FOOTNOTES:[275]Mirabeau, after his interview with Marie Antoinette, remarked in confidence to a friend, "You know the queen. Her force of mind is prodigious. She is a man for courage."—Dumont, p. 211.[276]Napoleon, at St. Helena, speaking in the light of subsequent events, said, "The National Assembly never committed so great an error as in bringing back the king from Varennes. A fugitive, and powerless, he was hastening to the frontier, and in a few hours would have been out of the French territory. What should they have done in these circumstances? Clearly have facilitated his escape, and declared the throne vacant by his desertion. They would thus have avoided the infamy of a regicide government, and attained their great object of republican institutions. Instead of which, by bringing him back, they encumbered themselves with a sovereign whom they had no just reason for destroying, and lost the inestimable advantage of getting quit of the royal family without an act of cruelty."[277]Our readers will not generally sympathize with Lamartine in the exclamation, "This was a dictatorship, and the most personal of all dictatorships, that a single man, taking the place of the Assembly and the whole nation, thus assumed. He, on his private authority and the right of his civic foresight, struck at the liberty and perhaps at the life of the lawful ruler of the nation. This order led Louis XVI. to the scaffold, for it restored to the people the victim who had just escaped their clutches."—History of the Girondists, by Alphonse de Lamartine, vol. i., p. 75.[278]Histoire de la Rev. Fr., par Villiaumé, p. 13.
FOOTNOTES:
[275]Mirabeau, after his interview with Marie Antoinette, remarked in confidence to a friend, "You know the queen. Her force of mind is prodigious. She is a man for courage."—Dumont, p. 211.
[275]Mirabeau, after his interview with Marie Antoinette, remarked in confidence to a friend, "You know the queen. Her force of mind is prodigious. She is a man for courage."—Dumont, p. 211.
[276]Napoleon, at St. Helena, speaking in the light of subsequent events, said, "The National Assembly never committed so great an error as in bringing back the king from Varennes. A fugitive, and powerless, he was hastening to the frontier, and in a few hours would have been out of the French territory. What should they have done in these circumstances? Clearly have facilitated his escape, and declared the throne vacant by his desertion. They would thus have avoided the infamy of a regicide government, and attained their great object of republican institutions. Instead of which, by bringing him back, they encumbered themselves with a sovereign whom they had no just reason for destroying, and lost the inestimable advantage of getting quit of the royal family without an act of cruelty."
[276]Napoleon, at St. Helena, speaking in the light of subsequent events, said, "The National Assembly never committed so great an error as in bringing back the king from Varennes. A fugitive, and powerless, he was hastening to the frontier, and in a few hours would have been out of the French territory. What should they have done in these circumstances? Clearly have facilitated his escape, and declared the throne vacant by his desertion. They would thus have avoided the infamy of a regicide government, and attained their great object of republican institutions. Instead of which, by bringing him back, they encumbered themselves with a sovereign whom they had no just reason for destroying, and lost the inestimable advantage of getting quit of the royal family without an act of cruelty."
[277]Our readers will not generally sympathize with Lamartine in the exclamation, "This was a dictatorship, and the most personal of all dictatorships, that a single man, taking the place of the Assembly and the whole nation, thus assumed. He, on his private authority and the right of his civic foresight, struck at the liberty and perhaps at the life of the lawful ruler of the nation. This order led Louis XVI. to the scaffold, for it restored to the people the victim who had just escaped their clutches."—History of the Girondists, by Alphonse de Lamartine, vol. i., p. 75.
[277]Our readers will not generally sympathize with Lamartine in the exclamation, "This was a dictatorship, and the most personal of all dictatorships, that a single man, taking the place of the Assembly and the whole nation, thus assumed. He, on his private authority and the right of his civic foresight, struck at the liberty and perhaps at the life of the lawful ruler of the nation. This order led Louis XVI. to the scaffold, for it restored to the people the victim who had just escaped their clutches."—History of the Girondists, by Alphonse de Lamartine, vol. i., p. 75.
[278]Histoire de la Rev. Fr., par Villiaumé, p. 13.
[278]Histoire de la Rev. Fr., par Villiaumé, p. 13.
CHAPTER XXII.
RETURN OF THE ROYAL FAMILY FROM VARENNES.
Proclamation of Marat.—Three Commissioners sent to meet the King.—Address to the Nation from the Assembly.—The slow and painful Return.—Conversation between Barnave and the Queen.—Brutality of Pétion.—Sufferings of the Royal Family.—Reception of the King in Paris.—Conduct of the Queen.—Noble Avowal of La Fayette.—Statement of the King.—Menace of Bouillé.
Proclamation of Marat.—Three Commissioners sent to meet the King.—Address to the Nation from the Assembly.—The slow and painful Return.—Conversation between Barnave and the Queen.—Brutality of Pétion.—Sufferings of the Royal Family.—Reception of the King in Paris.—Conduct of the Queen.—Noble Avowal of La Fayette.—Statement of the King.—Menace of Bouillé.
Almostimmediately after the flight of the king the club of the Jacobins became the most formidable power in France. It embraced all the desperate and the reckless advocates of reform. Marat, one of its most popular and energetic members, the morning after the flight of the king, issued the following proclamation to the populace of Paris:[279]
"People! behold the loyalty, the honor, the religion of kings. Remember Henry III. and the Duke of Guise. At the same table with his enemy did Henry receive the sacrament, and swear on the same altar eternal friendship. Scarcely had he quit the table than he distributed poniards to his followers, summoned the duke to his cabinet, and there saw him fall, pierced with wounds. Trust then to the oaths of princes!
"On the morning of the 19th, Louis XVI. laughed at his oath and enjoyed beforehand the alarm his flight would cause you. The Austrian woman has seduced La Fayette. Louis XVI., disguised in a priest's robe, fled with the dauphin, his wife, his brother, and all the family. He now laughs at the folly of the Parisians, and will soon swim in their blood. Citizens! this escape has been long prepared by the traitors of the National Assembly.
You are on the brink of ruin; hasten to provide for your safety. Instantly choose a dictator. Let your choice fall upon the citizen who has, up to the present, displayed most zeal, activity, and intelligence, and do all he bids you to do to strike at your foes. This is the time to lop off the heads of Bailly, La Fayette, and all the scoundrels of the staff, all the traitors of the Assembly. A tribune, a military tribune, or you are lost without hope."
Similar impassioned appeals were issued from all the Jacobin journals, and the nation was roused to phrensy. The popularity of the king was now gone, and he was almost universally regarded as a traitor, plotting to deluge the kingdom in blood.
At ten o'clock in the evening of the 22d of June a courier arrived in Paris with a letter from the municipality of Varennes announcing the arrest of the king. The cry resounded from street to street, "He is arrested! he is arrested!" Three commissioners were immediately appointed, Latour Maubourg, Pétion, and Barnave, invested with authority to secure the return of the king and the royal family, and they were enjoined to observe all the respect due to their rank. The Assembly also issued an address to the French nation, containing the following sentiments:
"The king swore, on the 14th of July, to protect the Constitution; he has therefore consented to perjure himself. The changes made in the Constitution of the kingdom are attributed to afewof the factious. We aretwenty-six millionsof factious. We have preserved the monarchy because we believe it useful to France. We have doubtless reformed it, but it was to save it from its abuses and its excesses. We have granted the yearly sum of fifty millions of francs ($10,000,000) to maintain the legitimate splendor of the throne. We have reserved to ourselves the right of declaring war, because we would not that the blood of the people should belong to the ministers.[280]Frenchmen, all is organized. Every man is at his post. The Assembly watches over all. You have naught to fear save from yourselves, should your just emotion lead you to commit any violence or disorders. The people who seek to be free should remain unmoved in great crises.
