XXII.
The aide-de-camp of M. de La Fayette, M. Romeuf, despatched by that general, and bearer of the order of the a.s.sembly, arrived at Varennes at half-past seven. The queen, who knew him personally, reproached him in the most pathetic manner with the odious mission with which his general had charged him. M. Romeuf sought in vain to calm her indignation by every mark of respect and devotion compatible with the rigour of his orders. The queen then changing from invectives to tears, gave a free vent to her grief. M. Romeuf having laid the order of the a.s.sembly on the Dauphin"s bed, the queen seized the paper, threw it on the ground, and trampled it under her feet, exclaiming, that such a paper would sully her son"s bed. "In the name of your safety, of your glory, madam,"
said the young officer, "master your grief; would you suffer any one but myself to witness such a fit of despair?"
The preparations for their departure were hastened, through fear, lest the troops of M. de Bouille might march on the town, or cut them off.
The king used every means in his power to delay them, for each minute gained gave them a fresh hope of safety, and disputed them one by one.
At the moment they were entering the carriage, one of the queen"s women feigned a sudden and alarming illness. The queen refused to start without her, and only yielded at last to threats of force, and the shouts of the impatient populace. She would suffer no one to touch her son, but carried him herself to the carriage; and the royal cortege escorted by three or four thousand national guards, moved slowly towards Paris.
XXIII.
What was M. de Bouille doing during this long and agonising night the king pa.s.sed at Varennes? He had, as we have already seen, pa.s.sed the night at the gates of Dun, two leagues from Varennes, awaiting the couriers who were to inform him of the king"s approach. At four in the morning, fearing to be discovered, and having seen no one, he regained Stenay, in order to be nearer his troops, in case any accident had happened to the king. At half-past four he was at the gates of Stenay, when the two officers whom he had left there the previous evening, and the commanding officer of the squadron that had abandoned him, arrived and informed him that the king had been arrested since eleven o"clock at night. Stupified and astonished at being informed so late he instantly ordered the royal Allemand regiment, which was at Stenay, to mount and follow him. The colonel of this regiment had received the previous evening orders to keep the horses saddled. This order had not been executed, and the regiment lost three quarters of an hour, in spite of the repeated messages of M. de Bouille, who sent his own son to the barracks. The general was powerless without this regiment, and no sooner were they outside the town than M. de Bouille endeavoured to ascertain its disposition towards the king. "Your king," said he, "who was hastening hither to dwell amongst you, has been stopped by the inhabitants of Varennes, within a few leagues. Will you let him remain a prisoner, exposed to every insult at the hands of the national guards?
Here are his orders: he awaits you; he counts every moment. Let us march to Varennes. Let us hasten to deliver him, and restore him to the nation and liberty."
Loud acclamations followed this speech. M. de Bouille distributed 500 or 600 louis amongst the soldiers, and the regiment marched forward.
Stenay is at least nine leagues from Varennes, and the road very hilly and bad. M. de Bouille, however, used all possible dispatch, and at a little distance from Varennes he met the advanced guard of the regiment, halted at the entrance of a little wood, defended by a body of the national guard. M. de Bouille ordered them to charge, and putting himself at the head of the troop, arrived at Varennes at a quarter to nine, closely followed by the regiment. Whilst reconnoitring the town, previous to an attack, he observed a troop of hussars, who appeared also to watch the town. It was the squadron from Dun, commanded by M.
Derlons, who had pa.s.sed the night here, awaiting reinforcements. M.
Derlons hastened to inform the general that the king had left the town more than an hour and a half; he added, the bridge was broken, the streets barricaded; that the hussars of Clermont and Varennes had fraternised with the people, and the commanders of the detachments, MM.
de Choiseul, de Damas, and de Guoguelas, were prisoners. M. de Bouille, baffled, but not discouraged, resolved to follow the king, and rescue him from the hands of the national guard. He despatched officers to find a ford by which they could pa.s.s the river; but, unfortunately, although one existed, they were unable to find it.
