It was at St. Cloud that Marie Antoinette held her famous interview with Mirabeau. As she felt the spell of his genius, so he rendered homage to her majesty. The interview lasted an hour, and Mirabeau closed it with the words: “Madame, when the empress, your mother, admitted one of her subjects to the honor of her presence, she did not take leave of him without allowing him to kiss her hand.” Marie Antoinette held out her hand. “Madame,” exclaimed Mirabeau, “the monarchy is saved!” But opportunity was not given him to keep or break his pledge. Under the sweet April sunshine of 1791, Mirabeau breathed his last. His death paralyzed the hopes of the king, and he now resolved to spare no endeavors to secure his escape; and so in the darkness of midnight, on the 20th of June, 1791, the king, the queen, Madame Elizabeth, the two royal children, and Madame Tourzel, their governess, escaped silently from the palace of Tuileries, and entering their carriages, which stood ready, drove rapidly away. Alas for fond hopes! Through the king’s want of caution, the royal family were recognized at Varennes, arrested, and brought back to Paris. Ah, the humiliations of that long and weary, crowd-encompassed, dust-enveloped journey back to Paris! Threats, imprecations, and torrents of abuse were hurled upon the royal family from all sides. More than this they could not do, for a forest of glittering bayonets surrounded the royal carriage. It was by the glaring light of the torches that the sorrowful cortège entered Paris, and under a canopy of glistening steel the royal family ascended once more the marble staircase of the Tuileries Palace.
A year has rolled away. The 20th of June, 1792, has passed,—that day of horrors on which the mob, with shouts of “Vive la nation!” broke into and rushed through the palace of the Tuileries; that day on which the queen was exposed for hours to insults, abuses, and derisive jests; that day on which the king was made to place upon his royal brow the red cap of the Jacobins, while the mob, exulting in their victory, cried loudly: “Vive le roi!” Poor Louis! As he entered the apartment of the queen, after the rabble had been cleared from the palace, he saw, in the reflection of a mirror, the bonnet rouge upon his head, and flinging it upon the ground, he turned to the queen, exclaiming, with a burst of tears: “Ah! madame, it was not to see me thus insulted that I brought you from Vienna.”
How different were the days when the boy and girl met on that bright spring morning at Compiègne, and hunted, danced, quarrelled, and kissed again, in the old, luxurious times at Versailles and Marly, Fontainebleau and Choisy-le-Roi!
The 10th of August has arrived. The streets are swarming with a frenzied multitude. All Paris is marching toward the Tuileries, for the mob have declared that unless the dethronement of the king is procured, they will sack the palace. The peal of bells, the clangor of drums, the rumbling of artillery wheels, and the shouts of the advancing bands fill the air.
From every direction, east, west, north and south, the portentous booming of the tocsin is heard, and the infuriated insurgents, in numbers which cannot be counted, through all the streets and avenues are pouring toward the palace.
The spectacle aroused the energies of Marie Antoinette, and as she entered the apartment where her “pauvre homme” stood bewildered and submissive to his lot, she approached a grenadier, and drawing a pistol from his belt, presented it to the king, exclaiming, “Now, sire, now is the time to show yourself a king!”
But there was nothing imperial in the nature of Louis XVI. With a passive meekness, which it is difficult to understand, he took the pistol and quietly handed it back to the grenadier.
It was five o’clock of one of the most brilliant of summer mornings as the king, followed by the queen, and accompanied by six staff officers, descended the marble stairs and entered the courtyard to review the troops and ascertain the spirit with which they were animated. The music of martial bands greeted him, the polished weapons of the soldiers glittered in the sun as they presented arms, and a few voices rather languidly shouted: “Vive le roi!” Others, however, shouted defiantly: “Vive la nation!” thus showing that many of those who were marshalled for his defence were ready to unite with his assailants. Had the king been a spirited man, in uniform, mounted on horseback, he would have roused their enthusiasm, for the French have always loved the vrai chevalier. But fat, awkward Louis was well calculated to excite no other emotion than that of compassion blended with contempt.
“The appearance of the queen in this terrible hour riveted every eye, and excited even the enthusiasm of her foes. Her flushed cheek, dilated nostril, compressed lip, and flashing eye invested her with an imperial beauty almost more than human. Her head was erect, her carriage proud, her step dignified, and she looked around her upon applauding friends and assailing foes with a majesty of courage which touched every heart. Even the most ardent patriots forgot, for the moment, their devotion to liberty, in the enthusiasm excited by the heroism of the queen.”
On entering the palace Marie Antoinette exclaimed in despair, “All is lost! The king has shown no energy. A review like this has done us more harm than good.”