At length the morning succeeding this dreadful night dawned lurid and cheerless. It was the 8th of October, 1789. Dark clouds over-shadowed the sky, showers of mist were driven through the air, and the branches of the trees swayed to and fro before the driving storm. Pools of water filled the streets, and a countless mult.i.tude of drunken vagabonds, in a ma.s.s so dense as to be almost impervious, besieged the palace, having no definite plan or desire, only furious with the thought that now was the hour in which they could wreak vengeance upon aristocrats for ages of oppression. Muskets were continually discharged by the more desperate, and bullets pa.s.sed through the windows of the palace. Maria Antoinette, in these trying scenes, indeed appeared queenly. Her conduct was heroic in the extreme. Her soul was nerved to the very highest acts of fearlessness and magnanimity. Seeing the mob in the court-yard below ready to tear in pieces some of her faithful guard whom they had captured, regardless of the shots which were whistling by her, she persisted in exposing herself at the open window to beg for their lives; and when a friend, M. Luzerne, placed himself before her, that his body might be her shield from the bullets, she gently, but firmly, with her hand, pressed him away, saying, "The king can not afford to lose so faithful a servant as you are."

At length the crowd began vigorously to shout, "The queen! the queen!"

demanding that she should appear upon the balcony. She immediately came forth, with her children at her side, that, as a mother, she might appeal to their hearts. The sight moved the sympathies of the mult.i.tude; and execrating, as they did, Maria Antoinette, whom they had long been taught to hate, they could not have the heart, in cold blood, to ma.s.sacre these innocent children. Thousands of voices simultaneously shouted, "Away with the children!" Maria, apparently without the tremor of a nerve, led back her children, and again appearing upon the balcony alone, folded her arms, and, raising her eyes to heaven, stood before them, a self-devoted victim. The heroism of the act changed for a moment hatred to admiration. Not a gun was fired; there was a moment of silence, and then one spontaneous burst of applause rose apparently from every lip, and shouts of "Vive la reine! vive la reine!" pierced the skies.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MOB AT VERSAILLES.]

And now the universal cry ascends, "To Paris! to Paris!" La Fayette, with the deepest mortification, was compelled to inform the king that he had no force at his disposal sufficient to enable him to resist the demands of the mob. The king, seeing that he was entirely at the mercy of his foes, who were acting without leaders and without plan, as the caprice of each pa.s.sing moment instigated, said, "You wish, my children, that I should accompany you to Paris. I can not go but on condition that I shall not be separated from my wife and family." To this proposal there was a tumultuous a.s.sent. At one o'clock, the king and queen, with their two children, entered the royal carriage to be escorted by the triumphant mob as captives to Paris. Behind them, in a long train, followed the carriages of the king's suite and servants.

Then followed twenty-five carriages filled with the members of the National a.s.sembly. After them came the thirty-five thousand troops of the National Guard; and before, behind, and around them all, a hideous concourse of vagabonds, male and female, in uncounted thousands, armed with every conceivable weapon, yelling, blaspheming, and crowding against the carriages so that they surged to and fro like ships in a storm. This motley mult.i.tude kept up an incessant discharge of fire-arms loaded with bullets, and the b.a.l.l.s often struck the ornaments of the carriages, and the king and queen were often almost suffocated with the smoke of powder. The two body-guard, who had been ma.s.sacred while so faithfully defending the queen at the door of her chamber, were beheaded, and, their gory heads affixed to pikes, were carried by the windows of the carriage, and pressed upon the view of the wretched captives with every species of insult and derision. La Fayette was powerless. He was borne along resistlessly by this whirlwind of human pa.s.sions. None were so malignant, so ferocious, so merciless, as the degraded women who mingled with the throng. They bestrode the cannon singing the most indecent and insulting songs. "We shall now have bread," they exclaimed; "for we have with us the baker, and the baker's wife, and the baker's boy." During seven long hours of agony were the royal family exposed to these insults, before the unwieldy ma.s.s had urged its slow way to Paris. The darkness of night was settling down around the city as the royal captives were led into the Hotel de Ville. No one seemed then to know what to do, or why the king and queen had been brought from Versailles. The mayor of the city received them there with the external mockery of respect and homage.

