 
 their cheeks hollowed by misery, pale, squalid, emaciated, 
 living images of famine in a word, it was the people itself, 
 in all its disorder, confusion, grossness, and brutality, sud- 
 denly summoned from its houses, workshops, garrets, and 
 dens of infamy. Such was the aspect the leaders of the 
 conspiracy wished it to wear, in order to inspire greater 
 terror. 
 
 Flags floated here and there above the columns. Upon 
 one was written, ''Sanction or death!" on another, "Recall 
 of the patriot ministers!" a third bore, "Tremble, Tyrant, 
 thy hour has come!" A man with bare arms carried a 
 gibbet, from which hung the effigy of a crowned female, 
 with the inscription, "Beware of the lamp-post!" Farther 
 on a crowd of furies held up with outstretched arms an 
 imitation guillotine, while a placard explained its mean- 
 ing "National justice upon tyrants; death to Veto and 
 his wife!" In the midst of all this apparent disorder, a 
 secret organisation could easily be perceived. Men without 
 coats, or in rags, but whose white hands and fine linen be- 
 trayed them as leaders, wore hats upon which certain signs 
 of recognition were drawn in large characters with white 
 chalk. The people regulated their course by these men, 
 and followed as they led. 
 
 The principal column passed thus along the Rue St. 
 Antoine, and through the dark narrow avenues of central 
 Paris, until it reached the Rue St. Honore, attracting 
 into its vortex the population of all these quarters as 
 it defiled along; and the more the torrent swelled, so much 
 the more did it foam and rage. Here a baud of butchers' 
 boys rushed to mingle with it: each of these murderers of 
 the abattoir carrying a calf's heart still bleeding on the 
 end of a pike, with the words above " The heart of an 
 aristocrat" Farther on, a troop of rag-sellers lifted high up 
 above the crowd a pike, around which floated the tattered 
 fragments of some human vestments, with the motto 
 "Tremble tyrants; behold the Sans- Culottes/" 
 
 The sarcasm which pride had thrown to indigence, had
 
 94 FIKST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 thus been snatched up, and became in its turn a weapon 
 of the poor against the rich. For the space of three hours 
 this army defiled along the Rne St. Honore. Sometimes a 
 gloomy silence, broken only by the tramp of their million 
 feet upon the pavement, oppressed the imagination as a 
 symbol of the concentrated rage of the multitude; some- 
 times exclamations from solitary voices, insulting apostro- 
 phes, atrocious sarcasms, excited bursts of laughter from 
 the mob; sometimes a sudden murmur, an immense, con- 
 fused sound, rose up from these living human waves, and 
 echoing to the roofs, left the last syllable of their prolonged 
 acclamations alone audible : "The nation for ever !" " Long 
 live the sans-culotte !" "Down with the Veto!" The tu- 
 mult finally reached the hall of the Legislative Assembly, but 
 the head of the column paused at the doors, and spread 
 itself through the court of the Feuillants, the court of the 
 Manege, and all the avenues leading to the hall. These 
 courts, avenues, and passages, which then masked the ter- 
 race of the garden, occupied the open space which now 
 extends between the garden of the Tuileries and the Rue 
 St. Honore, that central artery of Paris. 
 
 It was now noon. Rcederer, the procureur-syndic of the di- 
 crctory of the department, a frmction which in 1792 corres- 
 ponded to that of prefect of Paris, was at this moment at the 
 bar of the Assembly. He was a partisan of the constitution, 
 of the school of Mirabeau and Talleyrand, and a courageous 
 enemy of anarchy. In the constitution he found the ground of 
 conciliation between his fidelity to the people and his loyalty 
 to the king, and he was anxious to defend it with every 
 arm of the law which sedition had not yet broken in his 
 hand. " An armed multitude threatens to violate the con- 
 stitution, the hall of Assembly, and the palace of the king," 
 exclaimed Roederer at the bar. " The reports of last night 
 are alarming. The minister of the interior calls upon us to 
 march troops, without delay, to the defence of the palace. 
 The law forbids these armed assemblages, yet they are ad- 
 vancing. They demand an entrance here. If you admit 
 them, if you yourselves give the example of violating the
 
 THE TWENTIETH OF JUNE. 1)5 
 
 constitution, what becomes of the dignity of the law in your 
 hands? The indulgence that abrogates it destroys all the 
 public force of the magistrate. We demand permission to 
 fulfil our duty. Let the responsibility rest on us. It is our 
 duty to die, if necessary, for the maintenance of public 
 peace, and nothing can lessen that obligation." 
 
 These noble words, worthy of L'Hopital or Mathieu Mole, 
 were received coldly by the Assembly, and with laughter from 
 the tribunes. Vergniaud acknowledged them hypocritically, 
 and dissipated their effect. " Yes," said this orator, whom 
 an armed mob dragged from the same tribune a year later, 
 " Yes, doubtless, we should perhaps never have permitted 
 armed men to enter here ; for if civism leads its worthy citi- 
 zens here to-day, aristocracy may bring hither its janissaries 
 to-morrow. But our error has authorised the error of the 
 people. Armed assemblages, hitherto, have appeared to bo 
 sanctioned by the silence of the law. The magistrates, it is 
 true, now demand force to put them down ; but, under the 
 circumstances, what is your duty? It would surely show 
 extreme rigour to be inflexible towards a fault which your 
 own decrees have originated; and it would be an insult to 
 the citizens to suspect them of evil intentions because they 
 desire to present their homage to you. But we are told 
 that they are likewise to present an address at the palace. 
 I cannot think they will demand an audience of the king 
 with arms in their hands. No doubt, they will conform to 
 the law; they will lay down their arms, and appear only as 
 simple petitioners. I demand, therefore, that the assembled 
 citizens now waiting without be admitted to defile before us." 
 
 Indignant at the perfidy or the cowardice of these words, 
 Dumolard and Ramond opposed, with equal energy, either 
 the weakness or complicity of the Assembly. "The most 
 fitting homage you can pay the people of Paris," exclaimed 
 Ramond, " is to make them obey their own laws. I de- 
 mand, therefore, that all citizens lay down their arms be- 
 fore being admitted to our presence." 
 
 ' Wherefore do you talk of disobedience to the laws," 
 retorted Guadet; "you who think so little of its violation? 
 You would commit a revolutionary act of injustice; you 
 would resemble that Roman emperor, who, to make more
 
 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 victims, caused the laws to be framed so obscurely that no 
 one could comprehend them." 
 
 The deputation from the insurgents entered at these 
 last words, amidst the cheers of applause and murmurs of 
 indignation from the two opposing parties of the Assembly. 
 
 Huguenin, the orator of the deputation, read the petition 
 agreed on at the midnight meeting of the leaders. He then 
 declared that the city had risen to the height of the circum- 
 stances in which it was placed, ready to employ all its great 
 resources to avenge the majesty of the people; but he 
 deplored, nevertheless, the necessity of steeping his hands 
 in the blood of those who conspired against them. " The 
 hour is arrived, however,'' he continued, with an apparent 
 resignation to the combat, " blood must flow. The men 
 of the 14th of July are not sleeping, though they appear to 
 be so. Their awaking will be terrible. Speak, and we 
 shall act. The people are here to judge their enemies. 
 Let them choose between Coblentz and us. Let them purge 
 the land of liberty, these tyrants, if they dare. The king 
 is not with us: you know it. We need no other proof than 
 the dismissal of the popular ministers and the inaction of 
 our armies. What then! is the life of the people not 
 worth that of kings? Must the blood of patriots flow 
 without revenge, to gorge the pride and ambition of a per- 
 fidious court ? If the king will not act, depose him. One 
 man cannot stand against the will of twenty-five millions. 
 Or if we consent to keep him in his place, let it be only on 
 condition that he fills it constitutionally. If he fails in that, 
 let him fall. And the high court of Orleans," pursued 
 Hugueuin, "what is it doing? Where are the heads of 
 the traitors it should have struck off? AYill they force us to 
 sieze the sword ourselves?" These ominous words alarmed 
 the constitutionalists, but made the Girondists smile. The 
 president, however, replied with a firmness which was not 
 sustained by the voices of his colleagues; and they decided 
 that the people of the faubourgs should be admitted to de- 
 file before them, armed as they were.
 
 THE TWENTIETH OF JlTXE. 97 
 
 Im mediately after the decree had passed by vote, the 
 doors arc thrown open, and give free passage to thirty 
 thousand petitioners. As they defile along, their bands 
 strike up the popular airs of La Carmagnole and Ga 
 Ira, those pas cle charge of insurrections. Women, armed 
 with sabres, wave them towards the tribunes, who answer 
 with applause ; they then dance around a stone table, on 
 which the rights of man are engraved, as the Israelites 
 around the tabernacle. The same flags, the same vulgar 
 inscriptions that disgraced the streets, profane the sanctuary 
 of the law ; the tattered garments pendant as trophies from 
 their pikes; the guillotine, the gibbet, with the queen's effigy 
 suspended from it, arc carried through the hall of Assembly 
 without opposition. Some deputies applaud, others turn 
 away their eyes, or cover them with both hands; some, 
 more courageous than the rest, spring towards the ruffian 
 who carries the bloody heart, and force the wretch, half 
 by supplication, half by threats, to retire with the emblem 
 of assassination. A portion of the people regard the hall 
 they profane with something like respect; others address 
 the representatives of the nation as they pass along, and 
 seem to enjoy their humiliation. The clang of all these 
 strange weapons amongst the crowd, the clatter of their 
 nailed shoes and wooden sabots upon the pavement of the 
 hall, the shrieks of the women, the cries of children, and the 
 shouts of "Vive la nation!" blended with wild popular 
 songs and the music of the bands, completely deafen the 
 ear; while the r.igs and squalidness that filled the hall, con- 
 trasted strangely with the marbles, statues, and decorations 
 around. 
 
 The miasma from these living dregs set in motion, taint 
 the air and stifle respiration. It was three o'clock before 
 the last of the columns quitted the Assembly; the presi- 
 dent then hastened to suspend the sitting in expectation of 
 some farther excesses on the part of the mob. 
 
 But an imposing force was already drawn up in the 
 garden and courts of the Tuileries, to defend the palace of 
 the king against the invasion of the faubourgs. Three 
 regiments of the line, two squadrons of gendarmerie,
 
 98 FIRST FREKCII REVOLUTION. 
 
 numerous battalions of the national guard, and several 
 cannon, composed the means of defence. But these waver- 
 ing troops, already infected by sedition, were only a force in 
 appearance. 
 
 The cries of Vive la Nation ! the friendly gestures of 
 the insurgents, the sight of the women stretching out their 
 arms to them through the railings, the presence of the muni- 
 cipal officers, who testified by their manner a contemptuous 
 neutrality towards the king, all tended to weaken the 
 impulse of resistance in the soldiers. They saw the uniform 
 of the national guards on both sides; and between the 
 people of Paris, whose sentiments they shared, and the 
 palace, which they were told was full of treachery, they 
 knew no longer which it was their duty to obey. In vain 
 M. Boederer, the firm upholder of the constitution, in vain 
 the superior officers of the national guards, such as MM. 
 Acloque and De llomaiuvilliers, displayed to them that 
 passage of the law which authorized force to be repelled by 
 force. The Assembly had set them the example of compli- 
 city. Pethion, the mayor, kept at a distance to avoid respon- 
 sibility; the king, passive as usual, relied upon his inviola- 
 bility ; and the troops thus abandoned to themselves, could 
 not long hold out against menaces or seduction. 
 
 In the interior of the palace, about two hundred gentle- 
 men, headed by the aged Marshal de Mouchy, had assembled 
 together at the first rumour of danger to the king. They 
 were voluntary victims of the ancient French honour, 
 rather than able defenders of the monarchy. Fearing to 
 excite jealousy in the national guards and troops, these 
 noblemen kept themselves concealed in the apartments, pre- 
 pared to die rather than fight. They wore no uniform, and 
 kept their arms concealed. Hence their name of Chevaliers 
 du Poignard, by which they were pointed out to the ven- 
 geance of the people. Belonging to different provinces, and 
 unknown to each other, they met together for the first time 
 at the palace, whither they had secretly hastened, furnished 
 with a ticket of entrance, to offer the devotion of despair to 
 their unfortunate sovereign in his hour of peril. They 
 ought to have been ten thousand, they numbered only two 
 hundred. It was but the reserve of loyalty, yet they did
 
 THE TWENTIETH OF JUNE. 99 
 
 their duty without a thought for themselves, and atoned 
 by their fidelity for the faults and the cowardice of the 
 emigrant noblesse. 
 
 Ou quitting the Assembly the crowd marched in a com- 
 pact column to the Carrousel ; Santerre and Alexandra, at the 
 head of their own battalions, directing the movement. A 
 dense ma=s of insurgents followed by the Hue St. Honore. 
 Other detachments of the mob, cut off from the principal 
 bod\ r , thronged the courts of the Manege and the Feuillants, 
 and sought to find egress by rushing violently through one 
 of the openings which led from these courts to the palace 
 garden. A battalion of the national guards defended the 
 gate at this point. The weakness, or complaisance of a 
 municipal officer, causes it to be opened to the people, and 
 the battalion falls back, taking up a new position under the 
 palace windows; while the crowd rushing through, cross 
 the garden, and passing in front of the national guards, 
 salute them with cries of Vive la Nation! inciting them at 
 the same time to withdraw the bayonets from their musket.'?. 
 The bayonets full, and the people, passing out by the Porte 
 Royal e, form again to attack the gates of the Carrousel which 
 defended that square on the side adjacent to the river. The 
 guards placed here also give way, and admit a certain 
 number of the insurgents, then close the gate again. These 
 men, heated and excited by the march, the songs, the accla- 
 mations of the Assembly, and by intoxication, rush with 
 wild yells into the courts of the palace, hasten to the principal 
 entrances, attack the soldiers who oppose them, shout to 
 their comrades without, and shake the Porte Royale till it 
 trembles on its hinges. The municipal officer, Panis, orders 
 it to be opened to them. The Carrousel is forced ; and for 
 a moment the masses seem to hesitate at the sight of the 
 cannon pointed against them, and the squadrons of gendar- 
 merie drawn up in a line. Saint Prix, the captain of the 
 artillery, having been separated from his guns by the rush 
 of the populace, sends orders to the second in command to 
 fall back upon the palace entrance. His lieutenant refuses 
 to execute the order, and exclaims in a loud voice " The 
 Carrousel is forced, the palace must be forced also. Follow
 
 100 MUST HIKNC1I lltVoLUTIO". 
 
 me, gunners, yonder is the enemy!" and he points to the 
 king's windows, wheels round his pieces, and levels them 
 against the palace. The troops, carried away by this deser- 
 tion of the artillery, still remain in line, but fling down their 
 cartridges before the people in token of amity, and no longer 
 oppose the passage of the insurgents. 
 
 The commander of the national guards who witnessed 
 this movement, immediately shouts from the court to the 
 grenadiers who were standing at the windows of the guard- 
 room, to take arms to defend the staircase. The grenadiers, 
 in place of obeying, leave the Tuileries by the gallery leading 
 to the garden, while Santerre, Theroigne, and St. Huruge, 
 rush towards the entrance door of the palace. The boldest 
 and strongest of their followers plunge under the archway 
 which leads from the Carrousel to the garden, dash aside 
 the gunners, and lifting a gun from its carriage, bear it in 
 their arms up to the guard-room, at the very top of the 
 grand staircase. The crowd emboldened by this prodigy 
 of strength and daring, pour into the hall, and spread like 
 a torrent throughout every staircase and corridor of the 
 palace. Every door shakes or falls before the shoulders 
 or beneath the axes of the multitude, who search for the 
 king with furious shouts. One door alone separates him 
 from them, and this door, already trembling on its hinge?, 
 is ready to fall beneath the pressure of the levers and the 
 blows of the pikes of the assailants. 
 
 The king, who relied upon Pethion's promises, and the 
 strong force by which the palace was guarded, saw the ap- 
 proach of the mob with little disquietude ; but the sudden 
 attack on his own residence aroused him from his fatal 
 security. He and the queen, with Madame Elizabeth and 
 the children, had retired to the inner apartments adjacent 
 to the garden. Here they heard the shouts and the roar 
 of the distant masses, but without any apprehension that the 
 tempest was so soon to burst over them. The cries of the terri- 
 fied servants flying along the corridors, the crash of broken 
 gates and falling doors shivered upon the floor, and the howls 
 and yellsof the advancing mob, at last aroused the unfortunate 
 family to their terrible position, They were assembled iu
 
 THE TWENTIETH OF JUNK. 101 
 
 the king's bedchamber. Louis XVI. commending by a ges- 
 ture, the queen his sister and his children to the fidelity of the 
 officers and women of the household who surrounded them, 
 instantly left the apartment, and hastened alone to the council- 
 chamber. There he found the devoted Marshal de Mouchy, 
 ready to sacrifice the remaining days of his long life to the 
 welfare of his sovereign. There also M. de Hervilly, comman- 
 der of the constitutional horse-guards disbanded a few days 
 before; General Acloque commandant of the battalion of 
 the Faubourg St. Marceau, at first a moderate revolutionist, 
 then conquered by the private virtues of Louis XVL and 
 now ready to die for him as the most devoted of friends ; 
 and three brave grenadiers of the battalion of the Faubourg 
 St. Martin, Lecrosnier, Bridaut, and Gosse, were all that 
 remained at their posts in the interior amid the general de- 
 fection; and they prepared to cover the king with their 
 bayonets. Men of the people, strangers to a court, attracted 
 to the king only by the sentiments of duty and affection, 
 they defended the man rather than the sovereign. 
 
 At the moment when the king entered the council-chamber, 
 the door of the adjoining apartment, called the Hall of the 
 Nobles, shook violently beneath the blows of the assailants. 
 The king advanced to meet the danger ; already the panels 
 of the door were falling at his feet, and sticks armed with 
 iron spikes, lances and pikes, were pushed through the open- 
 ings. Yells of fury, oaths, curses, and imprecations accom- 
 panied each blow of their hatchets. The king with a firm 
 voice ordered the two faithful valets de chambre who accom- 
 panied him to unbar the doors. " What have I to fear in 
 the midst of my people?" he exclaimed, advancing boldly 
 to meet the assailants. 
 
 These words, this movement in advance, the serenity of 
 his brow, the respect of so many ages for the person of the 
 king, subdued the impetuosity of the leaders of the mob. 
 They seemed to hesitate to cross that threshold which they 
 had come to force by violence. During this moment of 
 awe and doubt, the Marshal de Mouchy, Acloque, the three 
 grenadiers, and the two valets, induced the king to retire a 
 few paces, and ranged themselves between him and the 
 people. The grenadiers levelled their muskets, and thus for
 
 102 riKST l-T.EXCH REVOLUTI'.''X. 
 
 an instant kept the crowd at bay ; but the stiil increasing 
 waves of the people pushed the advanced ranks forward. 
 The first who sprang into the room was a wretch in rag?, 
 with naked arms, bloodshot eyes, and foaming at the mouth. 
 "Where is the Veto?" he shouted, levelling a stick spiked 
 with iron at the very heart of the king; but one of the 
 grenadiers struck down his arm with a blow of his bayonet, 
 and the ruffian fell at the feet of the citizen. This act of 
 courage had its effect upon his comrades; they trampled 
 the fallen wretch beneath their feet pikes, hatchets, knives, 
 and lances, for a moment sunk before the majesty of roy- 
 alty and the crowd, by a sort of instinctive awe, paused at 
 a short distance from the king, in an attitude of brutalized 
 curiosity rather than of rage. 
 
 In the mean time several officers of the national guards, who 
 had hastened to the council-hall on hearing of the king's dan- 
 ger, were endeavouring, along with the faithful grenadiers, 
 to form some rampart around his person. The king himself 
 had but one anxiety, and that was to remove the populace, as 
 far as possible, from the apartments where he had left the 
 queen. For this purpose he ordered the door of the council 
 chamber to be barred, and induced the multitude to follow 
 him into the vast saloon of the Oeil de Bo3uf, under the 
 pretence that the extent of this hall would allow a greater 
 number of citizens to see and speak to him. He succeeded 
 in reaching it, surrounded by an immense and turbulent 
 crowd, and felt with pleasure that he alone was exposed to 
 the blows of those rude weapons which a thousaud arms 
 were brandishing around his head; but, on turning I 
 he perceived his sister, Madame Elizabeth, stretching cut 
 her arms towards him, and making fruitless efforts to reach 
 him. 
 
 She had succeeded in escaping from the women who 
 endeavoured to detain her along with the queen and the 
 children in the king's sleeping apartment, and hastened to 
 the brother she adored, to die if necessary upon his bosom. 
 Young, beautiful, and held iu veneration by the court for 
 her piety and passionate devotion to the king, she had re- 
 nounced all love but the love of her family. Now, with her
 
 THE TWENTIETH OF JUX!?. 103 
 
 hail 1 disordered, eyes streaming with tears, and arms ex- 
 tended towards the king, herappearauco was at once full 
 of sublimity and despair. 
 
 " It is the queen!" cried several women of the faubourgs, 
 and the title, at such a moment, was a sentence of death. 
 A few infuriated wretches sprang forwards at the words with 
 their arms lifted to strike; but the officers of the palace 
 undeceived them, and at the venerated name of Madame 
 Elizabeth the weapons sunk to the ground. "Ah! what 
 have you done?" exclaimed the princess, mournfully; "why 
 not let them think I was the queen ? By dying in her place 
 I might have saved her!" At these words an irresistible 
 movement of the crowd separated Madame Elizabeth vio- 
 lently from her brother, and forced her into an embrasure of 
 one of the windows, where the mob that surrounded her 
 still contemplated her at least with respect. 
 
 The king had reached the deep recess of the centre win- 
 dow, while Acloque, Vannot, D'Hervilly, and about twenty 
 volunteers and national guards, formed a rampart round him 
 with their bodies. Some of the officers drew their swords. 
 " Sheath your swords, gentlemen," said the king, tranquilly; 
 " this crowd is misled rather than culpable." 
 
 A bench being placed against the window, he mounted 
 upon it, and the grenadiers placed themselves, some beside 
 him, others in front, and parried or struck down the pikes, 
 sticks and scythes that waved above the heads of the 
 people. Atrocious cries rose confusedly from the infuriated 
 masses: " Down with the Veto!" "The camp at Paris!" 
 " Give us back the patriot ministers!" " Where is the Aus- 
 trian woman?" Some wilder and more desperate than the 
 others, broke from their ranks to pour forth their insults 
 and threats of death still nearer to the king; but finding 
 that to reach him was impossible, through the hedge of 
 bayonets that covered his person, they shook their hideous 
 flags in his face with their sinister inscriptions, the tattered 
 garments, the guillotine, the bloody heart, and the gibbet. 
 One of them, with a pike in his hand, made unceasing efforts 
 to reach the king. It was the same assassin who, two 
 years before, had caught up the heads of Berthier and Fon-
 
 104 nu.yr KKENCII IIKYGJ.UJION. 
 
 Ion when they were just cut off, washed them in a pail of 
 water, and then, carrying them by the hair to the Quay de 
 la Ferraille, flung them amongst the people as ensigns of 
 carnage and incentives to fresh murders. 
 
 A fair young man, elegantly dressed, but with a terrible 
 expression, made unceasing efforts to separate the grena- 
 diers, and cut his fingers with their bayonets when endea- 
 vouring to part them, in order to reach the king. 
 
 " Sirel sire!" he exclaimed, "I summon you in the name 
 of the hundred thousand souls who hear me, to sanction the 
 decree against the priests. That, or death!" 
 
 Others of the mob, though armed with naked sabres, 
 swords, pistols, and pikes, made no threatening gesture, but 
 rather endeavoured to defend the king's life: some signs of 
 respect and grief were even distinguishable on the counte- 
 nances of the greater number. Throughout this review of 
 the revolution the people were indeed terrible, but we must 
 not confound them with assassins. Some degree of order 
 now began to prevail on the staircases and the apartments. 
 The crowd, pressed by other crowds, having satisfied their 
 curiosity by the sight of the king, and flung their insults in 
 his face, plunged into the other rooms, and circulated in 
 triumph through this Palace of Despotism. 
 
 Lcgendre, the butcher, to make room for himself, drove 
 before him those hordes of women and children that were 
 accustomed to tremble at the sound of his voice, and made 
 a sign that he wished to speak. 
 
 Silence immediately was established: and the national 
 guards drew back to allow him to address the king. " Sir/" 
 he shouted, in a thundering voice (the king made a movement 
 of offended dignity at this appellation, which was equivalent 
 to a denial of his kingly authority), "Yes, sir.'" repeated 
 Legendre, dwelling with still stronger emphasis on the word, 
 "Listen: you are there to listen to us! You are a perfi- 
 dious traitor: you have always deceived us, and you are 
 deceiving us still. But take care the cup is full. The 
 people are tired of being your plaything and your victim." 
 
 Legeudre, after these menacing words, read a petition 
 couched in equally imperious terms. In it he demanded, in 
 the name of the people, the recall of the Girondist ministry,
 
 THii TWENTIETH OF JUKE. 105 
 
 and the immediate sanction of the decrees. The king re- 
 plied, with an air of intrepid dignity, "I shall do whatever 
 the constitution orders me to do." 
 
 Scarcely had one wave of the populace passed away than 
 another succeeded. Each fresh irruption was a trial of the 
 king's strength and that of the little band that surrounded 
 him, till both grew exhausted in the ever renewing struggle 
 against a crowd that never wearied nor diminished. The 
 doors no longer sufficed for the impatient curiosity of the 
 multitude rushing to see this pillory of royalty. They 
 thronged in by the windows, from the roof, from the lofty 
 galleries which opened on the terraces ; and the crowd be- 
 low laughed at these escalades as they beheld them from the 
 garden. Bravos, clapping of hands, and peals of laughter 
 encouraged the assailants, while savage jests and dialogues 
 passed between the insurgents above and the impatient mob 
 below. "Have they struck him yet?" "Is he dead?" 
 "Throw us down the heads 1" they shouted to their com- 
 rades. At the same time members of the Assembly, 
 Girondist journalists, and political leaders, such as Garat, 
 Gorsaa, and Marat, moved about amongst the crowd, ex- 
 changing pleasantries on this martyrdom of shame which 
 was imposed upon the king. For an instant a rumour ran 
 that he was assassinated. 
 
 No cry of horror arose from the multitude : they merely 
 looked up to the balcony to see if the corpse would be shown 
 to them. Still, in the middle of their very wildest excesses, 
 they seemed to feel a desire for reconciliation. One of the 
 mob handed a bonnet rouge, stuck on the end of a pike, to 
 Louis. "Let him put it on! let him put it onl" cried the 
 populace, " it is the sign of patriotism : if he wears it, we 
 shall believe he is in earnest!" The king immediately made 
 a signal to one of the grenadiers to hand it to him, and 
 placed it smilingly upon his head. Shouts of " Vive le 
 jRoi/" followed this action. The people had crowned its 
 chief with the symbol of liberty. The cap of the demagogue 
 replaced the diadem of liheims. The people had conquered, 
 and felt already appeased by victory! 
 
 Cut fresh orators, mounting on the shoulders of their
 
 106 FIJJST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 comrades, still continued to assail the king, sometimes with 
 supplications, sometimes with threats, about the sanction of 
 the decrees and the recall of Roland, the Girondist minister. 
 Louis, however, invincible in his constitutional resistance, 
 eluded their demands or refused to acquiesce in them. "I 
 am the guardian of the prerogatives of executive power," 
 he said, " and I shall not yield them up at the call of vio- 
 lence. This is not a moment for deliberation, when it is 
 impossible to deliberate freely." "Do not fear, sire,'' said 
 a grenadier of the national guards to him. " My friend," 
 answered the king, taking his hand and placing it on his 
 breast, " lay your hand there, and see if my heart beats 
 quicker than usual." 
 
 This gesture, these words of intrepid confidence, spoken 
 in the hearing of the crowd, seemed at ouce to turn the 
 current of their feelings. 
 
 A man in rags, with a bottle in his hand, pushed his way 
 near to the king, and cried out, "Here, then, if you love the 
 people, drink to their health I" but the persons surrounding 
 Louis, fearing poison as well as the poignard, entreated him 
 not to drink. Louis, however, holding out his hand, took 
 the bottle, raised it to his lips, and drank, "To the nation!" 
 This familiarity with the populace, represented in the per- 
 son of a mendicant, completed the popularity of the king. 
 Prolonged shouts of " Vive le Roif" burst from every 
 mouth and pealed along the corridors, while the groups 
 gathered on the terrace beneath listened to these cries of 
 loyalty with consternation. They expected a victim they ' 
 were not prepared for pity from his executioners. 
 
 Whilst the unfortunate king was thus struggling alone 
 against an entire people, the queen, in a neighbouring 
 apartment, was suffering similar outrages and similar fluctu- 
 ations of popular caprice. Her danger was even greater, 
 for she was far more hated than the king. Nations, when 
 excited, are apt to personify their hatred as well as their 
 love; and Mario Antoinette represented in the eyes of the 
 people all the corruption of courts, all the pride of despo- 
 tism, and all the base intrigues of treason. Her beauty, her 
 love of pleasure natural to youth, the outpourings of her
 
 THE TWENTIETH OF JUNE. 107 
 
 tender and affectionate heart, were tortured by calumny into 
 proofs of excess. Her imperial Austrian blood; her pride, 
 for which she was indebted to nature even more than to 
 rank; her intimacy with the Count d'Artois; her plots with 
 the emigrants, and suspected league with the coalition ; the 
 scandalous and even infamous libels which for four years 
 back had been industriously circulated to her dishonour; all 
 made her the victim of opinion the one upon whose head all 
 the evils of the nation were laid. The women held her iti 
 contempt as a faithless wife ; the patriots abhorred her as a 
 conspirator; political men feared her influence with the 
 king, and the people gave her the name of " The Austrian 
 Woman," as the fullest expression of their hatred and con- 
 tempt. She brought unpopularity on a throne which she 
 ought to have rendered dear to the people by her benignity 
 and compassion. 
 
 Marie Antoinette was conscious of all this. She knew 
 that her presence by the side of the king would have pro- 
 bably led to his assassination ; and for this reason alone she 
 remained shut up with her children in the royal bedcham- 
 ber. The king hoped she was forgotten there, but it was 
 the queen especially who was the object of attack and in- 
 sult to the women of the mob; and they shouted for her 
 everywhere in coarse and brutal terms, equally offensive to 
 a woman, a wife, and a queen. 
 
 Scarcely was the king hemmed in by the masses in the 
 Oeil de Bceuf, when the doors of the sleeping chamber were 
 assailed by the same yells and blows; but the attacking 
 party here was principally composed of women, who battered 
 their feebler arms in vain against the hinges aud oak panels. 
 Finding this, they summoned to their aid the men who had 
 carried the cannon from the guard-room up to the staircase. 
 These men ran at their bidding to assist them, while the 
 queen, standing erect, and pressing her two children to her 
 bosom, listened with unutterable anguish to the vocifera- 
 tions without. M. de Lajard, minister of war, a powerless 
 but devoted friend, was the only one with her except some 
 ladies of her household, aud the Princess de Lamballe, the 
 friend alike of her bright and saddened days. This princess 
 was daughter-in-law to the Duke de Penthievre, and sister-
 
 108 FIRST FHENCII KEVOLU1ION. 
 
 in-law to the Duke of Orleans. She had succeeded in the 
 heart of the queen to that tender affection which Marie 
 Antoinette so long entertained for the Countess de Polignac : 
 with the queen friendship was a species of adoration. 
 
 Eepelled by the passionless nature of the king, who had 
 only the virtues but none of the graces of a husband, hated 
 by the people, and weary of the throne, she lavished on her 
 intimate friendships the overflowings of a heart at once 
 yearning for sympathy and denied it. But the nation 
 blamed this favouritism. Everything concerning the queen 
 was calumniated, even her friendships. 
 
 The Princess deLamballe had been left a widow at eighteen. 
 Pure even above suspicion in her conduct, and placed beyond 
 all ambition and self-interest by her rank and fortune, she 
 loved in the queen only the friend. As adversities gathered 
 around Marie Antoinette, so much the more did the young 
 favourite rejoice to be with her that she might share them. 
 It was not greatness but misfortune that attracted her sym- 
 pathies. From her station as first lady of the household, 
 she was entitled to apartments at the Tuileries, and ac- 
 cordingly selected fur herself a suite of rooms close to the 
 queen's, that she might the more readily partake her dan- 
 gers and her tears. Sometimes she was obliged to absent 
 herself in order to visit the old Duke de Penthievre at the 
 Chateau de Vernon, and the queen, who had a presenti- 
 ment of the approaching political storms, wrote to her a few 
 days before the 20th of June, entreating her in the most 
 touching language not to return. This letter, never pub- 
 lished till now, was found after the murder of the Princess 
 de Lamballe, concealed in her hair. It reveals the tender- 
 ness of the one and the devotion of the other: "Do not 
 return from Vernon, niy dear Lamballe, before you are per- 
 fectly recovered. It would be a sad blow to the good Duke 
 de Penthievre, and we ought to show every consideration 
 to his advanced age and many virtues ; besides I have often 
 entreated you to take more care of yourself, and if you love 
 me you will do so. AVe have need of all our strength in 
 these times in which we live. Ah! do not return; or, at 
 least, let your return be delayed as long as possible. Your 
 heart would be too deeply grieved, your tears would flow too
 
 1'HK TWENTIETH OF .fUN'K. 109 
 
 bitterly foi' my many misfortunes, you who love me so ten- 
 derly. How cruelly this race of tigers that rule the king- 
 dom would rejoice if they knew how much we suffer! 
 Adieu, my dear Lamballe: I never cease to think of you, 
 and you know whether I am capable of change." 
 
 Madame de Lamballe, however, only made the more haste 
 to return. She clung to the queen as if she wished the 
 same blow might strike both. Other ladies, with equal 
 courage, returned to their posts at the same time: the 
 Princess de Tarente la Tremouille, Madame de Tourzel, 
 De Makau, and De la Roche Aymon. M. de Lajard, a cool 
 and collected officer, who felt that he was responsible to the 
 king for so many cherished and sacred lives, hastened by 
 secret passages that led from the sleeping chamber to the 
 interior of the palace, to collect together a few officers and 
 national guards who were wandering about distractedly in 
 the tumult. He ordered the queen's children to be brought 
 to her, that their appearance and grace, by softening the 
 crowd, might serve to guard the life of the mother. Then 
 he himself proceeded to unbar the doors. The queen and 
 her ladies had been placed in the deep embrasure of a win- 
 dow, and the massive council-table was wheeled before them 
 to interpose a barrier between the weapons of the populace 
 and the lives of the royal family, while several national 
 guards ranged themselves on each side and a little in front. 
 The queen remained standing, holding by the hand her 
 daughter, who \vas then fourteen, of remarkable beauty and 
 distinguished air and naturally precocious intellect. The 
 sorrows of the family, in the midst of which the young princess 
 had grown up, had lent a grave and serious expression to her 
 features. Her blue eyes, lofty brow, aquiline nose, and long 
 fair hair floating in waving tresses on her shoulders, recalled, 
 at the decline of the monarchy, those youthful daughters of 
 the Gauls who adorned the throne of the first race. Thus 
 clinging to the bosom of her mother, she seemed to shield 
 her with her innocence. Born amidst the first tumults 
 of the revolution, dragged to Paris as a captive amidst the 
 horrors and blood of the 6th of October, she knew nothing 
 of the people but their rage and ferocity. 
 
 The dauphin, a child of seven years old, was seated on
 
 110 FIRST FRENCH DEVOLUTION. 
 
 the table before the queen. His innocent face, radiant with 
 all the beauty of the Bourbons, expressed more of surprise 
 than fear. Frequently he turned his head towards his 
 mother and fixed his eyes on hers, as if to read through 
 her tears whether he ought to feel confidence or alarm. It 
 was in this position that the mob found the queen on 
 quitting the Oeil de Bceuf, and proceeding to defile trium- 
 phantly before her. But the softened feeling produced by 
 the firmness and confidence of the king was already apparent 
 in the gestures and countenances of the insurgents. 
 
 The most ferocious men amongst them were melted at the 
 sight of weakness, beauty, and childhood. A lovely woman, 
 an humbled queen, a fair innocent young girl, a child smiling 
 on the enemies of his father, must have awakened sensibility 
 in the heart of hatred itself. The rude men of the 
 faubourgs passed on in silence, as if ashamed of their 
 violence before this group of fallen greatness. Some only of 
 the most cowardly amongst them displayed their flags before 
 the royal family, with those atrocious mottoes that dis- 
 honoured the insurrection; but their indignant comrades 
 struck them from their hands, and hastily pushed out of 
 the apartment the wretches who bore them. Some cast 
 looks of intelligence and compassion at the royal group; 
 others smiled at the dauphin, and exchanged a few familiar 
 words with him. There was something half terrible, half 
 respectful iu these dialogues between a child and an insur- 
 gent mob. 
 
 "If you love the nation," said a volunteer to the quocn, 
 "place the red cap on the head of your son." The queen 
 took it from the hands of the man and placed it hera'Ii' 
 upon the dauphin, while the astonished child took all these 
 outrages as sport. The men applauded, but the women, 
 always more implacable towards a woman, continued to 
 pour forth their invectives; and infamous words borrowed 
 from the vocabulary of the streets, for the first time struck 
 the ears of the children, and were echoed by the walls of 
 the palace. Their innocence saved them from the horror 
 of comprehending their meaning; but the queen blushed to 
 the eyes while she listened. But her womanly modesty 
 lessened in no degree the lofty courage of her bearing. It
 
 THE TWENTIETH OF Jt'XF . 1 1 1 
 
 was evident that she blushed for the people and for her 
 children, but not for herself. 
 
 A young, pleasing-looking girl, respectably attired, sprang 
 forward to revile the Austrian woman with even more 
 rancour than the others. The queen, struck by the contrast 
 between so much fury and so yourig and gentle a face, said 
 to her kindly, "Why is it that you hate me? Have I 
 unknowingly done you any injury or wrong?" "Not to 
 me," replied the pretty patriot; "but 'tis you who have 
 caused all the evils of the nation." " Poor child 1" answered 
 the queen, " whoever told you so, has deceived you. What 
 interest could I have in the misfortunes of the people? As 
 the king's wife and the mother of the dauphin, I am a 
 Frenchwoman by every feeling of my heart as a wife and a 
 mother. I shall never see my own country again. I can 
 be happy or unhappy only in France. I was happy when 
 you loved me I" 
 
 This gentle reproach affected the heart of the young girl. 
 Her anger melted away in tears and she implored the 
 queen's pardon. "It was because I did not know you," 
 she said, "but now I see that you are truly good." At 
 this moment, Sauterre forced his way through the crowd. 
 Changeable and easily moved, he was rude and impetuous, 
 but with all his coarse brutality, still accessible to pity. The 
 faubourgs were accustomed to make way before him, and 
 trembled at his voice. Making an imperious gesture to the 
 mob to quit the apartment, and seizing men and women by 
 the shoulder himself to push them along, he set the human 
 current flowing towards the door facing the Oeil de Bceuf, 
 opposite the place where the queen was stationed. 
 
 The heat had become suffocating, and the perspiration 
 poured from the dauphin's forehead. " Take that cap off the 
 child," cried Santerre: "do you not see he is stifling 1" The 
 queen thanked him with a mother's glance ; and Santerre 
 approaching, leaned his hand upon the table, and bending 
 towards Marie Antoinette, murmured in a low voice "You 
 have but bad advisers, madame ; I know of one who would 
 serve you better." The queen looked down and made no 
 answer. It was from this remark that the secret intrigues 
 of the court with the leaders of the faubourgs took their
 
 FIUST FiiKN'CII HEVUUJ rlON*. 
 
 These fierce revolutionists, after having shaken the 
 monarchy, were flattered by receiving the supplications of 
 the queen. Their pride enjoyed the triumph of raising again 
 the woman whom they had humbled. Mirabeau, Barnave, 
 Danton, had each in turn sold, or offered to sell, the in- 
 fluence of their popularity. Santerre offered nothing but 
 his compassion. 
 
 The Assembly had resumed its sitting on the announce- 
 ment of the invasion of the palace, and a deputation of 
 twenty-four members was sent to serve as a safeguard to 
 the king; but arriving too late, they wandered about use- 
 lessly in the courts, the vestibules, and the crowded stair- 
 cases of the palace. However repugnant to their feelings 
 might be the idea of the king's assassination by a mob, yet 
 in their hearts they secretly rejoiced at the terrible lesson 
 Avhich the court was receiving. Their presence was lost in 
 the crowd: their words in the tumult. Vergniaud himself, 
 mounting on the uppermost step of the grand staircase, made 
 vain appeals to order, legality, and the constitution. Elo- 
 qence, which is all-powerful for arousing the masses, is power- 
 less to arrest them. From time to time, some of the more loyal 
 among the deputies returned to the Assembly, and ascend- 
 ing the tribune with their clothes all disordered as they 
 were, reproached the members for their apathy. Amongst 
 these, Vaublanc, Eamond, Becquet, and Girardin were the 
 most energetic. Dumas, the friend of Lafayette, pointing 
 to the windows of the palace, exclaimed, " The king is in 
 danger. I have just come from thence. I have seen him. 
 I call my colleagues Isnard and Vergniaud, whose efforts have 
 been so powerless to control the people, to witness. Yes, 
 I have seen the hereditary representative of the nation in- 
 sulted, menaced, reviled. I have seen the red cotton cap 
 placed upon his head. You are responsible to posterity for 
 these things 1'' 
 
 Hootings and ironical laughter were the only response to 
 his words. 
 
 " Do you mean to say that the cap of patriotism is a de- 
 grading symbol for the brow of a king?" asked the Giron- 
 din Lasource. "Are we to act as if the king's life were
 
 THE TWENTIETH Of JUNK. 113 
 
 menaced? Are we to insult the people by suspecting them 
 of crimes which they never meditated? The people have 
 no idea of injuring either the king or the prince royal. 
 They will not commit any excesses or any violence. Let 
 us adopt measures of mildness and conciliation." These 
 were the perfidious suggestions of Pethion, and the Assembly 
 lulled itself into indifference with them. 
 
 But even Pethion himself could not much longer feign 
 ignorance of the march of 40,000 people through Paris 
 since the morning, the entrance of an armed mob into the hall 
 of Assembly, and the attack on the Tuileries. His pro- 
 longed absence was similar to Lafayette's sleep on the 6th 
 of October; but one was an accomplice, the other was in- 
 nocent. Night was approaching, and might conceal in its 
 shadows projects of violence which would exceed even the 
 views of the Girondists. Pethion, therefore, appeared in 
 the court of the palace, and shouts of " Vive Pethion I" 
 immediately greeted him from all sides. They lifted him in 
 their arms and bore him to the steps of the grand stair- 
 case; from thence he reached the apartments where, for 
 three hours, Louis XVI. had been enduring every outrage. 
 "I have only just learned the situation of your majesty," said 
 Pethion. " That is surprising," replied the king, with sup- 
 pressed indignation, " for it has now lasted a long while." 
 Pethion then mounted upon a chair and harangued the 
 dense, compact crowd, at intervals, in the hope of inducing 
 them to separate, but without effect. Finally, getting him- 
 self raised still higher, upon the shoulders of four grena- 
 diers, he said, " Citizens, you have exercised your right of 
 petition with dignity and moderation; finish this day, then, 
 as you have commenced it. Hitherto your conduct has been 
 conformable to the law; it is in the name of the law, 
 therefore, that I now call upon you to follow my example 
 and retire." 
 
 The crowd obeyed Pethion, and began slowly to move 
 through the long suites of apartments ; while the king, who 
 was at length at liberty to quit the embrasure where the 
 grenadiers had guarded him, rejoined his sister, who threw 
 herself into his arms, and they both hastened through a
 
 114 FIRST Furxoii REVOLUTION'. 
 
 private door to rejoin the queen in her own apartments. The 
 pride of Marie Antoinette had hitherto sustained her against 
 giving way to tears, but on seeing the king she was com- 
 pletely overcome by her emotions and the excess of her ten- 
 derness : she fell at his feet, embraced his knees, and gave 
 vent to her feelings, not in sobs, but cries. Madame Eliza- 
 beth clasped the children to her heart, and the king, em- 
 bracing them all, wept over them in silence. They were 
 like persons just rescued from the perils of shipwreck ; and 
 their astonishment and gratitude ;;t their safety rose up in 
 mute joy to heaven. The king's friends, the old Marshal 
 de Mouchy, MM. d'Aubier, Acloque, and the national 
 guards who had proved their fidelity, now congratulated 
 him on the courage and presence of mind he had displayed. 
 They mutually related the perils they had escaped, and com- 
 mented on the horrible emblems, the gestures, looks, wea- 
 pons, and sudden changes of feeling exhibited by the 
 multitude. Just then the king, accidentally approaching a 
 mirror, perceived the bonnet rouge upon his head, which he 
 had forgotten to remove ; colouring deeply, he flung it on the 
 ground in disgust, and throwing himself into a chair, covered 
 his face with his handkerchief. "Ah! madame,'' he ex- 
 claimed, looking at the queen, " why did I ever take you 
 from your own country to expose you to the ignominy of 
 such a day!" __ 
 
 It was now eight o'clock in the evening. The torture of 
 the royal family had lasted for five hours. National guards 
 from the neighbouring quarters began to drop in, man by 
 man, to lend their tardy aid to the constitution. The tu- 
 multuous footsteps of the people, and their ominous and 
 threatening cries, were still audible from the king's apart- 
 ments, as the columns of the mob slowly defded through 
 the courts and garden. Constitutional deputies hastened in 
 to vent their indignation, and pour forth imprecations upon 
 Pethion and the Girondists; and a deputation from tin; 
 Assembly traversed the palace, to take notes of the violence 
 and disorder resulting from, this expedition of the fau- 
 bourgs. The queen pointed out to them the broken locks 
 and bolts, the hinges torn off, the shattered panels, the frag-
 
 TUP. TWENTIETH OF JUNE. 115 
 
 ments of pikes and other weapons, and even the cannon, 
 loaded with shot, pointed so as to command the very thresh- 
 old of their apartment. But the disordered dress of the 
 king, of his sister, and the children, these red caps and the 
 cockades which they had been forced to wear, the paleness 
 of the queen, her dishevelled hair and trembling lips, while 
 floods of tears poured from her eyes, were evidences of suf- 
 fering more striking than even the broken weapons and 
 traces of violence which the mob had left upon the battle- 
 ground of sedition. Tears filled all eyes; and the very 
 sternest amongst the deputies could not repress their feel- 
 ings of indignation and shame. The queen perceived their 
 emotion. "You weep, sir!" she said to Merlin. "Yes, 
 madame," replied the stoical deputy, "I weep for the 
 misfortunes of the woman, the wife, and the mother; 
 but my pity goes no farther. I detest kings and queens/' 
 
 These words, which might have been sublime if spoken at 
 a fitting season, were cruel at such a moment, in the pre- 
 sence of an humbled king, an outraged wife, and their young, 
 innocent children. They must have struck the queen's heart 
 even more bitterly than the blows of the people's axes as they 
 fell upon the doors of her palace. They condensed in one 
 phrase all the inflexibility of the revolution. Was it neces- 
 sary that hatred should mingle with pity when contemplating 
 misfortunes such as theirs? Should not the most rigid 
 maintenance of opinion cherish a certain modesty which 
 forbids it to speak when it can only wound hearts already 
 bleeding? Is there not in the nature of man something 
 more holy and more permanent than these hatreds of opinion 
 viz. pity for the vicissitudes of destiny, respect for fallen 
 grandeur, and compassion for the suffering? 
 
 Such was the day of the 20th of June; in it the pco- 
 ]'l3 displayed discipline in their disorder and forbearance 
 in their violence ; the king an heroic intrepidity of endurance ; 
 some of the Girondists a brutal coldness, that concealed 
 ambition beneath the mask of patriotism, and flung down 
 power beneath the insults of the mob, in order to lift it up 
 again when broken, shattered, and degraded.
 
 1 1 G FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 SUMMARY. 
 
 [The outrages and indignities to which the royal family had 
 been subjected on the 20th of June, excited horror among 
 the constitutionalists, and for a time produced a slight re- 
 action in favour of the king. They expressed their opinions 
 boldly in the Assembly, and overwhelmed the popular party 
 with shame for this pretence of a petition which they had 
 originated in order to subject the king to the insults of an 
 armed mob. Pethion was dismissed from his functions by 
 the municipal council for his evident complicity with the in- 
 surgents ; and Lafayette came to Paris to demand punish- 
 ment on the revolters and authors of the revolt. He 
 harangued the national guards, who now volunteered to 
 assemble for the defence of the king's person; and he 
 and the Duke de Liancourt made every effort to induce the 
 king to quit Paris under their protection, and place himself 
 in the midst of the army. But all these offers were refused 
 by Louis XVI. He trusted more to the allies than the na- 
 tion, and felt fatally secure of the speedy arrival of the 
 Austrians to effect his deliverance. The queen hated Lafa- 
 yette, and would place no confidence in him ; besides, like 
 the king, she calculated on the presence of the Duke of 
 Brunswick, with a powerful army, in Paris, before a month. 
 