"Behold Paris, and imitate the example of the capital. All goes on as usual. The tyrants will be deceived. Before they can bend France beneath their yoke, the whole nation must be annihilated. Should despotism venture to attempt it, it will be vanquished; or even though it triumph, it will triumph over naught but ruins."
Let us now return to Varennes, and accompany the royal family on their melancholy route to Paris. We left the royal carriages, under the escort of the National Guard, just starting from Varennes on their return. It was eight o'clock in the morning. The progress toward Chalons was slow, for the carriages could only keep pace with the guards. The heat was intense, and clouds of dust almost suffocated the captives. For a time emotions were too deep for utterance, and not a word was spoken. But often torrents of abuse fell upon the ears of the king from the crowds who seemedto line the way. At times the crowd was so dense that with some difficulty the guards forced their way through. But for the protection of their bayonets, the whole royal family would probably have fallen victims to the popular fury.
The commissioners from the Assembly met the carriages between Dormans and Epernay, and immediately assumed the command of the troops, and took the royal family under their charge. The whole populace, excited as it was, respected the orders of the Assembly. Latour Maubourg, a gentleman of noble character and an intimate friend of La Fayette, was ardently attached to the Constitution, while at the same time he was anxious to save the monarchy. The tendencies of both of his colleagues were to a more radical democracy. Hoping to excite their sympathy in behalf of fallen greatness, he yielded to his companions the honor of being with the royal family in their carriage, while he took the second coach, with Madame de Tourzel and some other ladies of the party. Barnave and Pétion entered the king's carriage to share his danger and to shield him from insult. Barnave sat on the back seat, between the king and the queen. Pétion sat in front, between Maria Theresa, the daughter of the king, and Madame Elizabeth, his sister. The little dauphin, seven years of age, sat on the lap now of one, then of another.
Barnave was a young lawyer of distinguished abilities and generous impulses. He was a man of polished manners, of attractive person, and of accomplished education. His generous heart was saddened by the pitiable condition of his captives. He did every thing he could, by kindness and respectful attentions, to mitigate their woe. An obnoxious priest at one time approached the carriage with an ostentatious demonstration of his attachment to the court party, now threatening France with invasion. The exasperated people fell upon him, and he would probably have been massacred but for the energetic interposition of Barnave.
"Frenchmen!" he exclaimed, "will you, a nation of brave men, become a nation of murderers?"
He would have sprung out of the carriage to have rescued the priest had not Madame Elizabeth, who had already appreciated his noble character, held him in by the skirt of his coat. She feared that he also, now almost their sole defender, might be torn in pieces. At first the queen sat closely veiled and maintained unbroken silence. But gradually the character of Barnave won the esteem of the whole party. The king entered calmly into conversation with Barnave upon the momentous questions of the day. Barnave replied with courtesy and sympathy, though still faithful in his devotion to liberty and sincere in his advocacy of a constitutional throne. The queen, much mollified, at length withdrew her veil and gradually became social and almost confiding.
Barnave spoke of the great mistakes which the Royalists had made in refusing to accept aconstitutional monarchy, thus exposing the throne to entire overthrow and the nation to democratic anarchy.
"What were the means," inquired the queen, "which you would have advised me to resort to?"
"Popularity, madam," was the reply.
"But how," continued the queen, "could I have obtained popularity? It was all taken from me."
"Ah, madam," said Barnave, "it was much easier for you to conquer it than for me to obtain it."[281]
The queen subsequently remarked to Madame Campan that Barnave "was a young man full of intelligence and noble sentiments, and one every way worthy to inspire esteem. A feeling of pride," she continued, with candor which honors her memory, "has caused him to applaud all that tends to smooth the way to honors and glory for the class in which he was born. If power should ever again fall into our hands the pardon of Barnave is written before in our hearts."
The royal family only occasionally alighted for a moment at an inn as the horses were being changed. By day and by night they continued their slow progress, taking all their refreshments in the carriage. Barnave, with that delicacy which is instinctive in noble natures, never for a moment forgot the rank of his august captives. Being pressed by the queen to take some refreshment, he replied,
"Madam, the deputies of the National Assembly, under circumstances so solemn, ought to trouble your majesty solely with their mission, and by no means with their wants."
Pétion was a very different character. He was one of those coarse and vulgar demagogues who have done so much to cast dishonor upon the worddemocracy. His brutality disgusted the whole party. Equality of rights was with him but social insolence. He affected a rude familiarity with the royal family, munching his food like a boor and throwing the rind of fruit and the bones of fowls out of the window, at the risk of hitting the king in the face. The king made a slight attempt, by introducing conversation with him, to awaken some sympathy.
"It was my wish," said the king, "to increase the force of the executive power. I did not think that this constitutional act could be maintained without more power being placed in the hands of the sovereign, since France does not wish to be a republic."
"Not yet, to be sure," Pétion brutally replied; "the French are not yet quite ripe enough for a republic."
No more conversation was held with Pétion. The movement of the carriages, encumbered by the escort and the immense crowds who thronged the way, was very slow. Four days were occupied in the return. It was seven o'clock in the evening of the 25th when the long procession entered Paris. As the carriages approached the suburbs the crowd increased in density. It had been a day of intense heat. The blaze of the sun, reflected by the pavements and by the bayonets which surrounded the carriage, was almost intolerable. The carriages were continually enveloped in a dense cloud of dust. The inmates panted for breath and were bathed in perspiration. One of the children suffered so much that the queen, alarmed, appealed to the compassion of the crowd.
"See, gentlemen," she said, letting down one of the windows, "in what a state my poor children are; one is choking."
A brutal wretch exclaimed, in an under tone, "We will soon choke you, after another fashion."
Generally the crowd looked on in amazement and silence. Feelings of pity and humanity triumphed over indignation. Great eagerness was of course manifested to catch a sight of the king and queen, but well-armed guards on horseback surrounded the carriages. La Fayette came out of the city to meet the cortège at a few miles distance and to assume the command. Apprehensive of violence from the infuriate populace of Paris, if the immense cortège, now numbering nearly three hundred thousand and rapidly increasing, were to pass through the narrow streets of the city, the carriages were ordered to take a circuit and enter by the broad avenue of the Elysian Fields, which conducted directly to the Tuileries. As an additional precaution he placed troops in a deep line on both sides of the avenue from the Barrier de l'Etoile to the palace.
It was resolved that the king should be received in silence, without applause and without abuse. Placards were posted every where with the laconic announcement,
"Whoever applauds the king shall be flogged; whoever insults him shall be hanged."[282]
The procession now entered the city amid the clashing of sabres, the trampling of horses, and the confused, suppressed murmurs of half a million of men. It was another sublime act in that most terrible tragedy of time. It can not be described; it can not be fully conceived; it has never been paralleled.
