Taking the Bastile (41 page)

‘Well?’ said the king, in a tone of inquiry.

‘Well, sire, your Parisians are in high discussion with the gentlemen of the Guards.’

‘How I” cried the king, ‘there is a discussion?’

‘Oh I one of pure courteousness. As they have been informed that the king is to set out in two hours, they wish co await his departure, and march behind his majesty’s carriage.’

‘But, inquired the queen, in her turn, ‘they are on foot, I suppose?’ . ‘Yes, madame.’

‘But the king has horses to his carriage, and the king

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travels fast, very fast you know, Monsieur de Beauvau, that the king is accustomed to travelling very rapidly.’

The king made a sign with his hand to stop the colloquy.

‘I will go at a walk.’

The queen heaved a sigh, which almost resembled a cry of anger.

‘It would not be right,’ tranquilly added Louis XVI., ‘that I should make these worthy people run, who have taken the trouble to come so far to do me honour. My carriage shall be driven at a walk, and a slow walk too, so that everybody may be able to follow me.’

The whole of the company testified their admiration by a murmur of approbation; but, at the same time, there was seen on the countenances of several persons the reflection of the disapproval which was expressed by the features of the queen, at so much goodness of soul which she considered as mere madness. A window was opened. The queen turned round amazed. It was Gilbert, who, in his quality of physician, had only exercised the right which appertained to him of renewing the air of the dining-room, thickened by the odours of the viands and the breathing of two hundred persons.

‘What is that?’ asked the king.

‘Sire,’ replied Gilbert, ‘the National Guards are down there on the pavement, exposed to the heat of the sun, and they must feel it very oppressive.’

‘Why not invite them upstairs to breakfast with the king?’ sarcastically said one of her favourite officers to the queen.

‘They should be taken to some shady place put there into the marble courtyard, into the vestibules, wherevec it is cool,’ said the king.

‘Ten thousand men in the vestibules 1’ exclaimed the queen.

‘If they are scattered everywhere, there will be room enough for them,’ said the king.

‘Scattered everywhere 1’ cried Marie Antoinette, ‘why, sir, you will teach them the way to your own bed-chamber.’

This was the prophecy of terror which was to be realised at Versailles before three months had elapsed.

‘They have a great many children with them, maaame.’ said Gilbert in a gentle tone.

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‘Children 1’ exclaimed the queen.

‘Yes, madame; a great many have brought their children with them, as if on a party of pleasure. The children are dressed as little National Guards, so great is the enthusiasm for this new institution.’

During this time, M. de Beauvau was following the king’s orders relating to the National Guards. Then were heard shouts of joy and benediction from that armed crowd, admitted by the king’s order to the interior of the palace. The acclamations, the 1 fervent wishes, the loud hurrahs, ascended as a whirlwind to the hall in which the king and queen were seated, whom they reassured with regard to the disposition of the so much dreaded inhabitants of Paris.

‘Sire,’ said M. de Beauvau, ‘in what order is it that your majesty determines the procession shall be conducted?’

‘And the discussion between the National Guards and my officers?’

‘Oh I sire, it has evaporated, vanished : those worthy people are so happy that they now say, ” We will go wherever you may please to place us. The king is our king as much as he is everybody else’s king. Wherever he may be, he is ours.” ‘

The king looked at Marie Antoinette, who curled, with an ironical smile, her disdainful lip.

‘Tell the National Guards,’ said Louis XVI., ‘that they may place themselves where they will.’

‘Your majesty,’ said the queen, ‘will not forget that your bodyguards have the right of surrounding your carriage.’

The officers, who perceived that the king was somewhat undecided, advanced to support the arguments of the queen.

‘That is the case, undoubtedly,’ replied the king. ‘Well, we shall see.’

M. de Beauvau and M. de Villeroy left the room to take their stations and to give the necessary orders.

The clock of Versailles struck ten.

‘Well, well,’ said the king, ‘I shall put off my usual labours till to-morrow; these worthy people ought not to be kept waiting.’

The king rose from the table. Marie Antoinette went to the king, clasped him in her arms and embraced him.

