He never appears to have thought of the possible execution of the Queen herself.
“He is no coward,” she said of the King; “but he is calm in the presence of danger. His courage is in his heart, only it does not show itself—he is so timid.”
The family now only showed themselves when going to church on Sunday, and then they were assailed with cries of “No King!” Louis said it was as though God himself had turned against him.
One night, a chamber-valet, who slept at the Queen’s door, was awakened, to find an assassin, dagger in hand, stealing into the Queen’s room.
Murders now became quite common. One D’Epremesnil, who had been a great favorite with the people, showed signs of moderation. Suddenly turned upon by the mob, he was cut down, dragged through the gutters, and was about to be thrown into a common sewer, when he was rescued by a squad of the National Guard. As he lay dying, Pétion, the Mayor of Paris, looked upon him, and fainted. Recovering his senses, the victim said to the Mayor, “And I—I, too, was once the idol of the people! May you meet with a better fate!”
The sound of the soul-stirring “Marseillaise” had maddened Paris. The hourly news of the march of the Prussians upon France fatally intensified that hatred of all who were favorable to royalty—a hatred which was now about utterly to burst all bounds.
An almost complete insurrection was adjourned to August 10.
It was said by the people that Marie Antoinette daily cursed the people; that she had offered a pistol to the King, and prayed him to destroy himself: that she had vowed, sooner than leave the royal palace, she would be nailed to its walls.
In truth, she was battling with her natural royalty—defending the unemotional King, and endeavoring to take his place without intruding on his prerogative.
Meanwhile, the principal movers in the drama were being thinned by murder. Mandat, the commandant general, suspected of treachery rather than of duty, was shot down before his son’s eyes, and his body was cast into the Seine.