The crowd-encompassed, dust-enveloped carriages entered the city at the close of one of the most lovely of June afternoons. The cloudless sun, still an hour above the horizon, shone brilliantly upon the spectacle, gilding steeples and domes as with rejoicing light. The whole military array of Paris, horsemen, artillery, and infantry, lined that majestic avenue. Behind them the whole population of Paris seemed to flood the field, filling windows, balconies, house-tops, steeples, trees, and every point of observation.
La Fayette and his staff first made their appearance as the vast procession commenced its entrance. A numerous cavalcade of mounted guards then succeeded. These were followed by the two royal carriages, each drawn by six horses, and surrounded by dragoons whose sabres gleamed in the rays of the setting sun. Several regiments of artillery and infantry, in compact order, ensued, and then came a motley mass of three hundred thousand stragglers, men, women, and children, whom the strange event had gathered from all the suburbs of the metropolis.
Almost perfect silence reigned. It was like a procession of the shades of the departed in the spirit land. There was no ringing of bells, no explosion of cannon, no plaudits of the multitude, no bursts of martial bands in requiems or jubilata. The king, humiliated, sunk back in his carriage, and concealed himself as far as possible from observation. The bayonets of the soldiers held in check the ferocious and brutal wretches who would gladly have assailed the monarch with execrations. The same power closed the lips of the Royalists, who would have greeted their sovereign with applause.
Thousands gazed upon the scene in silent sympathy, with their eyes bathed in tears. They loved the cause of constitutional liberty; they wept over the infatuation and folly of the king. The reception was sublime in its appropriateness. No honors were conferred upon the king, for surely he deserved none. No abuse assailed him, for that would but have degraded those who offered it.
RETURN OF THE ROYAL FAMILY FROM VARENNES.
The crowd grew more and more dense as the carriages entered the garden of the Tuileries, and the way became so obstructed by the throng that it was with no little difficulty that a passage was secured. As soon as the carriages arrived at the door of the palace, near the end of the terrace, the royal family alighted and passed through a double file of the National Guard drawn up for their protection. In this hour of misfortune, those who had been most hostile to the despotism of the court vied with each other in their endeavors to protect fallen royalty from indignities. The Viscount of Noailles, a warm friend of reform, and a humane, magnanimous man, approached the queen, who was the last to alight from the carriage, and offered her his arm to conduct her into the palace. The queen, with imprudent but perhaps pardonable pride, haughtily rejected the aid of the friend of the people, and, seeing one of the partisans of the court near by, asked his arm.
The hall of the Assembly, since destroyed, looked out upon the garden of the Tuileries. The excitement of the hour suspended the sitting, but it was immediately resumed when the king had safely entered the palace. The king seemed perfectly calm. La Fayette, with profound respect and with his sympathies most deeply moved, presented himself at the king's apartment, and, making no allusion to the unprecedented scene which had transpired, said, "Has your majesty any orders to give me?"
"It appears to me," replied the king with a smile, "that I am much more under your orders than you are under mine." The conduct of the queen in this trying hour was peculiarly unfortunate. The royal family then needed every friend it could win. But the queen, losing the control of her passions, seemed to bid defiance to all who were not the partisans of the court, and endeavored to gratify her resentment in goading those she deemed her foes by those taunts of action which are even more exasperating than words.
Assuming that La Fayette was her jailer, she approached that noble patriot, who was willing to shed the last drop of his blood to save her from indignities, and handed him the keys of her trunks. La Fayette, wounded by conduct so ungenerous, and commiserating the condition of the queen, bowed, refusing to receive them, and, in tones saddened by pity and sorrow, declared that no one would think of interfering with her private property.
The unhappy queen so far forgot herself as peevishly to throw the keys into La Fayette's hat, which was upon the table. This was the conduct of a spoiled child. Such was Marie Antoinette. It was this spirit which accelerated her passage to the scaffold. The compassion of La Fayette triumphed over resentment. Overlooking the insult, he calmly replied,
"Madam, you must pardon me the trouble I give you in returning these keys. I certainly can not touch them."
"Well, then," replied the queen, pettishly, "I shall find other persons less scrupulous than you are."[283]
Such conduct on the part of the queen was ever adding to her unpopularity. The king was much more considerate. Though by no means equal to the queen in energy, he had a far more comprehensive view of the real attitude of affairs. Had the spirit of the queen been dominant, it is possible that the Revolution in its infancy might have been crushed with an iron hand. All the disciplined armies of Europe were ready to fall upon the unorganized and unarmed populace of France, and to chastise them into submission. Had the moderate and humane spirit of the king prevailed, the Constitution might have been accepted; the king might have been revered and beloved as a constitutional monarch, and France might have passed from despotism to free institutions without bloodshed. But the discordant union of the defiant energies of the one and the yielding moderation of the other rendered ruin inevitable.
The king entered into a brief conversation with La Fayette, in which the devoted patriot said to his monarch,
"Your majesty is well aware of my attachment to your royal person, but at the same time, you were not ignorant that, if you separated yourself from the cause of the people, I should side with the people."
"This is true," replied the king. "You follow your principles. And I tell you frankly that until lately I had believed you had surrounded me by a turbulent faction of persons of your own way of thinking, but that yours was not the real opinion of France. I have learned during my journey that I was deceived, and that the general wish is in accordance with your views."
The conduct of the Assembly in this momentous crisis, when the liberties of France were so fearfully imperiled, was firm and noble. On the day of the king's return they passed decrees suspending him from his functions, until they should have heard, through a committee of three, the declarations of the king and queen. With that delicacy which had ever, thus far, characterized the action of the Assembly, these decrees were passed in terms of studied decorum, and the king and queen were shielded from answering before the whole Assembly, which would have been required of any offenders of less exalted rank. A guard was placed over the royal family, and was made responsible for its safe custody.[284]
Barnave, covered with the dust of his journey, hastened to the Assembly, and gave the official announcement of the return of the king. Both the king and the queen had learned to repose great confidence in this noble young man, and Barnave assisted the king in composing the declaration to be presented to the commissioners of the Assembly in extenuation of his flight.[285]The king could hardly have expected that the assertions which he made in this document could be credited by the Assembly. "Never was it my intention," said he, "to leave the kingdom. I had no concert either with foreign powers, or with my relatives, or with any of the French emigrants. I had selected Montmedy, because, being near the frontiers, I should have been better able to oppose every kind of invasion of France, had a disposition been shown to attempt any. One of my principal motives for quitting Paris was to set at rest the argument of my non-freedom, which was likely to furnish occasion for disturbances."