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Ihe children clung weeping to their father’s neck. Louis XVI., who was much moved, endeavoured gently to release himself from them; he wished to conceal the emotions which would soon have become overpowering. The queen stopped all the officers as they passed by her, seizing the one by the arm, others by their swords.

‘Gentlemen, gentlemen,’ said she, ‘I confide in you.’ And this eloquent exclamation recommended to them to be watchful for the safety of the king, who had just descended the staircase.

All of them placed their hands upon their hearts and upon their swords. The queen smiled to thank them. Gilbert remained in the room till almost the last.

‘Sir,’ said the queen to him, ‘it was you who advised the king to take this step. It was you who induced the king to come to this resolution, in spite of my entreaties. Reflect, sir, that you have assumed a fearful responsibility as regards the wife, as regards the children.’

‘I am sensible of that,’ coldly replied Gilbert.

‘And you will bring the king back to me safe and unhurt,’ she said, with a solemn gesture.

‘Yes, madame.’

‘Reflect, that you will answer for his safety with your head.’

Gilbert bowed.

‘Reflect that your head is answerable,’ cried Marie Antoinette.

‘Upon my head be the risk,’ said the doctor, again bowing. ‘Yes, madame; and this pledge I should consider as a hostage of but little value, if I believed the king’s safety to be at all threatened. But I have said, madame, that it is to a triumph that I this day conduct his majesty.’

‘I must have news of him every hour,’ added the queen.

‘You shall, madame; and this I swear to you.’

‘Go, sir go at once I hear the drums; the king is about to leave the palace.’

Gilbert bowed, and descending the grand staircase, found himself face to face with one of the king’s aides-de- camp, who was seeking him by order of his majesty. They made him get into a carriage which belonged to M. da Beauvau; the grand master of the ceremonies not allowing, as he had not produced proofs of his nobility, that he should travel in one of the king’s carriages. Gilbert

272 TAKING THE BASTILLE

smiled, on finding himself alone in a carriage with arms upon its panels, M. cle Beauvau being on horseback, curvetting by the side of the royal carriage. Then it struck him that it was ridiculous in him thus to be occupying a carriage on which was painted a princely coronet and armorial bearings. This scruple was still annoying him when, from the midst of a crowd of National Guards, who were following the carriage, he heard a loud voice shouting, ‘Why, Monsieur Gilbert, what the devil are you doing in the carriage of a prince?’

‘Ha I it is you, Father Billot 1’ exclaimed the doctor.

‘By Heaven,’ replied the farmer, ‘I took good care not to lose the opportunity I’

‘And Pitou?’ asked Gilbert.

‘Oh, he is not far off. Hallo ! Pitou, where are you? Come this way come quickly.’

And Pitou, on hearing this invitation, managed, by a dexterous use of his shoulders, to slip through the crowd till he reached Billot’s side, and then, with admiration, bowed to Gilbert.

‘Good day, Monsieur Gilbert,’ said he.

‘Good-day, Pitou, good-day, my friend.’

‘Gilbert I Gilbert I who is he?’ inquired the crowd of one another.

‘Such is fame,’ thought the doctor, ‘well understood at Villers-Cotterets yes, but at Paris popularity is everything.’

He alighted from the carriage, which continued its onward progress at a walk, while Gilbert moved on with the crowd, on foot, leaning on Billot’s arm. He, in a few words, related to the farmer his visit to Versailles, the good disposition of the king and the royal family; he in A few minutes preached such a propaganda of royalism to the group by which he was surrounded, that, simple and delighted, these worthy people, who were yet easily induce* to receive good impressions, uttered loud and continued shouts of ‘Long live the king I’ which, taken up by those who preceded them, soon reached the head of the line, and deafened Louis XVI. in his carriage.

‘I will see the king I’ cried Billot, electrified. ‘I must get close to him, and see him well; I came all this way on purpose. I will judge him by his face the eye of an Sionest man can always speak for itself. Let us get nearer to his carriage. Monsieur Gilbert, shall we not?’

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‘Wait a little, and it will be easy for us to do so,’ replied Gilbert, ‘for I see one of Monsieur de Beauvau’s aides-de-camp, who is seeking for some one, coming this way.’