Whilst thus engaged, he learnt that the garrisons of Metz and Verdun were advancing with a train of artillery to the aid of the people. The country was swarming with troops and national guards. The troops began to show symptoms of hesitation; the horses, fatigued by nine leagues over a bad road, could not sustain the speed necessary to overtake the king at Sainte Menehould. All energy deserted them with hope. The regiment turned round, and M. de Bouille led them back in silence to Stenay; thence, followed only by a few of the officers most implicated, he gained Luxembourg, and pa.s.sed the frontier amidst a shower of b.a.l.l.s, and wishing for death more than he shunned the punishment.
XXIV.
The royal carriages, however, rolled rapidly along the road to Chalons, attended by the national guard, who relieved each other in order to escort them on; the whole population lined the road on either side, to gaze upon a king brought back in triumph by the nation that believed itself betrayed. The pikes and bayonets of the national guards could scarcely force them a pa.s.sage through this dense throng, that at each instant grew more and more numerous, and who were never weary of uttering cries of derision and menace, accompanied by the most furious gestures.
The carriages pursued their journey amidst a torrent of abuse, and the clamour of the people recommenced at every turn of the wheel. It was a Calvary of sixty leagues, every step of which was a torture. One gentleman, M. de Dampierre, an old man, accustomed all his life to venerate the king, having advanced towards the carriage to show some marks of respectful compa.s.sion to his master, was instantly ma.s.sacred before their eyes, and the royal family narrowly escaped pa.s.sing over his bleeding corpse. Fidelity was the only unpardonable crime amongst this band of savages. The king and queen, who had already made the sacrifice of their lives, had summoned all their dignity and courage, in order to die worthily. Pa.s.sive courage was Louis XVI."s virtue, as though Heaven, who destined him to suffer martyrdom, had gifted him with heroic endurance, that cannot resist, but can die. The queen found in her blood and her pride sufficient hatred for the people, to return with inward scorn the insults with which they profaned her. Madame Elizabeth prayed mentally for divine a.s.sistance; and the two children wondered at the hatred of the people they had been taught to love, and whom they now saw only a prey to the most violent fury. The august family would never have reached Paris alive, had not the commissioners of the a.s.sembly, who by their presence overawed the people, arrived in time to subdue and control this growing sedition.
The commissioners met the carriages between Dormans and Epernay, and read to the king and people the order of the a.s.sembly, giving them the absolute command of the troops and national guards along the line; and which enjoined them to watch not only over the king"s security, but also to maintain the respect due to royalty, represented in his person.
Barnave and Petion hastened to enter the king"s carriage, to share his danger, and shield him with their bodies. They succeeded in preserving him from death, but not from outrage. The fury of the people, kept aloof from the carriages, found vent further off; and all persons suspected of feeling the least sympathy were brutally ill-treated.
An ecclesiastic having approached the berlin, and exhibited some traces of respect and sorrow on his features, was seized by the people, thrown under the horses" feet, and was on the point of being ma.s.sacred before the queen"s eyes, when Barnave, with a n.o.ble impulse, leant out of the carriage. "Frenchmen," exclaimed he, "will you, a nation of brave men, become a people of murderers?" Madame Elizabeth, struck with admiration at his courageous interference, and fearing lest he might spring out, and be in his turn torn to pieces by the people, held him by his coat whilst he addressed the mob. From this moment the pious princess, the queen, and the king himself conceived a secret esteem for Barnave. A generous heart amidst so many cruel ones inspired them with a species of confidence in the young _depute_. They had known him only as a leader of faction, and by his voice heard amidst all their misfortunes; and they were astonished to find a respectful protector in the man whom they had hitherto looked upon as an insolent foe.