He had them then conducted to the Tuileries, the gorgeous city palace of the kings of France, now the prison of the royal family. Soldiers were stationed at all the avenues to the palace, ostensibly to preserve the royal family from danger, but, in reality, to guard them from escape.

A moment before the queen entered her carriage for this march of humiliation, she hastily retired to her private apartment, and, bursting into tears, surrendered herself to the most uncontrollable emotion. Then immediately, as if relieved and strengthened by this flood of tears, she summoned all her energies, and appeared as she had ever appeared, the invincible sovereign. Indeed, through all these dreadful scenes she never seemed to have a thought for herself. It was for her husband and her children alone that she wept and suffered. Through all the long hours of the night succeeding this day of horror, Paris was one boiling caldron of tumult and pa.s.sion. Rioting and violence filled all its streets, and the clamor of madness and inebriation drove sleep from every pillow. The excitement of the day had been too terrible to allow either the king or the queen to attempt repose. The two children, in utter exhaustion, found a few hours of agitated slumber from the terror with which they had so long been appalled. But in the morning, when the dauphin awoke, being but six or eight years of age, hearing the report of musketry and the turmoil still resounding in the streets, he threw his arms around his mother's neck, and, as he clung trembling to her bosom, exclaimed, "O mother! mother! is to-day yesterday again?" Soon after, his father came into the room. The little prince, to whom sorrow had given a maturity above his years, contemplated his father for a moment with a pensive air, went up to him and said, "Dear father, why are your people, who formerly loved you so well, now, all of a sudden so angry with you? And what have you done to irritate them so much?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: GRAND AVENUE OF THE TUILERIES.]

The king thus replied. "I wished, my dear child, to render the people still happier than they were. I wanted money to pay the expenses occasioned by wars. I asked the Parliament for money, as my predecessors have always done. Magistrates composing the Parliament opposed it, and said that the _people_ alone had a right to consent to it. I a.s.sembled the princ.i.p.al inhabitants of every town, whether distinguished by birth, fortune, or talents, at Versailles. That is what is called the _States-General_. When they were a.s.sembled, they required concessions of me which I could not make, either with due respect for myself or with justice to you, who will be my successor.

Wicked men, inducing the people to rise, have occasioned the excesses of the last few days. The _people_ must not be blamed for them."

While these terrific scenes were pa.s.sing in Paris and in France, the majority of the n.o.bility were rapidly emigrating to find refuge in other lands. Every night the horizon was illumined by the conflagration of their chateaux, burned down by mobs. Many of them were mercilessly tortured to death. Large numbers, however, gathering around them such treasures as could easily be carried away, escaped to Germany on the frontiers of France. Some fifteen hundred of these emigrants were at Coblentz, organizing themselves into a military band, seeking a.s.sistance from the Austrian monarchy, and threatening, with an overwhelming force of invasion, to recover their homes and their confiscated estates, and to rescue the royal family. The populace in Paris were continually agitated with the rumors of this gathering army at Coblentz. As Maria was an Austrian, she was accused of being in correspondence with the emigrants, and of striving to rouse the Austrian monarchy to make war upon France, and to deluge Paris with the blood of its citizens. Most inflammatory placards were posted in the streets.

Speeches full of rancor and falsehood were made to exasperate the populace. And when the fish-women wished to cast upon the queen some epithet of peculiar bitterness, they called her "The Austrian."

It is confidently a.s.serted that the mob was instigated to the march to Versailles by the emissaries of the Duke of Orleans, the father of Louis Philippe. The duke hoped that the royal family, terrified by the approach of the infuriated mult.i.tude, would enter their carriages and flee to join the emigrants at Coblentz. The throne would then be vacant, and the people would make the Duke of Orleans, who, to secure this result, had become one of the most violent of the Democrats, their king.

It was a deeply-laid plot and a very plausible enterprise. But the king understood the plan, and refused thus to be driven from the throne of his fathers. He, however, entreated the queen to take the children and escape. She resolutely declared that no peril should induce her to forsake her husband, but that she would live or die by his side. During all the horrors of that dreadful night, when the palace at Versailles was sacked, the duke, in disguise, with his adherents, was endeavoring to direct the fury of the storm for the accomplishment of this purpose.