 Thus, while Louis XVI. was publicly giving his support to 
 measures for resisting the invasion of the allies, he was pri- 
 vately encouraging them to advance; a step which placed him 
 in the dangerous position of trusting for his safety to a mea- 
 sure which involved deep treachery towards the nation. 
 Lafayette's endeavours to support the monarchy raised a 
 storm of opposition on the part of the Girondists, who 
 dreaded the failure of their republican projects. They pro- 
 posed, therefore, that he should be sent to trial for having 
 quitted the army without leave, and endeavoured to weaken 
 hie popularity and influence by insinuations that he was 
 a partner to the intrigues of the court with the allies. La- 
 fayette, discouraged by the bitter animosity excited against 
 him, and finding he had neither the confidence of the king
 
 SUMMARY. 1 1 7 
 
 nor the support of the Assembly, left Paris, and made no 
 farther effort for the constitutional party, which soon fell 
 beneath the overwhelming ascendancy of the Girondists and 
 Jacobins. The leaders of these two factions, in order to 
 check the slight re-action in favour of royalty, made the 
 dangers of invasion a pretext for turning all eyes upon the 
 king as the public enemy; and their fierce denunciations 
 succeeded so well in arousing public hatred against him more 
 violently than ever, that his deposition was openly dis- 
 cussed in the clubs as the only means of saving the nation 
 from the ignominy of having a king forced on them by 
 foreign bayonets. Vergniaud led the attack in the Assembly; 
 painted in eloquent and powerful oratory the dangers of 
 France; apostrophized the king with terrible effect as 
 the author of all; accused him of leaguing with the emi- 
 grants, and consequently of treason to France; and de- 
 manded that the Assembly should summon all Frenchmen 
 to arm for the defence of their country. " The blow to 
 annihilate the coalition must be struck at the Tuileries," was 
 the language of Brissot ; and in the excitement of the mo- 
 ment the Assembly consented to pass a decree, declaring 
 solemnly " The country is in danger.'' This served as a 
 pretext for arming all the citizens. Pikes and guns were 
 distributed freely, battalions of volunteers paraded the pub- 
 lic squares with banners, on which the words of the decree 
 were inscribed, and a camp of 20,000 men was formed at 
 Soissons. These measures carried the revolutionary excite- 
 ment to excess, and the arrival of the Federates from the 
 departments, to celebrate the anniversary of the 14th of July, 
 gave the multitude an opportunity of evincing it. The king 
 appeared on that day at the Champ de Mars to renew his 
 oath to the constitution, and was saluted with shouts of 
 " Pethion or death !" Pethion was then the idol of the hour ; 
 and the Assembly were obliged to restore him to his func- 
 tions as mayor to gratify the people. 
 
 This was the last time Louis XVI. appeared in public until 
 he ascended the scaffold. Next day, one of the leading 
 members of the first Assembly of 1 789, Duval d'Epremesnil, 
 was attacked in the street and murdered by the mob, because 
 he was suspected of favouring the court ; while the national
 
 1 i 8 FIKST 1T.ENCH EKVOLUTION. 
 
 guards, who ought to have prevented these excesses, were 
 paralysed by the reported treason of the king, and feared 
 to compromise themselves by openly espousing his cause. 
 
 On the 25th of the same month, the Duke of Brunswick's 
 manifesto was published; but the insolent, ill-judged, and 
 threatening tone it displayed, in place of aiding the throne, 
 only decided its downfall. In it, the duke, after stating 
 the intention of the allies to put down anarchy and restore 
 the king to his legitimate authority, declared that all who 
 ventured to defend themselves should be punished as rebels 
 and their houses burned; that if the city of Paris refused 
 to restore the king to his proper position, the members of 
 Assembly, the municipality, and the national guards, 
 should be tried by court martial on the arrival of the 
 princes, and the city itself given up to plunder and total 
 destruction. But if the inhabitants promptly obeyed the 
 orders of the coalition, the duke promised to intercede for 
 their pardon with the combined princes. The Duke of 
 Brunswick had the entire command of the army of invasion, 
 composed of 70,000 Prussians and 68,000 Austrians and 
 emigrants, and tbeir plan was to advance, upon the capital 
 in three lines, from the Rhine, the Moselle, and the low 
 countries. 
 
 This violent manifesto proved to all parties that there 
 was no way of saving themselves from the consequences of 
 a re-action and of securing the revolution except by annihi- 
 lating the monarchy. The king stood in the way of all; 
 but the Girondists wished to depose him by a decree of the 
 Assembly, the Jacobin leaders, as Danton, Robespierre, 
 Marat, and Camille Desmoulius, by an insurrection. Each 
 party desired to rise to power by means of its own instru- 
 ment: the Girondists by the middle class, the Jacobins by 
 the mob. The Assembly, however, hesitated, and the decree 
 of the dethronement was rejected by a small majority. 
 This defeat in the Assembly made the Girondists unite their 
 forces with the Jacobins to promote the insurrection. " If 
 the court gains time," said Roland, " the Austrians will be 
 in Paris in six weeks," and Madame Roland incited Barbaroux 
 to bring up a band of Federates from the southern provinces, 
 under pretence of aiding in the defence of Paris again -t the
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 1 19 
 
 allies, but in reality to assist in destroying the monarchy. 
 On the 30th of July, fifteen thousand Marseillais entered 
 Paris, chanting as they marched the grand revolutionary hymn 
 which since bears their name. The court was filled with terror 
 and alarm at their approach, but the people everywhere 
 received them with enthusiasm, and the terrible chorus of 
 their war-song was caught tip and echoed by millions, while 
 the strange arms, foreign aspect, Phrygian head-dresses, 
 flashing eyes, and dark southern complexion of this wild 
 warlike horde, kindled the imagination of the multitude and 
 inspired confidence in their leaders. Assisted by these 
 Federates, the forty-eight sections of Paris determined on 
 enforcing the dethronement of the king by an immediate 
 insurrection, of which movement Madame Eoland was the 
 soul, and Danton, Santerre, and Barbaroux, the organizers. 
 Accordingly the forty-eight sections sent a message to the 
 Assembly, that if the decree were not passed, the tocsin 
 should sound and the palace be attacked. The Assembly 
 summoned the mayor, but he declared that he was power- 
 less against the people, and the members finally broke 
 up the sitting without having come to any conclusion. 
 Mean time the court was occupied in preparations for the 
 defence of the palace. One thousand Swiss soldiers occu- 
 pied the interior of the Tuileries along with six hundred 
 royalist gentlemen, and several battalions of the national 
 guards, while a body of cavalry and ten thousand troops of the 
 Hue in garrison, were concentrated around it. The ministers 
 and several municipal officers frequently visited the palace, 
 and remained there during the night, in order to oppose 
 their legal authority to violence. Thus prepared, and almost 
 certain of victory, the court awaited the contest with the 
 people. 
 
 'HIE TENTH OF AUGUST. 
 
 THERE was in Paris a central committee of the Federates 
 composed of forty-three chiefs, who represented the city and 
 the departments. They held their meeting at the Jacobins, 
 which was the head-quarters of the camp of the revolution,
 
 120 nilST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 and there concerted amongst themselves the plan of the 
 insurrection. But this body being too numerous to ensure 
 the mystery and unity of purpose necessary to a conspiracy, 
 they selected five of their number, whose courage and capa- 
 city were undoubted, to act as a secret executive directory. 
 Those five members were: Debesse, Vaugeois, Guillaume, 
 Simon, a journalist, and Galissot de Langres; and they 
 united with themselves as colleagues, the chief agitators of 
 the capital, and the principal demagogues of the faubourgs, 
 such as Carra, the Girondist writer; Fournier, Wester- 
 mann, Santerre, Alexandre, the Pole Lazouski, and a 
 few others. The first meeting of this directory was held 
 at a little tavern in the Rue St. Antoiue, near the Bastiie, 
 on the night of the 26th of July. Gorsas, a journalist, and 
 one of the leaders of the columns who marched to Versailles 
 to force the king back to Paris on the 6th of October, and 
 who had since leagued with the Girondists to arrest the 
 movement which he had accelerated, arrived there about 
 two o'clock in the morning, and administered an oath to 
 the conspirators to conquer or die for liberty. Fournier 
 brought a flag with the inscription : " The Martial Law of 
 the Sovereign People!" and Carra five hundred placards 
 bearing the words: "Death to those who fire on the people 1" 
 The second meeting was held at another tavern, on the 
 Boulevard of the Bastiie on the night of the 4th of August. 
 Camille Desmoulius, the agent, as well as the pen of Danton, 
 assisted at the debate, but the conspirators not being able to 
 resolve on anything satisfactory, adjourned to the apartment 
 of Antoine, ex-member of the Assembly of 1 789, and one of 
 their colleagues, who lodged in the same house with Robes- 
 pierre, Rue St. Honore, opposite the church of the Assump- 
 tion, in order to ask his advice. Madame Duplay, the 
 landlady, who was enthusiastically devoted to Robespierre, 
 and trembled at the idea of having him compromised by a 
 meeting which would at once make her house an object of 
 suspicion, went up to Antoine's room about midnight, and 
 asked him angrily if he intended to be the cause of Robes- 
 pierre's death? "What has Robespierre to do in the 
 matter?" replied Antoine; "let him hide himself if he's 
 afraid! If there is danger of death it is for us, not him."
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 1 2 1 
 
 In this room of Antoine's, Carra wrote with his own 
 hand the final plan of the insurrection, the march of the 
 columns, and the attack of the palace. Simon took copies, 
 aud sent one each to Santerre and Alexander, the leaders 
 of the faubourgs, that same night. But the insurrection 
 was adjourned till the 10th, in order to make the prepara- 
 tions more perfect. On the night of the 9th of August, 
 the members of the directory divided into three sections, 
 and proceeded to three different points to collect the insur- 
 gent forces Fournier and Alexandre to the Faubourg St. 
 Marceau, Westermann and Santerre to the Faubourg St. 
 Antoiue, and Carra and Garin to the barracks of the Mar- 
 seillais, where they discussed the plan of attack in the apart- 
 ment of the commander himself and in the presence of his 
 troop. Meetings of royalists were held that same night at 
 a few yards distance from the council of the conspirators, 
 to consult about the measures for the king's safety. A 
 loyalist emissary on his way to one of these, with important 
 despatches, mistook the door and entered the insurgent 
 committee room. His papers betrayed him, and Carra 
 proposed that they should put him to death immediately, 
 least the secrets of their conspiracy might be revealed ; but 
 an isolated crime was not thought necessary at a moment 
 when the tocsin was about to sound and betray the con- 
 spiracy of an entire people. 
 
 The bells, in fact, had already begun to toll in the distant 
 quarters of Paris. The feelings of the conspirators at the 
 sound of the first strokes, alternating between melancholy and 
 sinister resolve, have been described in a page torn from 
 the sad memoirs of Camille Demoulins' young wife, Lucile 
 Duplessis, and stained with the blood of the fair young 
 victim. There, whilst arming their hands and composing 
 their features for combat or death, we can read the emotion 
 of each heart at the part it had undertaken. On the 8th 
 of August, Lucile left the country and came up to Paris, to 
 be near Camille Desmoulins, the husband whom she adored, 
 in the hour of danger. On the 9th they gave a dinner to 
 Freron, Rebecqui, Barbaroux, and the principal leaders of 
 the Marseillais. The entertainment was gay as the thought- 
 lessness of youth; the inspiring presence of the beautiful
 
 122 FIRST FBENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 Lucilc, friendship, love, wine, the sparkling wit of Camille, 
 and the hope of liberty on the morrow, all veiled the death 
 that might be awaiting them that night. When they parted 
 each man went forth to meet his destiny. 
 
 Lucile, accompanied by her mother and her husband, 
 proceeded to Danton's house. There, they found his wife 
 in tears and her child weeping too, as if the presentiment 
 had struck its young heart of the crimes, the fatal elevation, 
 and the fall to which that night was leading its father. But 
 he himself was serene, resolved, almost gay, with an 
 occasional shadow of seriousness excited at the prospect 
 of a great popular movement, but indifferent to the result, 
 provided only it carved out some path of action for his 
 genius. As yet it was uncertain whether the people would 
 rise in sufficient numbers to organize the insurrection that 
 night, but Madame Desmoulins said, laughing, that it must 
 take place, and that she knew they would be triumphant. 
 "How can you laugh at a moment like this?" exclaimed 
 Madame Danton. "Alas!" replied the young republican, 
 while her countenance changed as quickly as her accent, 
 " This wild gaiety perhaps presages that I shall shed many 
 a tear before the morrow!" 
 
 The night was calm and clear, and the two young women 
 went out to breathe the fresh air and take a few turns in 
 the street. The movement seemed to have commenced ; 
 stray parties of the mob rushed past them, shouting " Vive 
 la Nation /" Then came a troop of horse, and at last an 
 immense crowd. Lucile became frightened. Let us go in, 
 she said ; but Madame Danton, accustomed to the stormy 
 atmosphere in which her husband lived, only laughed at 
 her. At length she too began to tremble as the tolling of 
 the bells commenced. "Ah, there is the tocsin!" they 
 exclaimed, and both hastily re-entered the house. They 
 found the men arming themselves; Camille had taken his 
 gun. His wife flew to hide herself in the alcove, and covering 
 her face with both hands began to weep. Camille tried to 
 re-assure her, and swore that he would not quit Danton; 
 while his friend, the young Freron, who adored Lucile, 
 seemed resolved to perish: "I am wearied of life," he
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGL'ST. 123 
 
 exclaimed, " all I want is to die." At every patrol that 
 passed Lucile trembled, thinking it the signal for her hus- 
 baud's departure; and when at last he left the house, she 
 threw herself in a chair beside the bed, and burying her head 
 in her hands, remained drowned in tears. 
 
 After au absence of several hours Danton came home. 
 He seemed not to care about mixing himself up in the 
 movement just then, but at midnight repeated knocks came 
 to the door to summon him. He went out and ordered the 
 toscin of the Cordeliers to sound, as also another toscin to 
 arouse the Marseillais in their barrack. The bells were all 
 tolling now. Madame Danton listened to their feverish 
 pulsations as she kneeled, alone and weeping, in the window. 
 Danton returned again, and from minute to minute trusted 
 agents came in to report to him the progress of the rising. 
 At one o'clock Camille returned also, embraced his wife, 
 and lay down to sleep, but before day-break he was away 
 again. The discharge of cannon was now heard. At this 
 sound Madame Danton grew pale, sunk upon the floor, and 
 fainted. The women ran together, crying and exclaiming 
 that it was Camille Dasmoulins with his pen and his ideas 
 who had caused it all. Shouts and groans resounded from 
 the streets. They fancied all Paris flowing with blood. 
 Camille returned and told Lucile that the first head he had 
 seen struck off was that of Suleau. Suleau was a writer 
 like Camille; his crimes were his opinions and his talents. 
 This presage made Lucile tremble and weep. 
 
 During the same night, at the same hour?, and at a little 
 distance from Dauton's house, the same tolling of the 
 bells had carried terror and anguish to the hearts of other 
 women who were likewise watching over the dangers of a 
 husband, a brother, and their children. 
 
 From the balconies of the Tuileries the queen and 
 Madame Elizabeth listened to the rising and falling mur- 
 murs of agitation in the streets of Paris; and with every 
 changing symptom their courage rose or fell, and their 
 hearts throbbed either with hope or consternation. At 
 midnight the tocsin gave the signal for the gathering of 
 the people. The Swiss ranged themselves in line like
 
 124 FIUST i'HENCU ll'iVOLUTION. 
 
 Avails of men. Then the tolling of the bells began gra- 
 dually to die away, and the spies came in with intelligence 
 that the tocsin had failed, and the people would not assem- 
 ble. Upon this, the queen and Madame Elizabeth retired 
 to a little cabinet that looked out upon the court of the pa- 
 lace, and lay down to rest upon a sofa without undressing. 
 Marie Antoinette entreated the king to put on the under 
 coat of mail which she had got constructed for him; but he 
 refused, nobly saying that in a day of ceremony he might 
 wear it to save himself from the stab of an assassin, but in 
 a day of combat, when all around him were perilling their 
 lives for himself and throne, it would be cowardice not to 
 peril his own life along with theirs. 
 
 The king then retired to his private apartment, and shut 
 himself up with his confessor, the Abbe Hubert, to purify 
 his soul, and prepare himself for offering up his life. The 
 princesses remained alone with their attendants. On re- 
 moving her handkerchief, before lying down, the Princess 
 Elizabeth looked at the cornelian agraffe which fastened 
 it, upon which she had caused the pious maxim to be en- 
 graved "Forget insults, forgive wrongs," and smiling 
 mournfully said: "I fear these words will be a truth only 
 for us: still it is a divine precept, and we must hold it 
 sacred through all." 
 
 The queen made some of her favourite attendants come 
 and sit at her feet. She could not sleep, but conversed in 
 low tones with those around her on the horrors of their 
 position and her fears for the king's life. Every moment 
 one or other rose to examine the courts from the window, 
 or listen to the slightest movement. Suddenly a shot was 
 fired, and the queen and princess sprang up and hastened 
 to the king, determined not to part from him again; but 
 it was only a false alarm. One short night still separated 
 the royal family from the fatal day that was approaching, 
 and it was occupied in military preparations against the 
 anticipated assault of the morrow. 
 
 The palace of the Tuileries, which was intended more 
 for the display of courtly ceremonies and pomp, than as a 
 residence for royalty, had none of those strong defences
 
 THE TEXTH OF AUGUST. 1 '25 
 
 \\ith which the feudal and military sovereigns of the okien 
 times used to protect their castles. Destined not for war, but 
 for luxury, the chisel of Philibert Delorme had made it au 
 object to gratify the eye but not to intimidate the people. 
 Extending its light wings from the quay of the Seine to 
 the very centre of the most tumultuous parts of Paris, sui- 
 rounded by courts and gardens, and flanked by raised ter- 
 races supported upon columns; the graceful porticos sepa- 
 rated by only a few marble steps from the pavement, 
 and the immense porch traversing the centre from side to 
 side, beneath which opened the entrance to the grand stair- 
 case; decorated on every side by large and lofty windows, 
 through which the people could see into the very interior 
 of the apartments, this transparent palace with its gal- 
 leries, suites of rooms in long perspective, theatre, chapel, 
 statues, paintings, museum resembled more the grand sa- 
 loon of France than the fortress of royalty. It was a palace 
 of arts for a man of liberty and peace. Some heavy, vulgar, 
 inelegant structures, in the faulty style of Louis XIV.'s 
 time, had been added to the two extremities of this palace 
 of the Medici, and contrasted, by their ponderous solidity 
 and disproportioned roofs, which seemed to crush the build- 
 ing, with the beautiful and scientific architecture of Italy, 
 where the lines harmonised like the notes of a musician, 
 and presented enduring and visible music to the eye. These 
 two massive edifices were united to the central palace by 
 arched structures, one called the Pavilion of Flora, the 
 other the Pavilion Marsan. The Pavilion of Flora rose 
 from the banks of the Seine, while the Pavilion Marsan bor- 
 dered on the narrow and winding streets which connect the 
 Tuileries with the Palais Eoyal. 
 
 An immense garden filled with marble statues, fountains, 
 beds of flowers and rows of stately trees, extended from the 
 banks of the Seine to this latter pavilion, and from the 
 palace to the Champs Elysees. The broad and noble alleys, 
 vast as the thoughts of royalty itself, which subdivided this 
 garden, seemed intended not for the promenade of a family or 
 a court but for the columns of an entire people. A whole army 
 might have encamped on the space alone between the palace 
 and the trees. Two terraces flanked this garden. One close
 
 126 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 to the river, reserved for the royal family, and the other called 
 the Terrace of the Feuillants, which extended from the Pa- 
 vilion Marsan to the terrace of the Orangerie, and descended 
 by a gentle slope to the turning bridge. This turning 
 bridge was the entrance from the Champs Elysees to the 
 garden of the Tuileries. It revolved over a deep fosse and 
 was guarded by soldiers. The terrace of the Feuillants was 
 crossed by two flights of steps at a little distance from the 
 the Pavilion Marsan : one led to a cafe, and in former times 
 this communication with the garden had been left open, 
 but since the commencement of the popular tumults the 
 practice had been discontinued. The cafe Hottot, as it was 
 called, was the rendezvous of the orators of the people, at- 
 tracted thither by its vicinity to the Assembly. The other 
 flight led to a narrow, obscure passage, communicating from 
 the garden to the hall of Assembly, and which the king 
 had to traverse on foot whenever he attended the sitting of 
 the legislators. 
 
 On the side of the Carrousel the palace was defended by 
 four courts, and ail the out offices and detached buildings. 
 These courts communicated with each other by doors which 
 were defended by guards. The first, nearest the river, 
 was called the Cour des Princes; the second, the Cour 
 Koyale, faced the centre of the palace and led to the grand 
 staircase; the third was the Cour des Suisses, where these 
 troops had their barrack; the fourth was opposite to the Pavi- 
 lion Marsan, and bore its name. A door on the first floor of 
 the Pavilion of Flora led from the Tuileries to the long 
 gallery of the Louvre, which extended all along the Seine 
 from this Pavilion to the colonnade. This gallery was in- 
 tended for the museum of France, and destined to contain 
 those sublime works of sculpture and painting which ages 
 transmit to posterity as the witnesses of their civilization, 
 and the intellectual patrimony of genius. Foreseeing that 
 in the approaching invasion of the people the Louvre might 
 be scaled, the floor of the gallery was cut away for a dis- 
 tance of sixty yards from the Tuileries, thus rendering- 
 aggression impossible from that quarter, and thirty Swiss 
 watched day and night between the breach and the Pavi- 
 lion of Flora.
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 127 
 
 Such was the disposition of the place where the king 
 was doomed to receive the battle of the people. Shut up 
 in this palace he had neither an arsenal nor ramparts, 
 neither liberty of movement nor power of retreat. The 
 Tuileries was only made for a sovereign to reign in or to 
 
 QIC* - r ""~-~ ----- - 
 
 The imminence of the attack was now averred by all 
 parties. For some days previously, Pethion had been in 
 constant attendance at the palace, conferring with the 
 ministers and with the king himself on the means neces- 
 sary to defend the Tuileries and the constitution. Did he 
 go in all sincerity to fulfil the duties which his functions 
 imposed on him, or merely to enjoy the sight of the anguish 
 of the royal family and the weakness of their defences? 
 His complicity with the conspirators, his personal resent- 
 ments against the king, and relations with Roland, make his 
 motives as liable to suspicion as his character was unstable 
 and insecure. 
 
 On the evening of the 9th, Pethion had gone to the As- 
 sembly to announce that the tocsin would sound at mid- 
 night, and wrote with his own hand an order to M. de 
 Mandat to double the guards, and repel force by force. 
 
 M. de Mandat was one of the three chiefs of division 
 who took the command of the national guards by turns, and 
 by right of this had now the general command of the Tui- 
 leries. Before the revolution he had been captain in the 
 French guards, then entered the national guards under 
 Lafayette, whose opinions he adopted. Devoted in his heart 
 to the king, and in his principles to the constitution, he 
 thought to fulfil his duty to both by defending the king of 
 his ancestors and the legal chiefs of the nation. A man of 
 courage, but of few mental resources, he was more fitted to 
 die well than command well: the king, nevertheless, con- 
 fided fearlessly in his devotion. On the 9th, Mandat ordered 
 six battalions of the national guards to hold themselves 
 in readiness to march, and placed triple guards round the 
 palace at six o'clock in the evening. The regiment of Swiss 
 guards, amounting to nine hundred men, had already arrived, 
 under the command of Maiilardoz, and were stationed in
 
 1 28 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 the Hotel tie Brionne and in the stables of the Cour Mar- 
 san. At eleven o'clock they were under arms, and placed 
 as the advanced guard at all the entrances. 
 
 Thirty national guards were stationed with the Swiss in 
 the Cour Royale at the foot of the grand staircase, and all 
 received from Mandat the order to repel force by force which 
 he had himself received from Pethion. Paris was almost 
 destitute of troops. The generals Wittenkoff and Boissieu, 
 who commanded the seventeenth military division, in which 
 Paris is comprised, had only a few horse and foot gendar- 
 merie under their orders, and these were confined to barracks, 
 with the exception of one hundred and fifty men placed at 
 the Hotel de Toulouse to guard the royal treasury, and 
 thirty more who were posted at the foot of the king's stair- 
 case in the Cour des Princes. The horse gendarmerie 
 amounted to five hundred men; they were commanded by 
 MM. de Rulhiere and de Verdiere, who marched them at 
 eleven o'clock at night to take up a position in the Court of 
 the Louvre; a small troop also arrived from the depart- 
 ments during the night, and occupied the Carrousel. Three 
 pieces of artillery were placed in the Cour Royale before the 
 grand entrance, and others in the different courts and lead- 
 ing entrances : in all twelve pieces of cannon. The gunners 
 were voluntaries from the national guards, proud of their 
 superiority in arms, but little disciplined to obedience. 
 
 The sixteen battalions of the national guards arrived by 
 detachments from hour to hour; but when with difficulty 
 collected together they only amounted to about two thou- 
 sand combatants. As they arrived the Swiss officers fra- 
 ternised with theirs, declaring that, full of deference to the 
 nation, their soldiers would follow the example of the 
 national guard, and do neither more nor less than the 
 citizens of Paris. The Swiss were assembled in the vesti- 
 bule around their flag, and seated upon the benches or on 
 the steps with their muskets in their hands, passed the first 
 hours of the night in a profound and orderly silence. The 
 reflection of the flambeaux on their arms, the clashing of 
 their muskets as they crossed each other from time to time, 
 and the hoarse qni vive of the sentinels, gave the palace the
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 1 29 
 
 aspect of a camp in presence of an enemy; while the red 
 uniforms of these eight hundred Swiss, as they sat or lay 
 upon the steps and floor, made the Princes' staircase seem 
 already a torrent of blood. Indifferent to all political ques- 
 tions, republicans ready to fight against a republic, these 
 men had no soul but a habit of discipline, and no opinion 
 but a regard to honour: they were ready to die for duty, 
 but not for an idea or for their country. Fidelity, however, 
 is a virtue iti itself; and this indifference of the Swiss to 
 the cause of the king or the people, made their heroism if 
 not holy at least military. They were incapable of the de- 
 votion of patriots, but in its place they evinced that of 
 soldiers. 
 
 With the exception of these Swiss, commanded by their 
 intrepid officers, Bachmann, D'Affry, and D'Erlach, the 
 troops dispersed through the courts and garden gendar- 
 merie, guuners, and national guards presented neither 
 numbers, nor unity, nor devotion. The volunteer did not 
 know his officer; the officer could not reckon upon his men ; 
 no one confided in the other; and their courage, like their 
 opinions, was merely individual. The esprit de corps, which 
 is the soul of an army, was wanting, and replaced only by 
 the spirit of party. 
 
 But a variety of opinions, in place of giving strength to 
 any army, dissipates it completely. Every one held his own 
 and tried to make it prevail by arguments which generally 
 ended in quarrels. Some wished to forestal the attack, and 
 march directly on the Hotel de Ville and on the columns 
 of the people, before they had time to increase their num- 
 bers; others proposed to besiege the Marseillais in their 
 barracks, disarm them, and thus stifle the principal focus of 
 the insurrection. The greater number, however, feared the 
 responsibility of the morrow if they took the first step in 
 aggression, and, shut up in legality as in a fortress, desired 
 only to remain impassible till the attack of the people, and 
 then repel force by force according to the letter of the con- 
 stitution. Puritans of legality, they fancied the constitution 
 would defend itself. 
 
 Many gave vent to their feelings in deep imprecations
 
 130 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 against the king, whose weakness, if not treasons, had 
 brought the country to such extremity and the citizens into 
 such danger. They pointed to the windows of the palace, 
 and cursed the perfidious court that had led an amiable but 
 weak-minded king into measures which plunged the nation 
 into such calamities, and the gunners declared loudly that 
 they would point their pieces upon the palace sooner than 
 upon the people. Confusion reigned everywhere in the 
 courts, the garden, and the posts. The battalions deployed 
 without unity of purpose, and the orders of their commanders 
 clashed with and neutralised each other. No uniform military 
 idea regulated these disordered movements. The battalions 
 moved or changed places according to the caprice or ambi- 
 tion of their officers ; and some companies, detaching them- 
 selves completely from the battalions, proceeded, with 
 reversed arms, to take up a position on the quays or the 
 Carrousel, uncertain to the last moment whether they should 
 side with the defenders or the assailants of the monarchy. 
 
 Each fresh battalion of the national guards that arrived 
 changed the current of opinion. The rich citizens from the 
 centre of the capital came animated by the spirit of 
 Lafayette, whose pretorian guards they had been for three 
 years. Conquerors at the Champ de Mars, at Vincennes, 
 and in twenty risings, they despised the populace, and de- 
 sired to avenge the king and the constitution for the out- 
 rages of the 20th of June; while the battalions from the 
 Faubourg St. German, the deserted quarter of the nobility, 
 and those from the poorer parts of the city, which were com- 
 posed principally of workmen, among whom pikes were more 
 plentiful than muskets, arrived full of the calumnies against 
 the queen, and suspicions of the king, which had been so 
 industriously circulated, and wondering why they should be 
 called on to defend a court whose machinations the consti- 
 tution had taught them to look on with abhorrence. As- 
 sembling mechanically round their standard at the beat of 
 drum, they entered the Tuileries shouting " Vive Pethion /" 
 " Vive la Nation!" while cries of " Vive le RoH" re-echoed 
 in turn from the windows of the palace and the ranks of the 
 loyal battalions. Then insults, menaces, and gestures of 
 defiance were interchanged between the two parties assem-
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 131 
 
 bled to combat for a common cause; the gunners swearing 
 devotion to the people, and pressing the hands of their 
 comrades who held the pikes. The battalion of the Fillcs 
 Saint Thomas, alarmed at this disposition evinced by the 
 artillery, sent forty of their best grenadiers to watch their 
 movements and prevent them carrying away their pieces. 
 
 Such was the force and moral disposition of these exterior 
 defenders of the Tuileries four or five thousand men, 
 some devoted, many indifferent, and the most part hostile, 
 influenced by the impression of the moment, and whose 
 numbers varied from hour to hour, according as fidelity or 
 desertion increased or weakened their ranks. Outside the 
 courts, in the adjoining streets, and in the Carrousel, an 
 angry and inquisitive crowd blocked up all the approaches to 
 the palace. The men of the 20th of June, the idle wander- 
 ing Federates about Paris, and the Marseillais whom Dan- 
 ton's voice had not yet summoned to their posts at the 
 Cordeliers, were all grouped around the gates, and at every 
 opening of the court or garden, cheering the battalion of 
 pikes as they passed: "We are your brothers: there is the 
 enemy 1" they shouted, pointing to the king's windows. 
 " Bring us his head, and the heads of his wife and children 
 at the end of your pikes 1" Roars of laughter and signs of 
 intelligence responded to their imprecations. 
 
 The doors which separated the Cour lloyale from the 
 Tuileries were not closed, and the advancing tide of people 
 threatened every moment to overflow the threshold. Two of 
 the Swiss were placed as sentries on each side. "Wretches," 
 exclaimed a Marseillaise, rushing on them with his drawn 
 sabre in his hand, and brandishing it over their heads. 
 " Wretches, remember this is the last time you mount guard I 
 A few hours more and we shall exterminate you!" Men, 
 women, and children, mounting on each other's shoulders, 
 clambered up to the roofs and on the walls that extended 
 between the Carrousel and the courts of the palace, and from 
 thence hurled their insults upon the Swiss and the national 
 guards, till the roar of the populace, increasing in strength 
 hour by hour, was heard distinctly by those assembled in 
 the apartments of the king.
 
 132 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 In the interior of the palace, the forces, although more 
 uniform, were not more imposing. There was resolution and 
 courage, but not unity of purpose. The commanders of the 
 loyal battalions had placed their most trusted men there, 
 and volunteers from other battalions had sought admission 
 of themselves. Their numbers amounted to about seven or 
 ei^ht hundred, and these were dispersed without any regu- 
 larity through the corridors, galleries, and ante-chambers of 
 the royal apartments. These apartments, which were situated 
 between the Pavilion of Flora and the centre of the palace, 
 occupied an immense space. In the Pavilion of Flora, 
 Madame Elizabeth passed her life amongst her flowers and 
 birds, and in the pious exercises to which she had devoted 
 herself; whilst the queen's apartments, which were on the 
 ground-floor, were comprised in that massive portion of th 
 edifice which lay between the staircase of the Princes and 
 the grand staircase. It was in this suite of rooms, which 
 were raised only a few feet above the level of the court and 
 gardens, and in the apartments immediately above them, that 
 the queen received the secret counsellors of the monarchy 
 whom she hoped to win over to the royal cause. Private 
 stairs led from these rooms up to the king's apartments, 
 situated on the first floor behind the gallery of the Carracci, 
 so called from the number of paintings by that artist with 
 which it was decorated. 
 
 The king, who had all the simple industrious habits of a 
 man of the people, had constructed small recesses in these 
 splendid rooms, where he loved to retire and give himself up 
 cither to study, or his favourite employment of lock-making. 
 
 In the same proportion as other spirits aspire to rise, his 
 loved to descend; and in these little chambers, from which 
 he could catch only a glimpse of the tops of the trees, he 
 delighted to deceive himself as to his condition, forget that 
 he was a king, and imagine for the moment that he was 
 enjoying the commonplace happiness of a humble work- 
 man, surrounded by his wife, his children, and the instra- 
 ments of his trade. He stole those hours of obscurity and 
 peace from the cares of a throne, abdicated his rank for a 
 a time, and fancied that destiny had forgotten him because 
 he had forgotten destiny.
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 133 
 
 The whole of this portion of the palace, as well as the 
 gallery of the Carracci, the council chamber, guard-rooms, 
 theatre, throne-room, and chapel, had been turned into a 
 fortress, and was filled with military posts, piles of muskets, 
 and groups of armed men. 
 
 Some of these last lay half asleep upon the benches, with 
 their muskets beside them. Others threw themselves on 
 the floor enveloped in their cloaks; but the greater number 
 were collected in the embrasures of the windows, or in the 
 large balconies of the palace, conversing in the clear moon- 
 light on the preparations for defence and the prospect of 
 attack. At short intervals, Mandat, or one of his aides-de- 
 camp, visited the garden and the courts, and reported the 
 state of affairs to the king. The ministers, the generals, 
 Roeclerer, with the members of the department of Paris, 
 D'Ermigny, commander of the gendarmerie, and even Pethion 
 himself, circulated incessantly through the apartments, and 
 disseminated hope or fear amongst the defenders, according 
 as their countenances expressed apprehension or serenity. 
 The brief directions which they gave in passing to the 
 captains of the guard were repeated from mouth to mouth. 
 So the hours rolled on, tedious as uncertainty, and agitated 
 as expectation, could make them. 
 
 Whilst these regular troops pressed around the consti- 
 tutional chief of the kingdom at the bidding of the law, 
 other defenders, summoned from their chateaus and remote 
 provinces by tidings of the dangers of the day, pressed 
 around the king as volunteers to shield him from violence 
 with their persons. Without any claim for admission into 
 the Tuileries but their courage, and looked on with suspicion 
 by the national guards, they glided in one by one, with 
 drooping heads and concealed arms, and wearing no 
 uniform, as if ashamed of coming to offer up their blood 
 and their lives. 
 
 First came the officers of the constitutional guards, recently 
 disbanded by the Assembly, but who still retained arms in 
 their hands, and kept alive the oath of loyalty in their 
 hearts; after them followed the young royalists of Paris, 
 who, at that age when generous emotion is the groundwork
 
 134 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 of opinion, touched by the sufferings of royalty and the tears 
 of a queen, thought it glorious to range themselves on the 
 side of the oppressed. Andre Cheuier, Suleau, and the 
 other royalist writers, who by turns quitted the sword for 
 the pen, and the pen for the sword, were there too. There 
 were also numerous retainers and servants of the palace, 
 who, inheriting their places from father to son, looked 
 upon the royal hearth as the hearth of their home old 
 men who had hastened from Versailles, Fontainebleau, and 
 Compiegne, on the tidings of the danger which threatened 
 their master. Many of them brought with them their sons, 
 who were enrolled among the pages, although scarcely yet 
 able to carry arms ; but in these devoted families old age and 
 youth were alike offered up freely and gladly to support that 
 throne from which they derived all. And lastly, there 
 were assembled there about two hundred gentlemen of Paris 
 and the provinces ; most of them brave retired officers, who 
 would not betray their order by marching against their 
 emigrant brothers, nor betray the nation by emigrating; but 
 who hastened to offer their swords to Louis ou the first 
 rumour of his danger. They were the sole representatives 
 that remained to France of that military noblesse who had 
 gone to set up their camp with the stranger. Placed be- 
 tween a people who viewed them with distrust, and a court 
 that reproached them for those scruples of conscience which 
 would not permit them to join the army of the allies, 
 these gentlemen came .to fulfil their duty without hope or 
 illusion certain of the ingratitude of the court if royalty 
 triumphed, and of death if the people were conquerors. 
 
 Devotion without recompense, and death without glory, 
 this was the obscure fate that awaited them. It was the 
 misfortune of the period which left no other choice to such 
 of the noblesse as wished to be at once faithful as chevaliers, 
 and national as citizens ! The old and brave Marshal de 
 Mailly, then eighty years of age, but filled with youthful 
 ardour in the cause of his royal master and friend, passed 
 the night in arms and erect at the head of his troop of gen- 
 tlemen, while M. d'llervilly, De Villers, De Lamartiue, and 
 other officers of different ranks and degree, commanded small 
 bodies of these chosen soldiers under the marshal.
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 135 
 
 This corps de reserve was divided into two companies; 
 but unfortunately having expected to be furnished with 
 weapons at the chateau, in which expectation they were dis- 
 appointed, they were very imperfectly armed; some having 
 only pistols and sword, while others were fain to assume 
 such rude implements as chanced to be within their reach. 
 Having been ranged in compact lines in the hall by M. 
 d'Hervilly, they were passed in review before the king and 
 queen, who, more struck with the devotion of this rem- 
 nant of the noblesse, than dejected at the smallnesa of 
 their numbers, addressed them in words of gratitude and 
 acknowledgment. The dignity of Marie Antoinette's de- 
 portment, her energetic language, and the courage she 
 evinced, had such an effect upon this handful of brave men, 
 that by a sudden impulse of enthusiasm, they drew their 
 swords and presented arms without word of command. The 
 action was of itself an oath of loyalty. Several grenadiers 
 of the guard mingled in their ranks in order to evince the 
 mutual confidence and devotion which animated all the 
 friends of the king without distinction of rank. 
 
 But the mass of the national guards dispersed through 
 the apartments, murmured at these royalist manifestations; 
 and, affecting to see a conspiracy hidden beneath them, 
 demanded the dismissal of the corps of gentlemen. The 
 queen, however, placing herself between these last and the 
 national guards, firmly resisted this attempt to repel the 
 king's last and truest friends. " See, gentlemen," she said 
 to the national guards, pointing to the royalist group, "these 
 are our friends and yours! They have come to share your 
 dangers, and only demand the honour of combating beside 
 you. Place them where you will. They will obey you. 
 They will follow your example. They will give an ex- 
 ample, if necessary, how to die for the king." These words 
 succeeded in calming those around her; but, repeated and 
 distorted by others at a distance, they excited only increased 
 jealousy and resentment amongst the battalions. 
 
 One of these nobles, when passing a corps of national 
 guards, ranged in order of battle in the Cour Koyale, was 
 imprudent enough to approach the officers commanding it: 
 " Come," said he, addressing them, " gentlemen, of the
 
 136 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 national guards, now is the time to show your courage." 
 " Make your mind easy as to our courage," replied one of 
 the officers; " we shall not be found wanting, but it is not 
 in your company we shall display it." Then leaving the 
 ranks he crossed the courts, and proceeded to join the 
 body of the people in the Carrousel, followed by half his 
 battalion. Everything presaged defeat. No where could 
 a permanent enthusiasm be excited. 
 
 The king, mean while, more devoted to his duties as 
 a Christian than a sovereign, was closeted with the Peiv 
 Hebert, his confessor. There are decisive moments even 
 in the most desperate circumstances, when the energy of a 
 great mind can still retrieve fortune; but these were 
 passed by Louis in merely resigning himself to his fate. A 
 garrison of four or five thousand fighting men strongly 
 positioned, having the palace of kings for their battle 
 ground, supplied with cannon, cavalry, and disciplined 
 bayonets, a monarch at their head, a queen with her inno- 
 cent children amidst them, an undecided Assembly at their 
 doors, legality and the constitution on their side, and the na- 
 tion at least divided in opinion these were forces that might 
 perhaps have repulsed the confused and disordered masses 
 which insurrection gathered slowly round the palace; broken 
 the columns of the populace who were swelled only by the 
 waverers whom they dragged along with them ; crushed the 
 Marseillais, already odious in the eyes of the Parisians; swept 
 the faubourgs, rallied the hesitating battalions of the civic 
 force by the prestige of victory, imposed terms on the 
 Assembly, recovered the ascendant by legality and force, 
 appealed to Lafayette and Luckner, effected a junction 
 with the troops at Compiegne, placed the king in the centre 
 of the army, between the foreigner and the nation, and 
 made both the revolution and the coalition recoil for a time. 
 But to accomplish this a hero was necessary, and the 
 monarchy supplied only a victim. 
 
 During the long hours of this night and the early dawn, 
 the queen and Madame Elizabeth wandered tearfully frcm the 
 king's apartment to that in which the children lay sleeping,
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 1 37 
 
 and from thence to the council-hall where the ministers 
 were sitting in permanence. They traversed the saloons 
 filled with their armed defenders, and, hiding their teaiv j , 
 inspired, by their words and their smiles of apparent sere- 
 nity, that confidence and hope of success which as yet had 
 not quite abandoned themselves. The presence of these two 
 princesses, wandering by night through their palace filled 
 with armed men, one a queen and a mother trembling for 
 her husband and her children, the other a devoted sister 
 trembling for her brother, but both insensible to their own 
 danger, was the most eloquent and irresistible appeal to the 
 compassion, heroism, and generosity of the defenders of royalty. 
 
 Marie Antoinette, who has been represented in the 
 pamphlets of her enemies, on this momentous night, as a 
 crowned fury, carrying her vehemence to the pitch of 
 delirium, and her dejection to tears now declaring that she 
 would be nailed to the walls of her palace, now presenting 
 pistols to the king and counselling him to suicide exhibited 
 neither these excesses of rage nor these paroxysms of weak- 
 ness. Her bearing was dignified and natural, without either 
 affected heroism or timid despondency. All that her sex, 
 her rank, her position as a queen, a wife, and a mother de- 
 manded of her on that fatal night, when the emotions proper 
 to each were excited within her bosom, she evinced in her 
 countenance and demeanour. 
 
 Equal to all the heroism of tenderness, to all the great- 
 ness of her situation, and to all the catastrophes which 
 threatened her, her soul, her features, her words and 
 actions reflected faithfully every phase, from the throne to a 
 prison, which she had to traverse during the coming hours. 
 Menaced as a queen, wounded in her sensibilities as a 
 woman, a wife, and a mother, she feared, hoped, despaired 
 by turns, and again strove to regain her courage; but in 
 her heroism there was no rage, in her weakness no abase- 
 ment. If she trembled, it was from love; if she wept, it 
 was for her children. Her own dangers she heeded not ; 
 her royalty, the blood of her mother Maria Theresa, and 
 respect for herself in presence of the people who surrounded 
 her, sustained her. Neither her courage nor her tenderness 
 failed her beneath the blows of destiny. After weeping
 
 138 FIUST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 over the cradle of her son, or at the feet of the king, she 
 would dry her eyes, efface the traces of tears from her 
 cheek, and re- appear before the crowd, serious yet calm, sof- 
 tened but still courageous, having a woman's heart, doubt- 
 less, but knowing how to control it. 
 
 Such was Marie Antoinette during this crisis of four- 
 aud-twenty hours, succeeding so many other scenes of vio- 
 lence that might well have exhausted all her strength. A 
 woman, like all women, she was inspired more by nature 
 than by policy, more fitted to endure heroically than direct 
 wisely, more at home in action than in council. 
 
 The king had sent to summon to his presence Eoederer, the 
 procureur-syndic of the department, as Pethion was not in 
 the palace. The latter, however, arrived soon after, and 
 reported the state of Paris to the king, but refused powder 
 to the commandant Mandat, who complained that he had only 
 three rounds for every man. On the pretext that he found 
 himself incommoded by the heat of the king's cabinet, Pethion 
 left it, taking Roederer with him, and they descended toge- 
 ther to the garden, where Pethion was immediately sur- 
 rounded by a party of municipal officers and young national 
 guards, who welcomed him with jests and smiles. This 
 group of magistrates and national guards, chatting together 
 on indifferent subjects, strolled along the terrace by the 
 river in the bright moonlight, as if they were at an evening 
 fete. When at the extremity of the terrace they heard 
 the roll of the drums recalling them to the palace, and re- 
 traced their steps; at the same moment the tocsin of the 
 faubourgs sounded distinctly through the clear serene air. 
 Pethion, who affected a stoical impassibility, and refused to 
 acknowledge the approaching danger, allowed Roederer to 
 ascend alone to the king, while he himself remained below 
 on the terrace near the grand staircase. He was afraid to 
 trust his life within the palace. 
 
 Although the night was not dark, the Tuileries cast so 
 broad a shadow on the garden that lamps had been placed 
 along the terrace. Some grenadiers of the battalion DCS 
 Filles Saint Thomas, who abhorred Pethion as the secret in- 
 stigator of the insurrection, extinguished the lamps, and
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 139 
 
 gathered round him as if to take him prisoner. Pethiou 
 comprehended the movement, observed their threatening 
 gestures, and heard the words, "His head shall answer for 
 the events of the night." Concealing his fears, however, 
 beneath an easy, careless demeanour, he seated himself on 
 the margin of the terrace, and remained chatting with the 
 municipal officers until audible murmurs rose around him, 
 to the effect that, since Pethion had come there to brave 
 the vengeance of the royalists, they should keep him as 
 an hostage, and expose him in person to the dangers which 
 he had prepared for the monarchy. 
 
 A municipal officer, named Mouchet, seeing Pethion 
 entrapped in this snare, and having received a sign from 
 the mayor, ran to the Assembly, aud exclaimed to several 
 members, " If you do not summon the mayor of Paris im- 
 mediately to your bar, he will be assassinated." 
 
 Louis XVI. on his knees before God, with his heart more 
 full of pardon than vengeance, little dreamed of au assassi- 
 nation. The Assembly, however, feigned to believe in the 
 criminal intentions of the court, and sent an order for the 
 'mayor. Two hussars, preceded by guards and flambeaux, 
 carried the decree which liberated him. At the same mo- 
 ment the minister of justice sent a message to request that 
 Pethion would come to the king. " If I go," said he, " I 
 shall never return;" and he instantly proceeded to the As- 
 sembly, and from thence to the Hotel de Ville, where he 
 was detained by his accomplices in the insurrection, and 
 appeared no more at the palace. 
 
 It was now past midnight. All the windows of the 
 Tuileries were open and filled with crowds listening to the 
 tocsin, aud naming the particular quarter, church, or bell, 
 which successively tolled forth the summons to revolution. 
 
 In the town the citizens issued from their houses at the 
 sound, and stood upon the threshold ready to follow the tor- 
 rent wherever it led them. The sections, convoked in insur- 
 rection since ten o'clock, had each sent a commissioner to 
 the Hotel de Ville to replace the municipal council by a 
 revolutionary committee, with orders to take every measure 
 to secure the safety of the country and the conquest of
 
 140 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 liberty. These commissioners, to the number of 192, 
 assembled without opposition at the Hotel de Ville, and 
 constituted themselves a municipality, retaining Pethion, 
 Danton, and Manuel with them, and naming for their presi- 
 dent Huguenin, of the Faubourg St. Antoine, the orator of 
 the 20th of June, and as secretary, Tallien, a young patriot 
 of about five and twenty, editor of a journal entitled the 
 Citizen's Friend. The municipality became, from the hour 
 of eleven o'clock at night, the directing committee of the 
 movements of the people, and the organised government 
 of insurrection. Pethion, detained under a simulated arrest, 
 took no farther part in the proceedings of the night. 
 
 Mandat, the commandant of the Tuileries, who always 
 acted with bravery and honesty, whether for king or people, 
 according as duty directed him, had arranged his measures 
 of defence on the faith of the order which Pethion signed for 
 with him as mayor of Paris. He despatched five hundred men 
 with cannon to the Hotel de Ville, to guard the passage by 
 which the columns of the people were expected to deploy from 
 the Rue St. Antoine, and another battalion with two pieces 
 of cannon to stop the progress of the Marseillais at the 
 Pont Neuf, throw them back upon the Faubourg St. Ger- 
 main and the Pont Royale, where the guns from the Pavilion 
 of Flora would open on them. These arrangements were 
 excellent. Nothing was wanting bat steady troops to 
 execute them. Scarcely had Mandat given these orders 
 when a decree from the municipality summoned him to the 
 Hotel de Ville to give an account of the state of the palace 
 and the measures he had taken for the safety of Paris. 
 
 On receiving this order Mandat hesitated for a moment 
 between his legal duty and his presentiment of danger. 
 Legally the municipality had authority over the national 
 guards and was entitled to summon the commandant before 
 them; but Mandat was ignorant that this municipality, 
 changed forcibly by the sections, was now nothing more 
 than a revolutionary committee. He consulted Roederer, 
 who, equally ignorant with himself respecting the occur- 
 rences at the Hotel de Ville, advised him to obey the de- 
 cree. Still Mandat, as if from some inward foreboding,
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 141 
 
 invented excuses and sought pretexts for delay. At length 
 he resolved on setting out. His son, a boy of twelve 
 years old, insisted on accompanying him, and, followed by 
 a single aide-de-camp, he rode down the quay to the Hotel 
 de Mile. On mounting the steps his mind misgave him 
 when he beheld the strange and austere faces that sur- 
 rounded him, and comprehended at last that he was sum- 
 moned before conspirators to answer for the measures he 
 had taken to put down conspiracy. " By whose order," 
 said Hugueuin, "did you double the guard of the palace?" 
 " By the order of Pethion," replied the unfortunate Mandat. 
 " Show this order." " I have left it at the Tuileries." 
 " When was it given?" "Three days ago. lean pro- 
 duce it." "Why did you plant cannon in the street?" 
 " When a battalion marches the guns accompany it." "Do 
 not the national guards retain Pethion at the palace by 
 force?" "That is false. The national guards treat the 
 mayor of Paris with every deference and respect. I myself 
 saluted him on leaving." During these interrogations a 
 letter of Mandat's to the officer commanding at the Hotel 
 de Ville was placed on the table. It was opened and read 
 aloud. In it Mandat gave orders to the battalion stationed 
 at the Hotel de Ville, to disperse the insurgents marching 
 on the palace by attacking them in flank and rear. This 
 letter was his death-warrant. The council ordered him to 
 be removed to the Abbaye, and the president, as he pro- 
 nounced the words, made a horizontal movement with his 
 hand, which explained their meaning. A pistol shot pros- 
 trated the unfortunate commandant on the steps of the 
 Hotel de Ville, and pikes and sabres completed the murder. 
 His son, who had been awaiting him on the steps, threw 
 himself on the corpse of his father and vainly endeavoured 
 to rescue it from the assassins. Maudat's body was flung 
 into the Seine, and with it disappeared the order of Pethion. 
 Santerre was immediately named commandant of the na- 
 tional guards in place of Mandat; and when Pethion re- 
 turned to his house after quitting the Assembly, he found 
 six hundred men stationed there by order of Santerre, to 
 guard his residence and defend his life against the ven- 
 geance of the court.
 