He concluded this declaration in words characteristic of his whole course. "I have ascertained during my journey that public opinion is decidedly in favor of the Constitution. I did not conceive that I could fully judge of this public opinion in Paris. As soon as I had ascertained the general will, I hesitated not, as I have never hesitated, to make a sacrifice of every thing that is personal to me. I will gladly forget all the crosses that I have experienced, if I can but ensure the peace and felicity of the nation."[286]
Thus the king pledged himself anew to support the Constitution. The Assembly received these asseverations in respectful silence, though it was no longer possible for them to give the king credit for sincerity. While the king was thus apologizing, Bouillé, who had fled to the protection of foreign armies, sent a menacing letter to the Assembly, in the name of the allied sovereigns of Europe, containing the following declarations:
"I know your means of defense," he wrote. "They are nothing; and your chastisement shall be an example to other people. Listen to the words of a man who regards you and your people but with indignation and horror. I know the roads. I will guide the foreign armies which will assail you. There shall not rest one stone upon another in Paris, if you dare to touch a hair of the head of my king."[287]
If Bouillé had wished to provoke the nation to throw down the head of the king as a gauntlet of defiance to the foes of the liberties of France, he could have done nothing more effectual than the utterance of such a menace. Both parties were now preparing vigorously for war. The emigrants at Coblentz, proclaiming that the king was a prisoner, and could no longer have any will of his own, declared monsieur the king's elder brother (Louis XVIII.) to be Regent of France. The most vigorous measures were adopted for accumulating troops and munitions of war for the great invasion.
FOOTNOTES:[279]Marat, who edited "The Friend of the People," was, says Lamartine, "the fury of the Revolution. He had the clumsy tumblings of the brute in his thought and its gnashings of teeth in his style. His journal smelt of blood in every line."—History of the Girondists, vol. i., p. 115.[280]The Constitution conferred uponthe king and the Assemblythe right of making peace and war. The king complained bitterly that he was no longer authorized alone to declare war and make peace.[281]Mémoires de Madame de Campan, t. ii., p. 150.[282]"Quiconque applaudira le roi sera bâttonné; quiconque l'insultera sera pendu."[283]La Fayette's Memoirs.[284]Robespierre was opposed to this act of special respect, and exclaimed,"What means this obsequious exception? Do you fear to degrade royalty by handing over the king and queen to ordinary tribunals? A citizen, acitoyenne, any man, any dignity, however elevated, can never be degraded by the law."[285]Thiers, vol. i., p. 185.[286]Even Lamartine says, "The king addressed to the commissioners of the Assembly a reply, the bad faith of which called for the smile rather than the indulgence of his enemies."—Lamartine's Hist. of the Girondists, vol. i., p. 105."The Assembly accepted the declaration of the king, although it was evident to them that the king did not intend merely to go to Montmedy, where no preparations had been made to receive him, but that he intended to go to the magnificent monastery of Orval, three leagues beyond the frontier, in Luxembourg, then occupied by the Austrians. Troops, commanded by the Prince of Condé, were there awaiting his arrival. The flight of the king was the signal for the loyalist officers to desert. All those of a regiment in garrison at Dunkirk fled to the Austrians, carrying with them the banners of the regiment."—Hist. de la Rev. Française, par Villiaumé.
FOOTNOTES:
[279]Marat, who edited "The Friend of the People," was, says Lamartine, "the fury of the Revolution. He had the clumsy tumblings of the brute in his thought and its gnashings of teeth in his style. His journal smelt of blood in every line."—History of the Girondists, vol. i., p. 115.
[279]Marat, who edited "The Friend of the People," was, says Lamartine, "the fury of the Revolution. He had the clumsy tumblings of the brute in his thought and its gnashings of teeth in his style. His journal smelt of blood in every line."—History of the Girondists, vol. i., p. 115.
[280]The Constitution conferred uponthe king and the Assemblythe right of making peace and war. The king complained bitterly that he was no longer authorized alone to declare war and make peace.
[280]The Constitution conferred uponthe king and the Assemblythe right of making peace and war. The king complained bitterly that he was no longer authorized alone to declare war and make peace.
[281]Mémoires de Madame de Campan, t. ii., p. 150.
[281]Mémoires de Madame de Campan, t. ii., p. 150.
[282]"Quiconque applaudira le roi sera bâttonné; quiconque l'insultera sera pendu."
[282]"Quiconque applaudira le roi sera bâttonné; quiconque l'insultera sera pendu."
[283]La Fayette's Memoirs.
[283]La Fayette's Memoirs.
[284]Robespierre was opposed to this act of special respect, and exclaimed,"What means this obsequious exception? Do you fear to degrade royalty by handing over the king and queen to ordinary tribunals? A citizen, acitoyenne, any man, any dignity, however elevated, can never be degraded by the law."
[284]Robespierre was opposed to this act of special respect, and exclaimed,
"What means this obsequious exception? Do you fear to degrade royalty by handing over the king and queen to ordinary tribunals? A citizen, acitoyenne, any man, any dignity, however elevated, can never be degraded by the law."
[285]Thiers, vol. i., p. 185.
[285]Thiers, vol. i., p. 185.
[286]Even Lamartine says, "The king addressed to the commissioners of the Assembly a reply, the bad faith of which called for the smile rather than the indulgence of his enemies."—Lamartine's Hist. of the Girondists, vol. i., p. 105."The Assembly accepted the declaration of the king, although it was evident to them that the king did not intend merely to go to Montmedy, where no preparations had been made to receive him, but that he intended to go to the magnificent monastery of Orval, three leagues beyond the frontier, in Luxembourg, then occupied by the Austrians. Troops, commanded by the Prince of Condé, were there awaiting his arrival. The flight of the king was the signal for the loyalist officers to desert. All those of a regiment in garrison at Dunkirk fled to the Austrians, carrying with them the banners of the regiment."—Hist. de la Rev. Française, par Villiaumé.
[286]Even Lamartine says, "The king addressed to the commissioners of the Assembly a reply, the bad faith of which called for the smile rather than the indulgence of his enemies."—Lamartine's Hist. of the Girondists, vol. i., p. 105.
"The Assembly accepted the declaration of the king, although it was evident to them that the king did not intend merely to go to Montmedy, where no preparations had been made to receive him, but that he intended to go to the magnificent monastery of Orval, three leagues beyond the frontier, in Luxembourg, then occupied by the Austrians. Troops, commanded by the Prince of Condé, were there awaiting his arrival. The flight of the king was the signal for the loyalist officers to desert. All those of a regiment in garrison at Dunkirk fled to the Austrians, carrying with them the banners of the regiment."—Hist. de la Rev. Française, par Villiaumé.
CHAPTER XXIII.
COMMOTION IN PARIS.
The Remains of Voltaire removed to the Pantheon.—Decision of the Assembly on the Flight of the King.—Thomas Paine.—Views of the Constitutional Monarchists.—Message from La Fayette to the King of Austria.—The Jacobins summon the Populace to the Field of Mars.—Mandate of the Jacobins.—The Crowd on the Field of Mars dispersed by the Military.—Completion of the Constitution.—Remarkable Conversation of Napoleon.—The King formally accepts the Constitution.—Great, but transient, Popularity of the Royal Family.
The Remains of Voltaire removed to the Pantheon.—Decision of the Assembly on the Flight of the King.—Thomas Paine.—Views of the Constitutional Monarchists.—Message from La Fayette to the King of Austria.—The Jacobins summon the Populace to the Field of Mars.—Mandate of the Jacobins.—The Crowd on the Field of Mars dispersed by the Military.—Completion of the Constitution.—Remarkable Conversation of Napoleon.—The King formally accepts the Constitution.—Great, but transient, Popularity of the Royal Family.
