One dreadful occurrence struck terror to the hearts of the poor fugitives, and gave them a chill foreboding of the horrors in store for them. On a hillside near the village of Han, a brave nobleman, the Marquis de Dampierre, rode up to greet the King as he passed. Louis conversed with him for some moments, and, as they parted with mutual good wishes, M. de Dampierre bowed low and reverently kissed the hand of his unhappy sovereign. This token of respect was his death-warrant, for scarcely had the loyal noble left the coach door when savage voices shouted to him to halt, and as he unsuspectingly obeyed, the mob fell upon him in a fury, tore him from his horse, and slaughtered him without pity before the eyes of the royal family. His head was cut off and carried on the end of a spear for some distance in front of their coach, as a trophy.
In the midst of such atrocities, it is gratifying to hear of one instance which proves there were still pure and noble hearts even in those frightful times.
Young Cazotte was the commander of the National Guard in the village of Piercy, and it was his duty to receive the King at Épernay, where a stop was to be made at the Hotel Rohan. Cazotte’s men guarded the entrance to this palace, and he exacted a solemn promise from them to allow no one but the authorities to enter. Scarcely were these measures taken when the King’s coach arrived, almost borne along by the waves of people. The prisoners alighted amid a storm of curses, jeers, and insults, directed especially against the Queen.
“Ignore this madness, madame; God is over all!” said Cazotte to her in German.
A grateful glance was her only answer as she stepped forward, followed by her daughter, Madame Élisabeth, and Madame de Tourzel, the crowd pressing close behind them. The little Dauphin was carried by one of the soldiers. He was crying and calling for his mother, who was out of sight. Cazotte took him in his arms and tried to soothe him, but his tears did not cease to flow until he was carried into the room where the Queen had been taken. Cazotte’s delicate solicitude for the royal family did not end even here; regardless of what the consequences might be, he found a seamstress to repair their clothing, which had been torn and trampled on by the mob, furnished them with refreshments and such conveniences as he was able to obtain, and did all in his power to add to their comfort till their departure put an end to his unselfish and kindly service.
Between Épernay and Dormans they met the commission sent out by the National Assembly, consisting of Barnave, Pétion, and the Marquis de Latour-Maubourg. They took their places in the coach, but Pétion and Latour-Maubourg only remained inside a short time, leaving Barnave alone with the travellers. Barnave[12] was one of the minor deputies of the people, who amid all the tumult and violence of the Assembly had preserved his nobility and tenderness of heart. He felt sincere pity for the unfortunate royal family, and, no longer restrained by the presence of his colleague, Pétion,[13] freely offered his sympathy. The Queen was touched by his considerate behavior, and joined in the conversation. Barnave, on the other hand, to whom the Queen had been painted in the most odious colors, was astonished to find her so different from what he had expected, and soon began to honor and respect those he had been taught to hate and despise. When the conversation ceased after a time, he took the little Prince on his knee and talked with the child, whose quick and lively, yet gentle, answers impressed him deeply.
“Are you not sorry to go back to Paris?” he asked.
“Oh, I am happy everywhere,” answered the Dauphin, “as long as I have my father and mamma with me, and my aunt, my sister, and Madame de Tourzel, too.”
“Ah, sir,” said the King to Barnave, “this is indeed a sad journey for me and for my children!”
The mournful tone in which these words were spoken moved the Dauphin deeply, and he took his father’s hand and kissed it. The King took him in his arms and pressed him to his heart.