"Welcome, citizen sans-cullotes,” replied the Marquis; ||lence when it served the purpose of their rivals, the "and doubly welcome to thee, my bonny Theroigne. This Jacobins. This day they acted together. is a great day—a splendid day. The King will learn what it is to tamper with his people." "But," cried Danton, a little excited by his libations, "but will the Assembly know how to act when thus backed by the people? They are talkers, not actors." And now groups of workmen began to assemble. Out they came from their dark and gloomy holes, where always dwell the sons of poverty and labour-the hand which rears up fortune for the favoured few; and who had seen the misery, ignorance, and degradation of that terrible mob, debased and trampled on by violence and power, || had neither wondered nor blamed their taking their hour of revenge. They came from the Faubourgs St. Marceau, "Don't fear, my friend," said Huruge with a sinister smile; "they must act. The whole royal fournée dispatched, they must do something." "You don't mean to touch the King?" asked Danton, and the Quartier St. Jacques, from Popincourt, Quinzefiercely. vingts, De la Greve, Port au Blé, the Marché St. Jean, "What are we rising for but to have an end of the and, most of all, from the suburb of Antoine, so terribly chateau,” observed the Marquis, sullenly. famous in history. "Bah!" said Danton, "you must have a puppet. As well Louis XVI. as Louis XVII. All we want to let him see is, that if he has the name of master, we have the reality. He will learn that to-day." Here dwelt the great army of the Revolution, composed of thousands of workmen, honest artisans, who were insurgents because they were poor, miserable, abandoned, despised. No people can be moved to insurrection or turbu "You may keep veto if you like," cried Theroigne; lence who are happy. Happy, they are content-and a "but I demand the Austrian." "Is she not one of us?" said Theroigne, repeating the popular opinion about Marie Antoinette ; "and how dares she live, respected and surrounded with luxury, in a palace, while we are pointed at as lost and worthless creatures ?" Thus spake the outcast from among women, a class || who have no pity, no mercy for those of their own sex who sin, and yet are not touched with the brand of shame; who are frail with impunity, and who receive all honour and love. The popular opinion is, that such was Marie Antoinette; but with that we have nothing to do; whatever her faults as a woman, as a wife, as a queen, she expiated them. "Theroigne," replied Danton, " you are a fool. If one finger be laid upon the person of King, or Queen, or Princes, our plot is ruined." "If they outlive the day," replied St. Huruge, plans are abortive." 66 Our contented people acting against a government is nonsense When the humbler classes shall be well paid, well lodged well clothed, well educated, demagogues will have no influence-until then they are patriots. But government cannot do all this, it is said. Of course not; legislatures have enough to do in making laws for the well-being of those who have, without troubling themselves with those who have not. Soon the crowd became terrific. All kinds of dresses might be distinguished, but rags predominated. There were blacksmiths and tin-men, painters and glaziers, débardeurs and sailors; there were builders and carpenters; there were stonemasons and wheelwrights; there were woodmen and charcoal-burners; there were paper-stainers, jewellers, and all the mass of trades which abound in a great city; there were a whole rabble of thieves and beggars, the scum of society; there were National Guards, Invalides, and gens d'armes; there were women, young girls, and children, and creatures who seemed scarcely of any sex, and all thin, and pale, and haggard, like the people of a city in a famine. There was no work; and men lived on morsels of black bread all day, or on the charity of such men as Santerre, who would distribute 300,000 francs of bread in a day to "Do as you will," said Danton; "I wash my hands of the suffering poor. all connivance in anything like assassination." "We shall see," was the answer of St. Huruge, who looked expressively at Theroigne ; but Theroigne was for the moment the "friend" of Danton, and she appeared influenced by his words. A dull murmur on the Place de la Revolution now gave token that the army of the insurrection was collecting. St. Huruge and Theroigne went out to reconnoitre, and Danton once more remained alone. It was dawn, and several battalions of the National Guard had taken up positions on the outskirts of the Place de la Bastille, their