MIRANDA: A TALE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.

BOOK III.

(Continued from vol. 15, page 824.)

THE 10TH AUGust, and the 2d September.

ever in France the infamous privileges and immunities of|| have been told that you have ideal theories of government; but that you are of those who, if the Constitution were successful, would not touch the Monarchy. Am I right?"

"Your Majesty, apart from the partial opinion of friends, has been rightly informed," said Charles Clement respectfully.

"Well, then, you are the persons to give me the infor

tion, of an attempt to overthrow the Monarchy. Personally, I freely offer up my crown; but I have my children to look to-I cannot part with their heritage. But, Monsieur," continued Louis, "what I ask is this-What do the people want?”

her aristocracy; it gained representative government. There it would and should have stopped; for a population educated under Louis XIV., the Regency, and Louis XV. could not be fit for a Republic. But the aristocracy fled the land to bring in foreign enemies—the Church incited || the rural population to revolt-the King, guided by Marie Antoinette and the future Charles X., became a conspirator||mation I seek. Rumours reach me of coming insurrec against his people. He held secret correspondence with the enemy. He never sincerely adopted the Constitution. || The result was ruin to business, doubt, fear of war, utter stagnation, starvation, misery, and death for the people, who were in turns cajoled, tricked, betrayed, or oppressed. The people felt all this, and they took their revenge. They did so in a ferocious manner; but they only copied their kings, who, during centuries, had made Paris a scene of bloodshed and massacre-who plotted the infamous St. Bartholomew for years-who, to the very last, punished with living death their favourites who offended them, and who had brought them up in traditions of assassination, murder, massacre, bloodshed, debauchery, infidelity, and vice of every kind.

King Louis XVI., a good-natured man, who wanted to be popular, but who had not the firmness to be honest and consistent with the nation, paid for his own folly and treachery and the crimes of his ancestors.

Marie Antoinette-despotism incarnate in her ideasperished from not understanding that the day of divine right was over, and that if the people wanted a despot, it must be one of their own choosing. But nothing but the terrible intoxication of the time is any excuse-nothing is a palliative for the execution of this woman, who was only dangerous in Paris as a flag of conspiracy; who, sent back to her own country, would have been powerless, and utterly without influence in the affairs of France. sider the man who sent Marie Antoinette to the scaffold, on the same level with Charlotte Corday, who assassinated in his bath a man who had never injured her, and who, whatever his crimes and errors, was still a man.

I con

||

"Am I to answer frankly," said the young man.

"Frankly as you would to your friend here," replied the King, who was perfectly sincere; but who, influenced now by Charles, would in an hour be influenced the other way by his wife and the Count D'Artois.

"Your Majesty," replied Charles Clement, "must, if you would satisfy the just demands of the people, take back Roloust, Claviere, and Servan, or any such other ministers who meet with the approval of the majority of the National Assembly.”

Marie Antoinette made an impatient motion, but the King staid her.

"I am then a mere tool of the Assembly!" said Louis XVI. reproachfully.

"Your Majesty forgets that the Assembly is the nation. It would be idle to discuss with your Majesty the abstract question of the relative rights of kings and people. The knot is cut. The nation has resolved to govern itself; but as it requires a chief magistrate to execute the laws, and as, guided by a representative assembly, a king is quite compatible with liberty, the nation delegates to your Majesty the execution of the laws."

"Better die than be king at that price," said Marie Antoinette passionately.

"I know not," said Louis XVI., who loved ease and tranquillity above everything; "to be king thus were, perhaps, better than to have the cares and responsibilities of reigning really. But is it possible?”

"Possible!" cried Charles Clement; "your Majesty little knows the people. Take the ministers whom the

But history glorifies Charlotte Corday, and treats the President of the Revolutionary Tribunal as a monster. He killed a Queen, and Charlotte Corday murdered a Republican. But I have left Gracchus Antiboul and Charles Clement Assembly shall support, give them your confidence; obin presence of the King and Queen.

serve strictly the Constitution; do nothing for some time to excite the people; let things get into their proper channel; insist on the instaut return of all the emigrants, under penalty of confiscation; and your Majesty's throne is founded upon an unshakable rock."

"I believe it! I believe it!" said Louis XVI., almost wildly, without seeing the scornful smile of Marie Antoinette.

"But must I sacrifice the one-half of the clergy?" said the King hastily.