But his plans were entirely frustrated. The caprice seized the mob to carry the king to Paris. This the Duke of Orleans of all things dreaded; but matters had now pa.s.sed entirely beyond his control. Rumors of the approaching invasion were filling the kingdom with alarm. There was a large minority, consisting of the most intelligent and wealthy, who were in favor of the king, and who would eagerly join an army coming for his rescue. Should the king escape and head that army, it would give the invaders a vast accession of moral strength, and the insurgent people feared a dreadful vengeance. Consequently, there were great apprehensions entertained that the king might escape. The leaders of the populace were not yet prepared to plunge him into prison or to load him with chains. In fact, they had no definite plan before them. He was still their recognized king. They even pretended that he was not their captive--that they had politely, affectionately invited him, escorted him on a visit to his capital. They entreated the king and queen to show that they had no desire to escape, but were contented and happy, by entering into all the amus.e.m.e.nts of operas, and theaters, and b.a.l.l.s. But in the mean time they doubled the guards around them, and drove away their faithful servants, to place others at their tables and in their chambers who should be their spies.

But two days after these horrid outrages, in the midst of which the king and queen were dragged as captives to Paris, the city sent a deputation to request the queen to appear at the theater, and thus to prove, by partic.i.p.ating in those gay festivities, that it was with pleasure that she resided in her capital. With much dignity the queen replied, "I should, with great pleasure, accede to the invitation of the people of Paris; but time must be allowed me to soften the recollection of the distressing events which have recently occurred, and from which I have suffered so severely. Having come to Paris preceded by the heads of my faithful guards, who perished before the door of their sovereign, I can not think that such an entry into the capital ought to be followed by rejoicings. But the happiness I have always felt in appearing in the midst of the inhabitants of Paris is not effaced from my memory; and I hope to enjoy that happiness again, so soon as I shall find myself able to do so."

The queen was, however, increasingly the object of especial obloquy. She was accused of urging the king to bombard the city, and to adopt other most vigorous measures of resistance. It was affirmed that she held continual correspondence with the emigrants at Coblentz, and was doing all in her power to rouse Austria to come to the rescue of the king.

Maria would have been less than the n.o.ble woman she was if she had not done all this, and more, for the protection of her husband, her child, and herself. She inherited her mother's superiority of mind and mental energy. Had Louis possessed her spirit, he might have perished more heroically, but probably none the less surely. Maria did, unquestionably, do every thing in her power to rouse her husband to a more energetic and manly defense. Generations of kings, by licentiousness, luxury, and oppression; by total disregard of the rights of the people, and by the naughty contempt of their sufferings and complaints, had kindled flames of implacable hatred against all kingly power. Circ.u.mstances, over which neither Louis nor Maria had any control, caused these flames to burst out with resistless fury around the throne of France, at the time in which they happened to be seated upon it. Though there never had been seated upon that throne more upright, benevolent, and conscientious monarchs, they were compelled to drain to the dregs the poisoned chalice which their ancestors had mingled. Perhaps this world presents no more affecting ill.u.s.tration of that mysterious principle of the divine government, by which the transgressions of the parents are visited upon the children. Louis XIV., as haughty and oppressive a monarch as ever trod an enslaved people into the dust, died peacefully in his luxurious bed. His descendant, Louis XVI., as mild and benignant a sovereign as ever sat upon an earthly throne, received upon his unresisting brow the doom from which his unprincipled ancestors had escaped. It is difficult for us, in the sympathy which is excited for the comparatively innocent Maria Antoinette and Louis, to remember the ages of wrong and outrage by which the popular exasperation had been raised to wreak itself in indiscriminating atrocities. There is but one solution to these mysteries: "After death comes the judgment."

CHAPTER VI.

THE PALACE A PRISON.

