"Sire," answered the queen, in amazement, "to discuss with the rebels now is to imply that they are in the right, and you will not, you cannot do that!"

"I will consult with my advisers," said the king, pointing at the ministers, who, summoned by St. Priest, were then entering the room.

But what a consultation was that! Every one made propositions, and yet no one knew what to do. No one would take the responsibility of the matter upon himself, and yet every one felt that the danger increased every minute. But what to do? That was the question which no one was able to answer, and before which the king was mute. Not so the queen, however.

"Sire!" cried she, with glowing cheeks, "sire, you have to save the realm, and to defend it from revolution. The contest is here, and we cannot withdraw from it. Call your guards, put yourself at their head, and allow me to remain at your side. We ought not to yield to revolution, and if we cannot control it, we should suffer it to enter the palace of the kings of France only over our dead bodies.

Sire, we must either live as kings, or know how to die as kings!"

But Louis replied to this burst of n.o.ble valor in a brave woman's soul, only with holding back and timidity. Plans were made and cast aside. They went on deliberating till the wild yells of the people were heard even within the palace.

The queen, pale and yet calm, had withdrawn to the adjoining apartment. There she leaned against the door and listened to the words of the ministers, and to the new reports which were all the time coming in from the streets.

The crowd had reached Versailles, and was streaming through the streets of the city in the direction of the palace. The National Guard of Versailles had fraternized with the Parisians. Some scattered soldiers of the royal guard had been threatened and insulted, and even dragged from their horses!

The queen heard all, and heard besides the consultation of the king and his ministers--still coming to no decisive results, doubting and hesitating, while the fearful crisis was advancing from the street.

Already musket-shots were heard on the great square in front of the palace, wild cries, and loud, harsh voices. Marie Antoinette left her place at the door and hurried to the window, where a view could be had of the whole square. She saw the dark dust-cloud which hung over the road to Paris; she saw the unridden horses, running in advance of the crowd, their riders, members of the royal guard, having been killed; she heard the raging discords, which surged up to the palace like a wave driven by the wind; she saw this black, dreadful wave sweep along the Paris road, roaring as it went.

What a fearful ma.s.s! Howling, shrieking women, with loosened hair, and with menacing gestures, extended their naked arms toward the palace defiantly, their eyes naming, their mouths overflowing with curses. Wild men's figures, with torn blouses, the sleeves rolled up over dusty and dirty arms, and bearing pikes, knives, and guns, here and there members of the National Guard marching with them arm in arm, pressed on toward the palace. Sometimes shrieks and yells, sometimes coa.r.s.e peals of laughter, or threatening cries, issued from the confused crowd. Nearer and nearer surged the dreadful wave of destruction to the royal palace. Now it has reached it. Maddened fists pounded upon the iron gates before the inner court, and threatening voices demanded entrance: hundreds and hundreds of women shrieked with wild gestures:

"We want to come in! We want to speak with the baker! We will eat the queen's guts if we cannot get any thing else to eat!"

And thousands upon thousands of women's voices repeated--"Yes, we will eat the queen's guts, if we get nothing else to eat!"

Marie Antoinette withdrew from the window; her bearing was grave and defiant, a laugh of scorn played over her proudly-drawn-up upper- lip, her head was erect, her step decisive, dignified.

She went again to the king and his ministers. "Sire," said she, "the people are here. It is now too late to supplicate them, as you wanted to do. Nothing remains for you except to defend yourself, and to save the crown for your son the dauphin, even if it falls from your own head."

"It remains for us," answered the king, gravely, "to bring the people back to a sense of duty. They are deceived about us. They are excited. We will try to conciliate them, and to show them our fatherly interest in them."

The queen stared in amazement at the pleasant, smiling face of the king; then, with a loud cry of pain, which escaped from her breast like the last gasp of a dying man, she turned around, and went up to the Prince de Luxemburg, the captain of the guard, who just then entered the hall.

"Do you come to tell us that the people have taken the palace?"

cried the queen, with an angry burst from her very soul.

"Madame," answered the prince, "had that been the case, I should not have been here alive. Only over my body will the rabble enter the palace."

"Ah," muttered Marie Antoinette to herself, "there are men in Versailles yet, there are brave men yet to defend us!"

"What news do you bring, captain?" asked the king, stepping up.

"Sire, I am come to receive your commands," answered the prince, bowing respectfully. "This mob of shameless shrews is growing more maddened, more shameless every moment. Thousands and thousands of arms are trying the gates, and guns are fired with steady aim at the guards. I beg your majesty to empower me to repel this attack of mad women!"

"What an idea, captain!" cried Louis, shrugging his shoulders.

"Order to attack a company of women! You are joking, prince!"

[Footnote: The king's own words.--See Weber, "Memoires," vol. t, p.

433.]

And the king turned to Count de la Marck, who was entering the room.

"You come with new news. What is it, count?"

"Sire, the women are most desirous of speaking with your majesty, and presenting their grievances."

"I will hear them," cried the king, eagerly. "Tell the women to choose six of their number and bring them into my cabinet. I will go there myself."