And, in fact, a cavalier, who, managing his horse with every sort of precaution, amid the groups of fatigued but joyous pedestrians, was endeavouring to get near the carriage which Gilbert had just left. Gilbert called to him.

‘Are you not looking, sir, for Dr Gilbert?’ he inquired.

‘Himself,’ replied the aide-de-camp.

‘In that case, I am he.’

‘Monsieur de Beauvau sends for you, at the king’s request.’

These high-sounding words made Billot’s eyes open widely, and on the crowd they had the effect of making them open their ranks to allow Gilbert to pass. Gilbert glided through them, followed by Billot and Pitou, the aide-de-camp going before them, who kept on repeating : ‘Make room, gentlemen, make room; let us pass, in the king’s name, let us pass I’

THUS pushing and thus pushed, but still following M. de Beauvau’s aide-de-camp, Gilbert, Billot, and Pitou at length reached the carriage in which the king, accompanied by Messieurs D’Estaing and De Villequier, was slowly advancing amid the crowd, which continually increased. Extraordinary, unknown, unheard-of spectacle 1 for it was the first time that such a one had been seen. All those National Guards from the surrounding villages, impromptu soldiers suddenly sprung up, hastened, with cries of joy, to greet the king in his progress, saluting him with their benedictions, and then, instead of returning to their homes, taking place in the procession, and accompanying their well-beloved monarch towards Paris.

For it must be acknowledged that, at this period, Louis XVI. was an adored king, to whom the Frencn would have raised altars, had it not been for the profound contempt with which Voltaire had inspired them for all altars.

Louis XVI. perceived Gilbert leaning upon the arm of

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Billot; behind them inarched Pitou, still dragging after him his long sabre. ‘Ah, doctor,’ cried the king, ‘what magnificent weather, and what a magnificent people 1’

‘You see, sire replied Gilbert. ‘What did I promise your majesty?’

‘Yes, sir, yes, and you have worthily fulfilled your promise.’

The king raised his head, and with the intention of being heard i ‘We move but slowly,’ said he; ‘and yet it appears to me that we advance but too rapidly for all that we have to see.’

‘Sire,’ said M. de Beauvau, ‘and yet, at the pace your majesty is going, you are travelling about one league in three hours. It would be difficult to go more slowly.’

In fact, the horses were stopped every moment : harangues and replies were interchanged; the National Guards fraternised’ the word was only then invented with the bodyguard* of his majesty,

‘Ah I’ said Gilbert to himself, who contemplated this singular spectacle as a philosopher, ‘if they fraternise with the bodyguards, it was because before being friends they had been enemies.’

‘I say, Monsieur Gilbert,’ said Billot, in a half whisper, ‘I have had a good look at the king, I have listened to him with all my ears. Well, my opinion is that the king is an honest man 1’

And the enthusiasm which animated Billot was so overpowering, that he raised his voice in uttering these last words to such a pitch, that the king and his stafi heard him. The officers laughed outright.

The king smiled, and then, nodding his head ; ‘That is praise which pleases me,’ said he.

These words were spoken loud enough for Billot to hear them.

‘Oh I you are right, sire, for I do not give it to everybody,’ replied Billot, entering at once into conversation with his king, as Michaud, the miller, did with Henry IV.

‘And that natters me so much the more,’ rejoined the king, much embarrassed at not knowing how to maintain his dignity as a king, and speak graciously as a good patriot

From that moment Billot became more and more enthusiastic. He drank from the king’s looks deep draughts of love for constitutional royalty, and communicated it to

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Pitou, who, too full of his own love and the superfluity of Billot’s, it overflowed at first in stentorian shouts, then in more squeaking, and finally in less articulate ones of ‘Long live the king I Long live the father of the people !’

Pitou was as hoarse as a bull-frog when the procession reached the Point du Jour, where the Marquis de Lafayette, on his celebrated white charger, was keeping in order the undisciplined and agitated cohorts of iLc National Guard who had from five o’clock that morning lined the road to receive the royal procession. At this time it was nearly two o’clock. The interview between the king and this new chief of armed France passed off in a manner that was satisfactory to all present. The king, however, began to feel fatigued. He no longer spoke; he contented himself with merely smiling. The general-in-chief of the Parisian militia could no longer utter a command; he only gesticulated.