1789-1791

Condition of the royal family.--Ignominiously insulted.--The royal family surrounded by spies.--The queen refuses to escape.--Excuse for the emigrants.--Their plans.--Profligate women.--Their talk with the queen.--Bravos of the women.--Plan for the queen's escape.--Letter from the queen.--Her employments.--The king's unwillingness to flee.--Execution of the Marquis of Favras.--Imprudence of some of the queen's friends.--Her embarra.s.sment.--The queen weeps.--Present to Madame Favras.--The king continues inactive.--Plan of Count d'Inisdal.--Indecision of the king.--The queen's disappointment.--Displeasure of Count d'Inisdal.--An alarm.--Attempts to a.s.sa.s.sinate the queen.--Removal to St. Cloud.--Another plan for flight.--It is abandoned.--Exhibitions of attachment.--Emotions of the queen.--The a.s.sa.s.sin in the garden.--Midnight interviews.--Deliberations of the king's friends.--Taunting gift.--The king's aunts leave France.--They are arrested.--Exciting debate.--The ladies permitted to depart.--The royal family start for St. Cloud.--They are compelled to return.--Preparations for flight.--Imprudence of the king and queen.--Garments for the children.--The queen's diamonds and jewels.--The queen's dressing-case.--The faithful Leonard.

The king and queen now found themselves in the gorgeous apartments of the Tuileries, surrounded with all the mockery of external homage, but incessantly exposed to the most ignominious insults, and guarded with sleepless vigilance from the possibility of escape. The name of the queen was the watchword of popular execration and rage. In the pride of her lofty spirit, she spurned all apologies, explanations, or attempts at conciliation. Inclosing herself in the recesses of her palace, she heard with terror and resentment, but with an unyielding soul, the daily acts of violence perpetrated against royalty and all of its friends. All her trusty servants were removed, and spies in their stead occupied her parlors and her chambers. Trembling far more for her husband and her children than for herself, every noise in the streets aroused her apprehensions of a new insurrection. And thus, for nearly two years of melancholy days and sorrowful nights, the very n.o.bleness of her nature, glowing with heroic love, magnified her anguish. The terror of the times had driven nearly all the n.o.bility from the realm. The court was forsaken, or attended only by the detested few who were forced as ministers upon the royal family by the implacable populace. Every word and every action of Maria Antoinette were watched, and reported by the spies who surrounded her in the guise of servants. To obtain a private interview with any of her few remaining friends, or even with her husband, it was necessary to avail herself of private stair-cases, and dark corridors, and the disguise of night. The queen regretted extremely that the n.o.bles, and others friendly to royalty, should, in these hours of gathering danger, have fled from France. When urged to fly herself from the dangers darkening around her, she resolutely refused, declaring that she would never leave her husband and children, but that she would live or die with them. The queen, convinced of the impolicy of emigration, did every thing in her power to induce the emigrants to return. Urgent letters were sent to them, to one of which the queen added the following postscript with her own hand: "If you love your king, your religion, your government, and your country, return! return!

return! Maria Antoinette." The emigrants were severely censured by many for abandoning their king and country in such a crisis. But when all law was overthrown, and the raging mob swayed hither and thither at its will, and n.o.bles were murdered on the high way or hung at lamp-posts in the street, and each night the horizon was illumined by the conflagration of their chateaux, a husband and father can hardly be severely censured for endeavoring to escape with his wife and children from such scenes of horror.

A year of gloom now slowly pa.s.sed away, almost every moment of which was embittered by disappointed hopes and gathering fears. The emigrants, who were a.s.sembled at Coblentz, on the frontiers of Germany, were organizing an army for the invasion of France and the restoration of the regal power. The people were very fearful that the king and queen might escape, and, joining the emigrants, add immeasurably to their moral strength. There were thousands in France, overawed by the terrors of the mob, who would most eagerly have rallied around the banners of such an invading army, headed by their own king. Louis, however, with his characteristic want of energy, was very unwilling to a.s.sume a hostile att.i.tude toward his subjects, and still vainly hoped, by concessions and by the exhibition of a forgiving spirit, to reconcile his disaffected people.

On the morning after the arrival of the king and queen at the Tuileries, an occurrence took place highly characteristic of the times. A crowd of profligate women, the same who bestrode the cannon the day before, insulting the queen with the most abusive language, collected under the queen's windows, upon the terrace of the palace. Maria, hearing their outcries, came to the window. A furious termagant addressed her, telling her that she must dismiss all such courtiers as ruin kings, and that she must love the inhabitants of her good city. The queen replied,

"I have loved them at Versailles, and will also love them at Paris."

"Yes! yes!" answered another. "But you wanted to besiege the city and have it bombarded. And you wanted to fly to the frontiers and join the emigrants."

