She went to bed very late now, because she could not sleep; and a little anecdote shows that her anxieties made her again as superst.i.tious as she had formerly been, when she dreaded misfortune because she was born on the day of the great earthquake at Lisbon.

On the table of her dressing-room, four large wax candles were burning one evening. Before they had burned half-way down, one of them went out. The lady-in-waiting lighted it. A second went out immediately, and then a third. The queen in terror grasped the lady's arm, saying, "If the fourth goes out, I shall be certain that it is all over with us." The fourth went out. In vain the lady observed that these four candles had probably been all run in the same mould, and had therefore the same fault. The queen allowed this to be reasonable, but was still much impressed by the circ.u.mstance.

For one of the impending evils there was no remedy. The Dauphin died the next June, when the Duke of Normandy, then four years old, became Dauphin. It may give some idea of the formality of the court proceedings to mention that, when a deputation of the magistrates of Paris came, according to custom, to view the lying-in-state, the usher of the late Dauphin announced to the dead body, as he threw open the folding-doors, that the magistrates of Paris had come to pay their respects.

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER THREE.

THE DAUPHIN LOSES HIS GOVERNESS.

Little Louis had no cause to rejoice in his new honours. Much more observance was paid to him within the palace, now that he had become heir to the throne; but out of doors all was confusion: and five weeks from his brother's death had not pa.s.sed before the little prince had to endure one of those fits of terror of which he had but too much experience from that time forward.

The two princ.i.p.al royal palaces were, that called the Tuileries, in Paris, and that of Versailles, twelve miles from Paris. At this time, July, 1789, the royal family were at Versailles. The discontented, long-murmuring people of Paris rose in rebellion, because their favourite minister, Necker, who had managed the money affairs of the nation well, and was more likely to take off taxes than any other minister, had been dismissed from his office. The nation were determined to have him back again; but, having once risen in rebellion, they aimed at more achievements than one. On the 14th of July the people of Paris besieged and took the Bastille, the great state-prison, where, for hundreds of years, victims had suffered cruel imprisonments, often without having been tried. The very sight of this gloomy castle was odious to the people; and they pulled it down, leaving not one brick upon another, and carrying the prisoners they found there on their shoulders through the city, in triumphant procession.

While this attack on the Bastille was taking place, there was a ball given in the orangery at Versailles, where the court ladies and the officers of the troops danced, and laughed, and talked, and took their refreshments, as if all was well. The French Parliament was sitting in the town of Versailles; and they sent some of their body repeatedly that day to the palace, to tell the king of the danger, and urge him to do what was proper: but there was no moving the king to do anything, that day, any more than on other occasions; and he only sent word to the parliament to mind their own business. The inhabitants of Versailles were alarmed at the reports that arrived from Paris, and they were all on the watch, consulting in the streets, or wondering in their own houses what would happen next. Some vague rumours reached the palace; but the court ladies and their guests danced away in the orangery, till the time for breaking up the ball arrived. Late at night, a n.o.bleman who had a right to demand an audience of the king at all times, arrived, made his way, dusty as he was, to the king's chamber, and told of the rebellion, the destruction of the Bastille, and the murder of two faithful officers, well-known to the king. "Why," said the king, as much surprised as if nothing had happened to warn him, "this is a revolt."

"It is not a revolt," said the n.o.bleman: "it is a revolution."

The Dauphin was fast asleep when this alarm arrived. He saw, the next morning, that every one about him was in terror, and that the courts of the palace were filled with a crowd of ill-looking angry people. His governess appeared greatly alarmed; and well she might be; for the mob outside were shouting her name, and saying that they would be revenged on her for giving the queen bad advice. The king had gone to address the parliament, promising to do all that they had advised the day before, and to recall Monsieur Necker, the favourite minister. While he was gone, one of the queen's ladies came to the room where Louis was with his governess, unlocked the door with the queen's key, and told him that he was to go with her to his mother. The d.u.c.h.ess de Polignac asked whether she might not take him herself to the queen: but the lady messenger shook her head, and said she had no such orders. She knew very well that if the people who were looking up at the windows should once see the d.u.c.h.ess, they would be ready to pull her to pieces. The d.u.c.h.ess, understanding the lady's countenance, took the child in her arms, and wept bitterly. Louis did not know what it all meant; but it frightened him. The messenger tried to console the d.u.c.h.ess with promising to bring Louis back presently; but she said, weeping, that she knew too well now what to expect. One of the under-governesses asked whether she might take the prince to his mother, and did so.

