What a tumult of disgust, fears, indignation, and overwhelming regrets must have occupied the Queen’s mind! It was difficult enough to maintain an outwardly calm, queenly demeanour; her thoughts must have been confused, half formed, reflecting the agitation of despair and anxiety. She knew only too well that she was looked upon as the political enemy of the crowd for reasons that were not altogether untrue. She had had a policy inconsistent with republicanism and, though worsted in it, the events of the last three years probably justified it in her own mind.
She inherited a belief in a strong rule, beneficent as her own kindly nature required, but one that could fight its battles and make full use of such opportunities as hereditary kingship possessed. Again and again she had felt that the King’s action was worse than nothing. Marie Antoinette would have sternly punished the crime of killing the King’s officials;[[82]] she would have upheld the sovereign office as long as there were those who prized it. The country could never have reached the present point of rebellion if the taking of the Bastille, for instance, had not been condoned and the murders and outrages connected with it had not been allowed to pass without adequate punishment. Why were the troops dismissed so soon after, and the nobles allowed to emigrate? It may have been right for the monarch to urge upon some of them the danger in which they stood by remaining, but where was their courage and loyalty in leaving the country?[[83]]
The sensation of loneliness was terrible. Where were the illustrious families and statesmen who had not left France, who, had the Queen only known it, were to go during the next year in one long procession to the scaffold? They were, she knew, paralysed by the King’s inaction and weakness. Surely they would have rallied had he called upon them with decision to defend their rights and had placed himself at their head, even though many of those princely families who had surrounded her during the first years of her reign had been alienated and in opposition to herself before the disaffection became general. Where were the faithful Swiss guards who only that morning had escorted them in safety to the Manège, and would have fought bravely and perhaps been the rallying point for all who were not declared democrats? Alas, alas, the sounds of screams and fiendish massacre were in her ears at the moment; cannon, musketry, and cold-blooded carnage were then and there destroying the last stronghold! The tiny loge, only 10 feet square, so painfully hot and full of comers and goers, seemed to the despairing Queen empty of all who should have been there to represent the monarchical principle. The presence of the Prince de Poix and the Duc de la Rochefoucauld and a few others, who were endangering their lives by being with them, only emphasised the forlornness of the royal condition.
Looking from her dismal corner in the loge at the King, who sat with impassive mien facing the assembly, what waves of painful emotion must have swept across her brain! The King could not see things from her point of view, but he had loved and spoilt her. He had been faithful to her, as no French monarch for many generations had been loyal to his wife. He was devoted to her and to their children; had paid her debts again and again;[[84]] had ennobled and enriched her friends; his patience and magnanimity were saintly; but how often had she raged against his theory that the King’s duty was to set an example of lofty forbearance and forgiveness of every injury even when done to him as representing the law, justice, and power of the whole French peoples. She had instinctively felt that had she been in the King’s place she would have found her way through the past crises without either descending from her throne or doing wrong to the most Christian charity. She knew that she was kind-hearted, and had always loved to be the benefactress of others: yes, she too could forgive royally when forgiveness was due from her in her own person, but not when it required injustice to others.
But Marie Antoinette was too clear-sighted to impute all the blame of this downfall to the King’s mistakes. No doubt his feeble idea had been to behave as though the democrats only were the nation, forgetting the contrary view of those who had either banished themselves or who were perforce silent unless he could lead the way. To obey every behest of the Legislative Assembly and of the mob showed a lamentable lack of wisdom, but even such a poor policy had brought him an undoubted though fleeting popularity. He had appeared to take the side of the opponents of monarchy; he had divested himself of prerogatives; had sworn to a Constitution beyond his power to carry out, and had submitted to the indignity of placing the red bonnet on his head; but had she not helped to make all this short-sighted weakness even more unavailing than it need have been? What was the use of humbling the aristocracy along with himself, and of acting against his own convictions, if at the same time he consented to plans for escaping, and was known to be so far untrustworthy to his own professions that at every crisis he listened to her incessant urgings to the more spirited policy, by which he could instantly rally the royal forces?