arms piled, not to resist the assembling of the people, but purposely sent by Petion to fraternize with the masses, and swell the vast mob who were about to fill Paris with insurrection. They were picked battalions, selected by the Girondin Maire, who played a part which, beside that of Danton and his friends, was infinitely disgraceful. They were free men, free to act as they thought fit; while he was a magistrate, whose first duty was to preserve order. Great talkers about peace, law, and order, the Girondins only disliked turbu Rags and uniforms mixed freely together, and every minute the crowd became denser. Fresh recruits came up every instant, and the whole city seemed there ready to march against the King they despised, and the Queen whom they hated. Suddenly Santerre, mounted on a huge horse, and in the uniform of an officer of the National Guard, appeared on the Place, and surrounded by a staff of men, the leaders of the sedition. This revolutionary chief went round haranguing the people, bidding them be calm and solemn, to march in regular columns, and, above all, to be silent. Then his staff hurried about, forming the columns as well as possible, with an ease which belongs alone to the Parisian mob. Flags were placed at the head of every different body, which, once organized, took its station wherever sent, and waited for the orders. A terrible sight was this. The marshalling and enregimenting of the army of sedition proceeded as regularly as would the laying-out on a field of battle of an army of regular troops. Time passed rapidly, and the numbers svelled prodis More than twenty-five thousand were assembled ; and Danton signified, by a sign of the head, to Santerre, that it would do, and then hurried away to prepare the fashionable quarters of the town for what was coming. CHAPTER VI. ADELA AND MIRANDA, While these terrible events are preparing one of the scenes in which our hero was destined to play a conspicuous part, Charles Clement and Gracchus Antiboul were actors in a different drama. When the door closed upon the King and Queen, and the two young men turned round, they could scarcely speak from the emotions which filled their bosoms. And now began the march of this wild and hideous army, whose weapons were as diversified as their costume. There was first of all, the favourite arm of the Faubourgs,|| the tremendous pike; there were lances and swords, On a canopy sofa, in a large and splendidly furnished hangers and cutlasses, spits and axes, sledge-hammers and apartment of the palace, reclined Adela des Ravilliere, saws, knives and levers, crow-bars and wedges, spades and her hands pressed upon her beating heart. Beside her mattocks, sticks, poles, bars of iron, and tongues most ter- sat the Countess Miranda. Miranda was thinner and rible. There were hollow eyes and sunken cheeks; eyes || paler than she was used to be; but still the beautiful, that spoke of sorrow and suffering, cheeks that told of magnificent being she had always been. Adela, more starvation and hunger; there were arms that would have womanly than in times gone by, had gained in loveliness. worked if they could; and all combined to make one of the "Charles!" half shrieked Adela, leaping from her seat, most fearful spectacles which the eye ever saw. and darting towards him. 66 My own, my long-lost Adela!" said the young man. The lovers were clasped in one another's arms in silent rapture; while Miranda and Gracchus Antiboul embraced cordially. Miranda looked on them as if in triumph. "There she is," she exclaimed, as Charles Clement, his First marched the Faubourgs, some in uniforms with guns, pistols, and bayonets. These were commanded by Santerre. Then came the mixed rabble, of all kinds and shapes, and the head of these was the Marquis de St. Huruge. The rear was brought up by the very refuse of the mob-thin old men, women, children, the pariahs and out-eyes beaming with rapture and delight, seated himself becasts of society-armed against it, because it knew them side Adela on the sofa, "the same frank, pure heart you not. Theroigne de Méricourt, a sword in hand, a musket knew her." on her shoulder, and seated on a cannon drawn by a number of men, led this forlorn hope of the day. "How can I show my thanks," said the young man, taking the Countess's hand, "to you, to whom I owe so Some went by the boulevards, some by the quays and much?" the Pont-Neuf, but all tended to one point. By making the best of husbands to dear Adela,” re The Tuileries was the castle they were about to plied the Countess in her soft rich tone, tinged, despite storm. herself, with a shade of