The queen was waiting for the boy, with the Princess Royal by her side.

She stepped out into the balcony with her two children, and repeatedly kissed them in the sight of the people. Little Louis might well be glad to step back from the balcony into the room again; for the mob was very noisy and rude. The lady who had been sent to summon him slipped out among the people, to hear what they were saying. A woman, who kept a thick veil down over her face, seized her by the arm, told her she knew her, and desired her to tell the queen not to meddle any more in the government, but to leave it to those who cared more for the people. A man then grasped her other arm, and said he knew her too, and bade her tell the queen that times were coming very different from those which were past. Just then, the queen and the children appeared in the balcony. "Ah!" said the veiled woman, "the d.u.c.h.ess is not with her."

"No," said the man, "but she is still in the palace, working underground like a mole: but we will dig her out." The queen's lady had heard quite enough. She was glad to go in and sit down, for she could scarcely stand. She thought it her duty to tell the queen what she had heard; and the queen made her repeat it to the king.

One of the king's aunts was at her tapestry-work that day, in a room which looked towards the court, and where there was a window-blind through which she could see without being seen. Three men were talking together; and she knew one of them. They did not whisper, or speak low; and one of them said, looking up at the window of the throne-room, "There stands that throne of which there will soon be left no remains."

While such a temper as this was abroad, it mattered little that everything seemed set right for the time by what the king said to the parliament. The members escorted him back to the palace, and the people cheered him. All Paris cheered when the news arrived that the people's minister was to be restored to his office; and a messenger was sent off to Monsieur Necker that night.

The d.u.c.h.ess de Polignac and her relations now saw that they must be off, if they wished to preserve their liberty--perhaps their lives. After the next day, Louis never saw his governess more. She bade him good-night at his bed time; and in the morning she was far away. She went disguised as a lady's maid, and sat on the coach-box, leaving the palace just at midnight. The queen bade her farewell in private, with many and bitter tears, forgetting any coolness that had lately existed between them in the thought of their former friendship, and the care the d.u.c.h.ess had taken of her children. The d.u.c.h.ess was not rich; and the queen, after they had parted, sent her a purse of gold, with a message that she might want it on the journey.

It was a perilous journey. The party consisted of six, of whom two were gentlemen. When they arrived at Sens they found the people had risen.

The mob stopped the carriage to ask, as they had been asking of other travellers who came the same road, if those Polignacs were still about the queen. "No, no," said one of the gentlemen, "they are far enough from Versailles. We have got rid of all such bad subjects." The next time the carriage stopped, the postilion stood on the step, and whispered to the d.u.c.h.ess, "Madam, there are some good people in France.

I found out who you were at Sens." They gave him a handful of gold.

The queen wept the more bitterly on parting with her friend, because she would have been glad to have gone away too. It was talked of: and some of the king's relations, with their families, set off the same night as the Polignacs, and were soon out of danger beyond the frontier. The question had been whether the king should go with them, or show himself in Paris, and endeavour to come to an understanding with his people.

This question was debated for some hours by the royal family and their confidential friends; and the king let them argue, hour after hour, without appearing to have any will of his own. "Well," said he, when he was tired of listening, "something must be decided. Am I to go or stay?

I am as ready for one as the other." It was then decided that he should stay. The queen, meanwhile, had been making preparations for departure, in hopes that they should go. She probably saw that it would have been all very right to stay if the king meant to act vigorously, and to save the monarchy by joining with the nation to reform the government; but that, since acting vigorously was the one thing which the king could not do, it would have been better for all parties that he should have left a scene where his apathy could only do mischief, exasperate the people, and endanger his own safety and that of his family. The queen had burned a great many papers, and had her diamonds packed in a little box, which she meant to take in her own carriage: she had also written a paper of directions to her confidential servants about following her. As she saw her jewels restored to their places, and tore the paper of directions, with tearful eyes, she said she feared that this decision would prove a misfortune to them all.

