Marie Antoinette and the Downfall of Royalty

by Imbert de Saint-Amand

Pétion then went to the Tuileries, where he addressed the King nearly in these terms:—

"Sire, we learn that you have been warned of the arrival of a crowd at the palace. We come to announce that this crowd is composed of unarmed citizens who wish to set up a may-pole. I know, Sire, that the municipality has been calumniated; but its conduct will be understood by you."—"It ought to be by all France," responded Louis XVI.; "I accuse no one in particular, I saw everything."—"It will be," returned the mayor; "and but for the prudent measures taken by the municipality, much more disagreeable events might have occurred." The King attempted to reply, but Pétion, without listening to him, went on: "Not to your own person; you may well understand that it will always be respected." The King, unaccustomed to interruption when speaking, said in a loud voice: "Be silent!" There was silence for an instant, and then Louis XVI. added: "Is it what you call respecting my person to enter my house in arms, break down my doors and use force to my guards?"—"Sire," answered Pétion, "I know the extent of my duties and of my responsibility."—"Do your duty!" replied Louis XVI.; "You are answerable for the tranquillity of Paris. Adieu!" And the King turned his back on the mayor.

Pétion revenged himself that very evening, by circulating a rumor that the royal family were preparing to escape; in consequence, he requested the commanders of the National Guard to re-enforce the sentries and redouble their vigilance. The revolutionists, who had been disconcerted for a moment by popular indignation, raised their heads again. Prudhomme wrote in the Révolutions de Paris: "The Parisian people—yes, the people, not the aristocratic class of citizens—have just set a grand example to France. The King, at the instigation of Lafayette, discharged his patriotic ministers; he paralyzed by his veto the decree relative to the camp of twenty thousand men, and that on the banishment of priests. Very well! the people rose and signified to him their sovereign will that the ministers should be reinstated and these two murderous vetoes recalled.... Doubtless it will not be long before Europe will be full of a caricature representing Louis XVI. of the big paunch, covered with orders, crowned with a red cap, and drinking out of the same bottle with the sans-culottes, who are crying: 'The King is drinking, the King has drunk. He has the liberty cap on his head.' Would he might have it in his heart!"

Apropos of this red bonnet which remained for three hours on the sovereign's head, Bertrand de Molleville ventured to put some questions to Louis XVI. on the evening of June 21. According to the Memoirs of the former Minister of Marine, this is what the King replied: "The cries of 'Long live the Nation' increasing in violence and seeming to be addressed to me, I answered that the nation had no better friend than I. Then an ill-looking man, thrusting himself through the crowd, came close to me and said in a rude tone: 'Very well! if you are telling the truth, prove it to us by putting on this red cap.' 'I consent,' said I. Instantly one or two of these people advanced and placed the cap on my hair, for it was too small for my head to enter it. I was convinced, I don't know why, that their intention was simply to place this cap on my head and then retire, and I was so preoccupied with what was going on before my eyes, that I did not notice whether it was there or not. So little did I feel it that after I had returned to my chamber I did not observe that I still wore it until I was told. I was greatly astonished to find it on my head, and was all the more displeased because I could have taken it off at once without the least difficulty. But I am convinced that if I had hesitated to receive it, the drunken man by whom it was presented would have thrust his pike into my stomach."

During the same interview Bertrand de Molleville congratulated the King upon his almost miraculous escape from the dangers of the previous day. Louis XVI. replied: "All my anxieties were for the Queen, my children and my sister; because I feared nothing for myself."—"But it seems to me," rejoined his interlocutor, "that this insurrection was aimed chiefly against Your Majesty."—"I know it very well," returned Louis XVI.; "I saw clearly that they wanted to assassinate me, and I don't know why they did not do it; but I shall not escape them another day. So I have gained nothing; it is all the same whether I am assassinated now or two months from now!"—"Great God!" cried Bertrand de Molleville, "does Your Majesty believe that you will be assassinated?"—"I am convinced of it," replied the King; "I have expected it for a long time and have accustomed myself to the thought. Do you think I am afraid of death?"—"Certainly not, but I would desire Your Majesty to take vigorous measures to protect yourself from danger."—"It is possible," went on the King after a moment of reflection, "that I may escape. There are many odds against me, and I am not lucky. If I were alone I would risk one more attempt. Ah! if my wife and children were not with me, people should see that I am not so weak as they fancy. What would be their fate if the measures you propose to me did not succeed?"—"But if they assassinate Your Majesty, do you think that the Queen and her children would be in less danger?"—"Yes, I think so, and even were it otherwise, I should not have to reproach myself with being the cause."

A sort of Christian fanaticism had taken possession of the King's soul. Resigned to his fate, he ceased to struggle, and wrote to his confessor: "Come to see me to-day; I have done with men; I want nothing now but heaven."

[[1]] Listen, heaven, to the prayer
That here I make:
Preserve so good a father
To his subjects.