melancholy regret. "Can I still hope for that happiness?" said Charles. “I am your wife already," answered Adela, tenderly; and laying her hands in his, "whenever you like, I am ready to go through the ceremony." "The recall of the patriot ministers" was written on ing. He sleeps above in the very roof of the Palace, and another. as we heard there might be disturbances, we wish to keep him there. To-morrow you shall see him." "Tremble, tyrant; thy hour is come," was one of the first hints that the death of the Monarchy was the real object of the movement. Marie Antoinette was the intense antipathy of the masses; and a man bore her effigy, depending from a gibbet awful prophecy ! "Beware the lanterne," was written on it. A band of ferocious women, lost to all sense of shame, human ghouls, bore on high a guillotine, on which was written "National Justice on Tyrants. Death to Veto and his wife." Dire were the crimes and the wickedness, terrible the responsibilities of the Monarchy, which had bred all this; for no just man can find a word of excuse. The errors and vices of royalty and aristocracy made this population. It was but meet it should reap what it sowed. I pity the high who perished. I pity more the people who could be what the Paris people were in 1792 and 1793. It was not their fault. It was now nearly mid-day, and the insurrection had reached the neighbourhood of the Palace of the Tuileries. "You must leave the palace," replied Charles, solemnly. "Why?" "All in it are doomed," answered the young man ; " to day-to-morrow, they may escape, but they will not long. Miranda, Adela, the Revolution has only begun.” "But what want the people?" said the Countess, bitterly. me? "Countess," ," said Charles, earnestly; "can you ask They want honesty, candour, and truth in this palace. They want the King and Queen to abstain from carrying on correspondence with the enemies of the nation. They have not this, as you must well know; and as neither King nor Queen will be, the one firm, the other patriotic, the people will do without both." "But the foreign army, led by the Count of Provence and the Count d'Artois, must be near Paris; I saw the Queen mark its stages on a map." "Hush!" cried Charles, hurriedly; "tell me not such things. Such an act as that, proved, would bring her to the scaffold," "The scaffold!" said the young women, with terror. "They are nearer it than they think, and than I wish them to be," replied Gracchus Antiboul; "but it is not the people who are driving them on-they are walking to it with their eyes open." "But the King is honest, well-intentioned, and would be sincere," cried Miranda, while Adela wept on her lover's shoulder. "But he is weak and easily turned. I have no wish to speak harshly of the Queen; but her irresistible pride, and her determination not to act by the Constitution, will, in all probability, place Louis XVI. of France in the same position with Charles I. of England.” "Oh God!" cried Miranda; " and is there no great, good man to awake the King?" "Could any man make the King put himself at the head of the Revolution, and march with it?" asked Antiboul. "I fear not." "Then he is doomed," replied Gracchus. "And you must leave this palace," continued Charles Clement. "To-morrow, the Duke and you should return to the Rue Dominique. You shall not be included in the common ruin of the Monarchy." "But the Duke will never desert the King," said Miranda. "He will leave this," replied Charles, "if I have a voice to be heard. Desert the King!—the King has no need of any guards but his people, if he be true. If false, a feeble old man and two innocent women can avail him nothing." "The Maire of Paris, whom the King hates so much, and whom the Queen loathes." "Because he is a patriot, not a courtier." "Antiboul knows him well; and it shall be done this very day. Besides, this pass will save you from any suspicion. The National Guards will respect you at the exits." "We are wholly at your orders, Charles," said Miranda, with a smile. "Both?" asked Charles, with a laugh. "Both!" cried Miranda, not without colouring violently. "I shall be jealous!" said Adela, with a pout. "Of me?" said Miranda, shaking her head. "Of you," answered Adela, with mock solemnity. "But come," cried Miranda, rising, as if a sudden remembrance struck her, but in reality to change the conversation; "let us to our own apartments, where breakfast awaits you. Over this we can talk; and all of you have much, I doubt not, to say.” With these words she moved towards a small side door, opening on a staircase leading to the vast number of apartments which existed in this