The king was next to go to Paris. He set out from Versailles at ten in the morning after the departure of the Polignacs. He was well attended, and appeared, as usual, very composed. The queen kept her feelings to herself till he was gone; but she had terrible fears that he would be detained as a prisoner in his own capital. She shut herself up with her children in her own apartment. There she felt so restless and miserable that she sent for one after another of the courtiers. Their doors were all padlocked--every one of them. The courtiers considered it dangerous to stay; and they were all gone. Though this afflicted the queen at the moment, it happened very well; for it taught her to place no dependence on these people another time. It must have been a dreary morning for the children,--their father in danger, their governess gone, and their mother weeping, deserted by her court. She employed herself in writing a short address, to be spoken to the National a.s.sembly at Paris (which may be called the people's new parliament), in case of the king not being allowed to return. She meant to go with her children, and beg of the a.s.sembly that they might share the lot of the king, whatever it might be. As she learnt by heart what she had written (lest she should not have presence of mind to make an address at the time), her voice was choked with grief, and she sobbed out, "They will never let him return."

He did return, however, late in the evening. He had had a weary day.

He had been received with gloom, and with either silence or insulting cries. It was not till, at the desire of the mayor of Paris, he had put the new national c.o.c.kade in his hat, that the people cheered him; after which they were in good humour. This c.o.c.kade was made of the three colours which are now seen in the tricolour flag of France,--red and blue, the ancient colours of the city of Paris, with the white of the royal lilies between. In these troubled times a white c.o.c.kade was a welcome sight to royal eyes, as an emblem of loyalty; while red and blue colours were detestable, as tokens of a revolutionary temper. When the king himself was compelled to wear them, it was a cruel mortification.

It was, in fact, a sign of submission to his rebellious people. Glad indeed was he to get home this night, and endeavour to forget that he had worn the tricolor. He kept repeating to the queen what he had said in the hearing of many this day, "Happily, there was no blood shed; and I swear that not a drop shall be shed by my order, happen what may."

These were the words of a humane man: but it was hardly prudent to speak them during the outbreak of a revolution, when they might discourage his friends, and embolden the violent.

Note: The Fleur-de-Lys (lily) was blazoned in the royal arms of France for many centuries.

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER FOUR.

LAST NIGHT AT VERSAILLES.

From this day forward the king met with insults whichever way he turned,--even at the doors of his own apartments. It was resolved by the National a.s.sembly that all the men in France should be armed and wear a uniform, and be called the National Guard. One day the Dauphin's footmen all appeared in this uniform, and the king's porters, and almost every man about the palace. What displeased the king yet more was, that the singers in the royal chapel appeared in the same dress. It was absurd and shocking to see their part of divine service performed by men in the uniform of grenadiers. The king said so, and forbade that any person should appear in his presence again in that dress. But the time was past for the king's orders to be obeyed. He was destined to grow weary enough of the sight of this uniform.

A great part of the king's own guard had joined the revolutionary party; but one company remained, whose commanding officer was proud of their loyalty, and declared he could answer for its continuance. He was mistaken, however. One morning, at the end of July, when the royal family rose and looked out from their windows, they did not see a single sentinel anywhere about the palace. Such a sight had never been witnessed before as the palace of Versailles without a guard. On inquiry, it turned out that the whole company had marched away in the night, to join their former comrades in Paris.

During the month of August, crowds had at various times a.s.sembled in Paris, with the declared purpose of going to Versailles, to separate the king from his bad advisers, and to bring the little Dauphin to Paris, to be brought up better than he was likely to be at home. One would think that such a.s.semblages and such declarations would alarm the king and queen, and cause them to make some preparations for putting themselves, or at least the Dauphin, in safety. Because these crowds were several times dispersed, however, the royal family appear to have thought nothing of the danger: and in September they committed an act of imprudence which brought upon them the worst that was threatened. The truth is, they were ignorant of all that it most concerned them to know.

They did not understand the wants of the people, nor the depth of their discontent; nor had they any idea of the weakness, ignorance, and prejudice of the gentlemen and ladies about them, whose advice they asked, and on whose narrow views they acted. There were a few wise and good men in the nation who understood both sides of the question, and who were grieved for the hardships of the people, and for the sufferings of the royal family; and happy would it have been for all if the king and queen could have been guided by these advisers. The chief and best of these was that excellent patriot and loyal subject the Marquis Lafayette. While he was adored by the people, he did all in his power to aid and save the royal family; but, unhappily, the king distrusted him, and the queen could not endure him. She not only detested his politics, but declared that she believed him (the most honourable man in the world) to be a traitor, and laid on him the blame of misfortunes which he had no hand in causing, and for which he grieved.

