IBRARY 
 
 JNIVERSITY Of 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 AN DIEGO 
 
 J
 
 
 

 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 A THRILLING 
 
 NARRATIVE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION OF 1792. 
 
 BY 
 
 ALEXANDER 4>UMAS. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE COUNT OP MONTE CRtSTO," "THE THREE GUARDSMEN ," "TWENTY 
 
 TEARS AFTER,'' " BR AIJEI.ONNE ; THE SON OF ATHOS," "THE CHEVALIER,'' 
 
 "THE MEMOIRS OF A PHTSIOI AN," " ADV ENTURES OF A MARQUIS," "CAMILLEJ 
 
 OR, THE FATE OF A COQUETTE," "FORTY-FIVE GUARDSMEN," "LOUISE 
 
 LA VALLIERE," " COUNTESS OF CHARNT," " QUEEN'S NECKLACE," 
 
 " THE IRON HAND," "THE IRON MASK," "ANDRE DE TAVEKNET," 
 
 "ED.MOND DANl'ES," "SIX YEARS LATER," ETC., ETC., ETC. 
 
 "March on! march on! On chilup.en op the land, 
 The DAI, THE HOUR of glory, is at hand!" 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 
 
 306 CHESTNUT STREET.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by 
 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court <>f tlie United States, iu and for the 
 Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 
 
 ALEXANDER DUMAS' GREAT WORKS. 
 
 COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO. $1 50 
 
 THE IRON MASK 1 00 
 
 LOUISE LA YALL1ERE. 1 00 
 
 ADVENTURES OF MARQUIS. 1 00 
 
 DIANA OF MERIDOR 1 00 
 
 THE THREE GUARDSMEN.... 75 
 
 TWENTY YEARS AFTER 75 
 
 BRA GELONNE, SON OF A TnOS 75 
 
 CAMILLE, CAMELIA LADY.... 1 50 
 
 Above are in pajter cover, 
 
 EDMOND DANTES. 75 
 
 THE FALLEN ANGEL 75 
 
 FEL1NA DE CHAMBURE. 75 
 
 THE HORRORS OF PARIS..... 75 
 
 SKETCHES IN FRANCE 75 
 
 ISABEL OF BAVARIA 75 
 
 THE CORSICA N BROTHERS 50 
 
 THE COUNT OF MORET. 50 
 
 MEMOIRS OF A PHYSICIAN. $1 00 
 
 THE QUEEN'S NECKLACE..... 100 
 
 SLY YEARS LATER 1 00 
 
 COUNTESS DE CHARNY 1 00 
 
 ANDREE DE TAVERNEY. 1 00 
 
 FORTY-FIVE GUARDSMEN... 75 
 
 THE IRON HAND 75 
 
 THE CHEVALIER 1 00 
 
 THE CONSCRIPT. 1 50 
 
 or in cloth, at $1.75 each. 
 
 MAN WITH FIVE WIVES. 75 
 
 THE TWIN LIEUTENANTS.... 75 
 ANNETTE, LADY OF PEARLS. 50 
 
 MOHICANS OF PARIS 50 
 
 GEORGE; OR THE PLANTER 
 
 OF THE ISLE OF FRANCE. 50 
 
 THE MARRIAGE VERDICT.... 50 
 
 BURIED ALIVE 25 
 
 Above books are for sale by all Booksellers. Copies of any or 
 all of the above books will be sent to any one, to any place, post- 
 age pre-paid, oh receipt of their price by the Publishers, 
 
 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 
 
 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 rolotrtu. 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 I. — HOW M. DUMAS CAME TO WRITE THESE MEMOIRS 23 
 
 A MAN OF THE PEOPLE. 
 
 (RENE BESSOX.) 
 
 I.— CONCERNING HIS PARENTAGE AND HIS EARLY 
 
 YOUTH 27 
 
 II. — THE FIRST SEEDS OF A POLITICAL FAITH 82 
 
 III. — A STRANGER OF INFLUENCE TURNS UP 34 
 
 IV. — I EDUCATE MYSELF FOR CONTINGENCIES 39 
 
 V. — I BREAK WITH THE ARISTOCRACY 41 
 
 VI. — THE NATION AND THE BASTILLE. — VERDICT FOR 
 
 THE FORMER 44 
 
 VII. — CONCERNING THE BASTILLE 48 
 
 VIII. — THE DUKE D'ENGHIEN'S LAST DAY'S SPORT 51 
 
 IX. — I GO TO MAKE CAPTIVES AND AM TAKEN CAP-... 
 
 TI VE MYSELF 56 
 
 X. — TOUCHING MADEMOISELLE SOPHIE 66 
 
 XI. — WHAT " BROTHERHOOD " MEANT 70 
 
 XII. — WHAT PASSED IN THE FOREST 75 
 
 XIII. — THE PEOPLE IN COUNCIL 79 
 
 XIV. — MY NEW PARISIAN FRIENDS S3 
 
 XV. — I GO TO THE JACOBINS' CLUB 88 
 
 XVI. — PARIS BEFORE THE REVOLUTION 93 
 
 XVII. — I ATTEND A MEETING AT THE CORDELIERS 93
 
 20 CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapter rage 
 
 XVIII. — THE II -MAI. i: ELEMENT IN POLITICS 102 
 
 XIX.— THE FIELD OF THE FEDERATION 106 
 
 XX.— I GO BACK AGAIN 11C 
 
 XXI. — I EXCHANGE MV GUN FOR THE PLANE 115 
 
 XXIL— MY NEW LIFE UNDER SOPHIE'S FATHER 117 
 
 XXIIL— THE ARRIVAL OF THE DRAGOONS 122 
 
 XXIV. — THE NIGHT OF THE 21ST OF AUGUST, 1791 128 
 
 XXV. — THE TRAGEDY OF ROYALTY BEGINS 134 
 
 XXVI. — WHAT HAPPENED AT PARIS BEFORE THE DE- 
 PARTURE 145 
 
 XXVII. — HOW THEY SET OUT 148 
 
 XXVIIL— THE ROAD 155 
 
 XXIX. — STILL IN FLIGHT 106 
 
 XXX. — WHAT HAPPENED IN THE GROCER'S LITTLE SHOP 175 
 
 XXXI. — THE RETURN OF ROYALTY IN ARREST 180 
 
 XXXIL— WHAT M. DE BOUILLE DID IN THE MEANTIME... 187 
 
 XXXIII. — AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE TURNS UP 189 
 
 XXXIV. — THE CRITICS CRITICISED 195 
 
 XXXV. — IS LOVE ETERNAL 19G 
 
 XXXVI.— BARN AVE AND PETION 202 
 
 XXXVII.— PARIS 206 
 
 XXXVIII. — I RESUME MY ORIGINAL PROFESSION 212 
 
 XXXIX.— TOUCHING THE PRINCESS LAMBALLE 219 
 
 XL. — THE TIDE RISES 224 
 
 XLI. — CONCERNING THE BILL OF FORFEITURE 229 
 
 XLIL — WHAT TOOK PLACE BETWEEN THE HAIRDRESSER 
 
 AND THE INVALID 234 
 
 XLIII. — THE RED FLAG 239 
 
 XLIV. — THE MASSACRE OF THE CHAMP DE MARS 245 
 
 XLV. — ROBESPIERRE PAYS A VISIT TO M. DUPLAY 249 
 
 XL VI. — INSTALLATION 254 
 
 XL VII. — A BREAK 259 
 
 XLVIII. — THE THREAT IS LOUDER 265 
 
 XLIX. — THE KING QUITS THE TUILERIES 274 
 
 L. — THE MASSACRES OF SEPTEMBER 281
 
 CONTENTS. 21 
 
 Chapter rage 
 
 LI. — THE KING'S TRIAL PROCEEDED WITH 21)7 
 
 MI. — NEAR THE BLOCK 307 
 
 Mil. — THE SACRIFICE OF BEOOD 315 
 
 LIV.— EXECUTION OF LOUIS XVI 323 
 
 LV. — WHAT FOLLOWS 327 
 
 L VI.— THE REIGN OF TERROR 330 
 
 LVII. — WHOLESALE MASSACRE 336 
 
 LVIII. — MARIE ANTOINETTE 346 
 
 LIX. — MARIE ANTOINETTE FINDS PEACE AT LAST 349 
 
 LX. — THE TWENTY-TWO 356 
 
 LXI. — THE RED FLAG 360 
 
 LXIL— THE BLOOD OF WOMEN 365 
 
 LXIIL— ROBESPIERRE FALLS 370
 
 LOVE AND LIBEHTY. 
 
 jwlcrmw. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HOW M. DUMAS CAME TO WRITE THESE MEMOIRS. 
 
 Of all the remarkably interesting events connected with 
 the French Revolution, perhaps the one most worthy of 
 notice is the flight of Louis XVI, and his capture at Var- 
 ennes. 
 
 At the time when I determined to take the trip of which 
 I will give you some details, and which put me in posses- 
 sion of the memoirs I am about to publish — that is to say, 
 about the 19th of June, 1856 — I had read almost all that 
 had been written concerning the above-mentioned flight. 
 
 I wish to start from Chalons, because from the fact of 
 the King being recognized there, came the train of events 
 which ended at Varennes on the evening of his arrest. 
 
 The capture of Louis at Varennes was the culminating 
 point of royalty. For although it took seven hundred and 
 four years to arrive at Varennes, it took but nineteen 
 months to descend from Varennes to the Place de la Revo- 
 lution. 
 
 It is not because the heads of three persons, who were 
 in the carriage that took royalty to the precipice, fell on 
 the scaffold, that we mark out the event as the greatest in 
 the French Revolution, and, indeed, in the whole history 
 of France. No ! It is because the arrest of the King in 
 
 (23)
 
 24 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 the little town of Varennes, unknown on the 22nd of June, 
 and on the morrow fatally immortalized, was the source of 
 the political convulsions which have since occurred. 
 
 My resolution to go to Varennes once taken, I started 
 from Paris on the 19th of June, 1856, and on the 20th of the 
 same month, at one o'clock next morning, I arrived at Cha- 
 lons. 
 
 I was, as you know, in search of details actually seen by 
 eye-witnesses. I soon discovered two old men who could 
 give me the necessary information. One was a Monsieur 
 Ricaise, at Chalons — one of the postilions who drove the 
 King; the other, Monsieur Mathieu, notary, at St. Merie- 
 hould, who had seen the horses changed at the moment 
 that Drouet recognized the King. 
 
 But it was especially necessary to discover some one at 
 Varennes who remembered some incidents connected with 
 the affair ; because at Varennes occurred the most dramatic 
 part of the whole catastrophe. 
 
 I first asked a keeper of the records whether he knew 
 any one who had seen the King, and assisted to arrest 
 him ? 
 
 He mentioned Colonel Rene Besson. 
 
 I asked him to give me his address. 
 
 " I will do better," said he, — " I will take you to him." 
 
 At the very moment that we entered by the Rue de 
 l'Horloge, that place where Louis XVI was arrested, which, 
 singularly enough, has the shape of the axe of the guil- 
 lotine, my guide put his hand on my shoulder. 
 
 " Eh ! " said he ; " here is the very man we want." 
 
 And he showed me, at the corner of the Place Latry and 
 the Rue de la Basse, a fine old man, warming himself in 
 the rays of the sun, and sitting in a large arm-chair before 
 his door. 
 
 It was Colonel Rene Besson. 
 
 We drew near to him. 
 
 Imagining that we had some business with him, he 
 arranged himself more comfortably in his chair, and waited 
 an explanation. 
 
 " Ah, ah ! is it you, Monsieur Leduc ? " said he. 
 
 " Yes, Colonel, it is I ; and in good company, too, as you 
 may see," my companion replied. 
 
 " Colonel," I call on you in right of being the son of
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 25 
 
 one of your old companions in arms ; for you took a part 
 in the Egyptian campaign, under General Desaix?" 
 '' Yes, sir, I did," answered he. 
 
 c The fact of heing the son of an old companion in 
 arms," I continued, " and of bearing the name of the con- 
 queror of Murad Bey, induced me to take the liberty of 
 callhgon 3*ou, and asking for information on certain points. 
 To commence. Were you at the battle of Valmy ? " 
 
 " lwas with my regiment six days before, on the 2nd of 
 Septenber ; and I just missed leaving my bones at La 
 Force, in trying to rescue a woman — a princess, I should 
 say." 
 
 " Tin Princess Lamballe ? " 
 " Exactly so." 
 
 "At ibis period, I was living then, in the Rue Saint 
 Honore ^ith the carpenter, Duplay." 
 "You lave seen Robespierre, then?" 
 "Just a\ I have you. It was I who made the table on 
 which he \yote the greater part of his speeches." 
 " And Dinton ? " 
 
 "Danton", It was he who enrolled me on the 2nd of 
 September. But I knew Danton, as you say, and Camilles 
 Desmoulins, ^iint Just, and afterwards, later on, the Duke 
 D'Enghien, anl even Marshal Ney." 
 
 " You have $en the Duke D'Enghien ? " 
 " I was secrecy to the Minister of War who sentenced 
 him." 
 
 " And also MaWl iSTey ? " 
 
 " It was he \ko made me lieutenant-colonel in the 
 retreat from Mosc<W." 
 
 " I will never l<We you, Colonel ; I will be your secre- 
 tary, and we will wtte your memoirs." 
 
 " You are too lateA said he, laughing ; " my memoirs are 
 already three-fourths\nished." 
 
 " What? Do you \ e an to say you have written " 
 
 " Oh, simply to amu^ myself: and there is my secretary. 
 Hush ! " \ 
 
 At this moment the <W opened, and a beautiful girl of 
 seventeen or eighteen ca'te towards us. 
 " Is that your secretary^ " I asked. 
 
 " Yes ; Marie, my dear\jttle granddaughter." Bow to 
 Monsieur. You ought to, after the sleepless nights you 
 have passed through thinkijv f him."
 
 26 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 " I ? " said the girl, blushing. " I do not know ;he 
 gentleman ! " 
 
 " But you know ' Monte Christo ' and the ' Three JIus- 
 keteers ? '" 
 
 " Monsieur Dumas ! Is it possible ? " cried she. 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur Dumas. You see that you know iim." 
 
 " Oh, sir, I am so glad to see you ! " 
 
 " You will be my accomplice, then, against thf Col- 
 onel ? " 
 
 " Against my grandfather ? " 
 
 "Yes. He has written some memoirs." 
 
 " I know that. It is I who write from his dictation." 
 
 " Ah ! they are worth reading." 
 
 " Oh, grandpapa, Monsieur Dumas says that your me- 
 moirs are worth reading ! " 
 
 " If he wishes to read them, I shall not hnder him," 
 said the Colonel." 
 
 " Will you really permit me, sir ? " 
 
 " If I refused you, I should be attaching toomuch impor- 
 tance to them." 
 
 " Colonel, I am like the gamin of Pari? of Monsieur 
 Vanderburch — I should like to embrace you/ 
 
 " Embrace my secretary ; that will give pore pleasure to 
 both of you." 
 
 I looked at Marie and she blushed as rei as a cherry. 
 " Mademoiselle ! " I said, imploringly. 
 
 She held up her cheeks to me. 
 
 I took her hands in mine, and looked it her intently. 
 
 " Has Mademoiselle," I asked the Colonel, " a page in 
 your memoirs ? " 
 
 " The last — a white page. But Mffie has something to 
 tell me. What is it, my child ? " 
 
 " That supper is ready, grandpapa' 
 
 " You hear. Have you an appetie ? " 
 
 " Unfortunately, I have just dinei. " 
 
 " I should have liked to clink glsses with you." 
 
 " Will you allow me to breakfay with you to-morrow, in- 
 stead ? You see, I am taking a'iberty with you already. 
 Mademoiselle can give me the memoirs this evening. I 
 will read them to-night, and refcrn them to-morrow." 
 
 "What! read them to-niglc ? How many pages are 
 there, Marie?"
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 27 
 
 " Seven or eight hundred, grandfather," replied the 
 young girl. 
 
 " Seven or eight hundred pages ! If you will permit me, 
 I will copy them." 
 
 Well, the Colonel allowed me to copy from his manu- 
 script all that bad reference to the arrest of the King at 
 Varennes ; and when he died, left me sole possessor of his 
 memoirs. 
 
 Colonel Rene Besson has been gathered to his fathers 
 three months since, at the good old age of eighty-seven. 
 He died, on a beautiful sunlit afternoon, when the mellow 
 tints of autumn were melting into the snowy wreaths of 
 winter. Peace be with him. 
 
 Eight days after his death, I received the manuscript, 
 with a letter frcm Marie, who has become one of the most 
 charming girls 1 ever met with. 
 
 The manuscript I now publish, is that of Colonel Rene 
 de Besson ; and I give it the title that was chosen by him. 
 (Signed) Alexandre Dumas. 
 
 A MAN OF THE PEOPLE. 
 
 (RENE BESSON.) 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CONCERNING HIS PARENTAGE AND EARLY YOUTH. 
 
 I was born in the village of Islettes, on the banks of a 
 little river called the Biesme, in the Forest of Argonne, 
 situated between St. Menehould and Clermont, on the 14th 
 of Jul}', in the year 1775. 
 
 I never had the happiness to experience a mother's love; 
 she survived but a few days after my birth. My father, 
 who was a poor carpenter, out-stayed her loss but five 
 years. 
 
 At five years of age, therefore, I was an orphan, without 
 a friend in the world.
 
 28 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 I am wrong and ungrateful to say that. I had one — my 
 uncle, my mother's brother, who hud the post of keeper in 
 the Forest of Argonne. His wife, on my mother's death, 
 supplied her place ; and he, on the death of my father, 
 found me bread. 
 
 My father died so poor, that all had to be sold to pay his 
 little debts, with the exception of his box of carpenter's 
 tools, which had be<m taken to Father Descharmes (that 
 was my uncle's name), and placed out of sight in a little 
 room belonging to me. 
 
 The Forest of Argonne was Government property, and 
 was preserved for the pleasure of the nobles attendant on 
 the Court ; but that did not hinder the young people of the 
 environs from coming secretly with the keepers, to enjoy a 
 little sport with the deer and the hares. 
 
 There was one, who took part in these hunting parties, 
 whom I knew well — Jean Baptiste Drouet, son of a post- 
 master at St. Menehould ; also William, a friend of his ; 
 and one Billaut, who afterwards took the name of his native 
 place, and called himself Billaut Varennes. 
 
 All three were to acquire a certain celebrity in the mid- 
 dle of those revolutionary movements, still hidden in the 
 future. 
 
 Certain young noblemen, by very special favor received 
 privileges of game denied to the outer world. 
 
 Amongst the number of those young nobles, was M. de 
 Dampierre, the Count de Mamies, and the Viscount de 
 Mai my. 
 
 The former was at this time a man of about forty-five 
 years, the latter not over twenty. 
 
 I select these out of the number, because they will play 
 leading parts in the events I am about to describe. 
 
 Even when I wa3 quite a child, I learned the difference 
 that subsisted in their characters. 
 
 Every now and then, on hearing that a herd of wild 
 boars had been seen in the forest, or tl at the snowstorm 
 had driven out the wolves, a courier would arrive from 
 Paris, and announce " The gentlemen of the Court." 
 
 Then it was that the fun took place. 
 
 If it were summer, a tent was pitched, in which the gen- 
 tlemen took their meals. 
 
 If it were winter, they stopped at St. Menehould, and
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 29 
 
 put up at the " Hotel de Metz," making a rendezvous with 
 the keepers at daybreak at a likely spot for wild boars or 
 wolves. When there, the dogs were unleashed, and the 
 sport commenced. 
 
 When they went, awa}', they would leave twenty or 
 twenty-five louis to be divided among the keepers. 
 
 In general, these nobles of the Court were exceedingly 
 polite towards the underlings. Twice the Prince de Conde 
 and his son, the Duke D'Enghien came. 
 
 On such occasions, being, as it were, high holiday, I 
 would follow the sportsmen. Once when the Duke D' En- 
 ghien lost his way, I put him right, and he offered me a 
 louis. I refused it. ( I was only nine j'ears old.) 
 
 He looked at me with astonishment, and asked my name, 
 
 " Rene Besson. I am the nephew of Father Descharmes," 
 I replied. 
 
 " Good, my boy," said he ; "I won't forget thee ! " 
 
 Two years afterwards the Prince came back. I was then 
 eleven, and thought that he must have lost all remembrance 
 of me. 
 
 But he had not ; and he came to me. 
 
 "Ah, art thou not Rene Besson?" he said. "Nephew 
 of Father Descharmes?" 
 
 " Yes, Prince." 
 
 " Then here is something for thee," said he, giving me a 
 gun. " And this is for thy uncle," he continued, handing 
 me a folded paper. 
 
 This paper contained the appointment of my uncle to the 
 vacant post of chief huntsman. 
 
 As for the gun, it was a beautiful weapon, and I have 
 carefully kept it through my career, in memory of the 
 unfortunate Prince who gave it. 
 
 In the meantime I was growing up. I had learned to 
 read and write indifferently well ; and whilst my uncle was 
 busy in his vocation, I used to occupy myself with carpentry, 
 a calling for which I evinced much aptitude and taste. 
 
 I was now twelve years of age. I knc\v, every inch of 
 the Forest of Argonne, and I was as good a shot as any of 
 the keepers, and my sole ambition was to take my uncle's 
 place when he resigned, which he intended to do in four or 
 five years. 
 
 There was a place, however, left vacant by the resigna-
 
 30 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 tion of a keeper, which I thought would just suit me for 
 the time ; and I determined to solicit the patronage of the 
 Duke D'Enghien. 
 
 Time passed on, and we arrived at the opening of the 
 year 1788. 
 
 For five years we had not seen M. Drouet, for, after a 
 quarrel with his father, he had enlisted in the Queen's 
 Dragoons. 
 
 One fine morning, however, we heard from his friend 
 William that Father Drouet had become reconciled to him, 
 and had resigned to him his situation of postmaster. 
 
 One day, we saw a dragoon stop in front of our house, 
 get off his horse, fasten his bridle to a ring, and then come 
 tramping up to the door. 
 
 " Well, Father Descharmes," said the soldier, "haven't 
 you a glass of wine in the house for an old friend ? " 
 
 My uncle looked at him amazed. 
 
 " Ah ! " said I ; " don't you recognize him, uncle ? It is 
 Monsieur Jean Baptiste." 
 
 " Well, I never — so it is ! " cried my uncle, coming for- 
 ward with outstretched hands. 
 
 But, stopping for a moment, he added, " I beg your par- 
 don, Monsieur Drouet." 
 
 "Pardon for what? — for remembering a friend? The 
 fault would have been to forget him. Come, shake hands 
 Are not all Frenchmen brothers ? " 
 
 " They are ; but, at the same time, there are great and 
 small." 
 
 " Good ! but, in two or three years, I will say to you, 
 ' There are neither great nor small. All are children of one 
 mother, and all will have their rights before man, as before 
 heaven." 
 
 " Ha ! Is that the sort of schooling they give you in 
 the Queen's Dragoons, Monsieur Jean Baptiste ? " 
 
 " Not only in the Queen's Dragoons, but in all other 
 regiments, old Nimrod." 
 
 My uncle took three glasses from the cupboard, filled 
 two, and half-filled the other for me. 
 
 Drouet took up his glass. 
 
 " To the nation ! " said he. 
 
 " What is that word ? " inquired my uncle. 
 
 < ( It is a new one, which I hope will yet gain, the rights
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 31 
 
 of the middle classes. That youngster there ; what are 
 you going to do with him ? " 
 
 " Make him my successor." 
 
 Drouet shook his head. 
 
 " My good old Descharmes ! " said he, " you belong to 
 the past. Better far an independent and honorable posi- 
 tion for a man, than to wear a livery which, no matter how 
 gay it is, puts you at the mercy of the first whipper- 
 snapper that comes. I thought Bene was a carpenter? " 
 
 " So I am, Monsieur Jean Baptiste ; but I onby play at 
 joiner work." 
 
 " Nay, look you here ! " said my uncle, proud to be able 
 to show some of my handiwork. " Here is a wardrobe the 
 youngster has made." 
 
 Drouet went forward, and examined the construction in 
 question with more interest than it deserved. 
 
 " Good — very good ! " he said. " Go on as you are 
 doing, my boy; and, believe me, it is far better to work for 
 the public, than to be a game-keeper dependent on a 
 prince, liable to be turned away should a wild boar make 
 an unforseen bolt, or a wolf force the line of beaters." 
 
 " But," answered I, " you must know that I have a gun, 
 Monsieur Jean Baptiste ; and a gun, too, given me by the 
 Duke D'Enghien." 
 
 And saying this, I showed him the cherished weapon, 
 with as much pride as my uncle had displayed in exhibit- 
 ing my efforts at wardrobe making. 
 
 " A pretty gun," he said, looking at it attentively ; 
 " and I see that it bears the royal mark. If you take my 
 advice, you will not hesitate between the plane which your 
 father left you, and a gun which a prince gave you. The 
 carpenter's plane is the bread-winner that the philosopher 
 of Geneva put into the hands of his favorite pupil ; and 
 ever since the day that ' Emile ' appeared, the plane has 
 been ennobled." 
 
 " What is ' Emile,' Monsieur Jean Baptiste ? " I asked. 
 
 " It is the work of one who teaches that all men are 
 citizens together, and that all citizens are brothers. Keep 
 your gun, Bene, to preserve your country ; but also keep 
 your plane to preserve your independence. Be a carpenter 
 to the people at large, my boy ; but be no one's servant, 
 not even if he be a prince. The first opportunity I have, 
 I will send you ' Emile ' to read."
 
 32 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 So saying, and squeezing the hand of his old friend, 
 M. Jean Baptiste remounted his horse. As I held his 
 stirrup he lifted me gently to his saddle how, and placed 
 his hand on my head. 
 
 "Rene Besson," he said, with dignity, "in the name of 
 that grand future of liberty, with which France is even 
 now in travail, I baptize thee citizen." 
 
 Then relinquishing me, and striking his spurs into his 
 horse, he disappeared down the forest. 
 
 Next day a messenger came from M. Jean Baptiste 
 Drouet, who, faithful to his promise of the night before, 
 sent me a little book, with these words written on the first 
 page— 
 
 " To the Citizen Bene Besson, carpenter." 
 
 The little book in question was " Emile." 
 
 < ■»»■»—>- 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE FIRST SEEDS OF A POLITICAL FAITH. 
 
 When I came to examine the book which M. Jean Bap- 
 tiste had sent me, and the title of which was " Emile, or 
 Education," I sought out the chapter which had direct 
 reference to my own case. 
 
 In the course of my search I came across the following 
 paragraph : — 
 
 " It is my positive desire that Emilie should learn a 
 trade. An honest one, at least, you will perhaps say. 
 What means that ? Every calling useful to the public is 
 an honest one, is it not? I don't wish particularly that he 
 should be a carver and gilder, neither do I particularly care 
 that he should be an actor, or a musician. Still, let him 
 adopt any one of those professions, or others resembling 
 them, that he may fancy. I do not wish to fetter his will 
 in anything, only I would rather he was a shoemaker than 
 a poet, and would much prefer him to earn his livelihood by 
 paving-stones than by porcelain." 
 
 I read over and over again, the paragraph which opened 
 up this train of thought ; and at last, I understood it.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 33 
 
 Let no one be astonished that my intelligence was so 
 Blow. Taken up as I was until I had reached at this time, 
 my fourteenth year, with the usual jog-trot of rustic occu- 
 pations, my mind had remained in a sort of twilight. 
 
 I continued my reading. 
 
 " The needle and the sword can never he wielded by the 
 same hand. If I were a king, I would only permit the ell, 
 tbe wand, and the shears, to women, and to maimed men, 
 equally feeble with the weaker sex. I would forbid callings 
 against health, but not those which are simply laborious, or 
 even dangerous, for those demand at once both strength 
 and courage. Everything considered, the trade whi".h I 
 should like a pupil of mine to adopt of himself would be 
 that of a carpenter." 
 
 " Ah," said I, " what a good fellow this Monsieur Rosseau 
 is ! How I do like him ! " 
 
 I tackled to my book again. 
 
 " Touching a carpenter's trade, it is a tidy calling: it is 
 useful ; you can follow it in the house ; it requires both 
 skill and industry ; whilst the exercise of taste is not ex- 
 cluded from the articles it turns out." 
 
 So, then, I was precisely in the state recommended by 
 the author of " Emile." 
 
 Not only that, but I did not even require to learn the 
 trade he praised ; I knew it already. I read on as 
 follows : — 
 
 " Of all states and conditions of life, the most independ- 
 ent is that of a mechanic. A mechanic is dependent upon 
 his work only ; he is just so much free as an agricultural 
 laborer is a slave ; for the latter can only prepare the field, 
 and leave the product thereof to fate. A foe — a powerful 
 neighbor — a law-suit, can deprive him of his field ; in fact, 
 that very field can be made to vex him in a thousand dif- 
 ferent ways. But, if fate disturbs a mechanic, he gathers 
 his tools together, and, carrying his sturdy arms with him, 
 away he goes." 
 
 At this point, I looked at my own arms, already muscular 
 and well-developed, and I swung them in the air with pride. 
 Evidently the man was right who wrote those lines. • 
 
 I uttered a cry of joy ; and rushing into my little work- 
 shop, I hugged severally to my bosom my hammers, my 
 planes, and my chisels. Then, strong with a new strength, 
 o
 
 34 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 I felt irresistibly impelled to rush off at once, and thank 
 M. Jean Baptiste Drouet for lending me the precious book. 
 St. Menehould was exactly three miles away, and it was 
 on]y eleven o'clock in the morning. I could easily be home 
 again by five or six, and my good uncle would not make 
 himself uneasy at my absence. Besides, I was quite sure 
 that he would approve of my errand. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A STRANGER OF TNFUENCE TURNS UP. 
 
 Out I set at once, taking my book with me, to read on 
 the way ; and so interesting did I find the adventures of 
 " Emile," that I found myself near my friend's house 
 actually without being aware of it. 
 
 In the distance I could see M. Jean Baptiste superin- 
 tending some postilions, who were putting fresh horses to a 
 carriage. He was standing on the threshold of his door. 
 
 Running up in a state of great excitement, I cried out, 
 " Monsieur Jean Baptiste, it's I ! " 
 
 " Well," he said, laughing ; " I am quite aware of the 
 fact. What do you want, my boy ? " 
 
 " What do I want ? Oh, I want to thank you, and to 
 tell .you that I will never be a keeper. The only calling 
 worth following is that of a carpenter, and I mean to be 
 one, Monsieur Drouet." 
 
 The carriage went off. 
 
 " So you have been reading ' Emile ? ' " he asked, taking 
 me inside. 
 
 " Yes ; up to here." And I showed him page 1G0 of the 
 work. 
 
 " Bravo ! " said Monsieur Drouet. " But it is not 
 enough to read ; you must also understand." 
 
 " Of course, M. Jean Baptiste," said I. " There are 
 many things that I cannot understand, but I always look 
 to you for an explanation." 
 
 " So 3 r ou are come expressly for that ? " 
 
 *' No, M. Jean Baptiste. Not expressly for that, but to
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 35 
 
 thank you for your kindness. After my father, who gave 
 ine life — after my aunt and my uncle, who have fed me, I 
 owe more to you than to any other person in the world ; 
 for has not Rousseau himself said that every man is horn 
 twice — first, physically, then intellectually ? And it is you 
 who have successfully brought me through this second 
 birth." 
 
 I must pass over that afternoon of familiar intercourse 
 with my mentor and my friend. Suffice it to say, that my 
 new-born resolutions were strengthened, my eyes still more 
 widely opened to my own wants and requirements ; and 
 when I set out on my return, I felt that, indeed, a path had 
 been tracked for me across the yet untrodden wilderness of 
 life. 
 
 There are few landscapes so pretty in the middle of 
 Prance as that which presents itself to the eye on arriving 
 at the Forest of Argonne. 
 
 This struck me as it had never done before, and I paused 
 involuntarily to gaze at the scene. 
 
 At this moment two travellers came towards me, followed 
 by a carriage slowly toiling up the ascent. 
 
 One of these strangers particularly attracted my atten- 
 tion. He might he about fifty }'ears of age, of no great 
 stature, but wiry and strongly built. He had a noble head, 
 and his weather-beaten face was lit by the glance of an 
 eagle. Had not the scar of a sabre wound sufficiently indi- 
 cated his profession, I could have told he was a soldier 
 from the unmistakable way in which he wore his civilian's 
 suit. 
 
 His companion, younger and stouter, was likewise a sol- 
 dier ; but evidently not of the same standing. 
 
 These two men halted a moment near me, less to look at 
 the landscape than to continue an animated conversation, 
 in which the elder sustained the principal part. 
 
 " Yes, my dear Thevenot," he said ; " I will never give 
 in on this point. If ever France is invaded by Montmedy 
 and Verdun, it is here that we must meet the enemy; with 
 20,000 soldiers I'll engage to stop a foe 80,000 strong. The 
 Forest of Argonne is the Thermopylae of France." 
 
 "That is to say, General," replied the other, who looked 
 like his aide-de-camp, " if th« two or three roads through 
 the forest could be defended as easily as this one ; for it is
 
 36 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 quite evident that a couple of batteries with six guns each 
 would make this defile impracticable." 
 
 " There are only two roads," returned the General ; "the 
 one we are now pursuing, leading to Islettes; and the 
 other, the Grand Pies road. Both these routes conjoin at 
 Verdun." 
 
 " I thought there was a third — namely, the Chene- 
 Populeux road." 
 
 " I don't think that road leads through the forest at all ; 
 but I will ask our driver." 
 
 The General did so. 
 
 The bumpkin only shook his head. 
 
 " I only know," he said, " the road I'm accustomed to 
 travel, and that's not it. Beyond that, I can't tell }'ou 
 anything; but," he added, nodding towards me, " if you 
 want to know all about this part of the country, why, 
 there's the nephew of Father Descharmes, wdio knows it all 
 blindfold. Hilloa, boy ! come and speak to these gentle- 
 men ! " 
 
 I approached, cap in hand, for the look of the elder 
 traveller inspired me with respect. 
 
 " Friend," said the General, seeing that I waited till he 
 spoke to me ; " we want to know where the Chene-Populeux 
 road leads from, and if it takes }-ou through the forest, or 
 round by the outskirts ? " 
 
 " It leads from Stenay, monsieur, takes round by the 
 forest, and opens upon Voneg, at the Biver Aisne." 
 
 u Ah, now we have it, Thuvenot ; but as, so far as I can 
 remember, the Chene-Populeux road is only a narrow defile, 
 I still hold my original opinion." 
 
 " Will you get in now, gentlemen ? " asked the postilion. 
 " My horses are well breathed by this time." 
 
 " Thank you, my young friend," said the General, waving 
 his hand towards me. But just as he had his foot on the 
 step the distant sound- of an alarm-bell, violently rung, 
 came through the stillness. 
 
 " What is that? " cried the General. 
 
 "A fire atthe village of Islettes," said I. "Look ! you 
 can see the smoke above the trees ! " 
 
 And, without any further speculation, off I ran towards 
 the village. The General called after me, but I did not 
 stop to listen.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 61 
 
 However, before I had gone a hundred yards, the carriage 
 rattled past me at a gallop. The General, evidently moved 
 by a humane motive, was hastening, like myself, towards 
 the scene of the catastrophe, where I soon arrived. 
 
 All the village was astir, and I found the General and 
 his companion had taken command of the rustics, just as 
 they would of an army on the field of battle. 
 
 The fire had broken out in the workshop of a cart-wright. 
 The fiery element had attacked an adjacent shed full of 
 wood, and threatened to reduce the neighboring house to 
 ashes. 
 
 Xow, at Islettes, fire-engines were unknown, and I need 
 scarcely say that handing along little buckets of water 
 from the river was by no means an effectual remedy. 
 
 " We must cut off the fire ! " shouted the General. 
 
 " But how ? " returned the peasants. 
 
 " I want somebody," cried the General, " who will get 
 up upon the roof of that shed, and cut away the principal 
 support. The post will fall, and carry the roof with it." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " said a voice ; " and the somebody in ques- 
 tion will go down with the roof! " 
 
 " Very likely ! " acquiesced the General, calmly ; " but 
 the fire will be smothered, and the rest of the village 
 saved." 
 
 At that moment, a certain passage from " Emile " flash- 
 ed across my mind. 
 
 "Give me an axe!" I cried. As I spoke, I saw one 
 leaning against a house near which I was standing. 
 
 I laid down my "Emile" and a dictionary which M. 
 Jean Baptiste had given me ; seized the axe, and rushed 
 into the house adjacent to the shed. Already its inmates 
 were carrying out all their little property, expecting every 
 instant that their cottage would be in flames. 
 
 Up the little wooden stairs I rushed, and scrambled out 
 on the roof through a sort of trap-door. 
 
 It was my first experience upon roofs ; but as I had been 
 accustomed to climbing trees up to any height, a prome- 
 nade on the thatch was only child's play. 
 
 Below, all was hushed in anxiet}\ I could only hear the 
 peculiar billow-like sounds of the flames, and the fall of the 
 burning fragments as they gave way under the fire. 
 
 Presently I found myself in a dense atmosphere of smoke
 
 38 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 and sparks. I was nearly stifled ; but I knew that all eyes 
 and hearts were fixed upon mo, and that gave me strength 
 to succeed or to die, as it might he. 
 
 Supporting myself by the chimney, I commenced to cut 
 away a hole round about the roof-tree. 
 
 I was strong of my age, and could wield with dexterity 
 the axe — that instrument of my adopted calling ; but 
 though at every blow the upright beam trembled — on the 
 other hand, the advancing flame seemed to increase in vol- 
 ume. 
 
 There was, in a word, a battle between me and the flame, 
 and I felt proud to have an element for my foe. All at 
 once, the gable-end fell in with a terrible crash ; the other 
 supports of the roof being weakened by my blows, gave 
 way, and the roof itself fell, smothering, beneath the rag- 
 ing flames. I flung the axe away from me, and held on 
 like grim death to my chimney. A whirlwind of smoke 
 and fire blotted me from the crowd below, and, half suffo- 
 cated as I was, I could still hear and understand their 
 murmur of pain aud anxiety. 
 
 The crisis was over. With one last effort I struggled to 
 my trap-door, and in another moment — I know not how — 
 found myself safe and sound in the open air. 
 
 Friendly arms embraced me, and looking up, I saw it 
 was the General, who held in one hand my precious books. 
 " My boy," he said, " you are brave, and you read Rous- 
 seau : therefore I do' not offer you a reward. But you will 
 be a true man, and I embrace you." 
 
 And again he pressed me in his arms. 
 
 By this time, my uncle, and, indeed, all the village, were 
 at my side ; and whilst I was receiving their congratula- 
 tions, the General and his friend had departed. No one 
 knew who they were. 
 
 This was an important day in my life ; for I had learnt 
 to understand what was conveyed in that most beautiful of 
 all human words — self-devotion.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 39 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 I EDUCATE MYSELF FOR CONTINGENCIES. 
 
 iNext day I laid up for myself a course of study — phys- 
 ical and intellectual. In the morning I read and studied 
 my books ; during the day I worked at m}^ carpentry ; 
 towards evening I indulged in shooting, in gymnastics, and 
 sports of that nature ; and at night I again returned to my 
 books. I improved every day. 
 
 About a week after the events of the last chapter, 
 M. Drouet, and two friends came to my uncle's. 
 
 M. Drouet and his friends shook me by the hand. He 
 asked me how I was getting on, and I told him all, regret- 
 ting at the same time that I had no money to buy books, 
 or get instruction in Latin. 
 
 " No money ! " said Jean Baptiste. " Who hinders you 
 from making it ? " 
 
 " Making it? " I answered. " But how ? " 
 
 " With your plane, of course." 
 
 " But, Monsieur Drouet, I have no customers. 
 
 " I will find them for you." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " To begin with, the postmaster of St. Menehould, Jean 
 Baptiste Drouet by name. The factjis, I require a quantity 
 of carpentry work done in my house, and you must under- 
 take it." 
 
 " I am not good enough workman for that, Monsieur 
 Drouet." 
 
 " But if I find you good enough ? " 
 
 " Then I would not like to take j'our money." 
 
 " Nonsense ! I must get somebody to do it, so that is 
 settled. Now, about the Latin. I will find you a teacher 
 — Monsieur Fortin, the Cure of Islettes." 
 
 " How will I pay him ? " 
 
 " I don't think that he would take your money." 
 
 " But I take yours, Monsieur Drouet." 
 
 " Ah, that is different. Government does not pay me to 
 make wash-hand-stands, but it does pay Abbe Fortin to in- 
 struct his flock morally and intellectually."
 
 40 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 "I should like to offer him something." 
 
 " Exactly — not as a right, but as a graceful act of 
 courtesy ; and as I know the Father Foxtiri does not 
 despise the good things of this life, you can shoot him a 
 hare occasionally, or knock him up a cupboard, to keep his 
 preserves in." 
 
 " A thousand thanks, Monsieur Jean ! " 
 
 " Listen ! I have it in my mind's eye that you will be 
 a soldier — at all events, the education necessary for an 
 officer will not be thrown away. For six francs a month, 
 Bertrand, of Islettes, the old soldier, will teach you fenc- 
 ing ; and, for a trifle more, Mathieu, the land surveyor, at 
 Clermout, will show you how to draw a plan. As for 
 horsemanship, I will give you the run of my stable ; so, 
 there you are, with your life-time all mapped out. Now, 
 let us to the forest." 
 
 At dinner that day, the conversation turned upon poli- 
 tics, and particularly on the unpopularity of Marie Antoi- 
 nette, the Queen. All this was Greek to me, till M. Jean 
 Baptiste explained the situation of affairs. 
 
 Marie Antoinette, it appeared, daughter of the Austrian, 
 Marie Therese, and ancient enemj T of France, had been 
 accepted by the French people as a harbinger of union and 
 of peace. Very different, however, had been her influence. 
 
 In a word. Marie Therese hoped that Louis XVI would 
 some day aid her to get back the provinces wrested from 
 her by Prussia. 
 
 Until 1778, Marie Antoinette did not meddle with affairs 
 of state. Up to that time, Turgot was the ruling spirit ; 
 but, at last, he had to succumb to that famous De Calone, 
 who used to reply thus to the demands of the Queen : 
 "Madame, if it is possible, it is already done; if it is im- 
 possible, it will be done." 
 
 Misrule went on. The King, despite his impoverished 
 treasury, bought St. Cloud ; the Queen, whilst her people 
 were starving, purchased Rambouillet, and lavished millions 
 of francs which were not her own upon her immediate fav- 
 orites. Scandal arose ; and when scandal gets into every- 
 body's mouth, it is worse than truth. 
 
 M. de Calone resigned. He could not make both ends 
 meet. 
 
 The next Prime Minister was Brienne, a Queen's favor-
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 41 
 
 ite ; and, when he fell, Paris was illuminated from the Bas- 
 tille to the Cour de la lieine. 
 
 M. de Necker reigned in his stead. He was a G-enevese 
 banker, and a financier of the first force; but even he failed 
 to see a way out of the royal bankruptcy ; and it was whis- 
 pered that he was going to ask the nation what it thought 
 of matters — France was to speak. 
 
 This was the great news at my uncle's dinner-table that 
 day, and our three guests were very merry over it, and 
 pledged fidelity to each other however these events might 
 turn out. 
 
 And they kept their word. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 I BREAK WITH THE ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 Next morning I set out for St. Menehould, to see about 
 M. Drouet'" s job. He told me what he wanted, and that he 
 should require the new furniture I was to make him to be 
 of good, well-seasoned oak. In order that I might set 
 about it the more easily, he paid me one hundred francs in 
 advance ; and with this prodigious sum in my pocket, I 
 went off to select the necessary timber, when whom should 
 I meet but Bertrand. The old soldier informed me that 
 M. Drouet had spoken to him about giving me fencing les- 
 sons, and I arranged with him, on the spot, when I was to 
 take them. I fact, I began that very day. 
 
 I remember well how my hand trembled with pleasure, 
 when I grasped the foil for the first time. At the end of 
 an hour, I knew the five parades, and could disengage 
 decently. 
 
 *' That will do for to-day," cried my master, more tired 
 than I was myself. 
 
 1 recollected something. 
 
 "Monsieur Bertrand," said I; "I shall perhaps not be 
 able to pay you till the end of the month." 
 
 " Oh, that's all settled. Monsieur Drouet has paid me a 
 month in advance. He said that he owed you money."
 
 42 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 I felt a glow of emotion at this new proof of my good 
 friend's generosity. 
 
 As I was crossing a field on my .way home, I met the 
 surveyor, M. Mathieu. My good genius had preceded me 
 there, too : the surveyor was quite ready to impart to me 
 the mysteries of the chain and level. 
 
 Leaving him, I went home in great glee, took my gun, 
 and sallied forth to slaughter partridges for my Latin mas- 
 ter. I was fortunate enough to knock over a brace of birds 
 and a hare, which I sent the same night to the Abbe 
 JTortin. 
 
 Next day, as I was planing away with great zeal, the 
 Abbe himself stood before me. 
 
 " Well, my boy, you 'have sent me some game, and you 
 must now help me to eat it. Dinner at two, and I shall be 
 glad to see your uncle, if he will come with you." 
 
 " Oh, Monsieur l'Abbe, it is too much honor !" 
 
 " At two o'clock, mind. Marguerite, the housekeeper, 
 does not like to be kept waiting." 
 
 So saying, the worthy Cure left me. 
 
 My uncle, I found, would not be at home till the evening, 
 so, at the hour appointed, I found myself alone, tapping at 
 the Abbe's door, and dressed out in all my Sunday splen- 
 dor. 
 
 The Cure opened it himself. 
 
 " Ah, monsieur, I am so sorry to trouble you ! " 
 
 " Trouble ? Nonsense ! Onby Marguerite cannot be at 
 the door and at her kitchen stove at the same time. Talk- 
 ing of which, she tells me we will not have dinner till 
 three. Now, what do you say to a first Latin lesson, as my 
 friend Drouet tells me that you wish to learn that lan- 
 guage." 
 
 I was only too glad to acquiesce ; and, before dinner was 
 served, I understood that there were five declensions in the 
 Roman tongue. 
 
 During the simple repast which followed, I surveyed the 
 Abbe's furniture with a critical eye, and a mental resolve 
 to do it all up for him again. 
 
 Then, after having arranged about my future hours with 
 my kind preceptor, I returned home, one step further up 
 the ladder of progress. That very evening, we were 
 apprised of a visit of the Count de Dampierre, the Viscount 
 de Malmy, and some other young nobles.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 43 
 
 Hitherto, I had heen in the habit of accompanying them, 
 dressed in regular keeper's costume ; but now I stuck 
 steadily to my carpentry work. 
 
 "Holloa, Rene ! " said M. de Dampierre ; "don't you go 
 with us to-day ? " 
 
 " No, Monsieur le Comte," I replied ; " I have a lesson 
 in mathematics to-day." 
 
 " What ? " he exclaimed, with surprise. " Do you study 
 mathematics ? " 
 
 " Yes, and liistory and Latin, also." 
 
 " And is all this necessary in our days for a game- 
 keeper ? " 
 
 " I am not going to be one." 
 
 " What then ? " 
 
 " I mean to be a carpenter, like ' Emile.' " 
 
 " I don't know him." 
 
 " No ? It is the ' Emile ' of Monsieur Jean Jacques 
 Rousseau that I mean ; but if the nation wants me, I shall 
 be a soldier." 
 
 " What do you mean by nation ? " 
 
 " I mean our country — France." 
 
 "We call that the kingdom, do we not? " 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur le Comte ; but some think it high time 
 that we should call it a nation." 
 
 " Then the mathematics are to teach you military engi- 
 neering ? " 
 
 "Yes; every officer should know fyow to draw a plan." 
 
 " Officer ! But before you can be an officer, yon must be 
 an aristocrat." 
 
 " At present, yes ; but by the time I am ready, there 
 may be changes in the system.''' 
 
 "You heard that, Maimy," said M. de Dampierre, turn- 
 ing to the Yiscount. 
 
 " Yes ! " replied the other, shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 " And what do you think of it all ? " asked M. de Dam- 
 pierre. 
 
 " I think that the class to which he belongs are losing 
 their heads altogether." 
 
 I planed away vigorously, and affected not to hear. By- 
 and-bye they strolled oif to the forest, laughing, whilst I 
 got ready to go to M. Mathieu, for my first lesson in 
 engineering.
 
 44 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE NATION AND THE BASTILLE. VERDICT FOR THE 
 
 FORMER. 
 
 At the end of the fifteenth day the Abbe Fortin had his 
 furniture retouched, and when three months had expired I 
 had finished the carpentry work for M. Drouet. 
 
 The work was este mated at five hundred francs, the 
 materials alone costing a hundred and twenty ; so that I 
 received three hundred and eighty, with the compliments 
 of my two masters on the excellency of my workmanship. 
 
 Whilst I was still engaged on the completion of the 
 order, M. Drouet advanced me five hundred francs, to 
 enable me to buy the wood, and at the same time, to take 
 my lessons in the use of implements of warfare, and pur- 
 chase useful books. 
 
 The warrant expected from M. Necker, for the convoca- 
 tion of the Etats Generaux, had appeared. For the first 
 time, a great nation, or a great kingdom, as M. Dampierre 
 said, admitted all its members to political rights. 
 
 No sooner had the warrant appeared (which can be 
 translated in these words : — " All will assemble to elect ; 
 all will write their grievances in the books given to them 
 for that purpose ") than all France thrilled, as it were, with 
 an electric shock, and the people leapt from darkness into 
 light. 
 
 That cry, treasured up for two centuries, becomes 
 stronger and stronger every day. They complain that the 
 year 1788 was barren ; that the winter was bitterly cold ; 
 that the famine in the following spring was terrible. 
 
 They went to the municipality of St. Menehould, to 
 write in the books ; and my capital penmanship procured 
 me the office of secretary. 
 
 Afterwards, they went to election. MM. Drouet, Guil- 
 laume, and Billaud exercised enormous influence. 
 
 M. Dampierre was balloted with a poor parish priest. 
 The priest prevailed over him. 
 
 The event deceived all. The Etats, which ought to have 
 opened on the 27th of April, were adjourned to the 4th of 
 May.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 45 
 
 The Court was frightened, and delayed the matter as 
 long as it could. 
 
 All France had its eyes turned to Paris. Every hour 
 brought forth unexpected events. 
 
 On the 5th of May, the opening of the Etats, in the 
 procession from Versailles, the King was applauded, and 
 the Queen hissed. 
 
 On the 8th of Maj r , the three classes were changed into 
 two — the one formed of the third class, the other of the 
 nobility and clergy. 
 
 On the 18th of June, the assembly hall was closed by 
 order of the King. 
 
 On the 22nd of June, the oath of Jeu-de-Pauvre was 
 taken. 
 
 This oath was the declaration of war from the third Etat 
 against the nobility and clergy. It was the first menace 
 direct from the people against the throne. 
 
 All in a moment, these comparatively small events ceased, 
 and a portentous calm intervened, so to speak, as if the 
 minor combatants held their weapons to intently watch the 
 issue of the combat between their superiors. 
 
 On the 12th of July, M. Drouet started for Paris. 
 
 it was the day of the dismissal of Necker — it was the 
 day when Camille Desmoulins, jumping on a table in a cafe, 
 drew his sword, and crying, "To arms!" placed the leaf 
 of a tree in his hat. 
 
 We had no news of M. Drouet up to the 15th 
 
 On the morning of the 15th, MM. Dampierre and De 
 Valmy went out hunting, to which sport were invited two 
 or three of their friends from Clermont and Varennes ; 
 among others, a certain Chevalier de Courtemont, whom we 
 shall come across later on. 
 
 It was evident that the -hunt was but a secondary affair, 
 and that the real object was to meet and hear the news 
 from Paris. 
 
 M. Dampierre had heard, on the 13th, that Paris was on 
 fire, and the Court at Versailles guarded by German troops, 
 ■ — Penzenval commanding, under the old Marshal de Brog- 
 lie. 
 
 The theatres were shut. The dismissal of ]STecker had, 
 to a certain extent, paralyzed the public mind. Statues of 
 him and of the Duke of Orleans were covered with crape, 
 and paraded through the streets of Paris.
 
 46 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 The procession, armed with sticks, swords, and pistols, 
 after having passed through the streets Saint Martin and 
 Saint Honore, arrived at the Place Vendome. 
 
 There one division stopped, and having dispersed the 
 people, destroyed the bust of the Prince and the Duke of 
 Orleans, and put to death a French guard who disdained to 
 
 fly- 
 That was not all. 
 
 M. de Bezenval had put a detatchment of Swiss and four 
 pieces of cannon in battery on the Champs Elysees, the 
 crowd retired to the Tuileries, and the Prince de Lambese, 
 a German, charged upon them with his cavalry, inoffensive 
 though they were, and was the first to enter, on horseback, 
 the gardens of the Tuileries. A barricade stopped him. 
 Prom the back of that barricade, stones and bottles were 
 thrown at him. He perceived that a group of men were 
 shutting the gate, to take him prisoner. He ordered a 
 retreat, and, in flying, crushed one man under his steed, 
 and severely wounded another with a blow from his sabre. 
 
 The crowd now entered the armorers' shops, and ran- 
 sacked them. 
 
 The cannons were mounted on the Bastille, which was 
 reinforced by another detachment of Swiss. 
 
 They knew nothing more on the night of the 13th, nor 
 on the next day. 
 
 M. Dampierre ordered that if news came in the day, it 
 was to be delivered to my uncle. 
 
 At four o'clock the sport finished, and they returned to 
 the house. A dinner, prepared as usual, awaited them. 
 
 The companions remained at table, visibty pre-occupied ; 
 the conversation was nothing but conjectures. They spoke 
 in strong terms of the National Assembly. They wished 
 to have been in the place of M. Brez^, of M. de Bezenval, 
 of M. de Lambese ; they were sure that they could have 
 done better than the}' did. 
 
 The Queen was too good, not to have commanded the 
 Swiss to exterminate the wretches. 
 
 At six o'clock, M. D 4 ampierre's servant brought a de- 
 spatch. It was dated the morning of the 14th. 
 
 On the night of the loth the people had forced the doors 
 of the Invalides, and had taken thirty thousand muskets. 
 They had also forced the doors of the Arsenal with sledge-
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 47 
 
 hammers, and had taken seven or eight tons of powder. 
 That powder had been distributed under the lamp-lights. 
 Each man bearing a musket received fifty cartridges. 
 
 The Court had ordered all the foreign regiments, useful 
 to royalty, to be at hand, if wanted. 
 
 M. de Launay, the Governor of the Bastille, who knew 
 his unpopularity, and upon whom they could count, because 
 of that unpopularity, had pledged himself to blow the Bas- 
 tille into the air, along with half Paris, before he would 
 surrender. 
 
 This news the companions thought good, as it promised 
 a desperate resistance. 
 
 On the other hand, who were the people who menaced 
 royalty? Men ignorant of the use of fire-arms, undisci- 
 plined, and without leaders, who would retreat at the first 
 cannon-shot, and fly at the first charge. 
 
 How could that rabble hold out against practised soldiers, 
 who feared not death, but disgrace ? 
 
 On mastering the despatch, M. Dampierre told each 
 guest to fill his glass ; then, lifting his own, " To the 
 victory of the King, and the extermination of the rebels ! " 
 he cried. " Drink with me, gentlemen." 
 
 " To the victory of the King, and the extermination of 
 the rebels ! " cried all, with one voice. 
 
 But before they had time to put the glasses to their lips, 
 a furious gallop, coming from the direction of Paris, was 
 heard ; and, shouting with joy, a horseman, with a tricolor 
 in his hat, shot past like a whirlwind, crying to M. Dam- 
 pierre and his friends these words — not less terrible than 
 those that Belshazzar read, in letters of fire, on the wall, — 
 " The Bastille is taken ! Long live the people ! " 
 
 The horseman was Jean Baptiste Drouet, who was rid- 
 ing at full speed to announce to his friends at Varennes the 
 yews of the victory that the people had obtained over their 
 
 g : 
 
 This news which he proclaimed in every city and in every 
 village that he passed, brightened his route with a flash 
 vivid as lightning.
 
 48 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CONCERNING THE BASTILLE. 
 
 All France gave one cry of joy when the news arrived 
 that the Bastille was taken. 
 
 All the world knew the Bastille — that prison which has 
 given its name to others. 
 
 From one end of France to the other, all shook hands, 
 congratulating each other on the event. 
 
 And, strange to say, the Bastille was taken by those who 
 had never entered it — in fact, it was a place of imprison- 
 ment for nobles only. 
 
 One would have thought, from the fact of their attacking 
 it, that it was a place which they themselves had to dread. 
 
 .Ah ! it was a horrible den. You were not dead there ; 
 but what was worse, } r ou were forgotten. 
 
 Your father, wife, or brother dared not speak of you, for 
 fear they should be sent there likewise. 
 
 Once there, you no longer had a name, but a number. 
 You died, and they buried you under a false name. 
 
 No ; the King did not deprive you of your head ; he 
 was too good for that ; he only forgot you. 
 
 Instead of dying in a moment, you suffered unutterable 
 tortures for perhaps thirty years. 
 
 In the reign of Louis XVI all the rigors of prisons were 
 softened, with the exception of the Bastille, the discipline 
 of which was harsher than ever. In former reigns they 
 had barred the windows ; but now they also stopped the 
 promenades in the gardens. 
 
 It is true that Louis XVI did not actually do this him- 
 self but he suffered it to be done, which is all the same. 
 
 Louis XVI did not himself shut up the garden. No ; it 
 was De Launay, who was as unpopular as he well could be. 
 
 At the Bastille all bought the places that they occupied, 
 from the Governor down to the gaolers. Every situation 
 was worth having, except that of the prisoners. 
 
 The Governor had sixty thousand livres salary. He 
 made a hundred and twenty thousand by his plunders. 
 
 We have already spoken of the garden of the Bastille
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 49 
 
 open to the prisoners. It was hut a little plot of ground, 
 planted, as it were, upon a bastion. 
 
 A gardener offered a hundred francs a year for it ; and 
 this scoundrel, who was wringing from the pitiful allowances 
 of the prisoners the sum of a hundred and twenty thousand 
 francs per annum, actually, for the sake of this paltry sum, 
 deprived the poor wretches under his rule of the breath of 
 air that made life supportable, of the sole gleam of life that 
 intervened 'twixt them and the tomb. 
 
 He well knew that he would never survive the capture of 
 the Bastille — this man of iron, who had a Bastille in place 
 of a heart. 
 
 The Governor's hundred and thirty-five barrels of powder 
 were placed in a vault, situated in the centre of the fortress. 
 The Bastille blown into the air would astound Paris in its 
 ascent, and utterly destroy it in its stupendous fall. This 
 he knew. When the prison was entered by the people, 
 he clapped a torch to the touch-string. An Invalide seized 
 his arms ; two sous-officers crossed bayonets across his 
 breast. He. snatched a knife from his belt ; they took it out 
 of his hands. 
 
 Then he demanded to be allowed to march out with the 
 honors of war. 
 
 This demand met with a positive refusal. 
 
 At last, he would be satisfied were he allowed to depart 
 with life alone. 
 
 Two of the conquerors of the Bastille — Hullin and Elie 
 — promised this in the name of all. 
 
 He begged them to conduct him to the Hotel de Ville, 
 where he had some shadow of authority. 
 
 In the meantime, whilst the people were dashing them- 
 selves against the granite and the oak, and demolishing the 
 two stone slaves that supported the clock, and breaking 
 open the dungeons, with the intention of liberating the 
 prisoners confined therein, Hullin and Elie took away l)e 
 Launay, hiding him as much as possible by placing them- 
 selves in front of him. 
 
 But when he arrived at the gates, the Governor was re- 
 cognised. He had no hat ; Hullin, fearless of eonsequen- 
 gave him his own. 
 
 Turning into the Rue St. Antoine, one who had taken 
 part in the combat, recognised the prisoner. 
 3
 
 50 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 Farther on, came some who had not yet been engaged in 
 the siege, and who, as a matter of course, were more blood- 
 thirsty now that the danger was over. They wished to 
 massacre the prisoners. De Launay remained alive through 
 the protection of Hullin and Elie. 
 
 Elie, less powerful than Hullin, was carried away by the 
 crowd, amongst whom he was lost sight of. 
 
 At the Arcade St. Jean, Hullin himself lost sight of De 
 Launay, but by a superhuman effort he separated the 
 crowd, and regained him. He dragged him to some adja- 
 cent steps, but in the effort fell. Twice did he again raise 
 himself, only to fall again. At the third time, De Launay 
 had disappeared. He looked for him on all sides, and at last 
 recognised his head fixed on the extremity of a pike, and 
 borne above the crowd. 
 
 That head Hullin would have saved, had it been possible, 
 at the risk of his own. 
 
 During this time, the mob had released the prisoners in 
 the Bastille. 
 
 There were nine. 
 
 Two or three, on seeing the door open, cried out that the 
 people had come to slay them, and prepared to defend them- 
 selves with chairs, but the intruders cried out in a loud 
 voice, " Free ! Free ! " 
 
 One could not understand it, and fell suffocating, pressing 
 his heart with his two hands. 
 
 Another stood speechless, with his eyes fixed on space ; a 
 venerable man was he, with a white beard descending to his 
 breast. They took him for a spectre. 
 
 The conquerors told him that he was free. 
 
 He understood them not. 
 
 " How is Louis the Fifteenth ? " asked he. 
 
 " He has been dead fifteen years." 
 
 " How long had he been in the Bastille ? " they asked 
 him. 
 
 " I know nothing about it," ho replied. 
 
 " Who are you ? " 
 
 " I am the Elder-born of Space." 
 
 He was mad. 
 
 Under the staircase, in a sort of tomb," they found two 
 skeletons. Who were they ? No one knew. The work- 
 men took them away, and buried them in the Cemetery of 
 St. Paul.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 51 
 
 All the world wished to see the Bastille. They showed 
 Latude's ladder, that immense work of patience and of 
 genius. 
 
 For a month the old place was not emptied. 
 
 They heard sighs. A report ran about that there were 
 hidden dungeons known only to the Government, in which 
 the unhappy prisoners were suffered to die of hunger. 
 
 The architect of the city, Citizen Palloy, was ordered to 
 pull down the old fortress. Of the best stones, he made 
 eighty-six models of the Bastille, which he sent to eighty- 
 six different departments. 
 
 With the others, he built the Pont de la Revolution, on 
 which the head of Louis XVI was exposed alter execution. 
 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE DUKE D'ENGHIEN'S LAST DAY'S SPORT. 
 
 For a long time, reports of hidden dungeons and forgot- 
 ten prisoners agitated Paris. Paris had had a mountain on 
 its breast, and could not accustom itself to the deliverance 
 from it. 
 
 To pity succeeded fear. Had they really escaped from 
 that calamity with which De Launay had threatened them ? 
 They reported that there were underground passages from 
 the Bastille to Vincennes ; and that in those passages the 
 powder was concealed just under the Faubourg St. Antoine, 
 which would one day blow up from one end to the other. 
 
 These fears had a good effect. They, for a time, dissi- 
 pated the feeling of famine which was gradually creeping 
 over Paris. 
 
 Foulon said, " The French have no bread ; why should 
 they not eat hay ? My horses eat it." 
 
 True or not, he expiated this sneer with his life, and they 
 carried his head about with a mouthful of hay stuffed be- 
 tween his teeth. 
 
 But, alas ! it seemed that the French people had nothing 
 to do but to eat what Foulon recommended. 
 
 From Paris, the fear of famine was dispersed among the 
 provinces.
 
 52 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 " Foulon," said all, " had predicted it." 
 
 They must mow all France. 
 
 All said that his ghost appeared to execute the menace. 
 
 Then report went ahout that bands of robbers had been 
 seen mowing the green wheat. 
 
 The municipality of Soissons wrote to the Assembly a 
 letter full of fears. " The robbers had cut," they said, " all 
 the wheat for miles around, and were now marching on the 
 city." 
 
 Soissons demanded help. 
 
 The Assembly sent a thousand men, who searched on all 
 sides, twelve miles a-da}^. They could not find the 
 robbers. 
 
 No matter, ten, twenty, a hundred people had seen them. 
 
 In the midst of this disputed news, other transpired 
 which was but too true. 
 
 A certain lord having heard that De Launay had wished 
 to blow up the Bastille, resolved, if it were in his power, to 
 complete that which the Governor had been unable to do. 
 
 He announced that, in honor of the taking of the Bas- 
 tille, he would give a grand entertainment, to which all 
 were invited — workmen, artisans, tradesmen, countrymen, 
 soldiers, women, old men, and children. 
 
 In this time of famine, when all lived on an ounce or 
 two of bread per diem, a good dinner was a public service. 
 Everybody — about 5,000 persons, that is to say — rushed to 
 the fete. In the midst of it, an explosion was heard, and 
 the surrounding plain was covered with dissevered limbs. 
 
 The gentleman, whose name was Men nay de Quincy, 
 escaped to Switzerland, and avoided punishment. 
 
 Later on, he returned ; and, as he was a member of Par- 
 liament, he was arrainged before it, and acquitted. 
 
 But the breach between the nobles and the j^eople was 
 now opened. The poor Count de Haus, who was incapable 
 of committing such a crime, was accused of abetting M. de 
 Quincy. 
 
 Some days afterwards, being at Neuville le Pont, he was 
 insulted by the people, who proceeded to extremities ; and 
 he had but just time to spring on his horse, and gallop off 
 to a place of safety. 
 
 Fear had now seized upon us, as well as every one else. 
 
 On the 18th of July, four days after the taking of the
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 53 
 
 Bastille, the Prince Conde, the Duke cTEnghien, M. Vaud- 
 revil, and M. de Broglie were announced. 
 
 Their arrival astonished my uncle, as it was not the hunt- 
 ing season ; the wood being very thick, the shooting was 
 difficult. 
 
 The Prince de Conde replied that he only wished to hunt 
 a stag, the King having commanded him, in the possibility 
 of a war, to examine into the condition of the defences of 
 Verdun. 
 
 The courier was ordered to procure horses from Clermont, 
 and to command the two carriages punctually at live 
 o'clock. 
 
 So, taking this view of the matter, there was nothing ex- 
 traordinary in it at all. 
 
 The Princes, mindful of the sport they had had, were de- 
 termined to enjoy another day of it, although it was not 
 the proper season ; but they could surely do as they liked. 
 
 The Duke d'Enghien commanded me to accompany 
 them. 
 
 I said good-bye to my books for the day, took the gun 
 which the Duke had given me, and followed them. 
 
 The Prince was then eighteen years of age — not much 
 older than I was. It was probably on account of the sim- 
 ilarity of our ages, that I was favored by so much of his no- 
 tice. 
 
 I remarked that, though courteous as usual, he was pro- 
 foundly sorrowful. 
 
 He asked me what progress I was making in my educa- 
 tion. 
 
