That song drove revolutionary France mad, and took from the royal family all hope of mercy.
The royal family, however, were still at the Palace of the Tuileries; and while they remained there, the semblance of royalty was kept up—albeit, in fact, they were utterly prisoners.
The Queen, early in August, still utterly relied upon Lafayette, who did not disguise his desire to retain the monarchy, under a protectorate—he himself to be the Protector.
“Mistrust Lafayette,” had said Mirabeau; but the Queen’s faith was strong, and her confidence hastened events.
However, one Gaudet, only twenty years of age, was rising to power amongst the Girondists; and he having intimated that he felt great interest in the royal family, matters were so managed that he had an interview with Marie Antoinette, who, poor lady, took him by the hand, and led him to the little cot in which her child was sleeping.
“Educate him to liberty, madame,” said the orator. “It is the one condition of his life.”
He kissed the child. Nine months afterwards he was one of those who sent the King and Queen to the scaffold.
The royal family were now prohibited from shutting a door, and so much did they dread poison, that they only pretended to eat of the dishes prepared and set before them, and really subsisted upon cakes, and other food brought to them in the pockets of their attendants, who purchased the eatables at obscure shops.
The Queen made the King wear as a breastplate fifteen-fold silk; but while the poor man complied, he said, “They will not assassinate me, but put me to death like a King, in open daylight.”