Barnave"s features were marked, yet attractive and open; his manners polished, his language elegant; his bearing saddened by the aspect of so much beauty, so much majesty, and so great a reverse of fortune. The king in the intervals of calm and silence frequently spoke to him, and discoursed of the events of the day. Barnave replied, with the tone of a man devoted to liberty, but faithful still to the throne; and who in his plans of regeneration, never separated the nation from the throne. Full of attention to the queen, Madame Elizabeth, and the royal children, he strove by every means in his power to hide from them the perils and humiliations of the journey. Constrained, no doubt, by the presence of his rough colleague, Petion, if he did not openly avow the feeling of pity, admiration, and respect which had conquered him during the journey, he showed it in his actions, and a tacit treaty was concluded by looks. The royal family felt that amidst this wreck of all their hopes they had yet gained Barnave. All his subsequent conduct justified the confidence of the queen. Audacious, when opposed to tyranny, he was powerless against weakness, beauty, and misfortune; and this lost him his life, but rendered his memory glorious. Until then he had been only eloquent; he now showed that he possessed sensibility. Petion, on the contrary, remained cold as a sectarian, and rude as a _parvenu_; he affected a brusque familiarity with the royal family, eating in the queen"s presence, and throwing the rind of fruit out of the window, at the risk of striking the king"s face. When Madame Elizabeth poured him out some wine, he raised his gla.s.s without thanking her to show that he had enough. Louis XVI. having asked him if he was in favour of the system of the two chambers, or for the republic--"I should be in favour of a republic," returned Petion, "if I thought my country sufficiently ripe for this form of government." The king, offended, made no reply, and did not once speak until they arrived at Paris.
The commissioners had written from Dormans to the a.s.sembly, to inform them what road the king would take, and at what day and hour he would arrive. The approach to Paris offered increasing danger, owing to the numbers and fury of the populace through which the king had to pa.s.s. The a.s.sembly redoubled its energy and precaution to a.s.sure the inviolability of the king"s person. The people, too, recovered the sentiment of their own dignity before this great success fate granted them: they would not dishonour their own triumph. Thousands of placards were stuck on the walls--"_Whoever applauds the king shall be beaten; whoever insults him shall be hung_." The king had slept at Meaux, and the commissioners advised the a.s.sembly to sit permanently, in order to be in readiness for any unforeseen event that might take place on the king"s arrival at Paris; and the a.s.sembly, consequently, did not dissolve. The hero of the day, the author of the king"s arrest, Drouet, son of the post-master of Sainte Menehould, appeared before it, and gave the following evidence:--"I have served in Conde"s regiment of dragoons, and my comrade, Guillaume, in the Queen"s dragoons. The 21st of June, at seven in the evening, two carriages and eleven horses arrived at Sainte Menehould, and I recognised the king and queen; but, fearful of being deceived, I resolved to ascertain the truth of this by arriving at Varennes, by a bye-road, before the carriages. It was eleven o"clock, and quite dark, when I reached Varennes; the carriages arrived also, and were delayed by a dispute between the couriers and the postilions, who refused to go any farther. I said to my comrade, "Guillaume, are you a good patriot?" "Do not doubt it," replied he. "Well, then, the king is here; let us arrest him." We overturned a cart, filled with goods, under the arch of the bridge; and when the carriage arrived, demanded their pa.s.sports. "We are in a hurry, gentlemen," said the queen. However, we insisted, and made them alight at the house of the procureur of the district; then, of his own accord, Louis XVI. said to us, "Behold your king--your queen--and my children! Treat us with that respect that Frenchmen have always shown to their king." We, however, detained him; the national guards hastened to the town, and the hussars espoused our cause; and after having done our duty, we returned home, amidst the acclamations of our fellow-citizens, and to-day come to offer the homage of our services to the National a.s.sembly."
Drouet and Guillaume were loudly applauded after this speech.
The a.s.sembly then decreed that immediately after the arrival of Louis XVI. at the Tuileries, a guard should be given him, under the orders of La Fayette, who should be responsible for his security. Malouet was the only one who ventured to remonstrate against this captivity. "It at once destroyed inviolability and the const.i.tution; the legislative and executive powers are now united." Alexandre Lameth opposed Malouet"s motion, and declared that it was the duty of the a.s.sembly to a.s.sume and retain, until the completion of the const.i.tution, a dictatorship, forced upon it by the state of affairs, but that the monarchy being the form of government necessary to the concentration of the forces of so great a nation, the a.s.sembly would immediately afterwards resume a division of powers, and return to the forms of a monarchy.