 I told him. When I mentioned M. Drouet, he asked if 
 he were not the postmaster at St. Menehould. 
 
 On my response in the affirmative, " A hot Republican, 
 if I mistake not ? " he said. 
 
 I replied that, through him, this part of the country had 
 been apprized of the capture of the Bastille. 
 
 He asked me some questions about the general disposi- 
 tion of the country — as much of the nobles as of the lower 
 classes. 
 
 I told him that the love of the people for their King was 
 great, and that the} r equally hated the nobles, which was 
 true. 
 
 He covered his face with his handkerchief, and sighed.
 
 54 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 I looked at him with astonishment. 
 
 " Pardon me, Duke," said I ; " but I heard the Prince de 
 Conde say that he was going to inspect the fortifications of 
 Verdun, in case of war." 
 
 He looked at me to see what I was driving at. 
 
 " Excuse my question, Duke," said I, " but do you think 
 it probable that we shall have war?" 
 
 " Very probable," said he, looking at me in his turn. 
 " But why that question ? " 
 
 " Because, in that event, your Grace, I shall not have 
 lost my time." 
 
 " What would you do if there were war ? " 
 
 " If France be menaced, every one capable of bearing a 
 musket should fly to its defence." 
 
 He looked at my gun. It was the one which he had 
 given me. 
 
 " So you can not only carry a gun, but you know how to 
 use it." 
 
 " In fact, your Grace," said I, laughing, "thanks to your 
 noble gift, I am such a capital shot, that if J had a Prus- 
 sian or Austrian at the end of it, I fancy they would pass 
 an uncomfortable quarter of an hour." 
 
 " You think so ? " 
 
 " I am certain of it. A Prussian or an Austrian would 
 be bigger than that pigeon you see there." 
 
 And I pointed to one perched about three hundred paces 
 off, on the dry branch of a tree. 
 
 " You are mad," said the Prince. " That bird is three 
 times out of range." 
 
 " Certainly, your Grace, for shot ; but not for ball ? " 
 
 " Your gun is loaded, then, with ball ? " 
 
 " Yes, your Grace; 1 seldom use anything else." 
 
 " "What are you doing, Henri?" the Prince de Conde 
 said, as he appeared in view. 
 
 "Nothing, father," replied the Duke; "I am only say- 
 ing a few words to this boy here." 
 
 He then bade me farewell, saying that he hoped I would 
 always " think of him kindly." And waving his hand, he 
 resumed his seat by his father's side, and disappeared. 
 
 I stood almost heart-broken on the spot where the Prince 
 addressed his last words to me. 
 
 One would have thought that I had a presentiment of the 
 awful circumstances under which I should meet him again.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 55 
 
 All the towns bad organized national guards, after the 
 exampleof Paris. Chalons had set the example ; St. Mene- 
 hould had followed it. M. Drouet was captain. He came 
 to ask Bertrand to be his lieutenant, and to see how many 
 men lie could recruit al Lslettes. 
 
 It was the report oi bandits having been sect about 
 which induced them in i rganize the National Guard. 
 
 In eight days, all France was armed. Each day the 
 National Assembly gave audiences to ten couriers. It had 
 at its disposal a million of men. 
 
 Drouet and Bertrand took a stroll in the village of ls- 
 lettes. 
 
 They enrolled twenty men. 
 
 The keepers of the Forest of Argonne enlisted themselves 
 and formed that part of the brigade of which Father Des- 
 charmes was chief. 
 
 I wished to be one of M. Bertrand's detachment, conse- 
 quently in M. Drouet's company. 
 
 He accompanied me as far as Father Descharmes' cottage, 
 and asked me about the visit of the evening before. 
 
 He also a>ked if the Princes had not returned. 
 
 " No ; because they have gone to Verdun," said I. 
 
 "Why did they not send to hire their horses from my 
 place ? •" 
 
 " Because they preferred to have them from Clermont." 
 
 " Hum ! " said M. Jean Baptiste. " Do you know who 
 they were who accompanied the Duke d'Enghien and the 
 Prince de Con do ? " 
 
 " I heard them mention M. Vandreul and M. Broglie." 
 
 " Exactly," said he. " Rene, they come not to inspect 
 Verdun. They have abandoned the King, and quitted 
 France. They have gone to intrigue with strangers." 
 
 Then I remembered the sadness of the Duke d'Enghien ; 
 and I called to mind his peculiar look, when I said that an 
 Austrian or Prussian were easier to shoot than a pigeon. I 
 also remembered his last words before leaving — " I hope 
 that you will always think of me with kindness." 
 
 Poor Prince ! He had left France, and that was the 
 cause of his sorrow. 
 
 " Would that all would follow his example," murmured 
 M. Drouet, "from the first to the last! But," continued 
 he, grinding his teeth, "I fancy that if the King or Queen 
 were to try that move, they would not escape so easily."
 
 56 LOVE AND LTBEBTY. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 I GO TO MAKE CAPTIVES AND AM TAKEN CAPTIVE 
 MYSELF. 
 
 Our National Guard was at firsl a curious sight. 
 
 The first rank were armed with guns ; the second with 
 scythes ; the third with clubs, and so on. 
 
 Later on, the armorers made some pikes for those who 
 had no guns. 
 
 But however the guard was armed, there is no doubt but 
 that it was rilled with enthusiasm. 
 
 Not a man, had he received the order, would have hesi- 
 tated to march on Paris. 
 
 What was most remarkable, with regard to this corps, 
 was the manner in which the battalions seemed, as it were, 
 to spring from the earth. Libert}' was as yet quite young ; 
 and yet she had only to strike with her foot on the ground, 
 to raise this deadly harvest of men. 
 
 It was in the sainted year of 1789 that all France became 
 soldiers. After the 14th Jul} 7 , every Frenchman was born 
 with teeth ready to bite a cartridge. 
 
 Villages and towns joined in one compact ; and that was, 
 to mutually help each other when necessary. 
 
 One day, we saw arrive, by way of Clermont, the people 
 of Verdun ; and, by way of Paris, the people of St. Mene 
 hould. 
 
 They had heard that a band of robbers had issued from 
 the Forest of Argonne, set fire to Islettes, and plundered 
 the village. 
 
 A hundred men from Clermont, under the command of 
 M. Matthieu, and two hundred from St. Menehould, under 
 M. Drouet, had therefore set out, to render what assistance 
 they might in the extermination of the brigands, of whom 
 they had as yet not seen a trace. 
 
 They made merry, therefore, instead of fighting, and in 
 the place of the rattle of musketry, was heard the more 
 peaceful song. 
 
 Eight days afterwards, a man passed on horseback, going 
 from Clermont to St. Menehould, and crying out, " The 
 brigands are marching on Varennes ! Help ! help ! ''
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 57 
 
 The man disappeared from view — none knew Lim. Xo 
 matter, all leaped up] the drum beat the rappel; fifty men 
 put themselves under the dim biori of Bertrand : ami. with- 
 out inquiring the number of the enemy, marched to A'aren- 
 nes. Ne< d ty, I was one of them. 
 
 From the height ot the hill of Veuvilly, we saw a great 
 cloud of dust, about half a lea id of us. 
 
 They were the men of Clermont, who. having started 
 about half an hour before us, were about half a league 
 ahea 1. 
 
 At that sight, all elevated their hats on the ends of their 
 muskets or pikes, and shouted " Vive la nation '." 
 
 That cry had almost completely taken the place of " Vive 
 le Roi : "' * 
 
 We arrived at Varennes, which we expected to find in 
 flames, with the streets running blood. From the height 
 of the hill, which descends to the Rue des Religieuses, we 
 had a good view of the town. 
 
 All was quiet. 
 
 The people of Clermont, when they first arrived, were 
 taken tor the brigands, whom they were expecting every 
 moment. • 
 
 When thej- recognised them, there was a general em- 
 bracing, and crying " Vive la nation ! " 
 
 Then we arrived, in our turn ; and two hours afterwards, 
 the men of Montfalcon, X)e Bousance, and De Youziez. 
 The latter had marched eight leagues in live hours. 
 
 They bivouacked in the Place de Latry, and the Place 
 de Grand Monarque. 
 
 They then laid out tables for a public repast, where, after 
 an ancient custom, each cue chose his companions, and 
 found his own dinner. 
 
 I had one visit to pay in Varennes — a place to which I 
 seldom came, and where I only knew two persons, M. Guil- 
 laume and M. Billaud. 
 
 I remembered me of one of the two master workmen 
 who had priced my carpentry work for M. Drouet ; and 
 who said that if 1 had no work to do, and would accept it 
 of him. he could always find me plenty. 
 
 His name was Father Gerbaut. 
 
 I asked his address. He lived in the Rue de la Basse 
 Cour. The houses were not numbered at that period. On
 
 58 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 the left, descending to the Place Latry, next door to a large 
 grocer's, his house was situated. 
 
 I called. He was out ; but expected home every 
 moment. 
 
 I was received by his daughter, a charming girl, a little 
 younger than myself — that is to say, about sixteen or 
 seventeen years of age. 
 
 She asked me to wait till her father returned, or to give 
 her my name if I feared becoming weary of staying with 
 her. 
 
 Of course, I rejected with scorn the idea that any one 
 could become wearied in the presence of one so gracious 
 and charming. 
 
 It was the first time in my life that I had ever addressed 
 a compliment to a female. 
 
 Indeed, it was the first time that I had been in conversa- 
 tion with a girl at all. 
 
 Up to this time, 1 had scarcely given women a moment's 
 consideration. 
 
 Directly I told my name to the young girl, her face, 
 w T hich had before been amiable, brightened into a look of 
 friendship. 
 
 " I know you," said she ; " you worked for M. Drouet ; 
 my father has mentioned you to his workmen, more than 
 once, as an example to be followed. Do stay ; he will be 
 glad to see you." 
 
 On looking around me, I perceived a harpsichord. 
 
 " You are a musician, I perceive, mademoiselle." 
 
 " Oh. Monsieur Rene, you must not call me that. The 
 organist of St. Ugengoulf has given me a few lessons ; and, 
 as he says I have some voice, I practise singing to amuse 
 myself." 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said I, " can you believe that I have 
 never heard the sound of a harpischord, or an} 7 song, but 
 that of the washerwomen, as they beat their linen ? Will 
 you sing something for me as well as yourself, and I shall 
 be completely happy?" 
 
 " With the greatest pleasure," she replied. 
 
 And rising up, she crossed over to the harpischord; and, 
 after a simple prelude, she sang — 
 
 " How sad to me tlie day 
 When tliuu art far away ! "
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 53 
 
 Every one knows that pretty romance, the " Devin de 
 Village." 
 
 But it had never seemed so charming to me as when 
 issuing from the lips of my pretty songstress. 
 
 Mademoiselle Gerbaut had sang very simply, hut with 
 that coquetry so natural to women. Her face was variable ; 
 and as she sang without accompaniment, leaning slightly 
 back in her chair, her half-closed eyes gave a somewhat 
 sentimental expression to the rest of her face. Her mouth 
 was beautifully formed, she spoke almost without any per- 
 ceptible movement of the lips, and you saw, at the first 
 glance, that what she said was neither artificial nor con- 
 strained. 
 
 I was delighted with her. I said nothing, but my looks 
 spoke more than words could have done. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said I, not being able, in my enthusi- 
 asm, to think of any thing else, " have you read 
 < Emile ? ' " 
 
 "Xo, monsieur," she replied ; " but my mother has read 
 it, and that is why I am named Sophie." 
 
 " You are named Sophie ! " cried I, seizing her hand, 
 and pressing it to in} T heart ; " now I am completely 
 happy ! " 
 
 She looked at me with an astonished smile. 
 
 " And why are you so happy because my name is 
 Sophie ? " said she. 
 
 " Because now I can look upon you as a sister more than 
 a stranger. Oh, Sophie — dear Sophie ! " 
 
 Sophie regarded me with a more astonished expression 
 of face than ever ; and I know not what she might have 
 said, had not M. Gerbaut made his appearance at that 
 moment. 
 
 "Ah ! is that you, Rene?" said he; "you are, indeed, 
 welcome. I asked the news from your friends on the 
 Place there, and when they told me that you were at Var- 
 ennes, I knew you would not go without (•ailing to see me." 
 
 '• ^i es, M. Gerbaut," I answered, going up to him, and 
 shaking his hand; " but I did not expect to find what I 
 have found." 
 
 " And, pray, what have you found ? " 
 
 ".Mademoiselle Sophie, who has been kind enough to 
 sing me an air from the 'Devin de Village de M. Rous- 
 seau.' "
 
 60 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! She did not require much persuasion, did 
 she ? " 
 
 " Only great men, or great fools, require to be ashed 
 twice," said Sophie, laughing; "and as I am not a genius 
 or a " 
 
 Here she paused, while a sweet smile played over her 
 lips. 
 
 " Fool," continued M. Gerbaut, "you sang to him." 
 
 " Did I do wrong, father 7 " 
 
 " Certainly not. As long as you sing to your equals, 
 and without affectation, well and good. You know what I 
 mean ? " 
 
 Sophie bent her e}'es, blushing. 
 
 " We must change our quarters, I think," said Father 
 Gerbaut, half smiling, half serious. 
 
 " Wherefore? " said I, breaking into the conversation. 
 
 " Because we are just opposite to the ' Hotel de Eras 
 d'Or,' where many handsome young gentlemen put up, and 
 who are fond of music as a vehicle for making love." 
 
 " Oh, father ! " murmured Sophie ; " sa} 7 not so ! " 
 
 "What would you have?" cried M. Gerbaut. "They 
 are no friends of mine who would bring trouble into peace- 
 ful families. When I understood that the princes and 
 great lords had left the country, I had hoped that these 
 gentlemen would have gone in their train. But no ; they 
 stay to make love to our wives and daughters, and to con- 
 spire against the nation. But this is not the time to speak 
 of that. This is a fete day for Varennes. I must pay a 
 visit to the cellar and larder. After dinner we will have a 
 dance. Will you be Sophie's partner?" said M. Ger- 
 baut to me. 
 
 '"I should be only too happy," cried I; "but perhaps 
 Mdle. Sophie does not think a }'oung apprentice worthy of 
 offering her his arm ?" 
 
 " Oh, M. Bene ! " said the young girl ; " you listen to 
 my father, and then do me a grevious wrong, without any 
 foundation for it." 
 
 Sophie and myself bounded down the staircase, and in a 
 moment found ourselves under a bright sun in the street, 
 as I could not help thinking, like two butterflies emerged 
 from a chrysalis state. 
 
 Whilst I had been waiting at M. Gerbaut's, and whilst
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 61 
 
 I had been listening to Sophie's song, the streets of Van-li- 
 nes had undergone a greal change. 
 
 The city was holding high holiday, with which, however, 
 was mingled a certain degree of solemnity. 
 
 All the houses wen- hung with tapestry ; and outside the 
 doors tables were laid, covered with flowers, at which the 
 inhabitants of the houses were seated, eating, waited upon 
 by their servants, if they had any ; if not, by themselves. 
 
 As if they wished that the dead should participate in 
 the joy of the living, garlands of green boughs, inter- 
 mingled with flowers, were suspended from the gates of the 
 cemetery, which stretched from the church to the side of 
 the Rue de l'Horloge. In the middle of the Place was 
 erected a scaffolding, filled with amateur musicians, who 
 wished to promote a dance after dinner. On the front of 
 this temple of Terpischore was written " Vive le Roi ! 
 Vive la nation ! " Underneath this, in large letters, was 
 inscribed the word " Fraternite ! ''" 
 
 It was, in fact a brotherly rejoicing. Those who there 
 met for the first time were members of one great family, 
 which had existed for centuries, only it ignored the tie 
 which bound one to the other. 
 
 But common danger had caused to meet the two ends of 
 the thread, and in their union they found force. 
 
 After passing the houses leading to the 1'lace Latry, we 
 arrived at the open space in front of the Rue de l'Horloge, 
 and entered into the midst of the crowd. 
 
 There seemed to be collected all the inhabitants of the 
 High Town. 
 
 In each street the tables were arranged on the right and 
 left side of the houses ; a space in the middle being left for 
 the promenaders. The Rue des Religieuses, which runs 
 down from the foot of the hill, made a most perfect and 
 picturesque view. 
 
 We got mixed up with a lot of other persons, when all of 
 a sudden a crowd of horsemen — young gentlemen, appar- 
 ently — appeared on the crest of the hill, and, putting their 
 horses at full gallop, dashed into the Rue des Religieuses. 
 There was a general cry of "Each one for himself! " and 
 we turned to fly; but as we had been in front before, we 
 now naturally found ourselves in the rear. 
 
 Thinking but of Sophie, I wished to put her under one
 
 62 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 of the tables, to be out of the way of danger ; hut curious 
 to relate, she did not seem to know the peril she was in, 
 and would not stir till it was too late ; and I had just time 
 to clasp her in my arms, and throw myself in front of her. 
 
 I had scarcely accomplished this, than, on turning round, 
 I discovered myself face to face with a horseman, whose 
 steed was perfectly unmanageable, and turned round and 
 round, threatening us with his hoofs as he did so. 
 
 I had but one hope, and that was to preserve Sophie. I 
 caught hold of the horse's bridle, the cavalier raised his 
 whip, the horse gave a plunge, and, whether through acci- 
 dent or intention, the blow, instead of falling on the horse, 
 struck me on the shoulder. 
 
 The shame of being struck, more than the pain of the 
 blow, caused the blood to rise to my head. I seized the 
 horseman by his waist, lifted him from the saddle, the 
 horse bolting away at the moment, upsetting a woman and 
 two or three children in its wild career, and fell with him 
 on the pavement; but, being the more vigorous, I was the 
 uppermost, and soon had him at my mercy, with my knee 
 on his breast. 
 
 It was only when his hat fell from his head, that I re- 
 cognised who my adversary was. 
 
 " M. de Malmy ! " cried I. 
 
 And taking my knee from his breast, and releasing his 
 arms, I stood a little on one side. 
 
 " Ah, wretch ! " cried he regaining his whip. " Do you 
 know what is the penalty for laying hands on a gentle- 
 man ? " 
 
 " M. le Viscount ! " cried Sophie, pale with terror, placing 
 herself, at the same time, between us. 
 
 He smiled a grim smile, grinding his teeth as he did so. 
 
 " I am determined, mademoiselle. Had he been a 
 gentleman, I would chastise him with a sword ; but as he 
 is not, I shall punish him with this whip." 
 
 He raised it. 
 
 I looked for something with which to defend myself. At 
 that moment, a man sprang over one of the tables, seized 
 the Marquis with one hand, and possessed himself of the 
 whip with the other. 
 
 " Monsieur," said he, " whips were made for horses and 
 dogs. Rene Besson is a man."
 
 LOVE AKD LIBERTY. 63 
 
 " A man ? " repeated the Viscount, furiously. 
 
 " Yea, a man ; and one whom you may not insult." 
 
 " Who are you ? " asked the Viscount. 
 
 "You know me very well. M. de Malmy ; but as you ask, 
 I will tell you. I am Jean Baptiste Drouet, postmaster at 
 St. Menehould. I am not of noble birth, I know full well ; 
 but for six yours have 1 served my country as a soldier, and 
 that is better than a gentleman who spends his life in eat- 
 ing, drinking, and bunting. This 1 say for the benefit of 
 you and your friends, and if you want me, you know where 
 to find me." 
 
 Saying these words, Drouet pushed De Malmy aside, 
 and turned to confront two or three other young gentlemen, 
 who. having dismounted, had come to join in the quarrel. 
 
 ; - When we change horses at your post-house, M. Drou- 
 et," said one of these young men, " we do not generally 
 approach, but send our domestics^ to bear our orders to 
 you." 
 
 " I would much rather deal with your servants than with 
 you, M. de Courtement. The}-, at least, have not sold their 
 wives or daughters in the Pare au Gerfs." 
 
 The young noble took this as a sarcasm on his birth, 
 with regard to which infamous reports had been bruited 
 about. 
 
 He had a hunting-knife in his belt, and suddenly drew 
 it, maddened with anger. 
 
 But before the knife could do any mischief. Drouet drew 
 a pistol from his pocket, and presented it full in the face of 
 the Chevalier. 
 
 '• Monsieur," said he, " I could shoot you like I would a 
 wild beast; and two hundred people would bear witness 
 that you offered the first insult ; but the time has not 
 \ut come when all shall have their dues. So go your way 
 in peace, and let the matter stand as it is." 
 
 "Oh, without doubt, that proceeding would suit you 
 wonderfully well," said M. de Malmy; •• but, for the sake 
 of an example, I must proceed otherwise." 
 
 Raising his whip, he advanced on M. Drouet, who, mak- 
 ing a spring to one side, jumped on a table, and cried out, 
 in a powerful tone of voice, -Help! To my assistance, 
 men of St. Menehould ! " 
 
 A hundred voices responded to the cry ; a crowd rushed
 
 64 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 to where we were ; and in a moment, the five or six gentle- 
 men were completely in our power. 
 
 Each had seized the arms that came nearest to hand — 
 one a pike, another a musket ; thus showing by their alac- 
 rity, their wish to be of service to their commander. They 
 were informed of the origin of the dispute, and wished 
 nothing better than to fan up the embers of the old quarrel 
 between the no'bles and the people. 
 
 The young gentlemen saw that it was useless to attempt 
 resistance. 
 
 "Murder us!" cried the Viscount; "even as your 
 friends at Paris have murdered De Launay, Foulon, and 
 Berthier." 
 
 "Our friends, as you call them, in Paris, disgraced them- 
 selves by laying hands on men who were scarcely good 
 enough to die by the hands of the common executioner. 
 But what would j-ou have ? The people have cried for jus- 
 tice, and it has been denied them. Is it, then, wonderful 
 that they should take the law in their own hands when the 
 opportunity presented ? But as for you, gentlemen, as you 
 are not gaolers, like De Launay, or extortioners, like Fou- 
 lon and Berthier, you have not merited death, but simply 
 a little lesson, which I shall have great pleasure in giving 
 you." 
 
 " Give a lesson to us ? " cried the young men, mad with 
 rage. 
 
 "Yes; but it shall not be harsh or spiteful. This is a 
 day of brotherly fraternity. Are you our brothers? Will 
 you share in our fete ? Porget the hard words that have 
 passed between us ; or, if you cannot, put them down to 
 the account of that goddess who is aptly called Discord. 
 The tables await you. Sit down among us, and we will 
 give you the place of honor; and the first one who forgets 
 to pay the respect which is due to you, shall be chased from 
 the midst of us, as one unworthy of participating in our 
 reunion. Do j t ou agree with me ? " cried Drouet to all 
 who were around. 
 
 "Yes ! yes ! *' replied all. with one voice, with the excep- 
 tion of the young nobles, who still continued silent. 
 
 '• What if we refuse ?" at last said one of them. 
 
 " If you refuse/* said Drouet, " go to the ' Bras d*Or,' 
 or the • Grand Monarque ; ' eat and drink as you like — you
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 65 
 
 are free ; but disturb not our enjoyment. Am I not right, 
 my friends ? " continued Drouet, for the second time ad- 
 dressing the crowd. 
 
 The applause was as loud as before. 
 
 " And if we do not promise to leave you in quiet enjoy- 
 ment of j'our fete — what then ? " asked another of the 
 young nobles. 
 
 " As, by that act, you will prove that you are not good 
 citizens, and that you are desirous of breaking the public 
 peace, we shall ask you to leave the town quiel^' ; and, if 
 you refuse, we will expel you by force." 
 
 " Bravo ! bravo ! " cried all. 
 
 M. de Mai my interrogated his companions with his 
 e} r es ; and as he saw the same expression in all theirs, 
 " Messieurs," said he, " I regret that, in the name of my 
 friend and myself, I must refuse the great honor that you 
 offer us. I regret, also, that we cannot pledge our word 
 not to interrupt the fete, as we are not sufficient philoso- 
 phers to avoid breaking our promise ; so — as we have no 
 further business to detain us in town — we ask your per- 
 mission to make our most respectful adieu, and to go and 
 seek our pleasure elsewhere." 
 
 "As you wish, M. le Viscount," said M. Drouet. "You 
 are free to go." Then, assuming the tone of command 
 which sat so well on him, he said, " Allow these gentlemen 
 to pass, and preserve complete silence ; the one who passes 
 a remark, will have to answer for it to me." 
 
 Not a sound could be heard. 
 
 In the midst of this oppressive silence, the young nobles 
 remounted their horses, and returned by the way that they 
 had arrived. 
 
 No word was spoken, no movement made ; but the 
 people followed the little party with their eyes until they 
 finally disappeared from view on turning into the road 
 leading to Clermont. 
 
 Then a voice was heard, calm, but commanding in its 
 tones. It was Drouet's. 
 
 "Lieutenant Bertrand," said he, "place sentinels at the 
 gates and see that the young nobles do not re-enter the 
 town, during the continuance of the fete." 
 
 Then, turning to the crowd, " Am I not right, my 
 friends ? " said he. 
 4
 
 66 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 " Vive M. Drouet ! Vive la nation ! " cried the people, 
 with one voice. 
 
 A few cries of "Down with the nobles!" were heard, 
 but they had no response. In fact, Drouet turned to 
 whence those cries proceeded, and made a gesture of 
 disapprobation. 
 
 The fete then continued as happily as if nothing had 
 happened 
 
 -«— ^»— > 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 TOUCHING MADEMOISELLE SOPHIE. 
 
 I have said how much my encounter with De Malmy 
 seemed to affect my companion, but that might have been 
 accounted for in three wa}*s. First, her fear for herself; 
 second, her fear for me ; and lastly, perhaps, her fear for 
 my adversary. 
 
 I had not forgotten what Father Gerbaut had said with 
 regard to his daughter's looking higher than her position 
 warranted, and to the attention which she drew from the 
 young gentlemen who put up at the " Bras d'Or," some of 
 whom were, no doubt, those with whom we had been in 
 contest. 
 
 I had naturally followed, with my eyes, the little caval- 
 cade, until it finally disappeared. 
 
 On withdrawing my looks from it, I perceived that 
 Sophie was half fainting. I offered her my arm, which 
 she took, trembling at the same time all over. 
 
 "Oh, M. Rene," said she, "I was so frightened ! How 
 glad I am that it ended as it did ! " 
 
 For whom was she frightened? and for whose sake was 
 she so glad that all was over ? 
 
 Was it for our sakes, or for that of the young lords ? 
 
 I did not like to ask her. 
 
 M. Drouet walked along the Place with us. We passed 
 under the arch, and entered the Rue de la Basse. Cour 
 Billaud lived some distance away, and Guillaume almost in 
 the country j so those three young men went to the " Hotel
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 67 
 
 du Bras d'Or," and although the brothers Leblanc wished 
 to give them a dinner for nothing, they insisted on paying 
 for everything that they had. 
 
 The table at which they dined was on the other side of 
 the street, just opposite to ours. 
 
 The clock of St. Gengoulf gave the signal for dinner. 
 
 The two first toasts proposed were "The King!" and 
 " The nation ! " They then drank another " To the health 
 of those who, believing them to be in danger, had flown to 
 their succor." 
 
 Sophie eat but little, in spite of my remonstrances. Now 
 and then, her father broke out into violent abuse against 
 the young nobles, and I saw the tears trembling on her eye- 
 lashes every time that he did so. 
 
 We crossed the bridge thrown over the Biver Aire. Two 
 streams of promenaders were continually passing — the one 
 set mounting up, the other coming down. The Place du 
 Grand Monarque was splendidly illuminated. The tables 
 were not in any one's way, being, for the most part, piled 
 in front of the door of the church. 
 
 The Place du Grand Monarque being smoother and 
 better paved than the Place Latry and, besides, not having 
 the dispiriting influence of a cemetery, was chosen for the 
 ball room. 
 
 The signal for the dance was given by a joyous peal from 
 the church bells, to which violins and clarionets replied, and 
 a quadrille was speedily formed. 
 
 My partner took mj arm for the second dance, but sud- 
 denly complaining of illness, she implored me to take her 
 home. 
 
 I was not an experienced dancer, but under Sophie's tui- 
 tion I got on so well, that I tried all I could to dissuade her 
 from retiring ; but she said, with a sad smile, " Do not ask 
 me to remain, Bene," and so I was obliged to comply with 
 her request. 
 
 I gave her my arm, and we retraced our steps to the 
 house. 
 
 M. Gerbaut had heard all about the fracas in the Bue des 
 Beligieuses, and was very well pleased that we had given 
 the young gentlemen a lesson. 
 
 Sophie, who had her arm in mine, heard all that he said 
 to me, with downcast eyes, and gave no sign of approbation 
 or otherwise, but I felt her shudder under her father's words.
 
 68 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 As I was leaving, " Mademoiselle," said I, " I.go back 
 to-morrow, with my friends, probably before you awake ; so 
 permit me to say good-bye this evening, and to tell you be- 
 fore M. Gerbaut, what pleasure I feel in having made your 
 acquaintance." 
 
 " And I, M. ReneY' said she, " like you as a friend, and 
 am well disposed to love you as a brother." 
 
 " Very well, my children," said Father Gerbaut, " em- 
 brace each other and say good-bye." 
 
 Sophie turned to me both cheeks, which I kissed with a 
 feeling of ineffable pleasure. 
 
 She then retired to her own room ; I followed her with 
 my eyes to the door, when she turned, and gave me a parting 
 glance, and a parting smile. 
 
 " She is a good girl, after all," said her father. 
 
 " A good girl, M. Gerbaut ? Say, rather, an angel ! " 
 
 " Angels are not so common as all that, my boy. But," 
 continued he, leading me along the corridor, and opening a 
 door, " here is your room, not only for to-night, but for 
 ever, if you will enter into my service. You shall have 
 board and lodging, and twenty-five crowns a month.. Do 
 you hear me?" 
 
 I shook him by the hand, and thanked him for his kind- 
 ness. He then wished me to come down stairs again, to 
 drink a glass to the health of the nation. But I pleaded 
 fatigue, and want of sleep, and entered my chamber. 
 
 The real reason why I did not comply with his offer, was 
 that I wished to be alone. 
 
 I shut the door, for I was afraid that any one might come 
 and look for me. But there was no fear of that. Every 
 one was so busy enjoying himself, that they had no time to 
 think of aught else. 
 
 I threw myself on the bed, and thought of Sophie. 
 
 M. Drouet had given me a sincere liking for intellectual 
 existence, but Sophie awakened in me another kind of exis- 
 tence, that of love ; and I felt, for the first time, that inde- 
 scribable, but pleasurable sensation, which predicts the 
 dawning of that passion. 
 
 A new future opened before me. This was the scene. 
 A happy, though, perhaps, a humble home, with a careful 
 and a beloved wife. I could see myself, at set of sun, 
 walking by the river's side, her heart beating against mine.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 69 
 
 I could fancy delaying under the tall teees, to hear the 
 blackbird's song. In a word, this dream of the future was 
 that twofold life which, till then, had never engaged my 
 boyish thoughts. Now, I seemed to have taken one step 
 into this fairyland; and, although I trembled still, I would 
 fain go on. 
 
 What, then, prevented me, I asked myself, from making 
 this dream a reality ? Why did I not at once close with 
 M. Gerbaut's offer? It was because my heart misgave me. 
 I thought of Sophie's evident leaning towards men of a 
 higher class ; I reflected that, to her, I must be a mere boy. 
 And I groaned in spirit that I was not half-a-dozen years 
 older. 
 
 At daybreak, the reveille w r as beaten. My comrade had 
 passed the night on the Place and in the streets, dancing 
 and drinking. I jumped from my couch, and, having hast- 
 ily dressed myself, crept on tip-toe to the door of Sophie's 
 chamber, wishing to say adieu, even if only through the 
 key-hole. 
 
 I had trodden as lightly as possible, scarcely hearing my 
 own footsteps ; and how great was my astonishment on 
 seeing the door open a little way, and a hand put out. 
 
 It was easy to see, through the crevice from which the 
 hand was protruded, that Sophie had not retired to rest at 
 all ; or, if she had, that she had not undressed herself. 
 
 I seized the hand, and pressed it to my lips. 
 
 She withdrew it, leaving, at the same time, a little billet 
 in mine, and quickly closed the door. 
 
 I could scarcely believe my eyes. I approached a win- 
 dow, and, by the light of early dawn, read these words^ — 
 
 " I have no friends, Rene. Be one to me. I am very 
 
 unhappy ! " 
 
 I pressed, with one hand, the billet to my heart, and, 
 with the other extended towards her chamber, I swore to 
 accept and prove myself worthy of the friendship so mys- 
 teriously offered. 
 
 Then, perceiving that all was quiet in her room, I went 
 down stairs, took my gun, and, throwing one parting glance 
 at her window, passed into the street. 
 
 The curtain drew back, giving me a glimpse of her face.
 
 70 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 She nodded, throwing me a sad smile, and the curtain was 
 replaced before the window. 
 
 Small as the time was that I had for observation, I could 
 not help thinking that her eyes were reddened with weep- 
 ing. 
 
 There was nothing wonderful in that. Had she not told 
 me, in her letter, that she was very unhappy ? 
 
 There was a mystery, which, no doubt, thought I, time 
 will clear up. 
 
 I walked rapidly down the street, in the direction of the 
 Place, knowing that, if 1 did not make a vigorous effort, I 
 should never be able to tear myself away from the vicinity 
 of the house. 
 
 The men of Clermont, D'Islettes, and St. Menehould— • 
 in fact, all who followed the same route — were collected in 
 one group. They drank one last toast, shook hands .for the 
 last time, and separated. 
 
 Father Gerbaut conducted us as far as the top of the 
 Hill des Religieuses, and there renewed the offers that he 
 had previously made to me. 
 
 I reached Father Descharmes' cottage, and, for the first 
 time, found it lonely, and my room wretched. 
 
 On the morrow, I recommenced my usual routine of life ; 
 and though I had the same wish to make progress in my 
 studies, still there was a dreary blank in my heart, which 
 they could not fill. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 WHAT " BROTHERHOOD " MEANT. 
 
 I have told you all that took place up to this time. 
 
 My life continued the same as ever, with the exception 
 of a dreary feeling about the heart. 
 
 The events that took place in Paris had no direct effect 
 upon me. I heard them as one might hear the echo of a 
 distant thunder-clap. 
 
 In this way we heard of the abolition of titles, on the 
 1st of August ; of the suppression of tithes ; of the recog-
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 71 
 
 nition of religious liberty ; of the orgie of the gardes du 
 corps ; of the insult offered to the national cockade ; of the 
 days of the 5th and 6th of October ; of the return of the 
 King and Queen to Paris; of the plots and intrigues of 
 the Court ; of the prosecution of Bezenval and Favras ; 
 and of the publication of the Red Book by the assembly. 
 
 The Red Book revealed all. 
 
 The King, who had, on the 12th of February, sworn 
 friendship to the Constitution, not only was in direct cor- 
 respondence with the exiles, but went to Treves, a military 
 post, where his stables were situated, and which was in 
 charge of Prince Lambese, the very man who had charged 
 on the people in the garden of the Tuileries, on the 12th 
 of Jul}', and wounded an old man with his sabre, and trod- 
 den the helpless under foot. 
 
 The same kind of thing went on at Versailles. The 
 King had a Minister of Foreign Affairs; uniforms were 
 made for the gardes du corps, and sent to Treves ; horses 
 were bought in England for the accommodation of the 
 King's household; and the only grumble that Louis XVI 
 made, when he paid the bills, was, that, at least, they might 
 have bought the horses in France. 
 
 The Comte D'Artois, the Prince Conde, and the other 
 exiles, received enormous pensions. 
 
 They had not then been able to find what became of the 
 sixty millions. 
 
 But now the Red Book pointed out where they had 
 gone. 
 
 If, up to this moment, there had been any hesitation on 
 the minds of the people, that hesitation now disappeared. 
 
 They knew where was their enemy. 
 
 The enemy was the exiles, and their ally, the King, who 
 pensioned them. 
 
 This was the reason why the Assembly struck a decisive 
 blow, and put up for sale, at one time, ecclesiastical bene- 
 fices to the tune of four hundred millions. Paris alone 
 bought two hundred millions' worth. 
 
 All the municipalities followed that example. They 
 bought a great number, and then sold them, one by one. 
 In a word, they wished to expropriate the clergy, and 
 they did hesitate to do it. 
 
 There is something miraculous in this, and which does 
 not appear in the history of any other country.
 
 72 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 And that is, the spontaneous organization of France by 
 itself. The Assembly was only a secretary. France did 
 the deed ; the Assembly registered it. 
 
 Before that, the division of old France into provinces was 
 abolished ; the boundaries had been already changed ; there 
 were no longer Provencals, Bretons, Alsaciens, Picards, or 
 French. 
 
 The Champ de Mars was Mount Tabor, transfigured by 
 the sun of June. 
 
 Valence gave, on the 29th of November, 1789, the exam- 
 ple of the first federation ; and each strove to follow the 
 example given by the zealous Dauphin, our vanguard 
 against the great enemy, the Savoyard King. 
 
 From anterior ages, the eldest man has always presided, 
 whether noble or not. His age makes his right — his white 
 locks his crown. 
 
 Rouen searched for an old Chevalier of Malta, eighty- 
 five years of age, to preside at its federation. 
 
 In St. Aurleol, there were two old men, respectively 
 ninety-three and ninety-four years of age, the one a noble, 
 and the other a plebeian — the one a colonel, the other a 
 laborer. These two embraced at the altar, and the specta- 
 tors embraced each other, ciying, " There is no longer an 
 aristocracy, no longer a working-class — there are only 
 Frenchmen ! " 
 
 At Lous le Lauheur, a citizen, whose name is forgotten, 
 gave this toast : — 
 
 " To all men, equally to our enemies : let us swear to 
 love and protect them." 
 
 Open the book of royalty, and see if you can find a sen- 
 timent equal to that inscribed on the first page of the book 
 of the people. 
 
 From all places, provincial and isolated, one cry arose : — 
 " To Paris ! To Paris ! To Paris ! n 
 
 As this cry burst from the throat of France, Royal- 
 ists and Jacobins trembled. The Jacobins said, " The 
 King, with his smile, and the Queen, with her white lips, 
 will fascinate the credulous people from the provinces, and 
 will cause them to turn against us, and the revolution will 
 be at an end." 
 
 The Royalists said. " To bring these provincials, already 
 ripe for tumult, to Paris, the centre of agitation, is but
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 73 
 
 bringing oil to feed the lamp of revolution. Who can say 
 what will be the effect of this immense concourse, and what 
 fearful events may conic to pass through the incursions of 
 two hundred and fifty thousand souls, from all quarters of 
 France, into Paris '.' 
 
 But the impulse was given, and the movement could not 
 be stayed. 
 
 France wished, with that powerful will which nothing 
 could arrest, to know itself 
 
 The corporation of Paris demanded of the Assembly the 
 general federation. 
 
 The Assembly, pretending to accord to their wish, named 
 the 14th of July, the anniversary of the taking of the 
 Bastille. 
 
 The news was propagated among all the provinces of the 
 kingdom ; but as they feared so great an assemblage in 
 Paris, and wished to put all possible obstacles in their way, 
 all expenses were put down to the charge of the localities. 
 
 All our department clubbed together. I was compara- 
 tively rich, having in my possession three or four hundred 
 crowns, gained by my own labor, and saved by my own 
 economy. 
 
 Father Descharmes had offered to give me what sum I 
 wanted ; but I refused to accept anything. 
 
 For some time, the poor old man had been declining hi 
 health. He had served princes all his life, and now missed 
 them. One thing greatly perplexed him, and that was, 
 whether France had the right to act as it was acting? 
 
 They had offered him a deputyship to the federation ; but 
 he shook his head, saying, " I am too old ; Rene will go in 
 my place." 
 
 Afterwards, he had a long conversation with M. Drouet, 
 in the course of which he gave him some papers, which he 
 sorted with care, put in his portfolio, and took to St. Mene- 
 hould. 
 
 On the eve of departure, a carriage drove up to the door 
 of my uncle's cottage ; and, to my astonishment, I saw 
 Sophie and her father alight from it. 
 
 I rushed out with a cry of joy, but suddenly stopped my- 
 self. 
 
 What would Sophie — what would her father think? 
 Father Gerbaut smiled. Sophie made a step in advance, 
 and gave me her hand.
 
 74 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 " "Well, how is old Nimrod getting on ? " said Father 
 Gerbaut to my uncle, who had just come out of his room. 
 
 " As well as can be expected at my age, M. Gerbaut. It 
 is necessary for the violet to blossom in spring, and the 
 beech-tree to put forth its buds in May. He is just sixteen 
 and a-half j r ears old. When 1 was at that age, I already 
 had a sweetheart." 
 
 I felt myself blushing to the veiy tips of my ears. 
 
 " Ah ! I never had but one love. But where are you go- 
 ing to in this fashion ? " asked my uncle ; " for I cannot 
 think that you came all this way on purpose to pay me a 
 visit," 
 
 "No, my old friend ; though I am delighted to see you. I 
 am on my way to St. Men'ehould, to put a few little affairs 
 of mine in order. I have been appointed a member of the 
 Federation, and I do not know how long we may be com- 
 pelled to stay in Paris." 
 
 " W'hat a pity that you have not got a third seat in your 
 carriage. I also have business at St. Menehould, and I would 
 have asked you to give me a lift." 
 
 " Good ! " said M. Gerbaut ; " all can be arranged. So- 
 phie does not much care to go to St. Menehould. Do you, 
 Sophie ? " 
 
 " I only care to go, so as to be with you, father." 
 
 "Well, then, stay here with Rene. You can stroll, in 
 the w T ood, like two lovers, and we, like two old fogies as we 
 are, will go and look after our affairs. If Rene were a young 
 nobleman, I should not place so much trust in him ; but he 
 is a good lad, a clever workman, and an honest man, and as 
 I would trust him with a purse, so will I trust him with my 
 child." 
 
 I looked joyfully at Sophie, but she showed neither pleas- 
 ure nor sorrow; she seemed to be exactly of her father's 
 opinion, that we might be trusted together. 
 
 M. Gerbaut and Father Descharmes got into the vehicle, 
 and drove off in the direction of the village of Islettes.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 75 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 "WHAT PASSED IN THE FOREST. 
 
 For some time I followed the carriage with my eyes, for 
 I feared to look at Sophie, as I could not help thinking 
 that the expression of her face would decide my future 
 happiness or misery. 
 
 After a time I made up my mind ; I turned round. 
 
 Sophie had a smile on her lips, but it seemed as if the 
 rest of her face was overshadowed with sadness. 
 
 I offered her my arm, which she took. 
 
 " What would you like to do ? " I asked her. " Would 
 you rather stay here, or take a stroll in the wood ? n 
 
 " Take me under the shadow of yon great trees, M. 
 Rene. In my little chamber at Varennes I stifle for want 
 of air." 
 
 "It is singular, Mdlle. Sophie, that I always believed 
 that you preferred the town to the country." 
 
 " I prefer nothing. I live, that is all." 
 
 She heaved a sigh. 
 
 The conversation fell. 
 
 I threw a side glance at Sophie. She appeared fatigued 
 and in pain. 
 
 " You look pale," said I ; " and although you do not pre- 
 fer the country to the town, I fancy it does you more good." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders, by way of reply. 
 
 "Perhaps," said she. 
 
 I turned towards my uncle's cottage, all covered with ivy 
 and creepers, surrounded by flowers and shadowed by the 
 branches of chestnuts and beech-trees. 
 
 It was beautiful, seen half in light and half in shadow. 
 A cat was sleeping comfortably on the window-sill ; two 
 dogs were playing in front of the door ; and a black-headed 
 linnet was singing in its cage. 
 
 It was a beautiful picture of contented country life. 
 
 "Look, Mdllc Sophie," said I drawing her attention to 
 the scene. " Would a little place like that, with a man 
 who had the honor of being beloved by you, suffice for 
 your ambition ? "
 
 76 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 " Who told you that I had ambition, Rene ?" 
 
 " I ask you, do you think that you could be happy under 
 those circumstances ? " 
 
 She looked at me. 
 
 " You see, then, that I am now miserable ? " 
 
 " You told me so in a letter, when I was staying at 
 Varennes, eight months ago." 
 
 " And have you not forgotten what I wrote to you so long 
 as eight months ago ? " 
 
 I drew a little portfolio from my pocket, and out of it I 
 took a little scrap of paper, on which was written, in her 
 hand — 
 
 •'I have no friend, Rene; will you be one? I am very 
 unhappy." 
 
 " If the paper is a little crumpled," said I, " it is because 
 a day has never passed without my reading it." 
 
 " Then how is it that I have never seen you since that 
 morning, Rene ? " 
 
 " For what purpose ? Since you wrote to me you cannot 
 have doubted me." 
 
 " You have a good heart, Rene,, and I did not wish to see 
 you to get that opinion from you." 
 
 " That is well. If you had had need of me, you had but 
 to write, and I should have been with you in a moment. 
 At first, day after day, I hoped for a letter. Oh, if I had 
 received one ! — had it been only the one word ' Come ! ' — ■ 
 with what joy would I have flown to your side ! But such 
 happiness was not for me. Days, weeks, months passed, 
 away, and I remained alone with my sorrow, without ever 
 being called away to offer you a consolation." 
 
 She looked at me with an expression of affectionate 
 tenderness. 
 
 "Ah, Rene, I should have liked to have seen you ; but 
 not hearing from you, I thought that you had forgotten 
 me." 
 
 " Oh, Mdlle. Sophie ! " I cried ; "lam not sufficiently 
 happy or unhappy for that." 
 
 " In truth, my dear Rene," said she, trying to smile, 
 "you have quite the air of a hero of romance." 
 
 " As I have never read a romance, I scarcely know what 
 that is." 
 
 " A hero of romance, Rene," said Sophie, smiling at the
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 77 
 
 experimental lesson in literature she was trying to give me, 
 "is a man who loves without hope." 
 
 " That is good. Then am I a hero of romance. By the 
 bye, what are these heroes supposed to do '.' " 
 
 "Everything impossible, in order to touch the heart of 
 the woman they vainly love." 
 
 " Then I am ready to do so ; but, if commanded by you, 
 I should know not impossibility." 
 
 "Do not put your life in danger, Rene," said Sophie. 
 " Sighing for that would not benefit either of us." 
 
 Now it was her turn to stop, and, having turned the 
 corner of the road, she pointed out to me my uncle's house 
 under a different aspect, but still how beautiful ! 
 
 " You just now asked me, Rene, if that house, in com- 
 pany with a man whom I loved, would not satisfy my am- 
 bition ? Well, Rene, in my turn, I adjure you, in the name 
 of that friendship that I have avowed towards you, wish for 
 nothing more than that calm and peaceful existence that 
 Providence has placed in your way. Follow the example 
 of your uncle, who, for eighty years, has lived in peace 
 with himself and with all mankind, without seeking to 
 better his condition, and without ever wishing for a 
 larger house, or a greater extent of land. In fact, this 
 forest before us — is it not his ? Do not its trees give 
 him shelter? Do not the birds which inhabit it sing 
 for his gratification, and do not the animals that make 
 it their home serve for his food? In name, it belongs to 
 the King; but, in reality, it is his. Rene, find a woman 
 who loves you ; that, I am sure, will not be difficult. My 
 father tells me that you are one of the best carpenters that 
 he knows. Ask the consent of your uncle — he will not 
 refuse it ; and live, as he has done, on the little spot where 
 the happiest years of your life have passed away." 
 
 In my turn, I shook my head. 
 
 " You will not ? " said Sophie. " What, then, do you 
 intend to do ? " 
 
 " Mademoiselle Sophie," said I, " I purpose being a 
 man." 
 
 " Has not your uncle been also a man, Rene ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but a man useless to his country. The times in 
 which he lived, and the times in which we live, are differ- 
 ent. The tranquillity which existed in his generation is 
 not permitted in this."
 
 78 LOVE AMD LIBERTY. 
 
 u You are ambitious, Bene ? " asked Sophie. 
 
 " It is not ambition, mademoiselle ; it is obedience to the 
 designs of heaven. There are times when every man, great 
 or small, carries his mission in himself. What, then? He 
 must keep that mission till it is fulfilled. Who knows but 
 that even I, insignificant as I am, have one ? You have 
 already drawn me from the crowd of my equals, because 
 you condescended to take my arm. It was not all that I 
 could have wished. Oh, Sophie, I ask you, here, under the 
 shelter of these great trees, the most sacred temple that I 
 know of, will you promise to be mine ? Will you give me 
 all the love that you can, and the happiest day of my life 
 will be that on which I can prove my devotion to you ! 
 Oh, Sophie, give me hope ! " 
 
 " I believe you, Rene ; in fact, from the first moment I saw 
 you, I never doubted you. Ah ! why were you not always 
 with me, to support me with your arm when I stumbled, 
 and with your heart when I doubted ? I have called on 
 you many times, Rene." 
 
 " Can this be true, Mademoiselle Sophie ? " cried I, filled 
 with joy. 
 
 "Yes," said she, "but do not misunderstand me. I do 
 not love you. I never shall love you, Rene," continued 
 she, looking me full in the face. "I feel instinctively that 
 I have need of your friendship. Why I should implore it, 
 how it can be useful to me, I know not ; but still I feel 
 sure I shall have recourse to it some day ; and if you are 
 away from me, Rene, on that day, whose help shall I im- 
 plore ? If you are near to me, I can rely on you ; can I 
 not ? Again I say to you, as I wrote once before, I am 
 truly unhappy." 
 
 She took her arm from mine, hid her face in her hand, 
 and I could see by the heaving of her bosom that she was 
 weeping. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Sophie ! " said I. 
 
 " Leave me, my friend — leave me. I do not like to weep 
 before you, and I feel that I must weep." 
 
 And, with one hand, she made me a sign to go. 
 
 I obeyed. 
 
 She sat down by the side of a little brook, which fell 
 into the Bresme, and taking off her hat, which she placed 
 by her side, began to pluck flowers, and throw them into 
 the water.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 79 
 
 Sixty years have passed since that day, and I fancy that 
 I can stiil see the poor child with her golden hair floating 
 in the breeze, the tears coursing down her cheeks, throwing 
 the flowers into the current of the Bresnie, which would 
 carry them to the Aisne, the Aisne to the Oise, the Oise to 
 the Seine, and the Seine to the sea. 
 
 After about an hour had passed, she got up silently, came 
 towards me, and smilingly took my arm. 
 
 We retraced our steps to m} r uncle's house. 
 
 We had scarcety arrived, when we heard the sound of 
 wheels. It was Father Gerbaut's carriage. 
 
 Sophie, who had not spoken one word all the way home, 
 seized my hand. 
 
 " Rene," she said, " do not forget that you have given me 
 your word ; I trust you." 
 
 " Mademoiselle Sophie," said I, pressing her hand to my 
 heart, " one call alone can be stronger than yours — that of 
 my country.'' 
 
 M. Gerbaut stayed about an hour to rest his horse, and 
 then, with Sophie, mounted into his vehicle. 
 
 The poor girl waved her hand. Father Gerbaut cried 
 " Farewell ! " and the carriage disappeared behind a clump 
 of trees, which hid the road to Meuvilly. 
 
 I returned to where Sophie had been sitting down; I 
 picked up the flowers she had let fall, and placed them in 
 my little portfolio, together with the letter which she had 
 written to me at Varennes, and in which she had poured 
 forth all her soul. 
 
 « » »» » 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE PEOPLE IX COUNCIL. 
 
 Ox the morrow, the ninth of July, '90. we were en route 
 at daybreak, drums beating in front of us, to assist in the 
 celebration of the grand fete of the general federation. 
 
 Father Descharmes embraced inc. with an expie.-sion of 
 sorrow which wounded me to the heart. 
 
 "Perhaps you youngsters are in the right, - ' said he, "and
 
 80 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 we old men are in the wrong. But what will you, my child. 
 One cannot give up in two days the creed of sixty years." 
 ' " I know not what may come of all this, but I hope that 
 my eyes will be closed in death before it does come." 
 
 " But uncle," said I, " although it would be a great treat 
 to me to go to Paris and see the fete, still, if you wish it, I 
 will not go." 
 
 " No, my boy, go ; and heaven grant that I may live to 
 see your return, and that we may meet again in this 
 world." 
 
 I embraced him as I wept, for I loved him dearly. 
 
 Had he not fed and clothed me and brought me up, and 
 watched the infant become, under his roof a man ? 
 
 "Bring my arm-chair to the door," said he; "I do not 
 wish to lose the last glimpse of the setting sun." 
 
 I obeyed. Leaning on my shoulder he reached the door, 
 and sitting down in the chair, took my hand, and kissed me, 
 saying " Go ! " 
 
 I departed, returning in time to see this good old servi- 
 tor of royalty die. With kingcraft he suffered, and with 
 its death he died. 
 
 When I lost sight of him, it seemed as if I had left him 
 for ever, and I felt half inclined to return at once, never to 
 leave him ; but the temptation of seeing Paris was too 
 much for me, and in another moment we were in sight of 
 the houses of Islettes. 
 
 A surprise awaited me there. 
 
 The inhabitants, not wishing to be separated from their 
 Cure, had put him into a little carriage drawn by a horse, 
 and the good priest, his eyes overflowing with tears, was 
 bidding farewell to Mademoiselle Marguerite, who wept on 
 the steps in front of the door of the Presb3 T tery. 
 
 In those days, a journey of forty leagues was no small 
 matter, and the poor girl believed that the good Abbe For- 
 tin had departed for ever. 
 
 We continued our route, the drums beating, and the car- 
 riage rolling ahead of us. Some of our party pressed on in 
 front, to form an escort of honor for the worthy priest. 
 
 We found M. Drouet awaiting us at the head of the 
 deputation, on the Place of St. Menehould. 
 
 Amongst the deputation, was an old soldier of the Seven 
 Years War, who had served under Marshal Saxe, and who
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 81 
 
 was present at the battle of Fontenoy ; and a sailor, who 
 was in active service at the time of the birth of the Bailli 
 de Suffren. Both, living ruins of an ancient regime, 
 wished to witness the dawn of a new era. 
 
 M. Drouet had placed a carriage at their service, but 
 they would not use it. It therefore proceeded empty in the 
 midst of the cortege, in the front rank of which the two 
 veterans marched with heads erect — a benediction, as it 
 were, bestowed by the dead era on the age which was just 
 about to dawn. 
 
 All the high roads of France were filled with processions 
 like ours, all hastening to one great focus — Paris. 
 
 Xever since the Crusade had so great a number, of 
 their own will, bent their steps in one direction. 
 
 All along the road, deputations came to greet the travel- 
 lers. 
 
 They offered hospitality to the old men and priests. It 
 was impossible to provide for all, so the main body bivou- 
 acked in the open air. 
 
 Great fires were lighted, at which every one prepared his 
 simple meal. There was no lack of wine in a country 
 which particularly cultivated grapes. 
 
 On the morrow, at daybreak, all started at beat of drum. 
 "When the noise of the drum ceased, all joined in the chorus 
 of the Ca ira of '90, which has nothing in common with 
 the menacing and bloodthirsty Ca ira of '"93. 
 
 This song kept up the energies of those men on the 
 march, who were toiling along under a hot July sun, to the 
 end of the journey. It supported those laborers who were 
 making the arena, so to speak, where great deeds were to 
 be done. 
 
 We have said that it was with an unwilling heart that 
 the Assembly decreed the federation — that it was with an 
 unwilling heart that the city had sent its workmen to the 
 Champ de Mars, to prepare for that great and solemn 
 reunion. The time approached — the work did not proceed. 
 "What happened? 
 
 All Paris rose, and proceeded to the Champ de Mars 
 carrying various implements of labor — one a pickaxe 
 another a shovel, and so on. 
 
 And not only did tin- people — not only did the Jmurgeosie 
 do this, but old men and children, lords and laborers, ladies 
 5
 
 82 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 of rank and women of shame, actors and actresses, priests 
 and soldiers, — all joined in the work, wliich did not even 
 close when night fell like a shroud over the city of Paris. 
 
 The invalids, who could not work on account of then: 
 heing maimed, held the torches, to lighten them at their 
 labors. 
 
 Begun in the morning of the 9th of July, this stupen- 
 dous work was completed in the night of the 13th, two 
 hours before sunrise. 
 
 We arrived on the 12th, in the evening. 
 
 Paris was crowded ; but, strange to say, the hotel 
 keepers and letters of lodgings, instead of raising their 
 prices, lowered them considerably. This spoke well for the 
 disposition of Paris towards us. 
 
 Truly this was not the federation of France, but the fra- 
 ternal greeting of the world. 
 
 A Prussian Baron — Jean Baptiste de Clootz, better 
 known by the name of Anacharsis — presented himself 
 before the National Assembly with twenty men of differ- 
 ent nations — Russians, Poles, men of the north, men of 
 the west, men of the east, and men of the south, — all 
 habited in the costume of their country. lie came to ask 
 permission for them to appear at the federation of the 
 Champ de Mars, as they wished to represent the federa- 
 tion of the world. . 
 
 Later on, this same Anacharsis Clootz wished to give 
 twelve thousand francs, to make war against roj'alty. 
 
 One may imagine my astonishment on finding myself in 
 Paris, on the Boulevards, gazing at the ruins of the Bas- 
 tille. 
 
 Drouet pointed it out to me, afterwards, the patriotic work- 
 men on the Champ de Mars. I rushed to join them ; and, 
 seizing a spade, was speedily hard at work. 
 
 My fellow-workman appeared to be an artizan of about 
 fifty years of age. He gave orders to a boy about my age, 
 who was close at hand. 
 
 On seeing the ardor with which I worked, he asked me 
 who I was, and whence I came. 
 
 I told him that my name was Bene Besson ; that I came 
 from the new department of the Meuse ; and that I was 
 apprenticed to a carpenter, by trade. 
 
 When he heard this, he held out his hand, a smile illum- 
 inating his austere visage.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 83 
 
 " Take that, boy," said lie. " If you are an apprentice, 
 I am a master ; and here are two lads, about your age, who 
 live with me, to learn their trade. If you have nothing 
 hetter to do, come and sup with me to-night — you shall be 
 made welcome." 
 
 I shook hands with him, and accepted his kind offer. 
 The" French, at the dawn of the Revolution, were a nation 
 of broth erSi 
 
 As the clock struck fi.^e, we threw down our tools, gave 
 ourselves a wash in the Seine ; after which we crossed over 
 to the other side of the river, and entered the Rue St. 
 Honore. 
 
 The master and I had walked side by side all the way, 
 the two apprentices following behind. 
 
 He asked me some questions about our department, what 
 political opinions we had, and whether I knew any one in 
 Paris. 
 
 I answered all his questions with becoming modesty. 
 
 My companion stopped at the commencement of the Rue 
 St. Honore, on the left-hand side, opposite a church, which 
 I discovered later on to be the Church of Assumption. 
 
 " We have arrived," said he ; " I will go first, to show 
 you the way." 
 
 He passed down a passage, at the extremity of which I 
 perceived a light. 
 
 I involuntarily raised my head, and read on the facade 
 of the house these three words : 
 
 " Duplay. blaster Carpenter." 
 
 I entered — the apprentices followed me. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MY NEW PARISIAN FRIENDS. 
 
 The carpenter, Dupla}^, in contact with whom fortune had 
 brought me, had, at that period — that is to sa}', on the 12th 
 of July, 1790, — the celebrity of having given shelter to a
 
 84 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 notorious revolutionist, which celebrity afterwards was at- 
 tached to his name, his family, and his house. 
 
 He was a good patriot, and attended constantly at the 
 Jacobin Club which was Held in the neighborhood, and 
 where almost all his evenings were passed, applauding the 
 speeches of a little advocate of Arras, who, though ridiculed 
 in the National Assembly, was appreciated in the Rue St. 
 Honore. The name of this little advocate was Robespierre. 
 
 When we arrived, we found the table laid for supper, 
 through the forethought of his two daughters, Estelle and 
 Cornelie. Their old grandmother was seated in an arm- 
 chair, and Madame Duplay was in the kitchen, devoting all 
 her attention to the forthcoming meal. 
 
 I was introduced to the two young ladies, both very 
 charming girls. Estelle was a blonde, with beautiful blue 
 eyes, and a figure wonderfully symmetrical, and flexible as 
 a reed. 
 
 Cornelie was a brunette, with eyes black as sloes, and a 
 stately and majestic contour. 
 
 Estelle dropped her eyes, as she curtseyed. 
 
 Cornelie smiled, and looked me full in the face. 
 
 Neither, however, paid much attention to me after the 
 first salutation. I was younger than the youngest of them 
 — that is to say, in their eyes, almost a child. 
 
 As to the apprentices, one appeared to be about eighteen, 
 and the other a month or two older than I. 
 
 The elder was called Jacques Dinant. I don't know 
 what has since become of him. The other was Felicien 
 Herda, afterwards a celebrity in the Revolution. 
 
 This latter was a young man — fair, of a light corftplexion 
 — a regular child of Paris — irritable, and as nervous as a 
 woman. The nickname which his comrades gave him, as 
 his irritability was always dragging him into controversy, 
 and as he used always to say " No " to every theory, was 
 " Citizen Veto." 
 
 Need I say that the veto was the prerogative of the King, 
 and that it was through his wrong use of this privilege on 
 two occasions that he alienated his people. 
 
 Madame Duplay appeared from the kitchen, with the 
 first course. I was presented to her ; but she paid even 
 less attention to me than her two daughters had done. 
 
 She was about thirty-eight or forty years of age, and
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 85 
 
 must, at one time, have been beautiful, but with those 
 coarse and too matured charms common to the lower orders 
 of the people. 
 
 She shared all the patriotic opinions of her husband, and 
 was, like him, an indent admirer of Robespierre. 
 
 There was a discussion during supper concerning the 
 relative merits of the Jacobin leaders, in which the appren- 
 tices took part as equals of their master. 
 
 I fancied, somehow, that Fedicien Herda regarded me 
 with an evil eye. As the stranger, I had the seat of honor 
 next to .viademoiselle Cornelie ; and I think he must have 
 looked upon it as an encroachment on his privileges. 
 
 Although well read in antiquity, I was profoundly igno- 
 rant of modern politics, and this gained me the pity of 
 M. Duplay. 
 
 I knew the name of the famous Club of Jacobins, where 
 Monsieur passed his patriotic evenings, but of all else I was 
 ignorant. 
 
 From that bed of aristocratic Jacobins of '89, one could 
 not foretell the springing up of the terrible and popular 
 Jacobins of '93. 
 
 Robespierre alone appeared, but he began to assume that 
 pale and impassible visage which was never forgotten, if 
 once seen. 
 
 Duplay promised to take me to the Jacobins, and to show 
 me him who was known among them by the title of an 
 " honest man." 
 
 Robespierre had, as yet, but on two occasions spoken ; 
 and he had obtained the name of the " Timon of public 
 affairs." 
 
 I know not if it was the view of Robespierre, whom 
 I saw that night for the first time, that engraved the words 
 on my mind, but I know this — that, in sixty years, I have 
 not forgotten one word of his biography, or one lineament 
 of his face. 
 
 I feel that I could draw his portrait now, as life-like as 
 when he appeared first to me, on the platform, preparing to 
 address us ; and, from that time to the end, I was his most 
 devoted admirer. 
 
 Robespierre was born in 1758, in that old, sombre, eccles- 
 iastical and judicial town of Arras, capital of Artois, a pro- 
 vince of France only 150 years, and where may yet be seen 
 the ruins of the immense palace of its King-Bishop.
 
 86 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 His father, an advocate of the council of the province, 
 lived in Rue de Rapporteur. The young Maximilian was 
 horn there, that name heing given him in honor of the last 
 conqueror of the citj. 
 
 Notwithstanding his hard work, the advocate was poor; 
 hut a wife, older than himself, helped to alleviate their pov- 
 erty. She died. He thought the burden too heavy to bear 
 alone, so, one morning, he decamped, and was no more seen 
 in Arras. 
 
 They spoke of suicide, but nothing was proved. 
 
 The house was shut up, the four children abandoned. The 
 eldest, Maximilian, was eleven ; after him, came his brother, 
 whom they called "young Robespierre;" after him, two 
 sisters, one of whom, called Charlotte de Robespierre, has 
 left some rare and curious memoirs. The other sister died 
 three or four years after the disappearance of her father. 
 
 What with the death of his mother, and the absence of 
 his father, there was enough to render the boy serious and 
 unhappy. The friends who assisted the family asked the 
 powerful Abbe of St. Vaast, who possessed a third of the 
 town, and who had the disposal of many bursarships at the 
 college of Louis-le-Grand, to give one to young Maximil- 
 ian. The charitable Abbe complied with their desire. 
 
 He started alone for Paris, with a letter of recommend- 
 ation to a prebendary, who died almost at the same time as 
 the } r oung bursar entered the college. 
 
 It was in that ancient building that the young pupil 
 grew pale, sickly, and envenomed, like a flower deprived 
 of the sun ; away from home, away from his friends, sepa- 
 rated from all who loved him, and from all who could have 
 brought a glow to his cheeks, or imparted happiness to his 
 withered soul. 
 
 It was there that he met Camille Desmoulins, an ecclesi- 
 astical bursar like himself, and Danton, a paying pupil. 
 
 The sole friendship of his boyhood was formed with 
 these two. How lightly that friendship weighed in the 
 balance we know, when he believed that the moment had 
 come to sacrifice it on the shrine of his country. 
 
 Two things militated against the firm continuance of 
 this friendship ; the one, the gaiety of Camille Desmou- 
 lins ; and the other, the immorality of Danton, who paid 
 no attention to the reproaches of his fellow-student.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 87 
 
 Robespierre paid for his bursarship with laurel crowns. 
 He left with the reputation of being a sound scholar — a 
 reputation which gained him few friends and little honor. 
 He afterwards studied with a procureur, entitled himself 
 to practise, and returned to Arras a middling lawyer, but 
 a stern politician, and having learnt to smile with the lips 
 while the heart was filled with gall. 
 
 His younger brother took his place at college, while 
 Maximilian, through the kindness of the Abbe" de St. 
 Yaast, was nominated a member of the criminal tribunal. 
 
 One of the first cases that he had to judge was that of 
 an assassin. The crime was not only patent, but avowed. 
 It fell to Robespierre to pronounce sentence of death. 
 
 The next day he sent in his resignation, not wishing to 
 be put to a like test again. 
 
 That is how it was that he became an advocate. His 
 philanthropy made him the defender, in place of the con- 
 demner of men. Duplay pretended to know, from certain 
 sources, that Robespierre had never undertaken to defend a 
 cause that was not just ; but even were it just, he had to 
 uphold it against all. He examined the cause of the peas- 
 ants who brought a complaint against the Bishop of Arras, 
 found it just, pleaded against his benefactor, and gained the 
 day. 
 
 This rectitude, although it had no material influence on 
 his fortunes, increased greatly his reputation. The province 
 sent him to the Etats Generaux, where he had for his 
 adversaries all the nobility and clergy of his native State. 
 
 For adversaries — we sa}^ too much. The priest and 
 nobles thought too little of him to regard him in such a 
 light. 
 