 142 FIRST FRENCH INVOLUTION. 
 
 The intelligence of Mandat's death, which was brought 
 to the Tuileries by his aide-de-camp, filled the minds of 
 the king and queen with consternation, and spread hesita- 
 tion through the ranks of the national guards. Lachesnaye, 
 one of the chiefs of battalion, assumed the command; but 
 the occupation of the Hotel de Ville by the sections, the 
 establishment of a revolutionary municipality, and the ap- 
 pointment of Sauterre as commandant, annihilated all the 
 moral force Avith which he could controul them, and the 
 fate of Mandat seemed to be a presage of his own. The 
 two advanced posts of the Hotel de Ville and the Pont 
 Neuf had been forced, and the Faubourg St. Antoine, to the 
 number of fifteen thousand men, poured forth without oppo- 
 sition by the Arcade St. Jean ; while the Marseillais and the 
 Faubourg St. Marceau, amounting to six thousand men, car- 
 ried the passage of the Pont Neuf. The crowd of idlers and 
 spectators following in the wake of this army of the people, 
 lent an apparent increase to their numbers, and it was re- 
 ported that a hundred thousand men were marching on the 
 palace. The two bodies effected a junction on the quay of 
 the Louvre, and from thence advanced without impediment 
 to the Carrousel. From the Champs Elysees, the Place 
 Veudome, and the Eue St. Honore, no obstacle arrested 
 the progress of the insurgents, and the garden was soon 
 blocked up by immense crowds. 
 
 Kcederer, on learning the death of Mandat, and the in- 
 stallation of an insurrectional council, wrote to the council 
 of the department summoning them to the Tuileries in 
 order to take measures against the new municipality, or to 
 ratify its orders. The department, which had no other em- 
 pire over the people than the law, now broken in their hands, 
 sent two commissioners to confer with Roederer, who re- 
 quested the king to sign an order authorising them to change 
 their place of meeting. "My ministers are not here," 
 replied Louis: "I shall give the order when they return." 
 
 Day had not yet quite dawned, and the shutters of the 
 king's cabinet were closed. At that moment a carriage was 
 heard rolling out of the court-yard, and some one opened the 
 window to ascertain whom it contained. It was Pethion's 
 carriage driving away empty. The day was now breaking.
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGSUT. 143 
 
 Madame Elizabeth approached the window and con- 
 templated the sky ; it was brilliant as the fiery reflection of 
 a conflagration. "My sister," she said to the queen, 
 "come and see the sun rise!" The queen rose, looked at 
 the sky and sighed. It was the last day that she was 
 destined to behold the sun except through the grated win- 
 dows of a prison. All etiquette had disappeared. Danger 
 and agitation confounded all ranks; and at every fresh 
 piece of intelligence brought to the king or queen, friends, 
 domestics, and soldiers pressed around them offering their 
 opinions and advice. The king was often obliged to seek 
 another apartment when his ministers had something par- 
 ticular to communicate. 
 
 About three o'clock he returned again to his chamber, 
 leaving the queen, Madame Elizabeth, and Roederer in the 
 council hall. It is believed, that overcome by fatigue, and 
 re-assured by the last intelligence which had reached him, 
 he retired in order to recruit his strength for the ensuing 
 conflict by a few moment's sleep. The queen and his sis- 
 ter had with them the Princess de Lamballe, the Princess 
 de Tarente la Tremouille, two ladies in waiting, Madame 
 de Tourzel and three under-governesses, in all of whom the 
 dangers and reverses of the royal family had produced that 
 night the complete forgetfulness of self which is the in- 
 stinctive heroism of women. The Duchess de Maille, one 
 of the queen's ladies, who had not been in attendance at 
 the chateau the evening before, and who had excited the 
 distrust of the court during the commencement of the 
 revolution in consequence of her popular opinions, hearing 
 now of the meditated attack on the palace, left her resi- 
 dence on foot, and throwing herself alone into the midst of 
 the excited mass of people that blocked up all the avenues 
 to the Tuileries, endeavoured to effect an entrance, telling 
 them her name and avowing her attachment to the queen. 
 "Let me go," she exclaimed, "where friendship and duty 
 call me. Women have their honour too as well as men. 
 Your patriotism is to hate her mine to die at her feet!" 
 The women of the mob, touched by this madness of fidelity, 
 repulsed her gently, and led her back to her hotel by force, 
 but without insult.
 
 144 MUST FUENC1I REVOLUTION. 
 
 About four o'clock the king left his bed-chamber and 
 re-appeared in the council hall. One could see by his dress 
 and the disorder of his hair that he had been lying down ; 
 for the curls, stiff, and powdered on one side, were flattened 
 and without powder on the other. His pallid face, swollen 
 eyes, and the involuntary tremulous motion of his lips, 
 showed that he had been weeping in secret; but the same 
 serene calmness and benignity of expression was visible ou 
 his countenance. No human events seemed to have the 
 power of leaving a trace of resentment in the mind or in 
 the features of this prince. The only quality which his 
 friends loved in him, the only one for which his enemies 
 despised him, was this unvarying goodness. It was at once 
 his virtue and his defect. The queen and Madame Eliza- 
 beth embraced him with smiles of happiness, and led him 
 over to the recess of a window, where they conversed toge- 
 ther in low tones, each of the princesses holding one of his 
 hands, while he looked from one to another with tender 
 sadness, as if asking pardon of the anguish they had to en- 
 dure for his sake. 
 
 After a short interval the royal family proceeded to the 
 windows which overlooked the courts, in order, doubtless, 
 to judge of the immber and disposition of the troops that 
 defended the palace. On their return the queen summoned 
 Eoederer. He found her alone in a little apartment adjoin- 
 ing the king's workshop, and visibly agitated by all she 
 had seen the increasing number of the assailants, the 
 masses already assembled, and the small body of troops 
 that could be relied on for the defence. Hope at last was 
 changing into the prostration of despair. It was the mo- 
 ment when reality begins to loom confusedly before the 
 sight, though the spirit still revolts against acknowledging 
 its presence. 
 
 Marie Antoinette asked Roederer what could be done 
 under the terrible circumstances which were now but too 
 evident, and though at the risk of wounding her heart he 
 gave his opinion freely: it was, that she and the king, with 
 their family, should place themselves under the protection of 
 the National Assembly, and thus render themselves sacred 
 and inviolable as the constitution itself. "If the king falls
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 145 
 
 then, madame," said Rcederer, "it mnst be by the same 
 blow that annihilates the government. But the people will 
 recoil before such a step. The Assembly will be forced to 
 defend a king whose existence is blended with its own; 
 and insurrection, which is only criminal before a palace, 
 will be deemed parricide before the sanctuary of the nation." 
 Such were the counsels of Rcederer. Marie Antoinette's 
 colour heightened as she listened to them, and it was evi- 
 dent that the pride of a queen was struggling in her soul 
 with the tenderness of a wife and mother. 
 
 The minister of marine, who was present, a brave and 
 loyal sailor, came to her succour. "So, 1 ' said he to 
 Rcederer, "your plan is to deliver the king to his enemies?" 
 "The Assembly is not so inimical to the king as you sup- 
 pose," answered Rcederer, "since as yet monarchy has had 
 the majority on every question; but, at all events, let us 
 choose the least evil. What other path has destiny left 
 open for the safety of the king?" 
 
 " Sir," exclaimed the queen, in an accent of excited 
 resolution, as if she wished to reassure herself by the sound 
 of her own voice, "we have forces here, and it is time to 
 decide who is to be ruler, the king or the factions." Rce- 
 derer then proposed to summon Lachesnaye, successor to 
 the unfortunate Mandat. He came, and was questioned as 
 to whether the measures of defence were sufficient for the 
 safety of the chateau, and whether he had caused the pro- 
 gress of the columns of the mob to be arrested. He replied 
 in the affirmative, and added that the Carrousel was guarded ; 
 then addressing the queen in a tone between anger and re- 
 proach, " Madame,' 3 said he, " I must inform yon that the 
 apartments are crowded with strangers who surround the 
 king, and whose presence here is an offence to the national 
 guards." " The national guards need not be offended, 5 ' re- 
 plied the queen. " "We know these men and can rely upon 
 them." The demeanour and language of Marie Antoinette 
 convinced Rcederer that the court desired to risk a battle 
 next day, in hopes of imposing terms on the Assembly if 
 victorious; and he insinuated that the king should at least 
 write to the legislative body and demand its co-operation: 
 but this being objected to, "Well, then," said Rcederer, 
 
 1C
 
 146 FIRST FRSNfCH RS VOLUTION. 
 
 " let two of the ministers proceed to the Assembly, and de- 
 sire that commissioners be sent from their body to the 
 p:\lace." This plan was finally adopted, and M. de Joly 
 and M. Champion set out on the mission. 
 
 The Assembly were deliberating calmly on the emancipa- 
 tion of the negroes when the two ministers presented them- 
 selves. M. de Joly, minister of justice, described the perilous 
 position of the palace, the urgent necessity for immediate 
 measures of defence, and declared the king's wish that a 
 deputation from the members of the national representation 
 should proceed forthwith to combine their efforts with his 
 for the preservation of the constitution, and to assure the 
 safety of his family by their presence. The Assembly, 
 however, passed disdainfully to the order of the day. The 
 members were few in number, careless, inattentive, and 
 apparently fatigued. They seemed waiting listlessly for the 
 result of some expected downfall, but determined to keep 
 aside till the event was over. 
 
 The two ministers retired in discouragement. Meanwhile 
 Rcederer held a conference at the palace. The members of 
 the department arrived there and brought the news of the 
 formation of the new municipality. That body had just 
 distributed cartridges to the Marseillais, who must be already 
 on their way to the palace with the battalion of the Corde- 
 liers. The law was everywhere dethroned, and the minis- 
 ters insisted that the king should proceed at once to de- 
 mand the protection of the Assembly. "No!" exclaimed 
 the minister of marine, M. Dubouchage, who had just 
 been listening at the window to the imprecations poured 
 forth on the king by the battalions of pikes: "Xo! there is 
 no place of safety for him but here: here he must triumph 
 or perish!" 
 
 Roederer and his colleagues then resolved on proceeding 
 themselves to the Assembly, and forcing the members to 
 pass some resolution which would save all; but on their 
 way they met the two ministers returning from their fruit- 
 less mission. " It is of no use," they said, " appealing to 
 the Assembly: they would hardly listen to us. There are 
 only a handful of members present : not sufficient to pass
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 1 47 
 
 a decree." They all returned discouraged to the Tuileries. 
 Oa entering the vestibule they were stopped by the gunners 
 stationed with their pieces at the foot of the grand stair- 
 case. " Gentlemen," said these anxiously, " is it true that 
 we shall be obliged to fire on our brothers?" " You are 
 only placed there," answered Koederer, " to guard the 
 king's palace and prevent forcible entry. If you arc 
 attacked, those who fire on you are 110 longer your brothers." 
 These words appearing to satisfy the gunners, Koederer 
 and his colleagues were entreated to proceed to repeat them 
 to the troops stationed in the courts, who were agitated by 
 the same scruples. They therefore crossed the vestibule 
 and entered the Conr Royale. It presented a formidable 
 aspect of defence. On the right was drawn up in line a 
 battalion of grenadiers of the national guards, which ex- 
 tended from the windows of the chateau to the wall of the 
 Carrousel, while opposite to them was ranged a battalion 
 of the Swiss guards. These two lines, by crossing their fire, 
 could utterly annihilate the columns of the people who 
 might make their way from the Carrousel into the court. 
 In the centre of these lines were planted five pieces of 
 cannon, drawn up before the grand entrance and pointed 
 towards the Carrousel, and five more defended the approach 
 to the garden. The defence seemed formidable, and fully 
 adequate to repel, or even utterly annihilate the columns 
 of the people. The deputation went straight to the bat- 
 talion of national guards, and RoeJerer placing himself 
 in the centre, harangued them in a few brief, moderate 
 words, as befitted an impartial organ of the law. " Sol- 
 diers," said he, " no attack; a steady front, and stand firmly 
 on the defensive!" 
 
 The battalion evinced neither enthusiasm nor hesitation, 
 and Hcederer advanced to the gunners, but they retreated 
 out of hearing, as if to avoid an appeal which they were de- 
 termined not to obey. One of them, however, a man of 
 striking aspect and martial bearing, advanced to the magis- 
 trate and asked him, " But if they fire on us will you be 
 there?" "I will be there," replied Roederer; "not be- 
 hind your pieces, but before them, that if any are to die
 
 148 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 this day we may perish the first in the defence of the laws." 
 "We shall all be there,'' exclaimed the ministers who 
 accompanied him. At these words the gunner, with a ges- 
 ture more expressive than words, unloaded his piece, scat- 
 tered the charge upon the ground, and stamping on the 
 lighted match extinguished it. The law fell disarmed 
 before the people, and the gunner was greeted with shouts 
 of applause from the walls of the Carrousel. 
 
 Whilst the deputation made these unsuccessful attempts, 
 some emissaries from the Marseillais who had penetrated to 
 the garden, were haranguing the Swiss soldiers, and incit- 
 ing them not to fire upon the people, who only wanted to 
 be free and republican like themselves. Suddenly, repeated 
 blows were heard at the royal gate. Roederer ran to the 
 wicket himself. A young artillery officer presented himself, 
 pale and haggard, and in a state of great excitement. He 
 said that his troop demanded a clear passage across the 
 garden in order to blockade the Assembly until they should 
 pass a decree for the king's dethronement " Liberty is 
 stifled by the machinations of the court!" he exclaimed. 
 "Let us pass. We wish to do no harm. We are all citi- 
 zens like yourselves." After a hasty and excited dialogue 
 between the young officer and the magistrates, during 
 which the blows redoubled, the gates shook, and the roars 
 of the multitude without increased in violence, the magis- 
 trates retired, and the hour of the catastrophe approached. 
 
 The queen foreseeing that the combat would commence 
 with the morning, and that it would be sanguinary, was 
 unwilling that the assault of the palace and the daggers of 
 the Marseillais should surprize her children in their beds. 
 She had them dressed therefore and conducted to her before 
 five o'clock. The king and queen embraced them and 
 each other with that redoubled tenderness with which we 
 clasp what is about to be torn from us for ever. The 
 dauphin, gay and thoughtless as infancy, was amused with 
 the military display in the apartments, garden, and courts, 
 and unconscious that death lurked beneath the glitter of 
 the flashing weapons; but his sister, who was older and 
 of a more thoughtful nature, already read their fate in the
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 149 
 
 eyes of her mother and the prayers of her aunt. The pre- 
 sence of these two beautiful children between the queen 
 and princess, excited the deepest emotion in the national 
 guards around them ; and the volunteers stationed in the 
 gallery of the Carracci were even moved to tears on behold- 
 ing them. Seeing these favourable feelings in behalf of 
 royalty, the Marshal de Mouchy entreated the king to 
 strengthen them by reviewing the troops of the palace and 
 courts in person. Were they even less numerous and less 
 devoted, how often had the words of a prince excited an 
 enthusiasm in a handful of defenders which changed the 
 whole fortune of a day 1 
 
 But in order to spread this moral electricity amongst 
 masses of men, the exciting source of energy must be 
 within. Heroes alone can awaken heroism; and Louis 
 XVI. had neither the soul nor the tongue that kindles fire 
 iu the hearts of a multitude. The very exterior of the 
 man was deprived of the prestige of royalty. Had the 
 palace gates opened at dawn, and the wavering battalions 
 beheld a proud young prince ride forth, fiery with ardour, 
 hazarding his life to achieve that fortune which always 
 favours the young; or if an aged man had appeared before 
 the people baring his discrowned head and white locks in 
 a silent appeal to their pity, that last eloquence of helpless 
 misfortune; if a few words springing from the heart had 
 found an entrance to the hearts of the soldiers, and echoed 
 from rank to rank till the current of emotion which carries 
 men irresistibly along with it to action was aroused; if a 
 banner, a gesture, a sword unsheathed at the proper 
 moment, could but have fascinated the gaze, and made this 
 forest of bayonets tremble beneath the lightest impulse of 
 enthusiasm, the troops would have fought, would have con- 
 quered, and preserved the constitution inviolable, for at 
 least some months longer. 
 
 But Louis XVI. had neither the seductive grace of youth, 
 nor the venerable majesty of age; neither the martial bear- 
 ing of a military chief, nor the dignity suited to the father 
 of a people. In place of mounting his charger and appearing 
 in uniform amongst the troops, he came forth on foot, 
 dressed in a violet-coloured suit (the mourning colour of
 
 150 FII1ST FHEXCII INVOLUTION. 
 
 kings), without boots or spurs, but wearing the white silk 
 stockings and buckled shoes prescribed by court etiquette, 
 a chapeau under his arm, his hair curled and powdered as 
 it had been over night, but which no attentive hand had 
 re-arranged after the disorder of a brief and agitated 
 slumber. His gaze was dull, and roamed timidly around, 
 not from fear of danger but from uncertainty and indecision. 
 The usual smile of courteous lanalite habitual to princes, 
 played on his lips, and he balanced and swayed his figure 
 from one foot to the other with measured slowness, as if 
 holding one of the frigid receptions of a court. His whole 
 appearance wanted character: he awaited everything but 
 inspired nothing. One must feel vividly to excite others, 
 and during this review he seemed to have sunk resignedly 
 to the level of his approaching degradation. 
 
 Nevertheless, the mere presence of a king, aroused from 
 sleep by insurrection, this silent procession of a princess, a 
 (fueen and her children, through the halls of their palace, 
 seeking to inspire fidelity in their friends, courage in the 
 the soldiers, and pity in their enemies, had an eloquence in 
 itself that little needed the aid of words. The king, how- 
 ever, stammered out a few of those commonplaces which 
 people hear without attending to. " So, gentlemen, they 
 are approaching, I hear; I know not what may be their 
 object: we shall see. My cause is that of the constitution 
 and of all good citizens. You will do your duty, gentle- 
 men, is it not so?" 
 
 These words, repeated as he passed down the lines amid 
 the clang of presented arms, and the few cheers that greeted 
 him, were just sufficient for form, but not for the gravity of 
 the occasion. The queen, who followed him, retrieved the 
 weakness of his address by the nobleness of her demeanour, 
 the proud yet courteous movement of her head, and the ex- 
 pression of her countenance. Unable to inspire the king 
 with her soul of energy, her movements and the flush of 
 mute emotion on her cheek showed how the feelings of a 
 queen, a wife, and a mother, which her sex obliged her to 
 repress, were struggling in her bosom for utterance. One 
 could see that her heart bled inwardly, although pride and
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 151 
 
 courage repelled the tears that rose to her eyes. Her breath- 
 ing was hurried and irregular, her breast heaved with in- 
 dignation. Her features, languid from sleeplessness and 
 watching, but lighted up with the heroism of her soul ; 
 her eyes which flashed back lightning to the eyes of those 
 which rested on her; her look, by turns imploring, spirit- 
 stirring, or defiant, according as it met the gaze of those 
 indifferent, friendly, or hostile; the anxiety with which she 
 endeavoured to note on the features of those around the 
 effect produced on them by the king's words; the aquiline 
 nose, the dilated nostrils, and the full lip trembling with 
 emotion; the attitude of her head, thrown back at the 
 sense of coming danger; the sadness, the haughtiness and 
 the languor of her bearing all combined ; the traces, still evi- 
 dent, of that once unrivalled beauty, now fading from the 
 first touch of age, like her glory beneath the shadow of 
 misfortune ; the memory of that incense of adoration which 
 she had breathed in these very halls where she was now 
 imploring, perhaps in vain, the aid of a few arms to defend 
 her; the golden rays of the morning sun which beamed 
 into the apartments and played around her hair like a crown 
 trembling upon her head; the clashing of weapons, the 
 crowd, the acclamations, the silence in the midst of which 
 she advanced all diffused a majesty of heroism around her, 
 a dignity and a sadness that rivalled the solemnity of the 
 scene, and the greatness of the events that were impending. 
 She was the Niobe of monarchy the statue of royalty fallen 
 from the throne, but neither sullied nor degraded by its fall. 
 Never did she seem more a queen than on that day. 
 
 She was a queen in spite of the people and in spite of 
 destiny. Her aspect softened the most wavering of the 
 national guards, and made every sword fly from its scab- 
 bard in her defence. Swiss guards, gendarmerie, volunteers, 
 gentlemen, citizens, people all the posts, the halls, and the 
 staircases became fired with the same enthusiasm at her 
 appearance. Every look, every word, every gesture, pro- 
 mised a thousand lives for her life. The paleness of deep 
 emotion was visible upon every countenance, and tears fell
 
 152 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 from the eyes of the most hardened amongst the soldiers. 
 Full of graceful gentleness towards the national guards, of 
 courteous dignity towards the Swiss regiments, and of un- 
 reserved trust and confidence towards her friends, she passed 
 down the line of officers assembled in the grand gallery 
 as if she were an object of chivalrous adoration. Some 
 entreated leave to kiss her hand, others prayed her merely to 
 touch their weapons. The young threw their mantles be- 
 neath her feet, and those of the dauphin and princess ; while 
 the elder lifted the children in their arms as a living banner 
 underneath which they swore to die! 
 
 At these transports of enthusiasm the queen, herself 
 excited, seized two pistols from the belt of M. d'Affry, captain 
 of the Swiss guards, and presenting them to the king ex- 
 claimed: "Now is the moment to show yourself a king, or 
 to perish with glory at the head of your defenders!" The 
 king returned the pistols to M. d'Affry. He felt that the 
 sight of these arms would compromise him, and that his 
 best defence in the eyes of the citizens was his inviolability 
 and the law. 
 
 After visiting the interior posts, the king descended to the 
 vestibule by the grand staircase, but made the queen and 
 his family return to their apartments. He feared to expose 
 Marie Antoinette, whose life had been so much calumniated, 
 to the danger of insult or outrage from the people while 
 passing in front of the battalions in the exterior, and there- 
 fore proceeded to review them alone. 
 
 The king advanced through the Cour Royale, followed by 
 a numerous suite of officers. The roll of the drums beating 
 to arms, the word of command of the officers, the shouts and 
 cheers from the royalists who thronged the doors, the win- 
 dows, and the balconies, waving their hats, and crying " Vive 
 le Roi!" carried away for the moment the battalions under 
 arms, and a few last cheers for royalty arose from their 
 ranks. The queen, Madame Elizabeth, and their attend- 
 ants, who beheld the scene from a balcony, wept with joy 
 at these evidences of attachment; but their joy was soon 
 dashed with bitterness. Two doubtful battalions entered 
 the court during the review; but silent and grave, they pre-
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 153 
 
 sentcd a striking contrast to the others. The gunners, who 
 had hitherto stood neuter, immediately fraternised with 
 them; and M. de Boissieu, seeing their disposition, thought 
 it prudent to remove them to a greater distance from the 
 palace along the terrace near the Seine. As they defiled 
 before the king to take up their new position, they raised 
 the shout of " Vive la Nation/" 
 
 From the courts the king passed to the garden, where the 
 royalist battalions of the quarter Des Filles Saint Thomas, 
 drawn up on each side of the grand entrance, covered him 
 with their bayonets and overwhelmed him with their enthu- 
 siastic promises of devotion. Several grenadiers surrounded 
 him, and prayed him to review their comrades at the 
 Turning Bridge, in order to strengthen by his presence that 
 post so important for the defence. The king ventured thi- 
 ther despite the representations of his suite, who feared that 
 he might be attacked on the way by the battalions of pikes 
 which were drawn up in line on the terrace facing the river. 
 
 The feeble cortege however, passed safely through the gar- 
 den, and the grenadiers at the Turning Bridge evinced the 
 highest resolution and courage ; but two dispositions pervaded 
 the national guards, as well as France, and scarcely had the 
 king left it to return to the palace than the battalion of 
 pikes, those of the Faubourg St. Marceau, and the two who 
 had been removed by M. de Boissieu, united in the most 
 violent vociferations, insults, and menaces against the court. 
 The uproar reached the Tuileries, and the queen, who was 
 reposing for a little in the king's apartment, surrounded by 
 her children and the ministers, sprang to the window in 
 alarm ; one of the ministers, however, gently drew her back, 
 and closed the window to spare her the sight of the gestures 
 and outrages to which her husband was exposed. " Great 
 God!" she exclaimed, "it is the king they are hooting I 
 We are lost!" And she fell back almost crushed beneath 
 those sudden alternations of life and death. 
 
 The king entered, pale, exhausted, and covered with per- 
 spiration: despair in his soul, and shame upon his brow. 
 During all the long passage from the Turning Bridge to the 
 Tuileries, he had to bear insult and ignominy. He had seen 
 the pikes, sabres, and bayonets assembled to defend him, bran-
 
 154 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 dished against his person. Clenched fists, savage gestures, 
 and insulting sarcasms, had followed him to the very gate. 
 Some of the fiercest of his assailants, with difficulty re- 
 strained by their comrades, and revenging themselves for 
 their impotence by the violence of their imprecations, had 
 even endeavoured to force their way from the terrace into 
 the garden, that they might fall upon his escort. Not even 
 his own life was safe. A man in the uniform of a national 
 guard, was observed following the king, step by step, with 
 the most sinister aspect, and frequently putting his hand in 
 his bosom as if to draw forth some concealed weapon; a 
 grenadier, however, watched his motions, and succeeded in 
 always keeping between him and the king. After returning 
 to his post, when the king was once more in safety within 
 the palace, this grenadier fainted from the horrors of the 
 scene which he had witnessed. 
 
 Scarcely had the king entered the Tuileries when two of 
 the disaffected battalions, stationed on the margin of the 
 river, marched off with all their cannon, through the gate 
 of the Pont Eoyal, and ranged themselves in order of battle 
 on the quay, between the garden and the Pont Royal, to 
 await the Marseillais and the columns of the people; while 
 two others quitted the Cour Royale and proceeded to the 
 Carrousel to intercept any fresh reinforcement of troops for 
 the palace, and induce them to imitate their defection. An 
 immense number of the populace, the Federates of Brest, 
 and the insurgents of the faubourgs, took up their place on 
 the square around these battalions. 
 
 It was seven o'clock. The tocsin had never ceased tolling 
 during the whole night. Towards morning, about the hour 
 when the working population go forth to their daily tasks, 
 the streets began to fill with groups of people waiting the 
 arrival of the battalions of their own district to follow them. 
 There was a scarcely perceptible current moving, in the 
 direction of the Louvre and the Pout Royal, in the narrow 
 streets that lead towards the centre of Paris from the Fau- 
 bourg St. Antoiue and the Faubourg St. Marceau. The 
 two points from whence the insurrectionary impulse was 
 given were now the Hotel tie Villc, the head-quarters of
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 155 
 
 Sunterre and TVestermaun, and the club of the Cordeliers, 
 where the Marseillais had taken up their quarters. 
 
 The Cordeliers, with its clubs and barracks, was to the 
 left bank of the Seine and the Quarter St. Marceau, what 
 the Hotel de Ville was to the right bank and the Faubourg 
 St. Antoine the heart and arm of the insurrection. At 
 midnight, Dantou, Camille Desmoulins, Fabre d'Eglantine, 
 Carra, llebecqui, Barbaroux, and the principal leaders of the 
 clubs, had constituted themselves into a permanent directory. 
 Dantou, the orator of the Cordeliers and the statesman of 
 the people, ordered the hall to be thrown open to admit the 
 Marseillais. "To arms!" he cried, addressing them; "you 
 hear the tocsin: it is the voice of the people summoning 
 you to the succour of your brothers of Paris. You have 
 come from the extremities of the kingdom to defend the 
 head of the nation, the capital of France, from the conspira- 
 cies of despotism! Let the tocsin sound the last hour of 
 king?, and the first of vengeance and liberty for the people! 
 To arms! and Ca ira!" 
 
 Scarcely had Dauton concluded these hurried words when 
 the air of " Ca iraf" shook the vaulted roof of the Cor- 
 deliers. Carra, Barbaroux, and others passed the night 
 in forming the column of the Marseillais and the federate 
 battalions of Brest into line ready for action. A large num- 
 ber of federates from other departments joined them, and 
 the courts around the Cordeliers presented the appearance 
 of a regular revolutionary camp. The gunners from Brest 
 and Marseilles lay down, match in hand, beside their pieces, 
 and the whole line was under arms. Dantou in the mean 
 time had retired, still uncertain of the issue of the night ; 
 and whilst the people thought he was engaged in holding 
 some mysterious council which was to fire the train of the 
 conspiracy, he had gone home to his house and thrown him- 
 self down to sleep upon the bed, while his wife watched and 
 wept beside him. After having conceived the plan and 
 given the impulse by his genius, he abandoned the action to 
 the men of blows and violence, and left the fate of his 
 schemes to the chance cowardice or energy of a mob. Yet 
 there was no timidity in this, but merely a profound know- 
 ledge of the theory of revolutions. Danton knew this resem-
 
 156 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 bled the philosophy of tempests. He was aware that tho 
 impulse once given, it is impossible to check or direct them, 
 and that in all great convulsions of the people, as in the 
 most organised battles, there are moments when success 
 depends on a series of chances, and man can do nothing but 
 sit down helplessly and await them. 
 
 No sooner had Santerre concocted the final measures 
 at the Hotel de Ville with the new commissaries of the 
 sections, than he marched his column down the quays, 
 sending orders to the Marseillais to effect a junction witli 
 him at the Pont Neuf. The two columns met with beat of 
 drums and chants of Ca Ira on the square of the Louvre, and 
 spread themselves in disorder over the Carrousel without 
 meeting any opposition. A man mounted on a black horse 
 preceded them. When they reached the gate of the Carrousel 
 he assumed the entire command, by the mere right of his 
 uniform, and the authority of Danton, and the crowd obeyed 
 him from that instinctive feeling of the necessity of guidance 
 and unity which always leads great masses of people to sub- 
 mit to the will of a leader in the moment of danger. He 
 made the troops defile in good order, ranged them in line 
 upon the Carrousel, placed the cannon in the centre, and 
 extended the two wings so as to inclose the wavering batta- 
 lions that seemed waiting for the turn of fortune before they 
 decided. These dispositions having been made with the 
 tact and coolness of a consummate general, he rode forward, 
 accompanied by a few of the Marseillais, and knocking at the 
 gate with the hilt of his sabre, demanded entrance in the 
 name of the people. 
 
 This man was Westermann, a young expatriated Prussian, 
 who had entered the French service a few years previous to 
 the revolution. The vacancies left in the army by the emi- 
 gration had raised him to the grade of officer. Intelligent, 
 adventurous, and intrepid, he anticipated instinctively the 
 career of fortune which civil war or revolution opens to a 
 successful soldier, and on the approach of the 10th of 
 August hastened to Paris to watch his opportunity, and 
 conquer or die. 
 
 At once he gave himself to the people. Danton noticed,
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 157 
 
 appreciated, and enrolled him, and delivered up to his com- 
 mand the multitude he had raised ; and even Santerre, though 
 general-in-chief, left the vanguard and the direction of the 
 expedition to the young German whose superiority he at 
 once acknowledged. 
 
 Westermann finding that the Swiss guards refused to 
 open the gates, ordered five pieces of cannon forward, and 
 threatened to force them. The gates were of wood, and so 
 decayed that resistance was impossible. Roederer and the 
 other ministers, who had witnessed the advance of Wester- 
 mann and the hesitation of the troops, seeing that the danger 
 was imminent, returned precipitately to the palace, crossed 
 the hall rapidly and entered the king's apartment, conster- 
 nation depicted on their countenances. The king was 
 seated before a table at the entrance of his cabinet, his 
 hands dropped languidly on his knees like a man who listens 
 and waits ; the queen and princesses along with some of the 
 ministers surrounded him. 
 
 " Sire," exclaimed Roederer, " we must speak to your 
 majesty without any other witnesses than the members of your 
 family." The king made a sign, and the ministers withdrew. 
 
 " Sire," continued the magistrate, " you have not five 
 minutes to lose. The troops assembled here for the defence 
 are not sufficient in number to guarantee the safety of your 
 life or those of your family, neither can their fidelity be 
 relied on. The artillery refuse to fire on the people, and 
 defection is universal in the garden and the courts. The 
 Marseillais occupy the Carrousel. There is no longer any 
 hope of safety for you but under the protection of the 
 Assembly. This is the opinion of the department, the only 
 body on which rests at this moment the responsibility of 
 your life, and the safety of the constitution." 
 
 " But," rejoined the king, " I did not see any very great 
 crowd in the Carrousel.'' " Sire," returned Koederer, 
 " there are twelve pieces of cannon there; and an innume- 
 rable army from the faubourgs are advancing upon the heels 
 of the Marseillais." M. Gerdret, administrator of the 
 department, who was present, having supported Roederer's 
 statement by a few words, the queen exclaimed " Silence, 
 M. Gerdret; it is not your province to give au opinion here.
 
 158 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 Let the procureur-syndic speak." Then turning to Roederer : 
 "But, sir," she said proudly, "we have forces here." 
 " Madame, all Paris is marching on the palace," replied 
 he; then turning to the king with an air of still greater 
 decision " Sire," said he, " time presses, we can no longer 
 entreat, or advise; there is but one resource left, you must 
 permit us to use violence, and conduct you by force to the 
 Assembly." 
 
 The king raised his head, looked fixedly at Roederer for 
 some seconds, as if to read whether his importunity 
 betokened a refuge or a snare; then turning to the queen, 
 and interrogating her with a rapid glance : " Let us go 1" 
 he said, rising. " But sir," exclaimed Madame Elizabeth, 
 advancing to Roederer, " will you answer for the safety of 
 the king?" 
 
 "Yes, madame, as for my own," was the doubtful 
 answer of Roederer. He advised the king not to suffer 
 any of his household to accompany him, but merely an 
 escort of national guards, and the members of the depart- 
 ment. The ministers, however, claimed their right of 
 attending the executive chief of the government. The queen 
 demanded a like favour for the Princess de Lamballe, and 
 Madame de Tourzel, the governess of her children. The 
 department consented, and Rccclerer then advancing to the 
 door of the king's cabinet, exclaimed in a loud voice: 
 " The king and his family are going to the Assembly alone, 
 without any other escort than the department and the 
 ministers. Make way for their passage!" 
 
 When the news of the king's departure spread through the 
 palace, the last hour of monarchy seemed to have sounded on 
 the ears of the astonished and indignant defenders. Respect 
 alone prevented an outburst of grief and rage from the 
 nobles and Swiss guards who had come to offer their 
 services and lives to prevent such a catastrophe. Tears of 
 shame filled their eyes, and some tore the cross of St. Louis 
 from their breast, while others broke their swords beneath 
 their feet. 
 
 While M. de Lacliesnaye was engaged in forming the 
 king's escort, Louis paused for some moments in his cabinet,
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 15\) 
 
 and slowly passed round the circle formed by his intimate 
 and devoted friends, informing them of the resolution he had 
 taken. The queen, seated and motionless, hid her face upon 
 the bosom of the Princess de Lamballe. The guard arrived 
 the cortege defiled in silence through a crowd of anxious 
 and alarmed spectators. Consternation was depicted on 
 every countenance and each seemed to fear to meet the 
 gaze of his neighbour. On crossing the hall called VOeil 
 de Bosuf, the king, without saying a word, took the hat of 
 the national guard who marched at his side, put it on his 
 head, and placed his own, adorned with a white plume, upon 
 the head of the grenadier. The astonished soldier respect- 
 fully removed the royal chapeau from his brow, put it 
 under his arm and walked bare headed beside the king. 
 No one knew what the king meant by the change. Did he 
 remember the bonnet rouge placed upon his head in that 
 very hall on the 20th of June, which had gained him a few 
 moments' popularity with the people, and did he hope now to 
 produce a like effect by appearing in a part of the uniform of 
 the national guard? No one dared to interrogate him, but 
 the action could scarcely be attributed to fear in a princo 
 who showed himself so unmoved and serene in the presence 
 of outrage aud death. 
 
 At the moment of leaving the peristyle, and taking the 
 last step across the threshold of his palace, the king, ad- 
 dressing Roederer, who walked before him, asked: "But 
 what is to become of our friends who remain behind us?" 
 Roederer replied that no obstacle existed to their quitting 
 the palace provided they were unarmed. An assertion 
 which death was soon but too fatally to contradict. Again, 
 on the last steps of the vestibule leading to the garden, the 
 king paused, as if warned by a last presentiment of his 
 fate a last remorse for his voluntary abdication, and look- 
 ing towards the courts, over the heads of those who followed 
 him, said to the members of the department: " But gentle- 
 men, I see no such great crowd after all in the Carrousel." 
 Roederer repeated his assertions, and the king seemed to 
 listen without believing, descended the last step, and entered 
 the garden like a man who is fatigued with argument, and 
 who yields rather to lassitude or fatality than to conviction.
 
 1GO FIRST 1HENCU REVOLUTION. 
 
 The king crossed the garden without any opposition, 
 between two files of bayonets which marched step by step 
 beside him. The department and municipal officers walked 
 in advance; the queen, Madame Elizabeth, and the children 
 closed the procession. The vast extent which reaches from 
 the one terrace to the other was quite deserted. Xo one 
 was to be seen even on the terrace of the Feuillants, generally 
 crowded with people. The early hour, and the strict military 
 surveillance, had combined to keep the space quite free. 
 The parterres, the flowers, the statues, and the bright green 
 sward glittered in the splendour of a summer's dawn. The 
 sky was clear, the air motionless. The flight seemed only 
 a royal promenade. No sound broke the silence but the 
 measured tramp of the soldiers and the songs of the birds 
 in the branches. Nature seemed to know nothing of what 
 was passing in the hearts of men on that day, and flung 
 her smiles over their mourning and their crimes at if on 
 a joyous fete. Some fallen leaves of the early autumn alone 
 suggested an image of decay: the king perceived them, and 
 as if in sad allusion to his own fate, remarked : " The 
 leaves are falling early this year." Manuel had written a few 
 days before in the journal he edited, " Royalty will fall with 
 the fall of the leaves." The dauphin amused himself by 
 gathering up the withered leaves with his feet and tossing 
 them to his sister. Childhood playing on the path to death ! 
 
 The president of the department quitted the cortege at 
 this place, and proceeded to inform the Assembly of the 
 arrival of the king and the motives of his retreat. They 
 immediately sent a deputation to meet him. " Sire," said 
 the spokesman, "the Assembly, anxious to insure your 
 safety, hastens to offer you and your family an asylum in 
 its bosom." The members then joined the cortege and 
 surrounded the king. 
 
 The advance of the procession across the garden having 
 been perceived from the Cafe Hottot and the windows of the 
 Manege, a rumour spread that the king was advancing, and 
 groups immediately began to collect on that portion of the 
 Feuillant terrace which it was necessary to cross before 
 reaching the Assembly. On arriving at the first step lead- 
 ing up to this terrace, a dense mass of men and women,
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 101 
 
 shrieking and gesticulating with rage, refused to allow tho 
 royal family to pass. " No, no, no!" they cried, " he shall 
 not come to deceive the nation any more. There must be 
 an end of all this. They are the cause of all our misfor- 
 tunes! Down with the veto! Down with the Austrian 
 woman! Abdication or death 1" Hostile thrcatenings, and 
 insulting gestures accompanied these words. A man of 
 colossal size, named Rocher, who generally headed the riots 
 of the populace, particularly signalised himself amongst the 
 crowd by the ferocity of his demeanour and his wild vocife- 
 rations. He carried a long stick in his hand, and made 
 violent efforts either to push back the king or to strike him 
 with it. The deputies harangued the mob. The storm of 
 imprecations began to abate. Rocher allowed himself to be 
 disarmed by the procureur-syndic, who flung the stick 
 away into the garden, and the decree of the Assembly w r as 
 read authorizing the king's removal ; at last the cortege 
 was allowed to proceed, and the king, guarded by a double 
 file of soldiers, reached the entrance of the passage which 
 led to the hall of Assembly. 
 
 Several guards of the legislative body received him there 
 and marched beside him. " Do not fear, sire," said one of 
 them, in a southern accent; "the people are well disposed, 
 but they won't bear to be deceived much longer. Be a 
 good citizen, sire, and send away your priests and your wife 
 from the palace!" The king replied without evincing any 
 anger. The crowd now blocked up the dark narrow entrance, 
 and for an instant the queen and her children were sepa- 
 rated from the king. Rocher, the same man who had 
 uttered such threats and invectives a little while before, 
 was now suddenly melted by the anguish she exhibited, and 
 taking the dauphin up in his arms, held him high above the 
 crowd while he walked before the queen, making way for 
 her, and pushing aside the people with his elbows till he 
 cleared a path, and, entering the Assembly along with the 
 king, placed the royal child safe and sound on the table of 
 the president amidst loud acclamations from the tribunes. 
 
 The king and his family proceeded to the benches set 
 apart for the ministers beside the president. Verguiaud
 
 162 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 presided. " I have come," said the king, "in order to avoid 
 giving occasion for a great crime. Here at least, I am 
 certain of being in safety." " Sire," replied Vergniaud, 
 "you may rely on the firmness of the National Assembly. 
 They have sworn to die in defence of the laws and the 
 constituted authorities." The king then took his seat. 
 There were but few members present, and the silence of 
 stupor reigned in the hall. Every countenance was grave and 
 sad, and directed with earnest though respectful curiosity 
 towards the king, the queen, the princess, and the royal 
 child (round whom the queen threw her arm, while she dried 
 the perspiration on his brow with her handkerchief.) and 
 the young princess who stood beside her in all the first 
 brilliancy of girlish beauty. Hate expired in every heart 
 at the contemplation of the terrible vicissitudes of fate 
 which had torn this father, these children, these royal 
 ladies from their palace, never, perhaps, to return. Never 
 before had fate exhibited such a tragedy to the public 
 gaze. The deepest anguish of human hearts was lying 
 there exposed to every eye, although the king veiled his 
 feelings beneath an appearance of impassibility, the queen 
 of dignity, and the princesses with their tears. The public 
 traced nothing in their demeanour unbecoming their rank, 
 sex, age, or the solemnity of the moment. Fortune seemed 
 to have found hearts equal to the blows she inflicted on them. 
 
 The deliberation began. A member rose and observed 
 that the constitution forbade them to deliberate in presence 
 of the king. " It is true," said Louis, inclining his head. 
 Accordingly, in obedience to this ironical scruple, at a 
 moment when the constitution was no longer in existence, 
 it was decreed that the king and his family should be placed 
 in the reporter's gallery, which Avas a box of about ten feet 
 square, behind the president's chair, on a level with the 
 highest benches of the Assembly, and separated only from 
 the hall by an iron railing secured in the wall. Thither the 
 king was conducted, and the young reporters who were 
 taking notes of the debate, made room as far as they were 
 able for the royal family. The king sat in front, the queen 
 in a corner, endeavouring to conceal her face in the shadow,
 
 THE TKNTU Or AL'Ol . 163 
 
 Madame Elizabeth, the children, and the governess, on a 
 bench placed against the bare wall. The two ministers, some 
 officers of the king's household, the Duke de Choiseul, Carl, 
 commander of the horse gendarmerie, the Prince de Poix, 
 and five or six gentlemen of the court, loyal to the last, 
 remained standing at the door. A guard of grenadiers 
 filled up the passage and intercepted the air; the heat 
 became stifling, and the drops of perspiration streamed from 
 the king's brow. The Assembly now began to fill, and 
 from the crowded benches the heated air rose up like the 
 breath of a furnace. The agitation in the hall, the move- 
 ments of the orators, the petitions of the sections, the noise 
 of conversation, mingled together in a confused din inside ; 
 while the efforts of the people endeavouring to break open 
 the doors and force the military posts, the yells of the 
 wretches who had begun their work of murder already in 
 the court of the Manege, the shrieks of the victims, the 
 blows which announced their death, the fall of the lifeless 
 bodies all these ghastly and ominous sounds penetrated 
 from without, and were heard distinctly by the royal 
 sulVerers. 
 
 Scarcely had the king taken his place in this asylum 
 when the increasing violence of the mob made the mem- 
 bers apprehensive that the doors would be forced and the 
 king murdered in his retreat; Vergniaud therefore or- 
 dered the iron railing which separated the reporters' box 
 from the hall to be taken down, in order that the king might 
 take refuge amidst the deputies, if the people succeeded in 
 forcing the entrance. In default of workmen and tools, 
 some of the deputies nearest the box, assisted by the Duke 
 de Choiseul, the Prince de Poix, the ministers, and even by 
 the king himself, accustomed to the rude handicraft of a 
 smith, succeeded by their united efforts in tearing away the 
 railing from its fastenings. Thanks to this precaution, a 
 last chance of escape was presented to the king from the 
 daggers of the people. But at the same time the fallen ma- 
 jt'sty of royalty was exposed to its enemies in the hall. 
 The debates of which they were the subject, the hostile 
 glances directed towards them, reached the king' and queen 
 without any interposing obstacle. At once spectators aud
 
 1G4 FIRST FRENCH R EVOLUTION'. 
 
 victims, they witnessed during fourteen hours the spectacle 
 of their own degradation. 
 
 A young man who sat in the reporters' box beside 
 them, and who afterwards distinguished himself by his valu- 
 able services, M. David, consul-general and deputy, noted 
 down respectfully, for the aid of history, the attitudes, ges- 
 tures, tears, and even the workings of the countenance 
 which, during three long hours of suffering, betrayed the 
 emotion of the royal family. 
 
 The king was calm and serene as if witnessing a drama 
 of which another was the subject. His strong physical 
 nature felt the usual craving for nourishment, even during 
 this absorbing crisis of his destiny; nothing could weaken 
 his powerful vital organization, and the agitation of his 
 soul seemed even to strengthen his appetites. They brought 
 him bread, wine, and cold meat. He eat and drank, and 
 separated the wings of the fowl with as much calmness as 
 if he had been taking refreshment after a hunt in the woods 
 of Versailles. The physical nature predominated over the 
 sensitive in his organization. 
 
 The queen, who knew that popular calumny accused the 
 king of gross excesses at the table, and even of drunkenness, 
 suffered severely in her mind at seeing him eat at such a 
 moment. She refused to taste anything, and the rest of the 
 family followed her example. She never spoke, her lips 
 were compressed, her eyes dry and burning, her chock 
 glowing with the vivid red of anger and humiliation, her 
 arms hung down recklessly and heavily, as if they were 
 bound. Mournful, but still proud and unsubdued, she seemed 
 like a disarmed hero, who can no longer combat, but who.-e 
 soul still revolts against the blows of fate. 
 
 Madame Elizabeth, who stood behind her brother, seemed 
 to suffer only for those she loved, not for herself. She often 
 raised her eyes upwards, and one could see that her heart 
 was praying. 
 
 The princess royal wept, but the heat dried the large 
 tears on her cheek before they fell; the dauphin gazed about 
 him in wonder at the novel scene, and asked his father the 
 names of certain of the deputies. Louis pointed them out 
 calmly and named them to his son, without betraying by
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 165 
 
 the slightest change in his voice whether he was naming 
 friend or foe. Occasionally he spoke to the deputies as 
 they passed before the box on their way to the benches. 
 Some bowed with an expression of respectful pity, others 
 turned away their heads and affected not to hear, but no 
 one insulted him. The catastrophe appeased even the most 
 obdurate. One alone was implacable: the painter David. 
 The king having recognized him amongst the number of 
 those who pressed around the box to contemplate the royal 
 family, addressed him, asking him when he would have his 
 portrait finished. " I shall never finish the portrait of a 
 tyrant," replied David, " until his head lies before me on 
 the scaffold.'' The king lowered his eyes and was silent. 
 David was mistaken in choosing such a moment for his 
 words; addressed to a despot in his pride of power they 
 would have been courageous: they were only cowardly 
 before the fallen victim. 
 
 Whilst the crowded Assembly was swayed to and fro with 
 that agitation which precedes some momentous change, the 
 people, who were no longer restrained by any military force 
 on the side of the Eue St. Honore, rushed tumultuously into 
 the court of the Feuillants and up to the very threshold of 
 the Assembly, demanding with loud cries that the twenty- 
 two royalists who had been taken prisoners the night before 
 in the Champs Elysees by the national guards should be. 
 given up to them. 
 
 These prisoners were accused of having formed secret 
 patrols and disseminated themselves amongst the army of 
 the people, in order to learn their intentions, and thus direct 
 the fire of the satellites of the chateau. Their uniform, 
 their arms, and the cards of admission to the Tuileries found 
 on their persons, proved in fact that they were national 
 guards devoted to the king, who had been sent to examine 
 the environs of the palace in order to assist the measures for 
 defence. As they were arrested, they were flung into the 
 national guard-house of the court of the Feuillants. At 
 eight o'clock a young man of about thirty years of age was 
 brought in. He was dressed as a national guard, and his 
 proud, excited countenance, the martial elegance of his
 
 166 MUST niEN'CH INVOLUTION. 
 
 costume, the brilliancy of his weapons, and the name of 
 Suleau, murmured as he passed along, that name so hated 
 by the people, attracted all eyes upon him. 
 