immense palace, and one of which the Duke and the two ladies occupied. Clement took the arm of Adela, Gracchus that of Miranda, and they moved upward. The stairs were narrow and lofty, for the palace was so crammed that they, late comers, had been ill-provided. They lived in the garrets of the Tuileries. a At length the chamber of the ladies was reached, and waiting-maid opened the door. It was Rose, the faithful "We came here against our wishes," said Adela, "and attendant on the Countess Miranda. would most gladly leave." "I will see your father presently," replied Charles; “and if he has not forgotten my voice, he will instantly demand the King's permission to leave. His place is not amongst the Chevaliers of the Poignard, who see nothing in a country but its King." "But you are pale and thin, Charles," said Adela, who was gazing fondly on him. "But that will fly soon now, dear," answered the young man. "I have you once more near me, to part no more in this world." "Welcome, Messieurs," said the girl, heartily. Clement and Gracchus thanked her warmly. They were happy. "Does your master still sleep?" asked Miranda, who had placed the girl at the service of all. "He sleeps soundly; he has never moved," replied Rose. "Close the door between us and him," continued Miranda, "and then we will breakfast." The apartment was small and plainly furnished, but it was extremely comfortable; and the whole party drew “Pray, God hear your words," answered the young girl, round the table with feelings which none of them had fervently. "Amen," repeated Miranda, her eyes fixed, as it were, on vacancy. "But first to get out of this hateful place," said Gracchus Antiboul, who was watching Miranda's face with a sad and yet proud smile. "That must be our sole subject of discourse," answered Charles. "Have you ever left since you first entered ?” asked Gracchus of the Countess. "Never." "Do any who reside here ever go in and out?" "Never." "But you are prisoners.” "Faith is put in none; and, to prevent the showing of favouritism, none are permitted to go in and out save with a pass from Monsieur de Monchy." "We must get a pass from one much higher,” said Charles. "From whom?" "From Petion." known for two long years. Happiness is charming to look at; but to the human beings who follow the fortunes of their fellow-creatures for amusement, a picture of pure, unadulterated felicity soon palls. The four friends now presented this picture. They had much to tell, and much to hear; and when, as the clock marked eleven, Rose announced the waking of the old Duke, they all started in astonishment. Charles Clement and Gracchus Antiboul looked at one another. They were thinking of the great insurrection of the day. «Adela, "Adela," said a voice from the inner room. "Who was that talking?" asked the Duke. "He speaks more naturally than ever," whispered Miranda. "I long to embrace him," replied Charles. and giving her a few directions, sent her down to glean || senting the petition which had been the excuse for the consome news of what was going on in Paris. gregation of the masses. In a few minutes the Duke appeared, leaning on the arm of his child. He was much changed. Age had weighed heavily on him. He was a feeble, bowed, old man. "The day has begun," said Charles Clement. "And what part do you mean to take ?" asked Anti boul. "A passive one. I shall look on. If necessary, I will "My son!" he cried, prepared somewhat by a hint of protect the persons of Louis and Marie Antoinette," reAdela. "My father!" replied Charles Clement, rushing to his side. "Welcome, boy, welcome!" said the old Duke, sitting down beside him. The whole party drew at once around them; and it was deeply affecting to see the long greeting of that young, and that old man. They spoke long and warmly. Charles had to narrate rapidly all his adventures, which the Duke listened to with almost childish curiosity; while Adela and Miranda hung on the young man's words with an intense interest, which would have furnished an admirable subject for a picture. Suddenly, in the very midst of his narration, a loud knocking was heard at the door. Gracchus ran to open it, and Rose rushed in. Miranda had risen and faced her with an air of menace which made Charles Clement stand transfixed with surprise; but, as he noticed an almost imperceptible sign towards the Duke, he understood the meaning of her act. "Speak, girl. Some bad news?" said Miranda; and she added, in a low tone, "be cautious.” The girl, who was more excited than frightened, remembered her instructions never to relate any alarming news before the Duke. "There is a great crowd