Inthe midst of these stormy scenes the Assembly voted to remove the remains of Voltaire, which had slumbered for thirteen years in the obscure abbey of Scellières in Champagne, to the Pantheon in Paris. On the 11th of July his coffin was received with great pomp at the barriers, and conducted to a pedestal on the ancient site of the Bastille, constructed from one of the foundation-stones of the fortress. Voltaire had once been imprisoned in that gloomy citadel. Upon the pedestal which supported the coffin were engraved the words,
"Receive on this spot, where despotism once fettered thee, the honors decreed thee by thy country."
The next day a brilliant sun invited the whole population of Paris to the fête. The car which bore the coffin to the Pantheon was drawn by twelve white horses, harnessed four abreast. They were very richly caparisoned, and led by postillions in antique attire. An immense body of cavalry headed the procession. The wail of requiems and the roar of muffled drums blended with the booming of minute guns from the adjacent heights. The sarcophagus was preceded, surrounded, and followed by the National Assembly, the municipal authorities of the city, and by deputations from all the illustrious and dignified bodies of France. Scholars, laborers, artists, and, conspicuously, all the actors and actresses of Paris, took part in the pageant. Arches, with garlands of leaves and wreaths of roses, spanned the streets. Groups of beautiful girls, dressed in white, carpeted the path with flowers. At intervals, bands of music were placed, saluting the car as it approached with bursts of melody. Before each of the principal theatres the procession stopped, and a hymn was sung in commemoration of the achievements of the great dramatist. It was ten o'clock at night before the immense procession reached the Pantheon. The coffin was deposited between those of Descartes and Mirabeau.
THE REMAINS OF VOLTAIRE TRANSFERRED TO THE PANTHEON.
It was the pen of Voltaire which overthrew despotism in France. It was also the pen of Voltaire which banished for so long from human hearts thoughts of God and of future responsibility. Thus then sprung up, in the place of the despotism he had overthrown, another despotism a thousand fold more terrible. With consummate genius and utter destitution of all moral principle, he was the demon of destruction, sweeping the good and the bad alike into indiscriminate ruin. He could fawn upon the infamous Frederic, and palliate his vices. He was ever ready to bow the knee to the paramours of Louis XV. There was no prostitution of genius which could cause him to blush. The venomous spirit with which he pursued the religion of Christ is fully expressed by his motto, "Crush the wretch." The genius of Voltaire induced France to attempt to establish liberty without religion. The terrific result will probably dissuade from any future repetition of that experiment.
The club of the Jacobins was greatly roused by the moderation of the Assembly, and began to clamor for the entire overthrow of the monarchy and the establishment of a republic. On the evening of the 15th of July a meeting of the club was held at which four thousand persons were present. It was a scene of wild enthusiasm. La Fayette, Barnave, and others who were in favor of a constitutional monarchy were denounced as traitors. Robespierre and Danton were the orators of the evening, and they were greeted with thunders of applause. A petition was sent to the Assembly, which assumed the tone of an order, demanding that the king should be deposed as a perfidious traitor to his oaths. It was a meeting of the mob virtually repudiating the Assembly, and assuming for itself both legislative and executive power. The tumultuous gathering was not dispersed until after midnight. Here originated that spirit of lawless violence which subsequently transformed Paris into a field of blood.
On the 16th the commissioners made their report to the Assembly on the flight of the king. Both the commissioners and the Assembly were disposed to be lenient. They were already very anxious in view of popular tumult and menacing anarchy. They had still no wish to overthrow the monarchy and establish a republic. Such a measure would be full of danger to France in its distracted state, and would exasperate a thousand fold the surrounding monarchies. There was no one for whom they wished to exchange their present king. He was the legitimate monarch, which gave him vast power over all the aristocracy of Europe. He had sworn to defend the Constitution, and it was so manifestly for his interest now to consent to be a constitutional monarch that it was hoped that he would sincerely accept that popular cause which would secure for him popular support. Though no one doubted that it had been the intention of the vacillating monarch to throw himself into the midst of foreign armies, and by the aid of their artillery and swords to force the Old Régime again upon France, a very generous report, exculpating the king from blame, was presented and adopted.
Influenced by these views, it was argued that the king had committed no crime. He surely had a right, if he wished, to take a journey to Montmedy. There was no proof that he intended any thing more, he had violated no law. The Assembly therefore decreed that "in the journey there was nothing culpable."[288]
The Jacobin press now became very bold. "No more king," exclaimed Brissot in thePatriot; "let us be Republicans. Such is the cry at the Palais Royal, and it does not gain ground fast enough."
"No king! no protector! no regent!" shouted Fauchet in theBouche de Fer(the Mouth of Iron).
An address was read to the Jacobin Club openly demanding the annihilation of royalty; and though this address was received at first with murmurs—for the majority, even of the Jacobins, were not then prepared for such a step—the new doctrine with marvelous rapidity spread through the lower orders of Paris, and very speedily gained the ascendency in the club. Danton mounted the tribune of the Jacobin Club on the 23d of June, and demanded the forfeiture of the throne. "Your king," said he, "is either a knave or an idiot. If we must have one of the two, who would not prefer the latter?"
The Jacobin Club had now become very formidable. It already numbered eighteen hundred members in Paris alone, each of whom was admitted to its meetings by a ticket. Two hundred and fifty affiliated clubs were scattered throughout the principal cities. It occupied the large chapel of the Convent, and had its president, its secretaries, its tribune, its regular order of business, and its journal, in which its debates and resolutions were published. Many of the ablest members of the Assembly were members of the club, and their most powerful efforts of eloquence were addressed to the club, regarding its voice as beginning to be more potent than that of the Assembly. The Jacobin Club was rapidly becoming the great power of the kingdom, with an excitable mob ever at its disposal as its military arm.
The Journal of the Jacobins, edited by Laclos, a confidant of the Duke of Orleans, overwhelmed the monarch with a torrent of insults and objurgations. Thomas Paine, the notorious reviler of Christianity, was then in Paris, and one of the most violent of the Jacobin Club. He wrote an inflammatory address, which was posted on all the walls of Paris, urging the peremptory dethronement of the king.
The views entertained by La Fayette and the Constitutional Monarchists can not be better conveyed than in the eloquent language of Barnave, in a speech addressed to the Assembly on this occasion.
"I will not dilate," said he, "on the advantages of monarchical government. You have proved your conviction by establishing it in your country. Some men, whose motives I shall not impugn, seeking for examples to adduce, have found in America a people occupying a vast territory with a scanty population, nowhere surrounded by very powerful neighbors, having forests for their boundaries, and having for customs the feelings of a new race, and who are wholly ignorant of those factitious passions and impulses which effect revolutions of government. They have seen a republican government established in that land, and have thence drawn the conclusion that a similar government was suitable for us.
"But if it be true that in our territory there is a vast population; that we have a multitude of men exclusively devoted to those intellectual speculations which excite ambition and the love of fame; that powerful neighbors compel us to form one compact body in order to resist them—if these circumstances are wholly independent of ourselves, then it is undeniable that the sole existing remedy lies in a monarchical government.