 This contempt, which had followed Maximilian to college, 
 pursued him with greater violence now that he had attained 
 a seat in the National Assembly. 
 
 He was poor and they knew it. They ridiculed his 
 poverty ; he thought it an honor. Having nothing, receiv- 
 ing: nothing, but his salary as a member of the Assembly, 
 a third of which went to his sister, he still lived. When 
 the Assembly put on mourning for the death of Franklin, 
 Robespierre, too poor to purchase a suit of black, borrowed 
 a coat for four francs, which, being too long or him, excited, 
 throughout the time of mourning, the irrepressible mirth of
 
 88 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 the Assembly. The only consolation left him among all 
 this ridicule was, that no one doubted his honesty. 
 
 " Had I not confidence," said he, in one of his speeches, 
 "I should be one of the most wretched men in the world." 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding this, the man was not popular. 
 Some few, indeed, through a species of instinct, saw that 
 he was capable of great things, and among these were 
 Duplay, his wife, and his two daughters. 
 
 All these details were given me during supper with the 
 persistence of conviction. It was, therefore, with the live- 
 liest satisfaction that I hailed M. Duplay's offer to take me 
 to the Jacobins' Club, and looked forward with curiosity to 
 see him whom they called honest, and afterwards stamped 
 incorrujytible. 
 
 -< » ■ m > 
 
 CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 I GO TO THE JACOBINS' CLUB. 
 
 At nine o'clock, we left the house, and walked up the 
 Rue St. Honore towards the Palais Royal. 
 
 A current of people pointed the way, stopping at the 
 little door of the Jacobin convent, which exists to this day. 
 
 I knew not that this was the place where the aristocratic 
 and literar} r assembly held their meetings until told so by 
 Duplay. 
 
 The entry was as difficult as that* of a sanctuary. By 
 special favor, as chief carpenter to the Duke of Orleans, 
 Duplay had a card of admission. 
 
 At the door, Cornelie, Estelle, and the two apprentices 
 left us, plunging down a staircase veritably built in the 
 thickness of the wall. 
 
 I asked M. Duplay where they were going. He told me 
 that there was, under the church, a smaller hall — a sort of 
 crypt — where the workmen and their wives held a club — 
 the workmen attending in the day, their wives at night. 
 They there explained to each other the constitution. 
 
 Two ushers kept guard on each side of the door. 
 
 One, small and fat, with a bass voice, was the famous
 
 LOVE AND LIBEKTY. Stf 
 
 singer, Lais, whom the habitues of the Opera applauded 
 up to 1825. 
 
 The other, a handsome young man with wavy hair, 
 un disfigured by powder, and a generally aristocratic air, 
 was a pupil of Madame de Gcnlis, the son of the Duke of 
 Orleans, the Duke of Chartres, the conqueror of Jemappes, 
 and the future King of France. 
 
 Bj r his side was his young brother, the Duke of Mont- 
 pensier, for whom, with great trouble, he had obtained 
 admittance, notwithstanding bis extreme youth. 
 
 On entering, at sight of the orator, who occupied the 
 tribune, I cried out, " Ah ! there is M. Robespierre." 
 
 In fact, after the portrait M. Duplay had given me, it 
 was impossible not to recognize him. The impression he 
 produced upon me was profound. 
 
 Yes, it was he, although his face had not yet assumed 
 the grim and fantastic appearance that it did later on. 
 There he was, with that primly-brushed olive-colored coat, 
 and that waistcoat of snowy whiteness, with his hair pow- 
 dered, and thrown back from his brow, the skin of which, 
 in its hideous wrinkles, reminded one of the parchment on 
 a death's head. 
 
 It was that wrinkled face, sullen and acute; that eye, 
 with its tawny yellow pupil, which shot between its 
 retracted lids a glance replete with malice, that seemed to 
 wound aught it fell upon ; it was that mouth, broad and 
 stern, with its compressed lips; it was that voice, harsh in 
 all its notes, and resembling the laugh of a hyena, or the 
 scream of a jackal ; it was the whole figure of the man, 
 quivering with a nervous spasm, which caused his fingers 
 to be continuall}' drumming on the ledge of the rostrum, 
 like a pianist on the keys of a spinnet ; it was, in short, 
 the revolution incarnate with his implacable good faith, his 
 freshness of blood, his mind determined, bloodthirsty, and 
 cruel. 
 
 As we entered, he finished his speech, and descended 
 amid shouts of applause. 
 
 1 followed him with my eyes, in spite of myself, into the 
 midst of the crowd, through which, small and thin as he 
 was, he easily passed. Not a hand but was stretched out to 
 grasp his, not a voice that did not address him. One man, 
 dressed in black, stopped him, as he passed the desk, and
 
 90 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 said one word to him. He started, his face expressed 
 hatred and disgust, and he passed on without replying. 
 
 " Who was that sombre-looking man who spoke to 
 M. de Robespierre ? " said I, to M. Duplay. 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 " It is a customer of mine, to whose intervention with 
 the Duke of Orleans I owe the right of coming here. His 
 name is M. de Laclos, and he has written a very bad 
 book." 
 
 " What book ? " asked I. 
 
 "'Les Liaisons Dangereuses.' " 
 
 " Well, what then ? Speak lower." 
 
 " He is the man of the Duke of Orleans ; he it was who, 
 in the Cour des Fontaines, under the shadow of the Palais 
 Royal, published Le Journal des Amis de la Constitution. 
 Robespierre hates him on account of his fame, but he is all- 
 powerful here. It is he who disposes of the purse of the 
 Prince. Hush ! M. de Sillery, the husband of Madame 
 de Genlis, is listening to us." 
 
 All this was Hebrew to me. I asked who M. de Sillery 
 and Madame de Genlis were. 
 
 " Ah ! of course," said he ; " I forgot that you had only 
 just arrived in Paris, from the depths of some impenetrable 
 forest, and of course know not the names of those who are 
 around us." 
 
 " I fancy that I know the name of M. de Sillery. If I 
 do not deceive myself, he has been sent by the nobility of 
 Champagne." 
 
 " Good, my boy, good ! " 
 
 "But it is the man," continued I, "that I do not know." 
 
 " Well, I will tell you all about the man. We begin to 
 know names, as well as men. Charles Alexis Brulart is a 
 marquis, like Lafayette, but having, like him, renounced 
 his title, on the night of the 4th of August, he calls him- 
 self Sillery, as I call myself Duplay. As to his courage, it 
 cannot be doubted. At twenty years of age, he assisted in 
 the campaign of the Indies, and gained his rank at the 
 point of the sword." 
 
 " What rank did he gain ? " asked I. 
 
 "Captain in the navy." 
 
 " But he wears the uniform of a colonel of grenadiers." 
 
 " Yes. He has left the navy for the army ; he is the ac-
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 91 
 
 credited agent of the Duke of Orleans. In his youth, he 
 was called Comte de Genlis ; that, as I have told j'ou, is the 
 name of his wife. She has acquired a double, and doubt- 
 ful, celebrity, as the friend of the Duke of Orleans, whose 
 children she has educated, and as a writer, in which occu- 
 pation she is at present engaged." 
 
 " But what does M. de Sillery say to all this ? " asked I. 
 
 Duplay lifted his brows. 
 
 "No wonder M. Robespierre is not his friend !" 
 
 " One cannot be friendly with Robespierre and the Duke 
 of Orleans at the same time," said Duplay, shaking his 
 head. " But patience ! " All eyes are turned towards a 
 man who enters. One felt, at first sight, without knowing 
 him, that he was some great personage. 
 
 An immense forest of hair; a head resembling, for size 
 and marked outline, a lion's or a bull's, indicated a ruler of 
 the multitude. I had not time to ask Duplay who he was, 
 for every mouth murmured the word " Mirabeau ! — Mira- 
 beau ! " 
 
 " Ah ! " cried Duplay ; " there is the hurricane that 
 brings us news. Draw near to him, that }^ou may say, 
 when you return home, that you have not only seen and 
 heard Mirabeau, but that you have touched him." 
 
 We approached ; but, of a truth, it was necessary to 
 approach in order to hear. 
 
 All the audience collected round him. 
 
 I looked for M. de Robespierre, to see if he pressed round 
 like the others. 
 
 He was isolated, alone, leaning against the rostrum, 
 with a disdainful air, watching the men following the idol 
 of popularity, like a shower of leaves after an autumn 
 storm. 
 
 He knew that the crowd never drew near him, incorrup- 
 tible ; but it rushed after Mirabeau, the corrupted ; and, at 
 the same time, he both envied and blamed him. 
 
 The debate of the National Assembly had been stormy. 
 There were a few nobles there, who witnessed, with pro- 
 found grief, that union of all the parties of France. 
 
 Mirabeau had been insulted in the rostrum. A gentleman, 
 M. Dambly, had threatened him with his walking-stick. 
 Mirabeau stopped bis speech, drew his tablets from his pocket, 
 and demanded M. Dambly's address.
 
 92 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 He cried it out from one end of the hall to the other. 
 
 "Very good I" said Miratfeau ; "you are the one hundred 
 and fiftieth person who has insulted me, and with whom I 
 will fight when I have the time. Until your turn has come, 
 hold your peace. I ask the President to make you pass 
 your word to that effect." 
 
 Mirabeau related the story with incredible irony. All 
 laughed — all said he was in the right. 
 
 " And Lameth ? " asked several members. 
 
 " Which ? — Alexander or Charles ? " 
 
 " Charles." 
 
 "Oh, that is another matter! After practising with the 
 rapier for two days, he could not decide upon any tiling ; and, 
 at the close of the Assembly, M. de Castrie cried out that 
 he was a coward. They went out, and fought, and Lameth 
 received a rapier thrust in his arm." 
 
 " Is it true that the sword was poisoned ? " asked one 
 voice. 
 
 " I know not that ; hut I do know that they are prepar- 
 ing to raze M. de Castrie's house to the ground." 
 
 This news was greeted with a shout of laughter. 
 
 At this moment, an eager voice w r as heard, urging the 
 debate. Robespierre was on the forum. 
 
 He began to speak in the midst of the noise. As far as 
 I could judge, he spoke for union; but the noise and ex- 
 citement were so great, that it was almost impossible to hear 
 what he said. 
 
 But, accustomed to noise and interruptions, Robespierre 
 continued, with that indefatigable perseverance, and that 
 indomitable stubbornness which made his greatness, and, 
 finally, his triumph. 
 
 Robespierre had spoken for ten minutes, and would, pro- 
 hably, have eventually succeeded in gaining silence, had 
 not all attention been distracted from him by another 
 arrival. 
 
 This was one of the heroes of the duel which Mirabeau 
 had spoken of — Charles Lameth. He carried his right arm 
 in a sling; but, with that exception, looked and walked 
 wonderfully well. 
 
 All crowded round him, as they had done round Mira- 
 beau, but with a different sentiment. 
 
 Charles Lameth was the friend of all the intelligent
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 93 
 
 young men who composed the majority of the Jacobin 
 Club. 
 
 Duplay pointed out to me, successively, Labarpe ; the 
 poet, Chenier ; the painter. David; the tragedian, Talma; 
 Audrien, Ledaiue, Larive. Vernet, Chamfort — all men of 
 intellect. Then 1 returned to the rostrum. Completely 
 abandoned, Robespierre had descended, after throwing' upon 
 that gathering of life, hope, and activity, a glance that 
 seemed to presage evil to come. 
 
 No one knew that he had ascended the rostrum ; all 
 were equally ignorant of his descent. Perhaps 1 was the 
 only one who noticed the look of malignant hatred with 
 which he regarded that knot of literary and scientific men, 
 who had utterly disregarded — whether wilfully or not — 
 himself and his discourse. 
 
 Presently, Duplay took my arm, and led me out of the 
 ball. 
 
 " Return in a year," he said, " and your eyes will be 
 opened. There will be fewer plumes, fewer epaulets, less 
 embroidery, but more men." 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 PARIS BEFORE THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 I wished to go to the Rue Grange Bateliere, where 
 M. Drouet lived, and where he had appointed a rendezvous 
 at the " Hotel des Postes ; " but M. Duplay insisting thai 
 I should partake of the hospitality of a bed, as I had 
 already done of the table, I felt that I could not well refuse. 
 
 It was arranged that I should share Felicien's room, in 
 which they made me up a bed. On the morrow, at day- 
 break, I should be at liberty to seek out M. Drouet, after my 
 hair had been arranged according to the new fashion. 
 
 As that was an operation which must be performed 
 sooner or later, on entering the house I seized upon a pair of 
 scissors, handed them to Mademoiselle Corneiiej ana asnea 
 her to perform on me the same feat that Delilah performed 
 on Samson — viz., to cut off my flowing locks.
 
 94 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 The sacrifice was consummated amid the laughter of the 
 two girls. 
 
 One person alone did not join in the merriment thus 
 provoked, and that person was he whose room I was going 
 to share for the night. It was evident to me that he loved 
 Cornelie, and was jealous of me — absurd idea; but the first 
 stage of jealousy is absurdity. 
 
 The operation was over; they led me to a mirror to see 
 if I were satisfied with the change worked in my personal 
 appearance. At the first glance I felt inclined to laugh 
 myself; I was more than clipped — I was almost shorn. 
 
 My ridiculous appearance restored Felicien to good humor 
 with Mademoiselle Cornelie ; and, as the servant appeared 
 to announce that the room was prepared^ he asked me to 
 follow him, and he would show the way. 
 
 The first things that I remarked on entering the room 
 were a pair of fencing foils, and a couple of masks to pro- 
 tect the face. I thought these rather strange ornaments for 
 the bed-chamber of an apprenticed carpenter. 
 
 " Do you know what those are for ? " asked he with a 
 braggart air. 
 
 " Yes," replied I. 
 
 " Can you use them ? " 
 
 "Not particularl}' well at present; but another month 
 or two in the Salle d'Armes will improve me, I hope." 
 
 " To-morrow," said he, " if you like, we will have a 
 bout." 
 
 " I am not sure whether I shall be able to. I fear that 
 M. Drouet will be anxious about me." 
 
 " Will you have a bout now ? " said he. 
 
 " Certainly," I replied, " if you wish it ; but we have 
 plenty of time before us. I shall not leave Paris without 
 returning to thank M. Duplaj', and then we shall have a 
 better opportunity." 
 
 These evasive answers made Felicien think that I was 
 not particularly anxious to cross foils with him ; so he com- 
 menced a recital of his prowess and so, kindly lulled me to 
 sleep. 
 
 I awoke, as usual, at daybreak, and slipping quietly out 
 of bed, I dressed myself with as little noise as possible, 
 so as not to awaken Felicien, and when ready, I left the 
 room, and descended into the court.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 95 
 
 All of M. Duplay's household were asleep, but the door 
 was left open, so that I did not waste an instant. 
 
 The clock of the Church of Assumption sounded the 
 half-after four o'clock as J left the house. I was utterly 
 incapable of finding my way about Paris, in which I had 
 arrived only the evening; before ; but the solemnity to be 
 observed on the morrow had early drawn crowds abroad, so 
 the streets were pretty full notwithstanding the untimely 
 hour. 
 
 I asked my nearest route ; they pointed out to me the 
 Boulevards. Arrived there, I had only to follow that by 
 no means despicable portion of ni} 7 body, my nose, and, in 
 a very short time, I discovered the Rue Grange Bateliere. 
 Ten minutes after, I entered the " Hotel des Fostes," and 
 discovered, to my great joy, that M. Drouet was within. 
 
 I rushed to his chamber, and opened the door gently. 
 He was not only awake, but on his feet. 
 
 "Ah! there you are!" said he, after having looked at 
 me for an instant without having recognised me, on account 
 of the disappearance of my hair. " Where have you been, 
 you vagabond? I have been in a nice state of mind, I can 
 assure yon. It appears that you have been taken in a trap, 
 like a fox, and been compelled to leave your tail behind 
 you." 
 
 But you also have acquiesced in the mode." 
 
 " Yes ; but not with the same enthusiasm as you. You 
 have been foolish enough to cross the Pont Neuf, my boy." 
 
 Not knowing what happened on the Pont ISTeuf, I could 
 not appreciate M. Drouet's pleasantry. 
 
 I told him all that had happened — from my meeting with 
 the carpenter, on the Champ de Mars, to my visit to the 
 Jacobin Club. 
 
 "Very good," said Drouet. "You passed last night 
 among the aristocracy — you shall pass this among the ca- 
 naille" 
 
 " Shall we spend the night together ? " cried I, joyously. 
 
 " Yes; I will take _you to the Cordeliers, where you will 
 meet neither dukes, nor princes, nor marquises, but three 
 citizens, whom you tell me you have often thought of — to 
 wit, Marat, Danton, and Camille Desmoulins ; in the 
 meantime, we will take a stroll round Paris." 
 
 " What I wish most to see, M. Drouet, is the Bastille." 
 
 " You mean to say, the place where it stood ? "
 
 96 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Come along, then ; we will breakfast at the first restau- 
 rant we find, and then, hey ! for the Place de la Bastille." 
 
 M. Drouet knew Paris very well, having been there 
 about twenty times. 
 
 We were not long before we arrived at a wall, on which 
 was written, in large letters : — 
 
 " Here was the Bastille." 
 
 TV hy did the germs of the Revolution suffocate them- 
 selves under those dismal arches? Why, in 1300, did they 
 discourse the holy gospel ? Why, during the captivity of 
 King John, did the Provost of Paris, Etienne Marcel, 
 making himself a dictator, establish a popular club there, 
 equal to that of the eighteenth century ? Why were the 
 Cordeliers, especially, of all the minor orders Of St. Francis, 
 republican in their tendencies — so much so, that, three 
 centuries before Barbeuf and Prudhomme, they had 
 dreamt the abolition of the rights of property ? 
 
 The 13th of July was Vesuvius, with its fire-ejecting 
 crater, threatening to destroy Naples, and overturn the 
 world. 
 
 To-day, all has ended in smoke — with, perhaps, a few 
 cinders as a memorial. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 I ATTEND A MEETING AT THE CORDELIERS. 
 
 We were engulfed, so to speak, M. Drouet and I," in the 
 cave of the Cordeliers. 
 
 The hall was deep and broad, and lighted with smoky 
 lamps ; a cloud formed bj r their smoke, and the breath of 
 the audience, floated over our heads, and seemed to weigh 
 heavily upon our chests. 
 
 There were no cards of admission — any one might come 
 who liked ; the consequence was that the hall was crowded 
 to excess, and every one ran a chance of suffocation. At 
 the end of a minute, by means of vigorous pressure, we man- 
 aged to force a passage into the body of the hall.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 97 
 
 At first, we were obliged to keep our eyes shut, on account 
 of the smoky atmosphere ; but when we got accustomed to 
 it, we could tee objects, as it were, through a dense fog. 
 
 I raised myself up on tiptoe, to see the popular man, par 
 excellence. All cried out, "Vive Lafayette! 
 
 We passed the Tuileries, and the door of the clock-tower, 
 and gained a bridge. A sort of sympathy drew us to the 
 Champ do Mars. 
 
 There was the same amount of bustle as on the day be- 
 fore. A hundred thousand workmen were throwing up the 
 earth, and forming a valley between two hills. 
 
 The work progressed as if under the wave of an enchant- 
 er's rod. There was no doubt but that all would be ready 
 for the morrow, so that in seven days the gigantic under- 
 taking would have been completed. The middle of the place 
 was entirely clear. Here they erected the altar of the 
 country, and in front of the Ecole Militaire, built up seats 
 for the King and the Assembly. 
 
 At the end of a wooden bridge thrown over the river, near 
 Chaillot, they erected a triumphal arch. 
 
 It was impossible not to become maddened amid this con- 
 fusion. We could resist no longer, but seizing the nearest 
 implements that lay nearest at hand, we, with a shout of 
 " Vive la nation ! " set ourselves to work with the rest. 
 
 At six o'clock we ceased, heated with our exertions. We 
 were hungry. It was useless to look for a restaurant. 
 
 At eight o'clock we left the Champ de Mars, and passing 
 through the Boulevards des Invalides, and the Rue Pluinet, 
 we shaped our course to the Cordeliers. 
 
 An immense crowd of people — some fifty or sixty thous- 
 and, perhaps — filled the place and the adjacent streets. 
 
 Those who had been unable to find lodgings had 
 encamped there, or on the Boulevards. 
 
 Being anxious to see historical localities, I asked M. Drouet 
 to take me to the Hotel de Ville. We went up to the 
 Rue St. Autoine, M. Drouet showing me the steps on 
 which they had slain De Launay, the lantern on which 
 they had hung Foulon, and the corner of the quay where 
 they had killed Flesselles. 
 
 Everywhere — on the boulevards, in the places, in the 
 churches, on the bridges — all was gaiety ; every one was 
 shaking hands with everybody ; strangers in a moment 
 6
 
 98 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 became old friends. A shout of " Vive le Roi ! " surround- 
 ed you with friends — a shout of " Vive la nation ! " with 
 brothers. 
 
 After dinner, we proceeded to the Jacobin Club. It was 
 crowded, like all the rest — if possible, more so. 
 
 " Look, look ! " said M. Jean Baptiste, the moment it 
 was possible to see. 
 
 " Look ! Where ? " said I. 
 
 " There — on the President's chair, between two candles ! 
 Do you see any one ? " 
 
 " Oh, M. Drouet ! " said I, trembling. 
 
 " Well, what do you say ? " asked he. 
 
 " I say that it is not a man whom you point out to me." 
 
 " What is he, then ? " 
 
 " A monster ! " 
 
 " Good ! Look at him for some length of time, and you 
 will get accustomed to his face, all hideous as it is." 
 
 That man was M. Danton. 
 
 He rang the bell, and shook with a fury that seemed to 
 animate all he did. 
 
 In a moment all was silence. 
 
 His mouth, like the top of a cyclops, opened, and a voice, 
 which could have thundered down the noise had it contin- 
 ued, pronounced these words, " It is Marat's turn to 
 speak ! " 
 
 Let us say a word or two about Marat before we proceed 
 any further. 
 
 Marat was born in 1744, at Neuchatel. He was, at the 
 period of which I speak, forty-six years of age. His 
 mother, nervous and romantic, was ambitious enough to try 
 and make her son a second Rousseau. His father, a Prot- 
 estant clergyman, well read and hard-working, taught his 
 son the elements of science, and all the other branches of 
 knowledge that he was acquainted with, so that the young 
 man resembled a dictionary full of errors, and without even 
 method or form. 
 
 His grandfather nicknamed him Mara — the "t" is an 
 addition of his father's, or his own. He had been a teacher 
 of languages in England, and* understood English pretty 
 well. He also dabbled a little in physiology and chemistry, 
 but in a slight degree. In '89 he became veterinary sur- 
 geon to the Comte D'Artois.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 99 
 
 On the 14th of July, the day of the taking the Bastille, 
 he found himself on the Pout Neuf, and escaping being 
 crushed to death by a detachment of hussars. Marat ordered 
 them, in the name of the people, to throw down their arms 
 — so he said, at least, but no oue believed it. 
 
 Marat was not brave. He hid himself all day for the 
 flight. He said that the satellites of Lafayette and De 
 Bailly were looking for him, whereas, in fact, they never 
 thought of him. In the evening, he crept out like a beast 
 of prey ; his eye, yellow as that of an owl, seemed better 
 adapted for seeing in the dark than in the daylight. He 
 lived, creeping from hiding-place to hiding-place, never see- 
 ing the light of day, and writing continually, imparting to 
 his compositions all the bitterness and acerbity of his 
 forced mode of life. From time to time he would exalt and 
 provoke himself to blood. The}' say that blood was his or- 
 dinary drink — that he imbibed it when he was thirsty. 
 His physician shook his head, and said, " Marat writes 
 red." His friends the journalists lifted him up to laugh at 
 him. They called him the divine Marat. The people took 
 a leaf out of their book, and called him a god. Let Marat 
 do what he liked, the people applauded. Marat did more 
 than lead them — he gave them room for amusement. 
 
 Amid the murmur of applause which greeted him — 
 applause which had been, in conjunction with silence, 
 denied to Robespierre the evening before Danton, opening 
 the door of the rostrum, said, " It is Marat's turn to 
 speak ! " 
 
 Scarcely had the words been pronounced, when Marat 
 was seen mounting the steps leading to the rostrum, in 
 which he appeared, with a lurid smile on his coarse mouth, 
 seeming to embody, at one. and the same time, three dis- 
 tinct genera : the man, the frog, and the serpent. 
 
 That Thing, dressed in almost rags, with dishevelled 
 hair, squinting eyes, broad nose, and hideous appearance, 
 was the Friend of the People ! They had concluded by 
 giving Marat the name of his journal. 
 
 At last, his hideous head appearing over the ledge of the 
 rostrum, radiant with pride, and held, as it were, defiantly 
 back to hide a neck covered with ulcers, all cried out, 
 " Speak, Marat, speak ! " 
 
 " Yes," replied Marat, with a deep voice, " I am going 
 to."
 
 100 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 All was hushed, as if by magic. Danton covered his 
 face wjA his hands, and listened with a smile of scorn, 
 while a young man placed himself in front of the rostrum, 
 his arms crossed over his breast, in the attitude of a glad- 
 iator, defying his enemy. 
 
 " Look — look ! " said Drouet. 
 
 " At whom ? Marat ? I can see him." 
 
 " ~No, no ! that young man in front of the rostrum." 
 
 " Who is he ? " 
 
 " Camille Desmoulins, the man of the thirteenth of 
 July ; the man of the Cafe de Foy ; the man of the green 
 cockade ! " 
 
 " Silence ! silence ! " cried out several voices. 
 
 Marat, hearing a whisper, had turned -his evil eyes on 
 us. 
 
 We became as still as mice. 
 
 "Great treason!" cried Marat; "but that is not won- 
 derful — they would not follow my advice ; and I tell you 
 that until the heads of some of the National Assembly 
 ornament pikestaffs, things will go wrong. Do as I tell 
 you, and the Constitution will be perfect." 
 
 " Why — why — why — don't you send a mod-mod-model 
 to the Assembly ? " said the young man, in front of the 
 rostrum, with a terrible and painful stutter in his speech. 
 
 " I am framing it," said Marat, " while you make love, 
 Camille, I think." 
 
 " Dream, you mean ! " said the same satirical voice. 
 
 " Silence ! silence ! " cried the audience. 
 
 "Yes ; I am preparing a scheme for our Constitution." 
 
 " Tell — tell it us, great — great legislator ! " said Camille, 
 totally disregarding the cries for silence. 
 
 " I say that the form of government should be mon- 
 archical," continued Marat ; " that Monarchy is the 
 guiding-star of France, and that the person of the King 
 should be sacred, only to be approached through the medium 
 of his ministers." 
 
 " Ai, aristocrat ! " cried Camille. 
 
 " M. Danton," cried Marat, furiously, " it is my turn to 
 speak, and I demand silence !" 
 
 " Silence ! silence ! " again cried the crowd. 
 
 " Citizen Camille," said Danton, in a voice as satirical as 
 that of the man whom he reproved, " I call you to order ! "
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 101 
 
 " Then ask the speaker," said the imperturbable Camille, 
 " to give us part of his plans for the legislation." 
 
 " Firstly," cried Marat, I demand that the blasphemer's 
 tongue be cut out ! " 
 
 " Well, cut my to-to-to-tongue out ! I blas-blas-blas- 
 pheme ! I say Marat is a fool ! " 
 
 And, suiting the action to the words, he protruded his 
 tongue at Marat, and made a grimace. 
 
 Some of the audience could not avoid laughing. 
 
 Marat was mad with rage. 
 
 " I again say," said he, " in my project for our Constitu- 
 tion, that the city is burdened with two hundred thousand 
 poor people. I argue the right of the poor to share." 
 
 " Good ! " said Camille. " We are ready ; let us plun- 
 plun-pl under ! " 
 
 "Yes, plunder!" cried Marat, rapidly becoming more 
 and more excited. " When one has nothing, he has a right 
 to take the superfluities of the rich — rather than starve, he 
 has the right to take and devour their palpitating flesh ! 
 Let man commit what outrage he likes on his fellow-men — 
 it is no worse than a wolf killing a sheep ! " 
 
 " Marat has asked for me to be called to order : I ask 
 that he may be called to reason." 
 
 "Why should 1 have pity on men?" yelled Marat. 
 "Firstly, pity is only a folly, acquired in society. In 
 nature, neither man nor inferior animals know pity. Does 
 Bailly, who tracks me, or Lafayette, who hunts me down, 
 or the National Guards, who seek to slay me, know pity ? " 
 
 " Who prevents your eating them ? " said Camille. 
 
 " No, no ! " said Marat, sneering at Camille in his turn. 
 "No, I will not eat them ; I will leave Lafayette to the 
 women, and will cry unto them, ' Make him an Abelard ! ' 
 I will leave Bailly to the people, and will cry unto them, 
 * Hang him, as you have hanged Foulon, as you have 
 hanged Flesselles ! ' I will ask for the heads of the 
 National Guards — I will ask for the heads of the aristocrats 
 — I will ask, not for six hundred heads as I did yesterday, 
 but for nineteen thousand four hundred ! " 
 
 " Make it twen-twent}' thousand, round numbers ! " 
 
 The admirers of Maret chafed. Marat's mouth shut, his 
 eyes darted lire, his head was drawn hark ; he looked as if 
 he could have swallowed his adversary at one mouthful.
 
 102 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 The friends of Camille, Trerone, and Danton, the ene- 
 mies- of Marat, took the part of Camille Desmouslins. 
 
 They would have come to blows, despite Danton's contin- 
 uously ringing the bell for order, and his terrible voice 
 sounding far above the din, and crying, " Silence ! 
 silence ! " 
 
 I passed with M. Drouet to the side of Camille Desmou- 
 lins, for whom I felt a sympathy as strong as my hatred of 
 Marat. The attention of all, however, was now drawn to 
 the entrance of a new personage, on whom all eyes were 
 fixed. 
 
 « » . » ■ 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE FEMALE ELEMENT IN POLITICS. 
 
 This new comer was a woman. 
 
 But a strange one, having a good deal of the masculine 
 in her composition — a perfect amazon — one might say a 
 virago. 
 
 She wa« habited in a long dress of red stuff, surmounted 
 by a cape ; she wore a plumed hat, and a large sword at 
 her side. 
 
 I touched M. Drouet's arm. 
 
 " Oh ! " said I ; " who is that ? " 
 
 " I am no wiser at present than yourself," said he ; 
 " unless it is — yes, it is the famous Theroigne de Meri- 
 court." 
 
 I had once or twice heard the name of the heroine of 
 the 5th and 8th of October — the impetuous Liegoise, beauti- 
 ful, but terrible ; who, at Versailles, with a smile and soft 
 voice, had ordered the regiments of Flanders to lay down 
 their arms. An unhappy affection — the treason of an 
 unfaithful one, had thrust her out from woman's life. She 
 had embraced the cause of the Revolution with transport. 
 It was her last love. The unhappy woman was whipped 
 by the Royalists in the Garden of the Tuileries, became 
 insane, and died in Bicetre, or Charenton, I forget which, 
 after twenty years of agony. 
 
 But at present she was young, pretty, proud, if not 
 happy. Alas ! her misplaced love had seared her heart.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 103 
 
 Her entrance was great. 
 
 "There is the Queen of Sheba!" cried Camille Desmou- 
 lins, stammering inure than ever. 
 
 Then, turning to Danton, "Rise up, Solomon," said he; 
 " and go and receive her Majesty ! " 
 
 She stood boldly in front of Danton, put her hands on 
 the hilt of her sabre, and said, " If thou art Solomon, build 
 the temple. We have space enough on the site of the 
 Bastille, or better on the Field of the Federation. I will 
 head the subscription." 
 
 She took a gold chain from off her neck, and threw it to 
 Danton. 
 
 " I ask to speak," said a tall, fair man, with a strong 
 German accent; " to support the proposition of the Citizen 
 TluToigne." 
 
 " Citizen Anacharsis Clootz will address the meeting," 
 said Danton. "Place to the orator of the human race." 
 
 The Prussian Baron mounted the rostrum. 
 
 " Look ! " said Drouet ; " there is a republican who has a 
 hundred thousand crowns a year, and yet they^say that only 
 the bootless and stockingless are revolutionists." 
 
 " Yes,"' said he, with a soft smile and quiet voice, which 
 contrasted with the harshness of the former speaker ; " } r es, 
 I second the motion of Citizen Theroigne. The temple 
 should be built in Paris. Why was Paris built at an equal 
 distance between the Pole and the Equator, if not to be the 
 centre of attraction for all men ? At Paris will one day 
 assemble the Etats Generaux of all the world. You are 
 laughing, Camille, } t ou eternal grinner. The day is not so 
 distant as you suppose. Oh, that the Tower of Loudon 
 may fall as did the Pastille ! Oh, that a second Cromwell 
 may rise from insignificance into power, and the tyrant of a 
 day will be seen no more ! When the tricolor of liberty 
 floats, not over England and France alone, but over all the 
 world, there will then no longer be provinces, soldiers, and 
 vessels of war ; here will be a people, and better than that, a 
 family. It will then be as easy to go from Paris to Pekin 
 as from Bordeaux to Strasbourg ; the shores of the ocean 
 will be brought together by a bridge of ships ; and the East 
 and the West will embrace on the Champ de la Federation. 
 Rome was the queen of nations by force of arms ; Paris will 
 be the same by dint of peace. Think not that this is mere
 
 104 LOVE AND LIBKSTT. 
 
 imagination, oh. my brothers ! No, the more I think over 
 the matter, the more sure am I that I am right ; and the 
 more I believe in the poss : one great and united 
 
 nation. Oh, listen to ' of reason ; may patriotism 
 
 D your hearts to build up a temple which will hold 
 all the repres .". s I the human race. Then ten 
 thousand men will suffice to represent the universe ' " 
 
 - Bravo ! bravo ! " cried all from all - 
 
 '■ Then? are plenty of hi a Is I chop on here and there,'' 
 said Ma: 
 
 • • \\-ve-ves." stammered Camille Desmoulins : " six 
 hundred yes-yes-yesterday, ninteen thousand four hun-hun- 
 dred to-day : and it* a to-morrow arrives, there will be rif- 
 rif-tifty tl. 
 
 •• A: la '..'.:■->." ci -you err. hut on the side 
 
 of a good and generous heart." 
 
 The terrible man looked at him with as - md he 
 
 continued : u Men will be what they ought to be. when 
 one can say. ' The world is my country, the world is mi: . ' 
 hut till then, there are more proscriptions, more banish- 
 ments, more" exiles. Nature is one : why is no: - 
 one ? They are divided forces, which strike one another 
 when nations are driven against each other by the breath 
 of hatred, and. like clouds, they strike and are scattered. 
 Tyrants, we wi<h not that, and the proof is that we demand 
 : - ■ I ith. Kill yourselves, slay each other. Descend, 
 
 kings, from your thrones, and we will give you your 
 choice 'twist misery and a scaffold. Usurpers of s.wer- 
 eigntv ! Balthazars oi modern times ! is it possible that 
 you see not on your palace walls, amid the g I your 
 
 thousand lamps, the s: - : j our revelries, and the crash 
 _. the writing, not in tire, hut in your people's 
 blood. M . '- • Lay down your 
 
 sceptres and your crowns, i od head a revolution which 
 delr- rs ga from the _. - 
 the rivalry of the | 
 
 "A-a-amei " -:..mmered I ilins. Ana- 
 
 Anaeharsis wishes to carry me away by the hair of 
 head, as the angel did Habakkuk." 
 
 ■• Long live Camille Desmoulins ' " said Theroigne, while 
 the friends : the true son of \ t< -ndered him their 
 
 hands. " If ever I have love, it shall be for you. I promise 
 you. By the bye. you axe fond of Sieves ? "
 
 LOVE AND I 105 
 
 " Y< replied ". tween you and 
 
 me, he is the only one w\ the idea of a man.'"' 
 
 " What am I. then ? " said Danton. 
 
 " What are you ? " said Tberoigne, scanning him from 
 head to foot. '• You are only a bull."' 
 
 '■ Well re-re-replied," said Camille ; " that is what I call 
 taking the bull by the horns." 
 
 "In the meantime," cried Marat, "you are losing sight 
 of the public safety. I speak to you of a great tare . 
 and you will not listen, Lafayeti 
 
 " Ah, good ! " said Camille. Go on. Marat ! " 
 
 "Lafayette has caused to be made in the Faubourg St. 
 Antoine ten thousand snuff-boxes, all of -which are embel- 
 lished with his portrait as General of the National Guard. 
 Lafayette aspires to the dictatorship." 
 
 " Uf tobacco merchants ? " queried Camille Desmoulin3. 
 
 Marat's yellow tkin assumed a green tinge, and per- 
 spired with r. _ . 
 
 " He has some scheme beneath that,"' continued he ; u so 
 I pray all good citizens in whose hands these snuff-boxes 
 may fall, to destroy them."' 
 
 " In order to discover the names of his accomplices ? " 
 asked Can . 
 
 " There are many of them. I told you that t 
 thousand pieces of cord would suffice, but bring thirty or 
 forty thousand, and you will not have enough." 
 
 The applause drowned the voice of Marat, hut eventually 
 their breath failed them, and they could hear Cai 
 Desmoulins, who. like a swimmer who had dived, again re- 
 mounted to the surface. 
 
 "Always tragic, friend Ma-Marat — always tragic ! hyper- 
 tragic, in fact." 
 
 "And these cords," continued Marat — "take care, 
 Camille Desmoulins, that one of them is not first tried on 
 you." 
 
 " In that case.'" replied the incorrigible railer. " I have a 
 chance, if they take me, of growing ugly. You hai 
 
 Here the laughter broke out irresistibly, and - 
 from Cam die's side, he may be fairly said to lave gained 
 the victory. 
 
 Marat descended, furiously shaking his fist. 
 
 " Eeturn to thy cave, night-bird '. Go back to thy hole,
 
 106 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 hyena ! Sneak into thy nest, viper!" murmured Danton, 
 with a look of ineffable disdain. But Danton's murmurs 
 were like thunder ; every one heard them. 
 
 When Marat left, all joined in brotherly communion, his 
 presence having alone restrained them hitherto. 
 
 M. Jean Baptiste knew Danton, and went to shake 
 hands with him, and to compliment Gamille Desmoulins. 
 
 I could not turn my eyes from the face of the ex-advo- 
 cate, that terrible blind man whom Providence had given 
 to guide the revolution. 
 
 I shall have occasion to speak again of him, and to show 
 what sensibility of heart was hidden beneath that rough 
 exterior. 
 
 We left the club at midnight, and returned to the 
 " Hotel des Postes," Rue Grange Bateliere. 
 
 At daybreak on the morrow we had to be under arms. 
 
 -♦—••—-»- 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE FIELD OF THE FEDERATION. 
 
 I could not sleep all night- 
 
 I had seen so much since my arrival, and had been in 
 company with so many great men — Mirabeau, Robespierre, 
 Lameth, Laclos, Chemier, Talma, David, Laharpe, Danton, 
 Marat, Desmoulins, Anacbarsis Clootz, and Herbert — that 
 their names continued to ring in my soul like an alarm 
 bell. 
 
 And through thevn all passed the beautiful amazon in 
 her red robe ; and that seemed so strange to me, coming as 
 I had for the first time from the Fort st of Argonne, and 
 feeling, as it were, in another world, or else in a state of 
 furious delirium. 
 
 I arose at daybreak. Alas ! the morning was dark and 
 rainy-looking ; thick black clouds were chasing each other 
 over the sky once so pure and brilliant, but now changing 
 its opinions, and becoming aristocratic. 
 
 I awoke M. Drouet. I was astonished that any one 
 could sleep on the night heralding in such a day. He
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 107 
 
 jumped up and dressed himself. We took our guns, and 
 descended. 
 
 We soon joined our friends of St. Menehould and Islettes, 
 formed rank, and marched to the Champ de Mars. 
 
 At the door of Sainte Honore, we met the orator of the 
 human race, who had passed the night at the Cordeliers. 
 
 He had with him a body of men, Poles, Russians, Turks, 
 Persians, all in their national costumes. He took them to 
 the federation of France before he took them to the federa- 
 tion of the world. 
 
 We marched by the river's side, and soon arrived at the 
 Champ de Mars. 
 
 A hundred and sixty thousand j;>eople were seated on the 
 slopes, a hundred and fifty thousand on the plain itself, and 
 yet there was sufficient space left to accommodate fifty 
 thousand of the National Guard. 
 
 A second amphitheatre in a semi-circle formed in the 
 space between Chaillot and Passy accommodated more than 
 a hundred thousand people. 
 
 Anacharsis Clootz was right. This looked well for a fed- 
 eration of the world. 
 
 We crossed the river by the wooden bridge thrown over it 
 at Chaillot, and passing under the Arc de Triomphe, enter- 
 ed the Charop de -Mars, and arranged ourselves in front of 
 the altar of the country. The honors were for the pro- 
 vincial National Guard. 
 
 We were removed only a hundred paces from the raised 
 seats destined for the King, the Queen, and the National 
 Assembly. 
 
 All in a moment it began to rain. It was now eight 
 o'clock, and as the King and Queen were not expected till 
 ten, there was plenty of time to get both wet and cold. 
 Some of the National Guards began to dance a farandole to 
 keep the warmth in them ; the example was contagious, 
 the muskets were stacked, and each man choosing a partner 
 from among the female spectators, the extraordinary specta- 
 cle of two thousand people dancing at one time commenced. 
 
 At half-past ten the cannon announced the arrival of the 
 King, and the drum recalled each man to his post. The 
 female dancers were re-conducted to their friends, and the 
 guard presented arms. 
 
 The carriages of the King, Queen, and other dignitaries
 
 108 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 of the realm came at a foot pace. They stopped at the 
 raised benches ; the King, descending first, gave his hand 
 to the Queen, and they took their respective places, accom- 
 panied by the Assembly. 
 
 Now, not only had the day, but the moment arrived. 
 
 Stationed close to the benches, of which we had an 
 excellent view, I had been awaiting with impatience the 
 arrival of the King and Queen, of whose personal appear- 
 ance I had formed my own ideas, which I am bound to say 
 were very far from the truth. 
 
 The King was not- sufficiently kingly. The Queen was 
 too much a queen. 
 
 While the King was bowing to the people, and seating 
 himself in the midst of the cries of "Vive le Eoi ! " M. de 
 Talleyrand, the lame bishop, the Mephistopheles to another 
 Faust, whose name was Napoleon, proceeded, attended by 
 two hundred priests, to the altar of the country. All wore 
 tri-colored sashes. 
 
 The regimental bands strike up, but are scarcely heard. 
 But fort} 7 pieces of cannon, discharged at the same time, 
 command silence. 
 
 The taking of the oath followed. 
 
 Three hundred thousand hands are uplifted at one and 
 the same time on the Champ de Mars. The rest of France 
 was joined in spirit to those who swore in the name of all. 
 
 They had hoped that the King would descend from his 
 seat, mount the altar, and there, holding up his hand, 
 swear in the sight of all his people. 
 
 They were mistaken. The King swore from his seat, 
 placed in the shadow — in fact, almost hidden. The idea 
 that struck the hearts of all, was that the King swore with 
 regret, and without intending to keep the oath that he had 
 taken. 
 
 This was the oath that all knew beforehand, but which 
 few could hear, thanks to the fashion in which the King 
 spoke : — 
 
 " I, King of the French, swear to the nation to employ 
 all the power which has been delegated to me by constitu- 
 tional law, in maintaining the constitution and executing 
 the laws." 
 
 Ah, King, King ! it is with greater heart and better 
 faith that your people have sworn.
 
 LOVE AND LIBEETY. 109 
 
 The Queen did not swear; she sat in a reserved seat, 
 ■with the Dauphin and the princesses. On hearing the 
 
 King's voice trembling and hesitating she smiled, a singu- 
 lar light gleaming in her eyes the while. 
 
 M. Drouet, as well as myself, remarked that smile, and 
 he frowned. 
 
 " Ah. M. Drouet," said I, " I like not that smile ! And 
 I never could have believed that that beautiful Queen could 
 have smiled in such a fashion. 
 
 '• The Queen's smile matters little," replied M. Drouet. 
 '"The King has sworn — that is the great point. The oath 
 is registered at this moment in the hearts of twenty-live 
 millions of Frenchmen. It will be worse for him if the 
 oath be not kept." 
 
 ####### 
 
 Every time that I have been to Paris since that day. I 
 have paid a visit to the Champ de Mars, the only monument 
 left of the Revolution. 
 
 The last time I made the pilgrimage was in 1853. I had 
 come to buy the History of the French Revolution, by 
 Michelet. 
 
 I seated myself on a hillock, and much in the same way 
 as M. Chateaubriand on the ruins of Sparta, cried out in a 
 loud voice, three times, " Leonidas ! Leonidas ! Leonidas ! " 
 I read aloud the following lines of the eloquent historian, 
 which chimed in so well with my own thoughts : — 
 
 " The Champ de Mars is the sole monument left of the 
 Revolution. The Empire has the Arc de Triomphe. Roy- 
 alty has its Louvre and its Invalides. The feudal Church 
 of l.L'OO has its throne in Notre Dame. 
 
 " But the Revolution has alone for its monument an 
 empty space. 
 
 " This monument is sand, and desert as the plains of 
 Arabia. A mound to the right, a mound to the left, like 
 those which the Gauls erected in memory of their fallen 
 heroes. 
 
 '• Though the plain he dry, and the grass be withered, 
 still a day will come when it shall be again clothed in 
 green. 
 
 " For mingled with this earth is the sweat of the brow of 
 those who on a sacred day raised these hills — on a day
 
 110 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 when, awakened by the cannon of the Bastille, France pour- 
 ed in from the north and south — on a day when three mil- 
 lions as one man swore eternal peace. 
 
 " Ah ! poor Revolution, so confiding in the first blush of 
 thy youth, thou hast invited the world to love and peace. 
 
 " Oh, my enemies ! said'st thou, there are no longer ene- 
 mies. 
 
 " Thou heldest out thine hand to all — thou hast offered 
 the cup to drink to the peace of nations, but they would 
 not." 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 I GO BACK AGAIN. 
 
 We arranged to leave Paris on the following morning. 
 
 It w r as three hours after noontide when the ceremony was 
 over. I made a rendezvous with M. Drouet for five o'clock 
 at the " Hotel des Postes," and left him to give my thanks 
 and bid adieu to Maitre Duplay and his family. 
 
 All the household had been to the fete of the federation. 
 
 I met the group, consisting of M. and Madame Duplay, 
 the two daughters, and the two apprentices, at the top of 
 the Rue St. Honore. 
 
 I went up to and saluted them. 
 
 They, too, had remarked the hesitation with which the 
 King took the oath, and were, in consequence, sorrowful. 
 
 We entered the house ; the dinner awaited us ; Duplay 
 invited me to join them ; I assented. 
 
 During the meal, Felicien, sure of his superiority over 
 me as a fencer, spoke of the promise I had made to try a 
 bout with him ; and asked me, if, after dinner, I was pre- 
 pared to stand by our agreement, and give M. Duplay and 
 his daughters, the pleasure of witnessing our prowess. I 
 replied that if it would please my worthy hosts, I should 
 only be too happy to make such a slight return for their 
 kindness and hospitality towards me. 
 
 Dinner finished, we passed into the workshop, Felicien 
 evidently expecting an easy victory over me, and speaking 
 much as a master would to a pupil.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. Ill 
 
 M. Duplay and the young ladies being seated, we each 
 took our mask and foil. 
 
 " Be easy," said Felicien, in a whisper intended to be 
 heard; " I will not hurt you." 
 
 " Thanks ! " replied I ; " for I shall probably be at your 
 mercy." 
 
 " Would you like to begin ? " asked Felicien. 
 
 "As you please," said I. 
 
 We placed ourselves on guard. 
 
 At the first pass, I saw that Felicien tried to touch me ; 
 which, between strangers, lacks courtesy. 
 
 However, I appeared not to notice it, and contented my- 
 self by parrying his thrust. 
 
 Now came my turn. 
 
 I made four or five passes only ; but they were sufficient 
 to show me that, though Felicien was a tolerable fencer, he 
 had no chance with me. 
 
 I had paid great attention to the instructions given me, 
 as I wished to make rapid progress ; while Bertrand being 
 an able master, and I his sole scholar, he was enabled to 
 devote all his attention to me. 
 
 Felicien, also, after the first few passes, perceived my 
 superiority over him. 
 
 I allowed him to make five or six thrusts at me, simply 
 contenting myself with parrying them. 
 
 Once he grazed the wristband of my shirt, but he did 
 not dare say " Touched ! " 
 
 I saw the blood mount to his face. 
 
 " My dear Felicien," said I, " I have been three hours 
 under arms, and am fatigued. If you will allow me, I 
 should like to put an end to our combat. The ladies, 1 am 
 sure, will accept my excuse." 
 
 " They may, but I will not," said he. " I know full 
 well, by the strength of your parries, that your arm is not, 
 fatigued. Say that j r ou believe yourself to be a better 
 fencer than I am, and that you are generous enough not to 
 pursue your advantage." 
 
 " Then you wish to continue ? " 
 
 " Certainly. If you are the better man, I will take the 
 lesson, as an obedient scholar should." 
 
 " You hear the promise that M. Felicien makes," said I, 
 turning to M. Duplay; " and you are witness that 1 con- 
 tinue solely on that agreement ? "
 
 112 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 "Yes, yes!" cried all the spectators, especially the two 
 girls, who seemed to me to wish the pride of the apprentice 
 lowered. 
 
 I saluted Felicien with my foil. 
 
 " I await you," said I ; " take care of my ripostas, which 
 are very rapidly delivered." 
 
 •• We will see," said Felicien, dealing me a thrust which I 
 had only just time to parry. 
 
 But, at last, I touched, almost imperceptibly, his breast 
 with the button of my foil. 
 
 He bounded backwards; and while neither of us cried 
 " Touched ? " yet all the spectators saw that it was so. 
 
 He again rushed on me, his teeth set, his lips pale. 
 
 He crossed my foil, and passed one, two. But in retreat, 
 his foil caught my guard, and snapped off, about two 
 inches from the button. 
 
 But he continued to fight, as if he knew not that his 
 weapon was broken. So I took the first opportunity that 
 offered ; and, twisting his blade out of his hand, sent it 
 flying across the room. 
 
 " Pardon me," said I, " for disarming you ; I know that 
 it is not etiquette ; but neither is it etiquette to fence with 
 a buttonless foil. You might have dangerously wounded 
 me, and been unhappy yourself ever afterwards." 
 
 Then, taking off my mask, I hung it on the waty, and 
 placed my foil bj r the side of it. 
 
 Felicien saw plainly that I did not wish to continue the 
 combat ; and, without taking off his mask, he stalked out 
 of the room. 
 
 " Ah ! " cried M. Duplay ; " you have read him a good 
 lesson, and I must say that he deserved it. Now then, say 
 good-bye to the ladies, and let us be off to the Rue Grange 
 Bateliere, where you will introduce me to M. Drouet. I 
 need not tell you that if I hear of your coming to Paris 
 without paying me a visit, I shall be your bitter enemy 
 fur life." 
 
 I bade the two girls good-bye, and we set out. 
 
 As I expected, Felicien was awaiting us in the court. 
 
 The moment he saw me come out with M. Duplay, who 
 evidently only came with me to prevent a quarrel, Felicien 
 began to divest himself of his upper garments ; but 
 M. Duplay cried out, " Come here, you young vagabond ! — 
 I tell you, come here ! "
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 113 
 
 Felicien approached unwillingly. 
 
 " Give }^our baud to my young friend here — he has a 
 right to it." 
 
 " Has what ? " asked Felicien. 
 
 " Nothing," I hastened to reply. " M. Duplay believes 
 that you knew your foil to be unbuttoned, but I have told 
 him ' no ! ' Come ; shake hands, and be friends." 
 
 I held out my hand. 
 
 Felicien took it with rather a bad grace. 
 
 "There," said M. Duplay ; " you have said adieu ! We 
 go our way — you can go yours." 
 
 And he dismissed him with a wave of his hand. 
 
 We went our way. 
 
 " You see, I was right in coming out with you," said 
 M. Duplay. " The little scoundrel was waiting there to pick 
 a quarrel with you. He would not be a bad carpenter if 
 he would work, but he thinks the trade beneath him. He 
 loves, and is jealous of Cornelie. One can easily see that, 
 but he is eighteen months younger than she. I don't think 
 that Cornelie is very fond of hiuT; but you have given a 
 lesson to M. Veto, and you have done well." 
 
 I did not reply, as I agreed in every respect with 
 M. Duplay. 
 
 As the clock struck five, we arrived at the Rue Grange 
 Bateliere. We found M. Drouet punctual. I introduced 
 M. Duplay, whom he already knew through my speaking 
 of him. 
 
 We spent the evening fraternising with the Parisians. 
 
 We each of us received a medal in commemoration of 
 the occasion. 
 
 At five o'clock in the morning, the drum beat the recall. 
 We formed ranks, and set out for the Barrier Pantin. 
 Meaux was fixed upon'as our first halting-place. 
 
 Four days after our departure from Paris, we arrived at 
 Menehould about three hours after mid-day. We had, on 
 an average, marched about twelve leagues a day. 
 
 M. Drouet wished me to dine with him, but I knew that 
 my uncle would be uneasy if ] returned not with the 
 others ; and, somehow or other, T had a presentiment that I 
 must hasten, if I wished to see him alive. 
 
 I was a quick walker. I ran down the slope of the 
 mountain, and traversed the village at a quick trot. 
 7
 
 114 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 On passing the priest's house, I saw Mademoiselle 
 Marguerite in the doorway. When she saw me, she came 
 forward. 
 
 I feared what she was going to ask ; so I at once said, 
 " M. le Cure is in capital' health, and will be here in an 
 hour. What news of my uncle ? " 
 
 " Good, my dear Rene — good ; but you have mentioned 
 to him your arrival ? " 
 
 " No, I have not. Why should I ? " 
 
 " Well, he told me that- you would arrive at half-past 
 seven this evening ; and he said, ' Thank heaven, I shall 
 be able to see and bless him before I die ! " 
 
 " He said that ? Well, I must hurry on, for I have no 
 time to lose." 
 
 On leaving the village, and turning the first angle of the 
 forest, one could see the cottage of Father Descharmes. 
 
 I turned the corner in a moment. 
 
 Father Descharmes was at the door, seated in his arm- 
 chair, in the same place I had left him, enjoying the rays 
 of the setting sun. 
 
 I waved my hat on»the end of my musket. I thought 
 that he feebly waved his hand in return. 
 
 I ran quicker than ever ; and the nearer I came the more 
 his face brightened up. 
 
 When I was not more than ten paces distant, he lifted 
 himself from the chair, and, raising his eyes to heaven, he 
 said " I knew well that I should see my child again. 'Now 
 let Thy servant depart in peace, according to Thy word.' " 
 
 I heard these words, and threw myself on my knees. 
 
 " Bless me, oh, my uncle ! " I cried. 
 
 My voice was choked with sobs, for I saw that I had 
 arrived just in time to receive his last breath. 
 
 I felt the old man's hands placed upon my forehead, and 
 I fancied that I heard his voice murmuring feebly a 
 prayer. 
 
 When the prayer was finished, he cried, " Oh, heaven, 
 receive my spirit ! " 
 
 I felt his hand slowly slipping from my brow. 
 
 I stayed a moment immovable, and then, taking his 
 hands in mine, I raised myself gently, and looked at him. 
 
 He had fallen backwards, his head resting on his breast, 
 and his eyes and mouth open.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 115 
 
 But the mouth no longer had breath, and the light had 
 departed from the eyes. 
 He was dead ! 
 
 CHAPTEK XXI. 
 
 I EXCHANGE MY GUN FOR THE PLANE. 
 
 I will not exaggerate my grief; I will simply say that 
 I loved my uncle as a father, and my sorrow for his loss was 
 full and sincere. 
 
 In my absence, the two keepers — the one named Fiobert, 
 and the other, Lafeuille — had taken it in turns to minister 
 to his little wants. 
 
 "When he died, Fiobert was in the house. 1 called, and 
 he came to me. 
 
 The name of Drouet filled my heart, and rested on my 
 lips. 
 
 At that moment a postchaise passed, going in the direc- 
 tion of St. Menehould. I ran after the postilion, my eyes 
 filled with tears. 
 
 " Tell M. Jean Baptiste," cried I to him, " that my un- 
 cle died at the moment of my arrival." 
 
 " Is it possible ? Poor Descharmes ! I spoke to him 
 yesterday ! He was seated in his easy-chair, in the door- 
 way, and he told me that he expected you this evening." 
 
 He then drove on. 
 
 " You will not forget to tell M. Drouet, will you ? " I re- 
 peated. 
 
 " Certainly not. Do not be afraid, M. Kene" ; I shall not 
 forget it." 
 
 I had such confidence in M. Drouet, that I did not think 
 it necessary to ask him to come. I had only to tell him my 
 sorrow, and I knew that he would come. 
 
 As I expected, two hours after, I heard the gallop of a 
 horse. I rushed to the door, and M. Drouet was there. 
 
 He had met M. Fortin as he was coming in the same car- 
 riage which had taken him to the Federation. He had 
 pressed on his steed ; he had seen Marguerite in passing ;
 
 116 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 and in all probability the good priest would be there in an 
 hour, with his housekeeper, to say the prayers for the dead 
 by the bedside of Father Descharines. 
 
 M. Drouet wished to lead me away ; but, smiling, in the 
 midst of my tears, " What would my poor uncle say of me 
 on high," I said, " if any other hand than mine performed 
 the last sad offices for the dead ? M 
 
 " Do you feel yourself strong enough for it ? " asked 
 M. Drouet. 
 
 " Is it not my duty ? " 
 
 " Without doubt. But one cannot always do one's 
 duty." 
 
 "I hope that heaven will always give me strength 
 enough to perform mine." 
 
 " Breathe that prayer night and morning, and it will be 
 of more benefit than all the prayers printed in the Church 
 Service." 
 
 The burial was to take place at four o'clock in the Cem- 
 etery of Islettes. After it was over, he proposed that I 
 should go with him to St. Menehould, to pass the night, 
 and in the following morning with a notary, who would ar- 
 range the deceased man's papers &c, &c. 
 
 In the afternoon, at four o'clock, my uncle's corpse, ac- 
 companied by the whole village of Islettes, followed by me, 
 his sole relative, and by Drouet, Billard, Guillaume, Mathieu, 
 and Bertrand, his friends, was placed in its last resting- 
 place, accompanied by the blessings of the Abbe Fortin, 
 and all those who knew his upright and irreproachable life. 
 
 The funeral over, M. Drouet put the ke}- of the cottage 
 in his own pocket. Then we mounted into M. Drouet's 
 cabriolet, and drove off to to St. Menehould. 
 
 In the evening, M. Drouet went to seek the notary, who 
 promised to run over the following day, after breakfast, to 
 open the will, and make an inventory. On the morrow, at 
 mid-day, in the presence of MM. Fortin, Drouet, Bertrand, 
 and jNlathieu, the will was opened. 
 
 It appointed me his sole heir, and at the same time indi- 
 cated a cupboard in which would be found, in a bag, two 
 hundred and sixty louis d'or, which comprised his whole 
 fortune. 
 
 It also charged me to give all the little things he had 
 collected, and which were of no use to me, to the poor of
 
 LOVE AND iflBERTY. 117 
 
 the village of Islettes ; also to give all the implements of 
 the chase, with the exception of those which pleased me, to 
 his old friends, Flobert and Lafeuille. 
 
 On no account was anything to be sold. 
 
 As 1 was under age, M. Drouet, b} r my uncle's wish, be- 
 came my guardian. 
 
 As a matter of course, I immediately handed over to him 
 the two hundred and sixty louis which my uncle had left 
 me, telling him to keep them till I came of age. 
 
 All being thus arranged, I placed on a wheelbarrow, 
 which Bertrand lent me, all my carpentry tools, my com- 
 passes, my plane, and so on. 
 
 Two hours after, i arrived at M. Gerbaut's. On my 
 entrance, I found the whole family at supper. 
 
 " M. Gerbaut," said I, " you offered me, if at any time 
 I desired to work under a master, an apprenticeship — are 
 you inclined to stand by your agreement ? " 
 
 " Thanks, my boy, for having thought first of me. But 
 sit down and eat ; it will be time enough to think of work 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " Sit down by my side, my friend," said Sophie, with a 
 sweet smile, holding out her hand. 
 
 She drew her chair a little nearer to her father's, and I 
 accepted the place thus offered. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 MY NEW LIFE UNDER SOPHIE'S FATHER. 
 
 The changes made by death excepted, there is this 
 strange and touching peculiarity of country life, that, whilst 
 kingdoms are rent, hedgerows, and fields, and rustics, 
 apparently remain ever the same. 
 
 Nearly a year had passed since I last set foot in Bather 
 Gerbaut's house, and on entering I found everything the 
 same as when I had last left it ; the covers laid in the same 
 places, on the same table, and for the same number of 
 persons. Not only were material affairs the same, but the 
 affections remained unaltered. Sophie had said,. "Come, 
 
 f>'
 
 118 love Ind liberty. 
 
 my brother," and I came. She gave me her hand, and 
 said, " Brother, you are welcome ! " 
 
 And yet a great agitation prevailed over the whole sur- 
 face of France ; all the ancient names of the provinces had 
 been changed. France «was divided into eighty-three 
 departments. One part of Champagne had taken the 
 names of the Department of the Meuse ; the part neigh- 
 boring was now the Department of the Marne. The little 
 River Biesine, which served as a line of demarcation 
 between Germany and France, and, likewise, between 
 Champagne and Clermontois, fixed the limit of the two 
 departments. Les Islettes, Clermont, and Varennes were 
 in the Department of the Meuse. 
 
 Municipalities were constituted under the name of cor- 
 porations ; M. Gerbaut- was nominated municipal council- 
 lor, and our neighbor, M. Sauce, grocer, procureur of the 
 corporation. 
 
 I say our neighbor, because the two houses were separated 
 only by a lane. 
 
 The two families frequently visited each other. M. Ger- 
 baut and M. Sauce, with their blushing honors thick upon 
 them, were patriots. 
 
 Madame Sauce was a fine woman, but coarse and vulgar, 
 a veritable dealer in candles, butter, and sugar ; rather 
 given to serving short measure, but otherwise incapable of 
 committing a fraud. The mother of M. Sauce, an old lady 
 of sixty-three or sixty -four years, was a Royalist. The 
 children, the eldest of whom was only twelve, were incapa- 
 ble of having an opinion. 
 
 We shall see presently what Sophie's opinions were. 
 
 Opposite us was the tavern of the " Bras d'Or," belong- 
 ing to the brothers Leblanc. Interest made them plaj r a 
 little comedy. As they had the patronage both of the 
 pati-iotic young men in the town, and the Royalist young 
 nobles from the vicinity, the one brother was a patriot, and 
 the other a Royalist. The elder cried " Vive la nation " 
 with the young tradesmen, while the younger shouted 
 " Vive le Roi " with the noblesse. 
 
 In the midst of all this, a national decree was propagated, 
 which caused some uneasiness in the province. 
 
 " It was the civil constitution of the clergy. 
 
 It created an episcopal chair in each department.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 119 
 
 It ordered the election of bishops and priests to be con- 
 ducted alter the fashion of the primitive church : that is to 
 say, that they were to be elected by a majority of votes ; all 
 the salaries of the clergy were to be paid from the King's 
 treasury ; perquisites were abolished. 
 
 The clergy were desired to take an oath to maintain that 
 •constitution ; those who would not, were compelled to resign 
 their benefices in favor of those who would. 
 
 If, after being dismissed, they attempted to renew their 
 functions, they were prosecuted as disturbers of the public 
 peace. 
 
 From this arose the troubles in the Church, and the 
 division between the constitutional priests and those who 
 refused to take the oath. 
 
 If one looks back on that great epoch, and on the two 
 remarkable years of '89 and '90, one cannot fail to be 
 astonished. Can any one explain the precautions taken by 
 nature, that the men and the events should arrive at the 
 same time for that awful result which followed? 
 
 In 1762, M. de Choiseul suppressed the order of the 
 Jesuits ; that is to say, deprived the Church of its wisest 
 and most powerful supporters. 
 
 Afterwards, in the years '68, '69, and 70, the Revolution 
 produced Chateaubriand, Bonaparte, Hoch, Marceau, Jou- 
 bert, Cuvier, Saint Martin, Saint Simon, Lesneur, Les 
 Cheniers, Geoffrey Saint Hilaire, Bichat, Lainancourt, all 
 of whom, in 1792, where in the bloom of life and genius. 
 
 Whence came those births sublime and terrible, pro- 
 duced in the space of three or four years ? Whence came 
 that burst of genius prepared twenty-four or twenty-five 
 years before to second political eruption ? Whence came 
 that body of superior men who closed the eighteenth and 
 opened the nineteenth century ? Whence came that pha- 
 lanx more than human, and who raised the hand to 
 swear to the constitution before the altar of their country ? 
 
 Let us forget the death of Mirabeau, the last upholder of 
 the monarchy, whom heaven struck in an unexpected man- 
 ner, at the moment he forsook the cause of the people ; and 
 who, in dying, counselled the flight of the king — a flight 
 which, had it succeeded, would have saved the life of his 
 Majesty ; but successful or unsuccessful, must inevitably 
 have brought the monarchy U> the ground*
 
 120 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 All knew not the cause of that reason or corruption on 
 the part of Mirabeau ; whether it was that his aristocratic 
 instincts, kept under for a time by his father's severity, had 
 sprung into light on contact with royalty, or not, seemed 
 to be doubtful. 
 
 The Queen was a great enchantress. She was a Circe, 
 fatal to those who stopped not their ears, to avoid listening 
 to the blandishments of her sweet voice. She had the fatal 
 gift, which Mary Stuart possessed, of leading all her friends 
 to death. 
 
 The end of Mirabeau was announced in the provinces 
 almost at the same time as his illness, . 
 
 It was on the 20th of March that the news of his illness 
 was bruited about in Paris. It appeared that on the 27th, 
 two days previous, being at his house at Argenteuil, he was 
 seized with a violent cholic, accompanied with almost unen- 
 durable agony. He sent for his friend and physician, 
 the famous Cabanis, and distinctly refused to see any 
 other. This was wrong, perhaps ; a hospital surgeon or a 
 practised physician might have saved him. 
 
 As soon as the news was received, the crowd pressed to 
 the door of the sick man's house. 
 
 Barnave, his enemy, almost his rival, who would have 
 died, slain by the Queen, for an interview like that which 
 Mirabeau had had with her, came to see him conducting a 
 deputation of Jacobins. 
 
 The priest came, and would not be denied. This was 
 exactly what Mirabeau feared — the influence of priests upon 
 his dying volition. 
 
 They refused admission to the sick man's chamber, saying 
 that Mirabeau wished only to see his friend M. Talleyrand, 
 to whom, he said, he could confess, without any great fear 
 of virtuous indignation. 
 