of people round the National Assembly, and they talk of coming under the window of the palace." "We will go see what it is," said Charles Clement, rising with Gracchus Antiboul; "remain ye all here until we return." They then promised to return rapidly, and moved to the door. Miranda followed them. "What is it?” she whispered. "Perhaps the death of the Monarchy," replied Charles Clement, in a low tone; "but, happen what may, you must not stir out." "I will not." “Are you afraid to remain locked in?" asked Charles. "Afraid of nothing you propose," replied Miranda, with unusual fire. "Then, God bless you, and watch over them. I shall lock you in, and take the key. Remain still, and fear nothing.” The two young men hurried out, locked the door behind them, noticed that it was thick and heavy, and rushed down stairs. It was a quarter past twelve o'clock. CHAPTER VII. THE INVASION OF THE PALACE. Charles Clement and Gracchus Antiboul soon reached|| the bottom of the stairs, and from the passage, on which they paused an instant, looked out upon the Tuileries garden. It was filling with a portion of the vast column which had defiled before the National Assembly after pre plied the other. A valet stood at the entrance of the chamber where the young men had that morning met their friends. "Where is the King?" asked Charles. "In here, Monsieur," replied the domestic, who looked fearfully alarmed. "Admit us," said Antiboul. The valet opened the door, and they entered. The King, the Queen, Madame Elizabeth, and the royal children, were congregated in the apartment. The whole party assembled round a small table. The King was pale; so was the Queen. "Welcome, gentlemen," said the Monarch. "I may, perhaps, learn from you the meaning of this." "It means, your Majesty, that fifty thousand armed men have surrounded your palace; and that if any resistance be made, the consequences may be fearful." "And if not ?" "The tumult will end in words. The leaders will present their address to your Majesty; and if their wishes be in future complied with, they will be satisfied." "But my wife-my children?" "Should the palace be invaded, and the populace enter, I have but one advice to give to your Majesty: Go forth to meet them alone, and leave the rest of your family here." "But they will be abandoned," answered the King. "My friend will remain with them; I will accompany your Majesty." I accept," said the King; "and now go you forth, and examine what is taking place." "But I have no free pass,” replied Charles Clement. The King took pen, ink, and paper. "Let pass the bearer, Charles Clement; and obey his orders in all things." Charles Clement coloured violently as Louis read the paper. The Republican, despite his knowledge of how just were the complaints of his party against the Monarch, felt a momentary pang at being the enemy of one who showed in him, in a moment of danger, so much confidence. He went out; and his pass giving him unlimited obedience and information, he soon found what was the actual state of affairs. A force, perfectly sufficient to have defended the palace, was drawn up in the great court of the Tuileries, and in the garden. Three regiments of regular troops, two squadrons of gendarmes, and several battalions of the National Guard, with very many cannon, could have held the palace with ease, unless the sedition had turned into an insurrection prepared for a siege. But Clement at once saw that no defence was intended. The people, the women, the children, called loudly to the soldiers, who promised not to fire; while the officers of the Commune, creatures of Petion, displayed the utmost sympathy with the movement. Three persons only tried to influence the troops to energetic action. These were Roederer, Aclocque, and De Romainvilliers. Charles Clement sided with no party. With sympathies in both camps, his pro▾ "I shall want no defence, I hope," answered the King, gently. vince was strict neutrality. His mission was only to try and save the lives of the Royal Family. To him they were but men and women, and the violation of their Two valets de chambre here took their station, one on dwelling but the right of other men and women whom, || each side of the closed door by which the insurgents were in his opinion, they had injured, betrayed, and outraged. || coming. They were named Hue and De Marchais. The garden of the Tuileries and the Place de Carrousel, were both in possession of the insurgents. Charles Clement was standing in conversation with the commander of the artillery, St. Prix, when the gates of the court were forced, and in came the mob rushing furiously on the