 It was indeed Suleau, one of those young royalist writers 
 who, like Andre Chenier and others, had embraced the 
 dogma of monarchy at the momeut when it seemed to be re- 
 pudiated by every one else, and who, seduced by the very 
 clanger of the preference, mistook the excitement of their 
 own generous feelings for conviction. The liberty of the 
 press was the defensive weapon which they had received from 
 the constitution, and of which they availed themselves 
 courageously to defend it against the excesses of liberty. 
 But revolutions desire to see arms in the hands of none 
 except their friends, and Suleau exasperated the popular 
 party sometimes by violent pamphlets against the Duke of 
 Orleans, sometimes by brilliant sarcasms on the Jacobins; 
 thus exciting against himself the feelings of the populace 
 which knows no pity in its vengeance. 
 
 Suleau was hated by them as every tyranny hates its 
 Tacitus. In vain the young writer displayed the order from 
 the municipal commissioners which summoned him to the 
 palace; he was thrown with the others into the guard- 
 house. But his name had stirred up the passions of the 
 mob and they now gathered in crowds demanding his head. 
 A commissioner, mounted on some planks, harangued them, 
 and endeavoured to avert the crime by promising justice; 
 but Theroigne de Mericourt, dressed in her riding habit, and 
 with a drawn sword in her hand, sprang on the platform, 
 hurled down the commissioner and installed herself in his 
 place. Then addressing the people, she excited their thirst 
 for blood by her fiery words, and made them name by accla- 
 mation a set of commissioners who proceeded with her to 
 the committee of the section to drag the victims by force 
 from the slow forms of the law. Bonjeur, the president of 
 the section, who was ambitious of popular favour in the hope 
 of becoming minister, forbade the national guards to resist 
 the wishes of the people, and two hundred armed men 
 stood by motionless while the prisoners were seized by 
 the mob. Eleven of them had escaped by a back window, 
 the remaining eleven were blocked up iu the guard-house,
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 167 
 
 and were summoned out one by one to be murdered in the 
 court. Some of the national guards, more humane or less 
 cowardly than Bonjeur, wished to make an effort to resist 
 the assassins, but Suleau exclaimed: "No, no; let me go 
 and meet my murderers. I see that the people thirst for 
 blood to-day, perhaps one victim will suffice them: I may 
 yet save the others!'' and he was about to leap from the 
 window into the court-yard, if they had not restrained him. 
 
 The Abbe Bougon was seized before him. He was a dra- 
 matic writer; a man of colossal strength and arms of iron. 
 With the energy of despair he struggled with his murderers, 
 hurling numbers of them to the earth ; but at length exhaust- 
 ed and overpowered, he fell, literally hewn to pieces. M. dc 
 Sohniniac, one of the old guards, perished next; two others 
 followed. Those who remained shut up in the guard- 
 house heard the shrieks and struggles of their companions, 
 and endured a tenfold torture. At length Suleau was sum- 
 moned. He had been deprived of his grenadier's cap, his 
 sabre and cartouch box, but his arms were free. A woman 
 pointed him out to Theroigne de Mericourt, to whom he 
 was not personally known, but who hated him for his cele- 
 brity, and burned to revenge herself for the cutting sarcasms 
 of his pen which had so often held her up to public scorn. 
 'She rushes on him, seizes him by the collar, and endeavours 
 to drag him down. But, disengaging himself, he snatches 
 a sword from one of the assailants, clears a passage with it 
 towards the street, and had almost escaped; but the popu- 
 lace rush on him again, seize him, throw him down, disarm 
 him, and plunge the points of twenty sabres into his body, 
 lie expires at the feet of Theroigne. His murderers cut 
 off his head and carry it as a trophy through the Rue St. 
 Ilonore. 
 
 In the evening a faithful servant of Suleau's purchased 
 his head from the murderers, and restored the disfigured 
 remains to his young wife, the daughter of the painter 
 Hall, and celebrated for her beauty, to whom he had been 
 married only two months. 
 
 During the struggle of Suleau with his assassins, two of 
 the victims within had found means to escape. One alone
 
 168 FIUST rUKXCH KLYOLITIUX. 
 
 remained the young Du Vigier, formerly a garde- du-corps. 
 Nature seemed to have formed him as a perfect type of 
 manly beauty. He arrested the attention of painters and 
 statuaries, and even of the crowd in public places of resort. 
 As brave as he was beautiful, he employed all the advan- 
 tages derived from his height, the flexibility of his muscles, 
 and the force and vigour of his frame, in battling against 
 his murderers with all the power and energy of an antique 
 wrestler. Alone and unarmed against sixty assailants, 
 surrounded, thrown down, up again, marking the track of 
 the struggle with his blood, till he almost wearied out 
 the assassins, so he fought the defence of despair for a 
 full quarter of an hour. Twice saved and twice retaken, 
 he fell at last only from exhaustion and the pressure of 
 numbers. His head was the trophy of the combat; and 
 even when fixed on the point of a pike its beauty- excited 
 general admiration. Such was the first scene of the day, 
 and the blood spilt seemed only to excite still further the 
 passions of the people. 
 
 The departure of the king had left the palace in a state 
 of uncertainty and doubt. A tacit truce seemed suddenly 
 established between assailants and defenders, and the field 
 of battle was removed from the Tuileries to the Assembly. 
 It was there that monarchy was doomed to rise or fall. 
 The conquest or defence of an empty palace would have 
 caused only a useless effusion of blood. The leaders on 
 both sides comprehended this ; nevertheless, it was difficult 
 by the mere announcement that the king had gone to the 
 Assembly, to turn back an immense excited mass of people, 
 nor could the troops of the defence abandon the Tuileries 
 to the chances of invasion without an express order from 
 the king. He might, by a clear and precise order to 
 capitulate, have avoided all risk of the struggle; but it 
 was evident on leaving the palace that he had not lost 
 all hope of returning. " We shall return soon," were the 
 Avords of the queen to the attendants she left behind her. 
 The royal family saw in the events of the night only the 
 preparations for a second 20th of June, and contemplated 
 nothing more in removing to the Assembly than to force the
 
 TilE TENTH OF AUGUST. 169 
 
 legislative body to undertake their defence, and assume the 
 responsibility of the combat, while they themselves might 
 escape the anxiety and anguish which a sight of it would 
 cause ; and the Marshal de Mailly, who had been entrusted 
 with the command of the palace troops, had orders from 
 the king to resist by force the violation of the royal resi- 
 dence. 
 
 Two sources of hope, therefore, still sustained the king 
 and queen during the early part of the day: one, that 
 the Assembly, touched by the abasement of royalty, and 
 proud of arlbrding it an asylum, would have sufficient gene- 
 rosity and sufficient empire over the people to bring the 
 king back to his palace, and thus secure the triumph of the 
 executive power: the other, that the people and the 
 Marseillais would be defeated at the Tuileries by the Swiss 
 and the battalions of national guards, and that the victory 
 thus gained at the palace, would release the king from the 
 Assembly. If such were not the hopes of the king and his 
 ministers, is it credible that he would have allowed so much 
 time to elapse from seven o'clock till ten without sending 
 orders to the defenders to capitulate, and retire, after having 
 received guarantees for the safety of all those whom he was 
 now compromising by his silence? He was therefore 
 awaiting some event, either from within or from without; 
 his only fault was that he did not direct it. Even after 
 he had placed the queen and his family under the protec- 
 tion of the Assembly, he might have returned to the palace 
 with his escort, rallied his defenders and awaited the 
 assault. If conqueror he would have gained the prestige 
 of victory; if conquered, he could not have fallen lower in 
 misfortune, and he would have fallen as a king. 
 
 The palace, deprived of a great portion of its military 
 strength, and of all its moral force, by the departure of the 
 king, seemed filled with a confused crowd of people rather 
 than with a disciplined garrison. No one commanded, no 
 one obeyed. Everything was left to chance or individual 
 caprice. Some talked of joining the king at the Assembly, 
 and dying if necessary in his defence ; others of forming a 
 column of attack to clear the Carrousel, release the royal 
 family, and conduct them under the protection of two or
 
 170 K1UST FKEKC1I UKVOLU11UX. 
 
 three thousand bayonets to Rambonillet, and from thence to 
 Lafayette's army. This last plan offered the best chance 
 of success. But every one proposed, no one executed. The 
 hours passed away and the forces diminished. Finally, two 
 hundred Swiss, and three hundred of the most resolute of the 
 national guards, followed the king to the Assembly, and 
 awaited his orders at the gates of the Manege, under the com- 
 mand of M. Bachmann; leaving only seven hundred Swiss, 
 one hundred gentlemen badly armed, and about one hundred 
 national guards, in all not more than a thousand combatants, 
 disseminated through the numerous posts of the interior; 
 while outside, in the courts and garden, remained but a few 
 broken battalions, with their cannon ready to be turned 
 against the palace. But the intrepid attitude of the Swiss, 
 and the A r ery aspect of the Tuileries, so often described as 
 the focus of conspiracies and the arsenal of despotism, filled 
 the people with a terror that made them hesitate before 
 they attempted an attack. 
 
 At nine o'clock the gates of the Cour Royale were 
 forced, without the national guard making any resistance. 
 Several groups of people entered, but did not advance on 
 the palace. They merely kept on the watch and conversed 
 together, as if awaiting by common consent the decision of 
 the Assembly respecting the king. The columns of the 
 Faubourg St. Antoine had not yet arrived at the Carrou- 
 sel. The moment they appeared upon the quay, Wester- 
 mann ordered the Marseillais to follow them, and he 
 himself rode first into the court, pistol in hand, and formed 
 his troops with military precision in front of the palace. The 
 artillery instantly sided with Westermann, and wheeled round 
 the cannon so as to cover the gate of the Tuileries with 
 their fire. This mano3uvre was hailed with loud acclama- 
 tions by the people, who embraced the gunners, shouting 
 "Down with the Swiss 1 The Swiss must yield to the 
 people!" But the Swiss heard these shouts and beheld 
 these gestures unmoved. Discipline and honour seemed to 
 have turned them to stone. The sentinels on duty nnder 
 the arch of the peristyle, passed and repassed with the same 
 measured step as if they had been on guard in the silent
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 171 
 
 and deserted courts of Versailles ; and each time that in their 
 alternating promenade they advanced near the crowd, the 
 people fell back intimidated upon the Marseillais; but when 
 they disappeared under the vestibule they rushed forward 
 again towards the palace. Gradually, however, the multi- 
 tude gained courage and advanced by degrees, until fifty of 
 the boldest men of the faubourgs at last made good their 
 entrance as far as the foot of the grand staircase. Upon 
 this the Swiss fell back upon the landing place and the 
 steps, which were separated from the peristyle by a wooden 
 barricade, leaving only one sentinel outside, with orders not 
 to fire, no matter what provocation he received. Blood was 
 not to be spilled lightly, and he must endure all patiently. 
 
 This forbearance of the Swiss guard encouraged the assail- 
 ant!?, and the combat at last commenced in jest: laughter 
 was the prelude to death. Some of the populace, who were 
 armed with long pikes terminated by a curved blade, hooked 
 these into the belt or some part of the uniform of the sentinel, 
 and drew him over to them by force, amid the loud laughter 
 of the mob, who immediately disarmed their prisoner. Five 
 times the Swiss replaced their sentinel, and five times did 
 the people effect his capture; until, encouraged by the 
 sight of these disarmed soldiers and the loud acclamations 
 of the conquerors, the mob rushed furiously through the 
 arch, and seizing the Swiss prisoners from the hands of their 
 first captors, beat out their brains with clubs in presence of 
 their comrades. A shot was fired at the same moment, 
 either from the court or from a window. Some say it was 
 the musket of a Swiss soldier, others, the pistol of a Mar- 
 seillais; but this shot was the signal for the engagement. 
 
 Immediately the Swiss commanders, M. Turler, and M. 
 Castelberg, formed their soldiers in fighting order behkid the 
 barrier: some on the staircase, others on the steps of the 
 chapel alone, and the remainder on the double staircase 
 which leads from the chapel to the guard-room a formid- 
 able position, which enabled them to sweep the vestibule 
 with a cross fire from the five positions. The first volley 
 covered the floor of the peristyle with dead and wounded, 
 for the crowd, pressed on by those without, were unable to
 
 172 FIRST FKENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 retreat. One soldier selected for his aim a man of gigantic 
 height and enormons size, who had just murdered with his 
 own hands four of the disarmed sentinels, and the assassin 
 fell dead upon the body of his victims. The terrified crowd 
 now fled in disorder to the Carrousel, and a volley was fired 
 on them from the windows, which was returned by the can- 
 non of the people; but the balls were ill-directed, and only 
 struck the roof. The Cour Royale was evacuated and re- 
 mained strewn with muskets, pikes, and grenadier's caps. 
 The fugitives glided and crept along the walls under shelter 
 of the sentry-boxes of the mounted sentinels, or threw 
 themselves on the ground feigning death, while the artil- 
 lery abandoned their pieces, and were borne along in the 
 general panic. 
 
 At this sight the Swiss descended the grand staircase in 
 a body, and divided into two columns; one commanded by 
 M. de Salis, sallied forth by the garden gate to capture 
 three pieces of cannon which were at the door of the 
 Manege, and bring them to the Tuileries. The other, to 
 the number of one hundred and twenty men, under the 
 orders of Captain Turler, passing over the dead bodies of 
 their comrades, entered the Cour Royale. The mere 
 appearance of the soldiers cleared the court, and they took 
 possession of the six pieces of cannon it contained, and 
 brought them safely under the arch of the vestibule ; but 
 neither matches nor ammunition were to be had. 
 
 Captain Turler seeing the court cleared, entered the 
 Carrousel by the Porte Eoyale, formed his battalion into 
 a square, and opened a running fire upon the three sides 
 where the people were congregated. The mob, the Fede- 
 rates, and the Marseillais, fell back upon the quays and the 
 streets in terror, giving a reflux movement to the entire 
 mass ofXhe people, which was communicated as far as the 
 Hotel de Ville, and the Boulevards. 
 
 While these two columns retreated from the Carrousel, 
 eighty Swiss, and about a hundred gentlemen volunteers, 
 formed themselves spontaneously into columns in another 
 wing of the palace, descended by the staircase of the Pavi- 
 lion of Flora, and flew to the succour of their comrades. 
 In crossing the Cour des Princes to reach the Cour Koyale,
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 173 
 
 from whence proceeded the noise of the fusillade, a discharge 
 of cannon opened on them from the Porte des Princes, 
 killed several, and shattered the walls and windows of the 
 queen's apartments. Though reduced to one hundred and 
 fifty combatants, the column faced round, charged up to the 
 cannons, took them, entered the Carrousel, silenced the fii 
 of the Marseillais, and returned to the Tuileries by the 
 Porto Royale. Then the two corps uniting their forces, 
 took possession of the cannon, and carrying their wounded 
 with them, they entered the palace. 
 
 Here they placed their wounded under the vestibule of 
 the chateau, upon chairs and sofas, having first removed 
 the dead bodies of the insurgents which choked up the 
 pavement of the peristyle and deluged the steps and 
 columns with blood. M. de Salis, on his side, had also 
 succeeded in capturing two pieces*of cannon in the garden; 
 but his troop, exposed to a cross fire from the battalions of 
 the national guards that occupied the terrace next the river, 
 and also that of the Feuillants, had left thirty men out of a 
 hundred, dead or dying on the ground. Xot a single shot 
 had been fired by them in answer to the unexpected attack 
 of the national guard. Discipline overcame even the in- 
 stinct of self-preservation; their orders were to die for the 
 king, and they died without firing upon a French uniform. 
 
 Had the Swiss been supported by a few cavalry at the 
 time that they cleared the Carrousel by their sudden sortie 
 from the Tuileries, the insurrection could have been easily 
 and completely quelled. The nine hundred mounted gen- 
 darmerie, posted at the Louvre since the previous night, 
 would have been more than sufficient to spread disorder 
 and dismay amongst the confused and ill-armed masses of 
 the people; but this corps was already wavering in its 
 obedience to its officers, and from the moment the Marseil- 
 lais reached the Carrousel, displayed every symptom of 
 insubordination. 
 
 As the armed bands passed along the quays and invited 
 them to follow, they cheered, and waved their caps with shouts 
 of Vive la Nation ! and when the cannonnade resounded 
 from the Carrousel they sprang to their horses, declaring
 
 1 74 FIRST FP.EN'CII DEVOLUTION. 
 
 they would not remain shut up there to be massacred. 
 The Marshal de Mailly having sent orders for them to 
 make a sortie by squadrons, and charge Santerre's army on 
 the quay, while another troop should drive back the people 
 to the Faubourg St. Antoine and the Champs Elysees, M. 
 de Rulhieres, who commanded the gendarmerie, assembled 
 the officers and communicated the orders. They all de- 
 clared that the troops could not be relied on, and in order 
 to avoid the evil example of a public defection, it would be 
 better, they thought, to remove them entirely from the scene 
 of action. " Cowards that you are," exclaimed one of the 
 officers to his troop, "if you only want to run, go to the 
 Champs Elysees, there is room enough there." During 
 this general indecision the crowd of fugitives, driven from 
 the Carrousel by the fire of the Swiss, rushed into the 
 court of the Louvre, threw themselves between the ranks, 
 and amongst the horses, exclaiming, " They are massacring 
 our brothers!" At these cries a panic seized the gendar- 
 merie, who dashed through the gate leading to the Rue du 
 Coq, and fled precipitately on all sides through the streets 
 adjoining the Palais Royal. 
 
 The Swiss were conquerors, tho courts empty, the 
 cannons retaken, and silence reigned around the Tnileries. 
 The Swiss reloaded their pieces, and formed into rank 
 again at the command of their officers. The gentlemen 
 surrounding the Marshal de Mailly, conjured him to unite 
 all the disposable forces at the palace into a column of 
 attack, march them to the Manege with cannon, rally the 
 five hundred men of the king's escort, still in line upon the 
 terrace of the Feuillants, summon the two hundred Swiss 
 remaining in barracks at Courbevoie, and gaining possession 
 of the royal family, lead them in safety from Paris under the 
 protection of this powerful column. The Princess de Lam- 
 balle, the queen's ladies, the servants of the palace, all 
 pressed eagerly to the windows with their eyes iixed upon 
 the door of the Manege, expecting every moment to sec 
 the royal party issue from it, saved, liberated, and restored 
 to the Tuileries by the victory of the Swiss.
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 1 To 
 
 Vain hope ! This victory without result was only one 
 of those short intervals granted to victims not for triumph, 
 but as a breathing space before the inevitable catastrophe. 
 
 The cannon of the Marseillais, and the responsive fire of 
 the Swiss troops, which shook the vaulted roof of theManege, 
 filled with varied and tumultuous feelings the hearts of those 
 whose life, throne, opinions, and destiny were thus at issue 
 but a few paces distant from the hall in which they were 
 prisoners. The king, queen, and Madame Elizabeth, along 
 with the few devoted friends shut up with them in the re- 
 porters' gallery, could not surely prevent an involuntary 
 prayer arising from the depths of their souls, for the tri- 
 umph of the defenders whose victory would not only restore 
 them to safety but to a crown. If, however, this secret joy 
 wa.-s in their hearts, their countenances expressed only a 
 mournful alarm. They controlled their feelings before their 
 enemies, even before God himself, lest there might be sin in 
 a joy which was connected with the shedding of blood. 
 Their features were still, their hearts closed, their souls sus- 
 pended on the events of the combat outside: pale, and in 
 silence, they listened to the struggle that was deciding the 
 destiny of a king. 
 
 But the roar of the cannon and fire of musketry ap- 
 proached nearer and nearer. The windows shook with the 
 vibration of the passing balls, cries of horror and alarm re- 
 sounded from the tribunes. Then an expression of anger and 
 solemn intrepidity diffused itself over the faces of the depu- 
 ties, who, while listening to the cannon, glanced with indig- 
 nation at the king; and Vergniaud, stern and calm as 
 patriotism, covered his face in silence as a sign of mourn- 
 ing. At this movement, which interpreted by a sign the 
 feelings of the Assembly, all the members rose by an elec- 
 trical impulse, and with one voice cried " Vive la Nation /" 
 The king rose in his turn, and announced that he had sent 
 orders to the Swiss to cease firing and return to their bar- 
 racks. M. d'Hervilly immediately departed to carry this order 
 to the palace. The deputies re-seated themselves, and 
 awaited for some minutes in silence the effect of the king's 
 orders.
 
 176 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 All at once a volley of musketry was heard close to the 
 hall. Tliis was the fire from the battalioii of national 
 guards on the terrace of the Feuillants upon the troops of 
 M. de Sails; but shouts arose from the tribunes that the 
 Swiss were at the gates, coming to massacre the represen- 
 tatives of the nation. Hasty footsteps, and the clash of 
 arms were heard in the passages, and several armed men 
 tried to force an entrance into the hall. Some of the bravest 
 of the deputies threw themselves in front of the door and re- 
 pulsed them. Every one believed that the victorious Swiss 
 had come to sacrifice the Assembly to their vengeance, but 
 no movement of terror disgraced the nation as represented 
 in their persons. The enthusiasm of liberty seemed to kindle 
 in their breasts a sort of funereal joy. " Now is the 
 moment," exclaimed Vergniaud, " to show ourselves worthy 
 of the people who have placed us here, by dying at our posts : 
 at this extreme crisis of our fate, let us all swear to live or 
 die freel" 
 
 At these words the entire Assembly rose; every hand 
 was uplifted, every lip uttered the oath. The tribunes, ex- 
 cited by the heroism of the deputies, rose also, exclaiming, 
 "And we, too, swear to die with you!" The spectators, 
 and even the journalists and reporters beside the king, 
 started up and waved their, hats, thus associating themselves 
 by an irresistible impulse with this noble acceptance of 
 death for the cause of liberty. It was no vain defiance 
 flung in the teeth of danger; the result of the combat was 
 uncertain; death thundered over their heads and stormc'd at 
 their gates. Had it entered then, it would have struck 
 them in the pride and joy of their noble resolve; but the 
 Swiss officers retired, the firing slackened and died away. 
 Still every arm was extended, every glance was defiant, 
 the danger was passed, but the attitude of resistance re- 
 mained. The fire of enthusiasm seemed to have transfixed 
 them as they stood, as if petrified 1 History will repeat 
 this scene whenever she would make the cradle of liberty 
 respected, or recall the idea of a nation's heroism. 
 
 The Swiss who had occasioned this commotion were 
 officers of the king's escort, seeking a refuge in the hall of
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 1?7 
 
 Assembly from the fire of the battalions posted on the ter- 
 race of the Feuillauts. They were admitted to the court of 
 the Manege, and disarmed there by order of the king. 
 
 During this scene M. d'Hervilly succeeded in reaching the 
 palace through all the firing, just as M. de Salis entered 
 with the captured cannon. "Gentlemen I" he shouted, 
 from the top of the garden terrace, as soon as he was near 
 enough for his voice to be heard, " the king commands you 
 all to proceed to the National Assembly immediately," and 
 then added of himself, thinking it would serve the king, 
 "along with your cannon." At this order Captain Turler 
 collected about two hundred of his soldiers, wheeled a gun 
 from the vestibule into the garden, but endeavoured in vain 
 to charge it ; then commenced his march to the Assembly, 
 without the other exterior posts being informed of his re- 
 treat in time to allow them to follow him. Exposed to the 
 fire of the national guards during the transit, the column 
 reached the court of the Manege broken and in disorder; 
 from thence they were admitted into the hall of Assembly, 
 where they laid down their arms. Mean while the Marseil- 
 lais, who had been informed of the retreat of the Swiss and 
 the defection of the gendarmerie, returned a second time to 
 the charge ; while the masses from the Faubourgs St. Antoiue 
 and St. Marceau filled the courts, Westermann and Santerre 
 at their head, who, pointing with their sabres to the grand 
 staircase, incited the mob to the assault with the chant of 
 " Ca z'ra." The sight of their dead comrades lying in the 
 Carrousel had maddened them with a desire for vengeance. 
 They looked upon the Swiss only as hired assassins, and 
 swore to deluge the courts and the palace with the blood of 
 the foreigners. Pikes and bayonets poured in like a torrent 
 under the lofty arches of the peristyle ; other columns wheel- 
 ing round the Tnileries entered the garden by the Port 
 Royale and the Manege, and gathered beneath the walls. 
 Six pieces of cannon brought from the Hotel de Ville, and 
 placed at the angles of the adjacent streets, poured their 
 volleys of grape and ball upon the palace. The few feeble 
 detachments within, scattered through the different apart- 
 ments, endeavoured to rally and take up the most effective 
 position. Eighty men grouped themselves on the steps of
 
 178 FIRST FR^ICH REVOLUTION. 
 
 the grand staircase, and from thence opened a cross fire upon 
 the vestibule, which laid prostrate four hundred Marseillais. 
 
 Bat the bodies of their comrades served the assailants as 
 steps whereby to scale the position of the Swiss. Step by 
 step they ascended, the Swiss slowly retreating, and leaving 
 a line of their brave soldiers upon every stair. Gradually 
 their fire diminished with their numbers, but all fired till 
 they fell, and the last musket-shot announced the death of 
 the last man. 
 
 Eighty corpses blocked up the staircase. From that mo- 
 ment the combat became a massacre. The Marseillais and 
 Federates rushed into the apartments, immolating every 
 Swiss they met to their vengeance. Some attempted to 
 defend themselves, but only increased thereby the fury of 
 their murderers and the horrible tortures of their death ; the 
 greater number laid down their arms before the people, and 
 throwing themselves on their knees, extended their heads 
 for the blow, or begged for their life, but they were seized 
 by the legs and arms and flung alive out of the window. A 
 small band of seventeen took refuge in the sacristy of the 
 chapel. They were discovered. In vain they showed their 
 muskets to the people to prove that they had not been fired 
 during the day. They were disarmed, stripped, and mas- 
 sacred amid shouts of " Vive la Nation. fn Not one 
 escaped. 
 
 Those who occupied the pavilion of Flora, and the 
 queen's apartments at the time of the attack, now formed 
 into column: two hundred gentlemen and a few national 
 guards, under the command of the Marshal do Mailly, 
 making in all a body of about five hundred combatant?, 
 attempted to obey the king's commands by evacuating the 
 palace in military order, and proceeding to surrender their 
 arms to the Assembly; but the adjacent court was blocked 
 up by masses of people and swept by cannon. A sortie by 
 the garden was however still practicable, although expose 1 
 to the fire of the battalions of the faubourgs who occupied 
 the Port Royale and the terrace by the river. The column, 
 therefore, took this direction, but on reaching the queen's 
 gate opening into the garden they found it locked. In vain
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 179 
 
 they tried to forco it; it resisted their most desperate efforts. 
 At length they succeeded in removing one of the massive iron 
 bars, using their bayonets as levers, and thus effected an 
 opening, bat one so small that the column could only pass 
 through man by man. It was by this aperture that five 
 hundred soldiers, gentlemen, and national guards were to 
 make good their retreat, picked out singly and at their 
 leisure by the muskets of the two battalions of the people. 
 Nevertheless they did not hesitate: the shrieks of their 
 comrades in the rear whom the mob were murdering, made 
 them prefer the chance of speedy death from a musket ball, 
 to the slow and horrible tortures of such a massacre. The 
 first seven who crossed the opening fell dead, the others 
 jumped over their bodies and rushed into the garden, but 
 the red uniform of the Swiss made them an easy mark for 
 the fire of the battalions. The gentlemen escaped better. 
 The balls struck the foreigner but spared the Frenchman. 
 All the Swiss were either killed or wounded during the 
 flight; but of the gentlemen volunteers only two fell, M. 
 Clermont d'Amboise, and M. de Casteja. The others reached 
 the trees, which partially protected them, received a close 
 volley from the post of national guards in the centre of the 
 garden, left thirty dead in the grand avenue, and arrived 
 at last at the gate of the Manege. There the Duke de 
 Choiseul in the name of the king, bravely put himself at 
 their head, rallied them, and sword in hand led them into 
 the hall of the Assembly to be placed under the safeguard 
 of the nation. 
 
 The remainder of the fugitive troops of the palace hoped to 
 effect their escape by the Pont Tournant; and succeeded in 
 reaching it under cover of the trees, the trunks of which 
 were torn by the showers of balls; but a volley from the 
 bridge threw them back upon the Orangery. Sixty Swiss 
 and fifteen gentlemen choked up with their dead bodies the 
 edge of the grand basin beneath the statue of Cajsar. A 
 great number of others, wounded by the balls, or struck by 
 the falling branches of the chestnut trees, escaped down the 
 grand avenue, marking their track with blood. MM. de 
 Virieu and dc Lamartine were of this number. Having 
 reached the foot of the terrace of the Orangery they
 
 180 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 deliberated, still under the fire of their assailants, and divided 
 into two companies, each guided by a different resolve. One 
 determined to obey the king and proceed to the Assembly ; 
 the other, to brave the cannon of the Pont Tournant, gain 
 the Champs Elysees and unite with the squadron of gendar- 
 merie drawn up there in line. Those who proceeded to the 
 Assembly were received, disarmed, sent afterwards to the 
 prisons of Paris, and there massacred on the 2d of September. 
 The others perished in the Champs Elysees and the Place 
 Louis XV. by the sabres of the gendarmerie, who joined the 
 people in the work of murder. A few found shelter in the 
 cellars of the Rue St. Florentin, and Rue Royale, and 
 especially in the Hotel of the Venetian ambassador Pisani, 
 who braved death in order to save the lives of these unknown 
 fugitives. "Some others seized a piece of cannon, guarded 
 only by a feeble detachment, near the Bridge of Louis 
 XV. and attempted to protect their retreat by it; but 
 a charge of gendarmerie retook the gun and drove the 
 royalists into the Seine. M. de Villiers, who had recently 
 been major in this corps, thinking the gendarmerie were 
 advancing to their assistance, sprang forward, crying 
 "Help, comrades!" but one of the officers recognising him, 
 instantly presented his pistol and shot him through the 
 head. The others were finished with sabre-thrusts. 
 
 The retreat of the feeble remnant of the defenders was 
 merely a series of individual escapes. Some flung away 
 their arms and uniform, and mingled with the masses of the 
 people; others, with pistol in hand, forced a passage down 
 to the river's edge, seized some empty boats, and crossing 
 the Seine, plunged into the woods of Issy and Meudon. 
 There they owed their lives to the hospitality of the poor 
 villagers who knew nothing of civil discords. Hospitality 
 is the charity of the poor. Some of the fugitives concealed 
 themselves in the small by- streets off the Champs Elysees, 
 or scaled the palisade and garden walls. 
 
 One of these detachments of Swiss, to the number of 
 thirty, headed by a young page of Marie Antoinette's, threw 
 themselves into the court of the Hotel de la Marine, at the 
 corner of the Rue Royale. In vain the page represented that, 
 if attacked in the narrow enclosure, they must all perish.
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 181 
 
 His companions were obstinate, and trusted to the generosity 
 of the people. A group of eight Federates appeared at the 
 gate. The Swiss passed out one by one, throwing down 
 their muskets in the hope of softening their enemies by this 
 token of submission from the vanquished to the conquerors. 
 "Cowards!" cried one of the Federates, "you have only 
 surrendered from fear; you shall have no quarter!" and as 
 he spoke, he plunged his pike into the breast of one of the 
 Swiss, while he shot down another with his pistol; then 
 cutting off their heads with his sabre, flung them to his 
 comrades to be borne as trophies. 
 
 This sight restored to the indignant Swiss the energy of 
 despair. Cheered on by the voice of the page, they made 
 another sortie, seized their muskets again, and poured a 
 volley on the Federates, killing seven out of the eight ; but 
 a fresh party of Federates advanced with cannon, which 
 they pointed at the gate, fired, and twenty-three out of the 
 twenty-seven soldiers fell dead. The four others, along with 
 the page, glided under cover of the smoke into a cellar 
 belonging to the hotel. There they buried themselves in 
 the wet sand, and so escaped the vigilant search of the 
 enemy. Night fell. The porter of the hotel, who alone 
 knew the secret of their hiding-place, brought them food 
 and covering, chafed their frozen limbs, which were numbed 
 and swollen by the cold and humidity of the vault, procured 
 them other garments less liable to detection, and cut off their 
 hair and mustachios. Thus disguised, they passed out one 
 by one, and effected their escape. 
 
 Sixty others, who had marched off in good order towards 
 the barracks at Courbevoie, under command of their officers, 
 were surrounded by gendarmerie and brought back to the 
 Hotel de Ville. On reaching the Place de Greve they were 
 murdered by their escort to the last man, amid the accla- 
 mations of the people, and in the sight of the council of 
 the commune. Thirty men, commanded by M. Forestier 
 de Saint Venant, a mere youth, were surrounded in like 
 manner at the Place Louis XV. but seeing death was 
 inevitable, they determined at least to have vengeance, and 
 dashing furiously with fixed bayonets at the post of gend- 
 armerie and artillery, near the statue of Louis XV. sue-
 
 1 82 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 ceeded in putting them to rout. Three times they carried 
 this position, three times reinforcements arrived and closed 
 nearer and nearer round these thirty men. One by one 
 they fell, slowly decimated by the fire that encircled them. 
 At last but ten remained; they forced a passage to the 
 Champs Elysees, fought from tree to tree, and so died. 
 Their young commander, St. Venant, left alone and un- 
 wounded, rushed to scale a garden wall, but a mounted 
 gendarme leaped the fosse that separated the promenade 
 from the road, and shot him dead with his carbine. 
 
 The young Charles d'Autichamp, while escaping alone 
 from the palace by the Rue de 1'Echelle, is arrested by 
 two Federates of Brest. With each hand he fires a pistol 
 at their heads and kills both. But the mob surround 
 him, seize him, and drag him to the Place de Greve to be 
 murdered there. It was the moment when the massacre of 
 the sixty Swiss was taking place. A movement of the crowd 
 separates him from his guards, but they endeavour to 
 recapture him. He snatches up a bayonet lying near, 
 stabs the national guard who is holding him by the collar, 
 wounds or threatens every one who approaches, rushes into 
 a house the door of which happened to be lying open, 
 mounts the stairs, leaps out on the roof, from thence 
 descends by another house to the street lying at the back, 
 flings away his weapon, composes his features, and finally 
 escapes from the vengeance of ten thousand arms. The old 
 Viscount de Breuve, a man of eighty years, and who had 
 been a member of the first Assembly, was not so fortunate. 
 Wounded at the palace, he fled, endeavouring to hide the 
 wound, but was betrayed by the blood trickling down his 
 cheek, and murdered on the steps of the church of St. Roch. 
 
 While the remnant of the royalist force was thus scat- 
 tered or perishing outside, the implacable populace mounted 
 to the assault of the apartments over the mingled corpses of 
 the Swiss and Marseillais to satiate their vengeance in the 
 interior. Nobles, pages, priests, librarians, valets, servants, 
 every one they met, seemed in their eyes an accomplice in 
 the crimes of royalty. The very walls inspired emotions of 
 horror and revenge, mute witnesses as they were of all
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 183 
 
 the plots of the clergy, the aristocracy, and the court, from 
 the massacres of St. Bartholomew to the treasons of the 
 Austrian committee, and the perfidious volleys of the foreign 
 satellites who had dared to assassinate the people. They 
 longed to wash out blood with blood. It flowed every 
 where. They trod only upon corpses; but even death did 
 not satisfy their ferocious rage. It survived the life of the 
 victim ; degrading them below the level of brutes, who kill 
 but do not mangle their prey. Scarcely had the victims 
 fallen beneath the steel of the Marseillais, when a band of 
 wretches rushed on the corpses, which were thrown to them 
 out of the windows, stripped them of their garments and 
 cut off the head or tore out the heart, to carry as a trophy 
 amid the laughter and derision of their comrades. No one de- 
 fended himself: the field of battle had become a slaughter- 
 house. Another set of ruffians, brandishing pikes and knives, 
 spread through the apartments, up the private staircases, 
 through all the obscure chambers, winding along every 
 stage of the immense palace, bursting in the doors, breaking 
 up the flooring, destroying the furniture and flinging all the 
 exquisite objects of art and luxury from the windows, des- 
 troying for the sake of destroying, mutilating from hatred; 
 seeking not plunder, but ruin; devastation not pillage. 
 Even in their ferocity the people would have blushed to seek 
 aught but the lives of their enemies ; they thirsted for blood 
 not for gold, and displayed their hands with pride, streaming 
 indeed with gore, but empty. Some vulgar thieves, detected 
 in the very act of appropriating some of the spoil, were hung 
 upon the spot by the people. The enthusiasm which fired 
 them made them punish as a crime every thought which 
 was not directed to vengeance or liberty. Amidst all their 
 fury and brutality they still remembered the dignity of their 
 cause. Steeped in murders, revelling in the aspect of tor- 
 tures, the masses still respected in themselves the combatants 
 of freedom. Pictures, statues, vases, books, porcelain, 
 mirrors, the chefs d'ceuvre of every art, lay torn, crushed, 
 stamped upon, shivered to fragments or burned to cinders; 
 all that remained was a heap of dust and ashes. Nothing 
 escaped entire except one picture in the king's bedchamber, 
 a representation of Melancholy, by Fetti, as if the emblem
 
 1 84 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 of the sadness and vanity of all human things, was the 
 only monument fated to survive the destiny of palaces and 
 dynasties. 
 
 The queen's ladies and attendants, along with the Princess 
 de Tarente, the young Pauline de Tourzel, daughter of the 
 Marchioness de Tourzel, governess to the royal children, 
 Avith Mesdames de Laroche-Aymon and de Ginestous, had 
 been assembled since the commencement of the combat in 
 the queen's apartments. From thence they had listened in 
 breathless terror to the roar of the cannon, the assault 
 of the people, the sortie of the Swiss, the shouts of mo- 
 mentary victory followed by the second yet more terrible 
 assault ; the cries, the silence, the flight of the victims over 
 their heads as the mob pursued them through the gallery 
 of the Carracci, the falling bodies as they were flung over 
 the balconies into the court below, and the yells of the 
 crowd beneath their windows. During those three hours 
 they seemed to die a thousand times. But the mob had 
 not yet discovered the place of their retreat; it could be 
 reached only by the private staircase leading from the 
 king's apartment, or from the Princes' staircase, now com- 
 pletely blocked up by the corpses of the Marseillais. 
 
 One of the roaming bands of assassins, however, lighted 
 by chance on the opening to the private staircase, and in- 
 stantly darted down it. On each landing-place were rooms 
 appropriated to the servants, male and female, belonging to 
 the domestic service of their majesties. Every door is 
 shattered by axes and hatchets as they pass along. The 
 queen's heiduques are murdered. Madame Campan, her 
 favourite waiting woman, with two others, throw them- 
 selves at the feet of the assassins, and clasp their hands 
 wildly round the sabres lifted to strike them. " What are 
 you doing?" cried a Marseillais, from the top of the stairs. 
 " We are not come to kill women !" " Rise, poor wretches ; 
 the nation grants you life," responded a man with a long 
 beard, who had just finished murdering a heiduque. He 
 placed the three women upon a high bench in the embra- 
 . sure of a window, from whence all the people could see
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 1 85 
 
 and hear them, telling them to cry, Vive la Nation ! The 
 mob replied with shouts and clapping of hands. 
 
 Two grooms of the king's chamber, MM. Sallas and 
 Marchais, could have escaped by yielding their post to the 
 assailants, but preferred death to violating their oath. 
 Drawing their swords and pressing their hats firmly over 
 their brows, " Here is our post," said they to the Marseillais, 
 "and we shall fall upon the threshold we have sworn to 
 defend." A groom of the queen's chamber, named Diet, 
 with inflexible honour, though left the last at the door of 
 the apartment where the ladies were sheltered, fought de- 
 fending it till he died. His corpse, prostrate on the 
 threshold, still served it as a rampart. The Princess de 
 Tarente, hearing the fall of this last faithful guardian, then 
 advanced and opened the door herself to the Marseillais. 
 Their leader, struck by her courage and dignity in the pre- 
 sence of death, restrained his troop for an instant, while the 
 princess leading forward the young and beautiful Pauline 
 de Tourzel, who had been confided to her care by the mar- 
 chioness, said to the Marseillais, "Strike me, but save the 
 honour and life of this young girl. She is a sacred trust I 
 have sworn to restore to her mother. Give her back her 
 daughter and take my blood." 
 
 The Marseillais, softened, saved all the women, and respect- 
 fully assisted them over the piles of dead bodies that choked up 
 the auto-chamber and the corridors. Some of the mob, in 
 sacking the apartment, had broken the cistern which supplied 
 the queen's marble baths, and the water mixed with blood 
 now inundated the floors, and stained the feet and the long 
 garments of the fugitives ; but they traversed the palace in 
 safety, and being confided to the care of some of the men 
 of the people, were led by them secretly along'the river as 
 far as the bridge of Louis XVI. from whence they reached 
 their families in safety. 
 
 The pursuit of the victims who endeavoured to escape 
 death by concealment lasted for three hours. Cellars, 
 kitchens, vaults, and subterranean passages flowed with 
 blood. Even the roofs dripped gore. Several Swiss, who had 
 hidden themselves in the stables under a heap of forage, were
 
 186 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 suffocated or burned alive. The mob wished to make one 
 immense bonfire of the Tuileries; and already the stables, 
 guard-house, and out-offices that surrounded the court, were 
 in flames. Piles of pictures, furniture, books, and what- 
 ever else they could lay their hands on, flamed in the Car- 
 rousel. Deputations from the Assembly and the commune 
 with difficulty preserved the Louvre and the Tuileries. It 
 seemed to the people as if tyranny would return sooner or 
 later as long as this palace was left standing. It was a 
 memorial of their servitude, and they would have cast it 
 down, so that no trace of it should exist in the city of the 
 free. Not being able to consume the stones, they satiated 
 their vengeance upon men. All the citizens who were 
 notorious for loyalty, or who were even suspected of pitying 
 the king in his fall, were sought out and murdered. 
 The most innocent and most illustrious of these victims was 
 M. Clermont Tonnerre. 
 
 One of the earliest apostles of political reform, a popular 
 aristocrat, ari eloquent orator of the first Assembly, he had 
 only paused in the revolution at the limits of the monarchy. 
 The equilibrium of three powers in the state was his ideal 
 of perfection, and he thought he beheld this chimera realised 
 in the British constitution. The revolution, however, which 
 only thought of displacing, not of balancing powers, repu- 
 diated him, as it had outstripped Mounier, Malouet, and 
 Mirabeau himself. The revolutionists hated him even more 
 than others, because they had trusted him farther. When 
 principles rise to the pitch of fury moderation becomes 
 treason. M. Clermont Tonnerre was accused, on the morn- 
 ing of the 10th of August, of having a depot of arms in his 
 hotel; and a troop of the insurgents having arrested him, 
 he was conducted to the section of the Croix Rouge, to give 
 an account of the snares he was laying for the people. An 
 examination of his house, however, proved the falsity of 
 the accusation, and he was carried back in triumph to his 
 dwelling by the populace. But the assassins, still raging 
 for blood, trembled to see even one victim escape them. 
 Led on by a dismissed servant to the murder of his former 
 master, they surrounded him while returning home. In 
 vain he addressed them with the most perfect coolness and
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 187 
 
 self-possession; a shot fired at his face choked his words 
 with blood. He rushed for shelter into the door of an hotel 
 in the Eue Vaugirard, which was lying open, and succeeded 
 in reaching the fourth story. The murderers followed and 
 despatched him upon the staircase, and then dragged the 
 bleeding body to the street, where it was finally abandoned 
 to the pity of his friends. Hacked and mutilated by the 
 ignoble weapons of a mob, which disfigure what they kill, 
 the young wife of the victim recognised the corpse of her 
 husband only by his dress. 
 
 Scarcely had the victory of the people been decided, when 
 Westcrmann, covered with dust and blood, hastened to 
 Danton's house, accompanied by some of the heroes of the 
 *day, to receive the congratulations due to his triumph. 
 Danton embraced him. Camille Desmoulins, Marat, and 
 Fabre d'Eglautiue followed, hailing him as their chief, and 
 receiving his instructions for the coming night. The women 
 wept with joy at seeing their husbands return victorious 
 and in safety from the murderous cannon of the Swiss. 
 Danton alone seemed thoughtful, and lost in reverie, as if, 
 confounded and half repentant at the victory, he now hesi- 
 tated what course to pursue. Danton, however, was one of 
 those men who let events decide for them. His fortune 
 dated from that day: the next he was minister. 
 
 Robespierre, always careful, not of his person but of his 
 fortunes, had kept himself concealed during the conspiracy 
 and the combat, but appeared in the evening at the council 
 of the commune, where he was greeted by his disciples 
 Huguenin, Sergent, and Panis, as the statesman of the 
 crisis and the organiser of victory. Marat too, quitted the 
 cellar where he had lain buried for the last few eventful 
 days, and promenaded the streets of Paris with a drawn 
 sabre in his hand, and a crown of laurel upon his head, sur- 
 rounded by a group of fanatics and a column of the Federates 
 of Brest, who proclaimed him commissary of his section, in 
 the name of his rags, his dungeon, and his fury. 
 
 Tallien, Callot d'Herbois, Billaut-Varennes, Camille Des- 
 moulins, all the chiefs of the Jacobins and Cordeliers, in
 
 188 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 short all the heads, the voices, and the hands of the people, 
 rushed to the commune, and changed it from a municipal 
 council into the provisional government of a nation. Fabre 
 d'Eglantine, Legendre, and others of equal note for extreme 
 opinions, were added to their number, and the council thus 
 formed was the germ of The Convention. Henceforth, they 
 gave orders but received none. They assumed at once the 
 functions and the power of a dictatorial government. 
 
 The Assembly, meanwhile, was engaged in passing the 
 important decrees by which the king's power was suspended, 
 the ministers replaced by Danton, Lebrun, and Monge the 
 mathematician, and a National Convention resolved on to 
 decide the question of the king's dethronement. 
 
 The sitting was not suspended until two o'clock in the 
 morning, and during all that time, the royal family had 
 remained in the reporter's box. God alone can measure the 
 duration of those sixteen hours as they appeared to the 
 king, the queen, Madame Elizabeth, and the children. The 
 suddenness of their fall, the prolonged uncertainty, the 
 vicissitudes of fear and hope, the battle, of which they 
 were the objects, raging at the very doors, though they 
 were unable to see the combatants ; the cannon and pealing 
 musquetry vibrating through their hearts as the sounds 
 approached or died away again, like hope which mocks 
 the dying; thoughts of their friends abandoned to the 
 dangers of the palace ; the sombre future which each minute 
 deepened before them like an abyss that none could 
 fathom ; the impossibility of acting at a moment when 
 every feeling rose tumultuously in agitation; the impassible 
 attitude which at the same time they were obliged to pre- 
 serve ; fear, joy, despair, and hope, mingled together, and, 
 as the climax of their suffering, the implacable eyes of 
 their enemies fixed constantly upon them, seeking to detect 
 a crime in their emotion or to gloat over their anguish all 
 conspired to make these long hours the real death-struggle 
 of royalty. The fall was long, profound, and terrible, from 
 the throne to the scaffold, but its bitterness was never so 
 much felt as then. It is the first blow which agonizes: the 
 rest deaden while they kill.
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 1 89 
 
 To these tortures of the soul were added those of the 
 body. Flung into this narrow prison after a night of sleepless 
 watching, inhaling for sixteen hours the burning breath of 
 three or four thousand people, crowded and pressed upon in 
 the box and from the passages, suffocating, fainting, 
 exhausted with heat and thirst, and suffering for each other 
 as well as for themselves, who can doubt but that the un- 
 happy royal family drained on that one day the cup of the 
 people's long hoarded vengeance to the very dregs. 
 
 With the exception of the mechanical and almost spas- 
 modic appetite which the king had satisfied at the commence- 
 ment of the day, no nourishment passed their lips during this 
 long interval. Even the children seemed to have forgotten 
 hunger. Occasionally some commiserating deputy sent them 
 fruit or glasses of iced water; but the queen and Madame 
 Elizabeth scarcely touched them with their lips. The king 
 aloue absorbed all their faculties and thoughts. Leaning 
 on the front of the box, he seemed already familiarized with 
 his position, and calmly contemplated the proceedings as if 
 gazing on a drama. He criticised the motions and the votes 
 with a clear judgment and a perfect disinterestedness, which 
 showed how little his thoughts were occupied with himself; 
 and spoke of his own acts as of those of some king who had 
 lived a thousand years before, or as he would have discussed 
 the disputes between Charles I. Cromwell, and the Long 
 Parliament. Occasionally he addressed the deputies nearest 
 him in a low voice, among others Galon, Coustard, and 
 Vergniaud, and listened without even changing colour to 
 the invectives launched against him, and to the decree of 
 his suspension. The fall of his crown did not cause him a 
 single movement of the head; a secret joy even seemed to 
 light up his features amid the gravity and solemnity of 
 the moment. He breathed freely, as if a weight had been 
 lifted from his mind. Empire had been to him a task more 
 than a pride, and in his degradation he at least anticipated 
 rest. 
 
 Madame Elizabeth, insensible to the political catastrophe, 
 sought only to diffuse a beam of serenity through the gloom. 
 With the queen's hand in hers, condolence in her smile, and
 
 190 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 affection glistening through her tears, she seemed to the 
 king and queen like some bright ray of heaven on which their 
 eyes might rest in peace and confidence, after scenes of so 
 much hatred and horror. One soul that loves, one voice 
 that pities, can compensate for the hate and outrages of an 
 entire people. She was Pity visible and incarnate by the 
 side of agony and torture. 
 