The king had a regiment from Flanders on whom he was sure he could rely.

It came into some one's head that if this regiment and the faithless body-guard could be brought together, the loyalty of the latter might be revived and secured. So there was an entertainment given in the theatre of the palace of Versailles, where the soldiers of the two regiments were to make merry, sitting alternately at table. Such a feast, if every man there was loyal in the extreme, could signify little, while there was out of doors a whole rebellious nation,--millions of hungry wretches clamouring for food and good government; and, whether such a meeting signified much or little, it was certain that the king and his family, should have had nothing to do with it, after he had been to Paris to a.s.sure the people of his reliance upon them, a.s.suming their c.o.c.kade as a declaration that he was in earnest.

The friends of the royal family thought this,--even the queen's own ladies. One of them was requested by the queen to enter the theatre, and observe what pa.s.sed, in order to report it to the king and her.

What was the surprise of this lady, when in the midst of the entertainment, the doors were thrown open, and their majesties appeared, the queen having the Dauphin in her arms! The sight of them, looking gratified and trustful, roused all the loyalty of the soldiers present; and some imprudent acts were done. The queen's ladies handed white c.o.c.kades to the officers; the party drank the healths of the king and queen, omitting that of the nation; they cheered the loyal air, "O, Richard! O my king, the world is all forsaking thee:" and the whole company were presently in a delirium of hope, and of defiance of the people of Paris. The queen afterwards declared in public that she was delighted with the Thursday's entertainment; and this set the people inquiring what had delighted her so much. They made many inquiries.

"Why was this Flanders regiment brought to Versailles?"

"How did it happen that the king had at present double the usual number of his Swiss guards?"

"Where were all those foreign officers from, who were seen in the streets in strange uniforms?" The people, exasperated afresh by finding that, though the harvest was over, there was still a scarcity of bread, were in a temper to believe the worst that was told them; and it seems now very probable that much of it was true. They were told that these same soldiers had breakfasted together, and that they had planned to march upon the National a.s.sembly, and destroy it. They heard a report that the king meant to go away to Metz, and to return at the head of an army, and to crush all those who had risen against him. Nothing could now prevent the people from doing what they had threatened--going to Versailles, to separate the king from his evil counsellors, and bring the Dauphin to Paris. Some went further than this, saying to General Lafayette that the king was too weak to reign; that they would destroy his guards, make him lay down his crown, and declare the Dauphin king, with Lafayette and others to manage the affairs of the empire till the boy should be of age.

This was said to Lafayette on the morning of the 5th of October.

Grieved as he was to see that the mob were resolved to go to Versailles, he saw what he must do, since he could not keep them back. He detained them as long as he could by speeches and arguments, while he sent messengers by every road to Versailles, to give notice of what might be expected; and he declared his intention of leading the march when the people could be detained no longer. Several of his messengers were stopped: but some who went by by-roads reached Versailles, and gave the alarm. Meantime, he contrived to make the march so slow, as that he and his thirty thousand followers were nine hours going the twelve miles to Versailles. Lest the royal family should not be gone, as he hoped, he made the crowd halt on the ridge of the hill which overlooked Versailles, and swear, with their right hands lifted up towards heaven, to respect the king's dwelling, and be faithful to the orders of the a.s.sembly they themselves had chosen. Unhappily, all he did was of little use. He arrived at near midnight; but another mob--a mob of women, savage because their children were hungry--had been in possession of Versailles since three in the afternoon.

Though it became rainy during the latter half of the day, so that the thousands out of doors were all wet to the skin, the morning had been fair; and the king went out hunting, as usual, while the queen spent the morning at her favourite little estate of Trianon. The Dauphin was at home, with his new governess, the Marchioness de Tourzel, little dreaming, poor child, that there were people already on the road from Paris who wanted to make him a king instead of his father. One of the ministers hearing unpleasant rumours, took horse, and went to try to find the king. He met him in the woods, some way from home, and conjured him to make haste back. The king, however, rode as slowly as possible, till more messengers appeared with news that a mob of desperate women was actually entering the avenue. Then he had to spur his horse; and he arrived safe. The queen had returned before him. She had been sitting, alone and disconsolate, in her grotto at Trianon, reflecting on the miserable prospects of her family, when a line was brought to her from one of the ministers, begging that she would hasten home. As soon as the king returned, orders were given to have the carriages ready at the back doors of the palace; and the children (kept out of sight) were equipped for a journey.