They bowed, placed their hats on a chair, and advanced to the seats offered them; while Marie Antoinette fixed her "Your Majesty must forbear, above all things, to exereyes somewhat kindly on them, especially on Charles.cise the veto granted by the Constitution—” Deeply impressionable herself, and full of the rich affection of a woman, she understood the feelings of the young man. Perhaps, as a woman, none more loveable was ever known than Marie Antoinette. Her whole soul was love, romance, passion. But Louis XVI. understood nothing of such gentiments; and his wife had to seek in friendship—her enemies say in other love-the outpourings of her heart.

"Gentlemen," said the King with some slight hesitation, "I am fully aware that I do not count you among my friends; but, at all events, you are loyal enemies. have heard high praise and warm praise of you both,

"Your Majesty will remember that the Assembly has only passed a decree against those who have refused to swear to the Constitution," answered Clement.

"I know; but they believe the oath required of them to be contrary to their consciences."

"I only answer your Majesty's questions."

"I know it, and I thank you. But, tell me, young Iman, are there not those who seek my life ?"-and Louis IXVI. looked at him with a scrutinizing air.

"There are, but very few; and those will never have|| will because you conceive France could be happier withpower to carry out their will, if your Majesty and the Na- out him." tional Assembly go on in harmony together."

"But then the National Assembly will be the real masters of France."

"Sire, they are France; while, excuse me, you are but the representative of a thing gone by-the irresponsible and forcible rule of one over many."

'But," cried the Queen, impetuously, "are not the factious, the agitators, afraid that we may succeed in restoring the royal authority, as it came down to my royal husband, when the fever of rebellion is gone?"

"No, Madam," replied Charles Clement, mildly, "because they know the time is past for that. No reign of the bon plaisir can again last in France. The day the Etats Genereux met the Monarchy, it was ended. That which is dead can never be brought to life."

"But why do the populace hate me ?—why sing they atrocious songs under my very windows ?" added Marie Antoinette, with tears of grief and rage.

"Because your Majesty is accused of being against the nation, of wishing to restore the regime of Louis XIV., even by means of foreign armies; because your Majesty is accused of giving absolute and hasty councils; because the people, who feel rather than reason, accuse you of carrying on secret correspondence with our enemies."

Louis XVI. listened almost wildly; while the Queen buried her face in her hands.

"They want my life," she cried; "let them take it." "No, Madam," replied Charles Clement, "they wish your Majesty to be the mother of her people, to join with the father of his people, as your royal husband has been often called, in procuring them happiness, tranquillity, good government, and peace; they ask no more."

"Young man," said the King, solemnly," and I ask|| honest and good advisers; can I take the Petions, Rolands, Clavieres-who betray me to the mob-and trust them?"

The King turned to his wife; and the two young men, much moved, bowed respectfully, and advanced towards the door indicated to them.

Like many others, they had been much won by the monarch's bonhomie, and both felt deep regretthat, with good intentions and well-meaning instincts, the King should not have had firmness, decision, and resolution. They knew that one half-hour's conversation with Marie Antoinette, would eradicate even the memory of the advice they had given, and determine Louis XVI. to those futile attempts at absolutism which sent him and his Queen to the scaffold.

It was four o'clock in the morning, and the insurrec tion of the day was already making its preparations. Danton, a map of Paris before him, sat in the small room of an obscure cabaret, near where once stood the Bastille, surrounded by his lieutenants. The room was small, and it was therefore as full as it could hold. A solitary lamp, placed so as to illumine the map, alone lighted this cave, whence was to issue sedition and terror.

There were present Santerre, the popular brewer of the Faubourg St. Antoine; Legendre, the semi-butcher, semisailor; Panis and Sarjent, two members of the Municipality, who brought the assent of Petion to the deeds of the day; Huguenin, Alexandre, Marat, Dubois, Crancé, Brune, Mormoro, Dubuisson, Fabre d'Eglantine, Chabot the ex-monk; Laregnie; Gonchon and Duquesnois, who represented Robespierre; and Carra, Rolondo, Henriot, Sillery, Louvet, Laclos, and Barbaroux, who represented Roland and Brissot-who, like Robespierre, never compromised their persons in the details of such affairs.

An almost perfect silence prevailed. Danton had been

"There are patriots in the National Assembly," an- recognized chief, and he issued his orders. Panis and swered Clement.

"There are," said the King, mournfully; "but, with few exceptions, they have resolved to have done with royalty. Can I take to my councils those who would make of me another Charles I?"