 For some months he had been suffering, he believed, from 
 the effects of poison. Administered by whom? He would 
 have been puzzled to tell that himself. All the world, ex- 
 cept the parties interested, knew about his interview with 
 the Queen at St. Cloud, in the mouth of May, 1790. 
 Whether his malady was natural, or the effects of a crime, 
 he took no measures whatever to arrest its progress. 
 
 Vigorous of body, perhaps more vigorous in imagination, 
 he had passed the night of the loth of March in an orgie,
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 121 
 
 component par*? of whi'h were women and flo- 
 gs i ' lie loved. He used m 
 gratify his tastes in th • -ts. 
 
 :he morning of 1 2 April, after a nig] 
 
 • I carry with 
 me the mourning of monarchy ; Bwill be the ■ 
 
 of factions/' — awakened from the bosom of grief, if one can 
 lie term, by a cannon shot, he cried. 
 He summoned his valet, was shaved, washed, and per- 
 fumed all over his body. - last toilette was 
 pleted, opening his window to admit the young April sun, 
 which was brightening the first blossoms on the trees, he 
 murmured, smiling, •• Oh, sun, if thou art not God himself, 
 thou art his cousin german ! " 
 
 is last insupportable suffering seized him. 
 He could not speak, but snatched a pen, and wrote plainly 
 the one word Dqrmir — • S 
 
 Did he ask for death, like Hamlet, or only for opium to 
 soothe his passage from one world into the other? 
 
 At about half-past eight, he moved, lifted his eyes to 
 heaven, and heaved a sigh. It was his last ! 
 
 In the evening, the theatres were closed, as if some . 
 national calamity had occurred. 
 
 The mask was taken from that immobile face : from that 
 powerful head which Camille Desmoulins called a magazine 
 of ideas exploded I y death. His placid br w ex] : — I rhe 
 serenity of his soul, and bis nice Lure no trace of either 
 ■ or remorse, 
 i re is no doul tl I tl I ' i .beau, when he promised 
 the Queen all his supp :~. f I ly intended to keep that 
 - . not only as a gentleman but as a citizen. 
 The funeral ceremony I a on the -4th of April ; 
 
 four hundred thousand persons followed in the procession. 
 Two instruments were heard for the first time on that 
 occasion, filling the breasts of the spectators with their vi- 
 brating notes : they were the trombone, and the tom-tom. 
 
 At eight in the evening, he was placed in the temporary 
 tomb provided for him in the Pantheon. 
 
 V\ •• say temporary, because his body remained there only 
 three years. 
 
 It was removed at the time when the Convention, having 
 slain the Jacobins, and slain iving no mure living to 
 
 slay, determined to dishonor the dead.
 
 122 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 It was ordered that the corpse of Honore Eiquette de 
 Mirabeau, traitor to the people, traitor to his country, and 
 sold to royalty, should be removed from the Pantheon. 
 
 The order was executed, and the corpse of Mirabeau was 
 thrown into the criminals' cemetery, at Clamart. 
 
 It is there that he now sleeps the sleep of hope, waiting 
 the day when France, an indulgent — nay, let us rather say 
 an impartial mother, will give him, not a Pantheon, but a 
 tomb ; not a temple, but a mausoleum. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE ARRIVAL OF THE DRAGOONS. 
 
 During the ten months that I stayed with M. Gerbaut, 
 my life was monotonous in the extreme. 
 
 As I was an excellent workman, he gave me, as well as 
 board and lodging, a salary of thirty francs a month, and 
 often gave me to understand that he wished that I were a 
 few years older, that he might give me his daughter in 
 marriage, and surrender to me his business. But the fact 
 was, I was a year younger than Sophie. 
 
 But it was not that only which rendered a union impossi- 
 ble between us ; it was that invincible sorrow, denoting a 
 passion hidden in the depths of her heart. 
 
 My opinion was, that the young man for whom she 
 entertained this hidden feeling was the Viscount de Malmy. 
 
 Sophie gave me all that she had promised — sisterly love. 
 
 It was impossible to be kinder or more affectionate to 
 me than she was. On Sunday, I invariably took her out 
 for a walk, and she never would accept any other arm than 
 mine ; but this friendship did not induce her to confide to 
 me the cause of the sorrow which I could plainly see was 
 preying tipon her constitution. 
 
 Sometimes the young nobles came, and, as I have told 
 you, put up at the Brothers Leblanc. 
 
 On those days, Sophie always found a pretext for not 
 going out with me, taking care that the pretext was plaus- 
 ible.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 123 
 
 She shut herself up in her chamber, the window of 
 which was exactly opposite the window of the " Bras d'Or," 
 and stayed there the whole time that the young nobles 
 were at Varennes. 
 
 More than once, under these circumstances, I had half a 
 mind to get up in the night, and see if the darkness hid 
 any mystery with regard to Sophie and the Viscount, but 
 I always had strength enough to resist the -temptation. I 
 thought to myself I had no right to surprise any of her 
 secrets, which, notwithstanding our friendship, she had not 
 thought fit to confide in me. 
 
 One night, whilst passing along the corridor, I fancied I 
 heard two voices in Sophie's room ; but instead of stopping 
 to listen, I felt ashamed of the action which jealousy 
 prompted me to commit, and I determined, notwithstand- 
 ing the pangs I suffered, that Sophie should have no reason 
 to suppose that I suspected anything. 
 
 My grief, undoubtedly, was great ; but my pity for her 
 was greater, and I felt that strong as my anguish was, she 
 was preparing for herself an after day of sorrow and re- 
 morse. 
 
 From the 1st to the 15th of June, the visits of M. Malmy 
 and M. Dampierre were more frequent than usual. 
 
 An instinctive hatred made me keep aloof from M. de 
 Malmy ; but the Count, in memory of Father Descharmes, 
 never met me without speaking. 
 
 But, for the most part, the}' did not come as far as the Hue 
 de la Basse Cour. M. de Malmy alone, and his friend the 
 Viscount de Courtemont, went to the "Bras d'Or;" the 
 Count de Haus stayed on the top of the Hill des Beligieuses 
 with one of his friends, an old Chevalier of St. Louis, named 
 the Baron de Prefontaine. 
 
 On the 2oth of June, about three o'clock in the afternoon, 
 M. Jean Baptiste arrived. 
 
 In the course of the ten months since I had last been at 
 Varennes, he had paid two or three visits to his friends Bil- 
 laud and Gillaume, and had never failed to come and see 
 me, and to invite me to take breakfast with him, as the case 
 might be. 
 
 This time he had a more mysterious air than usual ; he 
 engaged a private room at the Brothers Leblanc, ordered 
 dinner for four, and asked his two friends to come and join 
 us immediately at the " Bras d'Or."
 
 124 LOVE AND LLBEliTY. 
 
 For some time the horizon had heen lowering. 
 
 It was evident that there was some counterplot hatching. 
 
 On the 1st of March we had heard of the affair of the 
 Gentlemen of the Dagger. 
 
 On the 20th of April, we had heard that the King, in- 
 tending to go to St. Cloud, had been stopped by the people, 
 and was afraid to leave the Tuileries. 
 
 We knew, vaguely, what was going on in Italy. The 
 Count D'Artpis was at Mantua with the Emperor Leopold, 
 asking for an invasion of France. The King did not ask 
 that invasion ; but D'Artois knew well that he would be 
 glad of it. A year before, everybody saw, from the letter 
 from the Count de Frovence to M. de Favras, how little 
 place the King held in the calculations of his brothers. 
 
 The young King of Sweden, Gustavus, after having been 
 the enemy of Catharine, conquered by her, became her 
 friend, and at the same time her agent, and was at Aix, in 
 Savoy; publicly offering his sword to fhe King; while the 
 Count de Fersen, an intimate of the Queen's, was carrying 
 on a correspondence with M. de Bouille. 
 
 Feople said that for the last three months the Queen had 
 caused to be made a trousseau for herself and children. 
 
 They said, likewise, that she had caused to be made a 
 magnificent travelling outfit, sufficient for at least an ab- 
 sence of six months. 
 
 Her friend, M de Fersen, they said, was superintending 
 the construction of an English chaise, capable of holding 
 from cell to twelve persons. 
 
 All these rumors tended to one end, and caused the two 
 last appearances of M. Drouet at Varennes. 
 
 His post-house was situated on one of the short cuts to 
 the frontier ; and by the road many nobles had emigrated, 
 as if to point out the proper route for the King. 
 
 A new event had taken place, which had appeared to 
 M. Drouet of sufficient importance to warrant a consulta- 
 tion with his friends. 
 
 This was the event I speak of. 
 
 On the 20th of June, in the morning, a detachment of 
 hussars, with brown dolmans (some said that they were a 
 part of De Lauzun's regiment, others that they were a part 
 of Esterhazy's), had entered St. Menehould by the Cler- 
 mont road.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 125 
 
 At that time, when the troops were billeted on the 
 tradespeople, the authorities were generally informed of 
 their arrival two or three days in advance. 
 
 In this case, the authorities had received no advice. 
 
 M. Drouet had spoken to the officer commanding the 
 detachment. This officer, whom he remembered to have 
 seen two months before passing between St. Menehould, 
 Chalons, and Varennes, was called M. Goguelet. 
 
 Recognised by M. Drouet, this officer had no hesitation 
 in chatting with him. He said he had been sent with his 
 forty men to form an escort for a treasure. 
 
 While M. Jean Baptiste was talking with him, a messen- 
 ger arrived from the municipality, asking the reason of his 
 coming unannounced and unexpected. 
 
 " Don't trouble yourself about nothing," replied the 
 officer ; " myself and my men will sleep here ; but as we 
 set off in a hurry on a particular service, we are utterlj T 
 without rations. We will pay all our expenses, so as not 
 to be a burden on the tradespeople. To-morrow, at day- 
 break, we start for Pont-de-Somme-Yesles." 
 
 The messenger took this response to the authorities ; but 
 they, not being satisfied with it, sent him back with a 
 request that M. Gcgulet would step up to the Mayor's 
 house. 
 
 He accordingly went there, M. Drouet following. 
 
 AN hen a^ked the reason of his march, the officer exhib- 
 ited an order from M. de Bouille, commanding him to be at 
 Pont-de-Somme-Yesles on the 21st of June, to take charge 
 of, and escort some treasure which was there, to St. Mene- 
 hould, where he was to surrender his trust to Colonel Dan- 
 doin, of the First Regiment of Dragoons. 
 
 They then asked where were M. Dandoin's dragoons. 
 
 " He follows me," he replied ; and will arrive here to- 
 morrow morning." 
 
 The interrogatory was not pushed any farther; but 
 M. Drouet was not satisfied, so he had run over to Varen- 
 nes, to inform his companions of the event, and to hold a 
 consultation with them. 
 
 Just as he had finished his tale, the younger brother 
 Leblanc entered. 
 
 He had come from Stenay. 
 
 "Do you wish to see some beautiful horses, M. Jean 
 Baptiste ? " asked he.
 
 126 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 " I should like nothing better," replied Drouet, " espe- 
 cially if they are for sale, as I want a remount." 
 
 " I don't think that they are for sale ; but what is aston- 
 ishing is that they are harnessed in relays." 
 
 " Where are they ? " 
 
 " At the ' Grand Monarque,' with Father Gautier." 
 
 M. Jean Baptiste looked at us. 
 
 " It is well, Victor," he said ; " I will go there after din- 
 ner. Have you any other news ? " 
 
 " No ; there is a movement going on among the troops at 
 Stenay, hut there is nothing astonishing in that. I should 
 not be surprised if we received an announcement of their 
 arrival here to-morrow." 
 
 " Nor I," said Drouet. 
 
 We finished dinner, and entered into the Rue de la Basse 
 Cour, crossed the bridge, and arrived at the " Grand Mon- 
 arque," where we found six horses being carefully attended 
 to by the two grooms. 
 
 " Those are fine horses. Whose are they, my friend ? " 
 
 " My master's ! " insolently replied one of the grooms. 
 
 " The name of your master is a secret, I suppose ? " 
 queried M. Drouet. 
 
 " That depends upon who asks me." 
 
 M. Guillaume frowned. 
 
 " This is an insolent scoundrel," said he, " who merits 
 being taught how lackeys should speak to men? " 
 
 " Will you teach me ? " asked the groom. 
 
 " Why not ? " asked Guillaume, going a step nearer to 
 him. 
 
 M. Jean Baptiste stopped him by taking hold of his arm. 
 
 "My dear Guillaume," said he, "don't put yourself out; 
 perhaps this good man is forbidden to speak, and has'come 
 like M. Goguelet, for the treasure." 
 
 " Do you know M. Goguelet, and why we are here ? " 
 
 " You are here for the treasure which the hussars are 
 bringing from Pont-de-Somme-Vesles, to hand over to the 
 dragoons who were awaiting them at St. Menehould." 
 
 " If you are one of us, monsieur," said the groom, touch- 
 ing his hat, " I have no reason to refuse telling you to whom 
 the horses belong. They are the property of the Duke of 
 Choiseul." 
 
 " You have said well," said Drouet, laughing ; " and we 
 were going to quarrel with one of our friends."
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 127 
 
 " If you are a friend, monsieur, you might tell me whom 
 you are, as I have told you about the horses ? " 
 
 " You are right. I have no motive for concealing my 
 name. I am Jean Baptiste Drouet, postmaster at St. Mene- 
 hould." 
 
 " As you have said, you are probably one of us." 
 
 At this moment, Father Gautier stepped out from the 
 kitchen door. 
 
 M. Drouet thought he had better say no more to the 
 groom, for fear of exciting suspicion. 
 
 "Ah, ha! Father Gautier," said he; "your kitchen 
 appears to be in full blow." 
 
 The fires in fact, were at their highest. 
 
 "It is so, M. Drouet; but the astonishing part of it is, 
 that I do not know for whom the cooking is going on." 
 
 " You don't know for whom ? " 
 
 "No. I received on the 14th, an order from the military 
 commandant to prepare' a dinner for five o'clock, and it is 
 now the 24th, and no one has arrived to eat it ; but as it is 
 a written command, I am not afraid, for eaten or not, the 
 dinners are always paid for." 
 
 M. Drouet again looked at us. 
 
 "Perhaps they are some great lords about to emigrate," 
 said M. Jean Baptiste. 
 
 " And who take away our money," replied Father Gau- 
 tier. 
 
 " In any case, they will leave you a little of theirs. Six 
 or eight dinners, at how much a head?" 
 
 " Three crowns, not including the wine." 
 
 "And for how many people ? " 
 
 " Eight or ten ; the number was not definitely arranged." 
 
 " Father Gautier," said M. Drouet, " you will yet die 
 rich." 
 
 He then shook hands with him, smiling. 
 
 We left the house, and soon found ourselves in the street. 
 
 " My friend," said M. Drouet, " without doubt, something 
 extraordinary is about to take place. I shall return to 
 Saint Menehonld without losing a moment. Guillaume 
 will go with me. When you get home, watch day and 
 night. Sleep with one eye open, and hold yourselves in 
 readiness for whatever may happen." 
 
 We returned quickly to the " Bras d'Or ; " M. Drouet
 
 128 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 saddled his horse with his own hands. M. Guillaume bor- 
 rowed one of the elder of the Leblancs, and they both set 
 off for St. Menehould at a sharp trot, recommending us 
 both to keep our eyes and ears well open. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE NIGHT OF THE 21ST OF AUGUST, 1791. 
 
 One can easily understand that it was late when we 
 sought our respective couches, and that we rose early the 
 next morning, having kept one eye open all the time that 
 we slept. 
 
 When I say we, of course I speak of M. Billaud and the 
 elder Leblanc, whom M. Drouet had taken into his confi- 
 dence. 
 
 About eleven in the morning we heard that a detachment 
 of hussars had been seen on the road from Stenay. 
 
 I left my work, giving a few words of explanation to 
 M. Gerbaut and Mdlle. Sophie. They partook of the gen- 
 eral agitation which pervaded the town, or rather the air 
 which seemed tremendous with coming events. 
 
 Mdlle. Sophie was very much excited, especially when I 
 announced the approach of the hussars. Two days previ- 
 ously, MM. Malmy and Courtemont had arrived at Varen- 
 nes. 
 
 I crossed the bridge and entered the Grand Place on one 
 side, at the same moment as the hussars entered it at the 
 other. 
 
 They stopped a moment on the Place, spoke to the groom, 
 who had arrived the evening before with the relays, which, 
 by superior orders, they had stabled in the old Convent of 
 the Cordeliers. 
 
 They were commanded by a tall officer of effeminate 
 appearance, and blonde complexion. He spoke French with 
 a very strong German accent. His name was M. de Rok- 
 rey. 
 
 He put up in the Place, not at an hotel, but with a 
 tradesman of the town, to whom he bore a letter of recom- 
 mendation.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 129 
 
 Behind me a great number of the inhabitants of the 
 High Town were descending and forming themselves in 
 groups with those of the Low Town. 
 
 About one o'clock, two young officers arrived by the 
 same route, and stopped to speak with him who commanded 
 the detachment. 
 
 One of them approached me, and asked if I knew the 
 whearabouts of Neuvilly. 
 
 I told him it was half-way between Clermont and 
 Varennes, and pointed out the direction to take. 
 
 " Can you tell me, sir," said he, " the cause of the agita- 
 tion of the people ? " 
 
 " The movements of the troops about the city for the 
 last two days. It is reported that they are -to form a con- 
 voy for a treasure, and the inhabitants are curious." 
 
 The two officers looked at each other. 
 
 "Can one get to Neuvilly," asked one of the two, " with- 
 out passing through the town ? " 
 
 "Impossible!" replied I. "A canal of great width in- 
 tersects the road ; and even if your horses could swim 
 across they would not be able to mount the opposite bank." 
 
 The officer turned round to his friend. 
 
 "What will you do? It appears that the relays must 
 pass through the town." 
 
 "We have plenty of time," replied his friend; "the 
 courier will precede the carriage two hours." 
 
 The two officers thanked me for my information, and pro- 
 ceded to the " Hotel du Grand Monarque," in the court of 
 which they dismounted, having thrown the bridles of their 
 horses to the stable boys in attendance. 
 
 It was evident that the persons expected would arrive 
 from the opposite side of the city — that is to say, the side 
 on which Paris lies. 
 
 It was, therefore, but lost time to stay in the Low Town. 
 
 I walked up to the High Town, crossed the bridge, and 
 returned to M. Gerbaut's just as they were sitting down to 
 dinner. Notwithstanding the stifling heat, the Place de 
 Latra}' was crowded. 
 
 During dinner, Father Gerbaut lost himself in vain con- 
 jectures as to what was going on. Sophie, on the contrary, 
 said not a word, scarcely lifted her eyes from her plate, and 
 ate little' or nothing. 
 8
 
 130 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 Not being authorized by M. Drouet to tell what I knew, 
 I also held my peace. 
 
 In the mean time, in order that the reader maj' fully un- 
 derstand what was about to take place, it is necessary for 
 me to describe the scene of action. 
 
 Varennes, as I before told you, is divided into two parts, 
 the High Town and the Low Town. The High Town was 
 called the Chateau. 
 
 On coming from Clermont, you enter Varennes 1>j t a 
 straight road, which, for more than two leagues, has not a 
 single curve in it, with the exception of where it enters 
 Neuvilly. 
 
 All of a sudden as you approach those scattered houses 
 which always foretell a city, the road takes a sudden turn 
 to the right, and falls, as it were, into the midst of the city 
 by the Rue des Religieuses. 
 
 This descent ends at the Place de Latry. 
 
 That Place is, or rather was at the time of which I am 
 writing, entirely blocked for two thirds of its length by the 
 Church of St. Gengoulf, the side- of which touched the 
 right side of the Place (I speak of the right side with ref- 
 erence to Paris), and the facades of which overlooked a 
 cemetery, which, stretching from the side of the Rue de 
 l'Horloge, left a passage of about thirty yards open to the 
 sky. 
 
 Another passage, intended for carriages, was formed^ but 
 on account of an arch stretching over it, it was impossible 
 for vehicles loaded too high to pass underneath. 
 
 Emerging from under that arch, one stood facing, five or 
 six paces off, the Rue de la Basse Cour. On entering, you 
 could see on the right of him the " Hotel du Bras d'Or." 
 
 A little further on to the left stood the house of 
 M. Sauce, Procureur de la Commune. 
 
 I have already said that his house was only separated 
 from M. Gerbaut's by a passage. 
 
 The Rue de la Basse Cour descends rapidly to a little 
 Place, where it joins the Rue Neuve and the Rue St. John. 
 
 A little running stream of rather deep but clear water, 
 over a pebbby bottom, intersects the Place. A bridge, nar- 
 rower than the one you would find there to-day, joins the 
 two parts of the town — that is to say, the High and Low 
 Town. The bridge crossed, and the corner of the " Grand 
 Monarque " rounded, you find yourself in the Grand Place.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 131 
 
 It was on that Place that the hussars were stationed 
 hefore they took up their lodgings in the old Convent of 
 the Cordeliers, and it was at the " Grand Monarque," 
 which bore the effigy of Louis XVI, that the relays stop- 
 ped; also the two officers, whom I have since discovered 
 were M. de Bouille, the younger, and M. de Raigecourt ; 
 and where, for eight days, they had prepared dinner for an 
 imaginary traveller who was always expected, and who 
 never came. 
 
 This being all explained, the reader will be able the 
 better to understand the various scenes of the drama, which 
 will, in due time, be laid before him. 
 
 Tired of seeing nothing fresh, though the day had been 
 passed in excitement, at the moment the clock struck eight 
 I quitted the house of M. Gerbaut. My intention was to 
 walk along the road leading to Neuvilly, and if I saw 
 nothing, to return home, go to bed, and patiently await the 
 morrow. 
 
 Many houses had their windows open, and were lighted 
 up. 
 
 The " Hotel du Bras d Or " was one of these. 
 
 Some young townsmen were playing at billiards on the 
 first floor. They were MM. Coquilard, Justin, Georges, 
 and Soucin. Two travellers staying at the hotel by chance 
 were playing with them. These were M. Thevenin, of 
 Islettes, and M. Delion, of Montfaucon. 
 
 I passed under the arch, and entered the Place ; two or 
 three houses alone were lighted up. 
 
 The crowd had dispersed ; not a light was burning in the 
 Rue des Eeligieuses, with the exception of two lanterns, 
 which only made the darkness in the street visible. 
 
 I walked up the street, and stopped on the summit, 
 whence I could see the whole town. 
 
 All seemed to sleep. The Low Town betrayed, especially 
 on the Place, no more life. 
 
 I saw torches waving in the direction of the " Grand 
 Monarque." 
 
 I was occupied in watching them, when I fancied that I 
 heard the gallop of a horse. 
 
 I laid myself down with my ear to the ground. 
 
 The noise was now more distinct, on account, no doubt, 
 of the horse having passed from the earth on to the stones.
 
 132 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 I jumped up, convinced that a horseman was approach- 
 ing. 
 
 And not only that, I fancied that I heard in the distance 
 the rumble of the wheels of a carriage. 
 
 Tbe event expected all day, and watched for by night, 
 was about to happen. 
 
 I hid myself in the angle of the wall. 
 
 The gallop approached rapidly. 
 
 Presently I distinguished, in the midst of the road, a 
 horseman. 
 
 When the straggling houses came in view, the horseman 
 stopped indecisively. 
 
 It was evident that he knew not whether to stop or con- 
 tinue his route. 
 
 For the moment, I thought of showing myself, and offer- 
 ing to guide them ; but, on second thoughts, I considered 
 it the least likely mode by which to gain information. 
 
 I therefore stayed where I was, doubly hidden by the 
 night and the wall. 
 
 The horseman dismounted, passed the bridle of his 
 horse over his arm, and walked on a few paces, knocking at 
 the doors of the different houses to see if thej r would open. 
 
 At last be knocked at No. 4. That opened. 
 
 It was the property of a small householder, called Jour- 
 dan. 
 
 " "Who are you, and what do you want ?" asked a voice. 
 
 " Pardon, monsieur," returned the courier : " but is this 
 Varennes ? " 
 
 ''Did you wake me up to ask me such a question as that ? 
 You are laughing at me ! " 
 
 "Excuse me, monsieur, but I am a stranger here, and 
 wish to know if I have really arrived at Varennes." 
 
 " You have, monsieur. If you have come for beds, find 
 them, and leave me to my sleep. Good night ! " 
 
 " Your pardon, monsieur," said tbe courier ; " I came 
 not here to sleep, but am in advance of a carriage which ex- 
 pects relays at Varennes." 
 
 " I am sorry for you ; but it is no use expecting relays at 
 Varennes, for we do not possess a post-house." 
 
 " I know that, monsieur." 
 
 "Why did you ask me, then ?" 
 
 A woman's voice was heard.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 t* 133 
 
 "Come to bed, Martin,'* said she. "You ought to see 
 that lie is only making fun of you." 
 
 " You hear — my wife calls me ! " 
 
 He tried to close the door, hut the unknown stopped him 
 by placing his arm in the aperture. 
 
 " Ha, monsieur ! " said the tradesman ; " what docs this 
 mean ? Ho you wish to do me an injury '■' "' 
 
 "Do not be frightened; I only wish to ask you a ques- 
 tion." 
 
 " You have asked me ten already*." 
 
 "1 know that I am at Varennes, thanks to you ; I know 
 that there is no post-house, but I knew that before. Hav- 
 ing been so kind as to answer those questions, perhaps you 
 will not object to one more?" 
 
 " How ? Did not you tell me that you were preceding a 
 carriage to Varennes ? " 
 
 " No doubt ; but you have not allowed me to continue. 
 A relay ought to be ready opposite the first houses of Neu- 
 villy ; I wished to ask — have you seen that relay?" 
 
 "Oh, that is another thing; you should have begun to 
 speak in that manner ! " 
 
 " Have you seen them ? " 
 
 " The relay ? " 
 
 " Yes, the relay." 
 
 " No, monsieur, I have not." 
 
 " You must tell me all that you know, at once," cried the 
 impatient courier. 
 
 " 1 have told you about the relay, but you did not ask 
 me till just now." 
 
 The same woman's voice was again heard, crying out 
 afresh. "Make him go, husband," she said; "he is only 
 making a fool of you — he is doing it for a wager." 
 
 " You hear, sir," said the man ; " my wife says you are 
 doing it for a wager." 
 
 " Nothing of the kind, I assure you, monsieur. Thank 
 you for your information ; you can now shut your door, and 
 reseek your wife." 
 
 The tradesman slammed his door in a rage. 
 
 " Shall 1 wait here ? " soliloquised the unknown. 
 
 He was not long kept waiting. During the dialogue on 
 the door-step, the carriage was rapidly drawing nigh ; not 
 only did he hear the wheels, but the neighing of the 
 horses.
 
 184 *' LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 « 
 
 The courier, placing himself in the midst of the road, 
 awaited its arrival. 
 
 -« »»» > - 
 
 CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF ROYALTY BEGINS. 
 
 Scarcely five minutes had passed, when I hegan to dis- 
 tinguish a hlack phantom; and soon after I saw the sparks 
 flying from under the horses' hoofs. 
 
 As the mass approached, I saw that it was composed of 
 two carriages. 
 
 The first was an ordinary cahriolet ; the second, an im- 
 mense travelling carriage. 
 
 On seeing the road blocked by one man, on foot, holding 
 a horse by the bridle, the postilion cracked his whip, and 
 shouted to the horses to go on. 
 
 But the unknown, in an imperative voice, cried out 
 " Stop ! " lifting his hand at the same time. "I wish to 
 speak to the travellers in the second carriage ! " 
 
 " Oh, Valory ! " cried a voice from the first ; " is anything 
 wrong ? " 
 
 " !No, madame ; only a slight mistake." 
 
 Then approaching the second carriage, "Pardon," said 
 he ; " we have arrived at Varennes, and there is no relay." 
 
 " How ! — no relay ? What is the reason of it ? " replied 
 a female voice. 
 
 " I know not ; but I am very nervous about it." 
 
 " Wake up, monsieur," said the same voice, with an im- 
 patient gesture. " Do you not hear what M. Valory 
 says ? " 
 
 " What does he say ?" replied a masculine voice. 
 
 " He says that we are at Varennes, and that there 
 are no relays." 
 
 " Has he asked ? " 
 
 "For a quarter of an hour I knocked; for another 
 quarter, I talked, I asked, and commanded fruitlessly." 
 
 " Let us get out," said the masculine voice, " and take 
 a look about for ourselves."
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 135 
 
 The door opened. 
 
 "No," said the female voice ; "let me get down ; I will 
 manage it," — and she leaped nimbly to the earth. 
 
 " Madame — madame ! '"' said the voice of a child; "let 
 me get out with you." 
 
 " No, Louis," said the lad}' ; " stay in the carriage with 
 your papa ; I shall come back in a moment. Give me your 
 arm, M. de Valory." 
 
 The courier approached, respectfully, his hat in his hand, 
 and offered his arm to the lady who asked it. 
 
 "Here," said she ; "just here is a door opening." 
 
 But as she spoke the words, though in the slightest de- 
 gree open, it was shut again. 
 
 M. de Valory jumped forward, and, at the risk of cutting 
 his hand, seized the door on his side, and pulled it violent- 
 ly backward. 
 
 The door yielded to the force used, and showed a man of 
 fifty or fifty-five years, holding a candle in his hand. He 
 was attired in a dressing-gown, and had his naked feet 
 thrust into slippers. 
 
 This was the same M. Prefontaine whom I have already 
 spoken of, and with whom M. Dampierre stayed when he 
 came to Varennes. 
 
 " What do you want, Monsieur ? " asked the astonished 
 old Chevalier ; "and why do you break open my door? " 
 
 " Monsieur," replied the courier, " we do not know Var- 
 ennes ; we are en route for Stenay. Will you be kind 
 enough to point out the road we ought to follow ? " 
 
 " If I render you this service, perhaps I shall be com- 
 promised ! " 
 
 " You, I am sure, will never refuse to render a service to 
 a lady who is in danger." 
 
 " Monsieur," said the old gentleman, " the lady who is 
 behind you is not simply a woman." Then lowering his 
 voice, he said, " It is the Queen ! " 
 
 M. de Valory tried to deny it ; but the Queen, taking him 
 by the arm, "Lose no time in discussion," she said; "tell 
 the King alone that we are discovered." 
 
 At this moment, two other young gentlemen, dressed as 
 couriers, jumped down from the box of the chaise. 
 
 " Sire," said M. Valory, " the Queen desires me to tell 
 you that she is recognised."
 
 136 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 " By wfrom ? " asked the King. 
 
 " By an old man, of courteous manners, who, though a 
 little timid, has the air of a gentleman." 
 
 " Ask him to come and speak to me," said the King. 
 
 M. Valory transmitted the invitation to the gentleman. 
 
 He went to the carriage, showing signs of great appre- 
 hension. 
 
 The Queen followed him ; her face, made visible by the 
 light of the candle which he held, expressed supreme dis- 
 dain. 
 
 " Your name, sir ? " asked the King. 
 
 " De Prefontaine," replied the interrogated, hesitatingly. 
 
 " Who are you ? " 
 
 " Major of cavalry, sire, and Chevalier of the Military 
 Order of St. Louis." 
 
 " In your double capacity as major of cavalry, and 
 Chevalier of the Order of St. Louis, 3 - ou have twice sworn 
 fealty to your King. It is, therefore, your duty to aid me 
 in the difficulty in which I find myself." 
 
 The Major murmured some words ; the Queen stamped 
 her foot with impatience. 
 
 " Ah, sire ! " said she ; " see you not that the Major is 
 afraid."' 
 
 The King looked as if he had not heard her remark. 
 
 " Monsieur," continued he, " have you heard that a 
 detachment of hussars, and relays of horses, await a 
 treasure which must pass through Yarennes ? " 
 
 " Yes, sire," replied M. de Prefontaine. 
 
 " Where are the hussars ? Where are the horses ? " 
 
 u In the Low Town, sire." 
 
 " And the officers ? " 
 
 " At the ' Hotel du Grand Monarque.' " 
 
 "Monsieur, I thank you," said the King. "You can 
 return to your house ; no one has seen you — no one has 
 heard you ; therefore, no harm can happen to you." 
 
 The Major took the hint, and retired, after having made 
 a profound obeisance. 
 
 "Messieurs," said the King, addressing the two young 
 gentlemen who had dismounted from the box-seat, " take 
 your places. You, M. de Yalory, jump on your horse, and 
 gallop on to the ' Grand Monarque.' You hear that our 
 escort is there."
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 137 
 
 The two young gentlemen took their places, and 
 M. de Valory vaulted into his saddle. 
 
 The King and Queen re-entered the carriage, the door 
 of which was shut by one of the postilions. 
 
 " Postilions ! " cried all three gentlemen, with one voice, 
 "to the ' Hotel du Grand Monarque.' " 
 
 The men whipped up their horses ; but at the same 
 instant, a man, covered with dust, on a horse flecked with 
 foam, seemed to spring from the ground, and rushing diag- 
 onally across the road, cried out, in a voice of thunder, 
 "Stop, postilions ! You drive the King!" 
 
 I uttered a cry of astonishment, for I recognized the 
 voice of M. Drouet. 
 
 The postilions who had hitherto been lashing their 
 horses, stopped, as if stricken by a cannon-shot. 
 
 The Queen felt, without doubt, that it was a moment for 
 decisive action. 
 
 " Order them ! Command them ! " she cried, to the 
 King. 
 
 The King put his head out of the carriage window. 
 
 " AY ho are you, sir," said he, " that you dare to give 
 orders here ?" 
 
 "A simple citizen, sire," replied M. Drouet; "but," 
 continued he, raising himself in his stirrups, and stretch- 
 ing out his arm, " I speak in the name of the nation and 
 of the law. Postilions ! not a step farther, on your lives ! " 
 
 "Postilions!" cried the King, " to the 'Grand Monar- 
 que ! ' It is I who command you ! " 
 
 " To the ' Grand Monarque ! ' " cried the three gentle- 
 men. 
 
 " Postilions ! " cried M. Drouet, " you know me well, 
 and are accustomed to obey me. I am Jean Baptiste 
 Drouet, postmaster at St. Menehould." 
 
 M. de Valory saw the indecision of the postilions — ten 
 men stopped by one. He saw that it was necessary to slay 
 that one, and, drawing his couteau de chasse, he went at 
 him. 
 
 In a moment, I jumped out of my hiding-place, and 
 seized the bridle of his horse. 
 
 The horse, bein^ frightened, reared, and threw its rider. 
 
 M. Drouet recognised me. 
 
 " Ah ! is it you, liene ? " he exclaimed. Follow me ! "
 
 138 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 Sticking his spurs into his horse, he seemed to sink into 
 the ground, so quickly did he disappear down the declivity 
 of the Rue des Religieuses. 
 
 " Here I am ! Here I am, M. Drouet ! " cried I, follow- 
 ing quickly behind him. 
 
 M. Drouet dashed down the Rue des Religieuses, crossed, 
 like a flash of lightning the Place Latry, plunged under 
 the arch, and reappeared in a moment on the other side, in 
 front of the "Hotel Bras d'Or," running up against another 
 cavalier as he did so. 
 
 " Is it thou, Drouet ? " said the cavalier. 
 
 " Is it thou, Guillaume ? " cried Drouet. 
 
 " Yes ! " " Yes ! " each replied simultaneously. 
 
 Both dismounted, that they might pass under the 
 entrance of the inn. 
 
 In the meantime, the billiard-plaj'ers, hearing a noise, 
 rushed to the window, to see what it meant. 
 
 " Be on your guard ! " cried M. Drouet. " The King, 
 with his family, are trying to escape ! They are travelling 
 in two carriages. Wake up M. Sauce ! — cry ' Fire ! fire S ' 
 Guillaume and I will guard the bridge." 
 
 At this moment, I arrived, and dashed against the door 
 of the Procureur de la Commune, cr}Mng as loud as I could, 
 " Fire ! fire ! " as M. Drouet had recommended. 
 
 In the meantime, he and Guillaume had disappeared 
 down the Rue Neuve. 
 
 At the end of the bridge, they encountered a cart 
 filled with furniture. 
 
 " Whose cart is that? " cried M. Drouet. 
 
 " Mine," replied the driver. 
 
 "Ah, is it yours, Regnier?" said Guillaume. "You, I 
 know, are a good patriot. Turn your cart across the 
 bridge ; it will stop the passage of the king." 
 
 " The King ? " 
 
 " Yes ; the King. He wishes to get to the Place of the 
 ' Grand Monarque, ' where the hussars await him." 
 
 " I have seen them," said Guillaume. 
 
 "And I also," said Regnier. 
 
 " Now to work," said the two young men. 
 
 " Yes ; to work ! " replied the proprietor of the furni- 
 ture. 
 
 And all three with their united efforts, managed to up- 
 set the cart across the bridge.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 139 
 
 When the operation was finished, they listened. 
 
 They heard the rumble of the carriages, which descended 
 the Kue des Religieuses at full speed, at the same time the 
 cry of " Fire ! fire ! " hurst upon their ears. 
 
 I will now tell you what occurred on the high road, 
 after M. Drouet and I left the two carriages, as well as 
 I can from the description given me afterwards by M. de 
 Prefontaine, who, though he had closed his door, took good 
 care to open his window, and, therefore, saw and heard all 
 that passed. 
 
 M. de Valory, when he fell', did not abandon his hold on 
 the bridle of his horse, and as he tumbled on soft ground, 
 he escaped with a few bruises. 
 
 He was, therefore, soon again mounted, and, threatening 
 the postilions with his raised whip, he cried, " Well, 
 wretches, have you understood ? " 
 
 " Certainly ; and have vou ? " 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " That which M. Drouet said. He told us not to go any 
 farther." 
 
 " You dare to quote M. Drouet, when the King com- 
 mands ! " 
 
 " Get rid of the three scoundrels ! " said one of the 
 young gentlemen on the box, "and let us drive the carriage 
 ourselves." 
 
 " Gentlemen ! " cried the Queen, who saw that there was 
 going to be bloodshed. 
 
 Then to the postilions — " Gentlemen," she said, in her 
 softest voice, " I do not order, I entreat. Fifty louis to each 
 one of you, if you drive us safely to the ' Grand Mon- 
 arque.' " 
 
 Frightened of the swords of the gentlemen, and melted 
 by the entreaty of the Queen, the postilions set off at a 
 gallop. 
 
 But they had lost ten minutes, and these ten minutes 
 M. Drouet had turned to profit. 
 
 They dashed on, but were obliged to avoid the arch, for 
 fear of breaking their heads, so they turned round the 
 church, and began to descend the Kue Basse Cour. 
 
 But before they could execute that mameuvre, their 
 course was suddenly arrested. 
 
 The cabriolet, as we have said, preceded the chaise ; but
 
 140 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 scarcely had it turned out of the Place, when the hridles of 
 the horses were seized by two men. These were the elder 
 Leblanc, and M. Thevenin, of Islettes. 
 
 That first carriage contained but two maids of honor to 
 the Queen — Mesdames Brunier and De Neuville. 
 
 "Messieurs! messieurs!" cried they; "what is your 
 will ? " 
 
 At this moment, a man advanced towards the cabriolet. 
 He was the Procureur de la Commune, M. Sauce, who, 
 awakened from his sleep had sallied out, determined to do 
 his duty. 
 
 " Excuse me, ladies," said he, " but, without doubt, you 
 have passports ? " 
 
 " They are with the people in the other carriage," 
 replied Madame de Neuville. 
 
 The cabriolet having stopped, the chaise was forced to do 
 likewise ; thus it was completely blockaded MM. Drou- 
 et, Guillaume, and Begnier, having finished barricading 
 the bridge, rushed to the spot. There were four persons, 
 armed with guns — namely, our four billiard-players, Coquil- 
 lard, Justin, Soucin, and Delion ; a fifth had arrived — 
 namely, Billaud, who had heard the noise ; and a sixth, 
 M. Bellay, opened his door, and seemed not less ardent than 
 the others. 
 
 All at once, I felt my arm grasped by a trembling hand, 
 and the voice of Sophie whispered in my ear " Por the 
 love of me, Bene, do not meddle in this matter! " 
 
 If M. Drouet had required my assistance, I am afraid 
 that he would have triumphed over Sophie; but he did not, 
 as he was incurring no present danger; so I stood silent, 
 motionless at the corner of the street, with Sophie on my 
 arm. 
 
 M. Gerbaut's w r indow opened, and we heard him ask 
 what was the matter. 
 
 All the windows and doors in the street opened one after 
 the other, the cries of " Fire ! fire ! " having alarmed all, 
 and made them anxious to see what was the matter. 
 
 During this time, M. Sauce had been approaching the 
 chaise ; and as if he knew not who the travellers were — 
 " Who are you ? " 
 
 "I am the Baroness de Korff," replied Madame de 
 Tourzel, governess of the Dauphin.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 141 
 
 " Where are you going ? " 
 
 "To Frankfort, with my two children, my two sisters, my 
 steward, and 1113' two female attendants. The latter are in 
 the first carriage." 
 
 " Madame," said Sauce, "you are going the wrong way 
 to Frankfort — hut that is not the question. Have you a 
 passport ? " 
 
 .Madame de Tourzel drew the passport from her pocket, 
 and presented it to the Procureur de la Commune. 
 
 The passport was correct. It was, in fact, that of 
 Madame de Korff, which M. de Fersen had given to the 
 Queen. 
 
 M. Sauce took the passport, whi'eh the false Baroness 
 handed him ; and, bj* the light of a lantern which an offi- 
 cious bj-stander offered him, began to reconnoitre the King. 
 
 The king, no doubt, wounded by the mark of disrespect, 
 tried to make some resistance. 
 
 "Who are you, sir?" asked he of the magistrate. 
 " What is your rank ? Are you only a National Guard '.' " 
 
 " I am Procureur de la Commune," replied M. Sauce. 
 
 The King, whether dumbfounded by the force of these 
 w T ords, or conceiving that the response was sufficient, made 
 no further objections. 
 
 The procureur threw his eyes over the passport, and 
 addressing, not the King, hut the false Baroness de Koff, — 
 " Madame," said he, " it is too late to vise?' a passport to- 
 night; and, on the other hand, it is my duty to detain 
 you ! " 
 
 The Queen interposed. 
 
 " Why so, sir ? " she demanded in an imperative manner. 
 
 " Because, did I permit you to continue your route, I 
 should be running a risk, on account of the reports that are 
 flying about." 
 
 " Pray, sir, to what reports do you allude ?" 
 
 "The report of the flight of the King and his family," 
 replied Sauce, fixedly regarding the King. 
 
 The travellers were aghast. The Queen drew hack into 
 the shadow of the carriage. 
 
 All this time, the passport was being examined, in a pub- 
 lic room in the "Grand Monarque," by the light of two 
 candles. A member of the council remarked that the pass- 
 port was correct, since it bad been signed by the King and 
 the Minister for Foreign Affairs.
 
 142 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 " Yes," remarked Drouet, who had arrived with Guil- 
 laiime and Regnier during the discussion, " but it is not 
 signed by the President of the National Assembly ! " 
 
 "How?" said a voice. " Why should it be signed by 
 him ? " 
 
 " Certainly, it should be," said Drouet, " eonsdering that 
 France is a nation — considering that it has appointed depu- 
 ties to maintain its rights. The true King of France is he 
 who sat on a seat as lofty as the King's at the Champ de 
 Mars — not only the veritable, but the more than King ! " 
 
 All were silent. No one could oppose such logic as that. 
 That great social question, which had disturbed France for 
 seven hundred years, — " Is there in France an authority 
 superior to the King's ? " was settled in the public room of 
 an inn in a little town on the borders of the Forest of 
 Argonne. 
 
 Drouet walked straight to the carriage. In all popular 
 movements he took the lead, and, therefore, the responsi- 
 bility. 
 
 "Madame," said he, addressing the Queen, and not 
 Madame Tourzel, " if you are really Madame de Korff — 
 that is to say, a Swiss, and consequently a stranger — how 
 is it that you have sufficient influence to command a 
 military escort consisting of a detachment of dragoons at 
 St. Menehould, and another at Clermont ; also a first 
 detachment of hussars at Pont-de-Somme-Vesles, and a 
 second at Varennes ? " 
 
 To end a fatiguing discussion, and one in which M. 
 Drouet feared that the Procureur, an honest man enough, 
 but not equal to any great situation, would eventually 
 yield, he put his hand into the carriage as a support for the 
 Queen, and said, " Will you be so kind, maSame, as to 
 descend ? " 
 
 To tell the truth, the Procureur was most dreadfully 
 embarrassed. 
 
 Encouraged by M. Drouet's invitation to the Queen, and 
 hearing the tocsin begin to ring, he, however, approached 
 the door — from which he had been turned to make place 
 for M. Drouet — with great humility, his hat in his hand. 
 
 " The Municipal Council is deliberating," said he, 
 " whether it would be advisable to allow you to continue 
 your route ; but a report, wrong or otherwise, has been
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 143 
 
 spread about that it is the King and his august family 
 whom we have the honor of receiving in our walls. I beg 
 you, therefore, to accept the shelter of my house, in all 
 amity, until such time as the council shall have finished 
 their deliberation. Against our will the tocsin has been 
 sounded. The concourse of the inhabitants of the city is 
 increased by the entry of the country people ; and, perhaps, 
 the King — if. in truth. I have the honor of addressing a 
 King — maj r be exposed to insults which we should be 
 unable to prevent, and which would fill us with unmitigated 
 grief!" 
 
 It was no use his resisting. The Low Town was evi- 
 dently ignorant of what was passing in the High Town. 
 No succor arrived, or, indeed, appeared likely to arrive. 
 The three j T oung gentlemen dressed as couriers had no 
 other arms than their couteaux de chasse, and could not 
 undertake to fight with thirty men armed with guns. The 
 tocsin still vibrated in the air, and found an echo in every 
 heart. 
 
 The King set the example, and alighted. 
 
 I then had a good view of him. and my astonishment at 
 seeing a king in such a costume was great. 
 
 He wore a drab gray coat, a satin waistcoat, and a pair 
 of gray trousers, gray stockings, shoes with buckles, and a 
 three cornered hat. 
 
 In descending, he knocked his head against the top of 
 the door, and his hat fell off. His hair was in tresses on 
 the top of his head, and was fixed there with an ivory 
 comb. 
 
 In a word, his costume corresponded with the title of a 
 steward, which he bore in the passport of Madame Korff. 
 
 I picked up the hat, and handed it to him. 
 
 The Queen descended next, and after her, Madame Roy- 
 ale and the Dauphin, who was disguised as a little girl ; 
 then came Madame Elizabeth, and, last, Madame de Tour- 
 zel. 
 
 Sauce had opened wide the door of his shop, and passed 
 all sorts of compliments on the King whom he persisted in 
 calling " your Majesty," though the King equally persisted 
 that his name was M. Durand. 
 
 The Queen had not the courage to support this humiliat- 
 ing assumption.
 
 144 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 " Well, then," said she, " if monsieur is your King, and 
 I your Queen, treat us with the respect that our rank 
 demands." 
 
 At these words, the King was ashamed, and said, "Very 
 well, I am 3'our King ; there is your Queen, and there are 
 our children." 
 
 Though vulgar enough in his royal dress, the King lost 
 altogether what little dignity he had under the costume of 
 a steward. 
 
 Besides, always unfortunate, a grocer's shop, with its sur- 
 roundings, was not the most romantic spot in which to utter 
 those royal words : — 
 
 " Placed in the capital, in the midst of swords and bay- 
 onets, I came to seek in the country, in the midst of my 
 faithful subjects, the liberty and peace that were denied me 
 in Paris." 
 
 Then, opening his arms, he pressed poor M. Sauce, par- 
 alyzed with the honor, to his breast. 
 
 At the moment that the King embraced M. Sauce, a 
 thunder of horses' hoofs was heard coming in an unexpected 
 direction — that is to say, from the Place Latry. 
 
 The King believed that it was assistance, but the patriots 
 smelt danger; and M. Drouet cried out, "Take the King 
 up to the first floor ! " 
 
 Sauce asked the King to follow him, and he did so, with- 
 out making anj r difficulty. 
 
 Scarcely was the door of the chamber on the ground-floor 
 shut, when they heard a tumult at the head of the Rue de 
 la Passe Cour, by the side of the Place Latry. 
 
 Man}' voices cried out " The King ! the King! " 
 
 One voice alone replied, " If it is the King you want, 
 you will have him dead ! " 
 
 Recognizing Drouet's voice, and thinking perhaps he 
 might want me, I crept to his side. 
 
 At the moment that I opened a passage to him they were 
 parleying; but M. Drouet and his friends parleyed with 
 muskets in their hands, and the officers of hussars with 
 their sabres on their wrists. 
 
 Between the two officers of hussars I recognised M. de 
 Mai my on horseback, and covered with dust, like them. 
 
 It appeared as if he had guided them.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 145 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 WHAT HAPPENED AT PARIS BEFORE THE DEPARTURE. 
 
 My story would be incomplete did I not follow the royal 
 family in their flight from the moment that they left the 
 Palace of Tuileries, till their appearance at the top of the 
 Rue des Religieuses; and did I not te 1 ! you through what 
 circumstances M. Drouet was led to make his appearance in 
 time to change the face of events, and to give that terrible 
 blow to the throne of the Bourbons which occasioned Louis 
 XVI not only the loss of his crown, but of his head. 
 
 I have already told you that Mirabeau, on his death-bed, 
 asserted that the King's onlvhope rested inflight now that 
 he was deprived of his assistance. 
 
 From that moment, Louis XVI had but one idea — to 
 leave Paris — to leave France — to fly to a foreign land. 
 
 We have mentioned the date of April, 1791. 
 
 This is what happened on that date. 
 
 The King had wished to go to St. Cloud ; that was on 
 the Easter Mondaj'. 
 
 The King, the Queen, the bishops, the servants, filled the 
 carriages in which they were to make the short travel of 
 two leagues ; but the people prevented the King from leav- 
 ing the Tuileries. 
 
 The King insisted,; the tocsin of Saint Roch began to 
 sound an alarm. 
 
 He leaned back in his carriage ; thousands of voices cried, 
 " No, no ! He is going to Ay ! " 
 
 " I love you too well to leave you ! " said the King. 
 
 " We, also, love you ! " replied the spectators, with one 
 voice ; " but you alone ! " 
 
 The Queen, shut out from the love of France, wept and 
 stamped ; but, for all that, was obliged to re-enter the 
 Tuileries. 
 
 The King was a prisoner, there was no doubt about it; 
 but it is permitted to a prisoner to escape. 
 
 From this moment the King prepared for flight. 
 
 Two other parties were as desirous as the King that he 
 should leave France. 
 
 9
 
 146 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 The one, the Royalist party, hecause the King, once free, 
 would be able to re-enter France with a foreign army ; the 
 other, the Republican party, because they could not form a 
 republic, without cutting his head off. 
 
 Therefore, one will perceive that they who arrested the 
 King belonged to a third party — the Constitution. 
 
 His decision taken, the King began to put it into execu- 
 tion. 
 
 The Queen was the mainspring of the plot ; the prin- 
 cesses of the house of Austria have been invariably evil genii 
 to the Kings of France — Marie de Medicis, Anne of Aus- 
 tria, Marie Antoinette, and Marie Louise. 
 
 The King might have fled alone, and that was the idea 
 that first occurred to him ; in which case he would have trav- 
 elled on horseback. 
 
 But, during the terrible night of the 5th of October, the 
 Queen became so frightened, that she made the King swear 
 never to leave France without her and their children. 
 
 It was then resolved that they should all, King, Queen, 
 and children, fly together. 
 
 That doubled, trebled, and quadrupled the difficulty, and 
 made escape almost an impossibility. 
 
 The Queen undertook the deception. 
 
 The Queen had more interest than the King in leaving 
 France. Hear you that cry of the 18th of April, 1791, 
 which interpreted the feelings of a nation, and which said, 
 "We, also, sire ! We love you, but you alone ! " 
 
 In January, 17*91, the flight was resolved upon. 
 
 In February, the King wrote to M. de Bouille : — 
 
 " I have overtures to make to you on the part of 
 M. Mirabeau. The Count de Lamark will be our intermed- 
 iate." 
 
 He added : — 
 
 " Although these people are not very estimable, still I 
 have paid M. Mirabeau a good sum of money. I think 
 that he will be useful." 
 
 M. de Bouille replied : — 
 
 " Cover with gold the defection of Mirabeau. He is an 
 accomplished scoundrel, who will repair, through cupidity,
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 147 
 
 the evil that he has worked through vengeance ; hut defy 
 Lafayette, enthusiastic, chimerical, capable, perhaps, of 
 being the chief of a party, but incapable of supporting a 
 monarchy." 
 
 Remark that De Bouille was the cousin of Lafayette. 
 He was not, as one can see, blinded by the relationship. 
 
 About the end of April, the King wrote again to 
 M. de Bouille. 
 
 " I go out almost incessantly in my carriage with all my 
 familj' — a carriage made expressly to hold all." 
 
 M. de Bouille replied : — 
 
 "In the place of that berlin expressly made, and which 
 will naturallj' draw attention, it will be more prudent for 
 your Majesty to use two English coaches." 
 
 The coaches mentioned were the post-chaises in common 
 use at that period. 
 
 The counsel was good, but the Queen combated the idea. 
 She did not wish to be separated from the King, and did 
 not wish the children to be separated from herself. 
 
 M. de Bouille continued : — 
 
 " Have with you in your perilous journey a man with the 
 head of a Solon, and the arm of a Hercules — one who can 
 plan and execute. I can point such a man out to you. He 
 is the Marquis d'Agout, Major of the French Guards." 
 
 The King adopted this counsel. We will see, later on, 
 how it was that M. d'Agout did not arrive at Varennes. 
 
 The King, in a third letter, asked M. de Bouille to estab- 
 lish relays from Chalons to Montmedy, his intention being 
 to avoid Rheims, where he had been consecrated, and might 
 be recognized, and pass through Varennes. 
 
 M. de Bouille replied, that in passing through Rheims, 
 the carriage blinds could be drawn down ; but that he was 
 sorry that the King persisted in using that noticeable berlin ; 
 that at two points on the road to Varennes there were no 
 post-horses, so it would be necessary to send some ; and, 
 lastly, that as there were no soldiers on that route, it would 
 be necessary to order up some detachments, which might 
 excite suspicion.
 
 148 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 The King persisted in going the Varennes route. 
 
 He sent a million in assignats to M. de Bouille, to defray 
 whatever expenses there might he with regard to troops, 
 &c, &c, and asked him to send an experienced officer to re- 
 connoitre the road to Varennes. 
 
 M. de Bouille could not but obey so positive a command. 
 
 He sent, on the 10th of June, M. Goguelot to reconnoitre 
 — a mission fitted only for a courageous and intelligent offi- 
 cer. 
 
 M. Goguelot was both. 
 
 On the appointed day the detachment set out. 
 
 One might have seen a train of artillery of six pieces 
 setting out for Montmedy, the Royal Germans taking the 
 Stenay route, a squadron of hussars going towards Dun, and 
 another towards Varennes ; and at the same time, fifty de- 
 tached men under the command of M. de Choiseul, pushed 
 on for Pont-de-Sornne-Vesles, where the King would meet 
 them as first post. 
 
 Afterwards, at St. Menehould, he would have found a de- 
 tachment of dragoons, under the command of M. Dan- 
 douins. 
 
 At Clermont he would have found another detachment, 
 under the command of M. de Damas. 
 
 He would have found the relays and a detachment of 
 hussars, under the command of MM. Bouille, fils, and De 
 Baigecourt, at Varennes, and at Stenay he would have 
 found M. Stenay in person. 
 
 All being arranged, the King wrote to De Bouille, fixing 
 the day for the 19th of the June following. 
 
 < — .— > 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 WOW THEY SET OUT. 
 
 This was the third or fourth time that the date of de- 
 parture had been altered. 
 
 They had determined to depart on the 11th, but having 
 refused to take Madame de Rochereul, femme de chambre 
 to the Dauphin, and mistress of M. de Gouvion, aide-de-
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 149 
 
 camp to Lafayette, and who was now on duty till the 12th, 
 they thought that it was imprudent to depart on that day. 
 
 On the 13th of June, the Austrians began to advance on 
 the French frontier, and to occupy posts two leagues from 
 Montmedy. 
 
 The departure was postponed until the 15th following. 
 
 On the evening of the 15th, the King set out with the 
 royal family, in a plain carriage, the herlin awaiting them 
 at Bondy. 
 
 If the King did not arrive at Bondy at two o'clock, it 
 was arranged that it should be taken for granted that he 
 had been stopped at the Tuileries or at the barrier. 
 
 In that case, it was arranged that the person in charge 
 of the herlin should set out alone, and not stop till he 
 arrived at Ponte-de-Somme-Vesles ; and when there, that 
 he should inform M. de Choiseul that the project had 
 failed. 
 
 M. de Choiseul would then tell M. Dandouins, M. de 
 Damas, M. de Bouille, and each would provide for their 
 own safety. 
 
 M. de Bouille received these new instructions, and ar- 
 ranged accordingly. 
 
 M. de Choiseul set out at the same time for Paris. 
 
 At Paris, M. de Choiseul awaited the orders of the King, 
 and started twelve hours in advance. 
 
 The men and horses belonging to M. de Choiseul would 
 stay at Varennes from the 18th. 
 
 On the 19th, fresh and renovated, they would pass 
 through Varennes, and put up at a farm, half way between 
 Varennes and Neuvilly. One must call to mind that there 
 was no post at Varennes. 
 
 On the arrival of the King, they would take the place of 
 the post-horses from Clermont, and conduct the royal family 
 to Dun. 
 
 On his return, M. de Choiseul, who, as we said, preceded 
 the King by twelve hours, would take command of the forty 
 hussars at Pont-de-Somme-Vesles. At Pont-de-Somme- 
 Vesles he would await the King, and would escort him to 
 St. Menehould. At St. Menehould the hussars would give 
 place to the dragoons, and be left to block the road. 
 
 After the King, no one would be allowed to pass. 
 
 After twentj'-four hours the road woidd be left clear, 
 for by that time the King would be beyond the frontier.
 
 150 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 M. de Choiseul had orders signed by the King, authoriz- 
 ing him to demand the needful number of men. Six 
 hundred louis d'or were distributed by him to the soldiers. 
 
 On the 14th of June, M de Bouille, who was in Hun- 
 gary, received a letter from the King. 
 
 The departure is postponed for twenty-four hours. 
 Whence came this new delay ? 
 
 We will tell you : the reason was a serious one. 
 
 The King did not receive his quarterly income until the 
 20th ; and being economical, he did not wish to lose it. 
 
 This reason, good as it was, made M de Bouille despair. 
 
 In fact it made it necessary to give fresh orders all along 
 the line. Instead of two days, the relays would have to 
 wait three; the same with the troops. 
 
 On the 20th of June, M. de Bouille advanced to Stenay, 
 where he found the Royal Germans. 
 
 We have already seen that, on the same day, the hussars 
 arrived at St. Menehould, announcing the arrival of the 
 dragoons. 
 
 We know, through M. Drouet, what a sensation their un- 
 expected appearance created. 
 
 We have seen another hussar detachment arrive at 
 Varennes, causing little less sensation than their brothers- 
 in-arms did at St. Menehould. 
 
 Let us now turn our attention to Paris, and see what was 
 going on these last few days. 
 
 We have already said that the Queen managed the diplo- 
 macy. She diplomatised wonderfully. 
 
 Firstly, she had used the white horses which drew the 
 funeral car of M. Vohaire. 
 
 Secondly, on the 19th, she took a stroll with the Dauphin 
 on the outer boulevards. 
 
 Thirdly, on the 20th, she said to M. Montmorin, Minister 
 of Foreign Affairs, " Have you seen Madame Elizabeth ? 
 She causes me pain. I wished her to accompany me in the 
 procession of the Fete Diefu, and she refuses me." 
 
 On the same day, meeting a commander of the National 
 Guard, "Well, monsieur," said she, laughing, "do they 
 still speak of the flight of the King from Paris?" 
 
 " No, Madame," replied the commander ; they are too 
 well convinced of the King's love for the Constitution and 
 for his people."
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 151 
 
 "They are right," replied the Queen. 
 
 On the 17th, M. Moustier, ex-garde du corps, had been 
 accosted by an unknown whilst he was walking in the 
 Tuileries. 
 
 The unknown had invited him to follow him in the name 
 of the King. 
 
 M. Moustier had obeyed. Ten minutes afterwards he 
 was in the presence of the King. 
 
 Louis XVI saluted him by name. 
 
 The garde du corps, astonished, bowed. 
 
 "I know you, monsieur," said the King, "and feel as- 
 sured that I can count upon you ; that is why I am now 
 addressing you." 
 
 " Whatever your wishes may be, I hope I shall prove 
 myself worthy of j r our confidence, sire." 
 
 " Think you that I can count equally well on your two 
 friends, De Valory and De Maiden ? " 
 
 " I am assured of it, sire." 
 
 " Well, tell them to have made vests of chamois leather, 
 trousers of hide, jack-boots, and velvet caps." 
 
 The choice of chamois leather was most imprudent, as it 
 was the color of the Prince de Conde, when he emigrated. 
 
 M. de Moustier was then asked to walk every evening 
 on the Pont Royal. There, a confidential servant, who 
 knew him by sight, would bring him the last orders of. the 
 King. 
 
 On the evening of the 19th, M. Moustier received the 
 following order : — 
 
 " M. de Moustier and his companions are desired to be in 
 the court of the Chateau to-morrow, at nine o'clock in the 
 evening ; they will then learn what is required of them." 
 
 Now, about the passport. We know that the Queen 
 travelled under the name of the Baroness de Korff. The 
 two children were the Dauphin and Madame Royal; the 
 intendant was the King; and the two femmes-de-chamb re 
 Mesdames de Neuville and Brunier. 
 
 That did not comprise, it is true, Madame Elizabeth, or 
 M. d'Agout, whom M. de Bouille had recommended the 
 King to take with him, but they were obliged to trust 
 something to chance. 
 
 On the morning of the 20th, M. Moustier presented his 
 two companions to the King.
 
 152 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 M. Maiden was to take the name of Jean, M. de Mou- 
 stier the name ot Melchior, and M. Valory the name of 
 Francois. As for M. de Choisenl, he awaited the orders of 
 the King at his house, Rue d'Artois, on the 20th. Up to 
 three o'clock, he had heard nothing, and he ought to start 
 twelve hours in advance of the King. He began to 
 despair, when a servant entered to say that a messenger 
 had arrived from the Queen. 
 
 He ordered the messenger to be shown up. 
 
 The fellow entered. He had a great hat thrust over his 
 eyes, and was wrapped in an immense cloak. 
 
 It was the Queen's hairdresser, the famous Leonard, who 
 has left his memoirs to posterity. He' was a personage of 
 the utmost importance. 
 
 " What, Leonard ! It was not you whom I expected ; 
 but, since you are come, make yourself at home." 
 
 "It is not my fault if I have kept you waiting, M. le 
 Comte ; but it is but ten minutes since I left the Queen to 
 come here." 
 
 " And she has told you nothing, given you no mes- 
 sage ? " cried the Count, astonished. 
 
 " She told me to take all her diamonds, and bring you 
 this letter." 
 
 •'' Well, well — give it me ! " 
 
 M. de Choiseul read the letter. 
 
 It was long, and full of instructions. It announced 
 that they would leave punctually to the moment. 
 
 As to the Comte de Choiseul, it commanded him to set 
 out that instant, begging him to take Leonard with him, 
 who, continued Marie Antoinette, had orders to obey him as 
 he would herself. 
 
 M. de Choiseul read aloud that recommendation to Leon- 
 ard, who made a lowly obeisance. 
 
 He then burnt the letter. 
 
 At this moment one of the Comte's servant entered. 
 
 " The carriage awaits M. le Comte," said he. 
 
 " Come, my dear Leonard — come !" said the young gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 " Why should I come ? " cried the stupefied hairdresser. 
 
 " Why should you ? Are you not to obey me as you 
 would the Queen ? Come ! I command you ! " 
 
 " But her Majesty's diamonds ? "
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 153 
 
 "You will bring them with you." 
 
 « Where ? " 
 
 " Where we are going." 
 
 " But where are we going ? " 
 
 " A few leagues from here, where we have to fulfil a most 
 particular and important mission." 
 
 " Impossible, M. le Comte !" cried Leonard, drawinghim- 
 self back with affright. 
 
 " Leonard, you forget that her Majesty said that you were 
 to obey me as you would herself."' 
 
 He then assisted the despairing hairdresser to mount into 
 the cabriolet, and lashed the horse into full speed in the di- 
 rection of the Petite Vilette. 
 
 At the same hour that M. de Choiseul passed the harrier 
 the three guards were admitted to the presence of the King, 
 and then shut up in an ante-chamber. 
 
 At ten o'clock M. de Lavfayette was announced. 
 
 He was attended by MM. de Gouvin and De Romeuf, 
 his aides-de-camp. 
 
 Madame de Rochereul, his mistress, had told him that 
 the flight was arranged for the same night. 
 
 The Queen and Madame Elizabeth had gone in the eve- 
 ning, without an escort, to promenade in the Bois de Bou- 
 logne. 
 
 M. de Lafayette, with the exquisite politeness which was 
 one of his characteristics, asked the Queen if she had en- 
 joyed her stroll ; and added, " Your Majesty was wrong to 
 stay out so late." 
 
 '• Why so, sir ? " asked the Queen. 
 
 " Because the evening fog might do you an injury." 
 
 "What! a fog in the middle of June ? " said she. "In 
 truth, unless I manufactured one on purpose to hide our 
 flight, which people talk so much about, I do not know 
 where I should find one." 
 
 '• The fact is, madame," replied the General, " people 
 not only talk about your flight, but I have received infor- 
 mation that it will take place this evening." 
 
 " Ah ! "' said the Queen ; " I engage that it is 
 M. de Gouvion who has given you that good news." 
 
 •• Why I. madame '.' " said the young officer, blushing. 
 
 "I do not know," replied the Queen, "except that, per- 
 haps, you hear a great deal more than is true at the cha-
 
 154 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 teau. Wait ! Here is M. Romeuf, who hears no news ; I 
 am sure he will contradict the rumor." 
 
 " There is no great credit in doing that, madame," said 
 the young man, " when the King has given his word to 
 the Assembly not to leave Paris." 
 
 At ten o'clock, General Lafayette and his aides-de-camp 
 retired. 
 
 When they were gone, the Queen and Madame Elizabeth 
 summoned their domestics to perform the necessary offices 
 of their toilettes, and at eleven, as was their custom, they 
 retired for the night. 
 
 Tl.a doors shut, each commenced to dress. 
 
 The Queen and Madame Elizabeth assisted each other. 
 They had some plain dresses, and hats, with hoods, to hide 
 the face. 
 
 They had scarcely finished their disguise, when the King 
 entered, in his costume of intendant. 
 