The queen mildly replied, "You have been told so, my friends, and have believed it, and that is the cause of the unhappiness of the people and of the best of kings."

Another addressed her in German, to which the queen answered, "I do not understand you. I have become so entirely French as even to have forgotten my mother tongue."

At this they all clapped their hands, and shouted, "Bravo! bravo!" They then asked for the ribbons and flowers out of her hat. Her majesty unfastened them herself, and then tossed them out of the window to the women. They were received with great eagerness, and divided among the party; and for half an hour they kept up the incessant shout, "Maria Antoinette forever! Our good queen forever!"

In the course of a few weeks some of the devoted friends of the queen had matured a plan by which _her_ escape could be, without difficulty, effected. The queen, whose penetrating mind fully comprehended the peril of her situation, replied, while expressing the deepest grat.i.tude to her friends for their kindness, "I will never leave either the king or my children. If I thought that I alone were obnoxious to public hatred, I would instantly offer my life as a sacrifice. But it is the throne which is aimed at. In abandoning the king, no other advantage can be obtained than merely saving my life; and I will never be guilty of such an act of cowardice."

The following letter, which she wrote at this time to a friend, in reply to a letter of sympathy in reference to the outrage which had torn her from Versailles, will enable one to form a judgment of her situation and state of mind at that time. "I shed tears of affection on reading your sympathizing letter. You talk of my courage; it required much less to go through the dreadful crisis of that day than is now daily necessary to endure our situation, our own griefs, those of our friends, and those of the persons who surround us. This is a heavy weight to sustain; and but for the strong ties by which my heart is bound to my husband, my children, and my friends, I should wish to sink under it. But you bear me up. I ought to sacrifice such feelings to your friendship. But it is I who bring misfortune on you all, and all your troubles are on my account."

The queen now lived for some time in much retirement. She employed the mornings in superintending the education of her son and daughter, both of whom received all their lessons in her presence, and she endeavored to occupy her mind, continually agitated as it was by ever-recurring scenes of outrage and of danger, by working large pieces of tapestry.

She could not sufficiently recall her thoughts from the anxieties which continually engrossed them to engage in reading. The king was extremely unwilling to seek protection in flight, lest the throne should be declared vacant, and he should thus lose his crown. He was ever hoping that affairs would soon take such a turn that harmony would be restored to his distracted kingdom. Maria Antoinette, however, who had a much more clear discernment of the true state of affairs, soon felt convinced that reconciliation, unless effected by the arm of power, was hopeless, and she exerted all her influence to rouse the king to vigorous measures for escape. While firmly resolved never to abandon her husband and her family to save her own life, she still became very anxious that all should endeavor to escape together.

About this time the Marquis of Favras was accused of having formed a plan for the rescue of the royal family. He was very hastily tried, the mob surrounding the tribunal and threatening the judges with instant death unless they should condemn him. He was sentenced to be hung, and was executed, surrounded by the insults and execrations of the populace of Paris. The marquis left a wife and a little boy overwhelmed with grief and in hopeless poverty. On the following Sunday morning, some extremely injudicious friends of the queen, moved with sympathy for the desolated family, without consulting the queen upon the subject, presented the widow and the orphan in deepest mourning at court. The husband and father had fallen a sacrifice to his love for the queen and her family. The queen was extremely embarra.s.sed. What course could she with safety pursue? If she should yield to the dictates of her own heart, and give expression to her emotions of sympathy and grat.i.tude, she would rouse to still greater fury the indignation of the populace who were accusing her of the desire to escape, and who considered this desire as one of the greatest of crimes. Should she, on the other hand, surrender herself to the dictates of prudence, and neglect openly to manifest any special interest in their behalf, how severely must she be censured by the Loyalists for her ingrat.i.tude toward those who had been irretrievably ruined through their love for her.

The queen was extremely pained by this unexpected and impolitic presentation; for the fate of others, far dearer to her than her own life, were involved in her conduct. She withdrew from the painful scene to her private apartment, threw herself into a chair, and, weeping bitterly, said to an intimate friend, "We must perish! We are a.s.sailed by men who possess extraordinary talent, and who shrink from no crime.