Sarjent were sent to rouse the Faubourg St. Marceau and the neighbourhood of the Jardin des Plantes; Laregnie was detached to the Faubourg St. Jacques, aided by Malard, Isambert, and Gibon, who had been at work all night; while the rest rapidly dispersed to their respective neighbourhoods to awaken the masses, to give them a direction and a password.

Charles Clement paused, as if seeking a reply. "I love France, I love my people," continued the King, energetically; "and if I knew the way to make them happy, Soon Danton remained alone in the little room, looking I would. I cannot undo the faults of my ancestors." out upon the place covered with the ruins of the Bastille, "I know it,” said Charles in a low tone; "your Ma- upon which the dawn was slowly breaking. And Danton jesty's position is a difficult one. The Revolution is un-began to think. That wondrous man who, with honesty and chained, and to stop is impossible. All we who lead it can principle, might have mastered the Revolution, wanted the do is to direct it to as calm a port as possible." austerity and contempt for money which characterized "Do your duty," answered the King sadly, "do your Robespierre. He was purely ambitious. Ambitious of power, duty, gentlemen; and I will seek to do mine. God has fond of pleasure, good living, women, wine, and, above all, given me a terrible task, and, be it what it may, I will not of the intense excitement, of the mortal wear and tear of shrink from it." revolutionary times, which is manna to a man of a certain order of genius. Danton scrupled not at means. He worked for the people, whom he despised, because he thought them the best ladder for himself. Robespierre loved the people, was a fanatic, a Luther in his belief in the truth of his principles, and sanctioned crimes from the rigid logic of his mind, which placed before it an end to be reached, no matter how. Danton scorned blood; Robespierre bathed in it. Danton cared not who perished, so he

"And your Majesty will triumph," said the Queen, with that buoyant confidence which so often misled her.

"We shall see, for time alone can say," replied Louis XVI.; "and now, Monsieur Clement, if you will pass through yon door, you will find friends. They are fortunate to have you as such, for you at least are honest and sincere; you do not work against me, and profess to be ready to do anything in my service. Go; and if we never meet again, remember that Louis XVI. bears you no ill-rose triumphant.

Danton had, therefore, now but one thought-deep anxiety for the success of his conspiracy. Neither he nor the Girondins, under whose impulse he acted in a great measure, had any very clear or defined notion of what the day was to lead to. Most of them simply desired to humiliate the King, and force him to abandon all connection with the accursed coalition, at the head of which his brothers were striving to lead foreign armies to the conquest of France. The King had for some time been playing with the Assembly, delaying, gaining time, evidently deluded by the Queen into the belief that an Austrian army would be in a month in the capital.

The Court and the National Assembly were two moral forces in presence. The Court relied on foreign bayonets;|| the Assembly on the army of the people, and they were invoking the people to show their force. Who, under the circumstances, can blame them?

of blood, a plumed hat heavy with feathers, a belt with pistols, and a sword.

"It goes bravely," said she, fiercely; "and to-day we will laugh at the Austrian."

"It marches,” replied Danton, kissing the lovely but frail and terrible creature; " but until the hour comes for business, let us not talk of it. Sacre bleu! I have talked all night. Wine there, of the best; Theroigne, breakfast with me."

And the terrible Tribune, who was waiting there to set his seal on the death-warrant of the Monarchy, at once seated himself with the Aspasia of the Faubourg St. Antoine; had up such refreshments as the house could afford-which, in consideration of the patronage of the rich demagogues, was of the very best character -and forgot for half-an-hour, in the pleasures of the table, and the society of a pretty woman, the whole busi

But on Danton's shoulders rested the responsibility ifness in hand. the insurrection failed; and multitudinous thoughts came to his mind as he stood, gloomy enough some of them, when he was suddenly interrupted.

"Good morrow, Danton!" said a sweet voice behind him.

The Tribune of the people turned. The society of a woman was the very thing to make him forget the thoughts which burned within.

It was Theroigne, or Lambertine de Méricourt.* This || beautiful young woman wore a riding-habit of the colour

At the end of about three quarters of an hour, a knock at the door roused them to remembrance of what was dawning.

"Enter," said Danton, filling his glass.

A tall man, of commanding aspect, with an air of reckless dissipation, entered.

It was the Marquis de St. Huruge.

"Welcome," cried Danton to the agitator of the Palais Royal, scarcely less influential with the masses

than himself.

