The Peasant and the Prince

by Harriet Martineau

From this day forward the king met with insults whichever way he turned,—even at the doors of his own apartments. It was resolved by the National Assembly that all the men in France should be armed and wear a uniform, and be called the National Guard. One day the Dauphin’s footmen all appeared in this uniform, and the king’s porters, and almost every man about the palace. What displeased the king yet more was, that the singers in the royal chapel appeared in the same dress. It was absurd and shocking to see their part of divine service performed by men in the uniform of grenadiers. The king said so, and forbade that any person should appear in his presence again in that dress. But the time was past for the king’s orders to be obeyed. He was destined to grow weary enough of the sight of this uniform.

A great part of the king’s own guard had joined the revolutionary party; but one company remained, whose commanding officer was proud of their loyalty, and declared he could answer for its continuance. He was mistaken, however. One morning, at the end of July, when the royal family rose and looked out from their windows, they did not see a single sentinel anywhere about the palace. Such a sight had never been witnessed before as the palace of Versailles without a guard. On inquiry, it turned out that the whole company had marched away in the night, to join their former comrades in Paris.

During the month of August, crowds had at various times assembled in Paris, with the declared purpose of going to Versailles, to separate the king from his bad advisers, and to bring the little Dauphin to Paris, to be brought up better than he was likely to be at home. One would think that such assemblages and such declarations would alarm the king and queen, and cause them to make some preparations for putting themselves, or at least the Dauphin, in safety. Because these crowds were several times dispersed, however, the royal family appear to have thought nothing of the danger: and in September they committed an act of imprudence which brought upon them the worst that was threatened. The truth is, they were ignorant of all that it most concerned them to know. They did not understand the wants of the people, nor the depth of their discontent; nor had they any idea of the weakness, ignorance, and prejudice of the gentlemen and ladies about them, whose advice they asked, and on whose narrow views they acted. There were a few wise and good men in the nation who understood both sides of the question, and who were grieved for the hardships of the people, and for the sufferings of the royal family; and happy would it have been for all if the king and queen could have been guided by these advisers. The chief and best of these was that excellent patriot and loyal subject the Marquis Lafayette. While he was adored by the people, he did all in his power to aid and save the royal family; but, unhappily, the king distrusted him, and the queen could not endure him. She not only detested his politics, but declared that she believed him (the most honourable man in the world) to be a traitor, and laid on him the blame of misfortunes which he had no hand in causing, and for which he grieved.

The king had a regiment from Flanders on whom he was sure he could rely. It came into some one’s head that if this regiment and the faithless body-guard could be brought together, the loyalty of the latter might be revived and secured. So there was an entertainment given in the theatre of the palace of Versailles, where the soldiers of the two regiments were to make merry, sitting alternately at table. Such a feast, if every man there was loyal in the extreme, could signify little, while there was out of doors a whole rebellious nation,—millions of hungry wretches clamouring for food and good government; and, whether such a meeting signified much or little, it was certain that the king and his family, should have had nothing to do with it, after he had been to Paris to assure the people of his reliance upon them, assuming their cockade as a declaration that he was in earnest.

The friends of the royal family thought this,—even the queen’s own ladies. One of them was requested by the queen to enter the theatre, and observe what passed, in order to report it to the king and her. What was the surprise of this lady, when in the midst of the entertainment, the doors were thrown open, and their majesties appeared, the queen having the Dauphin in her arms! The sight of them, looking gratified and trustful, roused all the loyalty of the soldiers present; and some imprudent acts were done. The queen’s ladies handed white cockades to the officers; the party drank the healths of the king and queen, omitting that of the nation; they cheered the loyal air, “O, Richard! O my king, the world is all forsaking thee:” and the whole company were presently in a delirium of hope, and of defiance of the people of Paris. The queen afterwards declared in public that she was delighted with the Thursday’s entertainment; and this set the people inquiring what had delighted her so much. They made many inquiries. “Why was this Flanders regiment brought to Versailles?”

“How did it happen that the king had at present double the usual number of his Swiss guards?”

“Where were all those foreign officers from, who were seen in the streets in strange uniforms?” The people, exasperated afresh by finding that, though the harvest was over, there was still a scarcity of bread, were in a temper to believe the worst that was told them; and it seems now very probable that much of it was true. They were told that these same soldiers had breakfasted together, and that they had planned to march upon the National Assembly, and destroy it. They heard a report that the king meant to go away to Metz, and to return at the head of an army, and to crush all those who had risen against him. Nothing could now prevent the people from doing what they had threatened—going to Versailles, to separate the king from his evil counsellors, and bring the Dauphin to Paris. Some went further than this, saying to General Lafayette that the king was too weak to reign; that they would destroy his guards, make him lay down his crown, and declare the Dauphin king, with Lafayette and others to manage the affairs of the empire till the boy should be of age.

This was said to Lafayette on the morning of the 5th of October. Grieved as he was to see that the mob were resolved to go to Versailles, he saw what he must do, since he could not keep them back. He detained them as long as he could by speeches and arguments, while he sent messengers by every road to Versailles, to give notice of what might be expected; and he declared his intention of leading the march when the people could be detained no longer. Several of his messengers were stopped: but some who went by by-roads reached Versailles, and gave the alarm. Meantime, he contrived to make the march so slow, as that he and his thirty thousand followers were nine hours going the twelve miles to Versailles. Lest the royal family should not be gone, as he hoped, he made the crowd halt on the ridge of the hill which overlooked Versailles, and swear, with their right hands lifted up towards heaven, to respect the king’s dwelling, and be faithful to the orders of the Assembly they themselves had chosen. Unhappily, all he did was of little use. He arrived at near midnight; but another mob—a mob of women, savage because their children were hungry—had been in possession of Versailles since three in the afternoon.

Though it became rainy during the latter half of the day, so that the thousands out of doors were all wet to the skin, the morning had been fair; and the king went out hunting, as usual, while the queen spent the morning at her favourite little estate of Trianon. The Dauphin was at home, with his new governess, the Marchioness de Tourzel, little dreaming, poor child, that there were people already on the road from Paris who wanted to make him a king instead of his father. One of the ministers hearing unpleasant rumours, took horse, and went to try to find the king. He met him in the woods, some way from home, and conjured him to make haste back. The king, however, rode as slowly as possible, till more messengers appeared with news that a mob of desperate women was actually entering the avenue. Then he had to spur his horse; and he arrived safe. The queen had returned before him. She had been sitting, alone and disconsolate, in her grotto at Trianon, reflecting on the miserable prospects of her family, when a line was brought to her from one of the ministers, begging that she would hasten home. As soon as the king returned, orders were given to have the carriages ready at the back doors of the palace; and the children (kept out of sight) were equipped for a journey.

The want of decision in the royal movements, as usual, ruined everything. When the king had received and dismissed a deputation of the women, there was a shout of “Long live the king!” and he then thought it would not be necessary to go. Not long afterwards, when the people were seen to be as angry as ever, and to be insulting the royal guard, the carriages were again ordered. Some of them, empty, attempted to pass the back gates, to ascertain whether others might follow with the family: but the mob were now on the watch, and the carriages were turned back. The hour for escape was gone by.