Taking the Bastile (52 page)

34* TAKING THE BASTILLE

there assembled. They commence their march, going along the quays. But on arriving at the Tuilehes, loud about* were heard.

‘What * it that yon want?’ Maillard asked them, jumping upon a post.

‘We wish to pass through the Tuileries.’

‘That is impossible,’ replied Maillard.

‘And why is it impossible?’ cried seven thousand voices.

‘Because th Tuileries is the king’s house and the king’s gardens; because to pass through them without the lung’s permission, would be to insult the king and more than that, it would be attacking, in the king’s person, the liberty of all.’

‘Well, then, be it so,’ say the women; ‘ask permission of the Swiss.’

The Swiss offers some opposition, bat is soon vanquished, and Maillard leads his victorious troops through the Tuilenes, where no sort of damage was committed by them.

Let us, therefore, allow them to continue their way quietly through the Cours la Heine, and go on towards Sevres, where they separated into two bands, and let us return to what was going on at Paris. These seven thousand women had not failed in drowning the electors, in hanging the Abb Lefevre and Maillard, and burning the H6tel de Ville, without making a certain degree of noise. On hearing this noise, which had been re-echoed even in the most remote quarters of the capital, Lafayette had hastened towards the Hdtel de Ville. He was passing a sort of review at the Champ de Mars. He had been on horseback from eight o’clock in the morning : he reached the square of the 116tel de Ville just as the clock was striking twelve.

When Lafayette reached the Quay Pelletier, he was stopped by a man who had been riding at full gallop on a swift horse. This man was Gilbert; he was going to Versailles he was going to forewarn the king of the visit with which he was threatened, and to place himself at his orders. In two words he related all that had happened to Lafayette, and then rode ofl at full speed. Lafayette went on towards the Hdtel de Ville, Gilbert towards Versailles. Only, as the women were going on the right bank of the Seine, he took the left side of the river.

The square before the Hotel de Ville having been

MAILLARD A GENERAL 3.43

vacated by the women, was soon afterwards filled with men. These men were National Guards, receiving pay or not receiving it old French guards, above all, who, having gone over to the people, had lost their privileges of king’s guards privileges which had been inherited by the Swiss and the bodyguards. To the noiso made by th women had succeeded the noise of the alarm-bell and the drums, calling the people to arms. Lafayette made his way through the crowd, alighted from his horse at the foot of the steps, and without paying any attention to the acclamations, mingled with threats, excited by his presence, he began to dictate a letter to the king upon the insurrection which had taken place that morning. He had hardly commenced, when the door of the secretary’s office was violently thrown open. A deputation of grenadiers demanded to be received by the general. Lafayette made a sign to the deputation that they might come in.

‘General,’ said the spokesman of the grenadiers, in a firm voice, ‘we are deputed by ten companies of grenadiers. We do not brlieve that you are a traitor; but we are betrayed. It is time that all this should come to an end. We cannot turn our bayonets against women who are asking us for bread. The Provisioning Committee is either peculating, or it is incompetent; in either the one or the other case, it is necessary that it should be changed. The people are unhappy, the source of their unhappiness is at Versailles. It is necessary to go there to fetch the king and bring him to Paris. The Flanders regiment must be exterminated, as well as the bodyguards, who have dared to trample under foot the national cockade. If the king be too weak to wear the crown, let him abdicate; we will crown his son. A council of regency will be nominated, and all will then go well.’

Lafayette gazed at the speaker with astonishment. He had witnessed disturbances he had wept over assassinations but this was the first time that the breath of revolution had in reality been personally addressed to him.

‘How is this,’ cried he; ‘have you, then, formed tJtie project of making war upon the king, and thus compel him to abandon us?’

‘General,’ replied the spokesman, ‘we love and we respect the king; we should be much hurt should he leave

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us; for we owe him much. But, in short, should he leave us, we have the dauphin.’

