Marie Antoinette and Her Son

by L. Mühlbach

In the mean time, close upon the opening of the National Assembly that morning, stormy debates had begun about the new steps which they were going to take with the monarch.

Count Mirabeau had just been breaking out into an anathema in flaming words about the holiday which the king had given to the new regiments, when the Duke de Liancourt, who that moment entered the hall, advanced to the speaker's desk and announced that the king was just on the point of coming to the Assembly. The greatest amazement, followed immediately by intense disquiet, was expressed on all sides at hearing this. Men sprang up from their places and formed scattered groups to talk over this unexpected circumstance and come to an understanding in advance. They spoke in loud, angry words about the reception which should be given to the king in the National Assembly, when Mirabeau sprang upon the tribune, and, with his voice towering above every other sound, cried that "mere silent respect should be the only reception that we give to the monarch. In a moment of universal grief, silence is the true lesson of kings." [Footnote: Mirabeau's own words.—See "Memoires du Comte de Mirabeau," vol. ii., p. 301.]

A resounding bravo accompanied these words, which appeared to produce the deepest impression upon all parties in the Assembly.

Before the room was silent, the king, accompanied by his brothers, but with no other retinue besides, entered the hall. Notwithstanding all the plans and efforts which had been made, his appearance at this moment wrought so powerfully that, as soon as they saw him, the cry "Long live the king!" was taken up and repeated so often as to make the arched ceiling ring.

The king stood in the midst of the Assembly, bearing himself modestly and with uncovered head. He did not make use of an arm- chair which was placed for him, but remained standing, as, without any ceremony, he began to address the Assembly with truly patriarchal dignity. When at the very outset he said that as the chief of the nation, as he called himself, he had come with confidence to meet the nation's representatives, to testify his grief for what had happened, and to consult them respecting the re- establishing of peace and order, a pacified expression appeared upon almost all faces.

With gentle and almost humble bearing the king then entered upon the suspicions that had been breathed, that the persons of the deputies were not safe. With the tone of an honest burgher he referred to his own "well-known character," which made it superfluous for him to dismiss such a suspicion. "Ah!" he cried, "it is I who have trusted myself to you! Help me in these painful circumstances to strengthen the welfare of the state. I expect it of the National Assembly."

Then with a tone of touching kindness he said: "Counting upon the love and fidelity of my subjects, I have given orders to the troops to withdraw from Paris and Versailles. At the same time I commission and empower you to convey these my orders to the capital."

The king now closed his address, which had been interrupted by frequent expressions of delight and enthusiasm, but which was received at the close with a thunder of universal applause. After the Archbishop of Brienne had expressed the thanks of the Assembly in a few words, the king prepared to leave the hall. At that instant all present rose in order to follow the king's steps. Silently the whole National Assembly became the retinue of the king, and accompanied him to the street.

The king wished to return on foot to the palace. Behind him walked the National Assembly in delighted, joyful ranks. The startling importance of the occasion seemed to have overpowered the most hostile and the most alienated An immense crowd of people, which had gathered before the door of the hall, seeing the king suddenly reappear in the midst of the whole National Assembly, broke into jubilant cries of delight. The shouts, "Long live the king! Long live the nation!" blended in a harmonious concord which rang far and wide. Upon the Place d'Armes were standing the gardes du corps, both the Swiss and the French, with their arms in their hands. But they, too, were infected with the universal gladness, as they saw the procession, whose like had never been seen before, move on.

The cries which to-day solemnized the happy reconciliation of the king and the people now were united with the discordant clang of trumpets and the rattle of drums on all sides.