"When a country is populous and extensive, there are but two modes ofassuring to it a solid and permanent existence. Either you must organize those parts separately, placing in each section of the empire a portion of the government, thus maintaining security at the expense of unity, strength, and all the advantages which result from a great and homogeneous association, or else you will be forced to centralize an unchangeable power, which, never renewed by the law, presenting incessant obstacles to ambition, resists with advantage the shocks, rivalries, and rapid vibrations of an immense population, agitated by all the passions engendered by long-established society.
"These facts decide our position. We can only be strong through afederative government, which no one here has the madness to propose, or by amonarchical governmentsuch as you have established. You have intrusted to aninviolableking the exclusive function of naming the agents of his power, but you have made those agents responsible.
"Immense damage is done us when that revolutionary impetus, which has destroyed every thing there was to destroy, and which has urged us to the point where we must at last pause, is perpetuated. The Revolution can not advance one step farther without danger. In the line oflibertythe first act which follows is the annihilation of royalty. In the line ofequalitythe first act which must follow is an attempt on all property. It is time to end the Revolution. It ought to stop when the nation is free, and all men have equal rights. If it continue in trouble it is dishonored, and we with it. Yes! all the world ought to agree that the common interest is involved in now closing the Revolution.
"Those who have lost ought to perceive that it is impossible to make the Revolution retrograde. Those who fashioned the Revolution should see that it has attained its consummation. Kings themselves—if from time to time profound truths can penetrate the councils of kings, if occasionally the prejudices which surround them will permit the sound views of a great and philosophical policy to reach them—kings themselves must learn that there is for them a wide difference between the example of a great reform in government and that of the abolition of royalty; that if we pause here, where we are, they are still kings! But, be their conduct what it may, let the fault come from them and not from us. Regenerators of the empire, follow straightly your undeviating line. You have been courageous and potent—be to-day wise and moderate. In this will consist the glorious termination of your efforts. Then again returning to your domestic hearths you will obtain, if not blessings, at least the silence of calumny."
Though these views of moderation were opposed alike by the aristocrats and the Jacobins, they were accepted with applause by the great majority of the Assembly. Aristocrats and Jacobins now combined to disturb in every possible way the action of the Assembly. They both hoped through tumult and anarchy to march into power. Mobs began to reassemble in the streets of Paris, and cries of treason were uttered against La Fayette and his fellow-constitutionalists. Already in the market-place, at the Palais Royal, and in the hall of the Jacobins, individuals denounced that Constitution as tyrannical which the nation had so recently, with unutterable enthusiasm, sworn to support.[289]
La Fayette, Barnave, the Lameths, Talleyrand, and other illustrious friends of a constitutional monarchy, sent a confidential note to the Emperor of Austria, assuring him that the Constitution conferred as much power upon the king as it was possible now to obtain from the French nation; that any invasion of France by the allies would only exasperate the people, bring the Jacobins into power, endanger the life of the king, and that it could not be successful in restoring the Old Régime. The king was consulted upon this measure, and gave it his approval.[290]
Notwithstanding these warnings, the monarchs of Europe, who were trembling lest the spirit of liberty, rising in France, should undermine their despotic thrones, resolved to crush the patriots beneath the tramp of their dragoons. Leopold of Austria, Frederick William of Prussia, and Count d'Artois, with Bouillé and other of the emigrants, met at Pilnitz, and on the 27th of August signed an agreement that the French Revolution was an "open revolt," "a scandalous usurpation of power," and that all the governments of Europe were bound to unite to abate the nuisance.[291]
The Jacobin Club, it will be remembered, in a stormy midnight debate, had drawn up a petition to the Assembly demanding the deposition of the king as a perjured traitor. They wished, by a demonstration of popular enthusiasm, to terrify the Assembly into obedience to their mandate. Accordingly, the whole populace of Paris were summoned to meet on the Field of Mars, to sign, with much parade, the petition on the Altar of Federation, which had not yet been taken down.
At an early hour on the morning of the 17th of July the multitude began to congregate. It was the Sabbath-day. Every scene in the drama of the Revolution seems to have been arranged on the sublimest scale. Soon from fifty to one hundred thousand, including the lowest of the population of Paris, were thronging the field, and clambering over the gigantic altar.[292]Two men were seized, under the absurd accusation that they were intending to blow up the altar and all upon it by means of a barrel of gunpowder. The cry of "Aristocrats!" which passed like a tornado through the crowd, precluded any trial, and settled their doom. The two unhappy men were literally torn to pieces, and their heads were borne about on pikes by brutal wretches who were now beginning to emerge from dens of obscurity into confidence and power.
The rumor of these murders and of the threatening attitude of the mob spread through the city and reached the ears of the Assembly. The principal ringleaders of the Jacobins were nowhere to be found, and it was asserted and generally believed that they were in a secret place, that they might escape responsibility, while, through their agents, they were rousing the mobto a demonstration which should overawe the Assembly. In the midst of the wildest imaginable scene of tumult and uproar, themandateof the Jacobins—for it could with no propriety be called apetition—was placed upon the altar upon many separate sheets of paper, and speedily received six thousand signatures. This was a new order, drawn up at the moment, for the original document could not be found. It read as follows:
"Representatives of the people! your labors are nearly ended. A great crime has been committed. Louis has fled, abandoning his post. The country is on the verge of ruin. The king has been arrested, brought back to Paris, and the people demand that he be tried. You declare that he shall be king. The people do not wish it, and therefore annul your decree. The king has been carried off by the two hundred and ninety-twoaristocratswho have themselves declared that they have no longer a voice in the National Assembly. Your decree is annulled, because it is in opposition to the voice of the people, your sovereign. Repeal it. The king has abdicated by crime. Receive his abdication."
Nothing could be more execrable than this usurpation of authority by the mob. The Assembly was composed of the representatives of twenty-five millions of people, acting under the calm deliberation which the forms of law exacted. And here six thousand men, women, and boys, belched forth perhaps from the dens of infamy in Paris, and arming themselves with a mob of fifty thousand of the most degraded of the populace of a great city, assumed to bethe nation—the law makers and the law executors of the kingdom of France.[293]
The municipality ordered La Fayette, with a detachment of the National Guard, to proceed to the scene of tumult and disperse the rioters. The moment the soldiers appeared they were received with hisses, shouts, and a shower of stones from the populace. Several of the stones struck La Fayette, and he narrowly escaped death from a pistol-shot fired at him. The attitude of the mob was so threatening that La Fayette retired for a stronger force. He soon returned, accompanied by Bailly, the mayor of the city, and all the municipal authorities, and followed by ten thousand of the National Guard. The red flag, which proclaimed that the city was placed under martial law, was now floating from the Hôtel de Ville. The tramp of ten thousand men,[294]with the rolling of artillery and the beating of four hundred drums, arrested the attention of the throng. The troops, debouching by three openings which intersected the glacis, were, as by magic, drawn up facing the throng. M. Bailly, upon horseback, displayed the red flag, in accordance with the Riot Act law, and ordered the mob to disperse.[295]
The response was a shout from fifty thousand men, women, and boys of "Down with the red flag! Down with Bailly! Death to La Fayette!" The clamor became hideous, and a shower of mud and stones fell upon La Fayette and the mayor, and several pistol-shots from a distance were discharged at them. The crowd, accustomed to lawlessness, did not believe that the municipal government would dare to order the soldiers to fire.