 For the last eight days, the King's valet, Hue, had been 
 in the habit of going out in the costume the King now 
 wore, and by the same door the King intended to depart 
 from. This was done in order to accustom the sentinel to 
 a man dressed in gray. 
 
 On arriving, he released the three guards from their 
 hiding-place. 
 
 Madame Koyale was ready, but the Dauphin was not. 
 He had been awakened from his first sleep ; and so, for the 
 sake of disguise, it had been arranged to dress him like a 
 girl. He made all sorts of objections to the humiliating 
 costume. 
 
 He asked, "If he were intended to act in a comedy ? " 
 They replied " Yes." And as he liked comedies, he allow- 
 ed them to finish his toilette. 
 
 The gardes du corps received their last instructions. 
 
 They were to travel as far as Bondy on M. de Fersen's 
 horses ; after that they were to take post. 
 
 They had calculated that, if thej' went at a moderate rate, 
 they would be at Chalons in twelve or fourteen hours. 
 They approached the door, and listened. All was silent. 
 
 Let us see with what difficulties they encompassed them- 
 selves. 
 
 Firstly, against M. de Bouille's advice, who proposed two 
 English diligencies, the Queen had had made two enormous 
 berlins, in which she might put her trunks, boxes and bags.
 
 LOVE AND LIBKRTY. 155 
 
 Then, in place of having a courier in simple livery, there 
 were three gardes du corps, in the livery of the Prince de 
 Conde. 
 
 Then, in place of choosing three men who knew the 
 route, they chose three who had never travelled that way 
 before. 
 
 Then, in place of hiding the King, who was supposed to 
 he Madame de Korff's steward, in the other carriage, he 
 was placed face to face and knee to knee, with his pretend- 
 ed mistress, in the principal conveyance. 
 
 Then, in place of having the carriages drawn by two, or 
 even four, horses, they must needs have six, not remember- 
 ing that the King alone is allowed to have that number. 
 
 Then, in place of arming the gardes du corps to the 
 teeth, they give them small hunting-knives for use, and 
 locked up the pistols and other implements of warfare in 
 the trunk, covered with red, bordered with gold, the same 
 as the King used at Cherbourg. 
 
 Then, in place of taking M. d'Agout, that resolute man 
 who knew the route, and whom M. de Bouille had recom- 
 mended, they take Madame Tourzel, the children's gover- 
 ness, who claimed the place by etiquette that D'Agout 
 would have won by devotion. 
 
 Taking all in all, every precaution was taken. 
 
 Quos vult perdere Jupiter prius dementat. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE ROAD. 
 
 In a moment, the clock struck eleven. 
 
 Every stroke penetrated the hearts of the fugitives, and 
 caused them to tremble. 
 
 They went out, one by one. But how were they able to 
 make a passage to the court, you will ask? This is how it 
 was. 
 
 Madame de Rochereul, whose duties had finished on the 
 12th, occupied a little chamber which opened into another, 
 which had not been used for six months.
 
 156 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 The empty apartment was M. Villequier's, first gentle- 
 man of the bed-chamber. It was empty because M. Ville- 
 quier had emigrated. 
 
 That apartment, situate on the ground floor, had a door 
 opening into the Cour des Princes. 
 
 On one side, the chamber of Madame de Eochereul 
 op-ened both into one belonging to M. Villequier and Mad- 
 ame Eoyale. 
 
 On the 11th, the moment that Madame Eochereul quit- 
 ted the chateau, the King and Queen visited her apart- 
 ment. 
 
 Under the pretext of enlarging Madame Eoyale's suite 
 of rooms, the Queen kept these apartments, and said that 
 the femnte-de-chambre of the Dauphin could share those 
 of Madame de Chinnai, maid of honor. 
 
 When in the apartment of M. Villequier, the King 
 demanded the key of M. Kenard, inspector of buildings. 
 It was sent to him on the 13th of June. 
 
 Numerous as were the sentinels, they had neglected to 
 place one at the door of that chamber, which had been 
 unoccupied for the space of three months. At eleven 
 o'clock in the evening, the services in the chateau being 
 finished, the sentinels were accustomed to witness the 
 departure of a great number of people at one time. 
 
 So that once in the apartment of M. Villequier, and as 
 the clock struck eleven, they had every chance of escaping 
 unobserved. 
 
 It was M. de Fersen's business to smuggle the royal 
 family out of Paris, unobserved. 
 
 He was waiting with a fiacre, disguised as a coachman, 
 at the Wicket de l'Echelle ; thence he was to take the 
 fugitives to the harrier at Clichy, where the berlin was in 
 waiting, under the charge of an Englishman, Mr. Craw- 
 ford. 
 
 The three gardes du corps were to follow, in another 
 fiacre. 
 
 The two fcmmes-de-chambre, Madame Erunier and Mad- 
 ame de Xeuville, went on foot to the Pont Eoyal, where 
 they found a two-horsed carriage stationed, in which they 
 started for Claye, where they were to await the Queen. 
 
 Madame Elizabeth stepped out first, with Madame Eoy- 
 ale ; then came Madame de Tourzel, and the Dauphin, 
 accompanied by one of the gardes du corps.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 157 
 
 The two parties were separated one from the other by 
 about twenty paces. 
 
 One of the sentinels crossed the road, and on seeing the 
 first party, stopped them. 
 
 "Oh, aunt!" cried Madame Roy ale ; "we are lost! 
 That man recognises us ! " 
 
 Madame Elizabeth made no reply, but continued to 
 advance. 
 
 Madame Royale was deceived. They were not recog- 
 nised — or, if they were, it was by a fr-iend. 
 
 The sentinel turned his back on them, and allowed them 
 to pass. 
 
 At the expiration of five minutes, Madame de Tourzel, 
 the two princesses, and the Dauphin were in the carriage, 
 which was awaiting them at the corner of the Rue de 
 PEchelle. 
 
 M. de Fersen was so well disguised, that the princesses 
 did not recognize him. It was he who knew them. He 
 leapt from his box, opened the door, and assisted them in. 
 
 At the moment that M. de Fersen shut the door, an 
 empty fiacre passed by. Seeing a brother cabman stop- 
 ping, he stopped likewise, and began to enter into a conver- 
 sation about the times. 
 
 M. de Fersen, a man of ready wit, sustained the conver- 
 sation wonderfully, and. drawing a snuff-box from his 
 pocket, offered his friend a pinch. 
 
 He plunged his fingers deep into the box, took a long and 
 voluptuous sniff, and drove on. 
 
 At this moment the King, followed by his garde du 
 corps, came out in his turn, his hands in his pockets, and 
 swaggering like a well-to-do tradesman. 
 
 He was followed by the second garde. 
 
 During his passage, one of the buckles of his shoes 
 slipped off. The King did not care to stop for such a 
 trifling matter as that, but the garde who came after him 
 picked it up. 
 
 M. de Fersen got in front of the King. 
 
 " And the Queen, sire ? " asked he. 
 
 "The Queen follows us," replied the King. 
 
 He then got into the carriage in his turn. 
 
 They awaited the Queen. 
 
 Half an hour passed, and she did not arrive.
 
 158 LOVE AND LIBEKTY. 
 
 What detained her? 
 
 The Queen was lost. She maintained that the "Wicket 
 de l'Echelle was to the right. The third garde, not knowing 
 Paris well, yielded to the Queen's certainty, though he fan- 
 cied that it was to the left. 
 
 They therefore left by the wicket at the water's side ; got 
 confused on the quays'; crossed the bridge ; walked down 
 the Rue du Bac, where the Queen was forced to acknow- 
 ledge her error, as they had completely lost their way. 
 
 The garde was compelled to inquire the way to the 
 Wicket de l'Echelle. They had to cross the Place de 
 Carrousel a second time. Under the arch, they found 
 themselves face to face with some lacqueys, carrying 
 torches, and escorting a carriage which was approaching at 
 a trot. The Queen had just time to turn her face to the 
 wall, in order to avoid being recognised. 
 
 She had recognised Lafayette. 
 
 The garde came to the front, in order to the more effec- 
 tuall}' screen her. 
 
 But she struck the wheels of the carriage with the little 
 cane that ladies carried at that period, saying, " Go to, 
 gaoler ! — I am out of thy power." 
 
 This is but a tradition ; the garde says, on the contrary, 
 that the Queen was so frightened, that she dropped his arm 
 and fled, but^that he ran after her, took her by the hand, 
 and drew her back. 
 
 They crossed the Carrousel at full speed, passed the 
 Wicket de l'Echelle, and at last saw the carriage which 
 was awaiting them. 
 
 M. de Fersen assisted the Queen into the vehicle, and she 
 sank into her seat by the side of the King, trembling with 
 fear. 
 
 M. de Eersen had stopped a voiture, for the accommoda- 
 tion of the three gardes du corps. 
 
 They jumped into it, telling the driver to follow the 
 other vehicle. 
 
 M. de Fersen, who knew not Paris much better than the 
 garde du corps, who had followed the Queen, fearing to get 
 lost in the streets, went to Faubourg St. Honore, along the 
 'ength of the Tuileries. 
 
 Thence, he soon found his way to the barriere of Clichy. 
 
 A few paces before the house of Mr. Crawford, the gardes
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 159 
 
 du corps got down, paid and dismissed their vehicle, and 
 took their places behind the other. 
 
 The travelling berlin was ready when they arrived. 
 
 The change was effected. 
 
 M. de Fersen overturned his carriage in a ditch, then 
 mounted on the box of the berlin. One of his men 
 mounted a horse, and conducted them to Daumont. 
 
 They took at least an hour to arrive at Bondy. 
 
 All progressed capitally. 
 
 At Bondy, they found the two femmes-de-chambre, who 
 were to have awaited them at Claye. 
 
 It appeared that they came in a cabriolet, expecting to 
 find at Bondy a post-chaise ; but there were none, so they 
 had struck a bargain with the postmaster for a cabriolet, 
 the price of which was a thousand francs. 
 
 The driver of the other cabriolet was brushing down his 
 horse previously to returning to Paris. 
 
 At this place, M. de Fersen was to leave their Majesties. 
 
 He kissed the King's hand, in order that he might be 
 able to kiss the Queen's. 
 
 M. de Fersen would rejoin them in Austria. 
 
 He returned to Paris, to acquaint himself with what was 
 going on ; he would then start for Brussels. 
 
 Man proposes, God disposes. 
 
 The Queen, two years later, was executed in the Place de 
 la Revolution ; and M. de Fersen perished at Stockholm, 
 where he was slain in a riot, stricken to death by blows 
 from umbrellas, administered by drunken women. 
 
 But, mercifully, the future was not known to them. 
 They parted full of hope. 
 
 M. de Valory borrowed a post-horse, and galloped on in 
 advance, to command the relays. 
 
 M. de Maiden and De Moustier took their seats on the 
 box of the berlin, which set off at the full speed of which 
 six vigorous horses were capable. 
 
 The cabriolet came on in the rear. 
 
 M. de Fersen followed with his eyes the carriage, rapidly 
 disappearing in the distance ; and when it had entirely dis- 
 appeared, he got into his own carriage, and returned to 
 Paris. 
 
 He had on his costume as coachman ; and much did it 
 astonish the driver of the cabriolet to see a coachman kiss- 
 ing the hands of the Kiug, disguised as a domestic.
 
 160 LOVE AXD LIBERTY. 
 
 It is true that M. de Fersen had only kissed the King's 
 hands in order to be able to go through the same ceremony 
 with regard to the Queen. 
 
 That was another imprudence added to those which we 
 have already mentioned. 
 
 All went well as far as Montmirail, where the traces of 
 the royal carriage snapped asunder. 
 
 It was necessary to stop. They thus lost two hours — the 
 daj's were long ; the night of the 20th of June is the short- 
 est in the year. 
 
 Then they came to a hill. The King insisted on their 
 walking up ; thus they lost another half-hour. 
 
 Half-past four sounded from the cathedral as the berlin 
 entered Chalons, and stopped at the post-house, then situ- 
 ated at the end of the Rue St. Jacques. 
 
 M. de Vallory approached the carriage. 
 
 " All goes well, Francis," said the Queen to him. " It 
 seems to me that, if there had been an intention of stop- 
 ping us, it would have been put into execution before now." 
 
 In speaking to M. de Valory, the Queen disclosed her 
 countenance. 
 
 The King likewise imprudently showed himself. 
 
 The postmaster, Oudes, recognized him ; one of the spec- 
 tators, whom curiosity had drawn to the spot, at once knew 
 that it was the King. 
 
 The postmaster saw the above-mentioned spectator dis- 
 appear, and consequent!}" feared some evil to the King. 
 
 " Sire," said he, in a whisper, " for heaven's sake do not 
 expose yourself, or you are lost ! " Then, speaking to the 
 postilions, " How now, idlers ! " cried he. " Is this the 
 way that you treat well-to-do travellers who pay thirty 
 sous ? " 
 
 And he himself, to set an example to the postilions, put 
 his shoulder to the work. 
 
 The horses were put to, and the carriage was in readiness 
 speedily. 
 
 " Off you go ! " cried the postmaster. 
 
 The first postilion wished to raise his horses into a gal- 
 lop. They both fell, but gained their feet again on the ap- 
 plication of the whip. The} 7 wished to upset the carriage. 
 The two horses under the guidance of the second postilion 
 fell in their turn.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 161 
 
 They drew the postilion from under the horse he had 
 heen riding, with the loss of one of his boots. 
 
 The horses picked themselves up, the postilion regained 
 his boot, and, putting it on, he remounted his saddle. 
 
 Off goes the carriage. 
 
 The travelers breathe again. 
 
 But as the postmaster had warned them of danger, in 
 place of riding in front, M. de Valory took' up his position 
 by the side of the carriage. 
 
 The fact of the horses having fallen one after the other, 
 without any apparent reason, seemed to the Queen a pres- 
 age of eyil to come. 
 
 As yet, however, they had escaped the consequencee of 
 recognition. 
 
 The man who witnessed the arrival of the berlin had ran 
 to the Mayor's house ; but that official was a Royalist. 
 However, the witness swore that he recognised the King 
 and the other members of the ro}-al family ; so the Mayor, 
 driven into his last entrenchment, was forced to proceed 
 forthwith to the Rue St. Jacques ; but, happily, when he 
 arrived there, he found that the carriage had started some 
 five minutes before. 
 
 Passing through the gates of the city, and noticing the 
 ardor with which the postilion urged on their steeds, the 
 Queen, and Madame Elizabeth gave vent each to the same 
 cry : — '' We are saved ! " 
 
 But at that very moment a man, arisen, as it were, sud- 
 denly from the very bosom of the earth, passed on horse- 
 back to the door of the carriage, and said, " Your measures 
 are badly taken ! You will be stopped ! " 
 
 It was never known who this man was. 
 
 By good luck, they were distant only four leagues from- 
 Pont-de-Somme-Vesles, where M. de Choiseul was awaiting 
 them with his forty hussars. 
 
 Perhaps they should have sent M. de Valory to the rear, 
 in order to prevent this. 
 
 But the last warning had increased the Queen's terrors, 
 and she would not part with one of her defenders. 
 
 They incited the postilions to greater speed. 
 
 The four leagues were accomplished in an hour. 
 
 They arrived at Pont-de-Somme-Vesles, a little hamlet, 
 consisting of two or three houses. They pierced with their 
 10
 
 162 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 eyes the wood which overshadowed the farm to the left; and 
 the trees which indicated the windings of the river on the 
 right, formed, as it were, a curtain of green to hide the 
 modest streamlet from the curious eye, but still no De 
 Choiseul, no De Goguelot, no forty hussars were to he seen. 
 
 On seeing that the place was desolate, the Queen uttered 
 the words " We are lost ! " 
 
 In the meantime, let us explain why the hussars were not 
 at their post. 
 
 At eleven o'clock M. de Choiseul, still accompanied by 
 Leonard, in tears, who knew not where they were taking 
 him, and who believed himself to be the victim of some un- 
 justifiable violence, arrived at Pont-de-Somme-Vesles. 
 
 The hussars, as yet, were not at their posts; all around 
 was tranquil. 
 
 He alighted at the post-house, his example being followed 
 by Leonard, who had the diamonds still concealed in his 
 bosom, and asked fur a private chamber in which to don his 
 uniform. 
 
 Leonard watched him ; his cup of misery was filled to the 
 brim. 
 
 Now that M. de Choiseul had, as he believed, nothing to 
 fear, he found time to pity him. 
 
 " My dear Leonard ! " said he, " it is time that you knew 
 the whole truth." 
 
 " How the truth ? Do I not, then, already know the 
 truth ? " 
 
 " You know a portion. It is now my duty to tell you the 
 rest. You are devoted to your customers, are you not, my 
 dear Leonard ? " 
 
 " In life and death, M. le Comte-." 
 
 "Well, in two hours they will be here — in two hours they 
 will be saved." 
 
 The hot tears coursed down poor Leonard's cheeks, but 
 this time they were tears of joy. 
 
 " In two hours ? " cried he, at last. " Are you sure of 
 it ? " 
 
 " Yes ; they were to have left the Tuileries at eleven or 
 half-past, in the evening ; they were to arrive at Chalons at 
 mid-da}' ; and an hour, or, at most, an hour and a-half, is 
 sufficient to cover the four leagues from Chalons to this 
 place. They will be here in an hour at the latest. I am
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 163 
 
 awaiting a detachment of hussars, which should arrive here 
 under the command of M. Goguelot." 
 
 Hearing a rumbling sound, M. de Choiseul put his head 
 out of the window. 
 
 " Ah, there they are, coming from the direction of Cil- 
 loy ! " 
 
 And, in fact, the hussars were, at the moment, on the 
 point of entering the village. 
 
 " Come on ! — all is well ! " said M. de Choiseul. 
 
 And he waved his hat, making signs out of the window. 
 
 A horseman approached at a gallop. 
 
 M. de Choiseul went down stairs to meet him. 
 
 The two gentlemen met in the high road. 
 
 The horseman, who was M. Goguelot, gave M. de Choiseul 
 a packet from M. de Bouillu. This packet contained six 
 blank signatures, and a copy of the order which had been 
 given by the King to every officer of the arm}' whatsoever 
 his grade, commanding them in all things to obey M. de 
 Choiseul. 
 
 The hussars rode up. M. de Choiseul ordered them to 
 picket their horses, and caused rations of bread and w T ine to 
 be served out to them. 
 
 The news which M. Goguelot brought was bad. All 
 along his route, everybody had been in a state of expectation. 
 The reports of the King's flight, which had been dissemi- 
 nated about for more than a year, had spread from Paris 
 to the provinces ; and the sight of the different bodies of 
 men arriving at Dun, Varennes, Clermont, and St. Mene- 
 hould, had awakened suspicion. The tocsin had been sound- 
 ed in a village by the side of the road. 
 
 M. de Choiseul had ordered dinner for M. de Goguelot 
 and himself. 
 
 The two young men drew up to the table, leaving the de- 
 tachment under the command of M. de Boudet. 
 
 At the expiration of half an hour, M. de Choiseul fan- 
 cied that he heard a noise outside the door. 
 
 He went out. 
 
 The peasants from the neighboring villages had begun to 
 crowd round the soldiers. 
 
 Whence came these peasants, in a country which was al- 
 most a desert ? 
 
 It was surmised that some days before the inhabitants of
 
 164 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 a tract of land, near Pont-de-Somme-Vesles, belonging to 
 Madame d'Eblceuf, had refused the payment of irredeemable 
 rights, on the strength of which they had been threatened 
 ■with military law. 
 
 But the federation of 1790 had made France one great 
 family ; and the peasants of the villages had promised the 
 tenants of Madame d'Elbceuf to use their arms if any 
 soldiers showed themselves in the vicinity. 
 
 As we know, forty had arrived. 
 
 On seeing them Madame d'Elbceuf's tenants believed 
 that they had come with hostile intentions against them ; 
 so they sent messages to all the neighboring villages, im- 
 ploring them to keep their promise. 
 
 Those situate nearest arrived first, and that is bow r M. de 
 Choiseul, on arising from table, found a turbulent throng 
 of peasants surrounding the hussars. 
 
 He believed that curiosity alone had drawn them thither, 
 and, without paying any further attention to them, gained 
 the most elevated part of the road, which runs in a straight 
 line through the plain of Chalons to St. Menehould. 
 
 A little further on than could be seen with the naked eye 
 was the village itself. 
 
 An hour slipped awa}\ 
 
 Two hours, three hours, four hours, followed in the track 
 of the first. 
 
 The fugitives ought to have arrived in one hour at 
 Pont-de-Somme-Vesles ; and the time they had lost on the 
 road made it half-past four, as we have said, before they 
 arrived at Chalons. 
 
 M. de Choiseul was anxious. 
 
 Leonard was in despair. 
 
 About three o'clock, the numbers of peasants increased ; 
 their intentions became more hostile, and the tocsin began 
 to sound. 
 
 The hussars were, perhaps, more unpopular than any 
 other corps in the army, on account of their supposed plun- 
 dering propensities. The peasants provoked them by all 
 sorts of insults and menaces, and sang under their very 
 noses — 
 
 " Tbe hussars are forlorn, 
 And We lausrh thotu to scorn."
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 165 
 
 Presently better informed people came up, and spread a 
 report that the hussars had conie, not to injure Madame 
 d'Elbceuf s tenants, but to escort the King and Queen. 
 
 This was also a very serious matter. 
 
 At about half-past four, M. de Choiseul and his hussars 
 were so completely hemmed in, that the three officers coun- 
 selled together as to what was best to be done. 
 
 They agreed unanimously that it was impossible that 
 they could Imld out much longer. 
 
 The number of peasants was augmented to about three 
 hundred, many of whom were armed. 
 
 If, by ill luck, the King and Queen arrived at this criti- 
 cal juncture, fort}- men, supposing that each killed his 
 adversary, would be insufficient to protect them. 
 
 M. de Choiseul re-read his orders : — 
 
 " Manage in such a manner that the King's carriage shall 
 continue its progress without interruption." 
 
 But his presence and that of the forty men became an 
 obstacle instead of a support. 
 
 There was no doubt about it. Their best plan was to 
 depart. 
 
 But a pretext must be found. 
 
 M. de Choiseul, in the midst of some five or six hundred 
 gaping peasants who surrounded him, summoned the post- 
 master. 
 
 "Monsieur," said he, "we are here for the purpose of 
 escorting a treasure, but this treasure does not arrive. Do 
 you know if any gold has been this last day or so to 
 Metz ? " 
 
 " This morning," replied the postmaster, " the diligence 
 brought a hundred thousand crowns, and was escorted by 
 two gendarmes." 
 
 If the postmaster had been prompted, he could not have 
 spoken better. 
 
 " It was Robin and me who escorted it," cried a gen- 
 darme, hidden among the crowd. 
 
 Then M. de Choiseul, turning to M. Goguelot, said, 
 " Monsieur, the Ministry have preferred the ordinary mode 
 of carriage. As a hundred thousand crowns have passed 
 through here this morning, our further presence here is un- 
 necessary. Trumpeter, sound boot and saddle, and we will 
 be off." 
 
 The trumpeter obeyed.
 
 186 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 In a second, the hussars, who wished nothing hetter than 
 to be off, were mounted. 
 
 '•' Gentlemen of the hussars, march. Form by fours, and 
 proceed at a foot pace." 
 
 And he and his forty men left Pont-de-Somme-Vesles at 
 five punctually by his watch. 
 
 The detachment was to have fallen upon Varennes. He 
 took the by-road in order to avoid St. Menehould, but lost 
 his way above Mofficourt. 
 
 The little troop hesitated for a moment, when a horse- 
 man coming from Neuville saw the perplexity of M. de 
 Choiseul, and finding that he was a Royalist and a gentle- 
 man, asked if he could be of an}'- assistance to him. 
 
 " Indeed you can," replied M. de Choiseul. " You can 
 conduct us to Varennes by the Chalade." 
 
 " Follow me, then," cried the gentleman. 
 
 And he placed himself at the head of the hussars. 
 
 This gentleman was no other than M. de Malmy, and 
 that is how it was that I met him on the Place Latry, 
 between two officers whom I knew not — namely, M. de 
 Choiseul and M. Goguelot. 
 
 < » ■ » > 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 STILL IN FLIGHT. 
 
 There was therefore, no escort awaiting the King at 
 Pont-de-Somme-Vesles when he arrived there. 
 
 But if there was no escort, there were likewise no peas- 
 ants. The road was clear ; the King therefore changed 
 horses without an obstacle, and started for St. Menehould. 
 
 At St. Menehould, M. Dandoins awaited the King's 
 arrival with as much impatience as M. de Choiseul and 
 M. Goguelot had; and about midday he set out with his 
 lieutenant on the road to Chalons, in the hopes of seeing 
 some sign of his arrival. 
 
 This road is one long descent from St. Menehould to 
 Chfilons. They cast their eyes for a length of two leagues 
 on a straight line, traced, as it were, by a pencil, between
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 167 
 
 two rows of trees, with uncultivated green patches of 
 country around them. 
 
 Nothing was visible on the road. 
 
 M. Dandoins and his lieutenant returned to St. Mene- 
 hould. 
 
 Two hours afterward they again strolled along that same 
 road. 
 
 To get to the barracks situated at the bottom of the 
 Faubourg Fleurion, it was necessary to pass right through 
 the town. 
 
 They returned, as on the former occasion, without having 
 seen anything. 
 
 These in-comings and out-goings excited the attention 
 of a population already alarmed. They perceived that the 
 two officers had the appearance of being restless and 
 uneasy. 
 
 To the queries put them on the subject, they replied that 
 they were awaiting a treasure which apparently was delay- 
 ed, and that this delay gave rise to uneasiness. 
 
 About seven o'clock in the evening, a courier, dressed in 
 a chamois-leather vest, arrived, drew up at the post-house, 
 and commanded horses for two carriages. 
 
 The postmaster was Jean Baptiste Drouet. 
 
 M. de Dandoins approached M. de Yalory. 
 
 "Monsieur," said he, in a whisper, "you are preceding 
 the King's carriage, are you not ? " 
 
 " Yes, monsieur," replied the courier ; " and let me add, 
 that I am astonished to see you and your men in police- 
 men's hats." 
 
 " We did not know the exact hour of the King's arrival. 
 Our presence annoys the people ; demonstrations of the 
 most menacing character with regard to us have been made, 
 and they have tried to entice away my men." 
 
 "Silence," said M. de Valory ; " they hear what we are 
 saying. Rejoin your men, sir, and try to keep them to 
 their duty." 
 
 MM, de Yalory and de Dandoins then separated. 
 
 At the same moment the crackings of a whip were 
 heard, and the two carriages crossed the Place de l'Hotel 
 de Yille. 
 
 They drew up in front of the post-house. 
 
 One can easily recognise the house, then built about 
 three years, and which bears upon its face the date 1788.
 
 168 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 Scarcely had the carriage stopped, when crowds of people 
 surrounded them. 
 
 One of the lookers-on ashed M. Maiden, who was 
 descending from the box, "Who are the travellers who 
 journe}' in this style ? " 
 
 " Madame the Baronne de Korff," replied de Maiden. 
 
 "What! another of the exiles who are sucking at the 
 vitals of France ? " murmured the spectator, discontent- 
 edly. 
 
 " No ; this lady is a Russian, and, consequently, a 
 stranger." 
 
 During this, M. de Dandoins, his policeman's hat in his 
 hand, approached the carriage-door, before which he stood, 
 respectfully. 
 
 " Sir officer," said the King, "how is it that I found no 
 one at Ponfe-de-Somme-Vesles ?" 
 
 "I was asking myself, sire, how it was that you arrived 
 without escort." 
 
 The sight of a commander of dragoons talking with the 
 deepest respect to a sort of valet de chambre, seated in the 
 front seat of the carriage, redoubled the astonishment of 
 the people, and began to change that astonishment rapidly 
 into suspicion. 
 
 Still, the King took no precaution to hide himself. 
 
 At this moment, M. Drouet came out from the door of 
 his house, and seeing the man who was tnlking to the com- 
 mander of the dragoons, he cried, " Just heavens — the 
 King!-" 
 
 He had much the same expression of face as he had at 
 the federation, and his general appearance was such that 
 he was not easily disguised. 
 
 A municipal officer was there; his name was Farcy. 
 
 Drouet touched him on the elbow. 
 
 " Do you recognize that man ? " said he, pointing to the 
 King. 
 
 "Yes," replied the other. " It is the King." 
 
 " Call together the municipal council." 
 
 Then, running to the door of the house, " Guillaume, 
 Guillaume ! " he cried. 
 
 Guillaume, who was within, ran out to him. Drouet 
 pointed out to him the King. 
 
 " That is he whom we have been expecting," said he.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 169 
 
 Meanwhile M. Farcy had run to the municipality, and 
 there made his report. 
 
 Drouet followed after him, and likewise entered the muni- 
 cipal council chamber. 
 
 Scarcely had he turned the corner of the street, than 
 the carriages, which had been relayed in the twinkling of 
 an eye, started off at a sharp trot. 
 
 A somewhat strange event accompanied their departure. 
 
 Behind the carriage a sous-officer of dragoons, whom we 
 have seen speaking to the King, notwithstanding his 
 inferior rank, pushed on at a gallop, firing, as he did so, a 
 pistol in the air. 
 
 Without doubt, it was a signal ; but the citizens took ifc 
 as a sign for hostilities, especially as, on hearing it, the 
 dragoons rushed to their horses. 
 
 At this pistol-shot, cries were heard. A man who was 
 threshing in a barn on the left-hand side of the road, a 
 little above the small bridge thrown over the Aisne, left 
 the barn, and tried to stop the sous-officer with his flail. 
 
 The officer drew his sabre, cut the flail in half, and 
 passed on. 
 
 During this time the municipal council had decided that 
 some one should run after the royal carriages, and stop 
 them. 
 
 " But who will do it ? " asked the Mayor. 
 
 "I will," replied M. Drouet. 
 
 Other young men offered to accompany him ; but he had 
 not at the post-house more than one horse of his own, with 
 the exception of a little pony, which was for his friend 
 Guillaume, on which he could count as well as he could on 
 himself. Two other citizens seized horses, and determin- 
 ing not to leave them, set out with them, or, at least, 
 behind them. 
 
 They started, amid shouts of encoiiragement from the 
 whole town. 
 
 Two hours after, the two citizens returned on their 
 paltry hacks. They had not been able to keep up the 
 pace. 
 
 But M. Jean Baptiste Drouet, bearer of A Warrant 
 from the Municipality to arrest the King, and Citizen 
 Guillaume, continued the chase. 
 
 I underline the warrant given by the municipality for
 
 170 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 the arrest of the King, hecause T have never seen mention 
 made of it by any historian, and because, having seen the 
 warrant in M. Drouet's hand, I can speak positively with 
 regard to the existence of the paper. 
 
 I wish you to understand why 1 lay so much stress on 
 the fact of the existence of a warrant. It is because M. 
 Jean Baptiste Drouet, sent by the municipality of St. 
 Mehehould to arrest the King and the royal family, is not 
 the isolated fanatic, obeying a regicidal impulse, as the 
 Royalist journals and histories would have it, but a citizen 
 of unblemished character, who fulfilled but his duty in 
 obeying the commands of the magistrates of his country. 
 
 But to return to our tale. 
 
 The royal carriage started, and MM. Drouet and Guil- 
 laume in pursuit. M. Dandoins ordered his dragoons to 
 mount, and follow. 
 
 But the order was more easily given than executed. 
 
 The pistol-shot fired bj- the sous-officer had found an 
 echo in the hearts — or, rather, the imaginations of — of 
 those who heard it. The National Guard armed themselves 
 with their douhle-harrelled guns. A tumultuous and noisy 
 mob gathered in front of the post-house — that is to say, on 
 the very road that the dragoons would be obliged to follow, 
 in order to come up with the royal carriages. 
 
 M. Dandoins was al out to spring into his saddle, when 
 the municipal council commanded him to surrender on the 
 spot at the Hotel de Yille. 
 
 He did so, and was then ordered to give his name and to 
 show his orders. 
 
 " I am named Dandoins," replied he. " I am a Chevalier 
 of St. Louis, a captain in the 1st Regiment of Dragoon 
 Guards, and there are the orders which I have received." 
 
 Suiting the action to the word, he placed on the table the 
 following order : — 
 
 " On behalf of the King, T, Franqois Claude Amour de 
 Bouille, lieutenant-general of the King's armies, &c. The 
 captain of the 1st Regiment of Dragoons is ordered to 
 march, with forty men of his regiment, on the 19th, from 
 Clermont to St. Menehould, where, on the 20th and 21st, 
 he will await a convoj' of money, which will be escorted by 
 a detachment of the 6th Regiment of Hussars from Pont-
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 171 
 
 de-Somme-Vesles, on the Chalons road. The dragoons and 
 their horses will he lodged equally among the hotel-keepers. 
 The captain will be reimbursed for all expenses incurred for 
 the provender for the horses, and each dragoon will receive 
 increased pay in place of his rations. 
 
 " De Eouille. 
 " Metz, 14th June, 1791." 
 
 At this moment the cries of the people mounted to the 
 chamber in which the council were assembled, interrogating 
 M. Dandoins. These cries demanded that the dragoons 
 should be disarmed. 
 
 " You hear, captain ? " said the Mayor. " It is needful, 
 in order to tranquillize the people, that your men lay down 
 their arms. Go down, and order them to do so." • 
 
 " I will do so, if you will give me a written authority," 
 replied M. Dandoins. 
 
 The order was given, and at the command of 
 M. Dandoins the arms of the dragoons, and the accoutre- 
 ments of the horses, were carried into the Hotel de Ville. 
 
 At the moment M. Dandoins and his lieutenant M. La 
 Cour, reappeared at the door of the Hotel de Ville opening 
 on the Place, the exasperation of the multitude reached a 
 culminating point. Every voice cried, "He is a traitor! 
 He knew all ! He has imposed upon the municipality ! " 
 
 The} T conducted the two officers to the town prison. 
 
 Let us now follow the royal carriages, and, as a matter of 
 course, MM. Gillaume and Drouet, their pursuers. 
 
 They had seen them start at full gallop by the Clermont 
 route. 
 
 At eight o'clock a courier arrived from M. de Choiseul. 
 
 This courier was poor Leonard, with his cabriolet. 
 
 He came to tell M. Damas that he had left ftl. de 
 Choiseul at Pont-de-Somme-Vesles, at hall-past four, and 
 that up to that time no courier had arrived. 
 
 Leonard told him also the danger that M. Gorguelot, 
 M. Boudet, and their forty hussars, bad incurred. 
 
 M. Damas ran no less risk. The same excitement pre- 
 vailed everywhere. The sight of his soldiers had provoked 
 murmurs. The hour for retreat approached, and he knew 
 that it would be difficult to keep the men under arms, and 
 the horses saddled, dining the whole night, so manifest had 
 the hostile demonstrations become.
 
 172 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 In this interval the cracking of postilions' whips an- 
 nounced from afar the arrival of the carria_ s. 
 
 Bf. Bouille'a orders were to mount half an hour after the 
 passage of the carriages, and to fall back upon Montmedy, 
 in passing by Varennes. 
 
 M. de Damas rushed to the door, told the King what 
 orders he had received from de Bouille. and asked him what 
 his orders were. 
 
 •• Let the carriages pass without making any remark,'' 
 replied the King. u and follow with your drago* :.-.'" 
 
 During this time, incredible as it may appear, a discus- 
 sion aro?e between the person charged with the payment of 
 the postillion and the postmaster. 
 
 It is a double post from St. Menehould to Yarennes. 
 They did not wish to pay more than single. Ten minutes 
 were lost in this squabble, which estranged the people, who 
 were helping. 
 
 At last, the carriages set off. 
 
 They could have been half a league distant when Drouet 
 arrived. 
 
 Above Islettes. he and Guillaume separated, Guillaume 
 took the short cut by the wood, and thus gained a league ; 
 while Drouet followed the road, striving to arrive at 
 Clermont before the King: r. if he could not succeed in 
 that, at any rate to catch him up at Yarennes. 
 
 On the other hand, thanks to the advantage which the 
 short cut gave him, Guillaume was sure tu arrive at 
 \ arennes before the King. 
 
 If the King took the Chalons route, Drouet would arrive 
 at Yerdun before him. 
 
 Drouet arrived at Chalons, not in time to arrest the 
 King, but in time to prevent the dragoons from following 
 him. 
 
 1£ de Damas's dragoons were on horseback. M. de 
 Damas ordered them to march four deep, with their swords 
 drawn in their hand ; but they stood motionless, thrusting 
 their swords into their scabbards. 
 
 At this moment, the municipal officers appeared. They 
 commanded Bt de Damas to order his men back to their 
 barracks, as the hour for retreat had passed away. 
 
 During this time, Drouet had changed his horse and 
 started off at a gallop.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 170 
 
 ML de Damas. who had not yet lost all hope of taking off 
 his men, doubted to what end M. Drouet had set off. He 
 called a d r y he knew that he could 
 
 depend; ordered him to catch up Dronei ; - i.im from 
 following that road : and. if he resisted to slay him. 
 
 The name of the dragoon was Legache. 
 
 Without making any objection, with the passive obe- 
 dience of a soldier — perhaps with the warm devotion of a 
 Royalist, — he darted off in pursuit of Drouet. 
 
 Scarcely had he started, when, as you have already been 
 told, the council commanded M. de Damas to withdraw his 
 men into barracks. 
 
 But instead of obeying, like M. Dandoins. M. de Damas 
 drew his sword, struck his spurs into the belly of his horse, 
 dashed into the midst of the crowd, and cried, " All who 
 love me, follow ! " 
 
 Three men alone replied to this appeal, and dashed after 
 M. I 'ainas. at a gallop, down the hill of Clermont. 
 
 Drouet was three-quarters of a league in advance of them, 
 but he was pursued by a brave, determined, and well- 
 mounted man. 
 
 Only on leaving Clermont the road splits — one part 
 _ r to Verdun, the other to Yarennes. 
 
 It was not probable that the King would go to Yaren- 
 nes. where he had no relays ; if that route had been indi- 
 cated, it was simply to throw pursuers off the scent. 
 
 Anyhow. Guillaume would be at Yarennes ; and as he 
 was a native of that place, he would have plenty of influ- 
 ence. 
 
 Drouet galloped, therefore, along the road to Yerdun. 
 
 Scarcely had he gone two hundred yards, when he met a 
 postilion, who was leading some lurses. 
 
 •• Have you seen a large berlin and a cabriolet going 
 past, one with six horses and the other with three '! '' 
 
 •• No, 31. Drouet," replied the postilion. 
 
 The King had therefore gone to Yarennes. 
 
 Drouet got on the road to Yarennes by cutting across 
 the country, alter having leapt a ditch. 
 
 This error, in all probability, saved him. 
 
 The dragoon. Lagache — who knew that the King had 
 gone to Yarennes, and not to Yerdun. and who saw Drouet 
 take the road to Yerdun, — did not think it v>ortk while to
 
 174 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 pursue him much longer; and -when lie saw him change 
 his route, it was too late — he was a good half-hour in 
 advance of him. 
 
 In the midst of all this, the King, continuing his route, 
 had left M. Dandoins and his dragoons behind him, at St. 
 Menehould, and M. de Damas and his at Clermont. 
 
 The one and the other ought to be pushing on behind 
 him ; and in all probability there was nothing to fear in 
 the localities through which he was now travelling. 
 
 This reflection brought tranquillity to the travellers, who, 
 between Neuvilly and Varennes. find oblivion in sleep. 
 
 We have seen how M. Valory, not finding relays at his 
 post, had thought fit to await the illustrious travellers, in 
 order to consult with them. 
 
 We have seen the Queen descend from the berlin, take 
 the arm of M. Valory, and interrogate M. Prefontaine. 
 
 We have seen M. Prefontaine advance, trembling, to the 
 door of the King's carriage, answer his interrogatories, 
 return to his house, shut his door, and afterwards open his 
 window. 
 
 We have seen M. Drouet appear like a phantom from 
 the midst of the shadow, forbidding the postilions to pro- 
 ceed, and rushing through the Rue des Keligieuses on to 
 the Place de Latr} T . 
 
 We have seen the' royal berlin stopped, and the occupants 
 forced to descend, and accept the hospitality of M. Sauce, 
 who ushered into a chamber on the first floor of his house 
 the King, the Queen, Madame Elizabeth, Madame de 
 Tourzel, Madame Royale, and the young Dauphin. The 
 windows of this chamber were separated from the windows 
 of mine by a passage, some seven or eight feet in breadth 
 only. 
 
 We have also heard the noise at the top of the Rue 
 Basse Cour, which was made by the arrival of the forty 
 hussars of M. Goguelot and M. de Choiseul, in the midst 
 of whom I recognised M. <de Malm} T , who had, without 
 doubt, served as their guide. 
 
 We can, therefore — a light being thrown on the past, — 
 resume the thread of our story, without fear of complica- 
 tion or confusion.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 175 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 "WHAT HAPPENED IN THE GROCER'S LITTLE SHOP. 
 
 At the end of some minutes, during which they had 
 heen parleying, M. Goguelot and M. de Choiseul contrived 
 to get admitted to the King. 
 
 M. Sauce, who, after he had conducted his guests to the 
 chamber in which they Mere confined, had descended to 
 get the ke}', remounted the stairs, followed by M. Goguelot 
 and M. de CLoiseul. 
 
 On seeing M. Goguelot, the King joyously clapped his 
 hands, for he was the only person that he knew whom he 
 had as yet seen. He was, without doubt, the precursor of 
 assistance. 
 
 Behind M. Goguelot, he recognised M. de Choiseul. 
 
 Other footsteps were heard on the staircase — they were 
 those of M. de Damas. 
 
 The three officers, as soon as they entered, bent looks of 
 inquu around them. 
 
 This is what they saw on entering, and what I saw from 
 my window. 
 
 A narrow room, in the midst of which was a cask, which 
 served as a table ; on that table was placed some paper and 
 some glasses. In a corner stood the King and Queen ; by 
 the window were Madame Elizabeth and Madame Royale ; 
 in the background, the Dauphin, overcome with fatigue, 
 was sleeping on a bed, at the foot of which was Madame de 
 Tourzel ; at 'the door were stationed the two femmes de 
 chambre — Madame de Xeuville and Madame de Brunier, 
 acting as sentinels — or, rather, two women armed with 
 forks. 
 
 The first word that the King uttered was, ""Well, gen- 
 tlemen, when do we start ? " 
 
 " When it pleases your Majesty." 
 
 " Give your commands, sire," said M. de Choiseul. " I 
 have with me forty hussars ; but lose no time. We must 
 act before the citizens have an opportunity of bribing my 
 men." 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, descend, and clear the way ; but 
 mind, no violence."
 
 176 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 The young men went down. 
 
 The moment that M. de Goguelot had his hand on the 
 street door, the National Guard summoned the hussars to 
 dismount. 
 
 " Hussars," cried M. de Goguelot, " remain in your sad- 
 dles." 
 
 " Wherefore ? " queried the officer commanding the 
 National Guard. 
 
 " To protect the King," replied M. de Goguelot. 
 
 " Good ! " returned the officers ; " we can take care of 
 him without you." 
 
 A hundred voices at the same time cried, "Yes, yes, 
 yes ! Make the hussars dismount ! It is is our business, 
 and not the business of strangers, to protect the King! 
 Dismount, hussars — dismount ! " 
 
 M. de Damas slipped through the crowd, and rejoined 
 the three or four men who had been faithful to him. 
 
 M. de Goguelot exchanged signals with M. de Malmy, 
 and in company with M. de Choiseul again ascended to the 
 King's chamber. Both addressed the Queen, as they knew 
 that it was her head that planned. 
 
 " Madame," said M. de Goguelot, u it is no use thinking 
 of proceeding in the carriages ; but there is a way of 
 safety." 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 "Will j'ou mount a horse, and set out with the King? 
 He will take charge of the Dauphin. The bridge is barri- 
 caded, but at the bottom of the Rue Jean the river is ford- 
 able. With our forty hussars we will pass. In any case, 
 make a quick reselution. Our hussars are already drinking 
 with the people ; in another quarter of an hour they will 
 be brothers." 
 
 The Queen drew back ; that iron heart failed her at that 
 critical moment. She again became a woman ; she feared 
 a struggle, a skirmish — perhaps a bullet. 
 
 "Speak to the King, messieurs," said she; "it is he 
 who should decide on this plan ; it is he who should com- 
 mand ; it is for me but to follow." 
 
 She then added, timidly, " After all, it cannot be long 
 before M. de Bouille arrives. 
 
 The gardes du corps were there ready to attempt any- 
 thing.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 177 
 
 M. de Valory said, in his and the name of all his com- 
 rades, " Her Majesty knows that she can command. AYe 
 are ready to die for her." 
 
 M. de Goguelot and M. de Choiseul chimed in. 
 
 " M. de Damas is below,' ' said M. de Choiseul ; " he told 
 us to tell your Majesty that he had but three or four dra- 
 goons, but that he could count on their fidelity as on his 
 own." 
 
 "Let us set out, sire — let us set out, since the Queen 
 places herself in 3*our hands." 
 
 If the King replied yes. there was still hope. 
 
 "Messieurs," asked the King, "canj'ou promise me that 
 in the struggle which must take place as a consequence of 
 our departure, no ball will strike the Queen, my sister, or 
 mj* children ? " 
 
 A sigh passed the lips of the King's defenders. They 
 felt him giving way in their hands. 
 
 " Let us reason coolly," said the King. " The municipal 
 council do not refuse to let me go. The annoyance is, that 
 we are compelled to spend the night here ; but before day- 
 break, M. de Bouille will be acquainted with the situation 
 in which we are. He is at Stenay. Stenay is but eight 
 leagues from here ; two hours will take one there, and 
 another two suffice to bring back a message. M. de Bouille 
 cannot fail to be here in the morning, then shall we depart 
 ■without danger or violence." 
 
 As he uttered these words, without announcing themselves, 
 or asking the permission' of the King to be admitted, the 
 municipal council entered the room. 
 
 The decision that they had arrived at was brief and pre- 
 cise. 
 
 The people strongly objected to the King's continuing his 
 route, and had resolved to send a courier to the ^National 
 Assembly to know its sentiments. 
 
 In fact, a citizen of Varennes, an M. Maugin, surgeon by 
 profession, had started at full speed for Paris. 
 
 M. de Goguelot saw that there was not an instant to lose ; 
 he dashed from the house, and found M. de Malmy at the 
 door. 
 
 "Monsieur," he said, "you live here, therefore you 
 know this part of the country. A man, come what will, 
 must set out for Stenaj r to advise M. de Bouille of the pre- 
 11
 
 ITS LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 dioament in which the King is placed, and return with a 
 sufficient force to rescue him." 
 
 " I will go myself," said M. de Malmy. 
 
 And sticking his spurs into his horse, he set off at a 
 gallop. 
 
 At M. Gerbaut's door, he saw a file of National Guards, 
 who commanded him to stop. 
 
 " All very well," replied M. de Malmy ; '•' but I intend 
 to go on." 
 
 " Not you, more than another ! " cried an officer, seizing 
 his horse by the bridle. 
 
 " If you advance another step," said M. Roland, the 
 commander of the National Guard, cocking a pistol, " I 
 will shoot you." 
 
 M. de Malmy, without reply, spurred his horse right on 
 to him. 
 
 M. Roland fired off the pistol so close that the flame 
 blinded M. de Malmy 's horse, at the same time as the bul- 
 let passed through the fleshy part of the horseman's arm. 
 
 The frightened animal reared, and fell back upon his 
 master. 
 
 From the chamber where I was engaged in watching the 
 King, I heard the pistol-shot, the fall of the horse and 
 man, and the scream of a woman. 
 
 I recognised the voice of Mdlle. Sophie. I dashed down 
 stairs, and arrived in time to see her throw herself on the 
 breathless, and, as she thought, dead body of M. de Malmy. 
 
 "Rene^, Rene!" she cried. "Help me — oh, help me!" 
 
 I rushed out of the house, took M. de Malmy in my 
 arms, and, at the moment when he tried to stand, I took 
 him into the house, and laid him on M. Gerbaut's bed. 
 
 " He is dead — he is dead! They have killed him, the 
 wretches!." cried the unhappy and despairing girl, who was 
 covered with the blood which had flowed from his wound. 
 
 At this moment, M. de Malmy opened his eyes. 
 
 " He is not dead, Mdlle. Sophie," cried I. 
 
 " Oh ! " said she. , 
 
 And she threw herself prostrate on the bed. 
 
 " Leave me — leave me ! " said M. de Malmy, making an 
 effort to lift himself up. " I must go and seek M. de Bou- 
 ille." 
 
 Pain and weakness compelled him to fall back again.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 179 
 
 "In the name of heaven, stay there, Alphonse !" cried 
 Mdlle. Sophie. " Do not move, or you will uselessly throw 
 awav your life. You owe me somewhat; grant me that 
 favor." 
 
 "I must," said the young man. "I think that my leg 
 is broken." 
 
 " Rene, Rene ! I pray, I implore you, my friend — my 
 brother — run for a surgeon ! " 
 
 " Immediately ! " said I, dashing out into the street. 
 
 But it was impossible to move. 
 
 The crowd had become something fearful. 
 
 " Hussars ! " cried M. de Goguelot, " are you for the 
 King or the nation ? " 
 
 They all replied, " For the nation ! " 
 
 " The others ? " 
 
 " For the King — for the King ! " they cried out, in Ger- 
 man. 
 
 " Do you hear them ? " said M. Drouet. " They are 
 strangers — they are Germans — that is to say, enemies." 
 
 " No, sir," cried the officer ; " it is a Frenchman, who, 
 in good French, says to you, " Make way, in the name of 
 the King ! ' " 
 
 "And I reply to you, in better French, if your hussars 
 do not lay down their arms, we will fire on them, and not 
 one shall leave Varennes alive. Soldiers, present arms — 
 and, gunners, to your pieces ! " 
 
 Then, stepping two paces forward, he said to M. Gogue- 
 lot, " Take care, sir. I have sighted you with my gun." 
 
 "Vive la nation!" cried the hussars, as they saw the 
 musket-barrels pointed at them, with the matches burning 
 brightly in the obscurity, and the two little pieces of cannon 
 placed in battery at the bottom of the Rue St. Jean. 
 
 At this moment, several National Guards sprang upon 
 M. Goguelot's horse, snatched the rider from the saddle, 
 and dashed him head-foremost into the road, where he lay 
 for a moment or so, completely stunned. 
 
 They treated M. Damas and M. de Choiseul, who 
 appeared on the doorstep at that moment, in the eame 
 fashion. 
 
 In the midst of this struggle, I set out for the Place 
 Latry, by way of the Rue l'Horloge. When I got there, I 
 found that M. Maugin had started for Paris, by wish of 
 the municipality, at full speed.
 
 180 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 I ran to the house of another doctor of less skill than 
 M. Maugin — a M. Saulnier — and brought him to the Hue de 
 la Basse Cour, where the hussars were drinking and fra- 
 ternizing with the National Guard. 
 
 M. de Malmy was wounded in the shoulder by a hall 
 which had traversed the deltoid muscles. His leg was not 
 broken, but his knee was badly sprained. 
 
 Mdlle. Gerbaut, who feared that the condition of the 
 wounded man would not be improved by his remaining on 
 the ground floor in direct communication with the street, 
 begged us to carry M. de Malmy into a chamber where the 
 surgeon could pay, without inconvenience, all the cares 
 necessary to a man in his condition. 
 
 I assisted M. Saulnier — a sufficiently difficult job — to 
 carry a man who could use neither his left arm nor his 
 right leg. Afterwards, as I saw that my presence was not 
 welcome to Mdlle. Sophie, and as I felt no particular inter- 
 est in the wounded man, I retired, so as not to lose a single 
 scene of the drama which was being played out before my 
 eyes, and which was nothing less than a duel between a 
 King and a nation. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXI. . 
 
 THE RETURN OF ROYALTY IN ARREST. 
 
 In the midst of the tumult which was produced by the 
 disarming of M. de Choiseul and M. de Damas, and the 
 cries of "Vive la nation !" shouted out by the hussars, to 
 the great delight of the people, M. de Goguelot, profiting 
 by a moment of inattention on the part of his guards, 
 rushed up-stairs, and, all bleeding as he was, entered the 
 chamber of the King. 
 
 His head had been cut open by the fall, but he did not 
 feel the wound. 
 
 The appearance of the chamber had changed. It had 
 become a prison. 
 
 Marie Antoinette, who was in reality the strength and 
 life of the family, was overwhelmed. She had heard the 
 cries, the shots, and she saw M. de Goguelot return all cov- 
 ered with blood.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 181 
 
 The King, standing upright, prayed M. Sauce, the 
 grocer, to assist them ; as if he had the power, even had 
 he wished to do so. 
 
 The Queen, seated on a stool between two packages of 
 candles, likewise implored his assistance. 
 
 But with brutal and petty selfishness, he replied, "I 
 should like to be able to serve you, certainly ; but if you 
 think of the King, I think of M. Sauce." 
 
 The Queen turned aside, shedding tears of rage. 
 
 She had never been so humbled before. 
 
 The day began to dawn. 
 
 The crowd filled the street, the Place de la Rue Neuve, 
 and the Place Latry. 
 
 All the citizens cried from their windows, " To Paris — 
 to Paris — to Paris with the King ! " 
 
 Alas ! to show himself — he was to appear no longer, as 
 on the 6th of October, on the balcony of the marble court, 
 but at the windows of a grocer's house. 
 
 The King had fallen into a state of torpor. 
 
 The cries redoubled. 
 
 Five or six people had seen, or rather had caught a 
 glimpse, of the King ; the others wished to inspect him 
 thoroughly. 
 
 At that period, when it took a diligence six or seven 
 days to go to Paris, to have seen the King was a thing to 
 talk about. Each one had formed an imaginary portrait 
 of him for him or herself. 
 
 Therefore the astonishment was intense when Louis the 
 Sixteenth showed himself with swollen eyes, and proved to 
 that multitude a thing which they did not before believe — 
 namely, that a king may be fat, pale, bloated — with dull 
 eyes, hanging lips, a bad peruke, and a gray suit of 
 clothes. 
 
 The crowd believed that they were being deceived, and 
 growled accordingly. 
 
 Afterwards, when they knew that it was the King, " Oh, 
 heavens ! " said they. " Poor man ! " 
 
 Pity having once seized them, their hearts opened, and 
 they began to shed tears. 
 
 '' Long live the King ! " cried the crowd. 
 
 If Louis XVI had profited by that moment — if he had 
 prayed that concourse of people to help him and his child-
 
 182 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 ren, — perhaps they would have passed him and the royal 
 family over the barricaded bridge, and delivered them into 
 the hands of the hussars. 
 
 He took no advantage of that pity and sorrow. 
 
 An example was given of the commiseration which the 
 royal family inspired. 
 
 Sauce had an aged mother — a woman of some eighty 
 years of age. She was born in the reign of Louis XIV, 
 and was a Royalist. She entered the chamber; and seeing 
 the King and Queen bowed down with sorrow, and the 
 children sleeping on the bed, which had never been destin- 
 ed for such a mournful honor, she fell on her knees beside 
 it, repeated a prayer, and, turning towards the Queen, 
 u Madame," said she, " will you allow me to kiss the hands 
 of the two innocents?" 
 
 The Queen bowed her head, in token of assent. 
 
 The good woman kissed their hands, and left the room, 
 sobbing, as if her heart would break. 
 ' The Queen was the only one who did not sleep. 
 
 The King, who had need, whatever his preoccupation of 
 mind might be, to eat and sleep well, having neither ate 
 nor slept to his satisfaction, was distracted. 
 
 About half-past six, M. Deslon was announced. 
 
 M. Deslon had arrived from Dun with about a hundred 
 men. 
 
 He had found the Rue de l'Hospital barricaded ; had 
 held a parley; and demanding admission to the presence 
 of the King, was accorded permission to visit him. 
 
 He informed them how, at the sound of the tocsin, he 
 had hurried on ; and that M. de Bouille, warned by his son 
 and M. de Raigecourt, would, without doubt, arrive in a 
 short time. 
 
 The King, however, seemed as if he did not hear him. 
 
 Three times M. Deslon repeated the same thing, and 
 rather impatiently the last time. 
 
 " Sire," said he, " do you not hear me ? " 
 
 " What do you wish, monsieur ? " said the King, as if 
 starting from a reverie. 
 
 " I ask your commands for M. de Bouille, sire ! " 
 
 "I have no more commands to give, monsieur — I am a 
 prisoner.'" 
 
 " But, at least, sir—"
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 183 
 
 " That he does what he can for me." 
 
 M. Deslon retired, without being able to obtain another 
 answer. 
 
 In fact, the King was indeed a prisoner. 
 
 The tocsin had completed its dismal task. Every village 
 had sent its contingent. Four or five thousand men 
 encumbered the streets of Varennes. 
 
 About seven in the morning, two men arriving by the 
 Clermont road, and bestriding horses flecked with foam, 
 pushed their way through the multitude. 
 
 The shouts of the people announced something new to 
 the King. 
 
 Soon the door opened, and admitted an officer of the Na> 
 tional Guard. 
 
 It was the same Rayon, who, whilst snatching a moment's 
 rest at Chalons, sent on an express to St. Menehould. 
 
 He entered the royal chamber fatigued, excited, almost 
 mad, without a cravat, and with his hair unpowdered. 
 
 " Ah, sire," said he, in a hoarse voice — " our wives, our 
 children ! They slaughter them at Paris, sire ; you will 
 not go much further. The interest of the State — " 
 
 And he fell, almost fainting, into an arm-chair. 
 
 " Well, sir," said the Queen, taking his hand, and show- 
 ing him the Dauphin and Madame Royale sleeping on the 
 bed, " am I not a mother, too ? " 
 
 "In short, sir," said the King, " what have you to an- 
 nounce to me ? " 
 
 " Sire, a decree of the Assembly." 
 
 " Where is it ? " 
 
 " My comrade has it." 
 
 " Your comrade ? " 
 
 The officer made a sign to open the door. 
 
 One of the gardes du corps opened it, and they saw M. 
 de Iiomeuf leaning against the window of the ante-chamber, 
 and weeping. 
 
 He came forward, with downcast eyes. 
 
 The Queen started at sight of him. 
 
 It was the same young man who had accompanied 
 M. Lafayette in the visit he had paid the King just a quarter 
 of an hour before he started. 
 
 • l Ah, monsieur ! is it you?" said the Queen. "I could 
 never have believed it."
 
 184 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 It was she who should have blushed before him, and she 
 tried to make him blush. 
 
 M. de Eomeuf held in his hands the decree of the Assem- 
 bly. 
 
 The King snatched it from him, cast his eyes over it, and 
 cried, " There is no longer a King in France ! " 
 
 The Queen took it in her turn, read it, and returned it to 
 the King. 
 
 The King re-read it, and then placed it on the bed where 
 his children slept. 
 
 " No — no ! " cried the Queen, exasperated, furious, mad 
 with hate and anger ; " I do not wish that infamous paper 
 to defile my children." 
 
 "Madame,"' at last said Romeuf, "you have just re- 
 proached me for being charged with this mission. Is it 
 not better that I should have undertaken the task than one 
 who would have borne witness with regard to transports of 
 passion ? " 
 
 There was, in fact, at this action of the Queen's, a terri- 
 ble murmur among the spectators. 
 
 The Queen had crumpled up the decree, and dashed it on 
 the floor. 
 
 M. de Choiseul, who had regained his liberty, and who, 
 at the moment, entered the chamber, accompanied by two 
 messengers, picked up the decree, and placed it on the 
 table. 
 
 The Queen appreciated his intention, and thanked him 
 with a look. 
 
 "At least, sir," said she, addressing M. de Romeuf, "I 
 hope that you will do all you can for M. de Choiseul, M. de 
 Damas, and M. de Goguelot when we are gone." 
 
 In fact, the Queen well understood that go she must. 
 
 It was seven o'clock in the morning, and M. de Bouille 
 had not put in an appearance. 
 
 The peasants of the villages round Yarennes continued 
 to pour into the town, armed with guns, pitchforks, and 
 sc3'thes, and each cried louder than the other, " To Paris ! 
 to Paris ! " 
 
 The carriage was in readiness. 
 
 The King made the most of each little obstacle, counting 
 each moment, awaiting Bouille\ 
 
 At last, it was necessary to make a move.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 185 
 
 The King rose first. 
 
 Tlie Queen followed his example. 
 
 One of her women — whether naturally, or whether as an 
 artifice, to gain turn — fainted. 
 
 " They may cut me into pieces if they will," said the 
 Queen, " l»ut 1 will not leave without one who has the 
 misfortune to he my friend." 
 
 " As you will — stay if you like," said a man of the 
 people, "At any rate, I will take the Dauphin.'' 
 
 He took the voyal child in his arms, and stepped towards 
 the door. 
 
 The Queen seized the Dauphin from him, and descended 
 the stairs, blushing. 
 
 All the family were filled with poignant anxiety. On 
 arriving in the street. Madame Elizabeth perceived that 
 half of the Queen's hair had turned gray ; the other half 
 was to grow gray at the Concier^erie in a second night of 
 agony, which was not, perhaps, more terrible than that 
 which we have recounted. 
 
 They got into the carriage; the three gardes du corps 
 mounted on the box. 
 
 M. de Goguelot, in the hope of bringing succor, had 
 found means of escaping through the little passage situate 
 at the back of the house of M. Sauce. 
 
 M. de Choiseul and M. de Dam as were conducted to the 
 city prison, where M. de Romeuf caused himself to be 
 imprisoned with them, for the sake of protecting them 
 more efficiently. 
 
 At last, after having exhausted every possible means of 
 delay, the carriage started, escorted h} T the National Guard, 
 under the command of M. Signemont, by the hussars of 
 M. de Choiseul, which had been sent to protect his flight, 
 and by more than four thousand citizens of Varennes and 
 its suburbs, armed with guns, pitchforks, and scythes. 
 
 The carriage of the King did not, as some historians say, 
 pass the house of the grocer, Sauce ; that was the histori- 
 cal limit of the fatal journej'. 
 
 The moment that the carriage moved, I felt great doubt 
 — or, rather, great remorse. 
 
 The catastrophe, of the arrest of the King had brought 
 in its train an event which, though J have but mentioned 
 it in the place it occupied relatively to that arrest, influ- 
 enced in a strange manner the whole of niv life.
 
 186 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 One can readily understand that I speak of M. de Mal- 
 my's wound ; of the impression that that wound produced 
 on Mdlle. Sophie, and of the involuntary avowal that, on 
 her part, she had made to me. 
 
 I had a deep affection for Sophie. This affection, more 
 than fraternal, had a spice of jealousy in it; although I 
 must do the poor girl the justice to say that from the 
 moment that she perceived my nascent love, she had done 
 all she could to nip it in the bud, by telling me that she 
 could never be anything more than- a sister to me. I 
 always had the suspicion — I will not say that my rival, for 
 there was no real rivalry, was M. de Malmy. 
 
 This time I could no longer doubt it, and I felt it impos- 
 sible to remain under the same roof with him. Not only 
 because Sophie loved him and he loved Sophie, but because 
 I knew that he was the origin of all the misery and unhap- 
 piness that was gradually wearing her away. 
 
 As soon as I saw the King ready to set out, and the car- 
 riage about to move on to Paris, I bade adieu to M. Ger- 
 baut, without telling him that I did not think of returning 
 to Varennes, and started off without having the courage to 
 see Sophie, whom however, I unexpectedly found in my 
 road, barring up the corridor. 
 
 " What, Mdlle. Sophie ! " 
 
 She threw herself, weeping, on to my neck. 
 
 " Each one has his destiny, my good ReneV said she. 
 " Mine is to suffer. I shall accomplish it." 
 
 " Shall I always be your brother ? " asked I, weeping 
 myself. 
 
 " Ah, yes ! And if ever I have need of you, I will show 
 you that I am your sister, by coming to you for assistance." 
 
 "Heaven guard jou, Mdlle. Sophie," cried I, withdraw- 
 ing myself from her embrace. 
 
 " And you, also — heaven bless you, Rene ! " 
 
 And I heard the sobs which followed these words even as 
 far as the door which opened into the street. 
 
 I took my place at the door of the King's carriage, mak- 
 ing a signal to MM. Drouet and Guillaume, who were on 
 horseback, with the intention of preceding the carriages, in 
 order to make waj r for, and protect them. 
 
 What was M. de Bouille doing at this time ? We will 
 tell you in the following chapter.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 187 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 WHAT M. DE BOUILLE DID IN - THE MEANTIME. 
 
 M. de Bouille was at Dun, where he had passed the 
 night in a state of mortal disquietude. 
 It was the advanced post of his watch. 
 
 At three o'clock, having received no news, he proceeded to 
 Stenay. 
 
 At Stenay he was in the centre of his forces, and was 
 ahle to act with greater facility, having at his disposal a 
 great number of men. 
 
 From four to five o'clock he was successively joined by 
 M. de Rohrig, M. de Raigeeourt, and by his son. 
 
 He then knew all. 
 
 But M. de Bouille could but little depend on his men. 
 He was surrounded by hostile villagers, as he called them — 
 that is to say, patriotic. He was menaced by Metz, by 
 Verdun, and by Stenay. It was his fear of Stenay that 
 had caused him to quit Dun. 
 
 The Royal German was the sole regiment on which he 
 could depend. It was necessary to keep up their loyalty. 
 
 M. de Bouille and his son Louis sat themselves to the 
 work body and soul. 
 
 A bottle of wine and a louis per man settled the affair. 
 
 But it took two hours to arm and set out. 
 
 At last, he started ; but at seven o'clock, just at the time 
 when the King got into the carriage. 
 
 In two hours he covered the eight leagues which separa- 
 ted him from Varennes. 
 
 On the road he met a hussar. 
 
 " Well ? » 
 
 " The King is arrested." 
 
 " We know it. What then ? " 
 
 " He has just set out from Varennes." 
 
 " Where goes he ? " 
 
 " To Paris." 
 
 Bouille did not give himself time to reply. 
 
 He dashed his spurs into the flanks of his horse. 
 
 His regiment followed him.
 
 188 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 Varennes saw the regiment descend " like a waterspout 
 amongst its vines," to quote the language of the proces 
 verlxd. 
 
 When he arrived at the Place du Grand Monarque, the 
 King had started more than an hour. 
 
 He acted so as to lose no time. The Rue de l'Hopital 
 was barricaded ; the bridge was barricaded. They made a 
 detour round the town ; they crossed the river by the ford 
 at the Boucheries, in order to take up a favorable position 
 on the Clermont road, to attack the escort. 
 
 The order was given, and the manoeuvre accomplished. 
 
 The river was crossed. 
 
 A hundred steps more, and they would be on the road. 
 
 But the Moulin Caual was on their way — six feet deep, 
 and impossible to ford. 
 
 It was necessary to stop and march back. 
 
