CHAPTER VI.
"THE COUNTRY IS IN DANGER!"
The king wrote to the Assembly to complain of the violation of hisresidence, and he issued a proclamation to "his people." So it appearedthere were two peoples--the king's, and those he complained of.
On the twenty-fourth, the king and queen were cheered by the NationalGuards, whom they were reviewing, and on this same day, the ParisDirectory suspended Mayor Petion, who had told the king to his facethat the city was not riotous.
Whence sprung such audacity?
Three days after, the murder was out.
Lafayette came to beard the Assembly in its House, taunted by a member,who had said, when he wrote to encourage the king in his opposition andto daunt the representatives:
"He is very saucy in the midst of his army; let us see if he would talkas big if he stood among us."
He escaped censure by a nominal majority--a victory worse than a defeat.
Lafayette had again sacrificed his popularity for the Royalists.
He cherished a last hope. With the enthusiasm to be kindled amongthe National Guards by the king and their old commander, he proposedto march on the Assembly and put down the Opposition, while in theconfusion the king should gain the camp at Maubeuge.
It was a bold scheme, but was almost sure in the state of minds.
Unfortunately, Danton ran to Petion at three in the morning with thenews, and the review was countermanded.
Who had betrayed the king and the general? The queen, who had said shewould rather be lost than owe safety to Lafayette.
She was helping fate, for she was doomed to be slain by Danton.
But supposing she had less spite, and the Girondists might have beencrushed. They were determined not to be caught napping another time.
It was necessary to restore the revolutionary current to its oldcourse, for it had been checked and was running up-stream.
The soul of the party, Mme. Roland, hoped to do this by rousing theAssembly. She chose the orator Vergniaud to make the appeal, andin a splendid speech, he shouted from the rostrum what was alreadycirculating in an under-tone:
"The country is in danger!"
The effect was like a waterspout; the whole House, even to theRoyalists, spectators, officials, all were enveloped and carried awayby this mighty cyclone; all roared with enthusiasm.
That same evening Barbaroux wrote to his friend Rebecqui, at Marseilles:
"Send me five hundred men eager to die."
On the eleventh of July, the Assembly declared the country to be indanger, but the king withheld his authorization until the twenty-first,late at night. Indeed, this call to arms was an admission that theruler was impotent, for the nation would not be asked to help herselfunless the king could or would do nothing.
Great terror made the palace quiver in the interval, as a plot wasexpected to break out on the fourteenth, the anniversary of the takingof the Bastile--a holiday.
Robespierre had sent an address out from the Jacobin Club whichsuggested regicide.
So persuaded was the Court party, that the king was induced to wear ashirt of mail to protect him against the assassin's knife, and Mme.Campan had another for the queen, who refused to don it.
"I should be only too happy if they would slay me," she observed, ina low voice. "Oh, God, they would do me a greater kindness than Thoudidst in giving me life! they would relieve me of a burden!"
Mme. Campan went out, choking. The king, who was in the corridor, tookher by the hand and led her into the lobby between his rooms and hisson's, and stopping, groped for a secret spring; it opened a press,perfectly hidden in the wall, with the edges guarded by the moldings.A large portfolio of papers was in the closet, with gold coin on theshelves.
The case of papers was so heavy that the lady could not lift it, andthe king carried it to her rooms, saying that the queen would tell herhow to dispose of it. She thrust it between the bed and the mattress,and went to the queen, who said:
"Campan, those are documents fatal to the king if he were placed ontrial, which the Lord forbid. Particularly--which is why, no doubt, heconfides it all to you--there is a report of a council, in which theking gave his opinion against war; he made all the ministers sign it,and reckons on this document being as beneficial in event of a trial asthe others may be hurtful."
The July festival arrived. The idea was to celebrate the triumph ofPetion over the king--that of murdering the latter not being probablyentertained.
Suspended in his functions by the Assembly, Petion was restored to themon the eve of the rejoicings.
At eleven in the morning, the king came down the grand staircase withthe queen and the royal children. Three or four thousand troops, ofunknown tendencies, escorted them. In vain did the queen seek on theirfaces some marks of sympathy; the kindest averted their faces.
There was no mistaking the feeling of the crowd, for cheers for Petionrose on all sides. As if, too, to give the ovation a more durable stampthan momentary enthusiasm, the king and the queen could read on allhats a lettered ribbon: "Petion forever!"
The queen was pale and trembling. Convinced that a plot was aimed ather husband's life, she started at every instant, fancying she saw ahand thrust out to bring down a dagger or level a pistol.
On the parade-ground, the monarch alighted, took a place on the left ofthe Speaker of the House, and with him walked up to the Altar of theCountry. The queen had to separate from her lord here to go into thegrand stand with her children; she stopped, refusing to go any furtheruntil she saw how he got on, and kept her eyes on him.
At the foot of the altar, one of those rushes came which is common togreat gatherings. The king disappeared as though submerged.
The queen shrieked, and made as if to rush to him; but he rose intoview anew, climbing the steps of the altar.