palace of the King they hated. "Draw back the cannon to the door," shouted St. Prix. The artillery men replied by turning the cannon on the windows of the palace. Hun The next apartment was called the Salle des Nobles, and a terrific clamour was now heard within it. dreds of men were rushing into it with loud shouts. Next minute a terrific blow was struck against one of the panels, and it fell at the King's feet; while through the opening were thrust sticks, pikes, guns, and swords, while all the abuse which hate and suffering could imagine were showered on the head of Louis XVI. "Open the door," said the King, calmly; for in all cases "The chateau is taken," cried Charles Clement; and of danger his character seemed to rise far above its ordihe rushed in to inform the King. A few minutes brought him to the chamber in which he had left them. The whole party was in conversation. Nothing but a dull rumour reached them; but as Charles Clement entered by one door, the servants of the royal household came rushing in by another. "The castle is taken," cried one. “We shall all be murdered,” said another. "The troops have joined the people." "Silence! and shut the doors," thundered Charles Clement, in a voice which made every person start in astonishment. The servant stood uncertain a moment, and then obeyed. "What is the matter, Monsieur?” asked the King. "The chateau is in the hands of the populace; the troops have unloaded their arms, and nothing can save your Majesty but facing the mob, and thus disappointing the obscure agitators, who hope to find you hiding, and who would murder you in a corner." nary level; so much so, that had he been left to himself, with popular Ministers, he might have saved the Monarchy. The door opened, and the ringleaders of the column burst headlong in. The insurrection stood face to face with the King. Louis XVI. stood in the act, as it were, of advancing, his visage calm and serene; and the populace hesitated. The long ages of Monarchy under which the people had lived had made them look hitherto on the person of the Monarch as something sacred, and a few years of revolution could not at once wipe out this feeling which had been the origin and cause of so much misery and crime; for be| tween proper respect for a chief magistrate and their feelings, there is the difference of slavish submission and manly obedience. The small party who occupied the chamber took advantage of this moment of suspense to place themselves between the King and the crowd; and then, at the suggestion of Charles Clement, Louis XVI. moved, surrounded by "You cannot-must not go," cried Madame Elizabeth,|| his body-guard, to the Salon of the Eil de Boeuf, which, passionately. being large, admitted of more persons seeing and speaking with the King. The terrible crowd followed, and, just as they gained the apartment, a young and beautiful woman rushed, with dishevelled hair and tearful eyes, to place herself near the "There are two parties in this insurrection," said Charles Clement, firmly; "the heads of one party want only to let your Majesty see that the people is in earnest; and that if deceived and disappointed, it can be terrible. || Of these are myself and my friend. Another party wants || King. your head." "The Queen! the Queen!" cried some of the women of the Faubourgs. "Madame Veto!" said another. "Death to the Austrian!" shrieked a third. It was an awful moment. Two or three of the mob, infuriated at the name of the woman they so much hated, raised their arms, and rushed forward to strike. The King drew her towards him. Both were in peril of their lives. "It is Madame Elizabeth!" thundered Charles Clement, "Your presence would do the King more harm than striking the axe of a faubourien with his sword. good," observed Charles, gently. The arms fell down, and the crowd retreated respect Louis XVI. walked firmly towards the door. Charles fully. The King's sister was as much respected and loved moved beside him. In a few minutes they reached the Salle du Conseil. These were Marshal de Monchy, M. D'Hervilly, Acloc- "And we are here to defend you with our bodies," replied the Marshal de Monchy. as the Queen was hated. Charles took advantage of this movement to remove the Princess to an embrasure of a window in a corner. The King stood in the centre recess of the salon on a bench, the grenadiers at his feet warding off the pikes, scythes, and sticks which were waved about by the crowd. "Down with the Veto!" cried one. "The camp of Paris!" repeated others. "The Patriot Ministers!" cried others. "Where is the Austrian woman?" yelled some women of the Faubourgs. |