 For an instant, they held the idea of fording the river at 
 St. Gengoulf, taking the Rue St. Jean, passing through 
 Varennes and falling on the rear of the escort. 
 
 But the dragoons were fatigued ; the horses rebelled at 
 every step. It would be necessary to tight a way through 
 Varennes, and to fight to get to the King. 
 
 They said that the garrison of Verdun were on the 
 march, with some cannon. 
 
 Their courage failed them. They felt that all was lost. 
 
 M. de Bouille, weeping with rage, dashed his sword into 
 its sheath, and ordered a retreat. 
 
 The inhabitants of the high town saw him and his men 
 standing there for an hour, unable to make up their minds 
 to return. 
 
 Eventually he and his men took the route to Dun, and 
 disappeared in the distance. 
 
 Tl>e King continued his way — the way of the Cross. 
 
 After the arrest of M. Dandoins and his lieutenant, an 
 officer of the National Guard, Citizen Legay, had estab- 
 lished under the trees at the angle of the Rue de la Post 
 an Bois and the Rue du Marais a post of National Guards, 
 picked men, and all ordered to fire on an}' one entering or 
 leaving the city at a gallop, without responding to the chal- 
 lenge of the sentinels.- 
 
 Some minutes after 7 these orders had been given, a
 
 LOVE AND LIBEETT. 189 
 
 report was circulated that the hussars of Pont-de-Somme- 
 Vesles bad gone round the town, and thai Drouet and 
 Gruillaume ran a greal risk of tailing into their hands. 
 M. Legay then asked for two volunteers to go with' him 
 
 on the mad, and pick up what information they could with 
 regard to Drouet and Guillauine. 
 
 Two gendarmes, Collet and Pointe, offered themselves, 
 and all three set out on their voyage of discovery. 
 
 On the road they met the two citizens of St. Menehould, 
 who had started on sorry hacks, and been unable to ke< p 
 up the chase. They learnt from them that no accident had 
 happened to the two messengers. Anxious to be the bear- 
 ers of this good news, they put their horses to the gallop, 
 and, forgetting the orders given by Legay, omitted to 
 answer the challenge of the sentinels in ambuscade. 
 
 The sentinels fired. Two of the horsemen fell ; one 
 dead, and the other wounded. 
 
 Lega}' received five or six shots in the arm and hand. 
 
 The same da}' that the King repassed St. Menehould, the 
 slain gendarme was buried. 
 
 The King, on arriving, found the church hung with black, 
 and the whole town prepared to follow the body to its last 
 home. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE TURNS UP. 
 
 Nothing important passed between Varennes and St. 
 Menehould. The illustrious prisoners, starting at every 
 new noise, lost in a measure, as they approached the latter 
 town, every hope of succor. 
 
 The first thing the} r encountered was a sort of rebuke 
 from the dead. Of course, I allude to the interment of the 
 man shot in the evening by the sentinels. 
 
 The royal carriages stopped in order to allow the funeral 
 procession to pass. Two kings found themselves face to 
 face with each other — a living majesty and the King of 
 Death. The living King recognised the power of King 
 Death, and bowed down before him.
 
 190 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 St. Menehould was crowded. The National Guard pour- 
 ed in from all points, those from Chalons coming in public 
 or private vehicles. In fact, the affluence of people was 
 such that they feared a lack of provisions. 
 
 In the midst of all these people coming and going, I rec- 
 ognised, mounted on a little pony, M. Dampierre, our old 
 chasseur of the Forest of Argonne. He knew me, and 
 came to me, trying to force the line of guards on duty at 
 the side of the gates. 
 
 It was I who repulsed him, because he did not count on 
 my resistance. 
 
 " Pardon, M. le Comte," said I ; " you cannot pass ! " 
 
 " Why can I not pass ? " asked he. 
 
 " Because it is ordered that none shall be allowed to ap- 
 proach the King's carriage." 
 
 " Who gave that order ? " 
 
 <• Our Captain, M. Drouet." 
 
 " A revolutionist ! " 
 
 " Possibly so, M. le Comte ; but he is our commander, and 
 we are bound to obey him." 
 
 " Is it forbidden to cry 'Vive le Roi ? " 
 
 "No, M. le Comte ; we are all Royalists." 
 
 M de Dampierre lifted his hat as high as his length of 
 arm would permit him, raised himself in his stirrups, and 
 cried " Vive le Roi ! " 
 
 The King put his head out of the window, and without 
 any expression of gratitude or remembrance, bowed to him. 
 
 M. de Dampierre retreated out of the crowd with trouble, 
 being obliged to make his horse go backwards. I remem- 
 ber him as well as if the events occurred but yesterday. 
 He wore gray trousers, long riding boots, a white waistcoat, 
 a three-cornered hat, trimmed with gold lace. As usual 
 with him, he carried, slung over his shoulder, a little single- 
 barrelled gun. 
 
 I lost sight of him. I fancied that he took the direction 
 of the Rue de l'Abreuvoir. 
 
 During this time, the Mayor and members of the muni- 
 cipality had advanced as far as the bridge of the Aisne, sit- 
 uate at the extremity of the Porte au Bois, to meet the 
 royal family. 
 
 A municipal officer then took occasion to speak, and to 
 tell the King what alarms his flight had caused in France.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 191 
 
 Louis XVI was contented to reply, with an ill-tempered 
 air, "I never intended to leave my kingdom." 
 
 The crowd was so great that we took half an hour to go 
 five-hundred yards. 
 
 Ahout halt-past eleven, the King mounted the steps of 
 the Hotel de Ville, his garments covered with dust, and his 
 face altered and careworn. 
 
 The Queen dressed in black. She had changed her robe 
 at M. Sauce's, and held the Dauphin by the hand. 
 
 Louis XVI and his children were hungry. 
 
 As for the Queen, in the same manner, as she cared not 
 to sleep, she now seemed to care not to eat. 
 
 A breakfast had been prepared through the forethought 
 of the municipal council, but as they were along time serv- 
 ing it, a gendarme named Lapointe brought some cherries 
 in his hat for Madame Roy ale. 
 
 The royal family had likewise need of rest. 
 
 The Mayor, M. Dupuis de Dam martin, offered them hos- 
 pitality; they accepted it; only M. Dupuis de Dammartin 
 observed to the King that it would be just as well if the 
 Queen and the Dauphin showed themselves to the people. 
 
 The King made no difficulty. He showed himself first. 
 Afterwards the Queen appeared in her turn, holding the 
 Dauphin in her arms. The window of the Hotel de Ville 
 — the only one which had a balcony — was so narrow that 
 the King and Queen could not both show themselves at the 
 same tune. 
 
 A municipal officer then announced to the people that the 
 King, being fatigued, intended to honor the citizens of St. 
 Menehould by sleeping within their walls. 
 
 The carriages had already been taken to the stables, and 
 the news of a halt for twenty-four hours was not less agree- 
 able to us, who had been marching seven or eight leagues 
 under a burning sun, than it was to the ro3 r al family, when 
 the National Guards from the adjacent towns and villages, 
 who filled the hotels and cafes, rushed into the place, crying 
 "Aristocrats ! Traitors!" and saying that the royal family 
 were far too near the frontier to be allowed to halt. 
 
 In consequence, they ordered the immediate departure of 
 the King and his family. 
 
 The King, having informed himself of the cause of the 
 tumult, said, with his usual impassibility, " Very well ; let 
 us go."
 
 192 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 The Queen then re-appeared on the balcony holding her 
 son bj T the hand. She pointed out the National Guards to 
 him, saying some words in a whisper. 
 
 An inhabitant of St. Menehould, who was at an adjoin- 
 ing window, assured me that the following were the words 
 that she spoke. " Do }'ou see those blue toads ? It is they 
 who wish us to set out ! " 
 
 It is needless to say that the National Guards wore the 
 blue uniform. 
 
 As the royal family crossed the hall of the Hotel de Ville, 
 into which opened the door of the chapel, where the prison- 
 ers had heard mass, the Queen perceiving the captives, dis- 
 tributed among them five louis — the King ten. 
 
 At two o'clock the carriages started for Chalons. From 
 the time that the King had been recognised he took the 
 place of honor in the vehicle. 
 
 MM. de Maiden, de Moustier, and de Valory, sat on the 
 box, but they were not. strapped to it as some people have 
 said. 
 
 Not a single shout for the King, except that which Dam- 
 pierre uttered, as we have before mentioned, was used at 
 either his arrival or departure. The only shouts raised 
 were " Vive la nation ! " " Vivent les patriotes ! " 
 
 About nine or ten in the morning the Comte de Hans 
 arrived at St. Menehould, exasperated by the news of the 
 arrest of the King. 
 
 Many persons had heard him say, " The King is arrested ! 
 We are all lost ! But the King shall know that he still has 
 some faithful subjects ! " 
 
 1 have said that, after speaking to me, I had seen him 
 go round to the side of the horse-pond. 
 
 As the royal carriage passed, he presented arms to the 
 august prisoners, after the fashion of a sentinel. 
 
 The King recognised him, pointed him out to the Queen, 
 and returned his salute. 
 
 M. Dampierre then put his horse to a gallop, and disap- 
 peared at the Rue de l'Abreuvoir so as to get in advance of 
 tiie King's carriage, stopped in the most public part of the 
 town, at the corner of the Rue de l'Abreuvoir, and presented 
 arms afresh. 
 
 Tlie King saluted him a third time. 
 
 Then pushing his horse through the crowd on the side 
 where I was, he approached the carriage.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 193 
 
 It was going at this time up the Fleurion at a foot-pace. 
 
 "Sire," said he, "you see before you one of your most 
 faithful servants. My name is Duval de Dampierre, Conite 
 de Haus. I have married a lady of the House of Legur, 
 a relative of the minister of that name, and a niece of 
 M. d'Allonville." 
 
 " All these names are known to me," replied the King ; 
 " and I am touched at the proof of fidelity which you give 
 me." 
 
 This whispered conversation, after the pretence of the 
 Conite in presenting arms to the King on his road, was a 
 direct provocation to that crowd who were taking him who 
 had wished to escape back to Paris. 
 
 In the meantime the Comte had been gently pushed on 
 one side, and darting off, he disappeared in the distance. 
 
 The head of the procession reached the end of the town, 
 and arrived at the decline of Dammartin la Planchette. 
 
 As they left the city, M. de Dampierre reappeared, and 
 followed their route, keeping himself on the other side of the 
 hedge and ditch. He wished, by some means, to get on to 
 the top of the King's carriage, from whence he could hold 
 communication with the royal party inside. These signs, 
 as they could easily understand them, excited defiance. 
 
 They believed that in the few words exchanged at the 
 door of the carriage, a project for a rescue had been 
 broached ; they closed round the carriage, and the words 
 " Be on th'e alert ! " circulated through the ranks of the 
 National Guards. 
 
 M. de Dampierre tried to approach the carriage once 
 again, and was repulsed, not only with murmurs, but with 
 menaces; the guards crossing their muskets across the door 
 to prevent his holding any communication with the King. 
 
 This almost insolent persistence on his part had exasper- 
 ated even the most temperate. 
 
 Seeing that his efforts were useless, M. de Dampierre 
 resolved to finish with an act of bravado. 
 
 Having accomplished two-thirds of the descent, at a spot 
 called La Grevieres, M. de Dampierre called out a second 
 time " Vive le Roi ! " fired off his gun in the air, and 
 plunging his rowels into his steed, darted off at a gallop. 
 
 A wood was situated about half a league from the road. 
 They believed that some troops were in ambuscade there, 
 12
 
 194 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 and that the discharge of the gun was a preconcerted sig- 
 nal for them. 
 
 Five or six horsemen dashed off in pursuitof JVt. de Dam- 
 pierre ; ten or twelve shots were fired at him at the same 
 time, but none of the bullets touched him. 
 
 M. de Dampierre, still at a gallop, waved his arm in a 
 triumphant manner in the air. 
 
 I rushed off like the others, though on foot, not to cap- 
 cure M. de Dampierre — heaven forbid! — but, on the con- 
 trary, to help him if needful. 
 
 M. de Dampierre had already galloped more than five 
 hundred yards, and he had almost escaped from his pursu- 
 ers, when his horse, in leaping a ditch, stumbled, and fell. 
 
 But. with the aid of the bit and bridle, he managed to 
 raise him up again, and once more set off at a gallop. His 
 gun was left in the ditch. 
 
 At this moment a solitary gun was discharged. 
 
 It was fired by a peasant, mounted on a horse belonging 
 to one of the hussars, which he had captured the evening 
 before. 
 
 It was easj 7 to see that M. de Dampierre was wounded. 
 He fell backwards on the croup of his horse, which reared. 
 
 Then, in a moment, with the rapidity of lightning, on 
 the little bridge of St. Catherine, by the borders of the 
 ditch, the waters of which pass under the bridge, a horrible 
 scene took place, which I saw in all its dreadful details, but 
 was unable to oppose. 
 
 The peasant who had fired the shot, followed by about 
 forty men, caught up the Comte de Hans, dealt him a blow 
 with his sabre, and then unhorsed him. I saw no more. 
 I heard the report of about twenty guns, into the suffocat- 
 ing smoke of which I dashed. 
 
 They were firing at M. de. Dampierre. 
 
 I arrived too late. Had I reached the mob sooner, it 
 would have been to have died with him, for I could not 
 have saved him. 
 
 His body was riddled with bullets, and gashed with 
 bayonets ; his face, scratched by the peasants' hob-nailed 
 boots, was unrecognisable. 
 
 His watch was dashed to pieces by a ball which had 
 penetrated his fob. 
 
 There was nothing to be done. I threw my gun over
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 195 
 
 my shoulder, and, with tears in my eyes and sweat on my 
 brow, 1 rejoined my rank. 
 
 The royal berlin continued its route slowly and sorrow- 
 fully under a .sweltering sun, along that unbending route 
 which crosses like a pencil line that sorrowful portion of 
 France called the Paltry Land. 
 
 --«- — » — » 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE CRITICS CRITICISED. 
 
 Not only does it seem to me sufficient to relate what I 
 have seen ; I desire also, as an eye-witness, to rectify history 
 and to combat, on sure grounds, the mistake of historians. 
 
 In order to give a slight idea of the -intense excitement 
 of Republican France against the King, and more particu- 
 larly against the Queen, I quote the following letter, the 
 original of which was sent by the citizens of Counien to the 
 municipal officers of Varennes : — 
 
 " 27th of June, 2nd year of Liberty. 
 " Gentlemen, — 
 
 ''Allow the patriotic Women of the State, who have the 
 honor of being members of the Club of the Society of the 
 Friends of the Constitution, to present to you their best 
 congratulations at the capture in your city of the execrable 
 traitors, Citizen and Citizeness Capet, whose traitorous ma- 
 chinations have so long tried to crush freedom in France. 
 Our onlj'' praj T er is that both may speedily be humiliated. 
 Vive la France ! Vive la Liberte ! A bas les Captes ! 
 " For the Citizenesses of Counien, 
 (Signed) " Citoyenne Marie Benoit. 
 
 " To the Municipal Officers of Varennes." 
 
 After this specimen of the feeling of the women of France 
 can it be wondered that the fate of the King and Queen 
 seemed assured. Either they must die, or France must 
 sink lower than ever. This, of course, was only my opin- 
 ion ; but events have proved whether I was right or wrong.
 
 196 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 IS LOVE ETERNAL? 
 
 The route from St. Menehould to Chalons is long and 
 fatiguing — nine apparently never-ending leagues, travers- 
 ing flat and arid plains under a leaden sky, with a sun 
 darting his 'scorching rays with reflected lustre on the 
 musket barrels and sword blades. 
 
 The royal family arrived at Chalons fatigued, dispirited 
 and worn out, at ten in the evening. 
 
 Half the original followers of the royal escort had thrown 
 themselves down under hedges and in ditches, unable any 
 longer to proceed. 
 
 But the actual escort was as strong on arriving at 
 Chalons as when leaving St. Menehould, since it was re- 
 cruited by the National Guard of every village through 
 which it passed ; and the villages were pretty thickly 
 scattered on the right and left of that road. 
 
 The authorities, of whom the Mayor took the lead, con- 
 ducted the prisoners to the gate of the Dauphin. I use 
 the word prisoners advisedly, as the royal family were in 
 fact, at that time, prisoners of the nation. 
 
 Strange coincidence ! — the gate through which they 
 passed was the triumphal arch raised bj 7 the French people 
 in commemoration of the entry of Madame the Dauphine 
 into France. 
 
 It still bore the inscription, " May it stand eternal, like 
 our love." 
 
 The arch, in fact, still stood, but the love which prompted 
 it had fallen away. 
 
 At Chalons, especially, opinion changes. 
 
 The bluffness of the national party was lessened. The 
 old town where Attila lost himself, and which now pre- 
 served its trade only in the wines of Champagne, was in- 
 habited by Royalists of the better class, and by poor 
 gentlemen. These good people were sorely vexed to see 
 their unhappy King in such doleful plight. 
 
 They expected his arrival ; consequently a great supper 
 was prepared
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 197 
 
 The King and Queen partook of the meal in public, as 
 they did at Varennes. A sort of royal drawing-room was 
 held. The ladies bore with them immense bouquets. The 
 Queen was positively overwhelmed with flowers. 
 
 They determined to start on the morrow, feeling an in- 
 crease of confidence on account of tlie reception they bad 
 met with. 
 
 Before they set out out, mass was celebrated at ten 
 o'clock by M. Charber, perpetual-curate of Notre Dame. 
 The King was present, accompanied by the Queen and 
 the royal family ; but hardly had the solemn service com- 
 menced, before a disturbance was made. 
 
 It was the National Guard of Rheims, who wished the 
 King to set out at once. The time spent in mass appeared 
 to them wasted, as they had come solely to gloat over the 
 downfall of monarchy, and the ruin of their King. Tbey 
 broke open, therefore, the doors of the chapel, despite the 
 resistance offered to them by the National Guard. 
 
 The King and Queen were advised to show themselves 
 at the balcony. They did so; but the sight of their 
 august persons exasperated, in place of calming, the tur- 
 bulence of the excited populace, who shouted for the royal 
 family to leave their city, and actually drew the carriages 
 to the door, harnessed the horses, and did, in fact, all they 
 could do to accelerate the departure of the King. 
 
 The King appeared again at the balcony, and pronounced 
 the following words : — 
 
 " Since you oblige me to leave you, I go ! " 
 
 Although this was a reproach more than anything else, it 
 satisfied the people. 
 
 At eleven exactly, the roj'al family re-entered their car- 
 riage, and put themselves en route. 
 
 The heat was dreadfully oppressive. Their journey was 
 made, as it were, through a blast furnace, and their eyes 
 were incessantly tormented by a penetrating dust. 
 
 I happened to know the situation of .a cool spring. I ap- 
 proached the royal carriage, and demanded respectfully of 
 her Majesty the Queen if she desired a glass of fresh water, 
 as we were near to some of a most excellent quality. 
 
 " Thank you," replied the Queen. 
 
 " Oh, do have some, mamma — do have some ! I am so 
 thirsty ! " said the Dauphin.
 
 198 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 u I wish it not ; but give me some for my children," said 
 the Queen. 
 
 Madame de Tourzal handed me a silver cup. 
 
 " Fill this up for me, also," said Madame Elizabeth. 
 
 She handed me another cup. 
 
 In fancy, after a lapse of sixty years, I can still see her 
 angelic face — still hear that charming voice, whose entreat- 
 ies were more than commands. 
 
 I leant my gun against the trunk of a tree, rushed to 
 the fountain, and brought hack the two cups filled with the 
 sparkling water, which, through my rapidity, had not had 
 time to lose its freshness. 
 
 The Dauphin and Madame Royale shared one cup between 
 them. 
 
 Madame Elizabeth, after offering the other cup to the 
 Queen, who refused it, drank it herself. 
 
 " Oh, what delicious water it is," cried the Dauphin. 
 " Why does the world drink aught else ? " 
 
 " Because they have drinks they like better," replied the 
 King. 
 
 " My son thanks you, sir," said the Queen. 
 
 " I also thank you," said Madame Elizabeth, with her 
 sweet smile. 
 
 I seized my gun, which had been left at the foot of a 
 tree. 
 
 " I saw you once run after M. de Dampierre," said the 
 Queen. " With what intention ? " 
 
 " With the hope of saving him, if possible, madame." 
 
 " You have the same opinions, then, as M. de Dam- 
 pierre," said the Queen. 
 
 " I agree with him in the respect which he feels towards 
 your enemies." 
 
 " Do you know that you give an ambiguous answer, 
 young man ? " said the King. 
 
 " Yes, sire," I replied. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " said he. 
 
 Then to the Queen: "The minds of these people are 
 poisoned against us, from their very childhood." 
 
 " Oh, papa ! " cried the Dauphin, " what a beautiful gun 
 he has ! " 
 
 I was the person referred to. To the Queen and 
 Madame Elizabeth I w r as " monsieur," but to the Dauphin 
 I was simply " he."
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 199 
 
 The King looked at my gun. 
 
 " It is," said he, " a gun manufactured at Versailles. 
 Where did you procure it '.' " 
 
 "The Due d'Enghien gave it to me, sire." 
 
 "Yes," said the King, "the Condes have all the benefits 
 on this side, — ' the department of the Meuse,' as they call 
 it." 
 
 Then looking towards me : " Have you ever served 
 princes ? " 
 
 "Sire," said I, smiling, "is it necessary to have served 
 princes in order to receive a present from them ?" 
 
 The Queen bent her regards upon the King. 
 
 " Strange ! " said she. 
 
 I retreated a pace. 
 
 The King beckoned me, but not knowing how to address 
 me, he said, "My young friend, you say that the Due d'En- 
 ghien gave you that gun ?" 
 
 " Yes, sire. I understand," said I, " that the King 
 wishes to know upon what occasion this gun was presented 
 to me. I was the nephew of a park-keeper of the Forest 
 of Argonne, whose name was Father Deseharmes. The 
 Duc.de Conde and the Due d'Enghien often hunted in this 
 forest. The Due d'Enghein took a fancy to me, and gave 
 me this gun." 
 
 The King, for a moment, appeared buried in thought. 
 
 " Your uncle is still alive ?" he then asked. 
 
 " Sire, he is dead ? " 
 
 "Why do you not solicit his place ? " 
 
 " Because, sire, the keepers wear livery. I am a free 
 man." 
 
 " Children suck in republican ideas, even with their moth- 
 ers' milk!" murmured the King. 
 
 He then threw himself back in his carriage. 
 
 I know not if the King spoke again ; but the carriage at 
 the moment stopped; and, perchance, with it stopped some- 
 thing of importance. 
 
 We had arrived at Port Bassion. 
 
 Suddenly was heard a cry: "The commissaires ! the 
 commissaires ! " 
 
 At this moment, a man on horseback dashed up to the 
 door of the King's carriage. The King put out his head, 
 to see what had caused the halt.
 
 200 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 " Sire," said the horseman, " here are three deputies, 
 who wish to direct the return of your Majesty.'"' 
 
 "Aha ! " said the King, "Can you tell me the names of 
 these estimable gentlemen?" 
 
 " Their names, sire, are Citizens Latour-Maubourg, Bar- 
 nave, and Petion." 
 
 The three deputies represented the three different parties 
 of the Assembly. Latour-Maubourg was Royalist, Barnave 
 was Constitutional, Petion was Republican. 
 
 The crowd respectfully drew back. Three men approach- 
 ed the royal carriage, stopped at the door, and saluted the 
 King, who returned their inclination. 
 
 One of them held in his hand a paper, which lie read in 
 a loud voice. It was the decree of the National Assembly. 
 
 The man who read it was Petion. 
 
 This decree ordered them to proceed to the King, not on- 
 ly to ensure his safet} r , but also as a mark of respect due to 
 royalty, as represented in the persons of Louis XVI and 
 Marie Antoinette. 
 
 The King knew that M. Latour-Manbourg was a Roy- 
 alist. 
 
 He therefore desired that, as two deputies had to sit in 
 the carriage with him, he would name the two. The 
 Queen expressed the same desire. 
 
 M. Latour-Maubourg replied, in a whisper : — 
 
 " I accepted the sad mission which introduces me to your 
 Majesty only in the hopes of being of some service to you. 
 Your Majesty can, then, count upon me as a faithful fol- 
 lower. But I have not the power of Barnave, who exercises 
 an enormous influence over the Assembly. He is vain as 
 an advocate, and will be flattered bj' having a seat in the 
 carriage of the King. It is, therefore, needful that he 
 should occupy a place, and that the Queen should take the 
 opportunity of improving his accjuaintance. I, therefore, 
 beg your Majesties to excuse my surrendering my seat." 
 
 The Queen bowed her head. She wished to again as- 
 sume, her womanly properties, and to seduce Barnave, as 
 she had Mirabeau. To be sure, it was humiliating, but, at 
 the same time, it was a distraction. 
 
 Strange contradiction ! It was the King who had most 
 repugnance to Barnave's occupying a seat in the royal car- 
 riage. Barnave, a little Dauphinois advocate, pride upon
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 201 
 
 his face, his nose perked up in the air, and his tout ensem- 
 ble proclaiming insufferable conceit, took his place. Petion 
 likewise, his rosj cheeks glowing with satisfaction, disposed 
 of himself to his perfect content. 
 
 Barnave and Petion, therefore, as we have said, entered 
 the royal carriage. 
 
 Madame de Tourzel had resigned her place, and entered, 
 with M. Latour-Manbourg, the carriage set apart for the 
 attendants. 
 
 Petion at once proclaimed his discourtesy by claiming, as 
 representative of the National Assembly, a seat with his 
 face to the horses. The King and Queen made a sign to 
 Madame Elizabeth, who at once changed places with him. 
 
 At last, all inside the royal carriage were satisfactorily 
 arranged. On the hack seat were the King, Petion, the 
 Queen; and on the front, Madame Elizabeth, face to face 
 with Petion, Madame Royale and the Dauphin face to face 
 and knee to knee with the Queen, who was opposite, also, 
 to Bernave. 
 
 At the first glance the Queen fancied that Barnave was 
 dry, cold, and wicked. 
 
 Barnave had hoped to take the place of Mirabeau at the 
 Assembly. He had succeeded in part ; could not the Queen 
 confer the rest ? 
 
 Why not ? 
 
 Had she not, at St. Cloud, given a secret interview to 
 Mirabeau ? Why should not he, Barnave, be accorded a 
 similar favor. 
 
 But then, public rumor spread abroad that one of the 
 three gentlemen on the box of the carriage, " M. Fersen," 
 was the accepted lover of the Queen. 
 
 Strange thing ! As I have told you the good self-opin- 
 ion of Barnave, he was yet jealous of M. de Fersen. 
 
 With the admirable shrewdness of women, the Queen 
 discovered this before a quarter of an hour had elapsed. 
 
 She managed to get the three guards, named respectively 
 MM. de Maiden, de Yalory, and de Moustier. 
 
 iSTo Fersen ! 
 
 Barnave breathed, smiled, and became positively charm- 
 ing. 
 
 Barnave was young, handsome, polished, of fascinating 
 manners, and felt great commiseration for the unfortunate 
 royal party.
 
 202 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 In place of the Queen seducing Barnave, Barnave 
 almost seduced the Queen. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 BARNAVE AND PETION. 
 
 One naturally asks how I became acquainted with all 
 this. 
 
 I have already said that, on leaving Varennes, I had 
 taken a place on the back of the carriage of the King. 
 Happily, I had managed to retain my position, despite the 
 heat, the fatigue, and the dust. Twice only, for a few min- 
 utes, had I quitted my location ; firstly, to try and assist 
 M. de Dampierre, and, secondly, to procure the water for 
 Madame Elizabeth and the Dauphin. Both times, on my 
 return, I recovered my place. The glass windows of the 
 berlin were let down on account of the heat, and the royal 
 family, not speaking in very low voices, I managed to hear 
 pretty well all that was said. 
 
 This explanation given, I will continue my story, with 
 the history of the rudeness of Petion, and the courtesy of 
 Barnave. 
 
 There was placed between Madame Elizabeth and 
 Madame Royale, a bottle of lemonade and a glass. Petion 
 was thirsty, and felt inclined to drink. He took the glass, 
 and handed it to Madame Elizabeth, who took up the lein- 
 onade, and filled it. 
 
 ••Enough!'' said Petion, lifting his glass as 'he would 
 have done at a cabaret. 
 
 The Queen's e}'es flashed with anger. 
 
 The Dauphin, with the impatience of a youngster, shift- 
 ed in his seat; Petion seized him, and imprisoned him 
 In ween his legs. 
 
 The Queen said nothing, but again darted a look of 
 menace at Petion ; who, remembering that it might be 
 politic to gain the favor of the King, caressed the Dau- 
 pli in's white locks with apparent affection. 
 
 The Dauphin made a grimace expressive of grief.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 203 
 
 The Queen snatched him from IVt ion's legs. 
 Bar nave, smiling, immediately opened his arms to him. 
 The boy seemed willing, and was, therefore, soon installed 
 on Barnave's knees. 
 
 His instinct shewed him that he would find in Barnave 
 a protector. 
 
 Playing with a hutton on the coat of the represenative, 
 he discovered that a device was inscribed upon it, and, after 
 many efforts, succeeded in reading it. 
 
 The device was. " Live free, or die." 
 
 The Queen sighed, and regarded Barnave, her eyes filled 
 with tears. 
 
 Barnave's heart smote him. 
 
 This was his position. He followed his own individual 
 romance, in the midst of a royal and terrible history, when 
 sdddenly a noise was heard some paces behind the royal 
 carriage. 
 
 The cries and tumult drew Barnave from the magic cir- 
 cle which surrounded him. 
 
 A venerahle ecclesiastic approached the carriage, much in 
 the same manner as M. de Dampierre had done, and up- 
 lifted his hands and blessed the royal martyr. 
 
 The mob, unsatiated by one murder, rushed upon the 
 priest, and drew him away, to slaughter him in the ditch 
 by the roadside. 
 
 I was on the opposite side of the carriage to where this 
 affair was taking place. 
 
 " M. Barnave, M. Barnave ! " cried I ; " help, help ! " 
 
 At the same moment, M. Barnave, putting his head out 
 of the window, saw what was taking place. 
 
 He placed the Dauphin in the arms of his aunt, and 
 opened the carriage door wdth such violence and rapidity, 
 that he almost fell out; in fact, he would have fallen, had 
 not Madame Elizabeth caught and retained him by his 
 coat-tails. 
 
 " Oh, Frenchmen ! " cried he ; " ye are a nation of brave 
 men — would ye become a horde of assassins?" 
 
 At this eloquent appeal, the people let go the priest, who 
 escaped, protected by the outspread arms and eloquent ges- 
 tures of Barnave. 
 
 The door was again shut, Barnave retook his place, and 
 the Queen said to him, " I thank you, M. Barnave."
 
 204 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 He bowed his head. 
 
 Before the arrival of the commissaires, the King had 
 eaten alone with his family ; but now, after consulting the 
 Queen, he invited them to share his repast. 
 
 Petion accepted the invitation ; Latour-Maubourg and 
 Barnave declined. 
 
 Barnave insisted, however, on waiting on the royal fam- 
 ily ; but the Queen made him a sign, and he yielded. 
 
 I was one of the guard at the door of the dining-room. 
 
 In the evening, MM. Drouet and Guillaume set out at 
 full speed, to inform the Assembly of what had taken 
 place. 
 
 Drouet came to bid me good-bye. 
 
 " M. Drouet," said I to him, "you know me, as I am 
 your pupil. I take the greatest interest in that which is 
 going on. It will be something to talk about for the rest 
 of my life. Give the order, before } r ou leave, to have me 
 always placed close to their Majesties. The fatigue will be 
 nothing, and I wish to see all that goes on." 
 
 "Be it as you wish," said he, without making the least 
 objection. 
 
 That was the reason why I had been appointed one of 
 the guards that day at the door of the dining-room. 
 
 This is what happened at Dormans. 
 
 After dinner, the three commissaires went into the 
 neighboring room — that is to say, the one at which I 
 mounted guard. 
 
 "Citizens," said Barnave to them, "we are commissaires 
 of the National Assembly, and not the executioners of the 
 royal family ; and to make them proceed under this burn- 
 ing sun is simply to conduct them to the scaffold." 
 
 "Good!" said Petion. "What has happened to them 
 has been brought on by their own follies." 
 
 " Still they are no less King and Queen," replied M. de 
 Latour-Maubourg. 
 
 " If affairs keep progressing as they do now, it is 
 extremely probable that they will not long even have that 
 title to console them." 
 
 " Quite right," said Barnave. "But still I think that, 
 as long as they retain the titles of King and Queen, they 
 ought to be treated as such." 
 
 " I have no objection," said Petion, in an indifferent 
 tone. " Do as you like, most loyal gentlemen."
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 205 
 
 Saying those words, he left the room. 
 Barnave and M. de Latour-Maubourg, being alone, 
 decided that the royal carriage Bhould be accompanied only 
 
 by a cavalry escort, so that it might proceed at a trot, and 
 mi the third evening arrive at Meaux. 
 
 At that moment, they relieved guard. I ran to the 
 postmaster at Donnans, who was a friend of M. Drouet's, 
 
 and with whom we had lodged on our way to the federation, 
 and prayed him to lend me a horse, to go as far as Meaux, 
 where the royal family would halt, to pass the night in 
 repose. 
 
 In these critical times, paternal feeling elevated itself. 
 The postmaster had seen M. Drouet the evening before, 
 who had announced to him my arrival to-day. He would 
 not let me hire the steed — he gave it to me. 
 
 They arrived at Meaux about six in the evening. 
 
 The King again invited the commissaires to sup with 
 him, as he had before invited them to dine. Petion 
 accepted the invitation; M. de Latour-Maubourg and liar- 
 nave refused it. 
 
 liut the Queen, with charming grace, turning towards 
 Barnave, said, " Pray accept it, M. Barnave, as, after the 
 meal, I shall have need of you." 
 
 Barnave bowed, the King signed to M. de Latour- 
 Maubourg and the two took their places at the ro\ r al table. 
 
 They were located in the palace of the Bishop of Meaux, 
 a melancholy-looking place enough, with its dark oak stair- 
 case and nrysterious and dusty passages. 
 
 1 was on guard at the garden gate. 
 
 After dinner, the Queen, who, as she had said to Barnave, 
 had need of him, took his arm, and mounted the staircase 
 to the apartments above, under pretext of seeing a cham- 
 ber once occupied by Bossuet. 
 
 As for the King, he descended into the gardens with 
 Petion. Potion it was who desired the tete-a-tete. 
 
 Potion, who, apart from his folly, was a good man, and 
 had a good heart, had formed an idea of escape for the King. 
 It was, to allow the three body-guards to go, so that they 
 might disguise themselves as National Guards, and so facil- 
 itate their entrance into Paris. 
 
 But, extraordinary to relate, the King could not under- 
 stand this idea of Petion's ; and not wishing to be under
 
 206 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 an obligation to Petion, and having the absurd suspicion 
 that he wished to assassinate the guards, he refused. 
 
 And yet, on the day when he could have caused Lafayette 
 to be proclaimed Mayor of Paris, he nominated Petion. 
 
 It was because the Queen hated Lafayette more than the 
 King detested Petion. 
 
 As for the Queen, no one knows what passed between her 
 and Baruave, except through the account which she after- 
 wards gave to Madame Campan. 
 
 The impression which the young representative produced 
 on the Queen may be summed up in those words. 
 
 " If ever power returns into our hands, the pardon of 
 Barnave is assured in our hearts." « 
 
 The Queen was ready to pardon Barnave for his rebel- 
 lion ; Prance did not pardon him for his weakness. 
 
 The unhappy orator paid with his head for the few 
 moments of happiness he spent with this second Marie 
 Stuart. 
 
 Perchance he had the same honor as Mirabeau, of kissing 
 her hand. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 Day dawned. 
 
 It was the 25th of June. They returned to Paris after 
 five da3 r s' absence. 
 
 Five days ! What terrible events had come to pass in 
 the space of five days ! 
 
 As the}' approached Paris, Barnave retook his seat at the 
 back. 
 
 No longer was it a seat of honor, but the place of 
 danger. 
 
 Lf a fanatic should fire on the King, which was, indeed, 
 probable ; if on the Queen, which was more than probable ; 
 — Barnave was there, to arrest with his own body the fell 
 bullet aimed at royalty. 
 
 M. Mathieu Damas had been charged by Lafayette, 
 Royalist though he was, to protect their entry.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 207 
 
 This able strategist had drawn from all parties in order 
 to diminish the danger, tie confided the guarding of the 
 carriage to the grenadiers, whose tall hats hid entirely the 
 doors ; a line of horse grenadiers formed a second ring. 
 
 As for the three guards whom Louis XVJ had not wished 
 to go, two grenadiers, with their muskets bayoneted, sat a 
 little behind the box-seat, ready to suppress any attempt at 
 rescue or flight. 
 
 The heat was tremendous. The carriage, the nearer it 
 approached Paris, appeared to be entering the mouth of 
 a furnace. 
 
 The Queen, whom nothing hitherto had conquered, was 
 beaten by the heat. Twice or thrice she cried, " I suffo- 
 cate ! " 
 
 At Bourget, the King asked for wine. 
 
 Broken down by fatigue, Madame Elizabeth slept. 
 
 The change of places had brought Petion close by her. 
 The face of the future Mayor of Paris had a remarkable 
 expression of joy. The Queen, who cared not for sleeping 
 herself, shook her by the arm in order to awaken her. 
 
 "Let her alone," cried Petion. " Mature must take its 
 course." 
 
 They passed the harrier, and entered into the midst of a 
 moving and agitated people. 
 
 From time to time the crowd gave a tremendous yell. 
 The King, trying to show sang-froid, began, apparently, 
 to read. 
 
 " Suppose one were to applaud the King ! " 
 
 " He shall be scourged ! " 
 
 " Suppose one were to insult him ? " 
 
 " He shall be hanged ! " 
 
 The crowd kept pace with the carriage. 
 
 Mathieu Damas, commanding the escort, did not wish to 
 enter Paris by the Faubourg St. Martin. He was nearer 
 the Faubourg St. Antoine, of terrible memory, on account 
 of the attack and seizure of the Bastille. 
 
 He asked himself if he had a human barrier strong 
 enough to protect the royal family from the crowd who 
 had virtually sentenced them to death. He went round 
 Paris by the external Boulevards, and entered it by the 
 Champ Elysees and the Place Louis XV. 
 
 On the Place Louis XV stood, at that period, the statue 
 of the monarch whose name the place bore.
 
 208 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 They had bandaged the eyes of the statue with a hand- 
 kerchief. 
 
 This allusion, though ignored by the King, still disquiet- 
 ed him. 
 
 " Why this bandage on the eyes of my predecessor ? " in- 
 quired the King. 
 
 " To show the blindness of the monarchy, sire," replied 
 Petion. 
 
 In the progress from the Champs Elysees to the Place 
 Louis XV, the barrier of grenadiers was often broken. 
 
 Then the Queen saw appear at the windows hideous faces, 
 expressive of satisfaction and revenge. 
 
 What caused those devils to turn away and bow? 
 
 It was a kiss which the Dauphin sent them, and a bow 
 from his sister ; those white-winged angels hovering over 
 the royal family. 
 
 Lafayette, with his etat major, passed by the Queen. 
 
 As soon as she perceived them, she cried out, " M. La- 
 fayette, above all things save my three body-guards ; their 
 crime has been but to obey me." 
 
 The same cry was uttered by her at Versailles on the 6th 
 of October. Their danger was really great. 
 
 The carriages passed through the gate of the Tuileries, 
 which was vainly endeavored to be shut after them. They 
 proceeded along the grand promenade of the garden, and 
 halted only at the end of the great terrace which stretched 
 along the front of the palace. 
 
 It was there that the crowd, greater than ever, awaited 
 them. It was impossible to go farther; they must get out 
 of their carriage. 
 
 The Assembly was not present, but it had sent twenty 
 deputies. 
 
 Lafayette cleared a pathway from the terrace to the pal- 
 noe door. He constructed an iron arch with the muskets 
 and ''lyonets of the National Guard. 
 
 " M. Barnave," again cried the Queen, " I ask you to 
 protect my three guards." 
 
 liie children first descended, and entered the palace with- 
 out opposition. It was then the turn of the three guards, 
 for whom the Queen had asked protection from M. Lafayette 
 and M. Barnave. 
 
 Then there came a terrible outcry.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 209 
 
 I had left my horse at the top of the Champs Elysees, 
 and marched with the grenadiers on foot. At first, they 
 trjed to turn me out, but the King said, "Let him alone; 
 he is a friend." 
 
 They did leave me alone. M. Petion gave me aside 
 glance ; .M. 1 >arna\ e smiled. 
 
 The King ami Queen looked to see what would happen 
 to the three guards ; the King gazed with his usual apathy, 
 the Queen with intense interest. 
 
 The sabres and pikes of the National Guard waved over 
 them as they shouted, " Death to the traitors ! '" 
 
 All of a sudden. I saw a stream of hluod running down 
 M. de Maiden's cheek. 
 
 Being in the circle, I drew him, with a vigorous effort, 
 towards me, crying, " Peace ! peace ! I am the friend of 
 M. Drouet." 
 
 Five hundred voices shouted, " Long live Drouet ! Long 
 live Guillaume ! " 
 
 I drew M. de Maiden under the arch of the Grand 
 Pavilion, but he would proceed no farther until assured of 
 the safety of the King and Queen. 
 
 During this time, in the midst of the most terrible mur- 
 murs, they saved M. de Valory and M. de Moustier. 
 
 Like M. de Maiden, M. de Valory was wounded; but 
 also like M. de Maiden, his wound was but slight. 
 
 At this moment, the Queen cried, in a suffocating voice, 
 "Help! help!" 
 
 In getting out of the carriage, she found herself in the 
 arms of two men, who regarded her with looks of mortal 
 enmity, and at the same time held her fast. 
 
 These two men were M. de Aguillon and M. de Noailles. 
 The Queen seemed likely to faint with terror. Both said 
 to her, " Fear nothing, madame ; we protect you." 
 
 At the peril of their lives, they conducted her to her 
 room. There she was seized with agony. She called the 
 Dauphin — she looked for the Dauphin, but no Dauphin was 
 there. 
 
 Madame Roy ale took her by the hand and led her into 
 the bed-room, and pointed out to her the Dauphin, who, 
 overcome with fatigue, slept. 
 
 She could not believe, after the threats she had heard, 
 13
 
 210 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 that the whole of the royal family could re-enter their 
 palace safe and sound. 
 
 I returned to the carriage, where still remained Madame 
 Elizabeth and the King. 
 
 Barnave thought that it would not he too much for him 
 and Petion to safeguard the King. 
 
 " Some one," cried he — " some one to offer Madame 
 Elizabeth an arm." 
 
 Madame Elizabeth descended from the carriage with her 
 usual angelic calmness. 
 
 "Monsieur," said she to me, "will you give me your 
 arm ? " 
 
 I was frightened out of my wits. 
 
 " Oh, madame," said I ; " this dress ? " 
 
 " The dress that you wear is far better than a royal robe. 
 And besides," continued she, "I have watched you: you 
 are a young man of a good heart." 
 
 I threw my gun over my shoulder, and took my hat in 
 my hand. 
 
 "Madame," said I, "if you desire one ready to die for 
 you— to throw down his life in 3'our behalf, your choice 
 could not fall on one better than myself." 
 
 They saw Madame Elizabeth take the arm of a simple 
 National Guard, and they clapped their hands. 
 
 Arrived at the foot of the staircase, I wished to retire. 
 
 " My brother? " said she, trying to see. 
 
 I looked back. 
 
 "He is coming," said I, "between M. Barnave and 
 M. Petion." 
 
 I then bowed to Madame Elizabeth a second time. 
 
 " Will you not return to see us, sir ? " asked Madame 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 "I fear, madame, that I shall not again have the oppor- 
 tunity of being of service to you." 
 
 " Perhaps so, but you have been ; and, whatever people 
 may say, we are a family that never forget." 
 
 At this moment the King arrived. 
 
 " Thank you, gentlemen ; thank you," said he to Bar- 
 nave and Petion. " I need not say to you that if you like 
 to come up-stairs " 
 
 " Sire," replied Barnave, " your Majesty and her Ma-
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 211 
 
 jesty the Queen are at prese#t in safety. We must go to 
 render an account of our mission to the Assembly." 
 
 They bowed to the King, and retired. 
 
 I did the same; that is to say, I bowed; but as I was 
 retiring, Madame Elizabeth, pointing me out to the King, 
 said, " My brother, this young man ? " 
 
 She evidently, in her noble heart, did not wish me to go 
 without some recompense. 
 
 " Tis true," said the King; "I forgot that he was your 
 protege." 
 
 " 8a} r , rather, that I am his 'protege." 
 
 He took me by the collar of my coat. 
 
 " Look here, young man ; unhappy as we are, can we do 
 nothing to help you ? " 
 
 1 felt wounded that the King should think that I requir- 
 ed to be paid for what I had done. 
 
 "Sire," replied I, " if you make a promise to the nation, 
 keep it ; and, as a citizen, you will have done all for me 
 that I can ask." 
 
 " You see, sister," said the King, "he is a savage." 
 
 " What is your name, sir? " asked Madame Elizabeth. 
 
 " Rene Besson." 
 
 " Whence come you ? " 
 
 " From the Forest of Argonne." 
 
 " I told you he was a savage," said the King. " What 
 else could you expect ? " 
 
 " What trade are you ? " 
 
 " A carpenter." 
 
 " My brother, you know the fable of the Lion and the 
 Eat," said Madame Elizabeth. 
 
 " My friend," said the King, " you see that I must enter 
 my house. If you have need of me. ask for Clery, my 
 valet-de-chambre." 
 
 " Sire," replied I, " a man who has an occupation has 
 need of no one, much less of a King." 
 
 The King shrugged his shoulders, and mounted the stair- 
 case. Madame Elizabeth stayed behind. 
 
 " But, on the other hand, my friend," said she, " suppose 
 that we have need of } r ou ? " 
 
 " Ah, madame," cried I, " that is another affair ! " 
 
 " In that case, M. Bene Besson, ask for Clery." 
 
 She followed her brother, whilst I stood there motionless,
 
 212 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 regarding that angel •who knew how to recompense one in 
 asking. 
 
 On the morrow, the journalist, Prudhomme, wrote : — 
 
 " Certain good patriots, in whom the sentiment of loy- 
 alty has not extinguished that of compassion, appear 
 uneasy concerning the moral and physical state of Louis 
 XVI and his family, after a journey so fatiguing in all 
 respects as that from St. Menehould. 
 
 " Let them reassure themselves. Our friend, on entering 
 his apartments, on his return, felt no more fatigue than if 
 he had been indulging in the pleasures of the chase. 
 
 " He ate his chicken as usual, and the next day played 
 after dinner with his son. 
 
 "As for the mother, she took a bath on her arrival. 
 Her first request was for boots ; she having remarked with 
 sorrow, that hers had been destroyed by travelling. She 
 acted with hauteur to the officers picked out especially to 
 guard her, and said that it was ridiculous and indecent to 
 have the door of her bath-room and bed-chamber left 
 open." 
 
 We quote these four paragraphs to show to what an 
 extent party spirit can blind men. 
 
 The Citizen Prudhomme, who, after having written 
 " The Revolutions of Paris in '91," was to write " The 
 Crimes of the Revolution of '98," wrongfully describes four 
 incidents : — " That the King ate a fowl, and that he played 
 with his son ; that the Queen had a bath, and shut her door 
 when taking it." 
 
 It is always so. There can never be a revolution without 
 a Prudhomme : first, to glorify them : and then to grossly 
 insult. 
 
 > »»^ » 
 
 -CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 I RESUME MY ORIGINAL PROFESSION. 
 
 It was nine o'clock in the evening. I went to look after 
 my horse, which I had left in a house by the barrier. They 
 gave it back to me as promised, and I retook it to the
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 213 
 
 Btables, always using the name of M. Drouet. I took a 
 receipt for it, and at ten o'clock I entered the Eue St. 
 Honore. 
 
 I found all the family at tahle, as, on account of the 
 day's excitement, the supper, which usually was partaken 
 of at eight o'clock, to-night was delayed till ten. 
 
 Thej raised a cry of joy when they saw me. Maitre 
 Duplay, who had been with the National Guard of the 
 Quartier St. Honore, fancied that he saw me at the door of 
 the royal carriage, by the side of the grenadiers ; but the 
 thing appeared so improbable, that he had told it to his 
 family more as a delusion than a fact. 
 
 Scarcely was I recognised, than the two girls immediately 
 made a space for me between them. 
 
 This was the more easy, as the elder apprentice was 
 absent, leaving only the one enamoured of Mdlle. Cornelie, 
 Felieien Herda. 
 
 I did not want much pressing to sit down ; I was literally 
 dying of hunger and thirst. The young girls wished to 
 ask me questions ; but M. Duplay excused me until I had 
 both eaten and drank. 
 
 In a few minutes, I rejoined the supper eaters, and set 
 myself to gratify the public curiosity. 
 
 It was necessary for me to recount everything, omitting 
 no details, from the moment when M. Drouet appeared to 
 the King as a vision, on the top of the Hill des Eeligieuses, 
 to the moment when the carriage started from the house of 
 the grocer, Sauce, and, lastly, to their arrival at the gate of 
 the Tuileries. 
 
 It can be easily understood with what avidity my tale 
 was devoured, especially by the women. At that period, 
 the women took a great interest in the Revolution. Mad- 
 ame Duplay, Mdlle. Cornelie, and Mdlle. Estelle made me 
 repeat the same details over and over again ; and, though 
 they had a sigh for Madame Elizabeth, the Queen was ever 
 au Austrian — that is to say, an enemy. 
 
 It was now eleven o'clock. Duplay, bursting with the 
 news which I brought him. resolved to go to the Jacobin 
 Club. There was no doubt but that, in consequence of the 
 great events taking place, the club would, despite the late 
 hour, be holding a sitting. 
 
 He asked me if I would like to accompany him ; but,
 
 214 LOVE AND LIBERTY.' 
 
 indefatigable though I was, I asked his permission to retire 
 to repose. 
 
 They gave me Dmuont's chamber, which was vacant, on 
 account of its owner having left the shop some eight days 
 previously. The ladies undertook to arrange the bed drap- 
 eries, and perform all the little offices which come so grate- 
 fully from a woman's tender hand and kind heart. Felicien 
 commenced by scowling at me ; but when he perceived that 
 upon Estelle, by tacit consent, fell the greater share of the 
 labor on my account, his brow gradually relaxed. 
 
 Duplay set out for his club. They then informed me 
 that my chamber was ready. It was the first time for four 
 nights that I had slept in a bed, so you may imagine that 
 I stood upon no ceremony. 1 made a hurried bow to all, 
 rushed up to my room ; and, on arriving there, blessed 
 Madame Duplay for the quantity of water and towels that 
 she had left me — as it required plenty of both to rid me of 
 that accursed dust of Champagne, with which I seemed to 
 be perfectly coated. 
 
 I jumped into bed, and, in a second, fell into the most 
 profound sleep. 
 
 On the next morning, I was awakened by M. Duplay, 
 after a most persistent shaking, which, in my sleep, I 
 attributed to other causes. 
 
 " Ah ! " said he ; " when you sleep you do sleep, and no 
 mistake, you drowsy provincials." 
 
 " Bah ! " said I. " It is you, then, who have been trying 
 to awaken me ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and who tried last night, but could not succeed." 
 
 " What did you wish of nie ? " 
 
 " Citizen Rene Besson, I fancied that you would excuse 
 the breach of hospitality, when you knew that I had some- 
 thing most important to tell you." 
 
 " Well, I am all attention, M. Duplay." 
 
 " Call me Citizen," said Duplay, pluming himself. 
 
 " Well, I listen to you, citizen." 
 
 " As you know, I went to the club last night." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " There I met M. Chanderlos de Laclos." 
 
 " Citizen Laclos, you mean, I suppose ? " 
 
 " I stand corrected. All men are now equal. Well, I 
 met Citizen Laclos, and told him all that you had related
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 215 
 
 to me concerning the joiirne}^ of tlie King to Paris. Do 
 you know what he asked me ? He asked me to take you 
 to the Palais Royal, in order that 30U may give your ver- 
 sion of the affair to the Due d'Orleans." 
 
 " I ?" 
 
 " Yes, thou ! In the meantime, you had better dress 
 yourself." 
 
 u Do I go this morning, then ? " 
 
 " Between nine and ten o'clock." 
 
 " What time is it now ? " 
 
 "Half-past eight." 
 
 " You know, I suppose, that my only costume is that 
 of a National Guard ? " 
 
 " It is the costume of patriots." 
 
 " 1 Jut still, when one goes near princes! Does my coat 
 want brushing ? " 
 
 " Leave that to Catherine. You occupy yourself with 
 putting on a clean shirt, if you have any. 1 will see that 
 your clothes and boots are brushed. If j'-ou have not any 
 dean linen, I can lend you some." 
 
 " Thank you; I have all that I require in my bag." 
 
 " Dress, then ; don't waste time." 
 
 And Maitre Duplay, Republican though he was, enchant- 
 ed to conduct me before a prince, took my coat, hat, trous- 
 ers and boots, down stairs for Catherine to brush. 
 
 At nine o'clock exactly, I was ready. 
 
 We went along the Rue St. Honore to the Rue de 
 Valois, and, arm-in-arm, entered the Palais Royal by the 
 gate which opens into that street. 
 
 Maitre Duplay gave his name. Citizen Laclos had, no 
 doubt, given previous orders, for we were immediately 
 admitted. 
 
 Arrived at the first floor, no sooner had Dnplay given 
 his name, than they sent at once for M. Chanderlos de 
 Laclos. 
 
 M. Chanderlos de Laclos rushed up. 
 
 " Is this the }'oung fellow ? " asked he. 
 
 " Himself," replied M. Duplay. 
 
 " Let him come into the presence of his Highness." 
 
 He conducted me along a straight corridor into a bou- 
 doir, which led into a bedroom, the open door of which 
 allowed me to see that the bed was unmade. The open
 
 216 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 windows, with the closed jalousies, gave access to a most 
 refreshing breeze. 
 
 His Royal Highness, clothed in a dressing-gown, made 
 of cashmere, with a cap to match, was sipping tea — a new 
 fashion imported from England ; every one knows that his 
 Highness was thoroughly English — with a charming dame 
 of twenty-nine or thirty years of age, clothed in an elegant 
 morning dress, and who was, as I afterward learnt, Madame 
 Buffo u. 
 
 M. le Due d'Orleans, afterwards so celebrated under the 
 name of Philip Egalite, was a man of from forty-four to 
 forty-five years of age ; a fat, full figure, red complexion, 
 with a good carriage, but the head a little too large — who, 
 on account of a quarrel with the Queen, had been cruelly 
 and unjustly treated b}' the court of inquiiy into the naval 
 engagement at Ouessant, where he had comported himself 
 most bravely. 
 
 The result of this, on his side, was a most bitter hatred 
 of the Queen. 
 
 He received me with a nod of the head ; Madame de 
 Buffon regarded me with curiosity. I was - far from being 
 elegant, hut I possessed great propriety of manner. With- 
 out being handsome, I was at an age when youth supplies 
 the want of beauty. I was tall, well-made, with an open 
 expression of countenance, and a well-knit frame. The 
 loyalty of my heart beamed upon my face. In short, I 
 made the same impression upon the Due d'Orleans and 
 Madame de Buffon as I had upon the King, the Queen, 
 and Madame Elizabeth — that of being a well-looking lad. 
 
 " You come from Varennes, my friend ? " said the 
 Duke. 
 
 " Yes. monseigneur," replied I. 
 
 " And you saw all that passed at the grocer's — what do 
 you calThim ? " 
 
 " Sauce, monseigneur." 
 
 " So it is. And you also saw what took place on the 
 road ? " 
 
 " Monseigneur, I have not lost sight of the royal family 
 since their arrest." 
 
 "Aha! There is a lady, a thorough Royalist. She 
 wishes to know all that has happened to her good King 
 and dear Queen,. Will you be kind enough to give her a 
 history of it ? "
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 217 
 
 I commenced the account. "When I mentioned Drouet, 
 the Duke interrupted me to ask particulars about him. 
 When I mentioned M. Dampierre, lie made another inter- 
 ruption. He made another when J mentioned Baruave, 
 Petion, and Latour-Maubourg ; in fact, he wished tu know 
 even the minutest particulars. 
 
 Before I had finished, "Go and find Chartres," he said to 
 M. de Laclos: 
 
 M. de Lacloa wont out; I continued my recital. 
 
 It was nearly brought to an end. when the door opened, 
 and gave entrance to a handsome young man. whom 1 had 
 already seen at the Jacobin Club on the occasion of my first 
 visit to Paris. 
 
 The young Prince bowed respectfully to his father, gal- 
 lantly kissed Madame Buffon's hand, threw a scrutinizing 
 glance on me, and seemed to bend his whole attention on 
 what was passing. 
 
 " I regret not having summoned you before, Chartres," 
 said the Duke. " Here is a young man who came to tell 
 us an extremely interesting history of the journey from Va- 
 rennes. He knew M. Drouet well — knew also the unhappy 
 Comte de Dampierre. He has seen the commissioners sent 
 by the National Assembly. He has seen all, in fact; and 
 all he has seen, he has retained; and I am sure 3-ou would 
 have felt great pleasure in listening to his recital. - ' 
 
 " But," said the Due de Chartres, " perhaps this young 
 
 gentleman will have the kindness " Then, stopping, 
 
 and looking at his lather, " Better still," continued he ; 
 "just as M. Laclos told me that you wished to see me, I 
 was going to breakfast." 
 
 The Due d'Orleans appeared to understand, and nodded 
 his head imperceptibly* M. le Due de Chartres did the 
 same, pointing to me. 
 
 " Will you do me the favor to breakfast with me ? — and, 
 during the meal, you can relate the whole affair." 
 
 I addressed myself to M. Laclos. 
 
 "'Tis for me," said I to him, " to thank his Highness for 
 the great honor which he has conferred upon me ; but it is 
 for you to explain to him that I have left in the entrance- 
 hall some one who awaits me ; but that will not prevent me 
 from giving Monseigneur," continued I, turning to Due 
 d Orleans, " the recital which I have just given you."
 
 218 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 " But," said the Due de Chartres, smiling, " it will pre- 
 vent you from accepting ni} 7 breakfast." 
 
 " Monseigneur," said I, " I am apprenticed to M. Duplay, 
 your carpenter. It was he who had the goodness to tell 
 M. Laelos that.I should have the honor of being received this 
 morning by the Prince, your father. It would be but a bad 
 return, I think, for his kindness were I to leave him wait- 
 ing in the antechamber — he who is my master, — whilst I 
 had the honor of breakfasting with you. Excuse me," said 
 I, laughing. " I am a savage from the forest of Argonne ; 
 but, in all cases, 1 know Monseigneur to be sufficiently just 
 and good to make him my judge in this case, and I promise 
 faithfully to comply with his decree." 
 
 " But, sir," said Madame de Buffon, " do you know that, 
 for a savage From what forest said you ? " 
 
 " The Forest of Argonne." 
 
 " You express yourself well. One w-ould think that all 
 your life you had been talking to princes." 
 
 " I have not all my life spoken to princes, but princes 
 have often done me the honor to speak to me." 
 
 " Truly ! Who were they ? " 
 
 " M. le Prince de Conde and M. le Due d'Enghien. 
 They used to hunt in the Forest of Argonne, and M. 
 d'Enghien was in the habit of taking me with him." 
 
 " Well, nothing can astonish me, after this ! " cried 
 Madame de Buffon. 
 
 " Did you see my cousin just before his departure ? " 
 asked the Due de Chartres. 
 
 " I am probably the last Frenchman to whom he paid the 
 honor of shaking his hand." 
 
 " Well, then, you must accept my offer, and breakfast 
 with me." 
 
 " That is my affair," said the Due. " Dear lady, 
 methinks I heard you say that you have some carpentry 
 work to be done in your apartments. I, for my part, have 
 several orders to give Duplay. Let him be brought up, 
 M. Laclos : we will give him our commands ourselves. Let 
 him pass through the salle-d-manger, and there he can 
 drink a health to the nation, in a glass of wine, with these 
 young gentlemen." 
 
 Thus was the affair arranged. 
 
 I told the Due de Chartres, while breakfasting with him,
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 219 
 
 all that related to our hunting expeditions in the Forest of 
 Argonne, to my education, the dvath of Fere Deseharmes, 
 ni}' sojourn at Varennes, the arrest of the King, and the re- 
 turn to Paris. 
 
 " You are only half-armed, my dear M. K.'-nc," said the 
 Due de Chartres, when leaving me. " My cousin of Enghien 
 gave you a gun : allow rue to present you with a pair oi*}.is- 
 tols." 
 
 He then took down a pair from a trophy — they were of 
 Versailles manufacture — and insisted on my accepting them, 
 as they matched my gun in pattern. 
 
 When I say insisted, perhaps I exaggerated a little, as 
 nothing could give me greater pleasure than to accept his 
 present. 
 
 As for Duplay, he received an order of the value of 5,000 
 francs, and drank with the Due de Chartres to the health of 
 the nation, so that he returned home in the best of spirits, 
 rejoiced to have combined, in his morning's visit, pleasure 
 and profit. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 TOUCHING THE PRINCESS LAMBALLE. 
 
 It will easily he imagined that the event of which I am 
 treating was the subject of conversation for fifteen days in 
 the house of Duplay in which I was apprentice, in the place 
 of D urn out. 
 
 Felicieri, seeing that I entertained for Mdlle. Cornelie and 
 jNIdlle. Estelle only such affection as every well-educated 
 man ought to have for women, drew in his nails and teeth, 
 and became as good a comrade towards me as it was possi- 
 ble for him to be. 
 
 Still the revolution marched on with gigantic strides ; the 
 flight to Varennes having given it a terrible impetus. 
 
 On the 27th and 28th June, the Assembly promulgated 
 the following decrees : — 
 
 " The gard du corps is disbanded.
 
 220 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 " The King will be given a guard, under the command of 
 the commander of the Parisian National Guard, to contrib- 
 ute to his safety and well being. 
 
 " The Queen will have a private guard of her own. 
 
 " Upon the events of the 21st of June, the Assembly 
 will nominate three commissioners, selected from their whole 
 body, to receive the declaration of the King and Queen. 
 
 " The sanction, the acceptance of the King, and all his 
 legislative and executive functions, are suspended. 
 
 " The ministers are authorized, each in his own depart- 
 ment, and on his own responsibility, to assume the execu- 
 tive power." 
 
 The three commissioners were MM. Touche, Dandre^ and 
 Dupont. 
 
 There was, therefore, as can be readily seen, positive 
 suspension of the functions of royalty. 
 
 This private guard of the "Queen's was a torment to her 
 every day — every hour — every minute. 
 
 We have seen Prudhomme astonished that the Queen, 
 having worn-out shoes, should require new ones, and that 
 she should consider it indecent to leave open the doors of 
 her bath and her bed room. 
 
 In fact, the National Guard, frightened of the responsi- 
 bility placed on their shoulders, literally kept the Queen in 
 eyesight, and compelled her to keep open the doors of her 
 bathing and bed-room. Once, the Queen, inspired with a 
 natural feeling of modesty, having drawn the curtains of 
 her bed the man on guard drew them back, for fear that 
 she should escape by the staircase. On another occasion, 
 the King having come to visit her about one in the morn- 
 ing, and having shut the door of the apartment — not of the 
 Queen, but of his wife — the sentinel thrice opened it, say- 
 ing, " Shut it as often as you like ; I shall open it every 
 time that you shut it 1 " 
 
 Happily, in this misery, the Queen found a friend. 
 This friend was the Princess de Lamballe whose history is 
 so well known that it is needless for me to touch upon it. 
 
 She was, however, through all vicissitudes, a faithful and 
 affectionate friend to the Queen. 
 
 About the commencement of 1701, after the death of 
 Mirabeau, the political horizon became so black that the
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 221 
 
 King and Queen, the Count de Fersen, and Madame 
 Elizabeth, all counselled the Princess to fly to Sardinia. 
 Even the Pope,\Pius the Sixth himself, insisted thai she 
 should visit Rome, to rejoin the friends of the King, who 
 having raised in the Assembly the famous storm concern- 
 ing the right of emigration sustained by Mirabeau, had hap- 
 pily crossed the frontier ; but she firmly rejected all such 
 proposals. 
 
 The Due de Penthievre who loved her as if she were his 
 daughter, and the Duchess of Orleans, who admired her 
 courage, wished by sonic means to force her to leave 
 France. The Due persuaded Louis the Sixteenth to write 
 to the Court at Turin, in order that the King ol Sardinia, 
 as head of the family, should interpose his influence to 
 compel the Princess to return to his dominions. 
 
 Here is the reply of the Princess de Lamballe : — 
 
 " Sire and Respected Cousin, — 
 
 '" I do not remember that any of our illustrious ances- 
 tors of the House of Savoy, before or after the great 
 Charles Emmanuel, of illustrious memory, ever disgraced 
 themselves b}' an act of treachery. I should do so were I 
 to quit the Court of France at this critical juncture. You 
 will excuse my refusing your truly royal invitation. The 
 shedding of blood, and the madness of the States, alike 
 command that one and all should unite their efforts for the 
 preservation of the King and Queen and the royal family 
 of France. It is impossible to shake my resolution. I 
 have determined, once and for all, never to abandon, at a 
 moment when they are forsaken by their oldest servants, 
 those who have none to look to but me. 
 
 " In happier days, your Majesty can count on my obedi- 
 ence ; but to-daj-, as the Court of France is open to the 
 persecutions of its most atrocious enemies, I beg humbly 
 the right of following my own instincts of right. At the 
 most brilliant epoch of the reign of Marie Antoinette, I 
 felt the warmth of royal favor, and can I now abandon 
 her? To do so, sire, would be to set the seal of eternal 
 infamy not only on my brow, but on those of all mj' rela- 
 tions; and I fear that more than all other torments." 
 
 It was then that the Queen employed a ruse to get her 
 to quit France.
 
 222 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 She had heen sent once hefore on a mission from the 
 Queen to England ; and the inherent grace of the family 
 of Savoy — the same which made the Duchess of Burgundy 
 so powerful over Louis XIV' — enabled her to obtain from 
 the King and Queen of England a promise never to forsake 
 the King and Queen of France. 
 
 The moment to recall that promise to the English Court 
 had arrived. The Queen desired the Princess de Lamballe 
 to set out for London, and continue the negotiations 
 already so happily commenced. She therefore left Paris, 
 and reached England, stopping at Calais, at the famous 
 " Hotel Dessein," immortalized by Sterne in his " Senti- 
 mental Journey." 
 
 It was whilst in London that the Princess learnt the 
 flight to Varennes, the return of the royal family, and their 
 imprisonment in the Tuiieries. She sent a young English 
 girl, in whom she had the utmost confidence, to Paris. 
 