Among the ordinary symbols figuring in these feasts, such as justice,power, liberty, etc., one glittered mysteriously and dreadfully underblack crape, carried by a man clad in black and crowned with cypress.This weird emblem particularly caught the queen's eyes. She was rivetedto the spot, and, while encouraged a little by the king's fate, shecould not take her gaze from this somber apparition. Making an effortto speak, she gasped, without addressing any one specially:
"Who is that man dressed in mourning?"
"The death's-man," replied a voice which made her shudder.
"And what has he under the veil?" continued she.
"The ax which chopped off the head of King Charles I."
The queen turned round, losing color, for she thought she recognizedthe voice. She was not mistaken; the speaker was the magician who hadshown her the awful future in a glass at Taverney, and warned her atSevres and on her return from Varennes--Cagliostro, in fact.
She screamed, and fell fainting into Princess Elizabeth's arms.
One week subsequently, on the twenty-second, at six in the morning, allParis was aroused by the first of a series of minute guns. The terriblebooming went on all through the day.
At day-break the six legions of the National Guards were collected atthe City Hall. Two processions were formed throughout the town andsuburbs to spread the proclamation that the country was in danger.
Danton had the idea of this dreadful show, and he had intrusted thedetails to Sergent, the engraver, an immense stage-manager.
Each party left the Hall at six o'clock.
First marched a cavalry squadron, with the mounted band playinga funeral march, specially composed. Next, six field-pieces,abreast where the road-way was wide enough, or in pairs.Then four heralds on horseback, bearing ensigns labeled"Liberty"--"Equality"--"Constitution"--"Our Country." Then came twelvecity officials, with swords by the sides and their scarfs on. Then,all alone, isolated like France herself, a National Guardsman, in thesaddle of a black horse, holding a large tri-color flag, on which waslettered:
"CITIZENS, THE COUNTRY IS IN DANGER!"
In the same order as the preceding, rolled six guns with weightyjoltin
g and heavy rumbling, National Guards and cavalry at the rear.
On every bridge, crossing, and square, the party halted, and silencewas commanded by the ruffling of the drums. The banners were waved, andwhen no sound was heard and the crowd held their peace, the grave voiceof the municipal crier arose, reading the proclamation, and adding:
"The country is in danger!"
This last line was dreadful, and rang in all hearts. It was the shriekof the nation, of the motherland, of France. It was the parent callingon her offspring to help her.
And ever and anon the guns kept thundering.
On all the large open places platforms were run up for the voluntaryenlistments. With the intoxication of patriotism, the men rushed to puttheir names down. Some were too old, but lied to be inscribed; some tooyoung, but stood on tiptoe and swore they were full sixteen.
Those who were accepted leaped to the ground, waving their enrollmentpapers, and cheering or singing the "Let it go on," and kissing thecannon's mouth.
It was the betrothal of the French to war--this war of twenty oddyears, which will result in the freedom of Europe, although it may notaltogether be in our time.
The excitement was so great that the Assembly was appalled by its ownwork; it sent men through the town to cry out: "Brothers, for the sakeof the country, no rioting! The court wishes disorder as an excuse fortaking the king out of the city, so give it no pretext. The king shouldstay among us."
These dread sowers of words added in a deep voice:
"He must be punished."
They mentioned nobody by name, but all knew who was meant.
Every cannon-report had an echo in the heart of the palace. Thosewere the king's rooms where the queen and the rest of the family weregathered. They kept together all day, from feeling that their fate wasdecided this time, so grand and solemn. They did not separate untilmidnight, when the last cannon was fired.
On the following night Mme. Campan was aroused; she had slept in thequeen's bedroom since a fellow had been caught there with a knife, whomight have been a murderer.
"Is your majesty ill?" she asked, hearing a moan.
"I am always in pain, Campan, but I trust to have it over soon now.Yes," and she held out her pale hand in the moonbeam, making it seemall the whiter, "in a month this same moonlight will see us free anddisengaged from our chains."
"Oh, you have accepted Lafayette's offers," said the lady, "and youwill flee?"
"Lafayette's help? Thank God, no," said the queen, with repugnancethere was no mistaking; "no, but in a month, my nephew, Francis, willbe in Paris."
"Is your majesty quite sure?" asked the royal governess, alarmed.
"Yes, all is settled," returned the sovereign; "alliance is madebetween Austria and Prussia, two powers who will march upon Paris incombination. We have the route of the French princes and their alliedarmies, and we can surely say that on such and such a day they will behere or there."
"But do you not fear--"
"Murder?" The queen finished the phrase. "I know that might befall; butthey may hold us as hostages for their necks when vengeance impends.However, nothing venture, nothing win."
"And when do the allied sovereigns expect to be in Paris?" inquiredMme. Campan.
"Between the fifteenth and twentieth of August," was the reply.
"God grant it!" said the lady.
But the prayer was not granted; or, if heard, Heaven sent France thesuccor she had not dreamed of--the Marseillaise Hymn of Liberty.