PUBLICATION OF MARTIAL LAW ON THE FIELD OF MARS, JULY 17, 1791.
La Fayette, with mistaken humanity, ordered the advance guard to fire into the air. The harmless volley was followed by shouts of derision and defiance. It now became necessary to give the fatal order. One volley swept the field. The crash was followed by a shriek, as four hundred dead or wounded fell upon the plain, and as the smoke passed away the whole tumultuous mass was seen flying in terror over the embankments and throughthe avenues. The artillerymen, with the coolness of trained soldiers, were just upon the point of opening their fire of grapeshot upon the panic-stricken fugitives, when La Fayette, unable to make his voice heard through the uproar, heroically threw himself before the cannon, and thus saved the lives of thousands. The National Guard, saddened by the performance of a duty as painful as it was imperious, returned in the evening through the dark streets of Paris and dispersed to their homes.[296]
The next day M. Bailly appeared before the Assembly, and, in terms of dignity and manly sorrow, reported the triumph of the law. Both the National Assembly and the municipality of Paris voted their cordial approval of the conduct of Bailly and La Fayette. The Jacobin press, however, gave utterance to the fiercest invectives. Bailly and La Fayette were denounced as murderers, and every effort was made to exasperate the passions of the populace.
Amid such scenes of agitation and violence the Assembly concluded its task of forming a constitution. The important document, which was but partially finished at the great celebration on the 14th of July, 1790, was now completed. None were, however, fully satisfied with the Constitution. The aristocratic party abhorred the democratic spirit with which it was pervaded, and yet wished to make it still more obnoxiously democratic, that monarchical Europe might be more thoroughly exasperated. The Jacobins held it up to derision and execration because it was not democratic enough. The moderate party, represented by such men as La Fayette and Barnave, wished to invest the king with more power, but dared not attempt any revision of the Constitution, with the aristocrats and the Jacobins both ready to combine against them.
Napoleon was at this time a young officer in the army, twenty-three years of age. His brother Joseph was studying law in Italy. The whole family had warmly espoused the popular cause. From the beginning Napoleon was the ardent advocate of equal rights, and the determined foe of mob violence. At this early period of the Revolution, he expressed the views to which he adhered through the whole of his career.
There was about this time a large party given by M. Necker. All the illustrious men and women of Paris were present. The youthful Napoleon, then quite a boy in appearance, and almost a stranger in Paris, was introduced to this brilliant assembly by his friend the Abbé Raynal. The genius of Napoleon, and his commanding conversational eloquence, soon drew around him quite a group.
"Who is that young man," inquired the proud Alfieri, "who has collected such a group around him?"
"He is," replied the abbé, "a protégé of mine, and a young man of extraordinary talent. He is very industrious, well read, and has made remarkable attainments in history, mathematics, and all military science."
The Bishop of Autun commended the soldiers for having refused to obey their officers, who had ordered them, on a certain occasion, by a discharge of musketry, to disperse a mob.
"Excuse me, my lord," said Napoleon, in tones of earnestness which arrested general attention, "if I venture to interrupt you, but, as I am an officer, I must claim the privilege of expressing my sentiments. It is true that I am young, and it may appear presumptuous in me to address so many distinguished men. But during the past three years I have paid intense attention to our political troubles. I see with sorrow the state of our country, and I will incur censure rather than pass unnoticed principles which are not only unsound, but which are subversive of all government.
"As much as any I desire to see all abuses, antiquated privileges, and usurped rights annulled. Nay, as I am at the commencement of my career, it will be my best policy, as well as my duty, to support the progress of popular institutions, and to promote reform in every branch of the public administration. But as, in the last twelve months, I have witnessed repeated alarming popular disturbances, and have seen our best men divided into factions which threaten to be irreconcilable, I sincerely believe that now,more than ever, a strict discipline in the army is absolutely necessary for the safety of our constitutional government and for the maintenance of order.
"Nay, if our troops are not compelled unhesitatingly to obey the commands of the executive, we shall be exposed to the blind fury of democratic passions which will render France the most miserable country on the globe. The ministry may be assured that, if the daily-increasing arrogance of the Parisian mob is not repressed by a strong arm and social order rightly maintained, we shall see not only this capital but every other city in France thrown into a state of indescribable anarchy, while the real friends of liberty, the enlightened patriots now working for the best good of our country, will sink beneath a set of demagogues who, with louder cries for freedom on their tongues, will be in reality but a horde of savages, worse than the Neros of old."[297]
The whole future career of Napoleon was in consistency with the spirit of these remarks. "I frankly declare," said Napoleon, subsequently, "that if I were compelled to choose between the old monarchy and Jacobin misrule, I should infinitely prefer the former."
On the 3d of September the Constitution was presented to the king for his acceptance with imposing ceremonies.[298]At nine o'clock in the evening a deputation left the chamber of the Assembly, and, escorted by a numerous and brilliant guard of honor, entered the Chateau of the Tuileries. The multitudes who thronged the way applauded loudly. The king, surrounded by his ministers and other high officers of the kingdom, received the deputation in his council-chamber. M. Thouret, president of the commission, presented the Constitution to the king, saying,
"Sire! the representatives of the nation come to present to your majesty the constitutional act which consecrates the indefeasible rights of the French people, which gives to the throne its true dignity, and regenerates the government of the empire."
The king, with a countenance expressive of satisfaction, received the document, and replied that he would examine it, and, after the shortest possible delay, communicate his decision to the Assembly. On the 13th he sent a message to the Assembly, which Barnave had assisted him in drawing up, and which contained the following conciliatory and noble sentiments:
"I have examined the Constitution. I accept it and will carry it into execution. The will of the people is no longer doubtful to me, and therefore I accept the Constitution. I freely renounce the co-operation I had claimed in this work, and I declare that when I have renounced it no other but myself has any right to claim it. Let the absent who are restrained by the fear of persecutions return to their country in safety. Let us consent to a mutual forgiveness of the past and obliterate all accusations arising from the events of the Revolution in a general reconciliation. I do not refer to those which have been caused by an attachment to me. Can you see any guilt in them? I will present myself to-morrow at noon to the National Assembly, and take oath to the Constitution in the very place where it has been drawn up."
This frank and cordial assent was unanticipated. It created a burst of extraordinary joy. La Fayette, in response to the suggestion of the king, immediately proposed a general amnesty for all acts connected with the Revolution. The motion was carried by acclaim. For a moment all parties seemed again to be united, prisons were thrown open, captives liberated, and shouts of fraternity and happiness resounded through Paris.
The next day the king went to the Assembly and took his seat by the side of the president. He was received by all the members standing, and they remained standing while he addressed them. With the most earnest expression of sincerity and satisfaction, the king said,
"I come to consecrate solemnly here the acceptance I have given to the Constitutional Act. I swear to be faithful to the nation and the law, and to employ all the powers delegated to me for maintaining the Constitution and carrying its decrees into effect. May this great and memorable epoch be that of the re-establishment of peace, and become the gage of the happiness of the people and the prosperity of the empire."