* The true history of this woman is thus given in Lamertine's their conduct. Sometimes she spoke at the Cordeliers. Camille admirable and picturesque work, the "Girondins:"-"Theroigne Desmoulins mentions the enthusiasm her harangues created:de Méricourt, who commanded the third corps of the army of the 'Her similes,' says he, were drawn from the Bible and PindarFaubourgs, was known among the people by the name of La it was the eloquence of a Judith.' She proposed to build the Belle Liegoise. The French Revolution had drawn her to Paris, palace of the representative body on the site of the Bastille. as the whirlwind attracts things of no weight. She was the im- To found and embellish this edifice,' said she, 'let us strip pure Joan of Arc of the public streets. Outraged love had ourselves of our ornaments, our gold, our jewels. I will be plunged her into disorder, and the vice at which she herself the first to set the example;' and with these words she tore off her blushed, only made her thirst for vengeance. In destroying the ornaments in the tribune. Her ascendancy during the emeutes was aristocrats, she fancied she purified her honour, and washed out so great, that with a single sign she condemned or acquitted a her shame in blood. She was born at the village of Méricourt, victim, and the Royalists trembled to meet her. During this near Liege, of a family of wealthy farmers, and had received a period, by one of those chances that appear like the premeditated finished education. At the age of seventeen her singular love- vengeance of destiny, she recognized in Paris the young Belgian liness had attracted the attentions of a young seigneur, whose gentleman who had seduced and abandoned her. Her look told chateau was close to her residence. Beloved, seduced, and de-him how great was his danger, and he sought to avert it by imserted, she had fled from her father's roof, and taken refuge in England, from whence, after a residence of some months, she proceeded to France. Introduced to Mirabeau, she knew through him Sieyes, Joseph Chenier, Danton, Rousin, Brissot, and Camille Desmoulins. Romme, a mystical republican, infused into her mind the German spirit of illumination. Youth, love, revenge, and the contact with this furnace of a revolution, had turned her head; and she lived in the intoxication of passions, ideas, and pleasures. Connnected at first with the great innovators of '89, she had passed from their arms into those of rich voluptuaries, who purchased her charms dearly. Courtesan of opulence, she became the voluntary prostitute of the people, and, like her celebrated prototypes of Egypt or Rome, she lavished upon liberty the wealth she derived from vice. On the first assemblage of the people, she appeared in the streets, and devoted her beauty to serve as an ensign to the people. Dressed in a riding-habit of the colour of blood, a plume of feathers in her hat, a sabre by her side, and two pistols in her belt, she hastened to join every insurrection. She was the first of those who burst open the gates of the Invalides, and took the cannon from thence. She was also one of the first to attack the Bastille, and a sabre d'homme was voted her on the breach of victors. On the days of October she had led the women of Paris to Versailles on horseback, by the side of the ferocious Jourdan, called 'the nun with the long beard.' She had brought back the King to Paris-she had followed, without emotion, the heads of the gardes du corps stuck on pikes as trophies. Her language, although marked by a foreign accent, had yet the eloquence of tumult. She elevated her voice amidst the stormy meetings of the clubs, and from the galleries blamed

ploring her pardon. My pardon,' said she, at what price can you purchase it? My innocence gone, my family lost to me, my brothers and sisters pursued in their own country by the jeers and sarcasms of their kindred; the malediction of my father, my exile from my native land, my enrolment amongst the infamous caste of courtesans, the blood with which my days have been and will be stained, that imperishable curse attached to my name, instead of that immortality of virtue, which you have taught me to doubt. Is it for this that you would purchase my forgiveness? Do you know any price on earth capable of purchasing it?' The young man made no reply. Theroigne had not the generosity to forgive him, and he perished in the massacres of September. In proportion as the Revolution became more bloody, she plunged deeper into it--she could no longer exist without the feverish excitement of public emotion, however her early leaning to the Girondist party-and she also wished to stay the progress of the Revolution; but there were women whose power was superior to her own. These women, called the furics of the guillotine, stripped the Belle Liegoise of her attire, and publicly flogged her on the terrace of the Feuillans, on the 31st May. This punishment, more terrible than death, turned her brain; and she was conveyed to a madhouse, where she lived twenty years which were but one long paroxysm of fury. Shameless and bloodthirsty in her delirium, she refused to wear any garments, as a souvenir of the outrage she had undergone. She dragged herself, only covered by her long white hair, along the flags of her cell, or clung with her wasted hands to the bars of the window, from whence she addressed an imaginary people, and demanded the blood of Suleau,"