 The queen had been sustained at first by her hopes of 
 the defeat of the insurgents. Excited like a hero at the first 
 peal of the cannon, intrepid during the vociferations of the 
 tribunes, her glance braved them, and her haughty lip curled 
 with disdain. Incessantly she turned inquiring glances 
 towards the officers of their guard, minutely questioning 
 them respecting the issue of the fight, the prospects of the 
 Swiss, the fate of the Tuileries and the friends she had left 
 there, above all the Princess do Lamballe. Trembling with 
 indignation, but without changing colour, she had listened 
 to the massacre of Suleau in the court of the Feuillants, to 
 the yells of the assassins, the fusillade of the battalions at 
 the very door of the Assembly, and the tumultuous rush of 
 the mob to gain access to the passages that they might 
 murder her where she sat. Still no trace of fear was visible 
 on her countenance. 
 
 While the combat lasted she seemed only to feel its 
 excitement and agitation. But at the last peal of cannon 
 that announced the victory of the people, at the sight of 
 her jewels and portfolios carried in from the wreck of 
 the Tuileries, and laid upon the table of the hall, thus pro- 
 faning before her very eyes the adornments of her person 
 and the secrets of her heart, she sunk into a proud, silent, 
 motionless despondency; crushing the agony of defeat in 
 her heart, not accepting it calmly and resignedly like the 
 king. Her rank was part of herself: to fall from it was 
 death. The decree of suspension pronounced by Vergniaud 
 fell like a blow of the axe upon her head. She closed her 
 eyes for a moment and seemed endeavouring to gather 
 strength to meet her humiliation; then pride shone on her 
 brow like another diadem, and she rose haughtily above the 
 level of the assaults of her enemies by the immoveable 
 dignity with which she received them.
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 191 
 
 Fifty chosen and devoted men had formed themselves into 
 a guard immediately around the royal family. The Prince 
 de Poix, the Uuke de Choiseul, MM. Aubier, D'Affry, 
 D'Aubigny, De Viomenil, and Carl, commander of the 
 gendarmerie, along with a few personal servants of the 
 king, stood beside him, attentive to his slightest orders, ever 
 ready to serve him, and willing even to die, so that their 
 bodies might form a last rampart to protect him from the 
 outrages of the people. These generous sympathizers in the 
 dangers and sufferings of the royal family, communicated to 
 them in a low voice ail that passed without; for their uni- 
 form as national guards, or officers of the army, gave them 
 the privilege of mixing with the members of the Assembly, 
 and the information thus obtained was brought back pri- 
 vately to the king. 
 
 Towards six o'clock, 'the ministers who had been dis- 
 missed by a decree of the Assembly, took a mournful leave 
 of the king, and withdrew to resign the seals of office and 
 prepare themselves for appearing next day before the high 
 court of Orleans. Shortly afterwards D'Affry, commandant 
 of the Swiss, was summoned by the council of the commune, 
 and from thence dragged to the Abbey. 
 
 D'Aubigny, happening to be in the midst of the crowd 
 who were destroying the statues of the kings in the. Place 
 Louis XV. and having expressed his indignation by his 
 countenance, was killed upon the very monument whose 
 profanation he deplored. The Duke de Choisenl twice 
 risked his life in attempting to rally the Swiss, and then 
 effect his return in order to protect the king with his 
 sword. A moment afterwards a great uproar was heard at 
 the door of the Assembly, and the king turning round, 
 anxiously demanded the cause of the tumult. Carl, com- 
 mander of the gendarmerie of Paris, immediately hastened 
 out to ascertain, but did not return. The king had just 
 turned again to receive his answer when he heard with 
 horror of his death. The queen covered her face with both 
 hands. Every order they gave was fatal to their friends; 
 already there was a void around them. Massacre was 
 steadily decimating their defenders, and death each time 
 struck nearer and nearer to their hearts.
 
 192 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 How many hearts that had throbbed with devotion to 
 them in the morning were hushed in death at night! The 
 obscurity of the hall, lighted up at intervals by the reflection 
 of the burning pyres in the court of the Tuileries, lent an 
 additional sombre colouring to their thoughts. Night and 
 gloom reigned around them, and the silence of the grave, 
 broken only by the rapid movements of the reporter's pens 
 as they noted down, minute by minute, the words, gestures, 
 and emotions of the Assembly. By the flaring light of the 
 candles placed upon their table, the members could see the 
 young dauphin sleeping on the bosom of the queen, while 
 they were passing the decrees which deprived him of empire, 
 liberty, and life. 
 
 An hour after midnight the inspectors of the hall arrived 
 to conduct the king and his family to the apartments which 
 had been hastily prepared for their reception, as soon as the 
 decree of dethronement had been promulgated. 
 
 Several members of the Assembly, and the detachment 
 of the national guards who had watched over them since the 
 morning, formed this escort, while an officer of the king's 
 household took the young dauphin in his arms and carried 
 him, still fast asleep, behind the queen. 
 
 The place thus selected for their temporary residence was 
 the upper floor of the old monastery of the Feuillants, above 
 the bureaus and committee-rooms of the Assembly, and had 
 much more the appearance of a cloister or a prison than of 
 a palace. The suite of rooms, four in number, opened upon 
 a gloomy corridor which gave access to the monks' cells, 
 and not having been dwelt in since the destruction of the 
 monastic orders, they were completely unfurnished, and as 
 desolate in appearance as a house long since deserted by its 
 inhabitants. The architect of the Assembly, on receiving 
 orders to prepare them for the king's reception, had hastily 
 removed there some few articles of furniture from his own 
 house, consisting merely of four wooden bedsteads, without 
 tops, for the king and queen and their children, one or two 
 chairs and a dining-table. A few mattresses laid upon the 
 brick floor, served as beds for the Princess Elizabeth and 
 the Marchioness de Tourzel. Thus prisoned by the conquer-
 
 THE TENTH 01' AUGUST. 1 93 
 
 ing people on the very field of battle, at the gates of their 
 own sacked and devastated palace, the royal family saw in 
 the naked walls of their abode a foretaste of their future 
 dungeon! The Prince de Poix, the Duke de Choiseul, and. 
 some other gentlemen occupied the outer room, which served 
 as an ante-chamber. Wrapping themselves in their cloaks, 
 they lay down at the door of the king's apartment, and 
 watched the last over his slumbers. 
 
 The king threw himself, half dressed, upon the bed in the 
 second room, but unprovided with any articles necessary for 
 his toilette, he was obliged to fold a napkin around his head, 
 which was unsheltered by any curtain. The queen slept along 
 with her children in the adjoining apartment, and Madame 
 Elizabeth, Madame de Tourzel, and the Princess de Lam- 
 balle, who had rejoined the royal family that evening, 
 occupied the remaining apartment which opened off the 
 queen's, and passed the night in watching, weeping, and 
 praying afc her door. 
 
 The vast and lofty corridor upon which these chambers 
 opened served as a guard-room for the officers and men of 
 the escort, and the king's two servants, Hue and Chamilly. 
 A supper had been prepared for the royal family, but no one 
 touched it. After a private conversation between the king 
 and queen and Madame Elizabeth, they separated to seek 
 a few moments' repose after a vigil of thirty-six hours, 
 exhausting alike to mind and body. The slumber was 
 short, the awaking terrible. 
 
 When the queen opened her eyes in the morning to the 
 rays of a burning sun glaring in upon her uncurtained bed, 
 and beheld the naked walls and windows, and the mean and 
 sordid articles of furniture upon which her clothes lay scat- 
 tered in disorder, she closed them again as if trying to per- 
 suade herself that the horrors of the present and the past 
 had been only a dream ; but the voices and caresses of her 
 children aroused her to reality. Madame Elizabeth led 
 them to the foot of the bed, and the queen was reminded 
 that the hour approached when the royal family must take 
 their places again in the Assembly by command of the mem- 
 bers. Some of her women, who had obtained leave to wait
 
 1 94 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 upon their mistress, were introduced at the same time into the 
 apartment. In passing through the king's cell, they had found 
 him seated near his bed, while an attendant endeavoured to 
 arrange his disordered hair. Cutting off a few locks, he 
 presented them to these faithful followers of the queen a 
 touching proof that the munificence of the heart was all that 
 was henceforth left to him; and when they attempted to 
 kiss his hand in return, he withdrew it, and affectionately 
 embraced them. Misfortune had cast down the barriers 
 between royalty and its servants. On entering the qneen's 
 room, and beholding her lying on a camp-bed, attended only 
 by the porteress of a deserted cloister, the women burst into 
 tears. Marie Antoinette held out her arms to them as 
 friends, and sobbed aloud, but could not utter a word. 
 The sense of her abasement and degradation choked her 
 voice and made her cast down her eyes, confused and 
 ashamed before those who had beheld her but the day be- 
 fore in all her luxury and splendour. " Come, my unhappy 
 friends," she said, at last, " come and see a woman still more 
 unhappy than yourselves, for she has been the cause of all your 
 misfortunes." Then embracing her daughter and the dau- 
 phin, whom Madame de Tourzel presented to her, "Poor chil- 
 dren," she added, "how cruel to have promised them so fair 
 a heritage, and now to say all is lost with us for ever !" She 
 next inquired for the fate of her friends whom she had left 
 at the Tuileries, and asked minutely respecting Pauline de 
 Tourzel, Madame de Roche- Aymon, and the other ladies of 
 her suite. 
 
 The death of her faithful attendants, killed at the very 
 threshold of her apartment, caused her the most poignant 
 sorrow, and her tears flowed fast as a tribute to their me- 
 mory. Then, while her women dressed her, she related her 
 own impressions during the sitting of the Assembly the 
 day before, and gently complained that the king's natural 
 want of dignity had prevented him from assuming that atti- 
 tude of majesty in the presence of the Assembly which was 
 necessary to impress them with the sense of his authority. 
 She regretted that he had been tempted to eat in public, as 
 it gave the people an idea of his insensibility to passing
 
 THE TEKTH W AUCU 195 
 
 events, which was far from his heart. Some deputies, 
 attached to her party, had privately warned her of the bad 
 effect such conduct might produce; but knowing, she said, 
 how useless such warnings would be to one of the king's 
 habits, she did not wish to add suffering to his humiliation. 
 Having lost her purse and watch^during their hasty flight 
 to the Assembly, she borrowed a watch from one of her 
 ladies, and begged Madame Augie, first lady of the bed- 
 chamber, to lend her twenty-five louis to provide for any 
 chance expenses of her captivity. 
 
 At ten o'clock, the royal family returned to the Assembly 
 and remained till night. The triumph of the preceding day 
 had only made the people more sanguinary, and they be- 
 sieged the bar with petitions that the Swiss, who had taken 
 refuge there the day before, should be given up to them. 
 The Assembly, however, still disputed the blood of these three 
 hundred victims with the assassins, although Santerre, who 
 had been sent by Vergnislud to protect the prisoners, 
 announced that it was impossible to prevent the massacre 
 of those captured in the Bois de Boulogne. Ferocious voices 
 yelled at the doors demanding their prey. " Great God!" 
 exclaimed Yergniand, " what cannibals!" 
 
 Yet some traits of human feeling mixed with these brutal 
 roars for carnage, and the conquered in some cases owed their 
 safety to the conquerors. Mailhe and Chabot, who endea- 
 voured to harangue the mob, were received with shouts of 
 " Down with the orators!" and the outer doors being forced, 
 terror for a moment took possession of the Assembly itself. 
 At this crisis Yergniaud, fearless for himself, but trembling 
 for the royal family, gave orders for them to be removed 
 to the passage, in order that if the armed populace entered 
 the hall they should not find their victims ready to their 
 hand. The king, who thought the last moment of his life 
 and that of his family had now indeed arrived, conjured his 
 attendants to abandon him and save themselves ; but not 
 one amongst them valued his life above duty, and all 
 remained where honour and loyalty commanded them to live 
 or die. At this instant Danton rushed to the spot, dashed 
 aside the crowd by the authority of his name and the 
 terror inspired by his gestures, and requested the assassins
 
 196 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 to have patience, if not generosity. At his powerful voice 
 the men with the pikes consented to defer for a moment 
 their draught of blood ; and Danton entering the Assembly, 
 exclaimed: "Legislators! the French nation, weary of des- 
 potism, has made a revolution; but too generous in its 
 triumph (and here he cast a meaning glance towards the 
 king), it has entered into treaty with tyrants. Experience 
 shows that nothing is to be hoped from the ancient oppres- 
 sors of the people, and the nation resumes its full rights. 
 But where the reign of justice begins that of popular ven- 
 geance should stop; I, therefore, in presence of this National 
 Assembly, undertake to protect the men who are now within 
 its walls. I myself will march at their head and be answer- 
 able for their safety!" 
 
 While uttering the last words he threw a proud and 
 rapid glance at the queen, as if a secret understanding with 
 the court, or a haughty compassion for their sufferings, had 
 been concealed under his rude language and disdainful 
 bearing. 
 
 The Assembly and the tribunes applauded. The people 
 outside ratified the promise of their favourite by loud accla- 
 mations, and the Swiss were saved until the massacres of 
 September. Pethion succeeded Danton. Released from 
 his mock arrest, he had endeavoured to regain his authority 
 at the commune, but the fierce organisers of the plot now 
 flung him aside as a useless tool. The work was done, and 
 they crushed the instrument. In vain he tried to moderate 
 their violence and induce the revolutionary council of the 
 commune to submit to the Assembly in which he still held 
 power. The imperious commune no longer sent petitions 
 but commands to the legislative body, and the Girondists, 
 like Pethion, were but the honorary sovereigns of a revolu- 
 tion that had passed beyond their control. 
 
 It had been decreed the night before that Louis XVI. 
 should inhabit the Palace of the Luxembourg during his 
 suspension, but the commune feared that a palace might 
 still keep alive the sentiment of royalty which they wished 
 to crush in the hearts of the people, and they represented to 
 the Assembly that so vast a dwelling, with its large sub-
 
 THE TENTH OF AUGUST. 197 
 
 terranean vaults and passages, would afford too much facility 
 for the execution of any plots or projects of flight which 
 the king's party might form. The Assembly, then, in order 
 to preserve an appearance of independence in its decree?, 
 empowered a commission to decide upon the king's residence. 
 This commission named the Hotel of the Minister of Justice, 
 in the Place Vendome ; but this hotel, placed in the centre 
 of Paris, and in the very square where the troops were 
 reviewed, was considered dangerous by the Commune, as 
 liable to attract the thoughts of the military to their former 
 chief, and they refused to execute the decree, proposing in 
 place of it, by their envoy Manuel, that the residence of the 
 royal hostages should be fixed at the Temple, far from the 
 eyes, the emotions, and the memory of the people. To this 
 the Assembly consented. The choice of the Temple indicated 
 the spirit in which the commune interpreted the events 
 which had occurred. In place of a dwelling, the abode 
 they selected was a prison. 
 
 The Girondists had only suspended royalty ; the commune 
 degraded and overthrew it. Koland and his friends, finding 
 that the Hotel de Ville threatened to become omnipotent, 
 endeavoured to establish a protection for themselves against 
 its power by organising the council of the department, and 
 giving it that ascendancy over the municipal body which 
 was permitted by the constitution. They caused the motion 
 to be brought forward by one of their most obscure adherents, 
 in order to conceal the hand that directed the blow ; but 
 the commune recognized at once the promoters and the 
 object of the motion. Three times during one day they 
 demanded, first humbly, then firmly, and at last insolently, 
 that this decreee which interfered with the supremacy of 
 their power should be withdrawn. The last message was 
 bi ief . and menacing as a royal command, and the Assembly 
 yielded and obeyed. 
 
 Other deputations arrived from the commune to demand 
 the creation of a military tribunal to avenge the blood of 
 the people. The Assembly having hesitated to reply, the 
 orator of the commune coolly proceeded: "If the decree 
 is not passed instantly, our mission is to await itl" Robes-
 
 1 98 FIIIST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 pierrc then appeared at the bar in the name of the section 
 of the Place Vcmlorne. " People!" said he, alluding to the 
 statues of the kings cast down in all the public squares, 
 "when tyranny has fallen to earth, beware how you give it 
 time to rise. We have seen the statue of a despot prostrate ; 
 let our first thought be to elevate on its pedestal a monument 
 to liberty. Citizens who die defending their country against 
 foreign enemies hold but the second rank; they who hold the 
 first are those who die to give her freedom from within!" 
 
 Finally, Anacharsis Clootz, the Prussian, a philosopher 
 wandering through the world to disseminate his doctrines, 
 and uphold them with his life and his fortune, appeared in 
 the Assembly as the representative of the human race, and 
 expressed boldly and forcibly the feelings which had caused 
 the oppressed people to rise against despotism on the 10th 
 of August. 
 
 Clootz carried his enthusiasm in the cause of humanity 
 to the pitch of insanity; but it was the delirium of hope 
 and regeneration. Sceptics thought him merely ridiculous, 
 patriots absurd, while politicians called him an Utopiast; but 
 Clootz only mistook the proper hour for his theories of pro- 
 gress. Utopias are often nothing more than truths in 
 advance of the age. However, the philosopher was listened 
 to with complaisance, for when souls are shaken by the 
 excitement of revolution and the fanaticism of hope, there 
 is no ideal too vague, no perspective too distant for their 
 faculties of faith and trust ; and the consoling ideas which 
 he finng like a rainbow over the horizon of blood, sus- 
 pended for a brief period the struggle of parties and the axe 
 of the assassin. 
 
 After this second day the king was reconducted to the 
 Feuillauts; but the pity and attachment manifested for him 
 by the soldiers of his escort alarmed the commune and the 
 Jacobins, and Santerre replaced the guard by men whose 
 hearts were steeled against commiseration for the misfor- 
 tunes of a dethroned tyrant. The rudeness of their gestures 
 and the rigour of the new regulations, soon made the king 
 sensible of the change; but the devoted affection of his faith- 
 ful friends and servants still sustained him. Grangeneuve the
 
 1HE TENTH OF AUGUST. 199 
 
 Girondist, however, a member of the committee of surveil- 
 lance, whose office was near the king's apartments, observing 
 the respect paid to the fallen monarch by these gentlemen, 
 complained of it to his colleagues, and affected to believe 
 that they were plotting the king's escape. The most sus- 
 picious of tyrannies is always the most recent. The 
 committee gave ready credence to the insinuations of 
 Grangeueuve, and immediately took advantage of them to 
 order all persons not connected with the domestic service of 
 the royal family, to quit the Feuillants that evening. This 
 order was received with the utmost consternation by the 
 captives. The king sent for the inspectors of the hall, and 
 demanded with bitterness if he were indeed a prisoner? 
 ' ; Gentlemen," said he, " Charles I. was more fortunate 
 than I am. His friends were allowed to remain with him 
 to the scaffold." The inspectors looked down, but made no 
 reply. Their silence, however, was a sufficient answer. 
 
 When supper was announced and the royal family 
 passed into the apartment where it was laid, their friends 
 were allowed to follow them, and for the last time the king 
 and queen were waited on with court etiquette by these 
 five gentlemen standing behind them an observance of 
 ceremony which was the more touching on this day since 
 it was voluntary. Misfortune only made their respect more 
 profound. But a silent sadness prevailed during the repast: 
 master and attendants felt that they were about to separate 
 for ever. The king scarcely tasted anything, though he 
 purposely prolonged the moments at table, in order to delay 
 the hour of parting. At length the officers of the guard 
 grew impatient, and abruptly terminated the adieus. The 
 king, who feared that the five gentlemen would be arrested 
 at the foot of the staircase, could not repress his tears; he 
 attempted to speak, but emotion choked his voice. " It is 
 now," said the queen, " that we feel indeed the bitterness 
 of our situation; your respect and attentions have hitherto 
 veiled it from our eyes. May God recompense you ! " sobs 
 prevented her uttering more. 
 
 She made them all embrace her children before the 
 inflexible guard hurried them away; and the five gentle- 
 men then descended the back staircase, and went out one
 
 200 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 by one, disguised in borrowed clothes, in order to escape 
 the popular vengeance by mixing unnoticed in the crowd. 
 
 One of their number, M. de Rohan Chabot, aid-de-camp to 
 Lafayette, had passed two days and nights at the door of 
 the king's apartment, disguised as a soldier of the national 
 guard. 
 
 On quitting the Feuillauts, he was recognised, arrested, 
 and thrown into the prison of the Abbaye, which was only 
 opened by the assassins of September. The queen, her 
 sister, and the children of France, who were deprived of 
 eveiything by the pillage of the Tuileries, were indebted to 
 the English ambassadress for the linen and articles of dress 
 necessary for their present position. Again they were 
 forced to appear for a day and a half in the reporters' box. 
 The people seemed still unsatiated with gazing on their 
 victims, and exulted with cruel triumph over the tortures 
 and ignominy of the royalty they had conquered. De- 
 prived of the consolations or pity of their friends, alone in 
 their grief and shame during these two last days, the un- 
 happy prisoners saw nothing around them but terror, and 
 met nothing in each other's eyes but tears. On Monday, at 
 three o'clock, Pethion and Manuel came in two carriages to 
 conduct them to the Temple. The commune, who could 
 easily have removed the prisoners at night, preferred that 
 the transit from the Tuileries to the prison should be made 
 in broad day-light, and at a slow pace through the most 
 populous quarters of Paris, in order to give the degrada- 
 tion of royalty the appearance and authenticity of an ex- 
 posure before execution. Pethion and Manuel took their 
 places in the king's carriage, and the cortege moved on 
 slowly through the entire distance from the door of the 
 Feuillants to the gates of the Temple, between a double line 
 formed of masses of the populace, whose threats, insults, 
 rude jests, and derisive laughs, that most cowardly of 
 all outrages, rose up in a fierce and ever-renewing chorus 
 at every turn of the wheel. A few softened glances were 
 directed occasionally towards the helpless queen and her 
 innocent children ; but pity then was treason, and they were 
 hastily withdrawn. Pethion was in the habit of presiding
 
 SUMMARY. 20 1 
 
 at these triumphs over royalty. It was he who had brought 
 back the king from Varennes amidst the insults of his capi- 
 tal. It was he who beheld the king forced to wear the 
 red cap of the mob on the 20th of June, when his palace 
 was invaded, and then turned to congratulate the people on 
 their moderation ; and it was he who now led him to his 
 last resting-place before ascending the scaffold. Xo ominous 
 presage of his approaching fate did he permit the king to 
 pass unnoticed. The statue of Louis XIV. lay prostrate 
 in the Place Vendome, broken by the mob in the very capi- 
 tal where he had reigned, worshipped like a deity. Pethion 
 pointed it out. The people hated even the memory of kings. 
 Everywhere the symbols of royalty were defaced or mu- 
 tilated along the route of the cortege. The people had made 
 their decision while the Assembly were hesitating, and the 
 institution of royalty was no more. The 10th of August 
 was the rude decree of the masses, which the commune 
 quickly interpreted by the imprisonment of the king. From 
 the prison to a throne the return was impossible. The 
 commune wished to point this out; Louis XVI. felt it; and 
 when, after two hours of this slow progress, the carriages 
 rolled under the vaulted archway of the Temple, he had 
 mentally abdicated the throne and accepted the scaffold. 
 
 SUMMARY. 
 
 [After the removal of the king to the Temple, the Assem- 
 bly issued a decree for a general election, in order to take 
 the sense of the nation on the question of the abolition of 
 royalty, and fixed the 20th of September for the opening of 
 the new Assembly, which met afterwards under the title of 
 the National Convention. But from the 10th of August up 
 to that period the revolutionary commune of Paris reigned 
 with despotic power. While the Assembly hesitated to 
 pronounce for a republic, they had accomplished it, and 
 retained afterwards the ascendant which the events of the 
 10th of August had given them. Danton, whose auda- 
 city and violence rendered him the idol of the people, was
 
 202 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 omnipotent in the commune, and consequently ruled the 
 Assembly as a dictator. His power was too much dreaded 
 to be resisted, either at the bar or in the ministry. 
 One of his first measures was to divide the municipal 
 council into separate committees, of which the principal, 
 styled the committee of surveillance, was governed by 
 himself and Marat. This committee was the model of 
 the one which afterwards ruled France during the Reign 
 of Terror, under the name of " The Committee of Public 
 Safety." Danton and his colleagues assumed the power 
 of arresting and imprisoning all suspected persons, and 
 the prisons of Paris were soon crowded with all whom 
 wealth, rank, talent, or aristocratic connexions had made 
 obnoxious to the people, by exciting their jealousy. The 
 rapid advance of the Prussian troops, who had already 
 crossed the frontier, and openly avowed their intention of 
 marching on the capital to the succour of the king, excited 
 still more the furious passions of the mob against all those 
 who, from birth or position, were supposed to sympathize 
 with monarchy and the party of the emigration. 
 
 The total destruction of the royalists seemed the only 
 means of saving the republic. "Were they thirty thousand," 
 said Dauton, at the bar of the Assembly, " they must be 
 destroyed. An army of traitors cannot be suffered within 
 Paris, to coalesce with the foreign princes on their arrival, 
 and restore monarchy and despotism." 
 
 On the 29th of August he demanded power from the 
 Assembly to organize a system of domiciliary visits, in order 
 to arrest those persons suspected of leaguing with the foreign 
 army. At the committee of the commune he said they 
 must strike terror into the royalists, making at the same 
 time a horizontal motion with his hand which explained 
 his meaning. The idea of this organized assassination, after- 
 wards known as " The Massacres of September," originated 
 entirely with Danton and Marat. They wished to extin- 
 guish all chance of a royalist reaction, to commit the people 
 irretrievably to the revolution, and to intimidate the Giron- 
 dists, who were still hesitating between monarchy and a re- 
 public. The leaders of the Assembly, who had not the terrible 
 audacity to commit great crimes, though they were willing
 
 SUMMARY. 203 
 
 to profit by them, were perfectly aware of Danton's inten- 
 tions respecting the victims who, since the domiciliary visits, 
 filled all the prisons of Paris; but they affected not to un- 
 derstand his object, and took no measures to prevent the 
 massacre. Maillard, chief of the ferocious assassin bands of 
 Paris, received orders to hold his men in readiness for action, 
 and trenches were dug beforehand for the dead bodies, 
 under direction of the members of the commune. All Paris 
 knew of the terrible event that was approaching, but no 
 authority was exercised to prevent the crime. 
 
 Danton, however, had no personal animosity to gratify in 
 the projected massacre. It was an act he considered neces- 
 sary to save the republic: an organized state massacre in 
 which one portion of the nation was to be immolated for 
 the public good ; aud his policy becomes intelligible when 
 we consider that to his gigantic revolutionary mind the 
 murder of thousands of victims was no more than the fall of 
 one. He was capable of pity for individuals, but in the 
 mass he used them recklessly as instruments, or crushed 
 them as mere machines. The royalists stood between him 
 and a republic, and he trampled them down as he would 
 any inanimate obstacle that obstructed his passage. On the 
 night previous to the massacre he released many individuals 
 whose friends applied to him, amongst whom were Barnave 
 and Lameth, his political antagonists. Manuel, his col- 
 league, released Beaumarchais the celebrated tragedian, 
 Lally Tolendal, and others at the interposition of Madame 
 de Stael, aud was also the means of saving the great 
 authoress herself from the hands of the murderers who had 
 seized and brought her to the Hotel de Ville, as she was 
 attempting to make her escape from Paris. 
 
 On Sunday, the 20th of September, the tocsin sounded 
 for the massacre. A secret council of the commune, con- 
 sisting of Marat, Collot D'Herbois, Billaud Varennes, 
 Tallien, and others, with Danton at their head, had ar- 
 ranged all the measures. Tribunals were formed at each 
 prison of men chosen from the dregs of the populace, who, 
 with their leather aprons and tucked-up sleeves, assisted at 
 the work of butchery, or pronounced sentence as judges. 
 As the victims were condemned, they passed out into the
 
 204 FIRST FHENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 courtyard, where they were murdered by the ferocious 
 hordes hired by the couimuue, with circumstances of aggra- 
 vated and atrocious cruelty too horrible for detail. 
 
 Eight thousand prisoners it was supposed were confined 
 ia the different prisons of Paris at the time, in consequence 
 of the numerous arrests that had taken place during the 
 domiciliary visits, and of these but few escaped. 
 
 The carts provided by the commune to clear away the 
 dead, not being sufficient, the corpses were piled up in 
 heaps on each side of the courtyards of the prisons to make 
 room for the murder of fresh victims ; and when night came 
 torches were lighted, and the assassins sat down around 
 them on piles made of the clothes of their victim?, to a 
 repast provided by the commune, at which they saug and 
 danced to the chorus of the revolutionary Carmagnole, and 
 drank wine mixed with gunpowder to stimulate their cou- 
 rage for the morrow. The same scenes were repeated at 
 every one of the prisons of Paris: at La Force, the beau- 
 tiful and unfortunate Princess de Lamballe was one of the 
 victims, and her head, stuck on a pike, was carried to the 
 Temple to be exhibited before the eyes of the king and 
 queen. For four days the work of massacre continued 
 without interruption, and only ceased when there were no 
 more to kill. The provinces emulated the capital, and 
 throughout all the principal cities the same revolting scenes 
 of murder were enacted. 
 
 But the infamy with which the September massacres 
 covered the revolution was soon avenged upon the leaders 
 and organizers. Within twenty months from that date they 
 all perished miserably, some upon the scaffold amid the 
 execrations of the people, Marat by the hands of a woman. 
 
 The Third Assembly of the revolution, called the National 
 Convention, met on the 21st of September, 1792, and 
 continued in power for three years. The first Assembly 
 had represented the aristocracy both of wealth and talent : 
 the rank, wisdom, enthusiasm, enlightenment, and philosophy 
 of France. The Second, or Legislative Assembly, represented 
 the middle classes ; without either the prestige of rank, or 
 the reckless daring of the people. They were orators, not
 
 SUMMARY. 205 
 
 statesmen: they permitted everything to be destroyed but 
 effected nothing, and trembled before the results they wished 
 for. Mirabeau was the type of the First Assembly, Vergniaud 
 of the Second, and Eobespierre of the National Convention, 
 which represented the masses. It was the terrible expres- 
 sion of the unrestrained passions of the populace, with but 
 one object or aim destruction of everything above them. 
 
 The National Assembly and the Convention became thus 
 the extreme representatives one of the sublime purpose, 
 the other of the insane excesses of the revolution. The 
 Legislative Assembly was but the pause between the t\vo. 
 The first act of the Convention was to proclaim a republic; 
 and, baptized in the blood of September, every page of its 
 subsequent history bears the stain of its origin. Amongst 
 the new members were Marat, Eobespierre, and Danton, 
 who were accused by the Girondists of aspiring to form a 
 triumvirate; and fierce and incessant war was immediately 
 waged between these two leading parties. Vergniaud and his 
 friends had the majority in the Assembly; but "the Moun- 
 tain," as the Jacobin clique was termed, had the support 
 of the commune, and Eobespierre was at that time the idol 
 of the people. The Girondists shrank with horror from the 
 instigators of massacre; and when Marat first attempted to 
 gain a hearing in the Assembly, he was received with 
 exclamations of disgust, and cries of " Down! down I" "It 
 appears that I have some enemies in this Assembly," said 
 Marat, in a momentary pause. "All! all!" exclaimed the 
 Convention almost unanimously, rising from their benches. 
 Danton, who it is said repented of the blood he had spilled, 
 attempted to unite his strength with the Girondists, but 
 they repelled his advances. In their eyes death was pre- 
 ferable to a league with assassins. Danton was therefore 
 thrown back upon the ultra-violent section of the Assembly, 
 and the Girondists gradually felt their power decline before 
 the despotism of the commune; the fierce attacks of the 
 Mountain, and the virulence of the people, who had been 
 excited against them by reports that they were not sincere 
 in their professions towards the republic, and still hesitated 
 in favour of the imprisoned king. 
 
 Finally, the Jacobins determined on a coup d'etat, which
 
 206 11RST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 might at once rally the passions of the people around their 
 party, and force the Girondists into a decision that would 
 either ruin them with the multitude, or commit them for 
 ever to a republic. This measure was the trial of the king.] 
 
 THE PRISONERS OF THE TEMPLE. 
 
 WHILST the dawning republic, thus torn by intestine factions, 
 and menaced from without by the coalition of thrones, ad- 
 vanced its battalions upon every frontier, and writhed in con- 
 vulsive efforts at Paris, not knowing upon whom to turn its 
 fury, but fiercely demanding a head to be flung as a sacrifice 
 to the excited passions of the people, the king and his family, 
 shut up within the Temple, heard from the depths of their 
 prison the sullen roar of these convulsions day by day ad- 
 vancing nearer, and menacing them more audibly. Amidst 
 the conflicting shock of ideas and events produced by re- 
 volutions, there are always to be found some families or 
 individuals upon whom the common misfortune is laid, as 
 upon the head of an expiatory victim. Set apart for the 
 sad destiny of sacrifice, the blows, the hatreds, the terror, 
 or the fury of every party and every faction fall on them. 
 The calamities, the blood, the tears of a whole empire seem 
 concentrated on a single heart, and it must bleed, suffer, 
 and die for all I It is the moment when even the holiest 
 and most necessary revolution takes the full cup of suffering 
 and anguish from a people, and pours it on the head of the 
 victim who personifies immolated institutions. It is then 
 that history, forgetting for a moment her theories of 
 freedom, and her sympathies with the liberties of nation?, 
 feels that her sole glory and her sole duty is to pity. For 
 history, that interpreter of the human heart, has also her 
 tears; but these tears only soften, they do not blind. 
 
 We left Louis XVI. upon the threshold of the Temple, 
 whither he had been conducted by Pethion, without his being 
 able to ascertain whether he entered it as merely suspended
 
 THE PRISONERS OF THE TEMPLE, 207 
 
 from his functions of royalty, or as a prisoner; and this 
 uncertainty lasted for some clays. 
 
 The Temple was a gloomy and antique fortress, built by 
 the monastic order of the Templars at a time when these 
 sacerdotal and military theocracies, uniting against princes 
 and tyrannising over the people, built strong castles for their 
 monasteries, and marched to dominion with the double power 
 of the sword and the cross. After their fall, the fortified 
 dwelling they had constructed remained standing as a relic of 
 the olden time, neglected and forgotten by the present. The 
 chateau of the Temple, which was situated near the Faubourg 
 St. Antoine and not far from the Bastile, covered a vast spaco 
 with its buildings, its palace, its towers, and gardens, where 
 silence and solitude reigned in the midst of a densely popu- 
 lated quarter. The principal building was the priory or 
 palace of the order, a dilapidated residence which the Count 
 d'Artois occasionally occupied when he came to Paris from 
 Versailles. The apartments contained nothing but a few 
 articles of old fashioned furniture, with some beds and linen 
 for the service of the prince's retinue. No one resided there 
 permanently except the porter and his family; and the 
 surrounding garden was as empty and desolate as the 
 interior. A few paces from this dwelling rose the abrupt 
 dark mass of the ancient fortified prison of the Temple, 
 consisting of two square towers, one larger than the other, 
 but bound together like a bundle of walls. These were 
 flanked by small turrets, and the whole had in former times 
 been crowned by battlements. A few lower and more 
 modern buildings were grouped around, but they were lost 
 in the shadow of the central mass, and only served by 
 contrast to heighten its apparent altitude. This gloomy 
 prison was built of large cut Paris stone excoriated and 
 cicatrised on the surface, so that the walls seemed marbled 
 with livid yellow spots upon that black ground produced by 
 smoke and rain which disfigures the public buildings of 
 the north of France. The large tower, almost as lofty as 
 that of a cathedral, rose to the height of sixty feet from 
 the base to the summit, and enclosed between its four walls 
 a space of thirty feet square. The interior was divided 
 into four different stories, each consisting of large vaulted
 
 208 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION". 
 
 chambers used as guardrooms, which communicated with 
 smaller apartments niched in the turrets at the angles. 
 
 The ascent to the top was by a spiral staircase, and every 
 apartment to which it led was defended by double oaken 
 doors: one studded with large nails, the other sheathed 
 with iron and fortified by bars of the same metal. The 
 walls of the edifice were nine feet thick, pierced at rare 
 intervals with windows opening wide to the interior, but 
 leaving scarcely sufficient orifice outside for the transmission 
 of air and light, which was further impeded by massive iron 
 gratings. Seven successive wickets, or seven massive doors 
 closed with locks and bolts, defended the spiral staircase 
 from story to story, and a sentinel and jailor stood guard 
 at each. An exterior gallery, extending ten paces on each 
 side, ran round the summit of the fortress, where the wind 
 howled constantly like a tempest, and drowned the tumul- 
 tuous echoes of the city beneath. From this gallery the 
 view, ranging over the low roofs of the Quartier St. Antoine 
 and the Rue du Temple, commanded the dome of the 
 Pantheon, the towers of the cathedral, and the roofs of the 
 Pavilion of the Tuileries, or rested on the green hills of 
 Issy and Choisy le Roi, sloping down with their villages, 
 parks, and meadows, towards the banks of the Seine. 
 
 The little tower, which immediately adjoined the larger, 
 was divided in the same way, from stage to stage, with locked 
 and guarded doors, and had like it two turrets at each 
 angle; but no interior communication existed between these 
 two contiguous buildings: each was entered by a separate 
 staircase. On the summit of the little tower, as on that of 
 the donjon, was a platform open to the sky. The first 
 story contained an ante-chamber, a dining-room, and a 
 library of old and musty books belonging to the ancient 
 priors of the Temple, to which were added those which the 
 Count d'Artois had discarded from his own. The second, 
 third, and fourth stories presented the same arrangement of 
 apartments, the same bare walls, desolate aspect, and dila- 
 pidated furniture. The wind whistled and the rain pene- 
 trated through the broken window-panes ; the swallows flew 
 in and out with the perfect security of long and undisturbed 
 possession. There were neither beds nor tables, couches
 
 THE PRISONERS OF THE TEMPLE. 209 
 
 nor curtains; one or two benches for the assistant jailors, 
 a few rush- bottomed chairs, and some earthenware in a 
 deserted kitchen, formed the entire furniture of this place. 
 Two low arched doors, surmounted by a broken escutcheon 
 of the Templars, gave admittance to the vestibules of these 
 two towers. 
 
 Large paved alleys, separated by wooden barriers, sur- 
 rounded the fortress. The garden was overrun with rank 
 weeds, and blocked np here and there by masses of rubbish, 
 the accumulated deposit of ages of ruin; while the high 
 gloomy wall, like that of a cloister, which surrounded it, 
 only opening through a long bare avenue to the Hue du 
 Temple, added to the aspect of sombre desolation. 
 
 Such was the exterior and interior of this residence, at 
 which the royal owners of the Tuileries, Versailles, and 
 Fontainebleau arrived at nightfall. No guests had entered 
 these deserted halls since the Templars quitted them to 
 attend the funereal pile of Jacques Molay. And these lofty 
 towers, silent, cold, and empty for so many ages, resembled 
 less the residence of living men than the chambers of a 
 pyramid in the sepulchre of some Pharaoh of the West. 
 
 On the king's arrival at the Temple he was placed by 
 Pethion under the guard of Santerre, and the surveillance 
 of the municipal council. Manuel, who, although an ultra 
 revolutionist, was yet capable of kindly emotions, accom- 
 panied the king; and it was evident from his demeanour 
 that pity and respect for all this fallen grandeur around 
 him, already struggled in his breast against the official 
 austerity of his language. He felt ashamed at immuring 
 a king, a queen, their children, and a royal princess in a 
 dwelling so different from the palace they had quitted, and 
 with lowered eyes and reddened cheek he performed the 
 duties of his office. 
 
 The very hesitation betrayed by the municipality made 
 Santerre and Manuel doubtful as to their ultimate line of 
 action. The installation of the royal family at the Temple 
 was almost equivalent to an execution, and the magistrates of 
 the people trembled at the idea, perhaps as much as the cap- 
 tives. The gunners of the sections, who had formed part of
 
 210 MRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 the king's escort, and in whom the victory of the people, 
 the triumph of the 10th of August, and the intoxication 
 of success had stifled all respect, were anxious to shut 
 the king up in the small tower, and leave the rest of the 
 family in the palace. Pethion, however, recalled these 
 men to some feelings of humanity, and the royal party were 
 not separated. The porters received them in the vestibule 
 in gloomy silence, conducted them to the apartments des- 
 tined for them, and with a kind of sinister zeal, made all 
 the arrangements for a long residence there. 
 
 The king never doubted but that the Temple was hence- 
 forth to be his only residence until the nation should decide 
 on his destiny, and he entered his prison not without a 
 gleam of that inward joy which a storm-tossed mariner 
 might feel at being once more at rest, although upon the 
 rock on which he had been shipwrecked. If safety were no 
 longer possible, here at least he might hope for peace. He 
 instantly commenced an examination of his future dwelling, 
 measured with his eye the extent of the garden for the 
 promenades of his children, and the daily exercise necessary 
 to his own robust constitution, went through all the apart- 
 ments, inspected the furniture and the linen, selected rooms 
 for himself and the queen, and marked out those to be oc- 
 cupied by the children, his sister, the Princess de Lam- 
 balle, and the four attendants who followed them even 
 to this asylum from motives of attachment or fidelity. 
 
 In the evening supper was served to the royal family, 
 at which Manuel and the municipal members were present, 
 standing the entire time. The king appeared serene and 
 self-possessed as usual. The young dauphin had fallen 
 asleep on his mother's knee, and the king had just given 
 orders to have him carried to bed, when an order arrived 
 from the commune, instigated not by Pethion but by the 
 denunciations of the gunners, to disturb this brief gleam of 
 serenity, and ordering the instant removal of the royal 
 family from the palace to the little tower of the Temple. 
 
 The king felt this blow more severely perhaps than even 
 his removal from the Tuileries. It was the last fragment 
 of his dignity which was now torn from him; and men
 
 THE PRISONERS OF THE TEMPLE. 2 1 1 
 
 often cling more tenaciously to the wreck of their fortune 
 than to the entire. All the preparations were interrupted. 
 Mattresses and linen had to be carried in haste by the 
 gunners and municipal officers to the desolate apartments of 
 the tower. Guards were appointed, and the king and 
 queen, with the rest of the royal family, assembled in the 
 saloon of the chateau, where .they collected around them 
 all the articles most necessary to take with them, and 
 waited in silence for several hours until their prison was 
 ready to receive them. 
 
 An hour after midnight Manuel appeared and requested 
 them to follow him. The night was intensely dark, and 
 the municipal officers carried lanterns before the party, 
 while the gunners, with drawn sabres, formed a line on each 
 side. But the feeble light extended only a few paces 
 around, and left all the rest buried in obscurity, except 
 where the lamps, glimmering in the windows of the fortress 
 and the guard-houses, revealed at intervals the lofty pin- 
 nacles and the black mass of the tower towards which they 
 were silently advancing. Seen by this dim uncertain light, 
 the edifice presented strange and gigantic outlines unknown 
 to the king and his attendants. One of them whispered in 
 a low voice to a municipal officer, "Is it there you are 
 going to conduct our master?" "Your master," replied 
 the official, "has been accustomed to gilded roofs. Well, 
 he will see now how we lodge the assassins of the people." 
 
 They entered the tower by the little door of the turret 
 which opened on the winding staircase, and on each story 
 the several members of the royal family were installed in tho 
 apartments marked out for them. Madame Elizabeth was 
 allotted the kitchen on the ground-floor, furnished only with 
 a miserable settle-bed. The attendants were placed on the 
 first floor, the queen and her children on the second, and the 
 king was lodged on the third floor. A wooden bedstead 
 without curtains, and a few chairs, comprised the entire fur- 
 niture of his apartment. The walls were bare, with the 
 exception of some indecent prints which a footman belonging 
 to the Count d'Artois had left hanging on nails round the 
 room. The king glanced around at everything as he entered,
 
 212 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 without exhibiting any sign of disgust or weak emotion ; but 
 observing the prints, he quietly took them down with his 
 own hand, and replaced them with their faces to the wall, 
 saying: " I do not wish such objects to be exposed to the 
 eyes of my daughter!" The chamber appropriated to the 
 queen and her children was equally mean and sordid. 
 
 The king lay down and slept, while two of his attendants 
 passed the night stretched on chairs near his bed; the 
 Princess de Lamballe lay at the foot of the queen's couch; 
 the other women attached to the service of the royal family, 
 slept in the kitchen, upon mattresses placed round the 
 stretcher occupied by the king's young sister; while turnkeys 
 and some of the municipal officials kept watch upon each 
 of the apartments. 
 
 The night was passed by the queen and princesses in 
 tears and sobs and mournful forebodings, exchanged in 
 whispers, upon the probable destiny that awaited them after 
 such degradations offered to their sex and rank. The 
 children alone slept peacefully and profoundly, as if under the 
 gilded canopies of Versailles. The next and following days, 
 the queen and princesses were allowed to meet in the king's 
 apartment, and to pass freely from one story to another in 
 the interior of the tower. They visited all the rooms, and 
 made permanent arrangements for the accommodation of 
 themselves and the members of their household ; sought how 
 to compress their lives within their allotted boundary, and 
 endeavoured to force their habits into accordance with their 
 position, as a chained prisoner arranges his limbs so as to 
 diminish the weight of his fetters. Some articles of furni- 
 ture were procured, pieces of tapestry were hung up to cover 
 the damp bare walls, and beds placed in each apartment. 
 Those for the king and queen were taken from the old fur- 
 niture of the palace of the Temple, and had been used by the 
 grooms of the Count d'Artois. Only one had curtains, 
 that given to the king, but they were of faded green damask, 
 torn and soiled, as suited so miserable and dilapidated a 
 place. Next morning, after breakfast, which was still served 
 with some appearance of luxury, in the dining-room of the 
 first floor, the king visited the adjoining turret, where he 
 examined with interest the old Latin books heaped up in this
 
 THE PRISONERS OF THE TEMPLE. 2 1 3 
 
 corner of the edifice by the archivists of the order of the 
 Templars: volumes which had been sleeping quietly for ages 
 beneath the dust. There he found a Horace, the poet of 
 voluptuous ease, forgotten there as if in irony of fallen 
 majesty, buried youth, and discrowned beauty ; and Cicero, 
 in whose great soul serene philosophy towered above the 
 vicissitudes of politics, and in whose pages genius and virtue, 
 struggling with adversity, offer lessons of heroism to all 
 whose it is destiny to battle against fortune. 
 
 Some religious books he also discovered, which his piety, 
 strengthened and exalted by misfortune, made him welcome 
 as gifts from heaven ; an old breviary in which the portions 
 of the psalms marked out for daily use, seemed to utter 
 forth all the plaints of humanity ; and " The Imitation of 
 Christ," that overflowing cup of Christian sorrow, wherein 
 tears are changed by resignation into a healing medicine for 
 the soul and a foretaste of divine immortality. He carried 
 them to his own apartment and placed them carefully in the 
 closet which adjoined it; intending not only to fortify his 
 soul by these treasures, but to employ them for the instruc- 
 tion of his son in the Latin language. 
 
 The queen had her own bed and that of the dauphin 
 placed in the suite of apartments which occupied the centre 
 of the tower, while her daughter, Madame Elizabeth, and 
 the Princess de Lamballe, established themselves in a small 
 obscure room on the same story, which served during the day- 
 time as a passage for the officials and jailors to the part of 
 the building used for the common purposes of the household. 
 The kitchen on the ground floor and the whole of the fourth 
 story thus remained empty. Another kitchen, placed on the 
 third floor, and adjoining the king's chamber, was appro- 
 priated by MM. Hue and Chamilly, his two attendants. 
 
 An hour's walk in the garden, beneath a sombre alley of 
 old chestnut trees, was permitted to the family before dinner, 
 which was served at two o'clock; Santerre and two of his 
 aides-de-camp being present, but without testifying either 
 insolence or respect. The subsequent hours until night 
 were passed in lessons given by the king to his son, in the 
 games and plays of the children, in conversation and tender
 
 214 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 interchange of mutual emotion between the captives. At 
 nine o'clock supper was served in the king's apartment, in 
 order that the children, who had been already put to bed, 
 might not be disturbed by the noise. After supper the 
 royal family took an affectionate leave of each other with 
 many tender pressures of the hand ; the queen and princesses 
 retired to their own apartment, and the king, entering his 
 closet, shut himself up to read and prayuntil midnight. 
 
 Thus passed the first day of the captivity. The pre- 
 sence and attentions of the Princess de Lamballe; the de- 
 votion of the Duchess de Tourzel and her daughter Pauline; 
 the affection of the tried servants who had voluntarily ac- 
 cepted the destiny of their master, and felt proud of their 
 sacrifice; the pious adoration of Madame Elizabeth for her 
 brother; the very novelty of misfortune, which often pro- 
 voked a sad smile as the prisoners attempted to arrange 
 their desolate apartments, or endeavoured to accustom them- 
 selves to the strange routine of this gloomy life ; a lassitude 
 arising from past tumults and a sense of security for the present 
 security for their lives at least from popular violence; the 
 certainty of the approach of the allies, for they were as yet 
 ignorant of the triumphs of Dumouriez over the Prussians ; 
 a consciousness of the deep compassion which their sufferings 
 must excite in the better part of the nation, and a vague 
 but confident hope that some change in the dispositions 
 of the people would soon ensue all these varied emotions 
 spread a certain charm over their existence, and prevented 
 them from feeling the full agony of their destiny. As long as 
 misfortune has witnesses who pity, confidants who listen, 
 and friends who sympathize, it may even experience some- 
 thing of joy; and this family, these friends, these attached 
 domestics, though imprisoned within a dungeon, still im- 
 parted such consolation to each other. 
 