 This messenger appeared close to the Queen. She had 
 come in the name of the Princess, to learn the exact situa- 
 tion in which the family were placed. 
 
 The Queen sent her a letter, and a ring, enclosing a lock 
 of her hair, as white as if her years numbered eighty. 
 
 On the ring was inscribed, "Whitened by sorrow." 
 
 I give, underneath, an exact copy of the letter : — 
 
 " My Very Dear Eriend, — 
 
 " The King is about to accept the Constitution. In a 
 short time, he will be solemnly proclaimed. A few days 
 since, I held a secret consultation in your apartment, with 
 some of our most trusty friends, among whom were Alex- 
 andre Lameth, Duport, Barnave, Montmarni, Bertrand de 
 Malville. These two last combated against the counsel of 
 those of the Ministry, and others, who advised the King to 
 accept the Constitution immediately, and without restric- 
 tions ; but they formed too feeble a minority for me to 
 decide, as they wished to pray the King to pay heed to 
 their opinion. All the others seemed to think that the con- 
 trar} r measure would re-establish tranquillit}', weaken the 
 party of the Jacobins, our enemies, and enlarge greatly the 
 number of our partizans in the nation. Your absence com- 
 pelled me to call Elizabeth to our aid, to clear the Pavilion 
 of Elora of spies. She did not acquit herself very well.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 223 
 
 Poor Elizabeth ! you cannot expect much cunning or cir- 
 cumspection in a woman so little accustomed to the 
 intrigues of a Court, and to the dangers which surrounded 
 us. They try to persuade us that we are in no clanger. 
 Would that it were so, and that 1 could again open my 
 arms and heart freely, to receive my best friend ! Although 
 these are the most anient aspirations of my heart, never- 
 theless, my dear, my very dear Lamhalle, pay heed to noth- 
 ing but your own inspirations. Some people Bay that they 
 see the future brilliant as the sun at mid-day. For my 
 part, I confess, it seems covered with clouds. I cannot see 
 future events with all the security that I could wish. The 
 King, Elizabeth, myself, — in fact, all the family — wish 
 much to see you ; but we should be horrified at the thought 
 of dragging you into the midst of events equally fearful as 
 those you have already witnessed." 
 
 ''Reflect, then, and act as you think best. If we cannot 
 see you, send us the result of your conferences with the 
 Precipice.* Your young English friend will bring you 
 plenty of letters. "Will you have them sent to their res- 
 pective addresses as quickly as possible, either by her, or in 
 any other way that you may consider more fitting ? 
 
 " Your affectionate 
 
 " Marie Antoinette." 
 
 On receiving this letter, the Princess left London, wdiere 
 she was in safety, and, without the slightest hesitation, re- 
 turned to the Tuileries, to take her place by the side of the 
 Queen. 
 
 But whilst Madame de Lamhalle was at London, great 
 events were taking place in Paris. The letter which we 
 have quoted, although undated, is virtually dated, through 
 the fact that the Queen speaks of the King's accepting the 
 Constitution ; and it was on the 3rd of September only that 
 a deputation from the National Assembly presented the Act 
 of the Constitution for the acceptance of the King. 
 
 Let us now retrace our steps a little, and throw a glance 
 at that terrible day, the 17th of July — day of the Champs 
 de Mars — day of the red flag, which in 1848, furnished 
 to M. de Lamartine, one of his most wonderful oratorical 
 efforts. 
 
 * A name the Queen gave to Pitt.
 
 224 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 CHAPTEE XL. 
 
 THE TIDE RISES. 
 
 The Queen was right in not viewing events in the same 
 light as those who surrounded her. 
 
 Firstly, the struggle was hetween the Assemhly and the 
 Court. The Assembly won the day. 
 
 Then it was between the Constitutionals and the Aristo- 
 crats. The Constitutionals won the day. Now itw r as to be 
 between the Constitutionals and the Republicans. 
 
 It is true that the Republicans had only just begun to 
 appear, but in their first birth they formed this terrible 
 principle — No more monarchy! 
 
 You will remember that the commissioners had been 
 appointed by the Assembly to examine Louis XVI. 
 
 These three declared, in the name of their seven com- 
 mittees, that they had found no reason to put Louis XVI 
 on his trial. 
 
 The Assembly took the opinion of the commissioners, 
 but the Jacobin Club refused its sanction to the Assembly. 
 The Assembly had then above it a high chamber, which 
 could annihilate its decisions with its veto. 
 
 In order to understand the situation and the events about 
 to take place, it is necessary to say that at this juncture 
 there were oposed to each other, three distinct parties. 
 
 The Royalists who wished the King absolute — that is to 
 say, without the Constitution ; the Constitutionals, who 
 wished the King with a Constitution ; and the Republi- 
 cans, who wished neither King nor Constitution, but a 
 republic. 
 
 The Assembly, as we have said, voted that there was no 
 necessity to put the King on trial. 
 
 But, through concession to the public feeling, it had 
 voted two measures — one preventive, the other repressive. 
 
 This was the repressive measure. 
 
 " That Bouille, and all servants, officers, couriers, and 
 accomplices in the flight, should be prosecuted." 
 
 This was the preventive measure: — 
 
 " That if a king breaks his oath, or attacks, or does not
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 225 
 
 defend, his people, he shall be cast from his throne, become 
 a simple citizen, and be tried for the offences committed 
 previous to his degradation," 
 
 The repressive measure was one of those timid ones 
 proper to a decayed Assembly, which feels that its power is 
 crumbling away. 
 
 During some days, or, rather, nights, the Jacobin sitting 
 became stormy. 
 
 During the sitting, in which the true culprit — that is to 
 say, the King — \\;is left alone, in order to arrest and punish 
 the minor offenders — that is to say, BouilM, Fersen, the 
 gardes du corps, and Madame de Tourzel, — M. Robespierre 
 asked in vain to have the report distributed, and the dis- 
 cussion adjourned. 
 
 As it was known in advance that the discussion would be 
 stormy, Robespierre went to the club. He had been ac- 
 cused, at the Assembly, of republicanism, and — mark this 
 well, — on the 13th of July 1791, Eobespierre did not disdain 
 to again avow himself a Republican. 
 
 On that evening, we all went to the Jacobins ; M. Du- 
 play and myself in the superior hall, and the three women 
 and Felicien in the inferior, where a society was held, called 
 the Society of the Two Sexes. 
 
 During my absence from Paris, Eobespierre had acquired 
 a great popularity, to which he had succeeded by degrees. 
 He had still the same voice, though, perhaps, he spoke a v 
 little stronger than the last time that I had heard him ; and 
 I fancied that I noted a marked progress in his intonation, 
 but still the same spinning-out of his facts. 
 
 He had just finished his discourse, when a great disturb- 
 ance was heard. It was the Cordeliers 1 " Club, which, in the 
 persons of Danton and Legendre, had made an irruption 
 among the Jacobins. 
 
 They were neither vague nor lengthy in their demands. 
 
 Danton, in an outburst of ironic thunder, demanded how 
 the Society dared to take upon itself to pronounce reformed 
 opinions before the nation had done so ? Legendre directly 
 attacked the King — called to reason the societies who, 
 working in an underground manner, underminded the deci- 
 sions of the Assembly, and terminated in saying, " What 
 1 say is for the good of the Assembly itself." 
 
 There was almost a menace expressed in these last words. 
 14
 
 226 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 Keeping calm and cold during Robespierre's speech, M. de 
 Laclos, the intendant of the Due d'Orleans, applauded ve- 
 hemently Danton and Legendre. 
 
 The Constitutionals of the Assembly got up, and went 
 out. 
 
 Danton and Laclos conferred together an instant in a 
 whisper ; then a voice was heard, crying, " Open the doors 
 for the public deputies ! " 
 
 The doors opened, and there entered the fraternal Socie- 
 ty of the Halles, and the Society of the Two Sexes, which 
 held its meetings in the Lower Hall. They carried address- 
 es against the Assembly, or, rather, against the monarchy. 
 
 Preoccupied with Danton and Legendre, I lost a part of 
 the thread of what passed at the tribune. A young surgeon 
 read a letter, which had been written in the Palais Ro}'al 
 in the presence of three hundred persons. A bishop threw 
 himself into his arms, and urged him to oppose the deputies. 
 Robespierre looked on with his sardonic smile ; Danton, 
 Legendre, and Laclos with a hateful grin. 
 
 Robespierre saw not what was going on on the other side 
 of Paris, but probably Danton knew ; and that was what 
 he was recounting in a whisper to Laclos, and what Laclos 
 was listening to with such attention. 
 
 On the other side of Paris was a club — a fraternal socie- 
 ty, — in the midst of which rested a young man, who was 
 secretary to the club, in oblivion. This young man one 
 day emerged from his obscurity, to raise around him a 
 gigantic storm, after which he again subsided into medioc- 
 rity. The name of this young man was Callieu. 
 
 What was Callieu doing in this fraternal society ? Al- 
 most nothing. He prepared an address against the Assem- 
 bly, signed " The People ! " 
 
 On the day before that evening — how I came to forget to 
 mention it, I cannot think, — the 12th of July, there was a 
 great disturbance in Paris. All hats were waving in a 
 burst of enthusiasm. 
 
 On Sunday, the 10th, the body of Voltaire ought to have 
 been removed to the Pantheon, but the weather was unpro- 
 pitious; and there was no fete in Paris, on account of the 
 rain. The removal of Voltaire's corse was therefore post- 
 poned till the morrow. 
 
 The triumphal procession entered by the barrier of
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 227 
 
 Charenton ; and accompanied by an immense crowd, drawn 
 by horses presented by the Queen, the bier crossed Paris, 
 and stopped at the house where the author of the "Phi- 
 losophic Dictionary" had died. 
 
 There they sang choruses to his glory. The Galas family, 
 led by Madame de Vilette, laid down crowns on the sar- 
 cophagus, before the temple of Flora, which was closed, on 
 the pretence of the absence of Madame de Lamballe. 
 
 On the 12th, Voltaire entered the Pantheon. On the 
 13th, in the morning, they played a sacred drama, with a 
 grand chorus and orchestra, in Notre Dame. It was entit- 
 led, " Le Prise de la Pastille." 
 
 In the evening, Danton and Legendre came to the Jaco- 
 bins, and turned out the Constitutionals; whilst at the 
 club on the other side of Paris they were signing an address 
 against the Assembly. 
 
 On the 14th, the anniversary of the taking of the Bas- 
 tille, when a drama was performed on the subject, the 
 Bishop*of Paris performed mass at the altar of the country 
 in the midst of the rain. 
 
 Each day now brought an event. On the evening of the 
 loth, the Assembly voted not only that the King should 
 be brought to judgment, but that his offices should be sus- 
 pended until he agreed to swear to the Constitution. 
 
 The Constitutionals carried it. 
 
 The Assembly knew so well that it had committed an 
 unpopular act, that it demanded to be protected by Lafay- 
 ette and 5,000 men, without counting the National Guard 
 and the pikes of the Faubourg St. Antoine. 
 
 The crowd which could not enter — and their name was 
 legion — took up a position on the other side of the citizen 
 guard, who made a ring round the Hiding Hall. 
 
 The moment the vote became known to the crowd, they 
 yelled " Treason ! " and re-entered Paris by its three great 
 arteries, the Boulevards, the Bue St. Honore, and the street 
 which is now known by that name. They then began to 
 shut the theatres and the houses of play and pleasure, and 
 in consequence of the disturbance, the police themselves 
 closed two or three theatres. 
 
 Little work was done in these days of ebullition. 
 M. Duplay sent me to see what was going on at the As- 
 sembly ; I returned to announce to him the triumph of 
 the King.
 
 228 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 " Good ! " said he. " Let us get over supper quickly, 
 and then off to the Jacobins. There will be a disturbance 
 there this evening." 
 
 M. Duplay was right. 
 
 Robespierre was in the tribune. He attached, in the 
 midst of vociferous plaudits, the vote of the Assembly. 
 When he had finished, M. Laclos took his place. You must 
 not forget that Laclos. was the intendant of the Due d'Or- 
 leans. He demanded that a bulletin should be issued, pro- 
 claiming the forfeiture. 
 
 "There will be," said he, "ten million signatures." 
 
 "Yes, yes ! " cried the spectators, with one voice. " Ten, 
 fifteen, twenty millions ! The women and children, even, 
 shall be compelled to sign ! " 
 
 A powerful voice shook the nation. It was Danton's. 
 For some days the Cordeliers had fraternized with the 
 Jacobins, and Danton walked with Robespierre. 
 
 "Only," said Danton, in a low voice, "let us have no 
 women. They are generally Royalists. The}' would vote 
 for the deposal of a King only in order to raise up another." 
 
 Saying these words, he stared fixedly at the author of 
 "Liaisons Dangereuses." Not a smile nor a frown ruffled 
 the habitually stern features of Laclos. 
 
 Perceiving the silence kept bj' the Duke of Orleans' man, 
 he added, " And more, I prefer an address to the adopted 
 societies to a public one." 
 
 Laclos said nothing, but appeared as if listening to some- 
 thing outside the building. 
 
 All at once, a large mass of people entered the club. 
 They were what were called the Lucks of the Palais Royal, 
 dragging with them about fifty young women of questiona- 
 ble character. 
 
 " Ah, ah ! " murmured Danton. " 'Tis a planned 
 affair ! " 
 
 All the newly-arrived mixed with the Jacobins, crying, 
 " The forfeiture — the forfeiture ! " 
 
 Laclos ascended the tribune. 
 
 "You see," said he, "'tis the people — the people who 
 desire the forfeiture. A petition is necessary, of which I 
 approve." 
 
 All this immense crowd, who probably had the word, 
 cried with one voice, " The petition — the petition ! "
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 229 
 
 Then, with uproarious enthusiasm, the petition was voted. 
 It was agreed that the next day, at eleven o'clock, the 
 Jacobins should meet and hear the reading of it, after 
 which it would be brought to the Champs de Mars, where 
 ii was to be signed by the populace, and thence forwarded 
 to the adopted sociel ies. 
 
 During this tumult, M. Duplay had taken hold of my 
 arm, and drew me sharply on one side. He then pointed 
 me out a woman standing outside one of the tribunes, who 
 appeared to be taking the greatest possible interest in what 
 w as passing. 
 
 Look at that woman," said he ; " it is the Citizen Roland 
 Platriere — a good patriot." 
 
 CHAPTER XLL 
 
 CONCERNING THE BILL OF FORFEITURE. 
 
 Madame Roland was very far from having assumed at 
 that period the important position that she afterwards held. 
 As yet she had never fretted and fumed her hour upon the 
 political stage. In fact, she was not yet a minister. I did 
 not pay more attention to her than one commonly pays to a 
 woman. She appeared to be about thirty years of age, of 
 fresh complexion — heat of the blood, if one may say so. 
 Her mouth was large, but filled with irreproachable teeth ; 
 her hands were large and muscular, but well-shaped ; her 
 nose was retrousse ; her figure was good — small waist and 
 well-filled hips, but, on the whole, having a decidedly volup- 
 tuous tendency. Thus was Madame Roland, in the evening 
 of the loth of July, 1791. 
 
 Just as I was observing her, I heard some one call 
 M. Duplay. 
 
 Duplay turned round. It was M. Laclos who called him. 
 He held a pen in his hand, and had a sheet of paper on his 
 table. M. Brissot was sitting beside .him. 
 
 '• My dear Duplay," said he, " I was about to write the 
 petition for wdiich all are going to vote, but my writing is 
 too much like that of the secretary of the Due d'Orleans.
 
 230 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 There is nothing wrong in the matter, I assure you. Here 
 is M. Brissot, a member of the National Assembly, and he 
 would not be likely to work against his colleagues. We 
 must have some one whose handwriting is unknown. Your 
 young man can write, I suppose ? " 
 
 "Rather, I should say," replied M. Duplay ; "he is a 
 scholar." 
 
 " Well," said Laclos, mildly, " be kind enough to call 
 him hither, and tell him what we require. You will dictate, 
 Brissot, will you not?" 
 
 Feeling sure that the conversation concerned me, I ap- 
 proached. 
 
 They told me what was required. It would give me an 
 active participation in what was going on, so I was quite 
 willing. 
 
 M. Brissot dictated. 
 
 As it was not permitted to make a copy of the peti- 
 tion, I can only give it from memory. It was well and 
 strongly worded ; it had, metamorphically speaking, two 
 heads ; the one reproached the Assembly with timidity, 
 and the other accused them of having not dared to 
 usurp the King's so-called prerogative, and asserted, at the 
 same time, that the King's supposed deprivation of his 
 regal rights by the Assembly was, in reality, a sham. 
 
 As I was writing these words, Brissot still dictating, 
 Laclos arousing himself, placed his hand on Brissot's 
 arm, and said, " Citizen Brissot, I doubt whether the 
 friends of the Constitution, who compose the greater 
 number of our club, will sign, unless you make a slight 
 alteration in the words, but which will not alter the 
 meaning." 
 
 " What alteration ?" demanded Brissot. 
 
 " Were I in your place, I would insert, after ' Ms 
 original dignity] these words, ' by constitutional means.'' " 
 
 Brissot reflected a moment, and then, with a shrug of 
 his shoulders he said, " I see no objection." 
 
 Then he continued dictating to me. 
 
 " By constitutional means." 
 
 I turned round to see whether Robespierre and Danton 
 would not make some objection to our employment ; but 
 both had gone, and, in fact, the hall was all but empty, so 
 that the petition was dictated to space.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 231 
 
 The two editors remarked that the members had retired 
 because they felt their presence to be useless, and knew that 
 the petition would be read to them on the following morn- 
 ing; but soon an emissary arrived, who .-poke in an under- 
 tone to M. de Laclos. During this time I again read the 
 petition, and then I understood the ponderous significance 
 of the five words which had been SO aptly added b}* the well- 
 known author of "Liasions Dangereuses." 
 
 The Constitutional meanshy which they could replace the 
 King, was by placing on the throne the Dauphin, governed 
 b}' a regency ; but the brothers of the King, the Comte 
 d'Artois and the Comte de Provence, being out of France, 
 the Regent's office belonged, of right, to the Due d'Orleans, 
 who would thus take the same place by the throne of Louis 
 XVI as his ancestor had by the throne of his predecessor, 
 Louis XV. I asked myself why it was that Brissot never 
 thought of that, though I did. But I said to myself that 
 perhaps he would not be angry at being hidden behind the 
 word constitutional, as he knew that the petition was his 
 own work. 
 
 At this moment, the fears of M. de Laclos appeared to 
 be realized. The emissary who had whispered in his ear, 
 had come to tell him that the constitutioual Royalists of 
 the Jacobins, and those of the National Assembly, were go- 
 ing to rejoin the Feuillants, and thus separate themselves 
 from the pure Jacobin — that is to say, the Republican. 
 
 The two heads of the emigration movement were Du- 
 port and Lameth. 
 
 Their intention was to form a new club, composed of 
 friends of the Constitution — an aristocratic assembly where 
 none were admitted but by a pass-card, and where they re- 
 ceived none but electors, who then stayed with the veritable 
 Jacobins — none, with the exception of six or seven dema- 
 gogue deputies and the canaille who followed in the steps of 
 the Due d'Orleans, and who formed the entire club. 
 
 •• What is to be done ? " asked Brissot. " They with to 
 have the Assembh' to themselves." 
 
 "Good ! " said Laclos : "hut what does it matter as long 
 as we have the people on our side ? Let us proceed." 
 
 Brissot continued his dictation, in which, however, Laclos 
 no longer took part. 
 
 On the morrow, Saturday, M. Duplay and myself did not
 
 232 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 fail to be at the Jacobin club, where were assembled scarce- 
 ly thirty persons. 
 
 They waited an hour ; and at twelve there were assem- 
 bled, perhaps, fortjr. The petition was read and applauded. 
 All paid attention to the phrase introduced by M. Laclos, 
 and it was decided that the petition should be taken in its 
 present form to the Champ de Mars, there to be signed on 
 the altar of the country. 
 
 A deputation was organized to carry the petition. M. 
 Duplay had work to do at the Palais Royal. He advised 
 me to follow the delegates, and then return to report to him 
 what had passed. 
 
 We arrived at the Champ de Mars. As the report had 
 spread about that the petition would be taken there, thou- 
 sands of people had asssembled. 
 
 The altar of the country was surmounted with an im- 
 mense picture, representing the apotheosis of Voltaire. 
 
 The delegates mounted almost to the top of the altar, and 
 commenced the reading ; but they saw a group approaching, 
 whom they recognised as members of the Cordeliers. They 
 were received with acclamation, and, on their behalf, the 
 reading was again commenced. 
 
 All went well till the phrase introduced by M. Laclos, 
 11 By all constitutional means." 
 
 " Pardon," said a voice ; " would you mind reading that 
 passage again ?" 
 
 The reader continued, " By all constitutional means." 
 
 u Stop ! " cried the same voice. 
 
 A man then approached. 
 
 " Citizen," said he, " my name is Bonneville. I am 
 editor of The Mouth of Iron. The people are deceived." 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes !" cried the Cordeliers. 
 
 " How deceive the people ? " said the delegate charged 
 with the reading of the petition. 
 
 " I say, for the second time, that the people are de- 
 ceived ! " cried Bonneville. " By all constitutional means," 
 signifies " by a regency." And what is a regency ? The 
 royalty of D'Orleans in the place of the royalty of Louis 
 XVI." 
 
 " In the place of the ro} T alty of Capet ! " cried a voice 
 that I recognised as having heard before. 
 
 " How Capet ? " said a Jacobin.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 233 
 
 "Without doubt," replied the same mocking voice. 
 "Since the nobles no longer have titles — since M. Mirabeau 
 called himself only Riquetti — since M. de Lafayette called 
 himself only M. .Moltier — the King Louis XVI can call 
 himself only Capet." 
 
 " Take care," said a Jacobin ; " France is not yet ripe 
 for a republic." 
 
 " If she is not ripe for a republic," cried Camille Des- 
 moulins — for that was the man to whom the voice I recog- 
 nised belonged — " how is it that she is rotten for mon- 
 archy ? " 
 
 " To the vote — to the vote ! " all cried. 
 
 They voted, and, with almost perfect unanimity, declared 
 that the obnoxious phrase should be cut out. Then, in the 
 enthusiasm which followed this vote, they all swore nei- 
 ther to recognise Louis XVI nor an} 7, other King. 
 
 On the morrow, Sunday, it was arranged that the people, 
 forewarned by notice posted on the walls, should go to sign 
 the petition on the altar. 
 
 " Still, citizen, we lack one thing." 
 
 "What is that?" asked Camille Desmoulins. 
 
 " It is to have the law on our side." 
 
 ''We have it; since the Assembly have suspended the 
 King, we have deposed him." 
 
 " We must get from the Hotel de Ville an authorization 
 to hold the meeting to-morrow." , 
 
 All started for the Hotel de Ville. They had but to keep 
 on the quays; but the distance was rather a lengthy one; 
 but as the refusal of the Mayor might spoil all, and as I 
 wished to give a report to M. Duplay, I went with the 
 others to the Hotel de Ville. 
 
 M. Bailly was not there ; he was at the Place Vendome, 
 watching the proceedings of the Assembly ; but they found 
 his substitute, told him of the matter, found him not unwil- 
 ling, and demanded a written authorization. He said he 
 did not see the necessity — a verbal permission being quite 
 sufficient ; that the people were always legal, exercising 
 only their right of petition. 
 
 I returned to M. Duplay's, telling him that the petition 
 would be signed to-morrow, and that the signature would 
 be approved of by Bail]}', or, at least, by his substitute. 
 
 We were ignorant of what was going on in the Assem- 
 bly.
 
 234 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 er 
 
 The Assembly had learnt the decision taken by the Cor- 
 deliers and the Jacobins. It would not do to allow the peo- 
 ple to take this supremacy upon itself. They appealed to 
 Bailty and the municipal council. 
 
 At ten o'clock, Bailly and his council decided that on the 
 morrow, Sunday, 17th July, the decree of the Assembly, 
 bearing " that the suppression of executive power should 
 last until the Constitutional Act had been presented to, and 
 accepted by, the King," should be fixed at eight o'clock 
 punctually, and that proclamation of the decree should be 
 with sound of trumpet proclaimed by the huissiers of the 
 city. 
 
 Therefore, whoever did not recognise an act proceeding 
 from the National Assembly — that is to say, the people's 
 representatives — should be rebels to the law, and should be 
 treated as such. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 WHAT TOOK PLACE BETWEEN THE HAIRDRESSER AND 
 THE INVALID. 
 
 We had for neighbor, in the Rue St. Honore, two doors 
 lower down than our own, a hair-dresser, named Leger. 
 This hair-dresser, like all his covfreres, was a staunch Roy- 
 alist. No doubt the reader would ask the reason why hair- 
 dressers were all Royalists. 
 
 That is easily explained. 
 
 The hair-dressers' was one of the corporations that had 
 suffered the most in the Revolution. Those under Louis 
 XV, and even under Louis XVI — who had invented such 
 fantastic head-dresses, worn by the ladies of the nobility for 
 more than half a century — were a body of men not to be 
 despised. 
 
 Hair-dressers of this period had a select circle of their own, 
 and many privileges, which they would not surrender, even 
 on the night of the 4th of August. 
 
 Not only could they mix in the society of the larger cir- 
 cles, but had the entires to the more select boudoirs of the
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 235 
 
 noblesse, and also carried the sword, as was customary with 
 gentlemen. 
 
 It is true that this sword, at most times, was of no more 
 use than a harlequin's wand, being but a mere toy. Of 
 some, the blades were simply wood, others having no blade 
 at all, the handle being attached to the scabbard. 
 
 But for some time past things went from bad to worse 
 with this celebrated corporation of hair-dressers. Their so- 
 ciety was gradually sinking into oblivion, to them worse 
 than death, and Talma had just struck the last blow even to 
 the head-dressing of men, by his creation of the character 
 of Litus, which had caused his name to be given to the 
 fashion of wearing the hair cut short. 
 
 The most desperate enemies of the new government — 
 that is to sa}', the revolutionary government — was, therefore, 
 the hair-dressers. 
 
 That was not all. By frequenting the mansions of the 
 aristocracy — by holding so often between their hands, for 
 more than an hour at a time, the heads of the handsomest 
 ladies of the Court — by chatting with the several coxcombs 
 whose hair they were in the habit of dressing — by serving 
 their noble clients in the character of messengers of love — 
 by becoming the confidantes of the passions of their em- 
 ployers — the hair-dressers had become libertines, for the ad- 
 vantage of their pockets. 
 
 Now, on Saturday evening, as I have already stated, at 
 the very moment when the municipality issued the decree 
 against the petitioners, our neighbor Leger came and asked 
 M. Duplay to lend him a centre-bit. 
 
 Notwithstanding the difference of opinion which separ- 
 ated these two neighbors, the centre bit was at once lent, 
 without a single question. 
 
 An Invalid awaited him at the door, to whom he handed 
 it, at the same time exchanging with him some few words, 
 and each one went his own way. 
 
 The following was their projected scheme for the next 
 day : — 
 
 At this period, when the women commenced to take such 
 an active part in the revolution, many beautiful patriots 
 intended accompanying their brothers, husbands, and lovers 
 to sign the petition on the altar of the country. Thanks to 
 the centre-bit lent by Maitre Duplay, our libertine hair-
 
 236 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 dresser would be enabled to bore a bole in tbe platform of 
 the altar, under tbe shejter of vvbicb, if be could not see 
 the lovely features of tbe charming patriotic women, be 
 could, at least, perceive the interesting proceedings of the 
 people. 
 
 Not wishing to enjoy this pleasure alone, the Citizen 
 Leger invited an old Invalid to share it with him. The 
 Invalid accepted the invitation ; but like a cautious man, 
 knowing that they could not feed themselves with their 
 e)'es, proposed that, in addition to the centre-bit, they 
 should take with them eatables and a barrel of water. This 
 last step was agreed to by Leger. Accordingly, on the 
 morning of Sunday, the 19th, half an hour before the light 
 set in, our two gallants might be seen scaling the altar of 
 the country, with their centre-bit and their provisions. 
 Upon gaining the, platform, they gently lifted one of the 
 planks, introduced themselves beneath, replaced the plank, 
 and then commenced their work. 
 
 Unfortunate^ for our two curious friends, the fete 
 attracted none but themselves. From day-break, tbe 
 Champ de Mars commenced to get animated. The " mer- 
 chands" of cakes and lemonade, hoping that the patriot- 
 ism would hunger and thirst those who signed the docu- 
 ment, commenced arriving from all quarters. Tired of 
 walking about, one of these women ascended the altar, for 
 tbe purpose of looking at the picture of the triumph of 
 Voltaire. While reading the oath of Brutus, of which she 
 understood nothing, she felt an instrument piercing the 
 sole of her shoe. She immediately cried out for help, and 
 declared there were malefactors underneath tbe altar ; upon 
 which a young man went in search of the guard of Gros 
 Caillon. The guard, fancying the affair was not worth 
 while troubling himself about, refused to stir. 
 
 In tbe absence of the soldiers, he called the passing 
 workmen. These, more sensible to the cries of distress 
 than the guard, came with their tools. They set to work, 
 without delay, to open the altar, and there they found 
 Leger and bis companion, in a pretended sleep. They 
 were not long, however, bringing them to consciousness, 
 when they were commanded to explain tbe cause of their 
 presence there, and to state if their intentions were justifi- 
 able, and they were forced to own the truth.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 237 
 
 At that moment, a curious individual dropped himself 
 under the altar, to see what it was like, and there found 
 tlie barrel of water, Mistaking this for powder, he rushed 
 forth, crying, with all his might, thai the two prisoners had 
 intended blowing up the altar, as well as those who would 
 find themselves t henon. The hair-dresser and Invalid cried 
 loudly that it was water, and not powder, and that, by 
 breaking the barrel, they would arrive at the truth; hut 
 the truth was too shnple. They thought it more natural 
 to strangle the two unfortunate men, or decapitate them, 
 and promenade their heads on the top of a pike. 
 
 At this stage of the proceedings, the bailiffs of the muni- 
 cipality arrived, and proclaimed the arrest of the Mayor. 
 They then proceeded towards the Roule, hut were overtaken 
 at the top of Rue St. Honore by the crowd carrying the 
 heads of the two supposed assassins on the top of their 
 pikes. I fancied that I could recognise one of these as that 
 of a neighbor; it turned out to be that of the poor hair- 
 dresser, who came the preceding night to borrow the 
 centre-bit from M. Duplay. I could scarcely believe my 
 eyes. What crime could they possibly be guilty of? I 
 called M. Duplay. There must have been a strange accent 
 in my voice ; for, with the exception of my grandmother, 
 who was always occupied reading and re-reading her volume 
 of the "Arabian Nights," the whole family rushed towards 
 me ; the women shrieked with terror, but one was begin- 
 ning to get accustomed to these sorts of spectacles, and, by 
 degrees, they risked looking. 
 
 Every one recognised Leger. 
 
 What had he done ? 
 
 We inquired. They were two great criminals, who had 
 intended blowing up the altar of the country, and those 
 who might be on it. 
 
 Others said they were two National Guards, who were 
 beheaded by the people for attempting to enforce the exe- 
 cution of the law. 
 
 The noise spread in the Assembly. Duport, who, with 
 Charles Lameth, separated himself from the Republican 
 Jacobins, was then President. He was not backward in 
 accusing his late colleagues of the crime. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said he, to the Assembly, " Two good 
 citizens have just perished on the Champ de Mars for hav-
 
 238 LOVE AMD LIBERTY. 
 
 ing said to a deluded mass that they must not break the 
 laws of their country — they were hanged on the spot." 
 
 "'Tis true ! " cried Regnault de St. Jean d'Angely. " I 
 confirm that news ; they were two National Guards. Gen- 
 tlemen, I demand martial law. It is the duty of this As- 
 sembly, gentlemen, to pronounce all persons attempting to 
 exort the people to resist, either by personal acts, or by col- 
 lective or individual writings, guilty of treachery to the 
 nation." 
 
 This was just what the Assembly desired, composed, as 
 it was, principally of Royalists and Constitutionalists, and 
 in which the Republicans — that is to say, those who upheld 
 the petition, and, consequently, wished for the dethrone- 
 ment of the King — were to be found in a very small num- 
 ber. 
 
 It was therefore decreed that the President of the As- 
 sembly, and the Ma} T or of Paris, should inquire into the 
 real state of affairs, in order to take rigorous measures if 
 events passed as were reported. 
 
 They did not give themselves the trouble to inquire into 
 the truth, but took the measures. Robespierre then left the 
 Assembly without saying a word, rushed to the Club of the 
 Jacobins, to announce to them the news. 
 
 At the club he found nearly thirty persons; they all 
 tumultuously voted the withdrawal of the petition, and Lan- 
 terre was despatched to the Champ de Mars to take posses- 
 sion of it. 
 
 Such was the state of affairs when M. Duplay returned 
 from the Jacobins, and asked where were his wife and 
 daughters. 
 
 He was told they were gone with Felicien to the Champ 
 de Mars to see the petition signed. 
 
 " Not an instant is to be lost ! " cried M. Duplay. " If 
 the petition is not withdrawn in time, there will most cer- 
 tainly be a row, perhaps firearms used ! Quick ! — let us on 
 to the Champ de Mars ! " 
 
 We left the house to the care of Catherine and the old 
 grandmother and set off in haste for the Porte St. Honore.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 239 
 
 CHAPTEK XLIII. 
 
 THE RED FLAG. 
 
 Upon our arrival, the Champ de Mars presented au 
 aspect of the most profound tranquillity. 
 
 A strong detachment of troops, with two or three pieces 
 of cannon, which bad heen stationed there in consequence 
 of the assassination which had taken place in the morning, 
 seeing that nothing extraordinary took place, gradually with- 
 drew, leaving the place to three or four hundred inoffensive 
 strollers, and a small group of men, to whom no one paid 
 the slightest attention, but which, like many small clouds, 
 contained a terrific tempest. 
 
 This group seemed to have as leaders two strange-looking 
 individuals. One of these creatures, whose name was Ver- 
 rieres, was a fantastic-looking hunchback. He had not 
 heen seen since the oth and 6th of October, when he 
 had made himself conspicuous at Versailles. He reap- 
 peared, however, on the night before our present date. 
 
 The other was from the department of Auvergne, and 
 called Fournier, the American, because he had been over- 
 seer of a negro plantation in St. Domingo. 
 
 He held in his hand a firelock. 
 
 The miserable creatures who were listening to the ha- 
 rangue of these two men were a sort of human larva, aris- 
 ing none knew from where. 
 
 On entering the Champ de Mars we threw a glance 
 around, to see if we could recognise, in the midst of these 
 three or four hundred strollers, the four persons we came 
 in search of. At that moment, it was all the easier to do 
 so, as every one was following Lanterre to the altar of the 
 country. We followed as the rest. Lanterre announced 
 to the patriots, with a voice which suited admirably these 
 sort of proceedings, that the petition placed there the pre- 
 ceding night could not be signed, as, at the moment this 
 petition was written, it was supposed that the Assembly 
 had not yet decided the fate of the King, but that, since 
 then, they had recognised his innocence and inviolability 
 in the sitting of the night before. The Jacobins, he con- 
 tinued, intended occupying themselves with the forming a
 
 2-10 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 new petition, which they would, ere long, present for signa- 
 ture. 
 
 This declaration was received with murmurs. 
 
 " Why should we await the presentation of a petition 
 already formed ? Don't we know, as well as Messieurs 
 Brissot, Laclos, and Robespierre, what we want ? " said an 
 enormous man, of about forty years of age, a 3'oung and 
 beautiful woman leaning on his arm. " We can also 
 write," added he, with a smile ; " and I might even say 
 that we commence to think." 
 
 " No one hinders you, Citizen Robert," said Lanterre, 
 who was, probabty, not annoyed at the interruption. " You, 
 and, above all, the Citizen Keralio, whose dear little arm 
 you have the extreme felicity of squeezing within your 
 own, are more capable of success than any one else. In 
 the meantime, I take possession of the one made by the 
 Society." 
 
 So saying, Lanterre placed in his pocket the petition 
 written by me, dictated by Brissot, amended by Laclos, and 
 definitely corrected by Benneville and Camille Desmoulins. 
 
 '• With all this, I neither see my wife nor my daugh- 
 ters," exclaimed M. Duplay. 
 
 "I have an idea," replied I, "that, having required 
 some refreshments, she went to some cafe with Felicien." 
 
 " We require pen, ink, and paper," said the citizen 
 whom Lanterre had called Robert, " which we will find at 
 the first stationer's." 
 
 " Would you wish me to go and fetch it for you?" said 
 a red-headed individual, with a strong German accent. 
 
 " But," said a strange voice, " do you think you can 
 spare time to go such a distance ? How would it be, in the 
 meantime, if the Queen required your services ? " 
 
 " The Queen ! — the Queen ! " demanded the people from 
 all sides, and at the same time fixing their eyes on the man 
 with the red hair. 
 
 " Yes. Why, the Citizen Weder is the valet-de-chambre 
 of the Queen, and has come here, probably, to see what 
 was going on, so that he might be enabled to carry it to her 
 Majesty. If I make a mistake, and you are not the Citizen 
 Weder, say what your name is." 
 
 " My name is Chaumette, a medical student, of No. 9, 
 Rue Mazarine. Let every one do as I have done, and
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 241 
 
 make known his name, then we shall be acquainted with 
 who are our friends, and who are our enemies." 
 
 " Yes, yes, let every one say who he is," said a man of 
 about eight-and-twenty, whose black beard seemed to have 
 added to the sternness of his features. " My name is 
 Brune, a typographical worker; and, if futurity could be 
 'seen into," he might have added, "a future Marshal of 
 France." 
 
 "And if you want a printer for your petition, here am I, 
 Momoro, the printer of liberty ! " 
 
 "And I, Hebert, journalist, Rue Mirabeau." 
 
 Then succeeded such tumultuous uproar of men shriek- 
 ing their names with all their force, that one could scarcely 
 distinguish those of Renouard, Lagarde, Moreau, Henriot, 
 Laschereau, and David. 
 
 When this tempestuous noise ceased, the man named 
 Weder had disappeared. 
 
 " M. Robert," said I to him who had offered to frame the 
 text of the petition, " I have some business in yonder cafe, 
 where I fancy I can distinguish some of my friends, whence 
 I wdl proceed to the nearest stationer's, and bring j'ou 
 back everything that is necessary for writing purposes." 
 Then I added to M. Duplay, "Follow me with your eyes, 
 sir ; and if, as I believe, those are the ladies we are in 
 search of, I will make you a sign with my pocket- 
 handkerchief." 
 
 As I had fancied, it was Madame Duplay and her 
 daughters. I told them where I had left M. Duplay, and 
 asked them to go and meet him at the altar of the country. 
 I then proceeded to the stationer's, and bought two or three 
 sheets of paper, knowing very well that if even there was 
 onl}' one sheet required for the petition itself, there would 
 be one hundred or one hundred and fifty signatures. I 
 also bought a bottle of ink and a packet of pens already 
 cut. 
 
 When returning, I met with M. Duplay and his family. 
 This gentleman, fearing some serious disorder, was taking 
 his family home b}' the nearest road — that is to say, b}' the 
 Invalides. Before separating with him, though, I promised 
 that if anything grave took place, I would return with a 
 full account to the house. 
 15
 
 242 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 I now hastened to the altar, where I was impatiently 
 awaited. 
 
 I have already mentioned the names of Robert and Mad- 
 emoiselle Keralio. Notwithstanding how well posted we 
 are at the present moment in the history of the Revolution, 
 very few persons are acquainted with the very prominent 
 part taken by these two persons in the proceedings of that 
 terrible da} r , the 17th of July, which killed with the one 
 blow the absolute royalty, which it ought to have raised 
 from its low position, and the constitutional royalty, which 
 it ought to have upheld, and which, directed against the 
 Jacobins, whom it ought to have extinguished, gave them, 
 on the contrary, an additional strength. 
 
 Robert, as I have said, was an enormous man, of forty or 
 forty-five years of age. Being a member of the Club of 
 the Cordeliers, he vainly searched with his eyes some of his 
 colleagues of reputation. Either by accident, or otherwise, 
 he did not succeed in finding a single one of these. On 
 the Saturday evening, Danton was obliged to join a meet- 
 ing in the wood of Vincennes, and thence he went on to 
 Fontenoy, where his father-in-law was a street vender of 
 lemonade. Legendre had left about the same time, with 
 Camille Desmoulins, and Feron. A meeting had been 
 arranged at Fontenoy, by Danton, and all four dined there 
 together. 
 
 A great responsibility was, therefore, about to be placed 
 on the shoulders of Robert ; he would be obliged to repre- 
 sent alone, or nearly so, the entire Club of the Cordeliers. 
 We must, however, agree that he accepted his position 
 bravely. The Club of the Jacobins was totally out of the 
 question, since Lanterre, in the name of the Society, had 
 come and withdrawn the petition. 
 
 As to the wife of Robert, Mademoiselle Keralio was a 
 young lady — very gay, lively, talented. She was a Breton, 
 and daughter of a Chevalier de St. Louis, called Guniemeut 
 de Keralio. As inspector of the military colleges of 
 France, he had, on paying a visit to the college at Brienne, 
 given a favorable account of a young Corsican, named 
 Bonaparte — he who afterwards became the Great Napoleon. 
 
 His calling not being sufficient for the support of his 
 family, he made translations, and wrote for several journals, 
 among others for the Mercure, and Journal des Savants.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 243 
 
 His daughter assisted him to the hest of her powers. At 
 eighteen years of age, she wrote a novel, called "Ade- 
 laide;" then the "History of Elizabeth," a long and 
 serious work ; afterwards she married Robert, a great 
 friend of Camille Desmoulins, and an enemy of Lafayette, 
 who had written a book, entitled, "Republicanism adapted 
 to France." Not less patriotic than her husband, Madame 
 Robert had come with him to add her signature to the 
 petition, declaring that France neither recognised Louis A'\ I 
 nor any other King ; and seeing that it had been with- 
 drawn, she was the first to advise her husband to draw up 
 another. 
 
 I had no sooner arrived on the spot with my pens, ink, 
 and paper, than she snatched them from my hands with 
 such gracious vivacity, that I could really say nothing, but 
 thank her. She then handed a pen to her husband, who 
 was not very clever at composition. 
 
 " Write, write," said she, " what I dictate." 
 
 Then, amidst thunders of applause, and while consulting 
 some with her eyes, and others with words and signs, she 
 set to work to dictate, clearly, and with much eloquence, a 
 petition for the dethronement of the King, which was at 
 the same time a violent charge against royalty. 
 
 The affair was done, and well done, in less than three- 
 quarters of an hour. 
 
 Robert, who had w r ritten the petition, signed it first and 
 passed the pen to his neighbor. 
 
 Every one wished for the pen. I had a packet, which I 
 distributed ; and as it would take too long for them to sign 
 one after the other, so dense had the mass become, the idea 
 struck me to distribute the three extra sheets of paper, 
 each of which could contain two hundred signatures. 
 
 No doubt, the assembly had heard from Weder what was 
 going on on the Champ de Mars. The situation was 
 grave ; for if the people broke the decrees of the Assembly, 
 it would cease being the first power of the State. 
 
 There was not a moment to be lost. The meeting would 
 have to be dissolved, and the petition destroyed at all 
 risks ; the more so, as every instant the mob was becoming 
 more and more numerous ; not from the side of Paris, 
 where it was made known to all, that, by proceeding to the 
 Champ de Mars, they would be guilty of an act of rebel-
 
 244 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 lion, but from the village of D'Yssy, Vaugirard, Sevres, 
 St. Cloud, and Boulogne, where they were foretold of the 
 reunion, and had not heard of any counter-petition. They 
 flocked to it, as to a fete. 
 
 The intentions were good, although nothing was easier 
 than to accuse them of heing bad. The Assembly — duped 
 either by mistake, or profiting by the occasion — sent a mes- 
 sage to the Mayor, announcing that a band of fifty thous- 
 and robbers were congregated in the Champ de Mars, and 
 were about to march upon the Salle du Manege. 
 
 They called to their protection a military body, and gave 
 the order to Bailly to disperse the brigands by force. 
 Bailly, who was not aware of the goings on, and who 
 should, before all other things, obey the orders of the As- 
 sembly, forewarned Lafayette, and sounded the alarm. 
 
 In these times, the paid guard, strongly addicted to aris- 
 tocratic — or, rather, Lafayettish — principles, for it was 
 nearly entirely composed of the conquerors of the Bastille, 
 Were always the first to answer such a call. 
 
 This body, perfectly armed and perfectly commanded, 
 were exasperated at the injuries they received from the 
 Democratic journals, and particularly the Friend of the 
 People, of Marat, in which he called them the spies of La- 
 fayette ; and one one day demanded their noses to be cut 
 off, another day their ears, and even hinted at finishing 
 with them altogether with the assistance of the gudlotine. 
 
 They applauded vociferously, when suddenly the red flag 
 was seen to float from the balcony of the Hotel de Ville, 
 which was a signal to all the loyal citizens of the town of 
 their help, and never did they require help more than on 
 this occasion. 
 
 In the midst of these cries, the Mayor, who was pale as 
 the day on which he marched to the scaffold, descended the 
 Place de Greve, and placed himself at the head of a 
 column of the National Guard. Lafayette, at the head of 
 another column, followed the left bank of the Seine, while 
 Bailly took the right bank. 
 
 The red flag was unhooked, and followed the column, 
 headed by the Mayor.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 245 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 THE MASSACRE OF THE CHAMP DE MARS. 
 
 We thought but little of the danger we were running at 
 the Champ de Mars, and knew nothing whatever of what 
 was going on at the Hotel de Ville. The crowd was noth- 
 ing more than an ordinary Sunday crowd. No weapons 
 whatever were to be seen, save the sabres hanging to the 
 belts of some stray National Guards, who might be taking 
 a walk with their wives and children. Madame Roland 
 sa} r s, in her "Memoirs," that she remained there till ten 
 o'clock. 
 
 The only extraordinary proceeding that took place was 
 that on the altar. 
 
 They continued to sign the petition with a vigor that 
 promised twelve or fifteen hundred signatures before night- 
 fall. Generally the person signing cried out, " Vive la 
 nation ! Down with royalty ! " threw his cap up in the 
 air, and ceded the place to another. 
 
 Two contrary currents were established on the north, 
 south, and east sides of the altar of the country, between 
 the persons ascending and the persons descending. The 
 height of the altar was immense — that it is to say, about 
 one hundred feet. At about four o'clock in the afternoon, 
 it presented the aspect of an enormous hive, swarming with 
 bees. 
 
 At a few minutes past four o'clock, we heard the drums, 
 but paid little attention to them, the affair of the hair- 
 dresser and Invalid having for some time escaped the mem- 
 ory of every one. In Paris, one soon forgets the events 
 which are of but little interest to remember. There was 
 simply a movement of curiosity on the altar, where two 
 thousand people were seated, and on the ground of the 
 Champ de Mars, where some ten to twelve thousand were 
 walking. 
 
 These drums were those of a battalion of the advanced 
 guard of the Faubourg St. Antoine. This battalion was 
 totally misinformed of what was taking place in the Champ 
 de Mars. They had received an order from Bailly and La-
 
 246 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 fayette to fire in case of any resistance being made, but 
 only in case of resistance. 
 
 Before entering the Champ de Mars, the command was 
 given to halt, and load their guns. They thought they 
 would have to face some fifty thousand brigands, determined 
 on bloodshed and pillage. 
 
 They found, on the contrary, an inoffensive population 
 amusing itself. 
 
 The battalion halted a second time ; but, as they did not 
 find what they were in search of, they put their guns in 
 clusters, and sent a few unarmed grenadiers to see what 
 was passing on the altar of the country. These came back, 
 saying that they were signing a petition in the greatest 
 possible order, and without the slightest noise. 
 
 The people walking in the Champ de Mars did not, on 
 their side, pay the slightest attention to the arrival of the 
 military from the Faubourg St. Antoine. 
 
 But about the same time, the drums of Gros Caillon and 
 the Cours la Beine were heard calling to arms. 
 
 From Gros Caillon it was Lafayette, and from Cours la 
 Beine, Bailly, who arrived with the National and paid 
 Guards. 
 
 Lafayette sent, in advance, an aide-de-camp and a hundred 
 armed men, to find out what was really passing in the 
 Champ de Mars. But from the group, which I have 
 already mentioned as having been commanded by Verrieres 
 and Fournier, a gun-shot was seen to proceed, which 
 wouuded the aid-de-camp of Lafayette. 
 
 The advance guard returned to Lafayette, and the aide- 
 de-camp, bleeding, made his report on the manner in which 
 he was received. 
 
 To him, wounded as he was on his entry into the Champs, 
 all the inoffensive strollers appeared to be brigands. 
 
 Lafayette placed himself at the head of the three thou- 
 sand men he commanded, and marched on the Champ de 
 Mars. 
 
 He found Fournier, Verrieres, and those they led, busily 
 engaged in raising a barricade. He marched straight up to 
 the barricade, and destroyed it. From under a cart, Four- 
 nier, the Americau, fired through one of the wheels on La- 
 fayette. 
 
 The gun missed fire.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 247 
 
 Fournier, the American, was taken, and charged with, 
 revolt and homicide. 
 
 The National Guard would have shot him on the spot, 
 had not Lafayette torn him from their hands, and rendered 
 him his liberty. 
 
 The most curious of all was, that this bloody day was 
 caused by these two bloodthirsty men, Lafayette and 
 Bailly* 
 
 The battalion from the Faubourg St. Antoine and Marias 
 entered the Champ at the same time as Lafayette, and 
 ranged themselves behind the altar, in front of the Military 
 College. 
 
 Lafayette, fearing that these mipht sympathise with the 
 people, sent a detachment of the National Guard to join 
 them. 
 
 At this moment the promenaders, and those who were 
 signing the petition on the altar, preoccupied, but not 
 alarmed, at the sort of collision which had taken place 
 between the National Guard and the defenders of the bar- 
 ricade, saw, advancing by the Bridge of Bois (to-day the 
 Bridge of Jena) another body of the army, headed by the 
 Mayor, and over the heads of which floated the red flag. 
 
 This red flag informed us that martial law was pro- 
 claimed. 
 
 Against whom ? 
 
 It could not be against those who were guilty of no 
 wrong, and who were simply walking by right of the 
 petition accorded to every citizen. 
 
 In the midst of the troop following the Mayor were to be 
 distinguished a company of dragoons. The dragoons were 
 well known to be an aristocratic regiment, being used to 
 firing on the people. Also a band of hair-dressers, armed to 
 the teeth, with their hair dressed a Vaile de pigeon, and 
 clad in the height of fashion. Their clothes were of silks 
 and satin, and of every color in the rainbow. 
 
 They came, no doubt, to avenge the death of that unfor- 
 tunate poor fellow, Le*ger. 
 
 The group which had opposed the entrance of Lafayette 
 had gone and reformed themselves a little further off, 
 They were joined by all the blackguards of the quarter. 
 
 At the moment when, after a roll of drums, M. Bailly 
 commenced his declaration, a shower of stones fell around
 
 248 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 him. A gun was fired behind him at the same time, and 
 wounded a dragoon. 
 
 jBailly gave the order to fire a round of blank cartridge 
 in the air. The order was executed. This inoffensive dis- 
 charge injured no one, but had the effect of making La- 
 fayette think that it was real. 
 
 The promenaders nearly all rushed towards the altar of 
 the country, fancying that the}'', as simple spectators, could 
 not be fired upon without there having first been a sum- 
 mon)' to disperse. 
 
 At this moment, the Champ de Mars was invaded by cav- 
 alry. 
 
 The promenaders vainly search for an issue to re-enter 
 Paris. 
 
 At all sides, nothing but troubles present themselves to 
 our view ; at tiie Military College, at Gros Caillon, at the 
 entrance to the wood. 
 
 Almost immediately the paid guards made an offensive 
 movement towards the altar. Abandoning the hostile 
 group, which continued to shower stones on their heads, 
 they dashed themselves distractedly and furiously against 
 the altar; and, without an attack, without provocation or re- 
 sistance, fired on this mass of brothers — this living pyramid, 
 this human beehive, of which ( two-thirds were composed of 
 defenceless women and children. 
 
 The hurricane of fire fell on this disarmed throng, who 
 only replied by heart-rending cries of agony. The three 
 faces of the altar were covered with the dead and wounded 
 bodies of the unfortunate victims. 
 
 From the height of the pyramid where I found myself — 
 between Robert and his wife, — I perceived that the artillery 
 were about to make fire on the people with the cannon, at 
 the risk of firing on the cavaliers and paid guard, when 
 Lafayette perceiving the movement, dug the spurs into his 
 horse, and galloped to the mouth of the cannon, where he 
 placed himself. 
 
 The first cry of Madame Robert was — " 'Tis on the pe- 
 titioners they would fire ! Let us save the petition ! " Tnen 
 addressing herself to me, she said, "Help me, monsieur — 
 help me ! " 
 
 It was no* longer a question of signing ; every one pre- 
 cipitated himself by the only side of the altar which had
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 219 
 
 not been fired upon — that is to sa}', the side facing the 
 Military College, and which was protected by the battalions 
 of the Faubourg St. Antoine and Marais. Both the peti- 
 tion and the sheets, covered with signatures, were seen to 
 fly before the wind. 
 
 Madame Robert took possession of the petition, whilst 
 her husband and I collected about a hundred sheets of sig- 
 natures. 
 
 We then descended by the west side of the altar. 
 
 Around us, seven or eight persons had been killed or 
 wounded. 
 
 A hundred and fifty, at least, fell before this first dis- 
 charge. 
 
 In descending this immense staircase, I lost Robert and 
 his wife. The National Guards of the Faubourg St. An- 
 toine and Marais cried, " Come with us — we will defend 
 you ! " 
 
 I rushed to their sides ; the dragoons set out in pursuit 
 of us ; but the battalion of the Marais opened their ranks 
 to us, and prepared to receive them with the bayonet. An 
 aide-de-camp came up, and ordered this battalion to march 
 forward, and make a junction with the other troops. The 
 aide-de-camp was killed. None obeyed this order but the 
 paid guards. 
 
 The battalion, or rather, the two battalions, of National 
 Guards, formed themselves into two columns, sent out scouts, 
 so as to protect any fugitives who might come and ask for 
 shelter in their ranks, and marched from the Champ de 
 Mars, leaving this horrible butchery to be completed with- 
 out their assistance. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 ROBESPIERRE PAYS A VISIT TO M. DUFLAY. 
 
 I had no sooner quitted this frightful scene of bloodshed, 
 than, thanking my saviors, I sprang forward towards the 
 river, in order to cross it by boat, or, if there was a neces- 
 sity, to swim it.
 
 250 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 The affair seemed to me grave. There must have heen 
 some treachery on foot, of which, in my mind the Jacobins 
 ought to be instructed. 
 
 There happened to be, in a boat anchored to the river's 
 bank, a man fishing, who did not disturb himself, notwith- 
 standing the thundering of the cannon. 
 
 Nothing ever disturbs a man fishing. To untie the rope, 
 jump into the boat, and take possession of the oars, was 
 but the work of a few moments. I had nearly half-way 
 crossed the river before he recovered from his astonishment. 
 
 At length, he demanded what I meant by this violence, 
 both to himself and to his boat ? I showed him a paper, 
 and said, " An order from General Lafayette." That was 
 sufficient. 
 
 I jumped out on the right bank, leaving the boat, with 
 its owner, to regain the left. 
 
 Once on solid ground, I took to my heels, and by Cours 
 la Heine, and the Porte St. Honored I set out for M. Du- 
 play's house as fast as my legs could carry me. 
 
 From Cours la Reine to the Church of the Assoraption, 
 in front of which M. Duplay lived, I found the streets 
 greatly agitated and full of people. 
 
 The red flag, the Mayor, the dragoons, and the paid 
 guard were seen to pass ; then, again, they had heard the 
 terrible discharge of musketry ; so that seeing me come 
 from the Champ de Mars, running, the perspiration drop- 
 ping off me, and all covered with blood, every one inquired 
 of me the whole way along, — " What is the matter ? " 
 
 I had but one reply to make, and that while I was run- 
 ning. 
 
 " The dragoons and the paid guard are slaughtering the 
 people ! " 
 
 I found M. Duplay at his door, surrounded by a group of 
 neighbors and acquaintances. I related to him all that 
 had taken place. 
 
 " Oh, ho ! " said he ; " the Jacobins must be informed of 
 this. Quick ! — let us run to the club ! " 
 
 About fifty members awaited the news with impatience. 
 They had, as yet, heard nothing. I was the first messen- 
 ger of the mournful intelligence. 
 
 They said that M. Robespierre must at once be informed, 
 and a messenger was despatched to the Assembly to fetch 
 him.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 251 
 
 The Jacobins knew one fact, and that was, that all the 
 blame would be left on their shoulders. It was they who 
 had taken the initiative in the affair of the petition. The 
 •Constitutionals, who had separated from them, in order to 
 form the new cluhs Feuillants, washed their hands of this 
 popular movement in opposition to the decree of the 
 Assembly. 
 
 They thanked M. Duplay ancT myself, and refused to 
 recognise any petition tending to the dethronement of the 
 King. Everything was circulated in the name of the 
 Assembly, and the society swore anew fidelity to the Con- 
 stitution and submission to the decrees of the Assembly. 
 
 After what had presented itself to my view the preced- 
 ing daj's, and after what I had written at the dictation of 
 Citizen Brissot, I found this submission too prompt. There 
 was at the bottom of it all an abandonment of the rights 
 of the people, and a cowardice which disgusted me. 
 
 I left the club, and returned pensively to the house. 
 
 A half an hour or so after, might be heard a great dis- 
 turbance towards the Place Louis XV. 
 
 It was the paid guard, who were re-entering Paris by 
 the Rue St. Honore, to have an occasion to make a demon- 
 stration against the Jacobins. 
 
 One had hardly the time to form palisades. 
 
 The paid guard collected themselves before the Convent, 
 demanding powder to blow the gate and demolish the den 
 of the Republicans. They were laughed at ; they were 
 applauded ; they were hissed. The street was full of peo- 
 ple, looking at one another, ready to come to blows. 
 
 It was plain to be seen that one of those misunderstand- 
 ings had taken place which places the gun to one's shoul- 
 der without one's knowing upon whom to fire. 
 
 All at once, I could perceive, in the Rue Luxembourg, a 
 man gliding down the street, with an evident desire to pass 
 unnoticed. 
 
 I pulled my master's coat, and whispered to him, "The 
 Citizen Robespierre. 
 
 It was indeed none other but he, who had been sent to 
 the Assembly, and who had arrived there just in time to 
 have the door shut on his nose. 
 
 It was evident that if he was recognised by the paid 
 guard, he would run the risk of being shot.
 
 252 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 He was at this moment recognised by a group of persons, 
 and cheered. No doubt, they were Jacobins. 
 
 He quickened his pace, descending the street, to gain 
 speedily the Faubourg St. Hon ore. 
 
 At the Rue de Luxembourg, several cries were raised of 
 " Vive Robespierre ! " 
 
 He turned pale, and hesitated whether to take the Lux- 
 embourg or continue his road. He continued. 
 
 " Vive Robespierre ! " again cried a man. " And since 
 it is absolutely necessary to have a King, why not have 
 him ? " 
 
 Robespierre thought himself lost. He looked on all sides 
 for shelter. 
 
 Duplay rushed towards him. 
 
 " At my house — at my house, citizen ! " said he. " My 
 name is Duplay ! I am master carpenter, and a good 
 citizen ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes — at our house ! " said Madame Duplay and 
 Mademoiselle Cornelie. 
 
 And all three — the man and the two women — surrounded 
 Robespierre, who, without the slightest resistance, allowed 
 himself to be led into the alley. 
 
 I entered last, and locked the door. 
 
 The retreat was effected so prudently, that hardly a soul 
 had perceived the manoeuvre. 
 
 Those that did see him said nothing, so that no noise was 
 made at the door. 
 
 Robespierre was extremely pale. He sat down, or rather 
 fell, on the first chair that came in his way. Mademoiselle 
 Cornelie wiped his forehead with her pocket handkerchief, 
 while Madame Duplay brought him a glass of fresh water. 
 
 I placed the glass to his lips, but his hand shook so, that 
 he made the glass chink against his teeth. 
 
 However he drank, looked around him, tried to smile, and 
 said, " I see that I am with friends." 
 
 " Say, rather, with admirers — with devoted admirers ! " 
 replied M. Duplay. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " replied the three women. 
 
 " Oh, if I had known it," said M. Duplay, " I would not 
 have allowed you to present yourself at the National As- 
 sembly." 
 
 " How so ? " said Robespierre.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 2d" 
 
 "Yes ; it was Rene," — M. Duplay pointed me out, — "it 
 
 was Rene, ag 1 young man, a staunch patriot, and a friend 
 
 of .INI. Drouet de St. Menehould, who, you know, arrested 
 the King; it was Rene" who came and announced the mas- 
 sacre on the Champ de Mars. We have but one bond to 
 the Jacobins, and, as I belong to the club " 
 
 " Ah, I now recognise you," said Robespierre. 
 
 " Then it was decided to go and fetch you.'' 
 
 "And 1 arrived just in time to see the gates shut. Nbl 
 ■wishing to return borne, at the bottom of the Marais, I was 
 going to get a little shelter at the house of Petion, who 
 lives in the Faubourg St. Honore. You came across me on 
 m} r road, and brought me here. I ask permission to remain 
 here all night. Surrounded by the spies of Lafayette, and 
 satellites of Bailly, the life of an honest man runs great 
 danger. I do not fear death, but my ambition is to die in 
 a way useful to my country." 
 
 I assisted at this scene without the slightest emotion. 
 It seemed to me a great honor to address this great man. 
 
 "Then," said he, "you are the friend of the Citizen 
 Drouet ? " 
 
 " He cared for me like a father," said I. " The little 
 I know I owe to him and to Rousseau." 
 
 "Ah, young man, you have Rousseau ? " 
 
 " I know him by heart." 
 
 " Good master — great master ! I, also, was his scholar, 
 and I hope to do him credit, one of these daj 7 s." 
 
 Duplay and bis wife listened with their mouths open, 
 nearly on their knees. 
 
 For some time, Duplay seemed as if he wished to ask a 
 question. His wife and he had exchanged two or three sig- 
 nificant glances. 
 
 " Would the Citizen Robespierre do us the honor of sup- 
 ping with us ? " 
 
 " I would not trouble you so much," said Robespierre. 
 " And then, again, my sister would be anxious." 
 
 " But you were going to sup with the Citizen Petion." 
 
 "Yes 5 but from Petion's I could have let my sister 
 know." 
 
 " Very well ; she can be informed from here as well." 
 
 " Have you any person certain ? " 
 
 " There is me, citizen," said I.
 
 254 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 " Would you have that kindness ? " 
 
 " I will be only too happy to render this service to 
 M. Duplay." 
 
 " Then have the goodness to give me pen, ink, and pa- 
 per." 
 
 The two young girls brought him the pen and paper. 
 
 He wrote, in a small hand, the following : — 
 
 "My Sister, — 
 
 " Don't be uneasy. I am in safety. 
 
 " Your brother, 
 
 " Maximilian." 
 
 He then sealed his letter, and wrote the address in a bold 
 hand, which reminded me greatly of his character, — 
 
 To Mdlle. Charlotte de Robespierre. 
 
 No. 7 Hue Saintange 
 
 At the Marais. 
 
 I took the letter, and went on my mission. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 INSTALLATION. 
 
 I have already said that nature had gifted me with 
 strong legs, and it was in days like the present that I ap- 
 preciated the gift. 
 
 As yet, I knew not sufficient of Paris to be enabled to 
 extricate myself from the labyrinth of streets which joined 
 the Rue St. Honore, and which stretched from the Rue 
 Aubry le Boucher to the Rue Boucherat, so that I spent 
 six or seven minutes in making the necessary inquiries, and 
 at last arrived. 
 
 I saw a sombre house in a sombre street. It was No. 7. 
 I mounted a dark-looking staircase, and arrived at the 
 second floor. 
 
 Three doors opened on the landing : one of them bore an 
 inscription : —
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 255 
 
 " Le Citoyen Maximilian de Robespierre, et Depute k 
 l'Assemblee Nationale." 
 
 I knocked. 
 
 I heard footsteps approaching the door, and then stop 
 cautiously. 
 
 " Is it you, Maximilian ?" asked a voice, in which could 
 be discerned traces of emotion. 
 
 "No, mademoiselle," I replied; "but I bring news of 
 him." 
 
 The door was quickly opened. 
 
 "Nothing has happened to him ? " asked a stately female 
 of about forty years. 
 
 " Here are a few words to reassure you," I replied. 
 
 I then handed her the Utter. 
 
 It was too dark for her to be enabled to read it in the 
 passage on the landing. 
 
 Mademoiselle tie Robespierre re-entered the apartmentj 
 inviting me to follow her. 
 
 I entered a sort of dining-room, opening on a study and 
 bedroom. 
 
 All was cold, cheerless, and almost unfurnished. If not 
 actually miserable, it was far below mediocrity. 
 
 Mademoiselle Robespierre read her brother's letter. 
 
 "When my brother thinks it needless to tell me where 
 he is, he has his reasons. You have seen him, sir ? " 
 
 " I have just left him, mademoiselle." 
 
 " Nothing has happened to him ? " 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 " Give him my congratulations, sh\ and thank for me 
 those people who have been hospitable to him. I would 
 that, after the long walk you have had, I could offer you 
 refreshment ; but my brother is so sober, and has such few 
 wants, that we have naught but water in the house." 
 
 At this moment, the tramp of footsteps was heard in the 
 corridor. A woman showed herself at the door of the 
 dining-room, and, dimly, a man could be perceived behind 
 her. 
 
 Despite the semi-darkness, I recognised the female, and 
 could not resist crying out, " Madame Roland ! " 
 
 Mademoiselle Robespierre repeated, in an accent of as- 
 tonishment, " Madame Roland ! " 
 
 " Yes, I, myself, mademoiselle, and my husband, who,
 
 256 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 hearing that Robespierre has been threatened by his 
 enemies, are come to offer him a shelter in our little house 
 at the corner of the Rue Guenegaud." 
 
 " I thank you in my brothers name, madame," replied 
 Mademoiselle Charlotte, with dignity. " He has already 
 found the asylum which } r ou so nobly offer him, and which 
 I know not myself. Here is the gentleman who brought 
 the news," continued she, pointing me out to Madame 
 Roland. 
 
 " That proves, mademoiselle," said, in his turn, the 
 Citizen Roland, " that other citizens are more favored than 
 we;" and remarking that he was unwilling to intrude 
 longer on her privacy, he bowed, and departed with his 
 wife. 
 
 As my errand was fulfilled, I followed them, and returned 
 in close conversation with them. Madame Roland was at 
 the Jacobin Club when the paid guard made an irruption 
 among them. 
 