As the king withdrew the whole Assembly enthusiastically escorted him to his palace. But it was a bitter trial for the once absolute monarch to lay aside his unlimited power and become a constitutional king. The monarch, though feeling humiliated, was still enabled to maintain his aspect of smiles and composure until he reached the privacy of his own apartment. He then threw himself into a chair, and, losing all control, burst into tears.[299]A weeping king excites universal sympathy. The heroic struggles of twenty millions of people to gain their liberties also secure the sympathy and the admiration of every noble heart.
On the 18th of November the Constitution was proclaimed in the streets of Paris. Every thing was done which art could devise to invest the scene with splendor.
PROCLAMATION OF THE CONSTITUTION IN THE MARKET-PLACE.
Paris was again in a delirium of joy. The bells rang, salvos of artillery were fired, and the acclamations of hundreds of thousands, blending with peals of music from martial bands, filled the air with a confusion of all the sounds of exultation. The people were never weary of calling the king, thequeen, the children, to the windows of the palace, and whenever they appeared they were greeted with outbursts of love and joy.[300]
On the 18th there was another magnificent festival on the Field of Mars. The Constitution was read to the people. It was accepted by them with the simultaneous shout from three hundred thousand voices of "Vive la Nation! Vive le Roi!" No discordant cry was heard. "After the tempest, those who have been beaten by it, as well as those who have not suffered, enjoy in common the serenity of the sky." In the evening Paris and all France blazed with illuminations and resounded with the shout of enfranchised millions. Balloons rose, from which copies of the Constitution were scattered as snow-flakes upon the multitude. The Elysian Fields, from the Arc de l'Etoile to the Tuileries, was brilliant with garlands and stars and pyramids of flame. Every tree blazed with quivering tongues of fire. Majestic orchestras pealed forth the notes of national triumph, and a multitude which no man could number filled that most magnificent avenue of Europe with plays, dances, shouts, and songs of exultation.
La Fayette, on his well-known white charger, rode at the head of his staff through the almost impenetrable throng, accompanied by the king, the queen, and their children. Enthusiasm now reached its culminating point. Hats were thrown into the air, and from the whole mighty mass, as by electric sympathy, rose the cry "Vive le Roi! Vive la Reine! Vive le Dauphin!"
The king and queen were overjoyed in view of the happiness of the people, and of the love thus spontaneously and enthusiastically manifested for the royal family. The queen was bewildered by so marvelous a change. But four weeks before the royal family were conducted as captives through that same avenue, surrounded by the same countless throng, and not a voice bade them welcome. They could then read in every eye the expression of hatred and defiance. The contrast led the queen to exclaim, "They are no longer the same people." Even her proud heart was touched, and she, for the first time, began to feel some respect for popular rights. Returning to the palace, of her own accord she stepped out upon the balcony, and presented her children to the crowd who thronged the terrace. They received such greeting as can only come from hearts glowing with sincerity and joy. These days of rejoicing were terminated by an offering of thanksgiving to God, as the sublime chant of theTe Deumwas sung in the cathedral of Nôtre Dame.
The Constituent Assembly, having now completed its task, prepared to dissolve. As a conclusive reply to all who had accused it of ambitious designs to perpetuate its powers, and as a magnanimous display of patriotic disinterestedness, it decreed that none of its members should be re-eligible to the next Legislature.
At three o'clock in the afternoon of the 30th of September, the king, surrounded by his ministers, entered the Assembly. He was no longer the hostage of the nation, but its recognized sovereign; the guard which the law assigned him being now placed under his own command. Upon his entrance the applause was so enthusiastic and prolonged that for some time he was unable to commence speaking. He then said,
"Gentlemen, after the completion of the Constitution, you have resolved on to-day for the termination of your labors. I will exercise all the power confided to me in assuring to the Constitution the respect and obedience which is its due. For you, gentlemen, who, during a long and painful career, have evinced an indefatigable zeal in your labors, there remains a last duty to fulfill, when you are scattered over the face of the empire. It is to enlighten your fellow-citizens as to the spirit of the laws you have made; to purify and unite opinions by the example you will give to the love of order and submission to the laws. Be, on your return to your homes, the interpreters of my sentiments to your fellow-citizens. Tell them that the king will always be their first and most faithful friend; that he desires to be loved by them, and can only be happy with them and by them."
The king left the hall amid the loudest acclamations. They were the last with which he was greeted. Thouret, the president of the Assembly, as soon as the king had retired, said in a loud voice, "The Constituent Assembly pronounces its mission accomplished, and that its sittings now terminate." Thus closed the truly patriotic Assembly. It had accomplished the greatest and the most glorious revolution ever achieved in so short a time, and with so little violence. Repressing alike the despotism of aristocracy and the lawlessness of the mob, it established a constitution containing the essential elements of liberty protected by law. Under this constitution France might have advanced in prosperity. But the aristocrat and the Jacobin combined in its overthrow. They were fatally successful in their efforts.
It is interesting to observe how differently the same events were regarded by different minds. Bertrand de Moleville, a warm partisan of the aristocracy, says,
"Thus terminated this guilty Assembly, whose vanity, ambition, cupidity, ingratitude, ignorance, and audacity have overturned the most ancient and the noblest monarchy of Europe, and rendered France the theatre of every crime, of every calamity, and of the most horrible catastrophe. Can these treacherous representatives ever justify themselves in the eyes of the nation for having so unworthily abused their confidence and their powers?"
On the other hand, the democratic historians, the "Two Friends of Liberty," while regretting that the Constitution was not more thoroughly democratic, say,
"The Constitution of 1791, with all its faults, forever deserves the gratitude of the French people, because it has destroyed, never to return, every trace of feudalism, imposts the most fatal to agriculture, the privileges of particular persons, the usurpations of the priesthood over the civil power, and the proud pretensions of ancient corporations; because it has realized what philosophy for ages has in vain wished, and what monarchs the most absolute have never dared to undertake; and because it has established that uniformity which no one could have ever hoped for in an empire formed by gradual accretions from time to time, and with which, under a good government, there is no prosperity which France may not realize."
But whatever may be the estimate which political partisans may place upon the labors of the Assembly, no intelligent man will now deny that the great majority of that body were true patriots, sincerely desiring the welfareof their country. It will be admitted by all that they abolished judicial torture, placed all men upon the basis of equality in the eye of the law, annulled obnoxious privileges, introduced vast reform into commercial jurisprudence, established liberty of worship and of conscience, suppressed monastic vows, abolished the execrable system oflettres de cachet, rendered personal liberty sacred, introduced equality of taxation, and swept away those provincial jealousies and that interior line of custom-houses which had for ages seriously embarrassed the internal trade of the kingdom. All feudal rights were abrogated, industry encouraged, and the citizens of the kingdom were enrolled into a National Guard, for the preservation of domestic peace and to resist aggression.
This most noble reform combined Europe assailed with all its marshaled bayonets. The crime deluged the Continent in woe. After nearly a quarter of a century of conflagration and carnage, French liberty was trampled into the bloody mire of Waterloo, and the Old Régime was reinstated.