"Sire, you are going to give audience to revolution," cried Marie Antoinette, seizing the arm of the king, who was on the point of leaving the room. "I conjure you, my husband, do not be overpowered by your magnanimous heart! Let not the majesty of the realm be defiled by the raging hands of these furies! Remain here. Oh, sire, if my prayers, my wishes have any power with you, remain here! Send a minister to treat with these women in your name. But do not confront their impudence with the dignity of the crown. Sire, to give them audience is to give audience to revolution; and from the hour when it takes place, revolution has gained the victory over the kingly authority! Do not go, oh do not go!"

"I have given my word," answered Louis, gently. "I have sent word to the women that I would receive them, and they shall not say that the first time they set foot in the palace of their king, they were deceived by him. And see, there comes the count to take me!"

And the king followed with hasty step Count de la Marck, who just then appeared at the door.

Six women of wild demeanor, with dusty, dirty clothes, their hair streaming out from their round white caps, were a.s.sembled in the cabinet of the king, and stared at him with defiant eyes as he entered. But his gentle demeanor and pleasant voice appeared to surprise them; and Louise Chably, the speaker, who had selected the women, found only timid, modest words, with which to paint to the king the misfortune, the need, and the pitiable condition of the people, and with which to entreat his pity and a.s.sistance.

"Ah, my children," answered the king with a sigh, "only believe me, it is not my fault that you are miserable, and I am still more unhappy than you. I will give directions to Corbeil and D'Estampes, the controllers of the grain-stores, to give out all that they can spare. If my commands had always been obeyed, it would be better with us all! If I could do every thing, could see to it that my commands were everywhere carried into effect, you would not be unhappy; and you must confess, at least, that your king loves you as a father his children, and that nothing lies so closely at his heart as your welfare. Go, my children, and tell your friends to prove worthy of the love of their king, and to return peaceably to Paris."

[Footnote: The king's own words.--See. A. de Beauchesne, "Louis XVI.. sa Vie, son Agonie, "etc., vol. i., p. 43.]

"Long live the king! Long live our father!" cried the touched and pacified women, as trembling and with tears in their eyes, they left the royal cabinet, in order to go to the women below, and announce to them what the king had said.

But the royal words found no response among the excited ma.s.ses. "We are hungry, we want bread," shouted the women. "We are not going to live on words any more. The king shall give us bread, and then we shall see it proved that he loves us like a father; then we will go back to Paris. If the baker believes that he can satisfy us with words and fine speeches, he is mistaken."

"If he has no bread, he shall give us his wife to eat!" roared a man with a pike in his hand and a red cap on his head. "The baker's wife has eaten up all our bread, and it is no more than fair that we should eat her up now."

"Give us the heart of the queen," was now the cry, "give us the heart of the queen!"

Marie Antoinette heard the words, but she appeared not to be alarmed. With dignity and composure, she cast a look at the ministers and gentlemen, who, pale and speechless, had gathered around the royal couple.

"I know that this crowd has come from Paris to demand my head! I learned of my mother not to fear death, and I shall meet it with courage and steadfastness." [Footnote: The words of the queen.--See "Histoire de Marie Antoinette," p. 194.]

And firmly and fearlessly Marie Antoinette remained all this dreadful evening, which was now beginning to overshadow Versailles.

Outside of the palace raged the uproar; revolutionary songs were sung; veiled forms, the leaders of the revolution, stole around, and fired the people with new rage against the baker and the baker's wife. Torches were lighted to see by, and the blood-red glare shone into the faces there, and tended to exasperate them still more. What dances were executed by the women, with torches in their hands! and the men roared in accompaniment, ridiculing the king and threatening the queen with death.

At times the torches threw their flickering glare into the windows of the palace, where were the ministers and servants of the king, in silent horror. Among all those counsellor of the king, there was at this time but one Man, Marie Antoinette! She alone preserved her steadfastness and discretion; she spoke to every one friendly, inspiriting words. She roused up the timid; at times she even attempted to bring the king to some decisive action, and yet she did not complain when she found herself unable to do so.

Once her face lighted up in hope and joy. That was when a company of deputies, headed by Toulan, entered the hall, to offer their services to the royal couple, and to ask permission to be allowed to remain around the king and queen.

But scarcely had this request been granted, when both the secretaries of the president of the National a.s.sembly entered, warning the members, in the name of the president, to return at once to the hall and to take part in the night session which was to be held.

"They call our last friends away from us," murmured the queen, "for they want us to be entirely defenceless!"

All at once the cries on the square below were more violent and loud; musket-shots were heard; at the intervals between rose the thousand-voiced clamor, and at one time the thunder of a cannon.

There was a rush of horses, and clash of arms, more musket-shots, and then the cry of the wounded.

The king had withdrawn to hold a last consultation with his ministers and a few faithful friends. At this fearful noise, this sound of weapons, this shout of victory, his first thought was of the queen. He rose quickly and entered the hall.

No one was there; the red glare of the torches was thrown from below into the deserted room, and showed upon the wall wondrous shadows of contorted human figures, with clinched fists and with raised and threatening arms.

The king walked hastily through the fearfully illuminated hall, called for the queen with a loud voice, burst into the cabinet, then into her sleeping-room, but no Marie Antoinette was to be found--no one gave reply to the anxious call of the king.