When the King Took Flight (22 page)

Several of the speakers raised the fundamental political question
of public confidence and legitimacy. Robespierre put it bluntly: how
can a government function when it is led by a man whom everyone mistrusts? Without the backing of public opinion, proclaimed
Francois-Nicolas Buzot prophetically, "you can never even hope to
have civil peace."" All the radicals sensed the deputies' obsessive
fear of a republic, and they took pains to assert that they themselves
did not wish to abolish the monarchy. But, they concluded, the king
must be judged in some way for his actions: either through trial in
the regular court system, or through a popular referendum, or
through the calling of a national convention.

The moderates took exception, point by point, to nearly all the
radicals' arguments. They denied the assertion that public opinion
was against the king. One could hardly judge by the passions of
the Parisian crowds, riled up by a handful of seditious journalists
and club members, "these Machiavellians of consummate perversity
who want only to destroy the constitution." Whatever the king's
failings, it was argued, the vast majority of the French felt a deep
attachment for the monarchy and viewed the person of the kingin Louis-Pierre Prugnon's words-as "necessarily sacred."42 In any
case, society must be based on law, not on the unstable passions of
public opinion. Barnave played skillfully on the deputies' fears of
the recent popular demonstrations in Paris, many of them directed
against the Assembly itself. Whatever their disclaimers, those who
called for the king's trial really wanted to create a republic, and a republic could mean only mob rule and anarchy. The Revolution
must at last be stopped, or the very basis of a stable society and of
individual property would be jeopardized."

[To view this image, refer to
the print version of this title.]

The King Speaking to the National Assembly, February 4, 1.7go. Standing beside
the president of the National Assembly, Louis announces his intention of supporting the constitution. The scene looks toward the conservative "right" side
of the hall, where the nobles are shouting "Long live the king!" and holding
their hands over their hearts. The deputies on the "left," in the foreground,
are much less demonstrative. Women spectators cheer from the balcony.

Yet in the end, the moderates sensed that legalism and fear tactics
might not be enough. On July 15 the Committees' original motion
was passed into law, but only after additional amendments were
promised specifying the grounds on which this king or any future
king might be deposed and replaced. The following evening, July
16, final versions of the amendments were introduced and passed. It
was now decided that Louis would not be immediately reinstated,
but that his powers would remain suspended until the constitution
had been completed and he had officially signed his acceptance. If
he refused to sign, he would be immediately deposed, and his son
would become king under a regency. In addition, the deputies voted
two other grounds for dethroning a king in the future: a monarch
who either led an army against the French nation or retracted an
oath to the constitution that he had previously sworn would be considered, by those very acts, to have abdicated the throne. It was
only too obvious that if the law on the retraction of oaths had existed one month earlier, Louis would have lost his crown."4

The final vote was never recorded. Antoine Thibaudeau thought
that many deputies had originally planned to oppose exonerating
the king. But after listening to the debates and after the various
amendments had been passed, only eight individuals out of several
hundred rejected the Committees' bill. 15 We will never know why
the deputies voted as they did. In letters written home they struggled to explain their decision to their friends and family. Many complained how agonizing the choice had been. Most piled reason upon
reason, closely recapitulating the arguments of Muguet or Barnave
or others, sometimes quoting speeches verbatim, without indicating
which arguments had been most decisive. It was essential to follow
the law; the king had committed no crime; the king was immune to
prosecution; a republic would never work in a large country like
France (even though no deputies had ever actually proposed a republic); the trial or deposing of the king would cause internal uprisings and foreign war.46 Significantly, two of the deputies opposed
trying the king because they were convinced that he was guilty and
would thus be sent to the scaffold: "The indictment of a king is not a game, for we think that any king who is so indicted will certainly
lose his head."47 One theme that seemed particularly widespread but
was never mentioned in the published debates was the deputies' fear
of having to scrap a constitution on which they had worked so long
and in which they had invested so much energy and emotion. For
Felix Faulcon, a victory for the radicals would have meant "that this
constitution which had caused so much struggle and sacrifice for
more than two years; that this constitution whose completion would
end violent upheavals and replace them with public happiness, that
this constitution would cease to exist!" The Burgundian wineseller
Claude Gantheret wrote much the same in his laconic style: "My
work on the constitution has caused me too much pain even to think
about changing it."48