 The following day, in order to distract their thoughts, 
 the prisoners proceeded to visit the more spacious apart- 
 ments of the Large Tower, which Santerre informed them 
 were being prepared for their permanent abode. Manuel, 
 Santerre, and a strong escort of municipal officers, accom-
 
 THE PRISONERS OF THE TEMPLE. 215 
 
 panied them thither, and afterwards to the gardens. As the 
 king and queen passed along the files of national guards and 
 municipal officers, murmnrs and menaces were heard on 
 every side against the Princess de Lamballe, Madame de 
 Tourzel, and the women who attended the queen, as still 
 giving a shadow of royalty to the prisoners. " This super- 
 stition of homage to sovereignty," they exclaimed, "is an 
 outrage to the people; it cannot be tolerated after the 
 crimes of the court 1" These murmurs being reported to 
 the commune, they passed a decree ordering the dismissal 
 of the entire suite. But the humanity of Manuel induced 
 him to suspend its execution for some days ; he still hoped 
 to obtain the revocation of a decree that would fill so many 
 hearts with the deepest anguish. However, during the 
 night of the 1 9th of August, after all the royal family had 
 retired to rest, an unusual tumult made them start from 
 their slumbers. Several municipal officers entered the 
 apartments of the king and queen, and read aloud the 
 imperative decree of the commune, ordering the instant 
 expulsion of every individual not a member of the royal 
 family, without even excepting the queen's waiting- woman, 
 or the two attendants of the king. This decree, promul- 
 gated at such an hour, and with words and gestures that 
 even added to its cruelty, struck all the captives with stupor 
 and consternation. Madame de Tourzel, gouvernaute to 
 the dauphin, brought the sleeping child, and laid him on 
 the bed of the weeping queen. Pauline de Tourzel was 
 clasped in the arms of the young princess royal, who loved 
 her like a sister; Madame de Xavarre, lady in waiting to 
 the Princess Elizabeth, and the queen's three attendants, 
 Mesdames St. Brice, Thibault, and Bazire, threw themselves 
 weeping at the feet of their mistress. Marie Antoinette 
 and the Princess de Lamballe sobbed in each other's arms, 
 and it was only by force that they could be separated. 
 The municipal officers dragged the fainting princess down 
 the staircase, and outside those walls within which she had 
 left her queen and friend. Hue and Chamilly, the king's 
 servants, rushed half dressed into their master's chamber, 
 and grasping each other's hands as they stood beside his 
 bed, expressed by this mute gesture the horror they felt
 
 216 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION*. 
 
 at a separation. " Take care," exclaimed oue of the offi- 
 cials, " the guillotine has been made for the servants of kings 
 as well as for their masters." The king could not sleep 
 again that night ; Madame Elizabeth and the young princess 
 royal remained weeping beside the queen. From that day 
 only Marie Antoinette felt that she was a prisoner. They 
 had deprived her of friendship. 
 
 To replace these friends and attendants, as necessary to 
 the hearts as to the habits of the royal family, the commis- 
 sioners of the commune installed in the tower a man and 
 his wife, named Tison. No other persons were allowed to 
 wait upon the prisoners. This Tison was a morose old 
 man, formerly a clerk at the barriers of Paris, and conse- 
 quently accustomed to habits of suspicion, inquisitiveness, 
 and rudeness, towards all persons who came in his way. 
 His wife was younger and not so harsh in disposition ; she 
 wavered between pity for the queen and fear that this pity 
 should be charged as a crime against her husband. Per- 
 petually alternating between devotion and treason, she 
 sometimes fell weeping at the feet of the queen, and some- 
 times denounced her to her gaolers. Her heart was good, 
 but the unheard-of circumstance of a queen of France 
 being placed at her mercy disturbed her reason, and the 
 struggle between sensibility and terror in her weak mind 
 had finally the effect of turning her brain. It was during 
 her fits of delirium that she accused Marie Antoinette of 
 crimes which nothing but delirium could have imagined. 
 
 A shoemaker of the name of Simon, one of the commis- 
 sioners of the commune, was the only one of the municipal 
 officials who was never relieved from his duties at the 
 Temple. All the attendants, jailers, and turnkeys, were 
 under his orders. A workman, ashamed of his low calling, 
 and ambitious of any office however abject, he coveted that 
 of jailer and exercised it like an executioner. A saddler of 
 the name of Rocher was his assistant. 
 
 Rocher was a man to whom misery was sport, and who 
 loved to yelp at his victims as dogs bark at rags. He had 
 been selected for his immense size, his forbidding appearance,
 
 THE PRISONERS OF THE TEMPLE. 217 
 
 and ferocious expression. He it was who had forced the 
 door of the king's chamber on the 20th of June, and raised 
 his hand to strike him. Hideous in countenance, insolent 
 in glance and gesture, coarse in language, with his hairy 
 cap, long beard, and hoarse and sepulchral voice, the odour 
 of tobacco and drink exhaling from his clothes, and enve- 
 loped constantly in the fames of his pipe, he seemed the 
 horrible incarnation of a dungeon. He trailed a large sabre 
 after him through the flagged passages and down the stair- 
 case, and an enormous bunch of keys jingled from his 
 leathern belt. The noise of these keys, which he rattled on 
 purpose, and the grating sound of the bolts which he drew 
 back and forward continually, seemed as grateful to his 
 ears as the clash of arms to a soldier. All this clatter 
 seemed to him to increase his importance and remind 
 the prisoners rudely of their captivity. When the royal 
 family were about to leave the tower for their mid-day 
 walk, Rocher would pretend to make many vain attempts 
 to find the proper key amidst his bunch, trying the lock 
 several times, in order to keep the queen and princess 
 waiting behind him as long as possible; and when the first 
 wicket was opened would rush down the steps, pushing the 
 king and queen aside rudely with his elbow, that he might 
 be ready at the outer gate when they were passing. There, 
 stationed right in the doorway to obstruct their passage, he 
 would stare at them leisurely, and puff clouds of smoke in 
 the faces of the queen and princess, gazing steadily between 
 each puff to see if his insults Avere understood by his pri- 
 soners, and looking round to ascertain that they were 
 enjoyed by the other guards. 
 
 The applause which followed these outrages encouraged 
 him to renew them daily; and the national guards on duty 
 took care to be always present, that they might enjoy the 
 spectacle of royalty exposed to the brutal insults of a turn- 
 key. Some, whose hearts revolted against such cowardly 
 barbarity, were obliged to conceal their indignation least it 
 should be construed into a crime by their comrades; but 
 others, more cruel or more curious, carried chairs out of the 
 guard-house, and seated themselves with their hats on as 
 the king passed out, narrowing the passage for the fallen
 
 218 l-'IBST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 monarch as much as possible, in order that nothing of their 
 irreverence, or his own degradation might escape him. 
 Bursts of laughter, and coarse exclamations ran along the 
 ranks as the king and princesses passed; and some wrote 
 with their bayonets on the walls of the staircase the insults 
 that were too gross even for them to utter. On every landing 
 place might be read horrible allusions to the pretended crimes 
 of the queen, and the excesses of the king, and threats of 
 death against the children: "the young wolves who ought 
 to be strangled before they were grown old enough to 
 devour the people!" 
 
 During the promenade the gunners left their pieces and 
 the workmen their tools to assemble as near as possible to 
 the royal family, where they commenced dancing to the most 
 violent revolutionary airs, and singing couplets of ribald 
 songs, which the innocence of the children prevented them 
 from comprehending. 
 
 This hour of commuuion with heaven and nature, accorded 
 by the severest laws to the most infamous of criminals, was 
 thus transformed for the captives into an hour of humilia- 
 tion and torture. The king and queen could have escaped 
 it by remaining shut up in their prison, but then their chil- 
 dren would have perished for want of air and exercise. 
 The parents therefore purchased their young lives at the 
 price of all these tortures and sufferings. Santerre, and six 
 municipal officers who were on duty at the Temple, preceded 
 the royal family during these promenades and watched them 
 closely the whole time. The numerous sentinels on guard 
 gave the military salute to the commander of the national 
 guards of Paris, and presented arms to the civic officials, but 
 reversed their muskets as a sign of contempt on the approach 
 of the king. 
 
 The walk of the royal family in the garden was limited 
 to half the length of the avenue of chestnut trees. The 
 remains of old buildings pulled down, the materials for new 
 erections, and the bustle of workmen, obstructed the other 
 half. Whilst this short space was traversed slowly by the 
 king and queen with their sister, the children ran up and 
 down and amused themselves with games. The king even
 
 THE PRISONERS OF THE TEMPLE. 2 1 9 
 
 feigned to take part in their amusements in order to 
 encourage them; he played at ball with the dauphin, marked 
 out the limit of the race, and adjudged the prize. During 
 these intervals the queen and princess conversed together in 
 a low voice, or endeavoured to divert the attention of the 
 children from the coarse songs which pursued them even 
 under the shadow of the trees. 
 
 Sometimes also, and especially during the early period of 
 their imprisonment, they established a harmless communica- 
 tion with those outside. Jailors, however vigilant, cannot 
 intercept glances ; and from the upper stories of the houses 
 surrounding the Temple many an eye was directed towards 
 the garden. These houses, inhabited only by poor families, 
 afforded no ground for the suspicion or violence of the com- 
 mune. People who lived by small profits, workmen, rag- 
 women, and pedlars, could not be accused of complicity with 
 tyranny, nor of plots against equality. The officials were 
 ashamed to interdict the opening of their windows. As 
 soon therefore as the hour of the royal promenade was known 
 in Paris, curiosity, pity, or fidelity filled them with numerous 
 spectators, whose gestures and attitudes expressed the live- 
 liest interest and compassion for the royal sufferers. Although 
 the distance was too great to allow of their faces being re- 
 cognised, the prisoners cast many stolen glances at these 
 unknown friends; and the queen, in order to gratify the 
 visible desire of her visitors, frequently threw back her veil 
 and stopped to converse with the king when they approached 
 some group who seemed particularly ardent ; or by directing 
 the game of the young dauphin would lead him over, as if by 
 chance, to the side of the walk where his charming infantile 
 face could be seen to most advantage. Then many heads 
 were bent in acknowledgment) many hands joined in the 
 silent gesture of applause; flowers fell, as if undesignedly, 
 from the little gardens on the roofs of the abodes of poverty, 
 and sometimes a writing in large capital letters was hung- 
 up at one of the garret windows, conveying to their eyes 
 a word of hope, of tender interest, or of respect. 
 
 Restrained, but still perfectly intelligible gestures, res- 
 ponded from below, and once or twice the king and queen 
 fancied they recognised amidst the crowd the .faces and
 
 220 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 features of devoted friends, of former ministers, and even of 
 ladies of the highest rank attached to the court, of whose 
 existence they had been uncertain till then. This myste- 
 rious intelligence established thus between the prison and 
 the loyal portion of the nation, was a source of such plea- 
 sure to the captives, that to enjoy it daily they braved the 
 rain, the cold, the sun, and the insults more intolerable 
 than all of the soldiers of the guard. Their proscribed 
 existence seemed again linked to life in the breasts of their 
 faithful subjects. They felt that hearts still beat in sym- 
 pathy with theirs, and the exterior air, impregnated with 
 affection, seemed to waft that pity from without, which was 
 denied to them within their prison. They ascended to the 
 platform of the turret, and appeared frequently at the 
 windows of the tower. They found sympathies with the 
 distant, and friendships with the unknown. The queen and 
 her sister would murmur: " Such a house is devoted to us; 
 such a story is friendly; that room is royalist; yonder 
 window loyal!" 
 
 But if joy penetrated from without, sorrow and terror 
 came likewise. The echoes of the tumults outside reached 
 the ears of the captives ; and even at the foot of the tower 
 they listened to the yells of the assassins of September trying 
 to force the posts, and yelling for the head of the queen, or 
 for permission at least to drag the bleeding and mangled 
 corpse of the Princess de Lamballe to her feet. On the 
 21st of September, at four o'clock in the evening, while the 
 king was taking his after-dinner sleep beside the princess, 
 who kept silence for fear of disturbing his slumbers, a 
 municipal officer, named Lubin, appeared at the foot of the 
 tower, accompanied by a troop of mounted gendarmerie and 
 an immense mob of people, to read aloud the proclamation 
 of the abolition of royalty, aud the establishment of the 
 republic. The princess would not disturb the king, but told 
 him of the proclamation after he awoke. "My kingdom," 
 he said to the queen, " has passed as a dream, but not as 
 a happy dream! God gave it, the people have released me 
 from it: so that France is happy I shall not complain." 
 The same evening Manuel came to visit the prisoners.
 
 THE PRISONERS OF THE TEMPLE. 221 
 
 " Are you aware," said he to the king, " that democratic 
 principles have triumphed, that the people have abolished 
 royalty, and adopted the republican form of government?" 
 "I have heard so," replied Louis, with serenity, "and 
 expressed my hope that the republic will give them all they 
 desire. I shall never stand between the people and their 
 happiness." The king, up to this time still wore his sword, 
 that sceptre of a gentleman in France, and all the insignia 
 of the different orders of which he was head. " You must 
 know also," said Manuel, " that the nation has suppressed 
 all these baubles, and requires you to be stripped of them. 
 Now that you are nothing more than a citizen, you must be 
 treated like one. But whatever you require that is indis- 
 pensably necessary, the nation will permit you to have." 
 "Thank you," replied the king, "I am not in want of 
 anything," and he resumed his reading tranquilly. 
 
 Manuel and the commissioners, in order to avoid the 
 appearance of too great a degradation offered to the per- 
 sonal dignity of the king, made a sign to his valet de chambre 
 as they were retiring to follow them. They then gave this 
 faithful servant private directions to remove all the orders 
 from the king's coat after he had undressed him for the 
 night, and forward these spoils of royalty and blazons of 
 nobility to the Convention. But the king himself gave the 
 same orders to Clery, except that he refused to part with 
 those insignia which had been conferred on him in the cradle, 
 and seemed to belong to him more than even the throne. 
 He had them carefully deposited in a box, and kept them 
 as a remembrance, perhaps as a hope. The fiery Hebert, 
 afterwards so infamous under the name of the Pere Duchesne, 
 and who was then a member of the commune, had requested 
 leave to be on duty that day at the Temple, in order to 
 enjoy the bitter mockery of destiny, and contemplate in the 
 features of the king the mental tortures of degraded royalty. 
 
 With a cruel smile he scrutinised the physiognomy of the 
 king during the announcement, but the calmness of the man 
 overspreading the features of the fallen sovereign disap- 
 pointed his curiosity. 
 
 The king would not minister to the joy of his enemies by 
 betraying any symptoms of emotion. He affected tranquilly
 
 222 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 to continue his reading of Montesquieu's History of the 
 Fall of the Roman Empire, while his own history was being 
 accomplished and its catastrophe read out to him, more in- 
 terested apparently in the reverses of others than in his 
 own. The king was grand from this stoical fortitude ; the 
 queen, sublime from pride. To weep for his fallen greatness 
 seemed to him more humiliating than to descend from it. 
 This degradation of his nature would have humbled him 
 more than the degradation from his rank. No weakness 
 of soul during the long tortures of this announcement 
 gratified the spectators of his fall. After the installation of 
 the republic, the trumpets having sounded in the court, the 
 king appeared at the window for a moment, as if anxious to 
 behold the aspect of the new government; but no sooner 
 was he perceived by the multitude than sarcasms, impre- 
 cations, and insults, rose up from the crowd as a last 
 adieu to the monarchy. The gendarmes, brandishing their 
 sabres amidst shouts of " Vive la Repitbliquef" made 
 imperious signs to the king to retire. Louis XVI. closed 
 the window, and after so many ages of monarchy, thus 
 separated the people and the king. 
 
 The Convention had assigned a sum of five hundred thou- 
 sand francs for the expenses of the establishment and 
 maintenance of the royal family in prison ; but the commune, 
 through the intervention of successive commissioners, had 
 appropriated the greater part of this alimentary subsidy to 
 the erection of additional constructions for making the prison 
 of the captives more secure. Thus, what was intended to 
 alleviate their misfortunes served but to increase their fet- 
 ters and salary their jailers. The king had not even money 
 sufficient at his disposal wherewith to purchase clothes for 
 the queen, his sister, and the children, or to recompense the 
 services which he was obliged occasionally to demand from 
 those without: neither in furniture nor employment was he 
 able to procure for his family those comforts and alleviations 
 with which the private fortune of prisoners can lighten the 
 gloomiest captivity. Having quitted the Tnileries on the 
 morning of the 10th of August, without other clothes than 
 those which they wore; their wardrobes, caskets, and habi-
 
 THE PRISONERS OF THE TEMPLE. 223 
 
 liraents having been subsequently pillaged daring the com- 
 bat; then removed to the Temple without any other linen 
 than what was supplied to them by the English ambassa- 
 dress, or lent to the royal family by some of their servants, 
 the prisoners found themselves at the beginning of a rigo- 
 rous winter in a state of complete destitution ; and the queen 
 and Madame Elizabeth were obliged to pass their days like 
 poor sempstresses, in darning the linen of the king and the 
 children, and mending their own worn-out summer dresses. 
 At the period of Dumouriez's negotiation with the Prus- 
 sians, they had requested him to furnish a secret report re- 
 specting the Temple, and had exacted a promise that the 
 royal prisoner should be treated with respectful considera- 
 tion, in order to disguise his captivity in the eyes of Europe, 
 and afford a plausible pretext for their retreat from the 
 frontiers. Accordingly Manuel and Pethion, at the urgent 
 entreaty of Westermann, proceeded to the Temple and ful- 
 filled all the commands of Dumouriez, as far as they were 
 practicable. Neither of these magistrates shared the vulgar 
 thirst of vengeance which actuated the proceedings of the 
 commune against the man who had once been their sove- 
 reign. Elevation of ideas gives dignity even to resentment, 
 and decency to hate: they were sincei'e republicans, and 
 in Louis XVI. only wished to proscribe a principle but to 
 spare the man; while in the queen, the princesses, and the 
 children, they beheld victims of the inevitable vicissitude of 
 human affairs, whom the people ought rather to pity and 
 sustain than crush when they had fallen. They had a secret 
 interview with the king, in which, while acknowledging their 
 adhesion to the republic, they avowed their interest in his 
 preservation, and expressed a hope that his position would 
 be ameliorated when the public mind became more tran- 
 quillized either by victory or peace. Lonis XVI. and the 
 queen herself, struck by the terrors of September, at last 
 perceived that their lives depended more upon the caprice of 
 the people than on the armies of the allied sovereigns, and 
 they united with the wise and moderate republicans in de- 
 siring the speedy retreat of the Prussian army. The king 
 then requested that Pethion would procure him a sum of 
 money for his personal wants and those of his family.
 
 224 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 Pethion sent him a hundred louis : the alms of a republican 
 to a sovereign fallen into poverty. A list was also drawn 
 out of everything required by the royal family : linen, fur- 
 niture, clothes, fuel, food, and books; and all were freely 
 furnished at the expense of the commune, not in the usual 
 proportion to the wants of a family, but with a liberality 
 suited to the generosity of a nation and the respect due to 
 fallen majesty. The republic at that moment exercised its 
 ostracism with luxury. 
 
 But Pethion and Manuel were now merely the executive 
 magistrates of the commune; they did not originate its de- 
 crees, but only endeavoured to soften them in the execution. 
 The spirit of vengeance, suspicion, and vulgar persecution, 
 peculiar to illiterate demagogues, prevailed in the commune. 
 Each day brought new informers to the Hotel de Ville, 
 seeking popularity by denunciations against the prisoners of 
 the Temple; and the commissioners selected by the council 
 for the surveillance of Louis XVI. were always chosen from 
 amongst the most prejudiced and bitter of his opponents. 
 Men with generous souls disdained the odious functions of a 
 spy, and these devolved consequently on persons of abject 
 minds and remorseless hearts, who vied with each other in 
 those measures of severity and vexatious interference which 
 were necessary, they pretended, to prevent the escape of the 
 captives or their correspondence with the allies; and how- 
 ever repugnant these measures were to the good sense and 
 humanity of the council in general, yet none dared to im- 
 pugn them for fear of being accused of weakness, or of 
 complicity with the royalists. When terror is in the ascen- 
 dant, it crushes not only the victim which first excited it, 
 but the nation which submits to its reign. 
 
 The internal administration and government of the Temple 
 devolved, therefore, upon a small number of men, the very 
 dregs of the council of the commune; almost all workmen, 
 without education, without magnanimity or modesty, priding 
 themselves on the arbitrary power they exercised over a 
 king fallen lower than themselves, and thinking they had 
 saved their country each time they wrung from him a tear.
 
 THE PRISONERS OF THE TEMPLE. 225 
 
 One eveniug, towards the end of September, just as the 
 king was leaving the queen's apartment after supper to 
 ascend to his own chamber, six municipal officers entered 
 the tower and read to the king a decree of the commune, 
 which ordered his immediate removal to the large tower, 
 and his total separation from all his family. The queen, 
 Madame Elizabeth, the princess royal, and the young dauphin, 
 all encircled the king in their arms, and covering his hands 
 with tears and kisses, vainly tried to soften the officials and 
 obtain that last consolation of the unfortunate to suffer to- 
 gether. The municipal officers, Simon, and even Kocher 
 himself, were moved, but yet dared not modify the extreme 
 rigour of the order. They made a strict examination of the 
 furniture, the beds, and the clothes of the prisoners. Every 
 means of correspondence with those without was removed 
 paper, ink, pens, pencils ; thus forcing a cessation of the 
 lessons which the prince royal was in the habit of receiving 
 from his parents, and condemning the heritor of a throne to 
 that ignorance of the art of writing, at which even the 
 lowest born of the children of the people would blush. 
 
 At last the king was torn from the embraces and tears 
 of his family, and was conducted to the apartment destined 
 for him in the great tower. The preparations for his recep- 
 tion were hardly completed, and the workmen were still 
 employed on them. A bed and a chair, placed in the midst 
 of rubbish, mortar, planks, and bricks, comprised the whole 
 furniture. The king threw himself on the bed without un- 
 dressing, and passed the night in counting the footsteps of 
 the sentinels who relieved each other at his door, and drying 
 the first tears which captivity had yet wrung from his firm- 
 ness. Clery, his valet de chambre, spent the night in the 
 embrasure of the window, watching impatiently for the day, 
 that he might ascertain whether he would be allowed to 
 attend the princesses as usual ; for it was he who, since the 
 commencement of their captivity, had dressed the dauphin, 
 and curled the long tresses of the queen and Madame 
 Elizabeth. Having requested permission to attend them as 
 usual for this purpose, Veron, one of the commissioners of 
 the commune, answered him brutally: " Your master is not 
 even to see his children again." 
 
 p
 
 226 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 The king, having addressed some touching remarks to the 
 commissioners upon a barbarity which outraged nature, tor- 
 tured five hearts to punish one, aud condemned living beings 
 by this separation to an agony more terrible than death, 
 was perfectly unheeded by them. They deigned no reply, 
 and turned away like men who' are weary of the importuni- 
 ties of a suppliant. 
 
 In the morning the breakfast brought to the king con- 
 sisted only of a morsel of bread and a carafe of water into 
 which the juice of a lemon had been pressed. Advancing 
 towards his servant, the prince broke the bread and pre- 
 sented him with the half, saying: "They have forgotten 
 that there are still two of us, but I shall not forget it ; take 
 this, the remainder will be sufficient for me." Clery refused 
 at first, but as the king insisted, the servant took the half of 
 the bread from his master, though the tears fell fast on each 
 morsel that he carried to his lips. The king beheld these 
 tears, and could not restrain his own. Thus weeping and 
 looking at each other without speaking, they eat together 
 the bread of tears and equality. 
 
 Again the king entreated one of the officials to give 
 him some intelligence of his wife and children, and to pro- 
 cure him some books to arouse him from the lassitude of 
 mind produced by his solitude, particularizing some volumes 
 of history and religious philosophy. The municipal officer, 
 more humane than the others, consulted his colleagues, and 
 prevailed on them to accompany him to the queen with the 
 king's message. That princess had passed the night in 
 lamentation, supported in the arms of her sister-in-law aud 
 her daughter. The paleness of her lips, the farrows marked 
 by tears on her cheeks, the streaks of white in her luxuriant 
 hair showing the ravages of grief, her dry and glassy eyes, 
 the obstinacy with which she refused all aliment, vowing to 
 starve herself to death if they persisted in separating her from 
 the king, moved and alarmed the commissioners. They felt 
 that they were answerable for the lives of their prisoners, aud 
 that the commune would demand a strict account of each 
 victim saved by a voluntary death from the judgment and 
 the scaffold of the people; nature, likewise, appealed to tbeir
 
 THE PRISONERS OF THE TEMPLE. 227 
 
 hearts hi that language of tears which can soften and subdue 
 even the most obdurate. The princesses, on their knees 
 before these men, besought permission to meet the king for 
 a few moments each day, and during the hours of repast. 
 Their gestures, their cries wrung from their very souls, and 
 their tears falling fast upon the floor, lent their all-powerful 
 aid to their supplications. "Well," said one of the officials, 
 "let them dine together to-day, and to-morrow the commune 
 will decide." At these words the cries of grief from the 
 princesses were changed into exclamations of joy and 
 thanksgiving, and the queen, folding her arms round her 
 children, made them kneel down with her to offer up thanks 
 to heaven. Even the members of the commune looked at 
 each other with moistened eyes, and Simon himself, drying 
 his, exclaimed, " I really believe these women have made 
 me weep I'' Then turning towards the queen, as if ashamed 
 of his weakness, he added, "You did not weep thus when 
 you ordered the people to be assassinated on the 10th of 
 August 1" " Ahl" replied the queen, "the people are much 
 deceived as to our sentiments." The spectacle produced by 
 their clemency was enjoyed for the moment by these rude 
 men. The prisoners met again at dinner, and felt then, more 
 than ever, how much misfortune had rendered them neces- 
 sary to one another. 
 
 The king's amiability was developed by affliction, the 
 queen's spirit sanctified by adversity, while the virtues of 
 Madame Elizabeth were converted into active pity for her 
 brother and Marie Antoinette. The intellect of the children 
 advanced precociously in the dungeon watered by the tears 
 of their parents. A day of captivity taught them more of 
 life than a year at court, for misfortune hastens the maturity 
 of its victims. The whole family suffered and rejoiced 
 together as if they had but one heart. The commune made 
 no further opposition to the meeting of the prisoners, 
 in consequence of their dread of the queen's suicide, and 
 permitted them to assemble three times each day in the 
 great tower to take their meals with the king. Several 
 municipal officers, however, were present at all their inter- 
 views, and thus deprived the prisoners of much of their
 
 228 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 happiness by preventing all confidential communication be- 
 tween them: they were severely interdicted from speaking 
 low or conversing in foreign tongues, and were ordered to 
 talk aloud, and in French. Madame Elizabeth having once 
 forgotten this order, and whispered something to her brother, 
 was violently scolded by a municipal officer. " The secrets 
 of tyrants," said this man, " are conspiracies against the 
 people; speak aloud or be silent. The nation should hear 
 everything." 
 
 These two prisons for one family increased the difficulties 
 of surveillance and the suspicions of the jailers, but at the 
 same time they afforded additional facilities for the servants 
 of the king to deceive the guards. Clery, whose revolution- 
 ary opinions had caused Pethion to select him amongst all 
 the royal valets de chambre for attendance on the king, as a 
 man more devoted to the nation than to his master, had 
 allowed his patriotism to be softened by the tender re- 
 proaches of Madame Elizabeth, and by the spectacle of all 
 these lacerated hearts, in which he read so much suffering 
 and so much resignation. His passion for liberty filled him 
 with remorse from the moment he found it translated into 
 tortures for the king and royal family, and soon no senti- 
 ment was left in his mind but that of attachment to their 
 persons. He had sticceeded in forming some secret connec- 
 tion with friends outside, three of whom, Turgy, Marchand, 
 and Chretion, who had formerly been employed in the king's 
 kitchen at the Tuileries, succeeded in gaining admittance to 
 the same department in the Temple, where they were ready 
 to second Clery in all his good offices towards their fallen 
 master. Clery, who had made himself a favourite with the 
 municipal officers, in consequence of many little domestic 
 services which he rendered them during the nights they were 
 on duty at the Temple, had by this means discovered a few 
 who were affected kindly towards the royal family, and 
 looked on them with interest. By their help, therefore, 
 and that of his wife, who was admitted once each week to 
 see him at the wicket, he succeeded in forwarding notes 
 from Madame Elizabeth and the queen to persons whom they 
 designated. A pencil had been concealed from the search 
 of the commissioners, and the blank leaves torn from their
 
 T1IE PlilJiUMEKS 01- THE TEMPLE. 229 
 
 prayer-books were the medium of conveying these affecting 
 confidences of their hearts. They were but a few words, 
 innocent of all connexion with conspiracies, designed merely 
 to give their former friends information of their position, 
 and to inquire respecting the fate of those persons whom 
 they had loved. 
 
 Madame Elizabeth, notwithstanding her beauty, had never 
 yielded up her heart to any warmer sentiment than friendship. 
 But friendship in her soul was a passion: it had all the in- 
 quietude and constancy of love. The object of this tender 
 affection of the princess was the Marchioness de liaigecourt, 
 who bad been one of her ladies of honour during the period 
 of her prosperity; a woman of noble intellect and antique 
 heroism, endowed with all the graces suited to a court, and 
 with courage for all adversities. 
 
 She and the princess had been brought up together until 
 her marriage with a gentleman of one of the first houses of 
 Lorraine, and when the troubles commenced she was obliged 
 to accompany her husband the marquis, who joined the 
 party of the emigrants. From that time until the 10th of 
 August, the two friends had corresponded daily, and the 
 language of the princess up to that period was still full of 
 hope, which subsequent events so cruelly destroyed. 
 
 Clery succeeded in transmitting one or two notes to the 
 marchioness from the princess sighs from her prison 
 walls; then the silence of the tomb interposed between 
 these t\vo hearts, and forestalled the work of the scaffold 
 by a year. By the same medium a few communications 
 passed between the queen and her friends without words 
 which contained whole volumes of agony and tenderness, 
 phrases whose mournful meaning could be understood only 
 by those on whose hearts they were designed to fall. 
 
 Clery was equally successful in arranging plans by which 
 the king could be daily informed of the public news. Some- 
 times he procured a journal by stealth, or whispered the 
 principal events of the day in his master's ear while attend- 
 ing him on his rising or retiring to rest; and when these 
 means of information failed, public criers, trusty men and 
 well paid by friends outside, came in the evening when the 
 streets were silent, and shouted out under the walls of the
 
 230 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 Temple the whole news of the day. The king, warned by 
 Clery, would then open the window and catch in broken 
 words the decrees of the Convention, the triumphs and defeats 
 of the army, the trial and execution of his former ministers, 
 and the decrees and hopes upon which his own destiny 
 rested. 
 
 However, his deprivation of the public journals was not 
 absolute ; sometimes, with intentional cruelty, the municipal 
 officers would leave as if by chance on his chimney-piece 
 one or other of these atrocious papers, which incited the 
 people to the murder of the king; thus allowing the menaces 
 and imprecations of the mob to pursue him even within the 
 walls of a prison. One day the king having read the 
 petition of a gunner to the Convention, praying that the 
 head of the tyrant might be given him to load his piece 
 with, and discharge it at the enemy, he exclaimed mourn- 
 fully, "Which is the most to be pitied myself, or the 
 people who are thus deceived?" 
 
 The princesses and the children were at last re-united to 
 the king in the great tower. The second and third stories, 
 each divided into four rooms by partitions made of planks, 
 were assigned to the royal family, and the persons charged 
 to wait on them or watch them. The king's apartment 
 contained a bed with curtains, an arm-chair, four other 
 chairs, a table, and a mirror over the chimney-piece. The 
 window, which was strongly grated, was further obscured 
 by planks of oak disposed in the form of a tundish, which 
 completely intercepted all view of the garden or the city 
 and left nothing visible but a strip of sky. The paper 
 with which the walls were hung was carefully designed to 
 add to the tortures of the prisoner. It represented the 
 interior of a prison, with the jailors, chains, irons, and all 
 the hideous accompaniments of a dungeon. It was the 
 odious imagination of the architect Palloy, who had in- 
 vented this refinement of cruelty, whereby the tortures of 
 the eye were added to those of reality. 
 
 The queen's chamber, which was above that of the king's, 
 was arranged in a similar manner so as to afford the least 
 possible light, air, and space. Her daughter occupied the
 
 THE PRISONERS OF THE TEMPLE. 231 
 
 same apartment, Madame Elizabeth a small dark room, and 
 the jailor Tison and his wife a closet adjoining; the muni- 
 cipal officers were in the outer apartment or ante-chamber, 
 which the princesses had to pass through every time they 
 visited each other, amid the whispers and rude glances of 
 the guard. Two wickets, guarded by turnkeys and sentinels, 
 were erected on the staircase, between the apartments of 
 the king and queen. The fourth story was uninhabited, 
 and the platform at the top of the tower was assigned to 
 the family for their daily exercise, but least some friendly 
 glance might reach them from the adjacent houses, or their 
 eyes should be gratified by a sight of the horizon of Paris, 
 high planks bad been erected all round to limit even the 
 portion of the sky which might have been visible to the 
 prisoners. 
 
 Such was the final abode of the royal family. They 
 were rejoiced however to find themselves installed in it, 
 since they were at least all united tinder the same roof. 
 But this brief joy was soon changed to tears. A decree 
 of the commune arrived that same evening, ordering the 
 dauphin to be removed from his mother and placed along 
 with the king. In vain the queen's heart poured forth in 
 supplications and grief. The commune Avould not allow 
 "the son to be brought up any longer by the mother in 
 hatred to the revolution.'' The child was therefore given 
 to his father, preparatory to his being consigned to the care 
 of Simon. The queen and princesses were allowed, however, 
 to see him daily in the king's apartment, and during the hours 
 of repast and exercise, but always in the presence of the com- 
 missioners. Notwithstanding all this, the life of the captives 
 seemed gradually to grow calmer, and their suffering to lose 
 its first bitter poignancy. They accustomed themselves to 
 regular habits, which recalled the cloister of the imprisoned 
 kings of the first race. 
 
 Louis remembered only that he was the father of a family, 
 and forgot that he was a sovereign ; the princesses that they 
 had been the queen, the sister, or the daughter of kings, while 
 fulfilling the duties of wife, sister, or daughter of a captive 
 husband, brother, or father. The joys and sorrows of a
 
 232 FIRST FRENCH KbVOLUTION. 
 
 family completely absorbed their hearts. The dynasty was 
 now but the household of a prison. 
 
 The king rose at daylight and prayed for a long time on 
 his knees at the foot of his bed. After which he ap- 
 proached the window, or the fire if it were winter, and read 
 the psalms in his breviary with deep attention, according 
 to the order in which the catholic church had marked them 
 out for each day in the year to be recited by her members ; 
 thus supplying the place of that daily mass which the king 
 was in the habit of attending every morning in the private 
 chapel of his palace. The commune had denied him the 
 presence of a priest or the rites of his church, but Louis, 
 pious -without either superstition or weakness, could ap- 
 proach his Maker without the mediation of another man, 
 and was content so that he could offer up his prayers in the 
 words and forms consecrated by the religion of his race and 
 his throne. The queen and her sister followed the same 
 course ; and often they were discovered praying beside their 
 beds, with clasped hands and eyes streaming with tears, 
 which fell upon the book of devotion lying open before 
 them; the one flung down from the lofty heights of gran- 
 deur and thrown on her knees by the violence of despair; 
 the other prostrate with habitual meekness before that God 
 whose hand she recognised through all events with grati- 
 tude and submission. After prayers the king read awhile 
 in the turret, sometimes Latin works, sometimes Montes- 
 quieu or Buffon, voyages, travels, or history. These pages 
 seemed wholly to absorb his faculties, whether he sought 
 thus to escape the importunate attention of the commis- 
 sioners, who were always present, or to find in the study of 
 nature, of politics, and in the manners and history of nations, 
 some instruction suited to his station, some analogies with his 
 position, or at least a means of diverting his thoughts from 
 the contemplation of his calamities. 
 
 At nine o'clock the family met in the king's apartment for 
 breakfast, when he kissed his wife, his sister, and the children 
 upon the forehead. After breakfast, the princesses, who 
 were deprived of their waiting women, had their hair dressed 
 by Clery in the king's apartment, while the dauphin received 
 lessons from his father in grammar, history, geography,
 
 THE rUISONEKS 01- THE TEMPLC. 233 
 
 and LatSii; the king throughout carefully avoiding all 
 that could remind the child that he was born in a rank 
 above that of the commonest citizen, and only imparting 
 to him such knowledge as might be applicable to the condi- 
 tion of the lowest of his subjects. It seemed as if the 
 father took advantage of this removal from a court to bring 
 up his son as a man rather than a prince, in order to create 
 within him a character that might be ready to meet any 
 destiny. 
 
 But the intellect of the child far outstripped the teach- 
 ings of reason or the refinement of sentiment. Precocious 
 as the fruit of an injured tree, his memory retained and his 
 sensibility made him comprehend all. The repeated shocks 
 of so many fatal events had roused his imagination and 
 developed his heart. The tears for ever flowing from the 
 eyes of his mother and his sister; the tragic scenes he had 
 witnessed in the flights from Versailles and the Tuileries ; 
 the three day's exhibition in the tribune of the Assembly, in 
 the midst of arms, menaces, and corpses ; this prison, these 
 jailers, this degradation of his father; this seclusion with 
 beings whose anguish he witnessed without comprehending; 
 the necessity of keeping a watch over his gestures and even 
 his tears, in the presence of the spies who surrounded 
 them all these things had initiated him as if by instinct into 
 the situation of his parents and his own. His very sports 
 were grave, his smiles mournful. Whenever the jailers 
 seemed to relax their vigilance, he would seize the moment 
 to exchange a sign or a word of intelligence with his mo- 
 ther or with his aunt. He was the adroit accomplice of all 
 the innocent manoeuvres invented by the victims to evade 
 the inquisition or the denunciation of their guards. He 
 trembled at the idea of aggravating their grief, and rejoiced 
 when the least ray of hope smoothed their brows. With a 
 tact unusual at his years, he refrained from all allusions in 
 conversation which could recall the happy days of their 
 grandeur, as if he had divined how the memory of past 
 felicity can add bitterness to misfortune. 
 
 One day, having appeared to recognize a member of the 
 commune who was in the king's chamber, the commissioner
 
 234 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 asked him if he had ever seen him before, and under what 
 circumstances? The child nodded in the affirmative, but 
 refused obstinately to give any further answer. Upon 
 which, his sister, drawing him over to a corner of the room, 
 asked why he refused to tell where he had seen the com- 
 missioner. "It was during the return from Varennes," 
 Avhispered the dauphin in her ear; "but I was afraid to 
 say it aloud, least it might annoy the queen and make our 
 parents cry." 
 
 He observed that some of the officials were more respect- 
 ful in their manners to the prisoners, and consequently less 
 odious to the queen than others; and when their turn of 
 duty came he would run to meet his mother as she entered 
 the king's apartment, clapping his hands, and telling her 
 the good news. The very sight of this child seemed to 
 subdue hatred in the breast of every one. Royalty, in his 
 innocent infantile form, had lost the power of creating ene- 
 mies. The most prejudiced of the commune, the gunners 
 of the guard, the jailers, the fierce Rocher himself, caressed 
 him. Simon alone treated him with harshness, and re- 
 garded him with a gloomy and mistrustful glance; as if a 
 tyrant were concealed under the form of the child. 
 
 The expression of the young prince recalled the some- 
 what effeminate grace of his grandfather, Louis XV. com- 
 bined with the Austrian dignity of Maria Theresa. l>ut 
 his dark blue eyes, the aquiline nose, with its haughty 
 elevated nostrils, the well-cut mouth and full lips, the fore- 
 head broad at the top and narrowing towards the temples, 
 the fair hair, parted in the middle, and falling down each 
 side of his head in long wavy curls that covered his shoulders 
 and almost his arms, reminded the beholders of his mother's 
 loveliness before her days of tears. All the beauty of his 
 double race seemed to bloom forth again in this last frail 
 flower. 
 
 At mid-day the prisoners were summoned to the garden 
 for exercise, and despite of cold, or sun, or rain, the royal 
 family always attended. This promenade, which exposed 
 them to the rude glances and insults of their guards, was 
 one of the most rigorous duties of their captivity. But the
 
 THE PRISONERS OF THE TEMPLE. 235 
 
 vigourous exercise which the young dauphin took in these 
 walks, together with the games in the apartments with his 
 sister, the gentle and familiar studies with his father, and the 
 tender care of all around, preserved the young dauphin in 
 as much health and bloom as if he were breathing the free 
 forest air of St. Cloud, in place of that of a prison. The 
 king and queen would console themselves by looking on 
 that young face, which all the severity of men could not 
 hinder from increasing in beauty day by day. 
 
 The princess-royal had just reached that age of opening 
 womanhood in which the perfection of loveliness is concen- 
 trated. Pensive as her father, proud as her mother, and 
 pious as Madame Elizabeth, her soul bore the impress of the 
 three beings among whom she had grown up. Her beauty, 
 pale and delicate as a phantom of German romance, belonged 
 more to the ideal than the material. Always clinging to 
 her mother's arm or to that of her aunt, she seemed half 
 intimidated by life. Her long fair hair, still falling on her 
 shoulders as in childhood, covered her almost completely, 
 and through this beautiful veil the spectator could only see 
 her timid glance or drooping eyelids. She inspired a silent 
 admiration even in the rudest of those who surrounded them. 
 The turnkeys and sentinels drew back to let her pass, and felt 
 a sort of religious awe if they but touched her robe or the 
 tresses of her hair when meeting her in the corridors or on 
 the staircase. The Princess Elizabeth had taught her piety, 
 patience, and forgiveness; but the innate consciousness of 
 her rank, the humiliations of her father, and the tortures suf- 
 fered by her mother, had imprinted deep wounds in her 
 heart, which nothing could heal, and which kept alive her 
 melancholy, if not her resentments, through afterlife. 
 
 At two o'clock the family returned for dinner, but the joy 
 and relaxation which the interchange of mutual confidence 
 brings along with this meal to the humblest of the poor was 
 refused to them. The king could not even gratify the na- 
 tural appetite of his strong, robust constitution; sneering 
 glances watched every morsel, and the healthy desires of the 
 man were commented on as au additional crime in the king. 
 The queen and princesses eat but little and slowly, in order
 
 236 MUST FRENCH Kb-YOLCll' >x. 
 
 to prolong the dinner, and give the king an opportunity of 
 
 satisfying his hunger. After this meal the family remained 
 together. The king and queen played at cards, that amuse- 
 ment which had been first invented in France to amuse the 
 weary hours of an imprisoned monarch; or sometimes tried 
 the more grave and reflective game of chess, of which the 
 names of the principal pieces, the king and queen, and the 
 manoeuvres whose object is to make the king a prisoner, were 
 full of significant and often sinister allusions to their own des- 
 tiny. The objects of these games, however, was not so much 
 diversion, as to obtain by means of them the opportunity of 
 conversing together in a low voice, without exciting the 
 suspicion of their jailers. Towards four o'clock the king 
 reposed for some time in his arm-chair. The children 
 ceased their play at a sign from their mother, and the prin- 
 cesses resumed their work. The most profound silence 
 reigned in the apartment during the king's sleep. Nothing 
 w^s heard but the light rustling of the material on which 
 the needles of the princesses were employed, the respiration 
 of the king, and the measured steps of the sentinels at the 
 door of the apartment, and around the base of the tower. It 
 seemed as if the whole prison sunk into silence at once, in 
 order not to rob the royal prisoner of the only hour when 
 he could forget his misery and enjoy the illusions of a dream. 
 At six o'clock the king commenced his son's lessons, and 
 amused himself with him until supper, when the queen un- 
 dressed the child herself, made him say his prayers, and 
 carried him in her arms to bed. When he had lain down, 
 she bent over him as if to embrace him for the last time, and 
 murmured in his ear a short prayer which the child repeated 
 after her in a low voice, so that the commissioners could 
 not hear him. This prayer, composed by the queen, was re- 
 membered and repeated by her daughter : " Almighty God, 
 who hast created and redeemed me, I love thee! Preserve 
 the lives of my father and of my family. Protect us against 
 our enemies, and give my mother, my aunt, and my sister 
 the strength necessary to support their afflictions!"
 
 THE PRISONERS OF THE TEMPLE. 237 
 
 This simple prayer from the lips of a child, imploring life 
 for his father and patience for his mother, was a crime which 
 it was necessary to conceal. When the dauphin was asleep, 
 the queen read aloud for the instruction of her daughter, 
 and the entertainment of the king and Madame Elizabeth. 
 The subject selected was generally some portion of history 
 which led their thoughts to contemplate the great catastro- 
 phes of nations and kings. Sometimes, when a passage was 
 too strikingly suggestive of their own position, the voice of the 
 queen would tremble, choked by rising tears, and the pri- 
 soners would exchange glances with each other, as if the book 
 had been in their confidence, and revealed a fear or a hope 
 which lay hidden in the hearts of all. At the close of the 
 day the king ascended for a moment to his wife's apartment, 
 took her hand affectionately, and bade her adieu. Then he 
 embraced his sister and the young princess, and again des- 
 cending, shut himself up in the turret adjoining his chamber, 
 where he read, meditated, and prayed till midnight. 
 
 Heaven alone knows the secrets of those nocturnal hours 
 devoted by the prince to the examination of his own heart 
 in silence and solitude. Perhaps he reflected then upon the 
 acts of his reign, on the defects of his policy, on his alternat- 
 ions of excessive confidence in the people and impolitic dis- 
 trust of the revolution. Perhaps he sought to conjecture the 
 fate of France, and the destiny of his race, after the crisis 
 of the movement which he felt he was not fated to survive. 
 Or, was he repenting then of his unequal struggles for and 
 against liberty, and reproaching himself for not having 
 heroically made his choice from the very first day between 
 the old and new regime, and declared himself at once the 
 chief of the people. For the king's error had been rather in 
 not comprehending the revolution, than in not giving it his 
 sincere adhesion. Or, were these secret hours devoted to 
 tears, of which the mute walls alone were witnesses, for 
 the fate of his wife, his sister, and his children tears 
 which he repressed during the day to spare their feelings 
 and to avoid the cruel joy of his persecutors! When he 
 quitted the turret to prepare for bed, his countenance was 
 serene and sometimes smiling; but his wrinkled brow and 
 half closed eyes, along with the deep traces of fingers visibly
 
 240 FIRST FRENCH REVOLU TICK . 
 
 All the family having been ill, and confined to bed by 
 turns, iu consequence of the dampness of the Avails and 
 the approach of the first frosts of winter, the commune, 
 after many long formalities, at last authorised the intro- 
 duction of the king's first physician, M. Lemonnier. Under 
 his care the queen, Madame Elizabeth, and the children, 
 were speedily restored to health ; but the malady of the king 
 was much more obstinate, and even inspired his friends with 
 some alarm. The queen and her daughter never quitted 
 his pillow, and made his bed with their own hands. 
 Clery sat up with him all night, but afterwards fell so 
 dangerously ill himself, that he was unable either to attend 
 the king, whose fever was abating, or to dress the young 
 prince. The king, however, took upon himself all the 
 duties of an attendant, washing and dressing his son, who 
 then repaired to Clery 's little dark room, where he passed 
 the entire day, attending him with all the care of which a 
 young weak child was capable, giving him drink and medi- 
 cine, and performing all the services he could for the sick 
 man. The king himself rose during the night, and seeing 
 that the commissioner was fast asleep iu the ante-chamber, 
 went into Clery's room in his bare feet, just as he had 
 risen from bed, to bring some medicine to his suffering ser- 
 vant. "My poor Clery," said he, "I wish I could return 
 your attention now, and sit up with you! But you see 
 how we are watched. Take care of yourself, for the sake 
 of your friends, for you have no longer a master." The 
 servant could only show his gratitude by covering the king's 
 hand with his tears. 
 
 The commune having ordered still more rigorous measures 
 of confinement, even within the tower, a stonecutter was 
 sent to hollow out sockets for bolts in the door of the king's 
 ante-chamber. At noon, the man having gone to dinner, the 
 dauphin began to play with the tools which he had left lying 
 at the threshold of the door, upon which the king, taking the 
 hammer and chisel from his hands, instructed his son how to 
 rise them, and remembering his old familiarity with such kind 
 of work, continued to hollow out the socket himself. W lien 
 the mason returned and saw the king working away gravely
 
 THE PRISONERS OF THE TEMPLE. 24 1 
 
 like an ordinary tradesman, he could not refrain from express- 
 ing his emotion at beholding such a change of fortune, and said 
 to the king, with an instinctive compassion that made the mere 
 hope seem a certainty, "When you leave the tower, you will 
 be able to say that you worked at your prison yourself." 
 " Ah 1 my friend," replied the king, giving him back his 
 tools, " when and how shall I leave it?" and taking his son 
 by the hand, he led him back to his chamber, where he 
 walked up and down for a long while in profound silence. 
 
 Insensible to those privations which only affected himself, 
 the destitution to which the queen and his sister were 
 exposed afflicted him deeply ; and at times some comparison of 
 their present state with their past splendour would escape 
 his lips. The anniversaries of brilliant and happy days, 
 such as his coronation, his marriage, the birth-days of his 
 children and his own fete day, were now periods of unusual 
 sadness and often of unusual insult. On the fete day of St. 
 Louis, the federates and gunners of the guards came with 
 malignant cruelty to dance and sing the revolutionary Ca 
 Ira beneath his windows. This recalled vividly to his mind 
 his days of happiness and grandeur, and he asked the queen, 
 with deep melancholy, to pardon him for having been the 
 cause of changing them for her into days of humiliation and 
 mourning. "Ahl madame," he exclaimed one day, seeing 
 the queen sweeping the floor of the sick dauphin's room, 
 " what an occupation for a queen of France! If they could 
 only see this at Vienna I Who would have thought that 
 in uniting your fate to mine I should have made you descend 
 so lowl" 
 
 " And do you count for nothing," said Marie Antoinette, 
 " that I have the glory of being the wife of the best and 
 the most persecuted of men ? Do not such misfortunes give 
 a greater majesty than all the grandeur we have lost?" 
 
 On another occasion he saw Madame Elizabeth who was 
 mending the queen's dress, and who had been deprived 
 even of her scissors, obliged to break off the threads 
 with her teeth. "Ahl my sister," said he, "what a con- 
 trast ! You who wanted for nothing at your beautiful house 
 at Montreuil!" alluding to a lovely residence which he had
 
 242 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION'. 
 
 embellished for his sister with all the elegancies of life, in 
 the time of his prosperity. 13ut he seldom thus mentioned the 
 past. Everything which recalled it gave a shock to his heart 
 that wrung an involuntary cry of anguish even from his 
 stoical nature. 
 