We are defended by those who have the kindest intentions, but who have no adequate idea of our situation. They have exposed me to the animosity of both parties by presenting to me the widow and the son of the Marquis of Favras. Were I free to act as my heart impels me, I should take the child of the man who has so n.o.bly sacrificed himself for us, and adopt him as my own, and place him at the table between the king and myself.

But, surrounded by the a.s.sa.s.sins who have destroyed his father, I did not dare even to cast my eyes upon him. The Royalists will blame me for not having appeared interested in this poor child. The Revolutionists will be enraged at the idea that his presentation should have been thought agreeable to me." The next day the queen sent, by a confidential friend, a purse of gold to Madame Favras, and a.s.sured her that she would ever watch, with the deepest interest, over her fortune and that of her son.

Innumerable plans were now formed for the rescue of the royal family, and abandoned. The king could not be roused to energetic action. His pa.s.sive courage was indomitable, but he could not be induced to act on the offensive, and, still hoping that by a spirit of conciliation he might win back the affections of his people, he was extremely reluctant to take any measures by which he should be arrayed in hostility against them. Maria, on the contrary, knew that decisive action alone could be of any avail. One night, about ten o'clock, the king and queen were sitting in their private apartment of the Tuileries, endeavoring to beguile the melancholy hours by a game of cards. The sister of the king, Madame Elizabeth, with a very pensive countenance, was kneeling upon a stool, by the side of the table, overlooking the game. A n.o.bleman, Count d'Inisdal, devotedly attached to the fortunes of the royal family, entered, and, in a low tone of voice, informed the king and queen that a plan was already matured to rescue them that very night; that a section of the National Guard was gained over, that sets of fleet horses were placed in relays at suitable distances, that carriages were ready, and that now they only wanted the king's consent, and the scheme, at midnight, would be carried into execution. The king listened to every word without the movement of a muscle of his countenance, and, fixing his eyes upon the cards in his hand, as if paying no attention to what had been said, uttered not a syllable. For some time there was perfect silence. At last Maria Antoinette, who was extremely anxious that the king should avail himself of this opportunity for escape, broke the embarra.s.sing silence by saying, "Do you hear, sir, what is said to us?"

"Yes," replied the king, calmly, "I hear," and he continued his game.

Again there was a long silence. The queen, extremely anxious and impatient, for the hour of midnight was drawing near, again interrupted the silence by saying earnestly, "But, sir, some reply must be made to this communication." The king paused for a moment, and then, still looking upon the cards in his hand, said, "_The king can not consent to be carried off._" Maria Antoinette was greatly disappointed at the want of decision and of magnanimity implied in this answer. She, however, said to the n.o.bleman very eagerly, "Be careful and report this answer correctly, the king can not _consent_ to be carried off." The king's answer was doubtless intended as a tacit consent while he wished to avoid the responsibility of partic.i.p.ating in the design. The count, however, was greatly displeased at this answer, and said to his a.s.sociates, "I understand it perfectly. He is willing that we should seize and carry him, as if by violence, but wishes, in case of failure, to throw all the blame upon those who are periling their lives to save him." The queen hoped earnestly that the enterprise would not be abandoned, and sat up till after midnight preparing her cases of valuables, and anxiously watching for the coming of their deliverers.

But the hours lingered away, and the morning dawned, and the palace was still their prison. The queen, shortly after, remarking upon this indecision of the king, said, "We _must_ seek safety in flight. Our peril increases every day. No one can tell to what extremities these disturbances will lead."

La Fayette had informed the king, that, should he see any alarming movement among the disaffected, threatening the exposure of the royal family to new acts of violence, he would give them an intimation of their danger by the discharge of a few cannon from the battery upon the Pont Neuf. One night the report of guns from some casual discharge was heard, and the king, regarding it as the warning, in great alarm flew to the apartments of the queen. She was not there. He pa.s.sed hastily from room to room, and at last found her in the chamber of the dauphin, with her two children in her arms. "Madame," said the king to her, "I have been seeking you. I was very anxious about you." "You find me,"

replied the queen pointing to her children, "at my station."