And yet a great many deputies, in their personal correspondence, expressed deep disillusionment with the whole experience
and pessimism about the future. Although he voted with the majority, Gantheret admitted that he was unable to forget cure Henri
Gregoire's words: even if the king signed the constitution, how
could a man who had already broken three or four oaths ever again
be trusted? Durand confessed having a "feeling of terror" when he
thought of the decision he had made. Lindet, who seems ultimately
to have voted to maintain the king, confided his disgust with the
whole affair to his younger brother, a future member of the Committee of Public Safety: "We want a king. But we have to take an
imbecile, an automaton, a traitor, a perjurer; a man whom the people will detest, and in whose name scoundrels will reign." And he
was convinced that Barnave and the others were wrong and unjust
when they attributed popular protest against the king to the sedition
of a few journalists. The common people of Paris clearly despised
the king. "What can we expect with a leader who is so debased? It is
difficult to imagine that the situation will long remain peaceful."49

Throughout the previous days the people in question, the citizens
of Paris, had closely followed the deputies' debates and had talked of little else. The long interregnum, the National Assembly's delay
in taking a position, had encouraged numerous individuals to think
through the issue on their own, and many had already committed
themselves to one side or the other, for or against retaining the
present king, for or against a republic. Word of the Assembly's vote
on July 15 raced through the city in the late afternoon like a lightning discharge, sparking an explosion of arguments in cafes and
streets and public squares, where large groups of people were already gathered. Substantial numbers of Parisians, especially in the
more prosperous parts of the city, vigorously supported the decision, fearing that any other course would be too uncertain and dangerous. At the Saint-Martin's Cafe in the north of Paris, over a hundred people were said to have cheered their approval. But large
numbers also reacted passionately against the decree, accusing the
Assembly of "weakness" or of complicity with the "treason" of the
king. In the Cafe Procope on the Left Bank-the celebrated drinking spot where Voltaire and other Enlightenment authors had once
gathered-a vigorous shouting match broke out among those taking opposing positions. The Palais Royal and the courtyard outside
the Assembly itself filled with "countless groups of turbulent people" crying out their opposition. The visiting Creole Henri-Paulin
Panon Desbassayns was stunned and frightened by the clash of
opinions and the growing factionalism: "Both sides are becoming so
exasperated that they see their opponents as personal enemies."
"The common people are furious," wrote the bookseller Nicolas
Ruault. "There is a frightful uproar throughout the city, from the
square in front of the National Assembly to the smallest cafe. The
indignation and irritation against the king and the Seven Committees seem to be overwhelming."50

In the midst of this chaotic spontaneous reaction the Cordeliers
Club and the various fraternal societies quickly began mobilizing a
more organized response. Several thousand of their supporterspeople from the publishing district and sans-culottes from throughout Paris-soon marched to the National Assembly to present yet
another petition, drawn up earlier that day, urging the deputies to
reconsider their decision. When five of the demonstrators were al lowed to enter the hall through the lines of national guardsmen,
they were told by Robespierre and Petion themselves that the Assembly had unfortunately made its decision and that petitions had
now become useless. Frustrated and angry, a portion of the crowd
then surged into the wealthier Right Bank districts, forcing the closure of theaters and the opera as a sign of "mourning"-much as
they had done during the insurrection of July 1789. Others flowed
into the nearby Palais Royal, joining a giant outdoor rally launched
that evening by the radical club the Friends of Truth. The speakers
went further in their opposition than ever before, declaring they
would never accept the deputies' decree without a referendum of all
French citizens, clearly implying that they no longer accepted the
legitimacy of the National Assembly. About nine o'clock several
thousand demonstrators then moved on to the Jacobin Club to urge
a similar positions'