 By degrees the royal family became more accustomed to 
 their uniform mode of life, and their minds grew more 
 tranquil. The daily presence of loved beings, the mutual 
 tenderness felt and expressed more freely since the etiquette 
 of a court no longer interfered between them, the recurrence 
 of the same employments at the same hours, the lessons of 
 the children, their games, the walks in the garden, often 
 rendered consolatory by secret glances of pity; the readings, 
 the conversations, the meals taken in common, the pro- 
 found tranquillity around them, while the world without was 
 agitated by fierce passions of which their names were the 
 watchword; the softened expression of some of the com- 
 missioners, the secret intelligence they sometimes kept up 
 with friends outside, the obscure plots of escape that deceit- 
 ful mirage of a prison, made seemingly possible by hope, 
 insensibly accustomed the prisoners to their sufferings, and 
 even made them find some consolation in their misfortunes ; 
 when all at once increased rigour and redoubled rudeness 
 from their jailers came to agitate their domestic life, and 
 fill them with the most gloomy forebodings of their future 
 destiny. The surveillance now adopted was odious, and 
 outraged even the modesty of the princesses. Their bread 
 was broken to search in it for concealed letters; the fruit 
 was cut, the very kernels of the peaches broken, least an 
 adroit hand might have slipped a communication inside; 
 after every meal the knives and forks were removed, and 
 the needles employed by the ladies measured, least they 
 could be turned into weapons of suicide. The jailers 
 followed the queen into Madame Elizabeth's apartment, 
 where she went every day after breakfast to change 
 her morning gown; in consequence of which the queen, 
 indignant at such an insult, gave up changing her dross 
 during the day. Their linen was unfolded piece by piece, the 
 king's person searched; he was deprived even of the little
 
 THE PRISONERS OF THE TEMPLE. 243 
 
 golden articles of the toilette necessary for the care of his 
 hair and teeth. He Avas obliged to let his beard grow, and 
 the rough hair, rubbing against the skin, caused him such a 
 painful irritation that he was forced to bathe his face fre- 
 quently during the day in cold water. 
 
 Tison and his wife acted as spies, and reported to the 
 commissioners every look, word, and gesture, of the pri- 
 soners. Wretches were admitted inside the court of the 
 Temple, who roared out vociferously for the heads of the 
 king and the queen. Rocher sang the Carmagnole in the 
 king's hearing, and taught the young prince some infamous 
 couplets against his mother, which made the blush of shame 
 rise to his aunt's brow, when he innocently repeated them 
 to her. Rocher, who at one time showed some symptoms 
 of pity, had now returned to his drunken brutal habits of 
 life; and the state of intoxication in which he snored away 
 all the evenings was recommenced again in the mornings. The 
 princesses, who were obliged to pass through his room when 
 proceeding to the king's, generally found this man in bed at 
 supper-time, and even during the day, when he would utter 
 the most horrid imprecations against them, and oblige them 
 to wait, with lowered eyes, till he threw on his clothes. 
 The workmen outside never ceased their railings against the 
 king; they brandished their tools about his head, and one of 
 them even aimed his axe at the queen's throat, and would have 
 wounded her, if his arm had not been arrested. A municipal 
 officer woke the dauphin one evening, shaking him violently, 
 to assure himself, as he said, of the presence of the child. 
 The queen's patience was at last exhausted, she rushed 
 between this man and her son, and almost struck him to 
 the earth with her glance. The humiliated queen for once 
 disappeared, and the mother asserted her rights. 
 
 A deputation from the Convention, of which Chabot, 
 Dubois-Crance, Duprat, and Drouet formed part, came to 
 visit the Temple. At the sight of Drouet, who, by arrest- 
 ing them at Varennes, had been the cause of all their sub- 
 sequent misfortunes, the queen and Madame Elizabeth turned 
 pale. This man seemed as fatal to them as the evil genius 
 which had appeared to Brutus at Pharsalia. Chabot and 
 Dronet immediately seated themselves disrespectfully, though
 
 242 FIRST FRENCH HEVOLUTION. 
 
 embellished for his sister with all the elegancies of life, in 
 the time of his prosperity. But he seldom thus mentioned the 
 past. Everything which recalled it gave a shock to his heart 
 that wrung" an involuntary cry of anguish even from his 
 stoical nature. 
 
 By degrees the royal family became more accustomed to 
 their uniform mode of life, and their minds grew more 
 tranquil. The daily presence of loved beings, the mutual 
 tenderness felt and expressed more freely since the etiquette 
 of a court no longer interfered between them, the recurrence 
 of the same employments at the same hours, the lessons of 
 the children, their games, the walks in the garden, often 
 rendered consolatory by secret glances of pity ; the readings, 
 the conversations, the meals taken in common, the pro- 
 found tranquillity around them, while the world without was 
 agitated by fierce passions of which their names were the 
 watchword; the softened expression of some of the com- 
 missioners, the secret intelligence they sometimes kept up 
 with friends outside, the obscure plots of escape that deceit- 
 ful mirage of a prison, made seemingly possible by hope, 
 insensibly accustomed the prisoners to their sufferings, and 
 even made them find some consolation in their misfortunes; 
 when all at once increased rigour and redoubled rudeness 
 from their jailers came to agitate their domestic life, and 
 fill them with the most gloomy forebodings of their future 
 destiny. The surveillance now adopted was o;lious, and 
 outraged even the modesty of the princesses. Their bread 
 was broken to search in it for concealed letters; the fruit 
 was cut, the very kernels of the peaches broken, least an 
 adroit hand might have slipped a communication inside; 
 after every meal the knives and forks were removed, and 
 the needles employed by the ladies measured, least they 
 could be turned into weapons of suicide. The jailers 
 followed the queen into Madame Elizabeth's apartment, 
 where she went every day after breakfast to change 
 her morning gown; in consequence of which the queen, 
 indignant at such an insult, gave up changing her dross 
 during the day. Their linen was unfolded piece by piece, the 
 king's person searched; he was deprived even of the little
 
 THE PRISONERS OF THE TEMPLE. 243 
 
 golden articles of the toilette necessary for the care of his 
 hair aud teeth. He was obliged to let his beard grow, and 
 the rough hair, rubbing against the skin, caused him such a 
 painful irritation that he was forced to bathe his face fre- 
 quently during the day in cold water. 
 
 Tison and his wife acted as spies, and reported to the 
 commissioners every look, word, and gesture, of the pri- 
 soners. AVretches were admitted inside the court of the 
 Temple, who roared out vociferously for the heads of the 
 king and the queen. Eocher sang the Carmagnole in the 
 king's hearing, and taught the young prince some infamous 
 couplets against his mother, which made the blush of shame 
 rise to his aunt's brow, when he innocently repeated them 
 to her. Eocher, who at one time showed some symptoms 
 of pity, had now returned to his drunken brutal habits of 
 life; and the state of intoxication in which he snored away 
 all the evenings was recommenced again in the mornings. The 
 princesses, who were obliged to pass through his room when 
 proceeding to the king's, generally found this man in bed at 
 supper-time, and even during the day, when he would utter 
 the most horrid imprecations against them, and oblige them 
 to wait, with lowered eyes, till he threw on his clothes. 
 The workmen outside never ceased their railings against the 
 king; they brandished their tools about his head, and one of 
 them even aimed his axe at the queen's throat, and would have 
 wounded her, if his arm had not been arrested. A municipal 
 officer woke the dauphin one evening, shaking him violently, 
 to assure himself, as he said, of the presence of the child. 
 The queen's patience was at last exhausted, she rushed 
 between this man and her son, and almost struck him to 
 the earth with her glance. The humiliated queen for once 
 disappeared, and the mother asserted her rights. 
 
 A deputation from the Convention, of which Chabot, 
 Dubois-Crance, Duprat, and Drouet formed part, came to 
 visit the Temple. At the sight of Drouet, who, by arrest- 
 ing them at Varennes, had been the cause of all their sub- 
 sequent misfortunes, the queen and Madame Elizabeth turned 
 pale. This man seemed as fatal to them as the evil genius 
 Avhich had appeared to Brutus at Pharsalia. Chabot and 
 Drouet immecliatelyseated themselves disrespectfully, though
 
 244 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 the queen was standing, and commenced to interrogate her ; 
 but she disdained to answer. They then asked the king if 
 he had any complaint to make. " I complain of nothing," 
 he replied, " but only require that linen and clothes be sent 
 to my wife and children, of which you see they stand in 
 need." Their dresses were in fact falling to pieces, and 
 the queen was obliged to patch and mend the king's coat 
 while he slept, otherwise he would have been literally in 
 rags. All these additional measures of rigour had been 
 the result of the daily increasing severity of the orders 
 of the commune. Tison and his wife had denounced the 
 royal family at the Convention; affirmed that they held 
 intelligence with friends without, that certain of the com- 
 missioners had been seen whispering to them in a suspicious 
 manner, and that Madame Elizabeth, one evening at supper, 
 had let fall a pencil from her pocket handkerchief; besides 
 which, wafers and a pen had been found in the queen's 
 apartment. Accordingly a general inquisition was made: 
 the mattresses and pillows were opened and searched, the 
 dauphin was brutally lifted out of bed while fast asleep, in 
 order to examine the very place where he lay. The queen 
 took the naked trembling child in her arms, and kept 
 warming him by friction while the search continued. 
 
 But the more that hate and persecution thus raged round 
 the captives, the more did pity and emotion for their suffer- 
 ings and their fall inspire a heightened interest in the hearts 
 of some, and the rashness of a romantic devotion in the 
 breasts of others. The daily spectacle of the dignity, the 
 sufferings, and even perhaps the touching beauty of the 
 queen, had made traitors within the commune itself. If 
 ardent souls are sometimes tempted to great crimes, gene- 
 roas hearts are equally prone to great sacrifices ; for com- 
 passion has its fanaticism. To rescue a king and his family 
 from prison persecution and a scaffold, by some heroic 
 stratagem, and restore them to liberty, happiness, and per- 
 haps a throne, was a deed which, from the very extent of 
 its dangers and difficulties, had charms that might make 
 many an enthusiast dream and dare it. 
 
 There was at this period among the members of the com- 
 mune, a young man named Toulan, born at Toulouse of a low
 
 THE PRISONERS OF THE TEMPLE. 245 
 
 1'amily ; but being passionately devoted to those literary studies 
 which exalt and ennoble the heart, he had come to Paris to 
 establish himself as a bookseller, and found his tastes and 
 necessities alike satisfied by the trade he had selected. The 
 numerous volumes which passed through his hands in the 
 way of business, kindled his imagination with a passion for 
 liberty, and intoxicated his heart with those romantic no- 
 tions that belong more to books than life. The revolution 
 was to him a dream in action, and he threw himself into it 
 with an ardour and an eloquence that soon made him popu- 
 lar in his section. One of the foremost at the assault of 
 the Tuileries on the 10th of August, he had also been ono 
 of the first elected to the council of the commune ; and it 
 was owing to the terrible hatred of tyranny he evinced, that 
 his colleagues selected him for the duty of commissioner at 
 the Temple. But if he entered it with a horror of the 
 tyrant and his family, he left it that same day with a pas- 
 sionate adoration of the victims. The sight of Marie An- 
 toinette above all this majestic woman rising proudly above 
 her degradation ; this countenance, where the langour of the 
 captive tempered the haughtiness of the queen; this melan- 
 choly, thrown as a veil over features still beautiful in the last 
 light of youth, whose graces were perishing in the damp 
 and gloom of a dungeon; this exquisitely-formed head over 
 which the axe was suspended, and which seemed already, to 
 his imagination, held up by its long tresses, and presented 
 to the people in the hand of the executioner all this beauty 
 and misery made a profound impression upon the sensitive 
 nature of Toulau. He possessed one of those souls whose 
 emotions pass rapidly from one extreme to the other, and 
 whose judgment vanishes before its feelings. All that was 
 noble seemed possible to him. 
 
 By pretended demonstrations of fury against the king, 
 he had succeeded in obtaining frequent missions to the 
 Temple, and on every occasion he had sought to attract the 
 notice of Marie Antoinette by signs of intelligence, which, 
 without exciting the suspicions of his colleagues, might make 
 the queen aware that she had a friend amongst her perse- 
 cutors. 
 
 The young Toulan was slight and delicate in form, and
 
 246 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 possessed one of those expressive physiognomies of the 
 south in which thought speaks in the eyes, and sensibility 
 in the flexible muscles of the face. His glance was a lan- 
 guage, and the queen was not long in comprehending it. 
 The presence of a second commissioner, who always accom- 
 panied him, had hitherto prevented any further communica- 
 tion; but he succeeded at last in seducing one of his 
 colleagues of the council of the commune, named Lepitrc, 
 and inducing him by the grandeur of the project, and the 
 splendour of the reward, to join him in a plot for the escape 
 of the royal family. 
 
 The two commissioners happened to be on duty together 
 the same day, and the queen beheld them fall at her feet, 
 and offer her, in the gloom of her prison, a devotion which 
 the place, the danger, and the chance of death, rendered a 
 nobler and loftier homage than any that had been lavished 
 on her, in the days of her prosperity. She accepted and 
 encouraged it, and with her own hand gave to Toulan a 
 tress of her hair, with this device in Italian: "He who fears 
 to die, knows not how to love." It was her credential to 
 secure him the confidence of her friends without. She 
 added afterwards a note in her own hand to the Chevalier 
 Jarjais, her secret agent, and the invisible chief of this plot. 
 "You may confide,'' she wrote, "in the man I send you. 
 His sentiments are known to me. For five months he has 
 never changed." A certain number of trusted royalists, 
 concealed in Paris, and disseminated amongst the battalions 
 of the national guards, were initiated vaguely into the plan 
 of escape. It consisted in bribing some of the commissioners 
 of the commune charged with the surveillance of the pr'son, 
 and then, having obtained a list of the most devoted royalists 
 in the battalions of the national guards, to take measures so 
 that these men should form, as if by chance, the majority 
 of the guard of the Temple on a particular day. These dis- 
 guised conspirators were to disarm the remainder of the de- 
 tachment during the night, deliver the royal family, and 
 conduct them by relays prepared beforehand to Dieppe, 
 where a fishing smack would be in waiting to convey them 
 over to England along with the leaders of the enterprise. 
 
 Toulan was intrepid and indefatigable in his zeal. Fur-
 
 SUMMARY. 247 
 
 nished with considerable sums of money which a sign from 
 the king had put at his disposal in Paris, he matured his 
 plan with the profoundest secrecy, transmitted all the de- 
 tails to the queen, communicated the king's wishes to his 
 friends outside, and sounded cautiously the principal chiefs 
 of the Convention and the commune, even Marat, Bobes- 
 pierre, and Danton ; acting upon the generosity of some, and 
 the cupidity of others, each day more fortunate in his endea- 
 vours, and more certain of success, for he now reckoned 
 amongst the accomplices of his perilous designs, five mem- 
 bers of the commune, beside many of the king's guards. 
 From this side, therefore, a ray of light penetrated at length 
 through the prison gloom, and brought a dream of freedom, 
 if not of hope, to the hearts of the captives, 
 
 SUMMARY. 
 
 [For some time past the public mind had been growing 
 impatient for the king's trial. Incited by the violent invec- 
 tives of the Jacobin clubs, and the atrocious calumnies which 
 were circulated against him, his death seemed to the people 
 the only measure that would give security to the republic. 
 The sections promenaded the streets, carrying on biers the 
 men who had been wounded on the 10th of August, and 
 iiercely demanding vengeance upon Louis Capet, as they 
 now designated the monarch; while within the Assembly, 
 Robespierre, Marat, and " the Mountain," incessantly 
 taunted the Girondists with their temporizing policy, and 
 sought by the most violent speeches to bring on the question 
 of the king's trial as the battle-ground on which either way 
 the fall of the Girondists would be decided. If they voted 
 for the trial, they were lost with the moderate party, if 
 against it, their influence was gone with the people. 
 
 The subject was at last opened formally, on the 13th of 
 November, by Pethion, who put the question to the vote of 
 the Assembly : " Can the king be judged, having been 
 decreed inviolable by the constitution ?" St. Just, the 
 friend of Robespierre, and the personification of all the cold
 
 248 FIRST FilENCU INVOLUTION. 
 
 cruelty of the revolution, required that he should be con- 
 demned at once as an enemy, not tried as a citizen. 
 " Koine," he said, "immolated her tyrant with no other 
 formula than twenty- two wounds ; why should France hesi- 
 tate respecting the assassin of the people ?" Petitions were 
 sent from most of the departments demanding the head of 
 the murderer of their brethren ; and Thomas Paine, author of 
 the " Rights of Man," wrote a letter to the Convention, of 
 which he was then a member, urging them to try the king 
 as a conspirator against the nation, Danton demanded the 
 speedy settlement of the question to calm the people's 
 minds. Robespierre, Marat, Legendre, and other fierce 
 Jacobins, violently supported the motion for execution with- 
 out trial, in order to defy the Girondists, who, it was expected, 
 would recoil before the condemnation of the king to death. 
 Camille Desmoulins took for the motto of his journal, this 
 line: "There is no sacrifice to God more acceptable 
 than an unjust and wicked king." 
 
 The Girondists bravely dared the wrath of the people by 
 advocating clemency; but at this time a discovery was made 
 which fatally inflamed the feelings of the members against 
 the king. In a secret recess of the Tuileries was found an 
 iron chest, in which Louis XVI. had concealed his state 
 papers, and amongst them documents clearly proving his 
 intrigues with the allies, and the secret treaty of the court 
 with Mirabeau ; letters also that implicated many of the 
 existing members of the Assembly, but from which they easily 
 exculpated themselves, for as Roland, the minister, had 
 opened the chest without witnesses, it was impossible to 
 convict them upon his sole testimony. Strong proofs were 
 existing against Dauton, who had really trafficked his honour 
 with the court, but they were in England. The iron chest 
 revealed nothing concerning him. Louis denied the authen- 
 ticity of the documents, which was only affirmed on Pethion's 
 sole evidence, but in his case the plea was not admitted, and 
 Robespierre now enforced his proposition that as the king's 
 guilt was clear he ought to die without previous trial. 
 Vergniaud opposed him in a speech of singular power and 
 ability, maintaining that the death of the king would certainly 
 involve France in a war with Europe ; and his eloquence
 
 THE TRIAL. 249 
 
 teemed for a while to have saved the life of the monarch : but 
 terror, cruelty, and senseless rage again gained the ascendant, 
 and the decree authorizing the king's trial was passed.] 
 
 THE TRIAL. 
 
 THE king mean while was gradually becoming accustomed to 
 a prison. His soul, formed for quiet repose, attained strength, 
 freedom, and power, by prayer and meditation within the 
 silent shadow of its walls ; and moments of happiness were 
 not wanting, while he had with him the loved beings to 
 whom he was so tenderly attached, and who were drawn 
 yet closer around him by the very rigours of captivity. That 
 grandeur, the weight of which had so often crushed his spirit, 
 was easily relinquished, and Louis XVI. had now but one de- 
 sire : to be forgotten in the tower till the successful invasion 
 of the allies, the victories of the republic, or the ever fluctu- 
 ating events of a revolution, restored himself, not to a throne, 
 but to the obscurity of peaceful exile, and his family to 
 freedom. Of late the relaxation of the prison discipline, 
 and the compassionate looks and words of the jailors, had 
 kindled a gleam of hope in his breast. The bitter animosity 
 of their enemies without seemed at last subsiding. It had 
 subsided certainly, but into a calm that foreboded the secure 
 triumph of their vengeance. It was scarcely worth while 
 to torture a victim whom they were so soon to immolate. 
 
 On the llth of December, while the royal family were 
 at breakfast, an unusual commotion was heard around the 
 Temple. The roll of the drums, the neighing of horses, and 
 the tramp of numerous battalions across the paved court-yard 
 outside, astonished and alarmed the prisoners. In vain they 
 questioned the commissioners who were present: all their 
 guards maintained a profound silence. At length it was 
 announced to the king that the mayor of Paris and the pro- 
 cnreur of the commune would arrive in the course of the 
 morning to conduct him to the bar of the Convention, in 
 order to undergo an examination, and that these troops
 
 250 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 were to form his escort. At the same time he was informed 
 of the order which confined him to his own apartment, and 
 deprived him of the presence of his son and of all communi- 
 cation with his family, until the day when judgment should 
 be pronounced upon him. 
 
 Although the royal family imagined the separation would bo 
 only temporary, yet it was not effected without tears and bitter 
 anguish. The dauphin's bed was carried up to his mother's 
 chamber, whilst the king wept and embraced his family ; 
 then, turning Avith tearful eyes to the commissioners, he 
 exclaimed: "What! gentlemen, will you take even my son 
 from me a child of but seven years of age!" " The com- 
 mune," replied one of the municipal officers, "considered that 
 since you were to remain in solitary confinement during the 
 progress of your trial, the child must have been left wholly 
 with you or with his mother, and the privation therefore has 
 been imposed on the one whose sex and courage will enable 
 him better to sustain it." 
 
 The king was silent, and walked up and down the apart- 
 ment for a long while, with his arms folded and his head 
 bent upon his breast; then throwing himself into a chair 
 near the bed he remained perfectly silent, with his head 
 buried in his hands, for the two hours that preceded the 
 arrival of the commune. Having been secretly informed by 
 Toulan of the stormy discussions that were going on in the 
 Convention respecting him, the king was probably recalling 
 all the events of his reign to his memory, in order to justify 
 himself before his judges and posterity. 
 
 At twelve o'clock, Chambon, the new mayor of Paris, 
 and Chauniette, the procureur-syndic of the commune, en- 
 tered the king's apartment, accompanied by Santerrc, with 
 a group of officers of the national guards and municipal 
 members wearing the tri- coloured scarf. 
 
 Before ordering the secretary to the commune, Colombeati, 
 to read the decree which summoned Louis to the bar, Cham- 
 bon addressed the king himself, with that sad and serious 
 dignity suitable to a magistrate who speaks 5a the name of 
 the people, but who speaks to a fallen king. Colombeau 
 then read the decree aloud. The Convention in order to 
 bring the monarch under the power of the law as a simple
 
 THE TRIAL. 25 1 
 
 citizen had effaced all his regal titles and cited him to their 
 bar merely as Louis Capet. The king displayed more in- 
 dignation at this degradation of the name of his race than 
 at the loss of his titles. "Gentlemen," said he, " Capet is 
 not my name, it is the name only of one of my ancestors. 
 I should have wished that my son had been left with me, 
 at least during the period that I have passed awaiting you 
 here; but this treatment is in accordance with all that I have 
 endured for the last four months. I shall follow you, not 
 in obedience to the Convention, but because my enemies 
 have now the power in their hands." Then asking Clery for 
 a coat of a brown colour, which he put on over the one he 
 was wearing, and taking his hat, he followed the mayor, 
 who walked before him. When they reached the tower 
 gate he entered the mayor's carriage, and the glasses being 
 down, every one could see distinctly into the interior as the 
 vehicle rolled slowly through the courts. The noise of the 
 wheels upon the pavement apprised the queen and princesses 
 of the king's departure, but the projecting oak planks pre- 
 vented them from obtaining a glimpse of him or his escort. 
 They kneeled down, however, beside the windows, listening 
 with heart and ear to the sound of the wheels, and when 
 they ceased, with clasped hands and foreheads resting on 
 the cold stone, they prayed to Heaven that ho might be 
 granted that courage, self-possession, and presence of mind, 
 which was so needful to him in the presence of his enemies. 
 Thus they remained on their knees in prayer during the 
 whole period of the king's absence. 
 
 Paris on that day seemed like a camp under arms : bayo- 
 nets and cannon repressed every emotion, even that of curi- 
 osity. The movement of life seemed suspended. All the 
 posts were doubled ; the roll was called every hour to make 
 sure of the presence of the national guards ; a piquet of two 
 hundred bayonets kept watch in the court of each of the 
 forty-eight sections; a reserve with cannon was stationed 
 at the Tuileries, and strong patrols guarded every square 
 and every street. The king's escort resembled an army in 
 itself, comprising cavalry, infantry, and artillery. A squadron 
 of mounted national gendarmerie led the van, three pieces
 
 252 FIRST FHENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 of cannon followed, then came the king's carriage, flanked by 
 a double line of infantry, a troop of cavalry of the line formed 
 the rear-guard, and three more pieces of cannon closed the 
 procession. All the soldiers who formed the armed force 
 of Paris on that day, had been chosen and selected by the 
 commune at the special recommendation of their officers. 
 Each fusilier carried sixteen rounds of ammunition, and the 
 battalions and squadrons marched at sufficient distance, one 
 from the other, to enable them to deploy with ease into 
 line upon the first alarm. The streets were cleared of all 
 idlers, and the citizens rudely repulsed from the public 
 thoroughfares ; but the alleys of trees along the boulevards, 
 and the doors and windows all along the route, were crowded 
 with human heads every eye seeking the king. The king 
 himself looked around with interest, as if he experienced a 
 sort of mechanical pleasure at the sight of all this movement 
 and life, after being so long shut out from communion with 
 masses of men, or as if he looked for some sign of interest 
 or of pity amongst the people who surrounded him. The 
 people, however, stared at him without evincing any emo- 
 tion, though struck by the alteration which so many months 
 of suffering and confinement had produced in his appearance. 
 The livid colour of his face seemed the reflection of a dun- 
 geon. The shadows of the Temple rested there. His beard 
 had never been removed since the orders which deprived 
 him of all the necessary instruments of his toilette, and the 
 quantity of rough, bristly, light hair, which in consequence 
 covered his cheeks lips and chin, took away all expression, 
 even that of melancholy, from his mouth. Owing to his 
 being short-sighted, his eyes wandered with a vague 
 uncertain glance over the crowd, as if seeking in vain some 
 friendly object on which to rest. 
 
 His once corpulent figure was reduced by watchings and 
 anxiety ; the flesh hung down from his hollow cheeks in folds 
 upon his neck-cloth; his clothes, falling loosely about his 
 shrunk figure, looked as if they had been flung by public 
 charity upon the wasted body of a mendicant; his whole 
 appearance seemed designed by hatred, or combined by 
 chance, to present to the people a harsh and repulsive, in 
 place of a sad and touching spectacle. It was the spectre
 
 TUE TRIAL. 253 
 
 of royalty which the people were conducting to the scaffold, 
 costumed for the occasion with all that could inspire them 
 with contempt. 
 
 The procession wound along the Boulevard, the Rue des 
 Capucines, and the Place Yendome, to reach the hall of 
 the Convention. A profound silence reigned throughout the 
 crowd: their very respiration seemed suspended. Every 
 one felt that the grand crisis in the destiny of France was 
 approaching. The king appeared less moved than the 
 people ; he recognised the different streets and public build- 
 ings, naming them aloud as he passed along; and on reaching 
 the Fortes St. Denis, and St. Martin, asked which of the 
 two triumphal arches the Convention had ordered to be 
 thrown down. On arriving at the court of the Feuillants, 
 Santerre alighted, and standing at the door of the carriage, 
 placed his hand upon the prisoner's arm, and led him to the 
 bar of the Convention. 
 
 " Citizens of the tribunes," said the president, " Louis 
 is at the bar. You are about to give a great lesson to 
 kings, a grand and useful example to nations. Remember 
 the silence that accompanied the progress of Louis from 
 Varenues a silence the precursor of the judgment which 
 the people are about to pronounce upon kings." 
 
 The king took his seat opposite the president's chair, 
 in the same place where he had formerly taken the oath to 
 maintain the constitution. The act of accusation was then 
 read: it was a long enumeration of all the charges which 
 the different factions of the revolution had successively 
 made against the crown, comprising therein all the violence 
 and disorder which had resulted from their own acts, from 
 the riots at Versailles to the combat of the 10th of August. 
 All the attempts made by the king to resist the movement 
 which was hurrying monarchy headlong to destruction, were 
 called conspiracies. All his weaknesses were termed trea- 
 sons ; it was an indictment for character and circumstances, 
 rather than for crimes. His nature alone was culpable. 
 But even events which no one could foresee or resist, were 
 laid to his charge. He was held responsible for the throne, 
 the aristocracy, the emigration, the priesthood, for Lafa-
 
 254 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 yette, the Girondists, and even the Jacobins themselves. 
 He was the victim of the Ancient Sacrifice, destined to bear 
 the iniquities of all. 
 
 Whilst this long history of the faults of his reign was 
 thus unfolded, and all the blood shed at the Champ de Ma: 1 ?, 
 on the 20th of June, and the 10th of August, thus laid 
 to his charge, the conspirators of these sanguinary risings, 
 who sat amongst his judges, such .as Pethion, Louvet, Bar- 
 baroux, Carra, Marat, Danton, and Legendre, coloured and 
 looked down. Their consciences bore witness against them 
 for accusing as the author of these crimes the man who had 
 been their victim. The king listened, apparently unmoved ; 
 only once or twice when the accusation outstripped all 
 the bounds of injustice or improbability, and he heard 
 himself accused of spilling the blood of the people, which 
 he had so religiously spared during his whole reign, he 
 could not help betraying, by an involuntary movement and 
 a bitter smile, the repressed indignation which was burning 
 within him. It was evident that he was prepared for all 
 except the accusation of being a sanguinary prince. He 
 lifted his eyes to Heaven, and seemed to call God for his 
 witness against men. 
 
 Barere, who was president of the Convention on that 
 day, summon up in a few phrases the principal heads of the 
 indictment against the king, and then proceeded to interro- 
 gate him. One of the secretaries of the Assembly, Value, 
 approaching the bar, placed before the prisoner, one by one, 
 all the documents relative to the trial. The president 
 then demanded if he recognised these papers. In this 
 manner tho letters found in the iron chest were laid before 
 the king, tliDse relating to the treason of Mirabeau and 
 Lafayette, his own letter to the bishops respecting the 
 acceptance of the constitution by the clergy ; other letters 
 equally compromising, either signed or written entirely by 
 himself; and lastly, some private notes of M. de Laporte, 
 comptroller of the privy purse, attesting the expenditure of 
 several sums for the purpose of bribing the Jacobins, the 
 tribunes of the Assembly, and the men of the faubourgs. 
 
 There were two modes by which Louis XVI. might have
 
 THE TRIAL. 255 
 
 met the accusation: both equally noble. The first was to 
 refuse all reply, to shroud himself in his inviolability as 
 king, or in the resignation of the vanquished. The other, 
 to avow boldly the efforts he had made, and which it was 
 his duty to make, to moderate the principal leaders of the 
 revolutionary party and tempt them to the support of that 
 menaced royalty which his blood, his rank, and his oath to 
 the constitution obliged him to defend, since royalty itself 
 formed part of the constitution. The king could the more 
 easily have adopted this line of defence, since no document 
 had been found in the iron chest distinctly compromising 
 him with 1 the movements of the allies. But he had not 
 sufficient courage or presence of mind to adopt either of 
 these courses, which, if they had not saved his life, would 
 at least have preserved his dignity. In place of meeting the 
 accusation as a king by silence, or as a statesman by a 
 hardy avowal of his reasons and actions, he exculpated 
 himself by disputing the facts. He denied the notes, the 
 letters, the acts he even denied all knowledge of the iron 
 chest itself, which, sealed by his own hand, had been opened 
 to reveal his secrets. The anguish of his mind left him no 
 time to deliberate on the course of conduct which his posi- 
 tion as a monarch demanded from him; or perhaps, having 
 been led into a first negation, he was obliged to continue it 
 throughout for fear of being detected in evasion, or rather 
 for fear of compromising his friends and servants by his 
 avowals. Besides, he wished doubtless to leave a free 
 course open for those who undertook his defence; and 
 lastly, he thought of his wife, his sister, and his children, 
 perhaps more than became his dignity at such a moment, 
 and this weakened his defence. From that day he was no 
 longer a king contending with a people, but an accused 
 man contesting with his judges, and allowing the pleadings 
 of advocates to intervene between the majesty of the throne 
 and the majesty of the scaffold. 
 
 After the examination, Santerrc again took hold of the 
 king's arm and conducted him to the waiting-room of the 
 Convention, accompanied by Chanibon and Chaumettc. 
 The protracted length of the trial and the agitation of his
 
 256 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 mind had completely exhausted the king's strength, and he 
 almost fainted from weakness. Chaumette offered him 
 some refreshment, which he refused; but a moment after, 
 seeing a grenadier of the escort offer half a loaf to the 
 procureur of the commune, nature conquered, and Louis 
 approaching Chaumette, asked him in a low voice for a 
 piece of the bread. " Ask aloud for whatever you want," 
 said Chaumette, recoiling from him as if he feared even to 
 be suspected of pity. " I ask you for a piece of your 
 bread," returned the king, raising his voice. "Here then, 
 break some off," replied Chaumette; "it is a Spartan break- 
 fast. If I had a root I would give you half of it." 
 
 The carriage being announced, the king entered it with 
 the bread still in his hand, but having only eaten the crust, 
 he was embarrassed what to do with the remainder, fearing 
 that if he threw it from the window his guards might 
 suspect him of making a signal or of having hidden some 
 note in the centre. He therefore handed it to Colombeau, the 
 clerk of the commune, who sat opposite to him. Colom- 
 beau immediately threw it into the street. "Ah!" said 
 the king, " it is wrong to waste bread at such a time when 
 it is so dear." "And how do know that it is dear?" de- 
 manded Chaumette. " Because what I am eating is so 
 very bad," replied the king. "My grandmother," continued 
 Chaumette, with a jovial familiarity, " used to say to me 
 when I was a child, ' Never throw away a crumb of bread, 
 for you could never make an ear of corn grow.'" "Your 
 grandmother was a sensible woman, M. Chaumette," replied 
 the king smiling; " bread comes from God." The conversa- 
 tion was thus calm and almost gay during the drive back 
 to the prison. The king observed and named all the 
 streets. "Ah I there is the Rue d'Orleans," he exclaimed, 
 as they entered it. " Say the Rue de 1'Egalite," interrupted 
 Chaumette, rudely. " Yes, yes," replied the king, " in con- 
 sequence of " he did not finish the sentence, and re- 
 mained gloomy and silent for some moments. A little 
 further on, Chaumette, who had eaten nothing since the 
 morning, became ill, and the king testified some concern. 
 "It is probably the motion of the carriage that affects you,'' 
 he said ; " have you ever experienced the rolling of a vessel ?"
 
 I;;E TUIAL. 257 
 
 "Yes,'' replied Chaumette, "I fought under Admiral Lamotte 
 Piquet." "Ah I" said the king, "he was a brave man, 
 that Lamotte Piquet." While the conversation was carried 
 on in this tone inside the carriage, the mob outside, formed 
 in groups, were chanting the most violent couplets of the 
 Marseillaise : 
 
 " Tyrant qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons!" 
 
 While shouts of " Vive la Revolution," rose up at every 
 turn of the wheels, and were echoed all along the line, 
 even as far as the Bastile, so that one continued roar re- 
 sounded from the Tuileries to the Temple. But the king 
 affected not to hear these auguries of death. On again 
 entering the court of the Temple, he looked up long and 
 sadly at the walls of the tower and the windows of the 
 queen's apartment, as if his glance, though intercepted by 
 planks and bars, could yet communicate his feelings to those 
 he loved. The mayor conducted him back to his chamber, 
 again reiterating the decree of the Convention which 
 ordered his complete separation and absolute isolation from 
 his family. In vain the king supplicated for a revocation 
 of this cruel order: he could only obtain a promise that the 
 queen should be informed of his return. Chambon conceded 
 all that was in his power; and the valet de chambre, Clery, 
 had a last interview with the princesses, in which he trans- 
 mitted to them the details of the examination as confided 
 to him by his master. Clery also gave the queen assur- 
 ance of the active intervention of foreign powers in behalf 
 of the king, and held out hopes that the sentence would 
 probably be banishment to Spain, as that country had not 
 declared war against France. " Did they speak of the 
 queen?" demanded Madame Elizabeth with anxiety. Clery 
 replied that her name was not mentioned in the indict- 
 ment. " Ah 1'' exclaimed the princess, as if relieved from a 
 weight of apprehension ; " then perhaps they consider the 
 Icing as a victim necessary to their security; but the queen! 
 and these poor children I what obstacle can their lives pre- 
 sent to their ambition?" At this secret interview, obtained 
 in violation of the injunctions of the commune, Clery agreed 
 witli the princesses upon a plan by which they could obtain 
 
 B
 
 258 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 and give mutual information to each other respecting the 
 health of the king and their own, and the progress of his 
 trial one of the guards, named Turgy, devoting himself 
 generously to secure this intercourse between the prisoners. 
 
 Articles of dress, linen, furniture, asked for or sent from 
 one story to another, were the secret cyphers of this corres- 
 pondence, by which the unhappy family were made acquainted 
 with all the stages of the king's trial. After these arrange- 
 ments, which afforded him some consolation, had been made, 
 Louis supped and lay down to rest, incessantly turning his 
 eyes towards the spot where his son's bed had been, and 
 beseeching the commissioners to restore him his child. 
 
 As soon as the king had quitted the Convention, Pethion 
 and Treilhard obtained permission for him to choose coun- 
 sel for his defence, in accordance with the privilege granted 
 to all prisoners. In vain Marat, Duhem, Billaud Vareunes, 
 and Chasles protested by their clamour against the right of 
 defence, demanding audaciously an exception to this law of 
 humanity in the person of " the tyrant who had rebelled 
 against the nation." In vain Thuriot exclaimed, " Let the 
 tyrant's head be laid upon the block!" The Convention 
 rose almost unanimously against this bloodthirsty impa- 
 tience, and maintained the dignity of the Assembly as 
 judge. Four of its members, Cambaceres, Thuriot, Dupont 
 de Bigorre, and Dubois de Crance, were selected to carry the 
 decree to the Temple, which allowed the king permission to 
 name his own counsel, consisting of two defenders. The king 
 selected the two most celebrated pleaders in Paris, Tronchet 
 and Target, and gave the address of the country-house at 
 which the former resided, but declared his ignorance of 
 Target's abode. 
 
 Tronchet, whose eloquence had been formed by political 
 struggles in the storms of the Constitutional Assembly, of 
 which he had been a laborious member, accepted without 
 hesitation the glorious mission with which a proscribed cap- 
 tive associated his name. Target, a powerful speaker but a 
 coward soul, trembled at even appearing to share the last 
 thoughts of the denounced monarch, and wrote a cruel and 
 dastardly letter to the Convention, in which, with visible 
 alarm, he disclaimed a task which his principles, he said,
 
 THE TRIAL. 259 
 
 would not allow him to undertake. This cowardice, far 
 from saving Target, marked him out as a victim, and he 
 in his turn ascended the scaffold undefended and unwept. 
 Many names were suggested to replace that of Target. 
 The king chose Deseze, a lawyer of Bourdeaux, who had 
 settled in Paris. But these two men were only the advo- 
 cates of the king: a friend was still wanting, and for the 
 honour of the human heart, and the consolation of his last 
 hours, this friend was found. 
 
 There was then living in solitude near Paris an old man 
 of the family of Lamoignon, many members of which had 
 been illustrious in the highest judicial capacities under the 
 ancient monarchy. The Lamoignons were one of those par- 
 liamentary families who rose, year by year, to the highest 
 functions of the kingdom, not by the favour of courts or the 
 caprices of kings, but from long services rendered to the na- 
 tion. This old man, of the name of Malesherbes, then 
 seventy-four years of age, had been twice minister of Louis 
 XVI. but his tenure of office had been brief, and his services 
 repaid by ingratitude and exile: not by desire of the king, 
 but owing to the hatred of the clergy and the animosity of 
 the court and the aristocracy. The influence of the court 
 had deprived him of a pupil, but still left him a friend in the 
 monarch ; and in the depths of his solitude he had watched 
 the fall of Louis, from the meeting of the states -general to 
 the prison of the Temple. A secret correspondence had 
 been carried on between them at rare intervals, and now 
 that he was threatened with an impending trial, Male- 
 sherbes quitted his country retreat, and addressed a letter 
 to the Convention, which the president Barere read to the 
 Assembly, offering, in case Louis XVI. was permitted to 
 select counsel for his defence, to devote himself to the duty. 
 
 At the name of Malesherbes a thrill like an electric 
 shock ran through the entire Assembly; for the name of a 
 noble man excites the same emotion in a crowd as the sight 
 of some deed of heroism or virtue. Hate itself recognised 
 the sacred rights of friendship in the demand of the aged 
 minister, and it was accorded to him.
 
 260 FIRST HIENCH DEVOLUTION. 
 
 Malesherbes was introduced that same day to the prison 
 which was the scene of his master's sufferings ; but he was 
 obliged to undergo a strict search at the outer wicket, lest he 
 might have some concealed weapon which would rob the 
 scaffold of the king, by aiding him to suicide. Nothing, how- 
 ever, was discovered on his person except some diplomatic 
 documents and the journal of the sittings of the Convention. 
 
 The door of the king's room being opened, Malesherbes 
 advanced with faltering steps and drooping head towards 
 his master. Louis was seated at a table, and held in his 
 hand a volume of Tacitus, that Roman evangelist of the 
 illustrious dead, which he read with the greatest attention. 
 At the sight of his former minister he sprang up, threw 
 away the book, and advanced with open arms and tearful 
 eyes to meet the old man. "Ah!" he exclaimed, pressing 
 him to his heart, "in what a position do you find me! 
 This is where all our dreams of the amelioration of the 
 people have conducted me! But wherefore do you come 
 hither to seek me? Your devotion will endanger your life 
 and cannot save mine I" 
 
 Malesherbes expressed with tears the joy he felt at being 
 able to consecrate the remainder of his life to his monarch's 
 service, and display that attachment to him in a prison which 
 had been suspected in a palace. Then he endeavoured to 
 encourage a hope in the justice of his judges, or the pity of 
 the people, who might grow weary of persecuting him. " No, 
 no," answered Louis, "they will sentence me to death, I am 
 certain : they have both the power and the will. No matter: 
 let us prepare for the trial as if I were to gain it, and I will 
 gain it, for I shall leave my memory without a stain." 
 
 Tronchet and Deseze went every day to the Temple with 
 Malesherbes to prepare the materials for the defence; and 
 the king spent many hours in going over the principal 
 counts in the indictment, and the different circumstances of 
 his reign which best refuted them. 
 
 Tronchet and Deseze came at five o'clock and left at 
 nine. Malesherbes preceded them by some hours, and 
 passed the mornings reading the public journals with the 
 king, and preparing the work for the evening. At night,
 
 THE TRIAL. 261 
 
 when his three counsel had retired, the king read to himself 
 the speeches for and against him which had been delivered 
 the night before at the Convention ; but from the impartiality 
 of his observations, one would have imagined he was read- 
 ing the history of some distant reign. " How can you read 
 those invectives so coolly?" asked Clery, one night. "Be- 
 cause I learn from them how far the malignity of men can 
 go," answered the king. "Until now I could not have 
 believed in its extent." And he lay down calmly to rest. 
 
 The princesses, mean while, had contrived a mode of 
 corresponding with the king by means of a ball of thread, in 
 which a piece of paper was concealed, with the words 
 pricked on it by a needle. Turgy, who attended table both 
 in the king's and queen's apartments, took charge of this 
 ball of thread, and hid it in a press in the dining-room, from 
 whence Clery conveyed it to the king, and replaced it after 
 the answer was concealed in the same manner. Thus the 
 same hopes and fears, gliding through the walls, made the 
 hearts of the prisoners throb with similar emotions. 
 Afterwards the king used to drop a note tied to a thread 
 down into the large screen of the queen's window, which 
 lay just beneath his, and drew it up again charged with the 
 tender confidences of his wife and sister. Since the isola- 
 tion of the king from his family, he had refused to take his 
 accustomed exercise in the garden. " The promenade was 
 agreeable," he said, " only when I had my wife and children 
 with me." On the 19th of December, while at breakfast, 
 he said to Clery, before the municipal officials, "Fourteen 
 years ago you were earlier up than to-day." A mournful 
 smile revealed his meaning to the servant, who sympathised 
 with the sensibility of the father. " It was the day when 
 my daughter was born," continued the king, " and now . 
 on her birth-day not to be permitted to see her!" Tears 
 fell upon the bread he was eating, and even the municipals 
 seemed to respect these memories of happy days which pene- 
 trated into the prison only to increase its gloom. 
 
 The next day Louis shut himself up alone in the turret 
 for a long time, and wrote his will. It was a last fare-
 
 262 FIRST FUENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 well to hope. From that day he hoped in nothing but im- 
 mortality. He bequeathed in peace all that was left him to 
 bequeath his tenderness to his family, his gratitude to his 
 servants, and his pardon to his enemies. After that act he 
 appeared more calm. He had signed the last page of his 
 destiny in the faith of a Christian. 
 
 The same day his counsel came to present to him the com- 
 plete plan of his defence. Malesherbes and the king himself 
 had furnished the facts for the document, Tronchet the legal 
 arguments, and Deseze had drawn it up forensically. Deseze 
 read it aloud. The peroration was addressed to the feelings of 
 the people, and calculated to move the judges by the mournful 
 picture it drew of the vicissitudes of the royal family. This 
 apostrophe to the nation drew tears from the eyes of Males- 
 herbes and Tronchet. The king himself was touched with 
 the pity which his defender sought to inspire in his enemies ; 
 but his pride revolted from imploring at their hands any 
 other justice than the justice of their consciences. "This 
 peroration must be struck out," said Louis; "I cannot 
 consent to appeal to the pity of my accusers!" Deseze 
 resisted, but the dignity of death belonged to the dying, and 
 his counsel yielded. After the departure of Deseze and 
 Tronchet, the king, who was left alone with Malesherbes, 
 seemed disturbed and gloomy. "I have one more sorrow 
 added to my list," he said to his friend: "Deseze and 
 Tronchet owe me nothing; yet they are giving me their 
 time, their trouble, perhaps their lives. How can I requite 
 such services ? I possess nothing, and even if I left them 
 a legacy it would not be paid. Besides it is not money 
 that can acquit snch a debtl" "Sire," answered Males- 
 herbes, "leave the recompense to their consciences and 
 posterity. But you can even now grant them a favour be- 
 yond all the riches you could have showered on them in the 
 days of your prosperity." "What is it?'' asked the king. 
 "Sire, embrace them!'' Accordingly the next day, when 
 Deseze and Tronchet entered the chamber of the captive, to 
 accompany him to the Convention, the king advanced to 
 meet them in silence, opened his arms, and pressed them 
 fervently to his heart. The accused and the defenders 
 only spoke by their sobs ; but the king felt relieved. He had
 
 THE TRIAL. 263 
 
 given all he could, his tears and an embrace. Deseze and 
 Tronchet felt they were recompensed. They had received 
 all of which they were ambitious the tears of an unhappy 
 king abandoned by his subjects, and the embrace of gratitude 
 from a dying man. 
 
 Some moments afterwards, Santerre, Chambon, and Chau- 
 mette, came to conduct the king a second time, with the 
 same display of force, to the Convention. The Convention 
 made him wait for nearly an hour, like a common client, in 
 the outer hall of that in which they carried on their delibera- 
 tions. The king was dressed with more care than on his 
 first examination, and his exterior betrayed less of the ap- 
 pearance of a prisoner taken from a dungeon. His friends 
 had advised him not to shave his beard, in order to excite 
 the pity of the people by exposing the visible cruelty of his 
 jailers; but the king rejected with disdain this theatrical 
 mode of awakening emotion in the crowd, and the 
 commissioners, at his request, had allowed Clery a pair 
 of scissors to remove his beard. His features were com- 
 posed, his eyes serene. Formed more for resignation than 
 for struggling with destiny, the approach of the final hour 
 gave an unwonted dignity to his appearance. 
 
 He walked up and down with an air of calm indifference, 
 between his counsel, amidst the group of deputies who had 
 rushed out of the hall to gratify their curiosity by beholding 
 him; and conversed with Malesherbes in a tone that 
 evinced neither anxiety nor agitation. The old man, in 
 replying, always made use of the title of majesty: more 
 respectful as fortune became more adverse. Treilhard 
 overheard him, and advancing between the king and Ma- 
 lesherbes, said to the latter: "What tempts you to the 
 dangerous audacity of pronouncing titles here which the 
 nation have proscribed?" "Contempt for life!" was the 
 disdainful answer of Malesherbes, and he continued the 
 conversation as before. The king at length entered the 
 Convention, accompanied by his counsel. The members 
 listened in profound silence to the speech of Deseze. One 
 could see by the demeanour of the Mountain, that there 
 was no agitation because there was no longer any doubt. 
 The judges had the patience of certainty, and they gave
 
 264 FIRST FKINM! l:LV I.UriON. 
 
 the king a respite of an hour, because in their hearts his life 
 was already forfeited. 
 
 Deseze spoke with dignity but without excitement. He 
 displayed the coolness of reason in presence of the vehemence 
 of public passion; but his eloquence, though always rising to 
 the level of his duty as a defender, never rose above it to 
 the height of circumstances. He argued when he ought to 
 have struck; he forgot that rashness is in some cases 
 sovereign prudence, and that in a supreme crisis nothing 
 can save but that desperate eloquence which risks all to 
 save all. 
 
 The king listened to his own defence with an interest 
 that seemed excited more for the young pleader than for him- 
 self. After Deseze had concluded, he rose and said: "Yon 
 have heard the grounds of my defence. I shall not repeat 
 them; but iu addressing you for the last time, I declare- 
 solemnly that my conscience has nothing to reproach me 
 with, and that my counsel have uttered only the truth. I 
 have never feared a public examination of my conduct ; but 
 my heart is indeed grieved to fiud in the indictment that I 
 am accused of wishing to shed the blood of the people, and 
 above all, that I provoked the calamities of the 10th of 
 August. The innumerable proofs I have given of my love 
 for the people ought, I think, to have placed me above such 
 a reproach. I, who would have exposed my own life sooner 
 than shed one drop of their blood 1" He quitted the Con- 
 vention after these words. 
 