XXV.
At this moment the captive king entered Paris. It was on the 25th of June, at seven o"clock in the evening. From Meaux to the suburbs of Paris, the crowd thickened in every place as the king pa.s.sed. The pa.s.sions of the city, the a.s.sembly, the press, and the clubs worked more intensely, and even closer in this population of the environs of Paris.
These pa.s.sions, written on every countenance, were repressed by their very violence. Indignation and contempt controlled their rage. Insult escaped them only in under tones; the populace was sinister, and not furious. Thousands of glances darted death into the windows of the carriages, but not one tongue uttered a threat.
This calmness of hatred did not escape the king; the day was burning hot. A scorching sun, reflected by the pavement and the bayonets, was almost suffocating in the berlin, where ten persons were squeezed together. Volumes of dust, raised by the trampling of two or three hundred thousand spectators, was the only veil which from time to time covered the humiliation of the king and queen from the triumph of the people. The sweat of the horses, the feverish breath of this mult.i.tude compact and excited, made the atmosphere dense and fetid. The travellers panted for breath, the foreheads of the two children were bathed in perspiration. The queen, trembling for them, let down one of the windows of the carriage quickly, and addressing the crowd in an appeal to their compa.s.sion, "See, gentlemen," she exclaimed, "in what a state my poor children are--one is choking!" "We will choke you in another fashion,"
replied these ferocious men in an under tone.
From time to time violent attempts of the mob broke through the line, pushed aside the horses, and men reaching the doors mounted on the steps. Merciless ruffians, looking in silence on the king, the queen, and the dauphin, seemed calculating on final crimes, and feeding on the degradation of royalty. Bodies of _gendarmerie_ restored order from time to time. The procession resumed its way in the midst of the clashing of sabres, and the cries of men trampled under the horses" hoofs. La Fayette, who feared attempts and surprises in the streets of Paris, desired general Damas, the commandant of the escort, not to traverse the city. He placed troops in deep line on the boulevard from the barrier De l"Etoile to the Tuileries. The national guard bordered this line. The Swiss guards were also drawn up, but their flags no longer lowered before their master. No military honour was paid to the supreme head of the army. The national guards, resting on their arms, did not salute them, but saw the _cortege_ pa.s.s by in an att.i.tude of force, indifference, and contempt.
XXVI.
The carriages entered in the garden of the Tuileries by the turning bridge. La Fayette, on horseback at the head of his staff, had gone to meet the procession, and now headed it. During his absence an immense crowd had filled the garden, the terraces, and obstructed the gate of the chateau. The escort had the greatest difficulty in forcing its way through this tumultuous ma.s.s. They made every man keep his hat on. M. de Guillermy, a member of the a.s.sembly, alone remained uncovered, in spite of the threats and insults which this mark of respect brought down upon him. It was then that the queen, perceiving M. de La Fayette, and fearing for her faithful body-guard sitting in the carriage, and threatened by the people, exclaimed, "Monsieur de La Fayette, save the _gardes du corps_."
The royal family descended from the carriage at the end of the terrace.
La Fayette received them from the hands of Barnave and Petion. The children were carried in the arms of the national guard. One of the members of the left side of the a.s.sembly, the vicomte de Noailles, approached the queen with eagerness, and offered his arm. The queen indignantly rejected it, and cast a look of contempt at the offer of protection from an enemy, then perceiving a deputy of the right, demanded his arm. So much degradation might depress, but could not overcome her. The dignity of the empire displayed itself unabated in the gesture and the heart of the woman.
The prolonged clamours of the crowd at the entrance of the king at the Tuileries announced to the a.s.sembly its triumph. The excitement suspended the sitting for nearly half an hour. A deputy, rushing into the meeting, exclaimed that three _gardes du corps_ were in the hands of the people, who would rend them in pieces. Twenty _commissaires_ went out at the moment to rescue them. They entered some minutes afterwards.