Several unavailing attempts were made at this time to a.s.sa.s.sinate the queen. These discoveries, however, seemed to cause Maria no alarm, and she could not be induced to adopt any precautions for her personal safety. Rarely did a day pa.s.s in which she did not encounter, in some form, ignominy or insult. As the heat of summer came on, the royal family removed to the palace of St. Cloud without any opposition, though the National Guard followed them, professedly for their protection, but, in reality, to guard against their escape. Here another plan was formed for flight. The different members of the royal family, in disguise, were to meet in a wood four leagues from St. Cloud. Some friends of the royal family, who could be perfectly relied upon, were there to join them. A large carriage was to be in attendance, sufficient to conduct the whole family. The attendants at the palace would have no suspicion of their escape until nine o'clock in the evening, as the royal carriages were frequently out until that hour, and it would then take some time to send to Paris to call together the National a.s.sembly at midnight, and to send couriers to overtake the fugitives. Thus, with fleet horses and fresh relays, and having six or seven hours the start, the king and queen might hope to escape apprehension. The queen very highly approved of this plan, and was very anxious to have it carried into execution. But for some unknown reason, the attempt was relinquished.

There were occasional exhibitions of strong individual attachment for the king and queen which would, for a moment, create the illusion that a reaction had commenced in the public mind. One day the queen was sitting in her apartment at St. Cloud, in the deepest dejection of spirits, mechanically working upon some tapestry to occupy the joyless and lingering hours. It was four o'clock in the afternoon. The palace was deserted and silent. The very earth and sky seemed mourning in sympathy with the mourning queen. Suddenly, an unusual noise, as of many persons conversing in an under tone, was heard beneath the window. The queen immediately rose and went to the window; for every unaccustomed sound was, in such perilous times, an occasion of alarm. Below the balcony, she saw a group of some fifty persons, men and women, from the country, apparently anxious to catch a glimpse of her. They were evidently humble people, dressed in the costume of peasants. As soon as they saw the queen, they gave utterance to the most pa.s.sionate expressions of attachment and devotion. The queen, who had long been accustomed only to looks and words of defiance and insult, was entirely overpowered by these kind words, and could not refrain from bursting into tears. The sight of the weeping queen redoubled the affectionate emotions of the loyal group, and, with the utmost enthusiasm, they reiterated their a.s.surances of love and their prayers for her safety. A lady of the queen's household, apprehensive that the scene might arrest the attention of the numerous spies who surrounded them, led her from the window. The affectionate group, appreciating the prudence of the measure, with tears of sympathy expressed their a.s.sent, and with prayers, tears, and benedictions retired. Maria was deeply touched by these unwonted tones of kindness, and, throwing herself into her chair, sobbed with uncontrollable emotion. It was long before she could regain her accustomed composure.

Many unsuccessful attempts were made at this time to a.s.sa.s.sinate the queen. A wretch by the name of Rotondo succeeded one day in scaling the walls of the garden, and hid himself in the shrubbery, intending to stab the queen as she pa.s.sed in her usual solitary promenade. A shower prevented the queen from going into the garden, and thus her life was saved. And yet, though the a.s.sa.s.sin was discovered and arrested, the hostility of the public toward the royal family was such that he was shielded from punishment.

The king and queen occasionally held private interviews at midnight, with chosen friends, secretly introduced to the palace, in the apartment of the queen. And there, in low tones of voice, and fearful of detection by the numerous spies which infested the palace, they would deliberate upon their peril, and upon the innumerable plans suggested for their extrication. Some recommended the resort to violence; that the king should gather around him as many of his faithful subjects as possible, and settle the difficulties by an immediate appeal to arms. Others urged further compromise, and the spirit of conciliation, hoping that the king might thus regain his lost popularity, and re-establish his tottering throne. Others urged, and Maria coincided most cordially in this opinion, that it was necessary for the royal family to escape from Paris immediately, which was the focus of disaffection, and at a safe distance, surrounded by their armed friends, to treat with their enemies and to compel them to reasonable terms. The indecision of the king, however, appeared to be an insuperable obstacle in the way of any decisive action.