Here the crowds found the Jacobins in the midst of a divisive debate on how best to react to the new decree. When several hundred
of the demonstrators managed to push open the locked doors and
crowd their way in, disorder broke out in the hall. Shocked by the
pressure tactics of the crowds and angered by the radicals' continuing opposition to the Assembly's decision, nearly all the deputies
present walked out, vowing to boycott the club altogether. Those
remaining initially attempted to negotiate with the Cordeliers and
the fraternal societies, promising to draw up and present a petition
of their own. But the popular societies were now demanding a republic and a rejection of the National Assembly, and the Jacobinsincluding Robespierre and Petion and the few other deputies who
had remained in the club-refused to repudiate the Assembly to
which they belonged. Negotiations continued that evening, after the
crowds had retired, and on into the next day. But in the end the Jacobin leadership renounced the whole idea of a petition, and the
Cordeliers and their allies were compelled to push ahead on their
own.'2

The members of the National Assembly followed these events
with anger and impatience. For days now the square outside their hall had been a rallying point for all those opposed to reconciliation
with the king. Despite the massive national guard contingents positioned in readiness, the representatives were unable to reach their
benches without walking a gauntlet between lines of angry men and
women, shouting insults, accusing the deputies of treachery, and
sometimes brandishing pikes.53 Infuriated by the unruliness that had
been swelling in the city for months, the moderates in control of the
Assembly now resolved to force a confrontation and be rid of the
popular threats once and for all. On July 16 Mayor Bailly was summoned before the Assembly and publicly rebuked for tolerating the
actions of the crowds. Charles Lameth was particularly firm. All the
unrest, he argued, had been incited by a small number of troublemakers who were probably paid by outsiders and who were misleading the Parisians into acting against their own best interests. He
harshly chastised the mayor and the municipal leaders for "closing
their eyes to such disorders," and he demanded that they use "all
means allowed by the constitution to discover and punish the instigators and to guarantee peace and tranquillity for all citizens."54

Throughout the afternoon and evening of July 16 the Cordeliers
and their allies made careful plans for a giant petition-signing ceremony to take place the following day, with or without the support
of the Jacobins. Militants from all over the city would assemble at
the open square near the demolished Bastille at eleven in the morning and then march across town to the stadium of the Champ de
Mars, following the very path taken by municipal and national leaders three days earlier during the July 14 celebration. The symbolism
seemed clear: the fraternal societies were now replacing the administrative elites whose authority they no longer recognized. The opposition leaders were also eager to maintain a peaceful demonstration, and instructions went out that no one was to carry a weapon,
not even a club or a cane. But some individuals were clearly anticipating trouble, and there was talk of filling one's pockets or apron
with rocks in case they were harassed by guardsmen. A few men
carried pistols under their coats."

In the end the march across the city never came off. Lafayette and his subordinates had been informed of the militants' plans, and
national guardsmen remained busy throughout the night breaking
up street meetings wherever they were found. Early the next morning, Sunday, July 17, when popular societies and neighborhood
groups tried to converge on the Place de la Bastille, they found hundreds of guardsmen occupying the area and barring their way. After
a period of consternation, the demonstrators abandoned the idea of
a group march and made their way to the Champ de Mars by whatever route they could.56

Despite the efforts of the organizers, there were a number of episodes of violence during the day. On several occasions people
threw rocks at guardsmen in the streets, and one man even tried to
shoot Lafayette-though the pistol failed to go off. The most serious incident, however, occurred in the stadium itself, and it was to
change the whole character of the event. Toward noon, before the
fraternal societies and their supporters had begun arriving, a group
of people from the neighborhood adjoining the Champ de Mars
spotted two individuals hiding under the Altar of the Fatherland at
the center of the stadium. A young wigmaker and an older man
with a wooden leg were found crouching with a stash of food and
wine and a few carpenter's tools. Later commentators were convinced that the two had only planned to drill holes and spy on the
women from below as they crossed the altar to sign the petition.
The rumor spread rapidly, however, that they had planned to blow
up the patriots with a bomb. Some of the crowd tried to escort the
culprits to the local authorities for interrogation. But others-led
by a group of boatmen, laundrymen, and other workers who lived
nearby-seized the two men and dragged them away to be lynched
on a light post and then decapitated."