The riot had been appeased by them. They stated that they had seen Petion protecting with his person the door of the king"s carriage.
Barnave entered, mounted the tribune, covered as he was with the dust of his journey, and said, "We have fulfilled our mission to the honour of France and the a.s.sembly; we have a.s.sured the public tranquillity and the safety of the king. The king has declared to us that he had no intention of pa.s.sing the boundaries of the kingdom. (Murmurs.) We advanced rapidly as far as Meaux, in order to avoid the pursuit of M. de Bouille"s troops. The national guards and the troops have done their duty. The king is at the Tuileries."
Petion added, in order to flatter public opinion, that when the carriage stopped some persons had attempted to lay hands on the _gardes du corps_, that he himself had been seized by the collar and dragged from his place by the carriage door, but that this movement by the people was legal in its intention, and had no other object than to enforce the execution of the law which had ordered the arrest of the accomplices of the court. It was decreed that information should be drawn up by the tribunal of the _arrondiss.e.m.e.nt_ of the Tuileries concerning the king"s flight, and that three commissioners appointed by the a.s.sembly should receive the declarations of the king and queen. "What means this obsequious exception?" exclaimed Robespierre. "Do you fear to degrade royalty by handing over the king and queen to ordinary tribunals? A citizen, a _citoyenne_, any man, any dignity, how elevated soever, can never be degraded by the law." Buzot supported this opinion; Duport opposed it. Respect prevailed over outrage. The commissioners named were Tronchet, Dandre, and Duport.
XXVII.
Once more in his own apartments, Louis XVI. measured with a glance the depth of his fall. La Fayette presented himself with all the demeanour of regret and respect, but with the reality of command. "Your majesty,"
said he to the king, "knows my attachment for your royal person, but at the same time you are not ignorant that if you separated yourself from the cause of the people, I should side with the people." "That is true,"
replied the king. "You follow your principles--this is a party matter, and I tell you frankly, that until lately I had believed you had surrounded me by a turbulent faction of persons of your own way of thinking in order to mislead me, but that yours was not the real opinion of France. I have learnt during my journey that I was deceived, and that this was the general wish." "Has your majesty any orders to give me?"
replied La Fayette. "It seems to me," retorted the king with a smile, "that I am more at your orders than you are at mine."
The queen allowed the bitterness of her ill-restrained resentment to display itself. She wished to force on M. de La Fayette the keys of her caskets, which were in the carriages: he refused. She insisted; and when he was firm in his refusal, she placed them in his hat with her own hands. "Your majesty will have the goodness to take them back," said M.
de La Fayette, "for I shall not touch them." "Well, then," answered the queen, "I shall find persons less delicate than you." The king entered his closet, wrote several letters, and gave them to a footman, who presented them to La Fayette for inspection. The general appeared indignant that he should be deemed capable of such an unworthy office as acting the spy over the king"s acts; he was desirous that the thraldom of the monarch should at least preserve the outward appearance of liberty.
The service of the chateau went on as usual; but La Fayette gave the pa.s.s-word without first receiving it from the king. The iron gates of the courts and gardens were locked. The royal family submitted to La Fayette the list of persons whom they desired to receive. Sentinels were placed at every door, in every pa.s.sage, in the corridors between the chambers of the king and queen. The doors of these chambers were constantly kept open--even the queen"s bed was inspected. Every place, the most sacred, was suspected; female modesty was in no wise respected.
The gestures, looks, and words of the king and queen all were watched, spied, and noted. They were obliged to manage by stealth some secret interviews. An officer of the guard pa.s.sed twenty-four hours at a time at the end of a dark corridor, which was placed behind the apartment of the queen"s,--a single lamp lighted it, like the vault of a dungeon.
This post, detested by the officers on service, was sought after by the devotion of some of them; they affected zeal, in order to cloak their respect. Saint Prix, a celebrated actor of the Theatre Francais, frequently accepted this post,--he favoured the hasty interviews of the king, his wife, and sister.