‘Gentlomen 1 gentlemen 1’ cried Lafayette, ‘beware of what you are doing; you are attacking the crown, and it is my duty not to allow such a step 1’

‘General,’ replied the National Guard, bowing, ‘we would for you shed the last drop of our blood. But the people are unhappy; the source of the evil is at Versailles. We must go to Versailles and bring the king to Paris. It is the people’s will. 1

Lafayette saw that it was necessary to sacrifice his own feelings; and this was a necessity from which he never shrank. He descends into the centre of the square, and wishes to harangue the people; but cries of ‘ To Versailles ! to Versailles I ‘ drowned his voice.

Lafayette, on foot, lost amid the crowd, feels that the tide continues rising higher and higher, and will completely swallow him up. He presses through the crowd in order to reach his horse, with the same ardour that a ship-wrecked mariner swims to reach a rock. At last he grasps his bridle, vaults on his charger’s back, and urges him on towards the entrance of the Hotel de Ville; but the way is completely closed to him; walls of men have grown up between him and it.

‘Zounds, generall’ cry these men, ‘you must remain with us.’

At the same time tremendous shouts are heard of ‘To Versailles ! To Versailles 1’

Lafayette wavers, hesitates. Yes, undoubtedly, by going to Versailles he may be very useful to the king; but will ha be able to master and restrain this crowd who are urging him to Versailles? Suddenly a man descends the steps, pushes through the crowd, a letter in his hand, and makes such good use of his feet and elbows, particularly the latter, that he at length reaches Lafayette. This man was the ever indefatigable Billot.

‘Here, general,’ said he, ‘this comes from the Three Hundred.’

It was thus the electors were called. Lafayette broke the seal, and began to read it to himself; but twenty thousand voices at once cried out, ‘The letter 1 the letter I’

Lafayette was therefore compelled to read the letter aloud. He makes a sign to request they will be silent.

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Instantaneously, and as by a miracle, silence succeeds to the immense tumult, and Lafayette reads the following letter, not one word of which was lost by the people :

‘ ” Seeing the state of circumstances and the desire of the people, and on the representation of the commandant-general that it was impossible to refuse, the electors assembled in council authorise the commandant-general, and even order him, to repair to Versailles.

‘ ” Four commissaries of the district will accompany him.” ‘

Poor Lafayette had absolutely represented nothing to the electors, who were by no means disinclined to leave some portion of the responsibility of the events which were about to happen on his shoulders. But the people they believed that he had really made representations, and this coincided so precisely with their views, that they made the air ring with their shouts of ‘Long live Lafayette I’

Lafayette turned pale, but in his turn repeated ‘To Versailles 1’

Fifteen thousand men followed him, with a more silent enthusiasm, but which was at the same time more terrible than that of the women who had gone forward as the advanced guard.

As usual, they were completely ignorant at Versailles of what was going on at Paris. After the scenes which we have descnbed, and at the occurrence of which the queen had openly congratulated herself, her majesty was reposing herself after her fatigue. She had an army, she had her devotees, she had counted her enemies, she wished to begin the contest. Had she not the defeat of the I4th July to avenge? Had she not the king’s journey to Paris, a journey from which he had returned with the tricoloured cockade in his hat, to forget, and to make her court forget it also?

Since her altercation with Charny, she never turned towards or looked at him, but when she was compelled to address herself to him upon matters regarding his

3 4 TAKING THE BASTILLE

service, or to give him an order. It was not a family disgrace; for on the very morning on which the Parisians were to leave Paris to come to Versailles, the queen was seen talking affectionately with young George de Charny, the second of the three brothers, who, in contradiction to Oh’ vier, had given such warlike counsels to the queen on the arrival of the news of the capture of the Bastille.

And in fact, at nine in the morning, as the young officer was crossing the gallery to announce to the huntsman that the king intended going out, when Marie Antoinette, returning from mass in the chapel, saw him she called him to her.

‘Where are you going, sir?’ said she to him.

‘Madame,’ replied George, ‘I am on duty to-day, and form part of the escort. His majesty hunts to-day, and I am going to the huntsman to make arrangements for the meet.’