The want of decision in the royal movements, as usual, ruined everything. When the king had received and dismissed a deputation of the women, there was a shout of "Long live the king!" and he then thought it would not be necessary to go. Not long afterwards, when the people were seen to be as angry as ever, and to be insulting the royal guard, the carriages were again ordered. Some of them, empty, attempted to pa.s.s the back gates, to ascertain whether others might follow with the family: but the mob were now on the watch, and the carriages were turned back. The hour for escape was gone by.

When little Louis was got ready for the journey, it was by candlelight, and past bedtime. Perhaps he was not sorry when his things were taken off again, and he was laid in his bed, instead of getting into the carriage on a pouring rainy night, to pa.s.s through or near a disorderly mob, who might be heard from within the palace crying "Bread! Bread!"

Little Louis did not know all the disorders of that mob. Thousands of women, wet to the skin, were calling out "Bread! Bread!" till they were hoa.r.s.e. They threatened his mother's life, believing that to her influence and her extravagance it was owing that their children had no bread. Some sat upon the cannon they had brought. Some dried their wet clothes at the fires that blazed on the ground: and haggard and fierce did the faces of both men and women look in the light of these fires.

By the orders of certain officers and members of the a.s.sembly, provisions were brought from the shops of Versailles; and groups were seen eating bread and sausages, and drinking wine, in the great avenue; and not there only, but in the House of a.s.sembly itself,--the parliament-chamber of Versailles. Hundreds of poor women, wet and dirty, rushed in there, and sat eating their sausages while the members were in debate, breaking in sometimes with, "What's the use of all this?

What we want is bread." The king was told of what was going forward; and yet it was six hours before he could make up his mind what answer to give to the messages sent him by deputations from the rioters. The answer he gave at last, late at night, could be no other than that which they chose to have; though the king was well aware that the people did not know what they were asking, and that he should never be able to satisfy them. What they asked, and made him promise in writing, was an abundance of food--"a free circulation of corn," as they called it,-- believing that the wealthy, and the millers and bakers under them, kept large hidden stores of grain, in order that bread might be dear.

Louis understood nothing of all this; but he was aware that all was confusion and danger. About two hours after midnight everybody in the palace was suddenly relieved, and led to believe that the danger was past. General Lafayette entered, and pledged his life that they should be safe: and everybody was accustomed to rely on Lafayette's word. He happened to be mistaken this time,--to think better of the temper of the people outside than they deserved; but what he said he fully believed.

With him came some messengers from Paris, to entreat the king, among other things, to come and live among his people at Paris. This was the very thing the king was least disposed to do; but he dared not say "No."

He promised to consider of it. Lafayette and his companions then went away; and between two and three o'clock almost everybody but the guards went to bed.

I say _almost_ everybody. The queen desired her ladies to go to rest; but two of them were still uneasy and distrustful, and thought that the queen's servants should not all sleep while thousands of people who hated her were round about the very doors. They watched in the ante-chamber: and it was their vigilance which saved her life.

About five in the morning the Dauphin was s.n.a.t.c.hed from his bed, and carried into his father's room. There were his mother, aunt, and sister; and his mother was in a pa.s.sion of tears. Clinging round the king's neck, she cried, "O! Save me! Save me and my children!" There was a dreadful noise. Not only was there the clamour of an angry mult.i.tude without, but a hammering and battering at all the doors, and fierce cries, and clashing of arms--all the dreadful sounds of fighting--from the queen's apartments. The mob had indeed forced their way in. Her two watchful ladies had heard the shout from the corridor, given by a faithful guard at the peril of his life, "Save the queen!"

They lifted her from her bed, threw a dressing-gown over her, and hurried her across a great apartment which divided her rooms from the king's. This was her only way of escape, and even this appeared at first to be closed; for the door which led from the queen's dressing-room to this apartment--a door which was always kept fastened on the inside--was now, by some accident, found to be locked on the outside. It was a moment of dreadful suspense,--for the fighting behind came nearer. The ladies called so loud that a servant of the king's heard them, and ran to unlock the door. Even as they crossed the large apartment, the mob were battering at the doors.

Presently some soldiers came from the town: and General Lafayette appeared, addressing the people in pa.s.sionate speeches, in favour of respecting the persons and dwelling of the royal family. The palace was soon cleared; but the terrors of the household did not disperse with the intruders who occasioned them.