 His departure was the signal for a clamorous debate; 
 some demanding that the king should be judged on the in- 
 stant; others, and especially Lanjuinais, objecting that, in 
 this case, the National Convention would be acting at once as 
 the enemies, the accusers, the judges, and the jury of the 
 king. The uproar at last was such that the president 
 was forced to put on his hat, as a sign that the delibera- 
 tions were suspended. Order being somewhat restored, 
 Pethion addressed the Assembly in support of Lanjuinais' 
 proposition, which, with some modifications, was carried. 
 
 Whilst these disturbances in the Assembly betrayed the 
 bitterness and the irresolution of the judges, the king, having
 
 T1IK TI;IAL. 265 
 
 returned from the Convention to the liall of the inspectors, 
 threw himself into the arms of Deseze. He pressed the 
 hands of his defender in his own, dried his forehead with 
 his handkerchief, and warmed with his own hands fresh 
 linen to replace that which five hours speaking on the tri- 
 bune had saturated with perspiration. In these familiar 
 cares, made more striking by his rank and position, the king 
 seemed to forget that his own life was the subject of the 
 tumultuous discussions in the neighbouring hall. 
 
 On his return to the Temple, the king, who had nothing 
 else to offer, took off his cravat and gave it to his counsel. 
 Up to the 16th of January no change occurred in his mode 
 of life, except that Malesherbes presented himself in vain for 
 admittance at the gate of the tower. The king passed his 
 time in reading the history of England, especially the volume 
 which contained the trial and death of Charles the First, as if 
 he sought consolation by finding in the annals of thrones 
 another example of misfortune equal to his own, and as if 
 he wished to accustom himself to death, and to model his 
 last moments upon those of a decapitated king. 
 
 During these days, in which no rumour from without 
 penetrated within the walls of Louis's prison, the two par- 
 ties into which the Convention was divided continued fiercely 
 to dispute his life between them. In the sitting of the 
 1 7th, Lebrun, the minister for foreign affairs, read a commu- 
 nication from the court of Spain, to the effect that if the 
 king's life were spared, the Spanish troops should be removed 
 from the frontier on which they had been assembled ; but the 
 Convention passed disdainfully to the order of the day. 
 Brissot and Buzot supported an appeal to the people to de- 
 cide upon the king's fate, whilst Carra, although a Girondist, 
 opposed it. An accusation of former complicity with the 
 court was made against Vergniaud and some others of the 
 Girondist party, who, although they succeeded in clearing 
 themselves of the charge, felt the necessity of stifling such 
 suspicions by an unmistakable act of hostility to the mo- 
 narchy, and to baptise themselves as true republicans in the 
 blood of a king. On the question of appeal to the people, 
 two hundred and eighty-one voices voted in the affirmative,
 
 2GG FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 and four hundred and twenty-three in the negative. Among 
 the former were numbered all the leaders of the Girondist 
 party, while the latter consisted of the Mountain and a few 
 of the more hot-headed of the moderates. Danton then de- 
 manded that the Convention, without separating, should 
 decide on the fate of the king. The voting on this final 
 question commenced at eight o'clock in the evening. 
 
 THE SENTENCE, 
 
 THE aspect of the town was menacing, the aspect of the 
 Convention ominous. The passages and interior of the hall 
 of the Convention seemed arranged for an execution rather 
 than for the pronouncing of judgment. The hour, the place, 
 the narrow avenues and sombre arches of this gloomy mo- 
 nastery, the dim light of the few lamps that struggled with 
 the shadows of a winter's night, and threw a pallid shade 
 upon every face ; the clash and glitter of arms at all the doors ; 
 the pieces of cannon at the principal gates, by which the gun- 
 ners stood match in hand, less to intimidate the people than 
 to be ready to turn their pieces against the hall, if the fatal 
 sentence was not pronounced ; the hoarse roar of the in- 
 numerable crowd filling up every adjacent street and pressing 
 against the walls of the building, as if to catch the first 
 murmur of the verdict ; the movement of the patrols dashing 
 aside the ocean of men to make way for the passage of some 
 of the representatives who were late in arriving; the cos- 
 tumes, the countenances, the bonnets rouges, the carmag- 
 noles, the lowering brows, hoarse voices, and atrocious and 
 significant gestures all seemed calculated to make the inex- 
 orable fiat, already pronounced by the people, enter by every 
 avenue of sense into the minds of the judges. "His death 
 or thine!" was the single sentence muttered in a low voice, 
 but with an imperative accent, in the ear of each deputy as 
 he threaded the groups to take up his position. Persons ac- 
 customed to attend the sittings of the Convention, and who 
 knew each member by sight, were placed at stated distance?, 
 and these spies of the people named the deputies in a loud
 
 THE SENTENCF. 267 
 
 voice as they passed, pointing out the doubtful, threaten- 
 ing the timid, insulting the lenient, and applauding the 
 inflexible. 
 
 At the names of Marat, Danton, Robespierre, Collot 
 d'Herbois, and Camille Desmoulins, the crowd parted with 
 respect, to give passage to these men who represented the 
 wrath of the people; but when Vergniaud, Brissot, Lan- 
 juinais, and Boissy d'Anglas passed, frowning brows, 
 clenched hands, and pikes and sabres brandished over their 
 heads, showed clearly that the people would be obeyed or 
 revenged. The interior of the hall was dimly and unequally 
 lighted ; the lustre which hung from the ceiling, and the lamps 
 on the table, diffused a brilliant light through some portions 
 -of the hall, and along the vaulted roof, but threw the re- 
 mainder into yet deeper obscurity. The public tribunes which 
 ascended gradually, as in an amphitheatre, till they met and 
 blended with the elevated benches of the Mountain, were 
 crammed with spectators as in a Roman circus ; and, as in 
 these ancient spectacles, the front rows were crowded with 
 women, their youthful faces adorned with tri-colourfed ribbons, 
 who sat chatting and laughing among themselves, exchang- 
 ing bows and smiles, and only assuming a look of serious- 
 ness and attention when reckoning the votes, and pricking 
 them on a card with a pin as they were announced from the 
 tribune. Servants belonging to the hall moved about amongst 
 the different benches, carrying trays loaded with ices, oranges, 
 and other refreshments, which they distributed to these 
 women. On the very highest grades of the circle were 
 ranged the men of the people, in their ordinary working-day 
 dress, eager and attentive, repeating in loud voices to one an- 
 other the name and vote of the deputy who had been just 
 called, and greeting him with applause or murmurs as he 
 returned to his seat. The lowest of the public tribunes were 
 occupied by butchers' apprentices, their blood-stained aprons 
 tucked up at one side in their belts, and the handles of their 
 long knives ostentatiously projecting from the folds of cloth 
 that served them as a sheath. The open space in the centre 
 of the hall was filled with a mingled crowd of spectators and 
 deputies, surging and agitated like the waves of ocean, 
 dividing every moment, to give passage to the voters as
 
 268 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 they were summoned to the tribune or returned to their 
 places and closing again as they passed. 
 
 The first votes heard by the Assembly left all minds in 
 uncertainty. Death and banishment resounded alternately, 
 as if equally balanced. The king's fate rested evidently on 
 the first vote given by a leader of the Girondists; for this 
 vote would no doubt determine those of his entire party, 
 and from their numbers, if unanimous, the Girondists were 
 certain of irrevocably deciding the majority. Thus life and 
 death, in some degree, hung upon the lips of Vergniaud, 
 their leader. The voters were summoned according to the 
 alphabetical order of their departments, consequently every 
 one watched with anxiety for the arrival of the letter G, 
 which would summon to the tribune the deputies of the 
 Gironde, and Vergniaud the first. As it was called, all con- 
 versation ceased, all eyes were turned upon him alone. He 
 slowly mounted the steps of the tribune, collected himself 
 for a moment, with his eyes bent on the ground like a man 
 who reflects for the last time before acting, then in a low 
 voice, as if struggling with the feelings which still appealed 
 within him, he pronounced the word l ' Death." 
 
 The silence of astonishment seemed to have suppressed 
 the very breathing in the hall. Robespierre's lip curled 
 with an almost imperceptible smile; Danton shrugged his 
 shoulders, and whispered to Brissot, " Boast of your ora- 
 tors now: sublime words coward acts! What can be 
 done with such men? Speak to me no more of them I Their 
 party is lost." 
 
 Hope died away in the hearts of the few friends of the king 
 who were concealed in the hall and amongst the tribunes. 
 They felt that the victim was surrendered by the hand of 
 Vergniaud. The voting continued. All the Girondists, 
 Buzot, Pethion, Barbaroux, Isnard, Lasource, Salles, 
 Rebecqui, Brissot, voted with Vergniaud for death. The 
 greater number added to their vote the condition of suspen- 
 sion of execution. The Mountain, almost without exception, 
 voted for death. Robespierre, condensing in a few words 
 the substance of his first discourse, attempted to reconcile his 
 horror of the punishment of death with the condemnation that 
 fell from his lips. He accomplished it by asserting that
 
 THE SENTENCE. 269 
 
 tyrants were an exception to humanity, and by declaring 
 that his tenderness for the oppressed prevailed in his heart 
 over pity for the oppressor. The Duke of Orleans was 
 summoned the last. A profound silence followed his name. 
 Sillery, his friend and confidant, had voted against death; 
 and every one expected that the prince would act like his 
 friend, or claim exemption from voting in the name of 
 nature and kindred. Even the Jacobins considered him 
 exempted, but he would not admit the plea himself. Slowly 
 and without emotion he ascended the tribune, unfolded a 
 paper which he held in his hand, and read with a stoical 
 demeanour the following words: " Solely occupied with my 
 duty, convinced that all those who have attempted, or 
 may attempt in future, to maintain a sovereignty over the 
 people, merit death, I vote for death 1" These words were 
 received in silence and astonishment, even by the very party 
 to whom the Duke of Orleans seemed to oft'er them as a 
 pledge. No look, no gesture, no voice rose even from 
 the Mountain to applaud him; a shudder ran along the 
 benches and tribunes of the Assembly, and the Duke of 
 Orleans descended from the tribune confused and doubt- 
 ful from these first symptoms of the effect of the act he had 
 committed. The examination of the votes was tedious and 
 full of doubt and anxiety. Death and life, as in a struggle, 
 were alternately in the ascendant, according as chance had 
 grouped the suffrages in the lists drawn by the secretaries. 
 Vergniaud read the result of the scrutiny. The convention 
 consisted of 727 voters : of these 334 voted for banishment, 
 or imprisonment; 387 for death, including those who 
 voted for death on the condition of suspension of the execu- 
 tion. The votes for death therefore exceeded by fifty-three 
 those for punishment ; but deducting the forty-six votes for 
 death with a reservation, there remained only an absolute 
 majority of seven suffrages for death. Thus the displacing 
 of three votes would have been sufficient to alter the judg- 
 ment. It was therefore the twelve or fifteen chiefs of the 
 Gironde who had flung the decisive weight into the balance. 
 Death, which was the wish of the Jacobins was the act of 
 the Girondists.
 
 270 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 THE EXECUTION. 
 
 DURING the scrutiny, the king, who had been deprived of 
 all communication with those without since the day on 
 which he had last appeared before his judges, knew only 
 that his life or death were at that moment in the hands of 
 men. Suffering had so subdued him, and reflection and 
 prayer had brought his soul into such conformity with the will 
 of God, that he had reached that state of sublime indiffe- 
 rence in which man, impartial between fear and hope, 
 accepts alike any destiny that comes from above. Philoso- 
 phy consoled the sages of antiqiftty in their reverses: 
 Christianity makes resignation a dogma of religion, and 
 elevates it upon the cross as an example to the world. 
 
 Louis XVI. contemplated this cross unceasingly, and 
 learned from it the divine meaning of suffering. He might 
 have obtained permission during these few last days to 
 communicate with his family, had he requested it ; he heard 
 the steps and voices of his wife and children above him ; 
 but he feared that the cruel transition from life to death, 
 from hope to despair, would be rendered too bitter by the 
 presence of these loved beings, would soften his own heart, 
 or lacerate theirs with too much agony, and he chose to 
 drink the cup of separation at one draught, rather than con- 
 demn his family to drain it drop by drop. 
 
 On the morning of the 1 9th the door of the king's turret 
 opened, and he saw Malesherbes advancing. He rose to 
 meet his friend, but the old man, throwing himself at his feet 
 with bitter tears, remained for a long time unable to utter 
 a word. As the painter of antiquity veiled the face of 
 grief, least he should not adequately express the agony of 
 the human heart, so Malesherbes by this mournful silence 
 endeavoured to make the king comprehend the word he 
 shuddered to pronounce. The king did comprehend it, ut- 
 tered the word without a change of colour, raised up his 
 friend, and pressing him to his heart, seemed solely occupied 
 with endeavours to console and strengthen this venerable mes- 
 senger of his death. With a curiosity as calm as if uncon-
 
 THE EXECUTION. 27 I 
 
 uected with his own fate, he inquired all the particulars, the 
 number of suffrages, and the votes of each particular member 
 in the Convention with whom he was acquainted. "As to 
 Pethiou and Manuel," he said, "I need not ask; they 
 surely did not vote for my death." He then inquired how 
 his cousin of Orleans had voted. When Malesherbes informed 
 him " Ah 1" he exclaimed, "that hurts me more than all the 
 others 1" It was Caesar recognising the face of Brutus amongst 
 his murderers: that alone wrung from him a complaint. 
 
 The ministers Garat and Lebrun, the mayor Chambon, 
 and Chaumette, the procureur of the commune, accompanied 
 by Santerre and the president and first law officer of the 
 criminal tribunal, arrived to announce his sentence to the 
 king, with all the ceremony with which the law surrounds 
 itself when about to take away the life of a criminal. 
 Standing, his head erect, his eyes fixed on his judges, the 
 king listened to the sentence of death and execution within 
 twenty-four hours with the intrepidity of one who feels 
 that he is innocent. One glance alone directed to Heaven 
 seemed a silent appeal from the depths of his soul to the 
 infallible and sovereign judge. 
 
 The reading of the sentence being concluded, Louis 
 advanced towards Grouvelle, the secretary of the executive 
 council, took the decree from his hand, folded it, and placed 
 it in his portfolio. Then turning to Garat, "Monsieur, 
 the minister of justice," said he, the accent of royalty 
 still perceptible through the words of the suppliant, " I 
 pray you to transmit this letter to the Convention." The 
 letter requested an interval of three days to prepare for 
 the execution, and entreated the Convention to permit his 
 family to retire from France in peace. 
 
 At the same time the king handed Garat a second paper, 
 containing the address of the ecclesiastic whose ministra- 
 tions he wished for to console his last hours. It was written 
 in a different hand from the king's, and contained the name 
 of " M. Edgeworth de Firmon, Rue du Bac." Garat accepted 
 the two papers, the king retreated a few steps, inclining his 
 head while he did so, as if dismissing an audience at court, to 
 intimate that he wished to be alone. The ministers departed. 
 
 At six o'clock, Santerre and Garat brought back the
 
 2?2 FlitST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 answer of the Convention to his demands. In spite of the 
 reiterated efforts of Barbaroux, Brissot, Pethion, Buzot, 
 Condorcet, Chambon, and Thomas Paine, the Convention 
 had decided on the previous evening that all delay of execu- 
 tion should be refused. 
 
 The king received this communication of the executive 
 council without a murmur. He did not dispute the minutes 
 with death: all that he desired was an interval of a few 
 peaceful hours between life and eternity. For many weeks 
 previously he had occupied his thoughts in sanctifying 
 his sacrifice. In one of his conversations with Male- 
 sherbes, he had charged him to transmit a message to a 
 venerable foreign priest concealed in Paris, whose assistance 
 lie implored in the event of his being condemned to die. 
 " It is a strange commission for a philosopher," he said, 
 with a melancholy smile to Malesherbes, " but I have 
 always preserved my faith as a Christian to serve as a 
 restraint against the temptations of power, and as a consola- 
 tion in my adversities. Here in the depths of my prison I 
 have found it one; and if ever you are destined to a death 
 like mine, may you have the same consolation in your last 
 moments." 
 
 Malesherbes discovered the dwelling of the priest whom 
 the king had selected as guide to his conscience, and trans- 
 mitted to him the prayer of his master. The man of God 
 accepted the mission, though it should cost him his life; 
 and waited for the hour when the prison would open to 
 admit him to accomplish his work of charity. Minister of a 
 religion of suffering, he did not hesitate to consecrate him- 
 self to the dying: self-denial is the heroism of the Christian 
 priest. 
 
 On Wednesday, the 20th of January, at nightfall, a 
 stranger knocked at the door of the secret retreat in which 
 the poor priest was concealed, and ordered him to follow 
 immediately to the place where the ministers were sitting 
 in council. The Abbe Edgeworth instantly followed the 
 unknown. Having arrived at the Tuileries, he was intro- 
 duced to the apartment where the ministers were deliberating
 
 THE EXECUTION. 27 3 
 
 upon the mode of executing the sentence. Their counte- 
 nances, their agitation, their stupor, revealed the horrors of 
 tlmr situation ; in vain they endeavoured to veil from them- 
 selves the cruelty of the deed by mourning over it with ten- 
 derness and pity. They rose and surrounded the priest as 
 he entered, applauded his courage, and vowed to protect him 
 in his mission. Garat took the confessor with him in his car- 
 riage to the Temple, and during the drive poured forth his 
 emotion and despair without restraint to the minister of God. 
 '"Heavens!" he exclaimed, "with what a horrible mission I am 
 charged ! What a man !" he added, speaking of Louis XVI. 
 "What resignation! What courage! No: nature alone 
 could never give any man such strength ; there must be some- 
 thing superhuman in it I" The priest made no reply for fear 
 of offending the minister or betraying his own feelings ; and 
 silence succeeded after these words between the two men 
 until they reached the gate of the tower. At the name of 
 Garat it was opened. Across a hall filled with armed men, 
 the minister and confessor passed into one still more vast. 
 
 The arches and broken ornaments of architecture, the fallen 
 altar and shattered steps, showed it to be an ancient chapel, 
 long since given up to profanation. Twelve commissioners of 
 the commune held their council in this hall, and betrayed by 
 their gestures and language the total want of sensibility and 
 even of decency that characterised their brutal natures, 
 which were incapable of respecting anything in an enemy, 
 not even the supreme agony of death. One or two of 
 the younger members merely exchanged stolen glances of 
 intelligence with the priest. Whilst they searched the abbe, 
 the minister ascended to the king's room, whither they soon 
 after conducted the confessor. On perceiving him, the king 
 sprang forward, drew him into the chamber, and closed the 
 door, in order to enjoy, undisturbed by witnesses, the pre- 
 sence of the man he had so ardently desired. The priest fell 
 at the feet of his penitent, and wept before he had power 
 to console him. The king himself could not repress his 
 tears. " Pardon me this momentary weakness," said he, 
 raising up the ecclesiastic, " I have lived so long amidst ene- 
 mies that I have become habituated to hatred, and my heart 
 has been closed to all sentiments of tenderness; but the 
 s
 
 274 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 sight of a faithful friend has aroused all my buried feelings, 
 and my tears fall in spite of myself." Then he drew him 
 into the little turret in which he was accustomed to be alone 
 with his thoughts. A table, two chairs, and a little stove, 
 similar to those used by the common people, a few books, 
 and a crucifix sculptured in ivory comprised the entire fur- 
 niture of this cell. 
 
 The king made the Abbe Edgeworth sit down opposite to 
 him at the other side of the stove, and said: " I have now 
 arrived at that solemn moment, to prepare for which ought 
 to be the grand object of life, that we may be able to hope 
 for admittance into that better mansion above." Then 
 taking a paper from his bosom he broke the seal. It was 
 his will. He read it over twice slowly to the pric.-t, 
 dwelling on each sentence, so that no thought it contained 
 might escape the clear searching judgment of the roan of 
 God. The king seemed to fear that some bitterness or some 
 reproach might perhaps have involuntarily escaped him, 
 even in the terms in which he bequeathed his pardon to 
 the world, and thus deprived his last farewell of a portion 
 of its mildness and sanctity. His voice trembled and his 
 tears fell only at the lines where he pronounced the names 
 of the queen, his sister, and his children. All sensibility 
 for himself seemed crushed or deadened : he felt and suffered 
 only for his family. A calm and confiding conversation 
 followed upon the events of the preceding months; and the 
 king inquired the fate of many persons in whom he was 
 interested; rejoicing over the escape and safety of some, 
 mourning over the persecutions of others ; speaking of all, 
 not with the indifference of a man who is quitting his 
 country never to return to it, but with the vivid and kindly 
 curiosity of one who has come back to all he loved. 
 
 Although the clock of the tower already proclaimed the 
 advanced hour of the night, and that his life was only now 
 counted by moments, the king deferred the holy offices for 
 which he had summoned the confessor. At seven o'clock 
 he was to have the last interview with his family, and the 
 approach of this moment, at once so wished for, yet so ter- 
 rible, agitated him a thousand times more than the thought 
 of the scaffold. He waited till these last agonies of life
 
 THE EXECUTION. 
 
 were over before he gave himself up calmly to the prepa- 
 ration for death, for he felt that tears should not mingle 
 with the blood of the sacrifice which he was so soon to offer 
 up in his own person to God and man. 
 
 Mean while the queen and the princesses, then 1 ears 
 pressed to the windows, had caught the words of the sentence 
 which the public criers were proclaiming in every quarter of 
 Paris: " Kefusal of the reprieve, and execution within 
 twenty-four hours." Thenceforth all hope died within them. 
 Their souls were concentrated on one single idea: would 
 the king die without having seen them, blessed them, em- 
 braced them ? One last and agonizing gush of tenderness 
 at his feet one last pressure to his heart one last word to 
 retain in their memories one last look to treasure in their 
 souls all their hopes, desires and prayers were limited to 
 that. Assembled since the morning in the queen's chamber, 
 in silent prayers and tears, their hearts throbbing at every 
 movement, interrogating with their glances every face, they 
 only learned late in the evening the decree of the Convention 
 which permitted them to see the king. It was a joy mingled 
 with agony. They lived but in anticipation of the moment. 
 Grouped together, pressing against the door, never ceasing 
 their prayers and supplications to the commissioners and 
 jailers, it seemed to them that their impatience could hasten 
 the hours, and that the beatings of their hearts could force 
 the doors open before the appointed time. 
 
 On his side, the king was not less agitated, though he pre- 
 served a calmer exterior. One idea especially took away in 
 anticipation the consolation of this interview: it was the fear 
 that the jailers would be spectators of this last scene in which 
 nature yearned to display all the unrestrained agony of despair, 
 all the passionate excess of tenderness ; that the deepest and 
 holiest emotions of a husband, a wife, a brother, sister, father, 
 daughter, would be watched, noted, and perhaps tortured into 
 crimes, by the cruel eyes of their enemies. 
 
 The king maintained that the decree of the Convention 
 authorized the interview to be private, but the commissioners 
 were responsible to the commune, and yet at the same time 
 did not wish openly to disobey the Convention. They de-
 
 276 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 liberated therefore ho\v best to reconcile the intention or' 
 the decree with the rigour of the law, and finally arranged 
 that the meeting should take place in the dining-room, which 
 communicated by a glass door with another apartment where 
 the commissioners agreed to station themselves. The door was 
 to remain closed upon the king and his family, but the com- 
 missioners would have their eyes fixed on them through the 
 glass. By this means if their attitudes, gestures, and tears, 
 were profaned by the glance of strangers, their words at 
 least would be inviolable. A short time before the princesses 
 descended, the king left the turret, enjoining his confessor 
 not to appear, least the presence of a priest might recall the 
 thought of death too vividly to the mind of the queen. He 
 then passed into the dining-room to prepare the space neces- 
 sary for the interview. " Bring a glass and some water," 
 said he to his servant. Clery showed him a carafe of iced 
 water already on the table. " Bring some water that is not 
 iced," said the king; "for if the queen drank of that it might 
 make her ill.'' At length the door opened, and the queen 
 holding her son by the hand was the first to enter. She 
 sprang into the arms of the king, and made a rapid move- 
 ment as if to lead him into his own chamber out of sight of 
 the spectators. " No, no," said the king in a low voice, 
 pressing his wife to his heart, and drawing her back into 
 the dining-room, " I can only see you here.'' Madame 
 Elizabeth followed with the princess royal, and Clery closed 
 the door on them. The king gently forced Marie Antoinette 
 into a chair at his right hand, and placed Madame Elizabeth 
 on his left, while he took his place between them. The chairs 
 were so close that the two princesses, as they bent over him, 
 encircled his neck with their arms, and laid their heads 
 upon his breast. 
 
 The princess royal, with her head supported upon his knees, 
 and her long hair falling around her, seemed half prostrated 
 before him. The dauphin was seated on his father's knee, 
 with one arm passed round his neck. These five persons, 
 thus grouped by the instinct of tenderness, and convulsively 
 pressed in each other's arms, with their faces hidden on the 
 breast of the king, formed to the eye of the spectators but 
 one palpitating mass of human agony, from whence issued
 
 T11E EXrCUTION. 277 
 
 iniinnurs, sobs, and sometimes shrieks of grief, as if the 
 despair of five souls had been blended into one to burst 
 forth or die in a single embrace. During more than half an 
 hour no word passed their lips. It was a passion of grief 
 in which the voices of father, women, children, were lost and 
 commingled in tears and groans. Sobs answered sobs, and 
 sometimes a cry would arise so sharp and agonizing that it 
 pierced the doors, the windows, the very walls of the tower, 
 and was heard even in the neighbouring quarters. But at last 
 exhaustion of strength lulled the expressions of grief, their 
 tears dried upon their eyelids, and a conversation began in 
 low whispers, mingled with kisses and caresses, which lasted 
 for two hours. No one without heard these final confidences 
 of the dying to the survivors. The tomb or the prison 
 stilled them in every heart a few months later. The 
 princess royal alone preserved the record in her memory. 
 
 It was a mutual relation of all that they had suffered dur- 
 ing their separation ; recommendations, fervently repeated, 
 to forget all vengeance, if ever the caprice of the people, 
 which is the fortune of kings, gave their enemies into 
 their power; sublime aspirations of Louis towards heaven, 
 mingled with sudden bursts of human emotion at the sight 
 of those cherished beings whose twining arms seemed to 
 drag him back from the scaffold; noble wishes that his 
 death might restore happiness to the people, and not cost 
 them one drop of blood; pious lessons to his son, to fit 
 him rather to be a Christian than a king ; all mingled with 
 tears, kisses, caresses, prayers, and low and tenderer fare- 
 wells addressed to the queen alone. 
 
 These were the occupations which filled up the two hours 
 of that funereal interview. Nothing was heard by those 
 without except a tender and confused murmur of voices, 
 but the commissioners from time to time glanced furtively 
 through the glass door as if to warn the king that time was 
 passing. When at last the sufferers were exhausted with 
 tenderness, tears, and lamentations, the king rose, and 
 pressed them all to his bosom in one long embrace. 
 The queen threw herself at his feet and conjured him 
 to permit them to remain with him that last night, but 
 he refused out of tenderness for those whose affection miirht
 
 278 HKST I-IiENClI REVOLUTION. 
 
 have been fatal to themselves; alleging, as a pretext, the 
 necessity he felt for a few hours of seclusion and tranquillity, 
 in order to prepare all his strength for the morrow. But 
 he promised his family to have them summoned to him the 
 next morning at eight. "Why not at seven?" asked the 
 queen. " Well then, at seven," replied the king. " You 
 promise that?" they all cried. "I promise," repeated the 
 king. They crossed the ante-chamber, the queen's arm 
 encircling his neck, the princess royal and Madame Elizabeth 
 clinging to him at the other side, while the dauphin, holding 
 the queen's hand in one of his and the king's iu the other, 
 gazed up earnestly into his father's face. 
 
 But as they advanced towards the stairs, their lamenta- 
 tions redoubled. They tore themselves from his arms, and 
 then again fell upon his breast in all the renewed agony of 
 love and grief. At last the king retreated a few steps, and 
 stretching out his arms towards the queen, "Adieu! adieu!" 
 he exclaimed, with a gesture, a look, and voice iu which were 
 concentrated a whole world of past tenderness, of present 
 anguish, and of future separation, yet in which might be 
 distinguished an accent of serenity and religious joy that 
 indicated the vague yet confident hope of a re-union in a 
 better world. At this adieu, the young princess royal glided 
 fainting from the arms of Madame Elizabeth, and fell senseless 
 at her father's feet. Clery, her aunt, and the queen, rushed 
 towards her to raise her up and sustain her to the staircase. 
 
 During this movement the king retired to his room, 
 his face covered with his hands, but when he reached the 
 threshold he turned for the last time and uttered the final 
 adieu in a voice broken with sobs. The door closed, and 
 lie hastened to the turret, where the minister of consolation 
 awaited him. The agony of royalty was passed. The 
 king fell into a chair from lassitude, and remained for a long 
 time without the power of uttering a word. "Ah!" said 
 he at length to the Abbe Edgeworth, "what an interview I 
 have had! Why do I love so well? And alas!" he added, 
 after a pause, "why am I so beloved? But we have done 
 with time," he continued, assuming a firmer tone; "let us 
 now turn our thoughts to eternity!" At this moment 
 Clery entered, and entreated the king to take some refresh-
 
 THE EXECUTION. 279 
 
 ment. At first he refused, then reflecting that all his 
 physical strength would be required on the morrow to bear 
 the sight of the preparations for his execution, he at last 
 consented. The repast was over in five minute?, the king 
 standing while he partook of some bread and wine, like a 
 traveller who is hastening on his journey. 
 
 The priest knowing his faith in the sacred mysteries of 
 Christianity, had resolved to afford him one last gleam of 
 joy on earth, by obtaining permission to administer the 
 eucharist previous to his execution. He asked the kiug, 
 therefore, if it would give him any consolation to have it 
 celebrated on the following morning, and receive from his 
 hands the holy bread which is the nourishment of souls. 
 
 Louis, who had been for so long a period denied the pri- 
 vilege of the sacred rite, and who was pious, like all the 
 princes of his race, heard the proposition with surprise and 
 joy. But he still doubted if this favour could be obtained 
 from the harshness and impiety of the commissioners of the 
 commune. The priest, however, encouraged by the marks 
 of respect for his mission testified by Garat, was more con- 
 fident, and descended to the council-hall to request permis- 
 sion to administer the holy rite in the king's chamber. The 
 commissioners with some difficulty consented, and the 
 priest returned to communicate the glad tidings to the king. 
 He received the announcement as if it were an earnest of 
 eternal happiness, fell on his knees, and collected his thoughts, 
 to lay his entire life before God, with all his acts, aims and 
 intentions. This examination of his conscience, and accusa- 
 tion of himself, lasted till the night was far advanced, and 
 the condemned man lay down and slept as calmly and 
 peaceably as though he were certain of another morrow. 
 
 The priest passed this interval in Clery's apartment, sepa- 
 rated from the king's only by a wooden partition. From 
 thence they could hear the gentle and equable respiration of 
 the sleeping monarch, attesting the profoundness of his 
 slumber, and the regularity of the beatings of his heart, as 
 measured as those of a pendulum, but so soon to be stopped 1 
 
 At five o'clock it was necessary to awake him: "Has 
 five struck yet?" he said to Clery. "Not yet by the 
 clock of the tower," answered Clery, " but by all the other
 
 280 FIRST FHENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 clocks of the city." " I have slept well," said the king, 
 " and I had need of it, for the emotions of yesterday had ex- 
 hausted me." Clery lighted the fire, and assisted his master 
 to dress; he then prepared the altar in the middle of the 
 chamber, and the priest commenced the holy service. 
 
 After mass was ended, and while the priest was disrob- 
 ing, the king retired alone into the turret for self- reflection. 
 Clery followed him, and kneeling down requested his bless- 
 ing. Louis XV L gave it, charging him also to bestow it in 
 his name on all those who had been attached to him, parti- 
 cularly such of his jailers who, like Turgy, had shown pity 
 for his sufferings and softened the rigours of his captivity; 
 then, drawing him over into an embrasure of the window, 
 he gave him privately a seal which he detached from his 
 watch-chain, a small packet which he drew from his bosom, 
 and his wedding-ring. " After my death," said he, " give 
 this seal to my son, this ring to the queen. Tell her that 
 I part from it with pain, but only that it may not be pro- 
 faned with my body. This little packet contains the hair 
 of all my family: give it to her also. Tell the queen, my 
 dear children, and my sister, that although I promised to 
 see them this morning, yet I have resolved to spare them 
 the renewed agony of so cruel a separation. What it has 
 cost me to depart without receiving their last embraces!" 
 Sobs here choked his words. " But I charge you," he 
 added in tender, broken accents, " to convey to them my 
 last farewell 1" Clery retired overcome with grief. 
 
 A moment afterwards the king quitted the turret, and 
 asked for scissors, in order that his servant might cut off his 
 hair, the only legacy he had to leave to his family. This 
 favour was refused him. Clery then entreated permission 
 from the municipal officers to accompany his master and un- 
 dress him for the scaffold, that the hand of a faithful servant 
 might perform this last office, and spare him the degrading 
 touch of the executioner. "The executioner is good enough 
 for him," replied one of the commissioners ; and the king again 
 withdrew. His confessor, on entering the turret, found him 
 warming himself near the stove, and apparently musing 
 with a mournful joy upon the termination of his sufferings, 
 which had at last arrived. "Tnauk God," he exclaimed,
 
 THE EXECUTION. 28 1 
 
 k - that I pro served my f.iith upon the throne! Where would 
 I be now without this hope ? Yes, there exists above us an 
 incorruptible judge who will render me that justice which 
 men have denied uae on earth !" Day now began to duwu 
 in the tower, through the iron bars and planks that ob- 
 structed the light of heaven. 
 
 The roll of drums was distinctly heard from all quarters, 
 calling the citizens to arms, mingled with the trampling 
 of the horses of the gendarmerie, and the wheeling of the 
 cannons, as they placed or displaced them in the court-yard 
 of the Temple. The king listened to all these sounds 
 with indifference, and even explained them to his confessor. 
 '* That is probably the national guard which has begun to 
 assemble," he said, at the first roll. Some moments after- 
 wards, the tramp of a numerous body of cavalry resounded 
 on the pavement at the foot of the tower, and the voices of 
 the officers in command were heard giving the orders to form 
 into line. "Ah! they have arrived," said the king, inter- 
 rupting his conversation, but renewing it again instantly. 
 1 h: was equally without impatience or fear, like a man who 
 is first at a rendezvous and waits patiently for the others. 
 
 He had to wait long. During two hours the officials and 
 jailers came knocking at the door of his chamber under 
 various pretexts, and each time the confessor thought it was 
 the final summons. The king rose calmly, opened the door, 
 answered, and resumed his seat. At nine o'clock the tread 
 of numerous armed men resounded on the staircase, the 
 door was thrown open violently, and Santerre appeared at 
 the head of twelve municipal officers and ten gendarmes, 
 whom he ranged in two lines along the chamber. At tiiis 
 commotion the king opened the door of the turret. " You 
 seek me,'' said he to Santerre, with a firm voice and proud 
 demeanour. " I shall be with you in an instant. Wait 
 for me there!" and he pointed with his finger to the thres- 
 hold of his chamber, then shut the door, and returned to 
 throw himself on his knees before the priest. " All is con- 
 summated, my father," said he. " Give me a last benedic- 
 tion, and pray to God to sustain me to the end." He rose, 
 opened the door, and advanced with a serene brow and the 
 majesty of death in hid features and attitude, between the
 
 282 FIRST FRENCH DEVOLUTION. 
 
 double Hue of gendarmes, lie held a folded paper iii his 
 hand. It was his will. Addressing the municipal officer 
 nearest him, he said, "I pray you to transmit this paper to 
 the queen." 
 
 The astonishment depicted on the republican faces around, 
 made him remember that he had used a forbidden word. "To 
 my wife," said he, correcting himself. The municipal officer 
 drew back. " That is not my business," he replied rudely; 
 " I am here to conduct you to the scaffold." This official was 
 Jacques Roux, a priest, who had thrown off the sacerdotal 
 robe and thrown off all charity along with it. " True," 
 said the king in a low voice, with visible emotion. Then 
 looking around the faces that encircled him for one whose 
 expression might indicate a heart less hardened, he advanced 
 to a municipal named Gobeau, saying: "Transmit, I pray 
 you, this paper to my wife ; you are at liberty to read it, and 
 with some of the contents the commune ought to be 
 acquainted." Gobeau, with the assent of his colleagues, 
 then took charge of the testament. Clery, who, like the 
 valet of Charles the First, feared that his master, who was 
 trembling with cold, might be suspected of trembling before 
 the scaffold, presented him with his cloak. " I have no need 
 of it," said the king; " give me only my hat." On receiving 
 it he seized the hand of his faithful servant, and pressed it 
 earnestly as a token of acknowledgment and farewell; then 
 turning to Santerre, and looking him full in the face, said 
 in a tone of resolution, and with a gesture of command: 
 " Let us proceed!" Santerre and his troop seemed rather 
 to follow than escort him. The king descended the stair- 
 case of the tower with a firm step, and seeing the porter 
 Mathey in the vestibule, who had been disrespectful to him 
 the night before, and whom he had reproached rather 
 warmly for his insolence, he advanced towards him, saying 
 kindly: "Mathey, I was a little harsh to you last night: 
 forgive me for the sake of this hour." In place of replying, 
 Mathey turned away his head and drew back, as if contact 
 with the condemned king had been contagious. 
 
 As they crossed the first court on foot, the king turned 
 twice, and looked up at the queen's windows with a glance in 
 which his whole soul seemed concentrated in a mute farewell
 
 THE EXECUTION. 283 
 
 to those he was leaving behind him in the prison. A car- 
 riage awaited him at the entrance to the second court-yard, 
 and two gendarmes stood beside the door; one of them got in 
 first, and took his place on the front seat; the king followed, 
 and made his confessor take the seat at his left ; the second 
 gendarme then entered and closed the door. The carriage 
 rolled on. Sixty drums, beating a march, preceded the pro- 
 cession, while a moving army, composed of national guards, 
 federates, troops of the line, cavalry, gendarmerie, aud 
 batteries of artillery, marched before, behind, and on each 
 side of the carriage. All Paris was that day kept a prisoner 
 by an order of the commune, and all citizens were interdicted 
 from traversing the streets that led to the boulevards, or 
 from appearing at the windows during the passage of the 
 cortege. Even the markets were empty. Nothing was 
 visible through the grey, dull, icy atmosphere, but a forest of 
 pikes and bayonets, ranged in motionless lines from the 
 Place de la Bastile to the foot of the scaffold at the Place 
 de la devolution. At stated distances this double wall of 
 steel was reinforced by detachments of infantry with their 
 knapsacks on their backs, aud arms loaded as on a day of 
 battle. The gunners stood with lighted matches by the 
 loaded cannons, which were placed at the head of each of 
 the principal streets along the line of transit. 
 
 The silence in the town was so profound that it seemed 
 like terror. No one uttered his thoughts to his neighbour. 
 Even faces turned to stone beneath the glances of the spies. 
 Every look and gesture of this great multitude seemed 
 mechanical, as if Paris had that day ceased to do aught but 
 tremble and obey. The king, seated far back in the car- 
 riage, and concealed by the bayonets and drawn sabres of 
 the escort, was hardly visible. He wore a brown coat, black 
 silk breeches, white waistcoat, and white stockings, and his 
 hair was rolled up under his hat. The noise of the drums, 
 the cannons, and horses, and the presence of the gendarmes in 
 the carriage, prevented him from conversing with his confes- 
 sor. He merely asked the Abbe Edgeworth to lend him 
 his breviary, and there sought out in it with hand and eye the 
 psalms whose lamentations and hopes Avere appropriate to 
 his situation. These sacred strains, murmured by his lips
 
 284 FIIiST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 aud echoed by his soul, abstracted him completely from the 
 surrounding scene, with its tumult and its crowd, during the 
 entire transit from the prison to the scaffold. The 
 priest mean while prayed beside him, and the gendarmes 
 opposite expressed by their faces the astonishment and 
 admiration with which the calm resignation of the king 
 inspired them. Some cries of "Pardon" arose amongst the 
 crowd collected in the Rue du Temple as the carriage moved 
 off; but these cries died away without an echo, either lost in 
 the tumult, or stifled in the stagnation of public feeling. 
 
 No insult, however, no imprecations, rose up from the as- 
 sembled masses. Perhaps if each one of those two hun- 
 dred thousand citizens, actors or spectators assisting at the 
 funeral of a living man, had been asked: " Is it necessary 
 that this man one against all should die?" not an 
 individual amongst them would have answered, "Yes." 
 But an unhappy chain of causes had produced such a com- 
 bination of circumstances, that all accomplished without 
 hesitation what no one individually desired. From the 
 reciprocal pressure of opposing parties, the multitude were 
 unable to yield to their instincts of compassion or horror: 
 as in the arch each stone has a tendency to tremble and 
 drop, yet all are kept fixed in their places by the resis- 
 tance which pressure opposes to their fall. At the confluence 
 of the numerous streets which open on the boulevards 
 between the Portes Saint Denis and Saint Martin, there is 
 a steep descent where the speed of horses is necessarily 
 relaxed. As the king's carriage reached this spot, a sudden 
 stir was observable in the crowd, and seven or eight 
 young men, rushing in a mass from the Rue de Beauregard, 
 with drawn sabres in their hands, broke through the line 
 of military and reached the carriage, shouting, '' Help, 
 whoever would save the king!" Amongst them was the 
 Baron de Batz, an adventurer in conspiracies, and his secre- 
 tary Devaux. Three thousand young men, secretly enrolled 
 and armed for this coup de main, were to respond to the 
 signal, and afterwards attempt to gain possession of Paris, 
 supported by Dumouriez. But these intrepid conspirators, 
 finding that no one responded to their summons, dashed 
 again through the tile of soldiers, aud favoured by the
 
 THE EXECUTION. 285 
 
 surprise and confusiou consequent on their sudden attack, 
 plunged into the neighbouring streets, and were soon lost 
 to view. A detachment of gendarmerie followed in pur- 
 suit, and succeeded in capturing some, who paid for the 
 attempt with their lives. 
 
 After this brief interruption, the procession proceeded on 
 its way amidst a silent and motionless crowd, till it reached 
 the Hue Koyale, which opened on the Place de la Revolution. 
 Just then a gleam of winter sun pierced the fog, and shone 
 upon a hundred thousand heads collected together in the 
 Place. The regiments of the garrison of Paris formed a 
 square round the scaffold, the executioners stood awaiting 
 their victim, and the instrument of death rose high and 
 visible above the crowd, with its beams and posts painted 
 red, the colour of blood. This instrument was the guillotine 
 a machine invented in Italy, and imported into France by 
 the humanity of a celebrated physician, a member of the 
 Constituent Assembly, named Guillotin, by whose advice it 
 had been substituted for the atrocious and infamous tortures 
 which the revolution abolished. At a signal from the 
 executioner the blade fell ; this blade, whose force was cen- 
 tupled by weights beneath the scaffold, glided down between 
 two grooves, and detached the head from the trunk by the 
 impetus of the fall with the rapidity of lightning. 
 
 There was a saving both of pain and time in a death ef- 
 fected by this process. The guillotine was erected on this 
 day in the centre of the Place de la Revolution, before the 
 grand alley of the garden of the Tuileries, and facing with 
 cruel derision the palace of kings, just at the spot where 
 the sparkling fountain nearest the Seine, now seems eternally 
 washing the pavement. From the dawn of day the ap- 
 proaches to the scaffold, the bridge of Louis XVI. the 
 terraces of the Tuileries, the parapets of the river, the roofs 
 of the houses of the Rue Royale, even the leafless branches 
 of the trees of the Champs Elysees, were thronged with an 
 innumerable multitude, who waited the event in an agitation 
 and tumult not to be described; as if the crowd could not 
 believe in the execution of a king until they had seen it 
 with their eyes. The places immediately around the scaf- 
 fold, owing to the favour of the commune, and the conni-
 
 286 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 vance of the commanders of the troops, had boon taken 
 possession of by a horde of the assassins of September: men 
 from the Cordeliers and Jacobins, incapable of remorse or 
 pity, who grouped themselves around the scaffold as the 
 witnesses of the republic, desiring not only to have the 
 sacrifice accomplished, but applauded. Nevertheless, at the 
 approach of the king's carriage, a solemn awe seemed to fall 
 upon the crowd, and struck even these men silent. The 
 carriage stopped at a few paces from the scaffold. The 
 transit from the prison had occupied two hours. 
 
 The king, on perceiving that the carriage had stopped, 
 looked up from the book on which he had kept his eyes fixed 
 during the entire time, as a man whose reading is suddenly 
 interrupted; and bending close to his confessor, said, in- 
 quiringly, in a low voice, "We have arrived, I think?" 
 The priest only replied by an affirmative sign. One of the 
 three brothers Sampson, the executioners of Paris, then let 
 down the steps, and the gendarmes alighted. But the king, 
 again closing the door of the carriage, and placing his right 
 hand upon the knee of his confessor as a sign of protection, 
 said with an air of authority to the executioners, the gen- 
 darmes, and the officers who were crowding around the 
 wheels: "Gentlemen, I recommend to your protection the 
 gentleman yon see here. Take care that after my death no 
 insult be offered to him. I charge you to watch over him." 
 
 No one replied ; and the king was reiterating his request 
 still more energetically to his executioners, when one of 
 them cut him short, saying with a sinister expression, 
 " Yes, yes, never fear; we'll take care of him; leave it to 
 us." Louis then alighted. Three of the executioner's as- 
 sistants immediately surrounded him, and attempted to 
 undress him for the scaffold; bnt he repulsed them with 
 majesty, and took off his coat and cravat himself, and threw 
 back his shirt to the shoulders. The executioners again 
 seized hold of him. " What are you going to do ?" he mur- 
 rmired, indignantly. "To bind yon," was the answer; and 
 they were already seizing hold of his hands to tie them with 
 cords. "Bind me !" exclaimed the king, with a tone in which 
 all the glory of his race revolted at such an ignominy, " No I
 
 THE EXECUTION. 287 
 
 no! I will never consent to it. Do your office, but you 
 shall not bind me! Never!" The executioners insisted, 
 raised their voices, called for help, and lifting their hands, 
 prepared to conquer by violence. A struggle was about to 
 degrade the victim at the foot of the scaffold. The king, 
 out of respect for the dignity of his death and the calmness 
 of his last moments, looked at the priest as if requesting 
 advice. " Sire," said the divine counsellor, "submit to this 
 fresh outrage without resistance; remember that your 
 Saviour endured it before you." The king raised his eyes 
 to heaven with a resigned, yet half-imploring glance. 
 "Assuredly," said he, "nothing but that divine example 
 could make me submit to such an insult !" Then turning 
 to the executioners, and holding out his hands: "Do as you 
 will," he said; " I shall drain the cup to the dregs!" 
 
 Supported by the arm of the priest, he ascended the high 
 and slippery steps of the scaffold. The weight with which 
 he leaned seemed to indicate a faltering courage; but 
 on reaching the last step he dropped the arm of his con- 
 fessor, and crossed alone the breadth of the scaffold with 
 a firm step, looking at the instrument and axe as he passed ; 
 then turning suddenly to the left, facing his palace, and the 
 side where he could be seen and heard by the greatest num- 
 ber of spectators, he made a sign to the drummers to be 
 silent: they obeyed mechanically. 
 
 "People!" said Louis XVI. in a voice that sounded clear 
 amidst the silence, and was heard distinctly at the other ex- 
 tremity of the square; "People! I die innocent of all the 
 crimes imputed to me ! I pardon the authors of my death, 
 and I pray God that the blood you are about to shed may 
 not fall upon France!" He was proceeding, and a thrill of 
 emotion already ran through the crowd, when the chief of 
 the staff officers, Beaufranchet, Comte d'Oyat, a sou of Louis 
 XV. and a favourite named Morphise, ordered the drums 
 to beat, and a loud and long roll drowned the voice of the 
 king and the murmur of the multitude. He returned slowly 
 to the guillotine, and abandoned himself to the executioners. 
 At the moment they were binding him to the plank, he cast 
 one last glance upon the priest who was kneeling in prayer 
 at the edge of the scaffold. To the last he preserved his
 
 288 FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 self-possession and the calm courage of his soul until it 
 ascended to his Creator from the hands of the executioner. 
 The plank turned, the blade glittered, and the head fell. 
 
 One of the executioner?, taking it by the hair, showed it to 
 the people, and sprinkled the blood around the scaffold. 
 The federates and fanatical republicans instantly jumped 
 upon the planks, and dipped their pikes and the points of 
 their sabres in the blood ; then brandishing them in the air, 
 shouted, " Vive la Republiquef" The horror felt at this act 
 stifled the same cry from the people, and the sound that 
 arose resembled a sob more than an acclamation. 
 
 Salvos of artillery announced to the distant faubourgs 
 that royalty had perished with the king, and the crowd 
 separated in silence. The remains of Louis XVI. were 
 carried in a covered tumbril to the cemetery of the Made- 
 laine, and lime was thrown into the grave, so that the bones 
 of the victim of the revolution might not one day become 
 the relics of royalty. Bands of armed federates traversed 
 the different quarters of Paris, announcing the death of the 
 tyrant, and singing the sanguinary chorus of the Marseillaise. 
 But no enthusiasm responded: the city remained mute. The 
 people did not confound an execution with a victory, and 
 consternation had entered with Liberty into the dwellings 
 of the citizens. The body of the king was not yet cold 
 upon the scaffold, when the people doubted of the act they 
 had accomplished, and asked, with an anxiety akin to 
 remorse, if this blood they had just shed was a stain upon 
 the glory of France, or the seal of Liberty ? The consciences 
 of republicans themselves were troubled at the sight of this 
 scaffold. The death of Louis XVI. was left as a problem 
 to be resolved by the nation.* 
 
 * Louis XVI. was thirty-nine at the time of his death, anl 
 h:xl roignefl sixteen years and-a-luilf. 
 
 THE END.
 
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