‘Ah I the king hunts again to-day,’ said the queen, looking at the big dark clouds which were rolling on from Paris towards Versailles. ‘He is wrong to do 50. The weather appears to be threatening; does it not, Andre ? ‘

‘Yes, madame,’ absently replied the Countess de Charny.

‘Are you not of that opinion, sir?’

‘I am so, madame; but such is the king’s will.’

‘May the king’s will be done, in the woods and on the high roads,’ replied the queen, with that gaiety of manner which was habitual with her, and which neither the sorrows of the heart nor political events could ever deprive her of.

Then, turning towards Andre, ‘It is but just that he should have this amusement,’ said the queen to her in a whisper, and then aloud to George,

‘Can you tell me, sir, where the king intends hunting?’

‘In th Meudon wood, madame.’

‘Well, then, accompany him, and watch carefully over his safety.’

At this moment the Count de Charny had entered the room. He smiled kindly at Andre, and, shaking his head, ventured to say to the queen,

‘That is a recommendation which my brother will not fail to remember, madame; not in the midst of the king’s pleasures, but in the midst of his dangers.’

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At the sound of the voice which had struck upon her ear, before her eyes had warned her of the presence of Charny, Marie Antoinette started.

‘I should have been much astonished,’ said she, with disdainful harshness, ‘if such a saying had not preceded from the Count Olivier de Charny.’

‘And why so, madame?’ respectfully inquired the count.

‘Because it prophecies misfortune, sir.’

Andre turned pale on seeing that the colour fled from her husband’s cheeks. He bowed without offering a reply. Then, on a look from his wife, who appeared to be amazed at his being so patient, ‘I am really extremely unfortunate,’ he said, ‘ since I no longer know how to speak to the queen without offending her.

Andre eagerly seized her husband’s hand, and was preparing to leave the room with him. A glance from the queen restrained her. She had observed this gesture.

‘What has your husband to say to me?’ asked the queen.

‘He had intended telling your majesty that, having been sent to Paris yesterday by the king, he had found the city in a most extraordinary state of ferment.’

‘Again I’ cried the queen; and on what account? The Parisians have taken the Bastille, and are now occupied in demolishing it what con they require more? Answer me, Monsieur de Charny.’

‘That is true, madame replied the count; ‘but as they cannot eat the stones, they are calling out for bread they say that they are hungry.’

‘That they are hungry ! that they are hungry 1’ exclaimed the queen; and what would they have us do in that respect? What actually took place in Paris yesterday? Tell me only things that you have yourself seen, sir; I wish to be sure of the truth of your words.’

‘What I saw, madame I I saw a portion of the population crowded together on the quays vaiuly awaiting tho arrival of flour. I saw others standing in long files at th bakers’ doors, uselessly waiting for bread. What I saw was a starving people; husbands looking sorrowfully at their wives; mothers looking sorrowfully at their children. What I saw I I saw clenched and threatening hands held up in the direction of Versailles. Ah ! madame I madame 1

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the dangers of which 1 just now spoke to you are approaching the opportunity of dying for your majesty a happiness which my brother and myself will be the first to claim. I fear the day is not far distant when it will be offered to us.’

The queen turned her back to Charny with an impatient gesture, and went to a window and placed her pale though burning face against a pane of glass. This window looked into the marble courtyard. She had scarcely done this, when she was seen to start.

‘Andre 1’ cried she, ‘come here and see who is this horseman coming towards us; he appears to be the bearer of very urgent news.’

Andre went to the window, but almost immediately recoiled a step from it, turning very pale.

‘Ah 1 madame 1’ cried she, in a tone of reproach.

Charay hastened towards the window : he had minutely observed all that had passed.

‘That horseman,’ said he, looking alternately at the queen and at Andre, ‘is Doctor Gilbert.’

‘Ah I that is true,’ said the queen; and in a tone which rendered it impossible, even to Andrde, to judge whether the queen had drawn her to the window in one of those fits of feminine vengeance to which poor Marie Antoinette sometimes gave way, or whether her eyes, weakened by watching, and the tears she had shed, could no longer recognise, at a certain distance, even those whom it was her interest to recognise.