Part 26 (1/2)

”Sire,” answered the queen, in amazement, ”to discuss with the rebels now is to imply that they are in the right, and you will not, you cannot do that!”

”I will consult with my advisers,” said the king, pointing at the ministers, who, summoned by St. Priest, were then entering the room.

But what a consultation was that! Every one made propositions, and yet no one knew what to do. No one would take the responsibility of the matter upon himself, and yet every one felt that the danger increased every minute. But what to do? That was the question which no one was able to answer, and before which the king was mute. Not so the queen, however.

”Sire!” cried she, with glowing cheeks, ”sire, you have to save the realm, and to defend it from revolution. The contest is here, and we cannot withdraw from it. Call your guards, put yourself at their head, and allow me to remain at your side. We ought not to yield to revolution, and if we cannot control it, we should suffer it to enter the palace of the kings of France only over our dead bodies.

Sire, we must either live as kings, or know how to die as kings!”

But Louis replied to this burst of n.o.ble valor in a brave woman's soul, only with holding back and timidity. Plans were made and cast aside. They went on deliberating till the wild yells of the people were heard even within the palace.

The queen, pale and yet calm, had withdrawn to the adjoining apartment. There she leaned against the door and listened to the words of the ministers, and to the new reports which were all the time coming in from the streets.

The crowd had reached Versailles, and was streaming through the streets of the city in the direction of the palace. The National Guard of Versailles had fraternized with the Parisians. Some scattered soldiers of the royal guard had been threatened and insulted, and even dragged from their horses!

The queen heard all, and heard besides the consultation of the king and his ministers--still coming to no decisive results, doubting and hesitating, while the fearful crisis was advancing from the street.

Already musket-shots were heard on the great square in front of the palace, wild cries, and loud, harsh voices. Marie Antoinette left her place at the door and hurried to the window, where a view could be had of the whole square. She saw the dark dust-cloud which hung over the road to Paris; she saw the unridden horses, running in advance of the crowd, their riders, members of the royal guard, having been killed; she heard the raging discords, which surged up to the palace like a wave driven by the wind; she saw this black, dreadful wave sweep along the Paris road, roaring as it went.

What a fearful ma.s.s! Howling, shrieking women, with loosened hair, and with menacing gestures, extended their naked arms toward the palace defiantly, their eyes naming, their mouths overflowing with curses. Wild men's figures, with torn blouses, the sleeves rolled up over dusty and dirty arms, and bearing pikes, knives, and guns, here and there members of the National Guard marching with them arm in arm, pressed on toward the palace. Sometimes shrieks and yells, sometimes coa.r.s.e peals of laughter, or threatening cries, issued from the confused crowd. Nearer and nearer surged the dreadful wave of destruction to the royal palace. Now it has reached it. Maddened fists pounded upon the iron gates before the inner court, and threatening voices demanded entrance: hundreds and hundreds of women shrieked with wild gestures:

”We want to come in! We want to speak with the baker! We will eat the queen's guts if we cannot get any thing else to eat!”

And thousands upon thousands of women's voices repeated--”Yes, we will eat the queen's guts, if we get nothing else to eat!”

Marie Antoinette withdrew from the window; her bearing was grave and defiant, a laugh of scorn played over her proudly-drawn-up upper- lip, her head was erect, her step decisive, dignified.

She went again to the king and his ministers. ”Sire,” said she, ”the people are here. It is now too late to supplicate them, as you wanted to do. Nothing remains for you except to defend yourself, and to save the crown for your son the dauphin, even if it falls from your own head.”

”It remains for us,” answered the king, gravely, ”to bring the people back to a sense of duty. They are deceived about us. They are excited. We will try to conciliate them, and to show them our fatherly interest in them.”

The queen stared in amazement at the pleasant, smiling face of the king; then, with a loud cry of pain, which escaped from her breast like the last gasp of a dying man, she turned around, and went up to the Prince de Luxemburg, the captain of the guard, who just then entered the hall.

”Do you come to tell us that the people have taken the palace?”

cried the queen, with an angry burst from her very soul.

”Madame,” answered the prince, ”had that been the case, I should not have been here alive. Only over my body will the rabble enter the palace.”

”Ah,” muttered Marie Antoinette to herself, ”there are men in Versailles yet, there are brave men yet to defend us!”

”What news do you bring, captain?” asked the king, stepping up.

”Sire, I am come to receive your commands,” answered the prince, bowing respectfully. ”This mob of shameless shrews is growing more maddened, more shameless every moment. Thousands and thousands of arms are trying the gates, and guns are fired with steady aim at the guards. I beg your majesty to empower me to repel this attack of mad women!”

”What an idea, captain!” cried Louis, shrugging his shoulders.

”Order to attack a company of women! You are joking, prince!”

[Footnote: The king's own words.--See Weber, ”Memoires,” vol. t, p.

433.]

And the king turned to Count de la Marck, who was entering the room.