Bitterly she knew that she had never prevailed to overcome his fatal belief that the King was never to shed the blood of a Frenchman, even if he were a disturber of the public peace; but she had ever to bear the blame of every mistake. She thought of that terrible message sent only two hours ago at the bidding of the Assembly that their guards were not to defend themselves, but to disarm.[[85]] Only this morning there were 600 Swiss and 200 gentlemen, and even companies of the national guard whom they could trust, but whispered reports had reached even the loge that their noble supporters had died unsoldierly and cold-blooded deaths. There was no longer any nucleus in the country of loyalty to the consecrated ruler.
There was nothing now to prevent the passing of the formal decree by which she heard the King finally deprived of the crown and of every vestige of authority. Though Louis XVI. appeared unheeding and expressionless, could she bear this indignity, this wrong to her son? Could they not escape from this wicked durance? But she had consented to this surrender to their enemies in the hope of saving her son’s life. It had been the only chance. As long as they were in some shelter from the howling savages outside who were screaming for their blood, the life of her son was secure. She had long accustomed herself to the thought of being assassinated, but there was no fear of a judicial murder; no government of France would sink to such a point of wickedness and unwisdom in the face of a united Europe.[[86]] They would be condemned to more years of miserable bondage, but they would be together; friends would rally; circumstances would clear themselves. The Queen had it in her still to do and dare everything if there were any hope of surmounting the present crisis.
If she might only act! But no, the Queen’s heart sank again as the numbing sense of helplessness came over her, remembering that she would not be allowed to act. It was always the King who had the last word. She might plan, but he, with all his love and confidence in her, invariably thwarted every attempt requiring some spirit of defiance. He had ruined the Varennes scheme by letting himself be recognised at critical moments. Why did he review the guards that morning, and make it unavailing by omitting to speak words of courage and confidence? Why did he seek the protection of his enemies rather than fire on the mob, which an hour later fled away at the volleys fired by the Swiss?[[87]] No, there was no hope of contending against the difficulties imposed on their party by the inertia of the King. And now things had gone so far, perhaps he had no choice but to advise obedience when the Assembly decreed that the few friends outside their household who had pressed into the loge should no longer hold communication with them, but should retire. More than once during those sad hours they had to see faithful servants bleeding and with torn clothes judged at the bar of the Assembly for having defended them.[[88]] The handkerchief that was handed to the Queen in the place of her own, which was soaked with tears, in order that she might wipe the drops of sweat off the brow of the young Dauphin, was tinged with blood.[[89]]
Exhausted by horror and disappointment, what strength remained to the Queen must have spent itself in thoughts for her little son, who with touching obedience was trying to be “bien sage avec ces vilains hommes.”[[90]] If she was personally helpless to save his crown, surely the Kings of Europe would see to it. Again hope revived at the thought of a successful war already beginning. The false moves of the last years perhaps only meant at the worst, that though she and the King had to die at the hands of an enraged but defeated France, the boy would escape. With victorious armies surrounding Paris, there would be those within who would then be roused to get the lad into the protection of friends. Surely God would help him then!
But what if everything should fail? Fatality had overtaken every reasonable hope since this terrible revolution had begun. There were forces of mysterious and terrific magnitude, which seemed to her to be bearing away everything that had been stable hitherto. Her ignorance of what constituted these forces increased their terror for her. During the two hours when the deputies separately repeated the words of the oath to maintain liberty, equality, or die, the Queen in utter weariness tried to penetrate the mystery of that fatality which seemed to overtake royalty in France, and herself in particular. Perhaps for a moment she realised that had she seriously studied history some light might have come as to the meaning of this crushing movement. The volumes of Hume’s History of England, which in early days had been carelessly listened to, conveyed little to her inattentive mind.[[91]] She did not know even the history of France intelligently enough to be able to guess whether the enveloping force owed its strength to anything which could have been foreseen. Was there anyone who could have foreseen this trend of events, when it was only last year that the Constitution had been applauded to the skies as the consummation of political wisdom?[[92]]