Part 26 (2/2)
”You come with new news. What is it, count?”
”Sire, the women are most desirous of speaking with your majesty, and presenting their grievances.”
”I will hear them,” cried the king, eagerly. ”Tell the women to choose six of their number and bring them into my cabinet. I will go there myself.”
”Sire, you are going to give audience to revolution,” cried Marie Antoinette, seizing the arm of the king, who was on the point of leaving the room. ”I conjure you, my husband, do not be overpowered by your magnanimous heart! Let not the majesty of the realm be defiled by the raging hands of these furies! Remain here. Oh, sire, if my prayers, my wishes have any power with you, remain here! Send a minister to treat with these women in your name. But do not confront their impudence with the dignity of the crown. Sire, to give them audience is to give audience to revolution; and from the hour when it takes place, revolution has gained the victory over the kingly authority! Do not go, oh do not go!”
”I have given my word,” answered Louis, gently. ”I have sent word to the women that I would receive them, and they shall not say that the first time they set foot in the palace of their king, they were deceived by him. And see, there comes the count to take me!”
And the king followed with hasty step Count de la Marck, who just then appeared at the door.
Six women of wild demeanor, with dusty, dirty clothes, their hair streaming out from their round white caps, were a.s.sembled in the cabinet of the king, and stared at him with defiant eyes as he entered. But his gentle demeanor and pleasant voice appeared to surprise them; and Louise Chably, the speaker, who had selected the women, found only timid, modest words, with which to paint to the king the misfortune, the need, and the pitiable condition of the people, and with which to entreat his pity and a.s.sistance.
”Ah, my children,” answered the king with a sigh, ”only believe me, it is not my fault that you are miserable, and I am still more unhappy than you. I will give directions to Corbeil and D'Estampes, the controllers of the grain-stores, to give out all that they can spare. If my commands had always been obeyed, it would be better with us all! If I could do every thing, could see to it that my commands were everywhere carried into effect, you would not be unhappy; and you must confess, at least, that your king loves you as a father his children, and that nothing lies so closely at his heart as your welfare. Go, my children, and tell your friends to prove worthy of the love of their king, and to return peaceably to Paris.”
[Footnote: The king's own words.--See. A. de Beauchesne, ”Louis XVI.. sa Vie, son Agonie, ”etc., vol. i., p. 43.]
”Long live the king! Long live our father!” cried the touched and pacified women, as trembling and with tears in their eyes, they left the royal cabinet, in order to go to the women below, and announce to them what the king had said.
But the royal words found no response among the excited ma.s.ses. ”We are hungry, we want bread,” shouted the women. ”We are not going to live on words any more. The king shall give us bread, and then we shall see it proved that he loves us like a father; then we will go back to Paris. If the baker believes that he can satisfy us with words and fine speeches, he is mistaken.”
”If he has no bread, he shall give us his wife to eat!” roared a man with a pike in his hand and a red cap on his head. ”The baker's wife has eaten up all our bread, and it is no more than fair that we should eat her up now.”
”Give us the heart of the queen,” was now the cry, ”give us the heart of the queen!”
Marie Antoinette heard the words, but she appeared not to be alarmed. With dignity and composure, she cast a look at the ministers and gentlemen, who, pale and speechless, had gathered around the royal couple.
”I know that this crowd has come from Paris to demand my head! I learned of my mother not to fear death, and I shall meet it with courage and steadfastness.” [Footnote: The words of the queen.--See ”Histoire de Marie Antoinette,” p. 194.]
And firmly and fearlessly Marie Antoinette remained all this dreadful evening, which was now beginning to overshadow Versailles.
Outside of the palace raged the uproar; revolutionary songs were sung; veiled forms, the leaders of the revolution, stole around, and fired the people with new rage against the baker and the baker's wife. Torches were lighted to see by, and the blood-red glare shone into the faces there, and tended to exasperate them still more. What dances were executed by the women, with torches in their hands! and the men roared in accompaniment, ridiculing the king and threatening the queen with death.
At times the torches threw their flickering glare into the windows of the palace, where were the ministers and servants of the king, in silent horror. Among all those counsellor of the king, there was at this time but one Man, Marie Antoinette! She alone preserved her steadfastness and discretion; she spoke to every one friendly, inspiriting words. She roused up the timid; at times she even attempted to bring the king to some decisive action, and yet she did not complain when she found herself unable to do so.
Once her face lighted up in hope and joy. That was when a company of deputies, headed by Toulan, entered the hall, to offer their services to the royal couple, and to ask permission to be allowed to remain around the king and queen.
But scarcely had this request been granted, when both the secretaries of the president of the National a.s.sembly entered, warning the members, in the name of the president, to return at once to the hall and to take part in the night session which was to be held.
”They call our last friends away from us,” murmured the queen, ”for they want us to be entirely defenceless!”
All at once the cries on the square below were more violent and loud; musket-shots were heard; at the intervals between rose the thousand-voiced clamor, and at one time the thunder of a cannon.
There was a rush of horses, and clash of arms, more musket-shots, and then the cry of the wounded.
The king had withdrawn to hold a last consultation with his ministers and a few faithful friends. At this fearful noise, this sound of weapons, this shout of victory, his first thought was of the queen. He rose quickly and entered the hall.
No one was there; the red glare of the torches was thrown from below into the deserted room, and showed upon the wall wondrous shadows of contorted human figures, with clinched fists and with raised and threatening arms.
The king walked hastily through the fearfully illuminated hall, called for the queen with a loud voice, burst into the cabinet, then into her sleeping-room, but no Marie Antoinette was to be found--no one gave reply to the anxious call of the king.
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