One day a delegation appeared before the royal family from the _conquerors of the Bastile_, with a new year's gift for the young dauphin. The present consisted of a box of dominoes curiously wrought from the stone of which that celebrated state prison was built. It was an ingenious plan to insult the royal family under the pretense of respect and affection, for on the lid of the box there was engraved the following sentiment: "_These stones, from the walls which inclosed the innocent victims of arbitrary power, have been converted into a toy, to be presented to you, monseigneur, as an homage of the people's love, and to teach you the extent of their power._"

About this time, the two aunts of the king left France, ostensibly for the purpose of travelling, but, in reality, as an experiment, to see what opposition would be made to prevent members of the royal family from leaving the kingdom. As soon as their intention was known, it excited the greatest popular ferment. A vast crowd of men and women a.s.sembled at the palace, to prevent, if possible, with lawless violence, their departure. It was merely two elderly ladies who wished to leave France, but the excitement pervaded even the army, and many of the soldiers joined the mob in the determination that they should not be permitted to depart. The traces of the carriages were cut, and the officers, who tried to protect the princesses, were nearly murdered. The whole nation was agitated by the attempts of these two peaceful ladies to visit Rome. When at some distance from Paris, they were arrested, and the report of their arrest was sent to the National a.s.sembly. The king found the excitement so great, that he wrote a letter to the a.s.sembly, informing them that his aunts wished to leave France to visit other countries, and that, though he witnessed their separation from him and his family with much regret, he did not feel that he had any right to deprive them of the privilege which the humblest citizens enjoyed, of going whenever and wherever they pleased. The question of their detention was for a long time debated in the a.s.sembly. "What right,"

said one, "have we to prohibit these ladies from traveling." "We have a law," another indignantly replied, "paramount to all others--the law which commands us to take care of the public safety." The debate was finally terminated by the caustic remark of a member who was ashamed of the protracted discussion. "Europe," said he, "will be greatly astonished, no doubt, on hearing that the National a.s.sembly spent four hours in deliberating upon the departure of two ladies who preferred hearing ma.s.s at Rome rather than at Paris." The debate was thus terminated, and the ladies were permitted to depart.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PALACE OF ST. CLOUD.]

Early in the spring of 1791, the king and queen, who had been pa.s.sing some time in Paris at the Tuileries, wished to return to their country seat at St. Cloud. Many members of the household had already gone there, and dinner was prepared for the royal family at the palace for their reception. The carriages were at the door, and, as the king and queen were descending, a great tumult in the yard arrested their attention. They found that the guard, fearful that they might escape, had mutinied, and closed the door of the palace, declaring that they would not let them pa.s.s. Some of the personal friends of the king interposed in favor of the insulted captives, and endeavored to secure for them more respectful treatment. They were, however, seized by the infuriated soldiers, and narrowly escaped with their lives. The king and queen returned in humiliation to their apartments, feeling that their palace was indeed a prison. They, however, secretly did not regret the occurrence, as it made more public the indignities to which they were exposed, and would aid in justifying before the community any attempts they might hereafter make to escape.

The king had at length become thoroughly aroused to a sense of the desperate position of his affairs. But the royal family was watched so narrowly that it was now extremely difficult to make any preparations for departure; and the king and queen, both having been brought up surrounded by the luxuries and restraints of a palace, knew so little of the world, and yet were so accustomed to have their own way, that they were entirely incapable of forming any judicious plan for themselves, and, at the same time, they were quite unwilling to adopt the views of their more intelligent friends. They began, however, notwithstanding the most earnest remonstrances, to make preparations for flight by providing themselves with every conceivable comfort for their exile. In vain did their friends a.s.sure them that they could purchase any thing they desired in any part of Europe; that such quant.i.ties of luggage would be only an enc.u.mbrance; that it was dangerous, under the eyes of their vigilant enemies, to be making such extensive preparations. Neither the king nor queen would heed such monitions. The queen persisted in her resolution to send to Brussels, piece by piece, all the articles of a complete and extensive wardrobe for herself and her children, to be ready for them there upon their arrival. Madame Campan, the intimate friend and companion of the queen, was extremely uneasy in view of this imprudence; but, as she could not dissuade the queen, she went out again and again, in the evening and in disguise, to purchase the necessary articles and have them made up. She adopted the precaution of purchasing but few articles at any one shop, and of employing various seamstresses, lest suspicion should be excited. She had the garments made for the daughter of the queen, cut by the measure of another young lady who exactly resembled her in size. Gradually they thus filled one large trunk with clothing, which was sent to the dwelling of a lady, one of the friends of the queen, who was to convey it to Brussels.