In the evening one of the queen"s women moved her bed between that of her mistress and the open door of the apartment, that she might thus conceal her from the eyes of the sentinels. One night the commandant of the guard, who watched between the two doors, seeing that this woman was asleep, and the queen was awake, ventured to approach the couch of his royal mistress, and gave her in a low tone some information and advice as to her situation. This conversation aroused the sleeping attendant, who, alarmed at seeing a man in uniform close to the royal bed, was about to call aloud, when the queen desired her to be silent, saying, "Do not alarm yourself; this is a good Frenchman, who is mistaken as to the intentions of the king and myself, but whose conversation betokens a sincere attachment to his masters."
Providence thus made some of their persecutors to convey some consolation to the victims. The king, so resigned, so unmoved, was bowed for a moment beneath the weight of so many troubles--so much humiliation. Such was his mental occupation, that he remained for ten days without exchanging a word with one of his family. His last struggle with misfortune seemed to have exhausted his strength. He felt himself vanquished, and desired, it would almost seem, to die by antic.i.p.ation.
The queen, throwing herself at his feet, and presenting to him his children, forced him to break this mournful silence. "Let us," she exclaimed, "preserve all our fort.i.tude, in order to sustain this long struggle with fortune. If our destruction be inevitable, there is still left to us the choice of how we will perish; let us perish as sovereigns, and do not let us wait without resistance, and without vengeance, until they come and strangle us on the very floor of our own apartments!" The queen had the heart of a hero; Louis XVI. had the soul of a sage; but the genius which combines wisdom with valour was wanting to both: the one knew how to struggle--the other knew how to submit--neither knew how to reign.
XXVIII.
The effect of this flight, had it succeeded, would have wholly changed the aspect of the Revolution. Instead of having in the king, captive in Paris, an instrument and a victim, the Revolution would have had in an emanc.i.p.ated king, an enemy or a mediator; instead of being an anarchy, she would have had a civil war; instead of having ma.s.sacres, she would have gained victories; she would have triumphed by arms, and not by executions.
Never did the fate of so many men and so many ideas depend so plainly on a chance! And yet this was not a chance. Drouet was the means of the king"s destruction: if he had not recognised the monarch from his resemblance with his portrait on the a.s.signats--if he had not rode with all speed, and reached Varennes before the carriages, in two hours more the king and his family must have been saved. Drouet, this obscure son of a post-master, sauntering and idle that evening before the door of a cottage, decided the fate of a monarchy. He took the advice of no one but himself--he set off, saying, "I will arrest the king." But Drouet would not have had this decisive impulse if, at this moment, as it were, he had not personified in himself all the agitation and all the suspicions of the people. It was the fanaticism of his country which impelled him, unknown to himself, to Varennes, and which urged him to sacrifice a whole family of fugitives to what he believed to be the safety of the nation.
He had not received instructions from anyone; he took upon himself alone the arrest and the death that ensued. His devotion to his country was cruel: his silence and commiseration would have drawn down minor calamities.
As to the king himself, this flight was in him a fault if not a crime: it was too soon or too late. Too late--for the king had already too far sanctioned the Revolution, to turn suddenly against it without appearing to betray his people and give himself the lie; too soon--for the const.i.tution which the National a.s.sembly was drawing up was not yet completed, the government was not yet p.r.o.nounced powerless; and the foes of the king and his family were not yet so decidedly menaced that the care of his safety as a man should surpa.s.s his duties as a king. In case of success, Louis XVI. had none but foreign forces to recover his kingdom; in case of arrest, he found only a prison in his palace. On which side soever we view it, flight was fatal--it was the road to shame or to the scaffold. There is but one route by which to flee a throne and not to die--abdication. On his return from Varennes, the king should have abdicated. The Revolution would have adopted his son, and have educated it in its own image. He did not abdicate--he consented to accept the pardon of his people; he swore to execute a const.i.tution from which he had fled. He was a king in a state of amnesty. Europe beheld in him but a fugitive from his throne led back to his punishment, the nation but a traitor, and the Revolution but a plaything.