 The terror was such among -the few members of the 
 society present, that one of them, anxious to escape, escala- 
 ded the gallery set aside for women. Madame Roland 
 made him ashamed of himself, and compelled him to 
 descend the way that he had come. 
 
 They asked me about Robespierre. I told them that I 
 was not authorized to inform them of his place of shelter, 
 but only could assure them that he was in a place of safety 
 among people who would die for him. 
 
 Madame Roland asked me to tell Robespierre that they 
 would bring him to trial — that is to say, accuse him that 
 evening at the Feuillants. In that certainty, she and her 
 husband were going to M. Buzal, to pray him to defend his 
 colleague. 
 
 We separated at the top of the Pont Neuf — M. Roland 
 and Madame to go down the Rue du Roule. I to follow 
 the Rue St. Honore. 
 
 It was quite night when I arrived at Duplay's. Feli- 
 cien had rejoined the family during my absence ; they were 
 at table, and he regarded askance the new arrival, who took 
 the place of honor between Madame Duplay and Made- 
 moiselle Cornelie. I told M. Robespierre all about the ful- 
 filment of my message, and reported to him his sister's 
 reply.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 257 
 
 I told him also that M. and Madame Roland had paid a 
 visit to his house. 
 
 Here he interrupted, and repeated after me, — "Citizen 
 Roland! Citizeness Roland ! " 
 
 He appeared so astonished at the visit, that he was some 
 time asking me the cause. 
 
 I took my place at the table. 
 
 " Monsieur," said Robespierre, after a moment's silence, 
 with his habitual politeness, " does it please you to serve 
 me to the end ? " 
 
 " Not only will it be an honor, and a pleasure," replied 
 I, " but a duty." 
 
 " Well," said he, " this time you have only a few steps 
 to go, and I shall not have to write a letter. Go to the 
 Rue St. Anne ; on the left hand side, in going up the 
 street, by the Boulevards, you will see the Hotel de Bern - ; 
 there }*ou will incpiire for a young man named St. Just. 
 He lives on the fourth floor, in a room overlooking the court. 
 If he be at home, tell him that I want him. My kind 
 host, I hope, will allow me to receive him here. At present, 
 this young man is of no account, but one day he will lead 
 us all. If he be not at home, well ; you leave your name 
 and the address of this house, where I have found such 
 good friends, and such noble protectors, and under the ad- 
 dress you write, ' Urgent for the sake of the public safety.' 
 Whenever he returns, he will come straight here, you may 
 be sure." 
 
 I wished to leave the table, but, placing his hand on my 
 shoulder, he said, " Finish your supper. I am not in so 
 great a hurry, and we have all the night before us." 
 
 Five minutes after, I was proceeding up the Rue St. 
 Anne. 
 
 The Hotel de Berry led out of the Rue Neuve des Petits- 
 champs and the Rue Neuve St. Augustin. 
 
 I asked for Citizen St. Just. 
 
 The concierge threw his eyes ever the keys hung on the 
 wall, and saw that of St. Just was not there. 
 
 "No. 19, fourth story, at the bottom of the corridor." 
 
 I mounted a dark staircase, and found the indicated cor- 
 ridor, and in that corridor, No. 19. 
 
 I knocked ; a powerful voice said, " Come in ! " 
 
 I turned the key in the lock, and saw a young map in 
 16
 
 258 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 his shirt-sleeves, working by an open window at the cor- 
 rection of proofs. 
 
 He was so absorbed in his work, that I approached and 
 touched him before he turned round. 
 
 The book, the proofs of which he was correcting, was, I 
 could see, entitled, " Mespasse temps ou le Voirvel organe." 
 
 The preoccupation of the young poet was caused by the 
 desire to find a rh3 r me. 
 
 The rhyme found, he turned to me. 
 
 " Pardon," said he ; " what want you ? " 
 
 " Citizen St. Just," replied I, " I come on behali of 
 Citizen Robespierre." 
 
 " You ? " 
 
 " Yes. He desires your presence immediately." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " If you are not prepared, I will leave you the address ; 
 but if you are, I will conduct you thither." 
 
 " Is he at the Rue Saintange?" 
 
 "No; he is close by here — in the Rue St. Honore." 
 
 "At the Jacobins? " 
 
 "There are no longer Jacobins. The club is dead." 
 
 " Who dared do it ? " 
 
 " The paid guard, who, an hour before, dared do another 
 thing." 
 
 " What was the other thing ? " 
 
 " Fire on the people at the Champ de Mars — slay, per- 
 chance, six or seven hundred persons ! " 
 
 St. Just shouted with rage. 
 
 " What ! 3 r ou a patriot — the friend of M. Robespierre, — 
 and not know better than that what takes place in Paris ? " 
 said I. 
 
 " I promised mj r publisher to have those proofs corrected 
 by Thursday ; and in order to accomplish this I told the 
 servant not to disturb me for anything. He brought my 
 breakfast in my chamber, and here is my dinner already 
 served. 1 have not had time to eat. I knew last night 
 from the Jacobins they must withdraw the petition ; and I 
 doubted not that, the petition withdrawn, there might be a 
 disturbance at the Champ de Mars. But let us not lose a 
 moment. Since Robespierre requires me, I am at his 
 orders." 
 
 The young man put on a white waistcoat, irreproachable
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 259 
 
 in its cleanliness ; a gray coat ; a sword and dagger he 
 hung at his side; then took his hat, and said but the 
 words, " Show the way ! " 
 
 I went in front, and he followed. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIL 
 
 A BREAK. 
 
 Here comes a hreak in my personal adventures during 
 the course of the great struggle for liberty throughout 
 France. I leading the way, and St. Just following, we 
 went down the Rue St. Anne, and had almost reached the 
 Rue Neuve des Augustins. when the powerful voice of St. 
 Just (one that was soon to be heard by the ^Nation, which 
 was to hush at his first word) addressed me. 
 
 "Citizen!" 
 
 " Citizen St. Just ? " 
 
 " Give me the address whither we are going ! " he said. 
 
 " Why, I am leading you ! Do you mistrust me ? " 
 
 His face flushed. 
 
 " I mistrust no man," he replied. 
 
 " Then why do you ask for the address ? " 
 
 "By way of precaution." 
 
 " "What need is there of precaution ? " 
 
 " Was not the Citizen Robespierre in danger not an hour 
 since, by being in the streets ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then the Citizen St. Just is equally in danger of a bul- 
 let from the barrel of a paid guard." 
 
 " I shall not desert you." 
 
 « But " 
 
 11 Yes, citizen." 
 
 '• What if you are killed ? " St. Just replied calmly. " I 
 should not know whither \ou came." 
 
 " True," I replied ; and he taking out his tablets, wrote 
 upon them, from my dictation, the address of the Citizen 
 Duplay. 
 
 In this act may be seen an example of that forethought
 
 260 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 and preparation .which gave St. Just a position to which 
 otherwise he never would have attained. 
 
 ''Good!" he said, having carefully taken down every 
 particular. " Go forward." 
 
 How necessary was his precaution, the next few minutes 
 showed. 
 
 We had only reached the end of the Rue St. Anne, when 
 a sudden rush of people along the Rue Neuve des Augus- 
 tins warned us that danger was at hand. 
 
 I turned and looked at St. Just. 
 
 Without regarding me, while apparently his sight was on 
 the alert on all sides, he repeated his direction, " Go for- 
 ward." 
 
 Suddenly, shots were heard, and, in a few moments, the 
 street surged with people, who poured out from the houses 
 and joined those who were speeding down the street, run- 
 ning by their sides and asking what the commotion meant. 
 So far, very few of the citizens were aware of the massacres 
 that had taken place upon the altar of the country. 
 
 Paris, in fact, was that day, for the first time, wholly 
 shadowed by the red flag — which was not to be furled again 
 until a reign of terror, never equalled in the history of the 
 world, was to be followed by the inauguration of Napoleon's 
 splendor. 
 
 We were proceeding as rapidly as possible past the cur- 
 rent of excited people, when, unquestionably, a deadly fire 
 opened from a small turning on the left. 
 
 Suddenly, I turned to the left, to see who had struck me ; 
 for I felt that a blow T had been aimed at my shoulder which 
 had nearly sent me off my feet. 
 
 As I turned, no man faced me, and I was wondering where 
 the blow came from ; when, as suddenly and unexpectedly 
 as I received the blow, I felt sick and weak. 
 
 It was a woman who screamed, " Blood ! " 
 
 She pointed to the ground. 
 
 As though looking through a mist, I followed the direction 
 of her pointing finger. 
 
 There was blood upon the ground. 
 
 All this had passed in a space not longer than six mo- 
 ments. 
 
 " Citizen" said the voice of St. Just, "you are wounded ; 
 the ball; however, was meant for me."
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 261 
 
 The last words sounded faintly in my ears, and I thought 
 that he, too, was hurt. 
 
 " And you, citizen — are you wounded ?" 
 
 "No," he replied, in a still fainter voice, as it appeared 
 to me ; but it was my senses forsaking me. 
 
 " Citizens," I heard him say, " if I fall, you will find an 
 address in my pocket, which is the home of this lad." 
 
 That was all I heard. Suddenly, the earth appeared to 
 slip from under me, and there was an end of my conscious- 
 ness. 
 
 When next I knew myself, I awoke to life with the feel- 
 ing of a beating red-hot hammer upon my left shoulder ; I 
 appeared to be struggling out of a state of fearful horror. 
 When this cleared off, and I knew nn-self to be once more 
 alive, once more Citizen Rene Besson, I was in a little room, 
 which I soon learnt was an apartment belonging to Citizen 
 Duplay; and, at my side, reading a book, was Citizeness 
 Cornelie Duplay, who had constituted herself my nurse. 
 
 And inasmuch as this history is not so much one of my- 
 self as of the Revolution, and of my part in it, I will only 
 briefly recount the events of the next few weeks — of the 
 next few months, in relation to myself. 
 
 It appeared that I had been wounded in the shoulder, 
 not dangerously ; but the loss of blood was very great, and 
 I was weak as a little child. I could not raise my hand 
 even to my head, while I had scarcely voice sufficient with 
 which to thank my kind nurse for the offices she performed 
 about me. 
 
 For weeks I lay upon that narrow bed, my constitution, 
 and the temperate life I had hitherto led, fighting well in, 
 my favor. I could tell through chapters how gradually the 
 memory of Sophie Gerbaut faded from my mind, and of how 
 Cornelie Duplay took her place in my heart. 
 
 But I said nothing of my love ; and when, weak, but 
 quite safe, I sat once more at Citizen Duplay's hospitable 
 table, I still kept my passion to myself. 
 
 Released, however, as I was, from my bed, I was still a 
 prisoner in the house, which I did not quit for a couple 
 more months. 
 
 Meanwhile the Revolution was progressing. 
 
 The sight of the altar of the countr}', after the flight of 
 the people from its steps, was terrible. It is said that the
 
 262 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 great mass of the dead lying bleeding upon that mighty 
 structure was composed of women and children. 
 
 As the National Guard marched back to the city, after 
 this massacre of many hundreds — a massacre which would 
 have been multiplied by ten, had not Lafayette thrown 
 himself before the cannon — they were greeted with low 
 cries of " Murder ! " " Murder ! " " Vengeance ! " 
 
 That day utterly parted the people from the thought of 
 royalty. Paris was now read}' to spill blood, for massacre 
 would now take the name of vengeance. In many a street 
 in the common parts of Paris were to be found the surviv- 
 ing relatives of those who had been slain. These were 
 naturally prompted by a spirit of revenge — by a determin- 
 ation to pay blood with blood. 
 
 Nothing could wash out this hate — no words uttered by 
 the weak and vacillating King could now stem the torrent 
 of hate. Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette were already 
 condemned to death in the hearts of the people. Nothing 
 could save them. 
 
 The people were now ripe for rage, and therefore the 
 terrible Danton gained power. The total reverse of Robes- 
 pierre, they were to rise to power together. Robespierre 
 was feeble, small, thin, and excessively temperate. Habit- 
 ually, he ate little, drank water, and used perfumes when 
 he was not surrounded by flowers ; for he was as passionate 
 an admirer of flowers as Mirabeau himself. Danton, on 
 the other hand, was a huge monster — athletic, rude, coarse. 
 He pleased the worst rabble of the city, because he resem- 
 bled them. His eloquence was as thunder, and his very 
 phrases were short, clear, and plain, like the words of a 
 general accustomed to command. His very gestures intox- 
 icated the people, who, however, more than by anything, 
 were attracted by his wit, which, coarse, brutal, and often 
 unjust, was never obscure, and always to the point. Men 
 who went to hear his wit, remained to be converted to his 
 ways of thinking. 
 
 His one quality was ambition — his one passion, excite- 
 ment. He was quite devoid of honor, principles, or mor- 
 alitj' — he was already drunk with the Revolution; but it 
 was a drunkenness which produced madness — not sleep. 
 Moreover, he had the peculiar power of controlling himself 
 even in his most excited moments — times when he would
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 263 
 
 launch a bitter joke in the midst of his denunciations — a 
 joke which should compel his hearers to yell with laughter, 
 while he himself remained perfectly impassive. He 
 laughed contemptuously at all honesty. He despised a 
 man who could pity. In a word, he was a wild beast gifted 
 with speech, but who could no more think beyond himself 
 and his wants or desires, than can the beasts that perish. 
 
 The first great act of the people after the massacre upon 
 the altar of the country, was the expression of a desire to 
 honor the remains of Voltaire — the man whose writings, 
 together with those of Rousseau, had actually sown the 
 seed of revolution against that, royalty which in Gaul and 
 France had unceasingly mastered the people through two 
 weary thousand years, before the death of Voltaire, in 1778 
 — thirteen years before the events I am now recording. 
 The power of the Court and the Church still maintained 
 such sway over the minds and hearts of the people, that it 
 was impossible to hope to bury the great man without 
 creating a popular outrage. His nephew, therefore, secretly 
 removed the body from Paris, where Voltaire died, and 
 bore it far awa}' to the Abbey of Sellieres, in Champagne, 
 where it found a resting-place. 
 
 Now it was the National Assembly ordered the removal 
 of Voltaire's remains to the Pantheon, the cathedral of 
 philosophy, where lie buried many great men — that build- 
 ing upon the face of which has been carved " France, in 
 gratitude to great men." 
 
 "The people owe their freedom to Voltaire!" cried 
 Regnault de St. Jean d'Angely ; "for by enlightening 
 them he gave them power. Nations are enthralled by 
 ignorance alone; and when the torch of reason displays to 
 them the ignominy of bearing these chains, they blush to 
 wear them, and they snap them asunder! " 
 
 Like a conqueror, seated on his trophies, they placed 
 Voltaire's coffin in the midst of the spot upon which the 
 horrible Bastille had stood, and upon a great heap of stones 
 which had formed part of that stronghold ; and thus Vol- 
 taire, dead, triumphed over those stones which had gained 
 a victory over him in life, for Voltaire had been a prisoner 
 in the Bastille. 
 
 On one of the blocks which formed this second altar of 
 the country they carved this inscription :
 
 264 love and liberty. 
 
 "Receive on this spot, where despotism once fet- 
 tered THEE, THE HONORS DEGREED TO THEE BY THY 
 COUNTRY." 
 
 All Paris poured out to walk in the triumphal procession 
 which accompanied the quiet ashes to their last resting-place. 
 The car upon which the coffin lay was harnessed hy twelve 
 horses, four ahreast, their manes plaited with golden tassels 
 and beautiful flowers, the reins being held by men dressed 
 in ancient Greek costume. On the car was a sort of altar 
 upon which lay a waxen statue of the philosopher crowned 
 with laurel. This was placed over the remains. 
 
 The money spent upon this pageant was immense ; 
 whence it came, no one has ever learnt. It w 7 as almost 
 miraculous. Meanwhile, the people were living upon a 
 couple of ounces of bread apiece, and a few miserable vege- 
 tables. That passion and vengeance could have been kept 
 alive upon such reducing diet, is the truest evidence of the 
 justice of the national cause. 
 
 The military formed a portion of the procession, while 
 cannon boomed incessantly during the march. Finally — 
 and it is the most significant fact of this remarkable pageant 
 — a printing-jjress was made to take part in the procession. 
 At this press, agile printers were taking off impressions of 
 sentences in honor of Voltaire, the printed papers being 
 cast to the seething multitude fresh printed as they were. 
 
 Here and there the red cap — the cap of liberty — might 
 be seen, surmounting the ominous pike. 
 
 Every actor and actress in Paris followed, dressed in the 
 costumes of the characters of Voltaire's plays. Members of 
 all the learned bodies followed; a gigantic pyramid was car- 
 ried along, bearing the titles of all his works ; and, finally, 
 the statue of the demigod himself — a statue of gold — was 
 borne upon the shoulders of men dressed in Grecian cos- 
 tume, this being followed by a casket of gold, containing a 
 copy of each of his works. 
 
 Troops of singing-girls dressed in white met the quiet 
 cause of all this demonstration, and showered white flowers 
 upon the catafalque ; hymns to his genius were sung, the 
 air was sick with perfume, and the city trembled with the 
 roar of adoration. 
 
 Night fell before the procession reached the temple dedi-
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 265 
 
 cated to the remains of groat men, an<l here Voltaire was 
 enthroned, for he was King of France in that hour; and 
 the weak, vacillating, and kindly Louis XVI, away there 
 in the Tuileri.es, was crownless, awaiting to pay in his per- 
 son — he the least odious of his race — for the unceasing 
 crimes and cruelties of his forefathers. 
 
 CHAPTER XL VIII. 
 
 THE THREAT IS LOUDER. 
 
 Throughout August, affairs were tending more and 
 more to dangerous threats. The National Assembly were 
 ostensibly framing a new constitution ; but the delegates 
 proceeded very slowly, except in the matter of contradiction, 
 at which they were very brisk. 
 
 The King's brothers became still further estranged from 
 him ; while the efforts made beyond the frontier, tending to 
 liberate the royal family from the state of imprisonment in 
 which they lived, only tended to hasten the growing belief 
 of the people that by the death of the King, alone could 
 the nation hop*e to destroy the chances and the plans of 
 those Royalists who had escaped from France, and were 
 blindly endeavoring to serve their own interests by inducing 
 foreign Courts to declare war against France, and march 
 upon Paris. 
 
 Throughout this period the King gave little expression of 
 opinion, worked and read incessantly, and bore the threat- 
 ening aspect of affairs about him and his family with great 
 patience. He was an estimable man, honest to a degree, 
 but stupid, hopelessly prejudiced, and apparently without 
 any capability of experiencing tenderness or sorrow. 
 
 It was now that Roland, the husband of the celebrated 
 Madame Roland, rose to eminence. Nothing in himself, he 
 became notorious through his wife — one of the most beau- 
 tiful, accomplished, and brilliant, as one of the most unfor- 
 tunate, the world has yet seen. Her husband was much 
 older than herself — cold, deadly, impassive ; but, on the other 
 hand, his steady principles were never for one moment 
 shaken.
 
 266 loy;, AM) LIBERTY. 
 
 She was a republican, heart and soul; and when the peo- 
 ple, towards the clo.se of the year 1791, began to believe 
 that the differences between the King and the nation would 
 be amicably settled, she never swerved one moment in main- 
 taining that a republic, and only a republic, could save 
 France from invasion. 
 
 General Dumouriez was also rising to power. He was 
 rather a courtier than a soldier, although he was destined 
 to win victories : especially amongst women, he was very 
 successful. He attempted to obtain favor from Madame 
 Roland herself; but that single-hearted lady, true to her 
 ice-cold husband, put down the General's pretensions with 
 calm contempt. He, however, gained much attention from 
 Marie Antoinette, as the man who, amongst those who had 
 acquired the confidence of the people, was the most aristo- 
 cratic, and who had, therefore, the most sympathy with the 
 falling royal cause. The Queen was right. After gaining 
 several battles for France against the Austrians, he turned 
 his army upon Paris, intending to intimidate the Republi- 
 cans. The army revolted, and Dumouriez himself had to 
 take refuge in the camp of those very Austrians w'hom but 
 a short time previously he had conquered. They would 
 have nothing to do with him; and, finally, he fled to Eng- 
 land, always open to the refugee, and there, he died in ob- 
 scurity. 
 
 This general, therefore, helped to destroy the royal fam- 
 ily. At his first interview with the King, he said, " Sire, 
 I devote m3'self wholly to your service. But a minister of 
 to-day is no longer the minister of yesterday. Without 
 ceasing to be your Majesty's devoted servant, I am the 
 slave of the nation." 
 
 The Queen sent for him privately when he had become 
 the idol of the people. 
 
 " Sir," said she, " you are all-powerful at this moment ; 
 but it is through popular favor, and that soon destroys its 
 idols. I tell 3 t ou 1 oppose the changes which are being 
 made in the constitution, so beware !" 
 
 " I am confounded," the General replied ; " but I am 
 more the servant of my country than of your Majesty. 
 Think of your safety, of the King's, of that of 3'our child- 
 ren ! You are surrounded by enemies. If, in the King's 
 interests, you oppose the new constitution made by the As-
 
 LOVE AND LI15ERTY. 267 
 
 sembly, j r ou will endanger the royal family, and in no way 
 prevent the course of events." 
 
 "Sir," the Queen frantically replied, "this state of 
 things cannot last for ever. Beware for yourself.'* 
 
 "Madame," said Dumouriezj who had accepted the post 
 of Premier of the Ministry, and who, at this time, appeal's 
 to have very faithfully served the nation — his great fault 
 was his fickleness, — "madame, when I became Prime Min- 
 ister, I knew that my responsibility was not my greatest 
 danger." 
 
 The Queen shrank hack. a Do you think me capable of 
 having you assassinated ? " 
 
 Tears were upon the Queen's face. 
 
 " Far be such a fearful thought from me, your Majesty. 
 Your soul is great and noble, and the bravery you have 
 shown on many occasions has for ever made me 3-our Majes- 
 ty's most devoted slave." 
 
 The Queen's anger was appeased in a moment, and she 
 placed her right hand upon the General's arm in token of 
 reconciliation. 
 
 Thus it was that this unhappy woman, who had begun 
 life so extravagantly, while the masses were starving, irri- 
 tated the people, and especially all those who had dealings 
 with her, b}- the apparent childishness and weakness of her 
 general character. It was felt that no reliance could be 
 placed upon her. Born of the great feudal Austrian family 
 about whom etiquette was so plastered, that only nobles 
 could sit down in the presence of the nyal family, and 
 then upon a very low stool, she was brought to France at a 
 very early age, to a Court almost as ridiculous as the one 
 she had left. But while the Austrians had been excited to 
 no feelings of hate against their Emperor, Voltaire, Rous- 
 seau, Diderot, had taught the French to look upon royalty 
 as made up of merciless, greedy puppets ; and, unfortu- 
 nately, Marie Antoinette — a pure and noble-hearted woman 
 in herself — had the appearance of totally agreeing with 
 this description. 
 
 AVhile the people were starving, her passion for jewels 
 became absorbing ; while mothers were begging meals for 
 their little ones, she was taking parts in little comedies at 
 Versailles. 
 
 Her memory can scarcely be blamed. She had never
 
 268 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 seen the people ; and, as a proof that she knew nothing 
 about them and their wants, we hear about her the cele- 
 brated anecdote, which helped to send her to the scaffold. 
 Being told the people wanted bread, she replied, " If there 
 is no bread, why do they not eat cake ? " 
 
 The people never forgave that — she washed those words 
 only partly out with her blood. Did she really mean what 
 she said, or were the words intended for a joke ? Did she 
 really think that if there was no bread there must be 
 cake ; or did she utter that fatal sentence as a witticism ? 
 I venture to think that she was ignorant of the very mean- 
 ing of starvation ; for courtiers treat kings and queens like 
 children. A misfortune this, when the people expect them 
 to be men and women — the condition of things when the 
 Revolution broke out. 
 
 Louis XVI was incapable of managing anything but a 
 lock ; his wife thought she could govern for him, and she 
 made a sorry mistake. 
 
 The King's grandfather, Louis XV, the preceding King, 
 had said, "After me, the deluge." The deluge was upon 
 the royal family, sweeping around them, and was to over- 
 whelm the family." 
 
 The popular feeling was far stronger against the Queen 
 than the King. 
 
 " See," she said, one day, before Dumouriez and the 
 King, and pointing through a window near her ; " a prison- 
 er in this palace, I dare not venture to present myself at a 
 window that overlooks the garden. But yesterday I wished 
 to breathe the air, and went to the window. An artillery- 
 man used the language of a guard-room, and hurled his 
 words at me; held up his sword, and said he should like to 
 see my head on it. I have seen them murdering a priest, 
 and meanwhile, not ten yards away, children and their 
 nurses are playing at ball. What a country, and what 
 people ! " 
 
 That the Queen incessantly conspired to induce a foreign 
 army to march into France, is very certain. 
 
 The King soon mistrusted Dumouriez, who at once offer- 
 ered to resign his position of Minister. The King at once 
 accepted, and another friend was lost by royalty. 
 
 On taking his leave, Dumouriez foretold what was to 
 happen.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 269 
 
 "Sire," said lie, "you think you are alwut to save reli- 
 gion. You are destroying it. The priesthood will be 
 killed; your crown will be taken from you; perhaps even 
 the Queen and the royal children " 
 
 Dumouriez could not finish the sentence. 
 
 "I await — I expect death!" said the King, much 
 moved.; "and I pardon my enemies/' 
 
 He turned away, with quivering lips. 
 
 Dumouriez never saw Louis XVJ again. 
 
 He fled from Paris, and especially from La Belle Liegoise, 
 who, in her blood-colored dress, was now rising to utter 
 power. 
 
 " Build the new parliament," she- cried, "on the site of 
 the Bastille ; and let every woman give her jewels, that 
 the gold ma}* be coined to pay for the work." 
 
 And taking the golden earrings from her ears, the rings 
 from her fingers, she cast them before her hearers. 
 
 Her power was so great, that during even* sudden out- 
 break her '■ nod" condemned any man brought before her, 
 to death ; her " Let him go," set him at liberty. 
 
 She was mad for years before she was placed in the asy- 
 lum where she ended her days, twenty years after the death 
 of the King and Queen. Not a Frenchwoman, but born 
 at Liege, she had been brought up respectably ; she was 
 even accomplished ; but at seventeen she had fallen a 
 victim to the snares of a young French nobleman. 
 
 Thus fallen, she threw herself into all shapes of de- 
 bauchery ; and when the Revolution broke out, she came 
 to France, to hunt down and destroy the man who had 
 destroyed her. 
 
 This she did in the raging time to come, of which I have 
 to tell, and she showed him no mercy. 
 
 Neither found she any mercy for herself. The furies of 
 the Revolution — the tricoteuses — seized her, stripped her to 
 the skin, and whipped her in public, as an obscene prosti- 
 tute. This act brought into active force the latent mad- 
 ness from which she had been suffering for some time. She 
 was removed to a madhouse, and there she dragged through 
 twenty years of life. In fierce memory of the indignity 
 which had been put upon her, she would never put on any 
 clothing; and so she lived, clutching the bars of her den, 
 screaming, alternately, " Blood ! " and " Liberty ! "
 
 270 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 It took twenty years to enfeeble her constitution, and to 
 wear her life away into the peacefulness of death. 
 
 She was the greatest enemy the Queen had. She de- 
 clared Marie Antoinette as frail as herself; for this demon 
 in woman's shape insanely gloried in her condition. And 
 when she gloried in this statement against the " Austrian " 
 — the most opprobrious name the people could find to cast 
 at the Queen — her hearers applauded loudly. 
 
 So the months drifted on, the events of every day dark- 
 ening the fortunes of the royal family. 
 
 And now came the time when the palace was besieged. 
 The King, looking from his window, saw the meeting of a 
 huge crowd without any alarm : lie was, by this time, 
 accustomed to sudden crowds. 
 
 Again a soldier had led the way for the mob. An artil- 
 lery officer, instead of obeying orders, and retiring his guns 
 to defend the palace, pointed to its windows, and cried, 
 " The enemy is there ! " 
 
 Two minutes after, the people had got possession of the 
 Tuileries. 
 
 The king — who, whatever his faults, was no coward — 
 rushed forward towards the massive folding-doors, which 
 the populace finding bolted, were breaking open. 
 
 As he approached, the panels fell at his feet. He order- 
 ed a couple of valets to open these folding-doors. 
 
 "What have I to fear," he said, " from my people ?" 
 
 A ragged man rushed forward, and thrust a stick, point- 
 ed with iron, at the King. A grenadier of the guard 
 struck it down with his bayonet. And now the man fell, 
 whether in a fit or not will always remain a question. Cer- 
 tainly, as he rushed forward, he was foaming at the mouth. 
 All that is known farther of him is this — that the mass 
 pressing forward, he was trampled to death. 
 
 For a moment, the power of majesty was once more 
 asserted. 
 
 He had left the Queen, the royal children, and his noble 
 sister, Madame Elizabeth, in an inner room, and had 
 ordered the door to be closed after him. This had been 
 done. 
 
 The king now moved to another room, larger, pretending 
 that there he could speak to a greater number of citizens. 
 Suddenly, hearing a scuffle, the King turned, to find the
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 271 
 
 mob surrounding Madame Elizabeth, wlio was endeavoring 
 to reach the King's side. 
 
 " It is the Queen ! " screamed several fierce voices. And 
 they were the voices of women. 
 
 In a moment, they turned upon her. 
 
 The abhorred Queen was before them, as they thought. 
 In another moment she would have been killed. 
 
 " It is Madame Elizabeth ! '' cried the soldiers. 
 
 The mob fell back with reverence. Even at that point 
 they could respect Elizabeth, the purity and simplicity of 
 whose life formed the one favorable point in the united 
 lives of the royal family, and one to which the whole mass 
 of the people gave implicit credence. 
 
 But she was to die with her family. 
 
 " Ah ! what have you done ? " she cried. " Had they 
 been allowed to take me for the Queen, and have killed me, 
 I had perhaps saved the Queen's life !" 
 
 By this time, about twenty of the King's friends stood 
 about him, their swords drawn. 
 
 "Put up 3'our swords," said the King; "this multi- 
 tude 's more excited than guilty." 
 
 " Where is the Austrian ? " now resounded upon all 
 sides. 
 
 The question which excited the multitude was against 
 the priesthood, whose members, known to favor royalty, 
 were abhorred by the people. The king had refused to sign 
 an act by virtue of which the priesthood would have been 
 annihilated. 
 
 A butcher, named Legendre, cried to the King, " The 
 people are weary of being your plaything and your vic- 
 tim ! " 
 
 Meanwhile, those who could not gain an entrance to the 
 besieged palace called loudly to those within, " Are they 
 dead? Show us, then, their heads!" 
 
 " Let him put it on ! " cried the butcher, thrusting a 
 coarse red cap of liberty towards the King on the end of 
 a pike. 
 
 The King smiled, and put the symbol of liberty upon 
 his head. 
 
 " Long live the King ! " now cried some voices. 
 
 The people now called upon the King to restore Roland 
 — Madame Roland's husband — to power, from which he 
 had been 'bi-smissed.
 
 272 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 The King was inflexible. 
 
 " This is not the moment for deliberation," said the 
 King. 
 
 " Do not be afraid! " whispered a grenadier to Louis. 
 
 " My friend," said the King, " does my heart beat rap- 
 idly ? " 
 
 And he placed the man's left hand upon his breast. 
 
 The pulsation of the King's heart was perfectly equable. 
 
 " If you love the people, drink their health ! " cried a 
 man in rags, pushing forward a common bottle. 
 
 The King smiled and took the bottle, saying, " To the 
 nation ! " 
 
 And now the cries of "Long live the King!" were so 
 strong that they floated out upon the crowd waiting to see 
 the King's body cast amongst them ; and, instead, they 
 learnt that once more the King had — if only for a time — 
 reconciled himself to his people. 
 
 Meanwhile the Queen was undergoing her agony. 
 
 O11I3' the conviction that she was more immeasurable 
 hated than the King, prevented her from joining him before 
 the people. She feared her presence might exasperate the 
 people be3 T ond all control. 
 
 She remained in her bedroom, pressing her two children 
 to her heart. 
 
 Suddenly, a beating at the door, and the screams of many 
 fierce women, upon hearing the words, " The Austrian is 
 there ! " 
 
 But they had to call masculine help before they forced 
 the door. 
 
 They found the Queen unprotected, except by her chil- 
 dren, whose presence probably saved their mother from 
 assassination. 
 
 Only a few ladies were with her, one of whom was that 
 unhappy Princess de Larnballe, who would not remain in 
 England, who returned to France, and who was one of the 
 first to fall a victim to the Reign of Terror. 
 
 The Queen was found by the screaming crowd of women 
 standing as I have described, in a bay window, while be- 
 tween her and the mob, a long, heavy table had been placed 
 across the window. 
 
 By the Queen stood her daughter — near fourteen years 
 of age.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 273 
 
 The Dauphin — then seven years of age, arid extremely 
 handsome — was placed upon the table before her. 
 
 The men in the crowd were for the greater part silent; 
 the women were implacable : one of these thrust forward a 
 republican red cap, and told the Austrian to put it on Lou- 
 is's ln-ad. This .die did. 
 
 The child took it for a plaything, and smiled. 
 
 And now a pretty, rosy, youthful girl came forward, and 
 using the coarsest possible language, upbraided the Queen 
 savagely. 
 
 " Pray what harm have I done you ? " 
 
 " Me '.'- — perhaps not. But what harm have you not done 
 the nation Y " 
 
 "Poor child!" the Queen replied. "You but repeat 
 what you have been told. Why should I make the people 
 miserable ? Though not born a Frenchwoman, my children 
 are French, and 1 shall never see my native land again. 
 1 was happy when you loved me ! " 
 
 The girl's head fell. 
 
 " I diil not know you," she said ; " and I see now that 
 you are good ! " 
 
 And now Santerre — good name for a leader of the peo- 
 ple— approached, 
 
 "Take the cap off the child!" he cried; "don't you see 
 that he is stifling?" 
 
 The crowd was tremendous. 
 
 And approaching the Queen he whispered, "You have 
 some awkward friends here. I know of some who would 
 serve you better." 
 
 This was the first intimation the Queen really had that 
 there was a party amongst the people actually willing to 
 raise the royal family they had so utterly degraded. 
 
 Five hours that torture lasted before the palace was clear- 
 ed. The King and Queen had also been forced to put the 
 national cockades upon their heads. When once more the 
 royal house was free, the unhappy people could scarcely find 
 strength with which to embrace. 
 
 Several of the members of the Kational Assembly wept. 
 
 To one, Merlin, the Queen said, " You weep, sir." 
 
 " Yes, madame," he replied, gravely ; " I weep over the 
 misfortunes of the woman, the wife, and the mother ; but, 
 beyond this, my heart is stone. I hate kings and queens." 
 17
 
 274 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 These words were the key-stone to French feeling. Lou- 
 is XVI and his wife were driven to the block, not as a man 
 and a wife, as father and mother — but as King and Queen. 
 
 « »»■»—>- 
 
 CHAPTER XLLX. 
 
 THE KING QUITS THE TUILERIES.' 
 
 The National Assembly had ordered the provinces to 
 send 20,000 troops to Paris. With them they brought the 
 revolutionary hymn, the " Marseillaise." It was written 
 and composed by a young artillery-officer, named De Lisle. 
 It was completed at the piano, after a night's bout. He 
 fell asleep over the instrument, and at length awakening, 
 gradually recalled the air and words of a song, the fierceness 
 of which sent more French men and women to the block 
 than did any other motive. 
 
 That song drove revolutionary France mad, and took 
 from the royal family all hope of mercy. 
 
 The royal family, however, were still at the Palace of the 
 Tuileries ; aud while they remained there, the semblance 
 of royalty was kept up — albeit, in fact, they were utterly 
 prisoners. 
 
 The Queen, early in August, still utterly relied upon 
 Lafayette, who did not disguise his desire to retain the 
 monarchy, under a protectorate — he himself to be the 
 Protector. 
 
 " Mistrust Lafayette," had said Mirabeau ; but the 
 Queen's faith was strong, and her confidence hastened 
 events. 
 
 However, one Gaudet, only twenty years of age, was 
 rising to power amongst the Girondists ; and he having in- 
 timated that he felt great interest in the royal family, 
 matters were so managed that he had an interview with 
 Marie Antoinette, who, poor lady, took him by the hand, 
 and led him to the little cot in which her child was sleep- 
 ing. 
 
 " Educate him to libert}', madame," said the orator. " It 
 is the one condition of his life."
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 275 
 
 He kissed the child. Nine months afterwards he was 
 one of those who sent the King and Queen to the scaffold. 
 
 The royal family were now prohibited from shutting a 
 door, and so much did the}' dread poison, that they i 
 pretended to eat of the dishes prepared and set before them, 
 and really subsisted upon cakes, and other food brought to 
 them in the pockets of their attendants, who purchased the 
 eatables at obscure shops. 
 
 The Queen made the King wear as a breastplate fifteen- 
 fold silk ; but while the poor man complied, he said, " They 
 will not assassinate me, but put me to death like a King, in 
 open daylight." 
 
 He never appears to have thought of the possible execu- 
 tion of the Queen herself. 
 
 " He is no coward," she said of the King ; " but he is 
 calm in the presence of danger. His courage is in his 
 heart, only it does not show itself — he is so timid." 
 
 The family now only showed themselves when going to 
 church on Sunday, and then they were assailed with cries 
 of " No King! " Louis said it was as though God himself 
 had turned against him. 
 
 One night, a chamber-valet, who slept at the Queen's 
 door, was awakened, to find an assassin, dagger in hand, 
 stealing into the Queen's room. 
 
 Murders now became quite common. One D'Epremesnil, 
 who had been a great favorite with the people, showed 
 signs of moderation. Suddenly turned upon by the mob, 
 he was cut down, dragged through the gutters, and was 
 about to be thrown into a common sewer, when he was 
 rescued b}' a squad of the National Guard. As he lay 
 dying, Petion, the Mayor of Paris, looked upon him, and 
 fainted. Recovering his senses, the victim said to the 
 Mayor, " And 1 — I, too, was once the idol of the people ! 
 May 3'ou meet with a better fate ! " 
 
 The sound of the soul-stirring "Marseillaise" had mad- 
 dened Paris. The hourly news of the march of the Prus- 
 sians upon France fatally intensified that hatred of all who 
 were favorable to royalty — a hatred which was now about 
 utterly to burst all bounds. 
 
 An almost complete insurrection was adjourned to 
 August 10. 
 
 It was said by the people that Marie Antoinette daily
 
 276 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 cursed the people ; that she had offered a pistol to the King, 
 and prayed him to destroy himself: that she had vowed, 
 sooner than leave the royal palace, she would be nailed to 
 its walls. 
 
 In truth, she was battling with her natural royalty — 
 defending the unemotional King, and endeavoring to take 
 his place without intruding on his prerogative. 
 
 Meanwhile, the principal movers in the drama were 
 being thinned by murder. Mandat, the commandant 
 general, suspected of treachery rather than of duty, was 
 shot down before his son's eyes, and his body was cast into 
 the Seine. 
 
 On the morning of that terrible 10th of August, Madame 
 Elizabeth, the King's sister, who had been watching 
 through the night, listening to the ringing of that bell 
 which all the Royalists knew was the tocsin of murder, — 
 this pure-hearted Elizabeth called to the Queen. 
 
 " Sister," she said, " come and see the sun rise." 
 
 And Marie Antoinette looked for the last time upon a 
 sunrise (it was typically blood-red) which she was to see 
 through the palace windows. 
 
 To Rcederer, the deputy, was due the first suggestion of 
 that act which was really the King's abdication — that of 
 abandoning the royal palace, and asking hospitality of the 
 Parliament. 
 
 "Place yourselves, madame," he said, " in the care of 
 the National Assembly. Your persons will then be as 
 sacred as the constitution." 
 
 The constitution itself was to be a thing of the past in 
 a few weeks. 
 
 At five in the morning, the Queen had her children 
 dressed and brought to her. The King himself, by his ap- 
 pearance, should have steeped the guard in confidence. He 
 should have appeared in uniform. On the contrary, he 
 appeared in a suit of violet silk — court mourning, in fact, 
 without boots or spurs, in white silk stockings and pumps; 
 while his hair presented an absurd spectacle, for it had not 
 been dressed since the previous day ; and while one side 
 was still rounded and curled, the other was flat and ragged. 
 He looked about smilingly, but with that vagueness in 
 which no reliance can be placed. He was simply a good, 
 etupid, amiable man. He kept apart, all his reign, making
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 277 
 
 locks; he forgot his people, and he was weak enough to 
 suppose his people would forget him. 
 
 As for the Queen she was never more royal. 
 
 " Take these ! " she said, seizing a couple of pistols and 
 forcing them into his hands; "and conquer or die with 
 your friends." 
 
 The King however, handed them to a gentleman by his 
 side, saying, "No; if 1 wore arms, the people might be 
 angry." 
 
 A royal progress was made in the court-yard of the 
 Tuileries, even in the palace-garden beyond. At first re- 
 ceived with faint applause, the cries of hate soon over- 
 whelmed the King, and it was with difficulty he gained the 
 palace alone. 
 
 The tocsin had now been calling to arms through many 
 hours. 
 
 Meanwhile, Dan ton, the man of blood, was maddening 
 the people. 
 
 " To arms ! " he cried. " Do you not hear the call ? " 
 
 The infuriated people were now upon the palace. 
 
 They attempted once more to burst the doors, while the 
 artillerymen refused to fire upon the insurgents. 
 
 And now the fatal, but inevitable, mistake was made. 
 
 " Sire," cried Eoederer to the King, " time presses. It 
 is no longer entreaty we use, and only one means is left us. 
 We ask your permission to use violence towards you ; a7id, 
 by force, to place you under the safety of the National 
 Assembly." 
 
 The King still did not wish to leave the palace. He 
 turned to the Queen. 
 
 " Let us go." 
 
 Never again did the royal couple step beneath the roof 
 of that palace. They left it for a barred prison — that 
 barred prison for the scaffold. 
 
 The King and the royal famiky were taken to the Assem- 
 bly, and put in the reporters' box, amidst the reporters 
 themselves. 
 
 There were few members present when the King entered 
 the house, but it soon filled up. The heat was intense, and 
 the King perspired frightfully. This box was supposed to 
 be not in the Assembly, because a grating was placed 
 before it. As the day went on, it was feared the people
 
 278 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 might break in from behind, and catch the King in this 
 dungeon. It was, therefore, ordered that the grating should 
 be removed ; and the workers being unskilful, the King's 
 knowledge in rnetal-work prevailing, he came forward, and 
 helped at its removal ; so that in the event of an attack by 
 the people, whose menaces could be heard, the members of 
 parliament might shelter the royal family by forming a 
 living rampart around them. 
 
 This agony lasted fourteen hours ; but it did not tell 
 upon the King's heavy nature. At his usual hour, he was 
 hungry, asked for food, and he ate a hearty meal as calmly 
 as though he had passed some hours at lock-making. The 
 Queen, who suffered dreadfully at the sight of this evidence 
 of callousness on the part of the King, ate nothing, but 
 drank a glass or two of iced water with much eagerness. 
 
 The people, learning that the King had left the palace, 
 turned upon this building to destroy it — not to sack it. 
 The Revolutionists were greed}' for blood — not wealth. 
 "Death to thieves!" was their implacable motto. The 
 Tuileries were chiefly defended by seven hundred Swiss, 
 two hundred badly-armed gentlemen, and one hundred 
 National Guard. At the end of the day, not one-tenth of 
 them remained alive. 
 
 The palace was forced. There stood a Swiss on guard, 
 many files of comrades behind him. He had orders not to 
 fire. The people hooked his belt with a pike, dragged him 
 forward, and disarmed him. Another took his place ; he, 
 also, was disarmed. Five times was this episode repeated. 
 
 A shot was fired — some say, by a Swiss ; others, by an 
 insurgent ; and this appears to have beeen the signal. 
 
 The people turned upon the five disarmed Swiss, and 
 beat them to death. One man of huge stature and strength 
 killed four. The Swiss were now ordered to fire. Many 
 aimed at the huge man, and he fell with many more. In 
 a moment, the hall was strewn with the dead and the 
 dying. From that moment, the Swiss were doomed ; 
 though, for a short time, they were victorious ; for the 
 people were driven back. 
 
 Meanwhile, the rattle of the musketry echoed through 
 the building in which the National Assembly were delibera- 
 ting; and its cause soon became known. 
 
 " Long live the nation ! " cried the parliamenterians,
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 279 
 
 glaring at the King, who, unhappy man, now helped on 
 the massacre of his Swiss guards by sending a written 
 order to their commander to cease tiring, whatever happened. 
 This was really their death-warrant ; for fidelity keeping 
 them near the King's person, fidelity would compel them 
 to obey his last command — for this order was the last Louis 
 XVI ever gave. 
 
 Suddenly, shots sounded close at hand. The members 
 thought it was the Swiss guard, about to fire upon and 
 massacre the National Assembly. In truth, it was the 
 National Guard firing upon that division of the Swiss 
 which had accompanied the King to the National Assem- 
 bly. 
 
 " Now," cried the President, " is the time to prove our- 
 selves worthy of the people, and of the position they have 
 given us, by dying at our posts." 
 
 It was a false alarm ; it was royalty dying. 
 
 The people now rallied, broke into the palace, and, mad- 
 dened by the sight of the dead citizens in the great hall, 
 charged the Swiss, who were serried on the grand staircase. 
 
 Upon those stairs they were driven, leaving comrades 
 upon every step. The incline afforded good shooting to 
 the people, who, when they had forced their way to the 
 top of the stairs, had slain every soldier who had faced 
 them. The Swiss guard died bravely to the very last man. 
 
 After that it was massacre, not fighting. Wherever a 
 Swiss was found on guard throughout the palace, he was 
 hacked to pieces. Many were thrown alive from the win- 
 dows to the people below. Some few of these solitary 
 Swiss sentinels showed fight ; many threw down their arms, 
 and either faced death unarmed, or uselessly asked for 
 mercy. 
 
 Seventeen were found kneeling in the palace chapel. In 
 vain did they show their fire-arms, which, clear and bright, 
 proved they had not fired upon the people. They were 
 foreigners; the news came hourly that all Europe was 
 about to pour upon France, and they were killed before the 
 very altar. 
 
 Ic is said the people had, to stimulate their bloodthirsti- 
 ness, dissolved gunpowder in the wine and brandy they 
 drank. 
 
 Not a Swiss escaped.
 
 280 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 The Queen's women remained trembling in the palace. 
 
 One man alone defended their door, and fell — generous 
 sentinel ! 
 
 Dan ton was the very king of the massacre; and publicly 
 he thanked the people for their day's work. 
 
 Meanwhile, calm, patient, implacable, Robespierre — he 
 who was to conquer Danton — waited quietly abiding his 
 time, but always feeling his way. 
 
 The Assembly soon learnt the true state of affairs ; and, 
 by their orders, a few Swiss were saved, by being hidden 
 in the passages and cellars of the House of Assembly. 
 
 And now, the Revolutionists, eager for blood, but not for 
 riches, brought before the National Assembly the spoils of 
 the Tuileries. Sacks upon sacks of gold, plate, precious 
 stones, costly ornaments, and even heaps of letters — even 
 the money found upon the dead Swiss was set out in a sep- 
 arate pile. 
 
 The Girondists now felt that the time was come to aban- 
 don the throne. Vergniaud drew up an act for the provis- 
 ional suspension of royalty. This was at once passed. 
 
 The King's fall was signed. A few hours before, he 
 abandoned his palace. Now, by this Act, the King's au- 
 thority was revoked ; payment of money to royalty was 
 stopped ; and the National Assembly declared to hold pos- 
 session of the persons of the royal family until happier 
 times arrived. 
 
 This was virtually dethroning the King, and taking him 
 prisoner. 
 And how did the King accept this news ? 
 
 He smiled, and said jocosely, " This is not too constitu- 
 tional ! " 
 
 He was the onty human being that smiled in that place 
 upon that fatal day — he whose heart should have felt the 
 heaviest weight of grief. 
 
 But the people around the building shouted for the King's 
 life. 
 
 The people, however, must not be looked upon harshly. 
 They had not stolen ; and though many hundreds had been 
 slain by them, they had lost three thousand six hundred 
 men. The Swiss did not die unavenged. 
 
 Then the people went back to their work, tired of blood- 
 shed, for a few days
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 281 
 
 And the royal family were taken to the prison of the 
 Temple, which three of them quitted only for the scaffold. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 THE MASSACRES OF SEPTEMBER. 
 
 The wretched Queen's head and eyelids drooped for a 
 moment as she heard the words which dethroned her hus- 
 band ; then, once again, her head was high and defiant. 
 Together with the misfortune of the Austrian Hapsburg, 
 she inherited their pride and courage. From that hour to 
 the moment of her death, her courage never failed her. She 
 appears to have equally forgiven and despised. 
 
 Events now followed with terrible rapidity. The Prus- 
 sians entered France and the town of Verdun fell into their 
 power. That humiliation brought about the massacres of 
 September. The town council purposed their capitulation. 
 Then Colonel Beaupaire, the commandant, opposed it ; and 
 refusing to sign the capitulation, he blew out his brains at 
 the council. His body was removed, the capitulation sign- 
 ed, the Prussians marched in, and the daughters of the 
 principal inhabitants, strewed flowers before the foreign 
 troops. 
 
 AH of those girls — to be excused, by reason of their 
 youth — were, during the Reign of Terror, sent to the guil- 
 lotine. 
 
 Beaupaire's body was carried away b} T his men, who 
 marched out of Verdun with all the honors of war, and to 
 it was accorded a state funeral, while the heart was placed 
 in the Pantheon. 
 
 Every day, Danton was rising into power. 
 
 Every day, Robespierre was following him, and marking 
 him down with the vigor of a sleuth hound. 
 
 It was he who organised the September massacres. On 
 the 28th of August, a grave-digger, who knew the plan of 
 certain catacombs, was awakened at six in the morning by 
 a Government agent, and told to prepare this place, within 
 ten days, for receiving a large number of bodies. He was 
 ordered to be silent, on pain of death.
 
 282 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 On this same day, organised hands of fierce-looking men, 
 springing no one knew whence, patrolled the streets. The 
 gates of Paris were closed, so that no one could escape, 
 though thousands had tied between the day of the King's 
 first fall and this one, the 28th of August. 
 
 Every house was visited. Five thousand persons, suspect- 
 ed of leaning towards royalty, were seized during the follow- 
 ing night. Every court-house, convent, prison, was over- 
 flowing with prisoners. 
 
 Robespierre still remained quiet and watchful — still lived 
 in hiding in the house of good Duplay, the joiner. 
 
 On that night, Robespierre went to the apartments of St. 
 Just, in the Rue St. Anne, and found him calmly going to 
 bed. 
 
 " Why not ? " asked St. Just. " Murder will be done to- 
 night, but I cannot prevent it. And again, those who will 
 die are our enemies. Good night." 
 
 He fell asleep. Awaking, hours after, he marked Robes- 
 pierre, pale, haggard. 
 
 " Have you returned ? " 
 
 " Returned ! " 
 
 l( What ! have you not slept ? " 
 
 " Slept ! " cried Robespierre ; " when the blood of thous- 
 ands is being shed by hundreds of assassins — when pure or 
 impure blood runs down the streets like water ! Oh, no," 
 he continued, with a sardonic smile ; " I have not slept — I 
 have watched, like remorse or crime ; I have had the weak- 
 ness not to close my eyes. But Danton — he has slept ! " 
 
 On Sunday (of all days in the week), it being the 2nd of 
 September, at three in the afternoon, the signal for the 
 massacre was given, by one of those strange accidents with 
 which we are all acquainted.' Five coaches, filled with pris- 
 oners, were passing. These prisoners happened, by chance, 
 to be all priests. 
 
 u See the friends of the Prussians ! " cried one in the 
 crowd. It was enough. The rage of knowing that the 
 Prussians had conquered Verdun made them mad in a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 From that hour until four days were passed, murder was 
 unceasing all over Paris. It was enough to look like a 
 Royalist, and death followed. 
 
 Half the priests were killed in the carriages, before 
 they reached the prison gates.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 283 
 
 Inside those gates, as inside the gates of all the other 
 ordinary or improvised prisons, sat the revolutionary tri- 
 bunes, twelve fierce men, who decided rapidly the fate of the 
 prisoner, while they drank and smoked. 
 
 They were chiefly in shirt-sleeves. However, here and 
 there might be seen white-handed men, who evidently were 
 the master spirits of those terrible juries, which, in their 
 wa} r , were merciful, for they did not condemn a prisoner to 
 death. If acquitted, the decree was " Set this gentleman 
 at liberty ; " if guilty, "To tin; Force," — a decree which 
 was a pun, for there was a prison called La Force, while the 
 word " force " may be said to he " death ; " therefore, " h la 
 force " conveyed to the prisoner the idea that he was to be 
 conveyed to the prison of La Force. In this belief, when 
 approaching the prison gate, he had no idea death was at 
 hand. The gate opened, and he was delivered to the force 
 of an organised band, who quickly despatched him. Each 
 band of executioners was controlled by a hidden chief. 
 They moved from prison to prison as the revolutionary juries 
 sat, and they did their work with the steadiness of actual 
 business. 
 
 The prison massacres began with the Swiss, at the 
 Abbaye. They knew what was coming. They were one 
 hundred and fifty. A young officer led the way. He was 
 very young and beautiful, and the murderers fell back. 
 He folded his arms. The bayonets came nearer. He 
 rushed forward, grasped five or six of the bayonets in his 
 arms, and fell upon their points. 
 
 They all died — their commander, one Major Bedding 
 being the last. He said he would see his men out. There 
 were not enough wagons to carry the bodies to the cata- 
 combs, so they were heaped up until the return of the tum- 
 brils. 
 
 Benches were set for women to see these massacres, and 
 they and their children danced round the dead bodies. 
 
 At the " Abbey " prison the prisoners were shot down 
 in the chapel, and while two priests, eighty and white- 
 haired, were preparing them for death. 
 
 Some anticipated execution by suicide. 
 
 One Sombreuil, a prisoner, was condemned to death, and 
 he was loosed to the mob. Baj'onets were at his breast, 
 when his daughter, who was waiting in the midst of the 
 murderers, flung herself before him and asked for his life.
 
 284 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 The crowd accorded it upon one condition — that she 
 should drink a glass of blood, then flowing from one of the 
 dying. 
 
 This she did, and saved him. 
 
 Another father and daughter, the Cazottes, left the 
 prison together — he condemned, she free. But the daugh- 
 ter cried that she would die with him. So they spared both 
 lives. So far, the national madness had not destroyed pity 
 for women. 
 
 The King's first gentleman, one Thierri, being pierced 
 by a pike, cried, " God save the King !" and died, waving 
 his hat as he was transfixed to the woodwork to which he 
 clung. 
 
 A deputy of the National Assembly came to one of the 
 prisons, to claim two prisoners; whom obtaining, as he 
 passed from the prison, the murderers, eating as they sat 
 on the bodies of their victims, asked him, " Are you tired 
 of life ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then see the heart of an aristocrat ! " 
 
 The speaker tore the heart from the gaping breast of the 
 dead man upon which he was coolly seated. 
 
 Yet these murderers refused all recompense. The first 
 bands were men of comparative education ; but, not being 
 bred butchers, they soon sickened at the task, and left it to 
 be continued by men of more iron nerves than theirs. 
 
 Blood had by this time, drenched nine prisons. From 
 one alone, the tumbrils had removed one hundred and 
 ninet}' bodies. 
 
 Sixty assassins; this was the number to be seen at each 
 prison door, waiting for the blood of the aristocrats. 
 
 Meanwhile, one hundred and sixty heads fell upon the 
 scaffold, some being those of women. The poor Princess 
 de Lamballe, the Queen's devoted friend, was not one. of 
 those saved. She had followed the royal family to the 
 Temple prison, but she was torn from them after a few 
 days. She was a very 3 7 oung widow, passionately loved by 
 her father-in-law, who lived far away in the country. He 
 forwarded 12,000Z. to save her life, if possible. It was her 
 want of courage, or, perhaps, ability to dissemble, which 
 cost this poor lady her life. On September 3rd, she ap- 
 peared before the tribunal. She had passed two days con-
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 285 
 
 ti Dually fainting; and when ordered, with feigned brutality, 
 by two National Guards to follow them, she asked permis- 
 sion to die where she was. One of them leant down, and 
 whispered, " It is to save you." 
 
 Upon coming lief ire the tribunal, the sight of the blood 
 all about deprived her of consciousness. It was long before 
 she comprehend* d what was required of her. 
 
 •• Swear the love of liberty and equality, and hatred of 
 kings! " 
 
 " I swear the first," she said, "but not the second. It 
 is not in my heart." 
 
 One of the judges whispered to her — " Swear every- 
 thing, or yon are lost." 
 
 She remained silent. 
 
 " Well — when you go out, cry ' Long live the nation ! ' ' 
 
 She nodded; but upon being led out by two men. one of 
 them a leader in the massacres — one Grand Nicholas, — 
 upon sight of the dead bodies, she cried, " Good God ! how 
 horrible ! " 
 
 Nicholas put his hand over her mouth. They had trav- 
 ersed half the street in safety, when a drunken barber, try- 
 ing to strike off her cap with his knife, wouiided her in the 
 forehead. The men about believed her condemned, and in 
 a few moments she was dead, her head cut off, and set 
 amongst the glasses on the counter of a wine-shop, where 
 they drank to her death. The barber then set the head 
 upon a pole, and carried it in procession to the Temple. 
 There the crowd forced an entrance, and insisted upon 
 shewing the head to the ex-Queen. 
 
 The King was called upon to show himself to the people ; 
 ami though an unknown friend endeavored to prevent Louis 
 from seeing the head, the kind intention was foiled, and 
 the King recognised the features. Marie Antoinette was 
 now demanded, and she presented herself to the people; 
 but the Kin<_j. active for once, saved his wife from the sight 
 of poor Lamballe's head. She only learnt what had hap- 
 pened in the evening. 
 
 Three days' murders ! At two other prisons, five hun- 
 dred and seventy-five victims awaited burial. At the end 
 of the three days, the murder of women was common. A 
 beautiful girl, one of the people, having wounded her lover 
 from jealousy, and he being a national soldier, she was
 
 280 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 burnt alive, under circumstances of peculiar atrocity, sug- 
 gested by the wretched woman. " La Belle Heleise," whose 
 advancing madness was her excuse. Her own time, when 
 she was to be lashed by her own sex, was fast approaching. 
 
 A negro — a huge giant — was especially famous during 
 these three days. He, it is said, killed over two hundred. 
 He gave himself no rest ; stopped only to drink wine, 
 and, naked to the waist, was a fearful sight, seen, as he 
 habitually was, with the fair head of a slain woman swing- 
 ing in his left hand. At last, he himself was slain, but 
 not for two years, during which, where blood flowed, he was 
 ever to be seen. At the end, he said he had revenged him- 
 self, not upon the enemies of France, but upon the enemies 
 of his race — the whites. 
 
 It is said ten thousand fell in those three days and 
 nights. 
 
 The murderers began at last to turn upon one another. 
 Especially was this the case with the bands who adopted 
 death b} r burning. 
 
 A weaver — one Laurent — drew up a list of those it was 
 intended to kill, and placed upon it the name of a -trades- 
 man, who refused to give him credit. The tradesman, 
 having a friend in a member of the National Assembly, 
 threw himself upon his protection. The name was erased, 
 and Laurent's written above it ; and when Laurent pointed 
 to the tradesman at the place of execution, he was himself 
 seized, and cast into the flames. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Prussians on the frontier were preparing 
 to advance. 
 
 This threat of invasion gave the public sentiment an im- 
 petus towards panic, which there was no resisting. 
 
 The National Assembly, which was composed, for the 
 greater part, of men of ripe age, was practially abolished 
 by the constitution of a " Convocation," in which the ma- 
 jority of the men of power were under thirty, while 
 amongst them, several were scarcely more than of age. 
 
 The King, once in prison, it has been seen how the fact 
 was followed by the fearful massacres of September 2nd, 
 3rd, and 4th. Scarcely were they complete, than the men 
 in power began to protest against their enormity, and it 
 was endeavored to be shown, with some success, that these 
 wholesale murders were perpetrated b} 7 a fierce organization
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 287 
 
 of but comparatively few men, who cast tins great shame 
 upon France. 
 
 Certainly, the same men were at the doors of the various 
 prisons, while the rongh order established amongst them, 
 far more clearly pointed to the operation of a secret society, 
 than to the sudden unorganized rageof a maddened people. 
 
 The Convention was really divided into Girondists and 
 Jacobins — the former led by Roland and Vergniaud, their 
 party being distinguished by moderation ; the latter, led by 
 Robespierre (now rapidly becoming the leading man in the 
 Revolution), Danton, and the miserable savage, Marat, 
 who even condescended to attract the approbation of the 
 lowest rabble, by wearing rags, as clothes, offensive from 
 very want of cleanliness — a shape of vanity fortunately 
 rarely to be found. 
 
 The life or death of the King was really the question of 
 the Convention ; it was the test of Royalty or Republican- 
 ism, and no man knew this better than Robespierre. It 
 was by the exercise of this knowledge that he rose to 
 power — to that power, by the exercise of which almost all 
 the men who had formed a portion of the National Assem- 
 bly, who were members of the Convention which super- 
 seded the Assembly, were sent to the scaffold before he 
 himself mounted the fatal ladder. 
 
 It was evident how things lay when the question of 
 lodging the President of the Convention was mooted. It 
 being proposed that he should lodge in the Tuileries, then 
 called the National Palace, Tallien cried, " Why, out of 
 this chamber, your President is but a plain citizen ; there- 
 fore, if he is wanted, let him be sought for in the garrets 
 where, in general, only truth and virtue are to be found." 
 
 Danton and Robespierre were now mortal, although con- 
 cealed, enemies. They knew that one must destroy the 
 other — which '.' 
 
 The theory of a republic was now declared ; it was the 
 first .-tep to the beheading of the King, to whom I will now 
 return. 
 
 The Temple, to which the royal family had been taken, 
 was an old building, half monastery, half castle, which had 
 once been one of the strong-holds of those monk-soldiers, 
 the Knights Templars. It was composed of a couple of 
 towers, one seventy feet high, the other much smaller, and
 
 288 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 a large space of ground, surrounded bj T a comparative!}' low 
 wall. This enclosure contained many houses, and espec- 
 ially a very fine building, once the palace of the Templars 
 themselves. Many of the windows of the surrounding 
 houses, which formed part of the lowest quarter of Paris, 
 overlooked these grounds, in which there was an avenue of 
 chestnut trees, and a pretty garden. 
 
 The towers had not been used for almost hundreds of 
 years, and the contents of their several floors were of the 
 most wretched description. The rooms themselves, built 
 round a central staircase, were desolate in the extreme ; 
 while the walls being nine feet deep, the windows loopholes, 
 and even these barred, it need not be said that the interior 
 was never wholesomely light. 
 
 The royal prisoners were taken to the old palatial build- 
 ing upon their arrival, and the poor King at once expressed 
 a sense of relief at the serenity his wife and children now 
 enjoj'ed, compared with the dangers they ran at the royal 
 palace. 
 
 The family supped together, and the King, as usual, ate 
 heartily. The municipals told off to watch the prisoners, 
 stood during the meal, but this slight semblance of respect 
 was soon to disappear. 
 
 Louis chatted cheerfully as to what their life should be 
 — how he would be his son's school-master — how the garden 
 was large enough for exercise — how they should live, and 
 employ the day. He even inspected the rooms, the beds, 
 the linen ; in a word, was once more the man he had 
 always been — a rather quiet spirited, inquisitive, active, 
 dull man. 
 
 But this respite lasted only during a few hours. The 
 King had appointed the various bed-rooms, but before the 
 Dauphin could be put to bed in the one set down as his, an 
 order came from the authorities, ordering that the rcyal 
 family should be lodged in the smaller tower. 
 
 They waited until after midnight before their new place 
 of imprisonment was ready, and then themselves carried 
 what was wanting to the tower. The King's servant ask- 
 ing where his master was to be lodged, the municipal offi- 
 cer replied, (i Your master has been living under gilded 
 roofs ; he will find none here, and learn at the same time 
 how we lodge the murderers of the people."
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 289 
 
 Madame Elizabeth was lodged in the kitchen, on the 
 ground floor; the .so-called Court on the second ; the King, 
 Queen, and children, on the floors above. The walls and 
 the floors were bare, except for some obscene pictures on 
 the walls, which the King took down, turning them to the 
 Wall. 
 
 The King went to bed, and fell asleep. Xot so the 
 Queen, who remained awake the whole night. 
 
 The next day, adapting himself to even these fallen cir- 
 cumstances, the King ordered the day's plans ; and pushing 
 ahout the room, came upon a small collection of books, 
 chiefly Latin — a discovery which once more brought a smile 
 of pleasure to his face. 
 
 Ten days afterwards. 20th August, and when the royal 
 family had retired for the night, the noise of many advanc- 
 ing feet awakened them. The authorities of the prison 
 came armed with orders from Parliament, to deprive the 
 royal family of every attendant who had hitherto followed 
 their fortunes. The agony the Queen experienced upon 
 parting with the Princess de Lamballe was intense. 
 
 •• Prom this night," cried Marie Antoinette, " I do date 
 my captivity." 
 
 Within a fortnight, as I have related, the poor Princess 
 de Lamballe's head was raised on a pike to the window of 
 the Queen's prison. One Tison's wife was appointed to 
 look after the Queen ; while Simon, afterwards celebrated 
 for his cruelty to the Dauphin, and Roeher. a mere brute, 
 were the gaolers-in-chief. 
 
 It was Rochet who never passed by the Queen without 
 blowing clouds of tobacco-smoke in her Majesty's face. 
 
 The walls of the Temple were ablaze with comments 
 upon the ro} r al family. Here might be read an attack upon 
 Louis's stoutness, there a savage comment upon the Queen. 
 Even the children were not spared. For instance, this sen- 
 tence was scrawled upon the walls : " What are King's 
 children ? Whelps who ought to be strangled before they 
 are old enough to devour the people." 
 
 The unfortunate captives at last dreaded to take the air ; 
 the guard saluted whenever a municipal passed by, but they 
 reversed arms as the King went by. 
 
 At last, they limited the number of steps the royal fam* 
 ilv might take when exercising. 
 
 18
 
 290 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 The upper windows of the house overlooking the prison 
 were now the only consolation left to the unhappy royal 
 captives. But that comprehensive freemasonar} 7 of misery 
 with which we are all somewhat acquainted, the friends of 
 the fallen family, who were still at liberty, took the upper 
 rooms, from which they could see their King and his fam- 
 ily. The captives soon learnt, by almost indescribable 
 signs, the windows which were friendly to them. This one 
 would show a white flower ; from another, a hand would be 
 waved ; and now and again a placard would be raised for a 
 moment. 
 
 On the 24th of September, the King, having fallen 
 asleep after dinner, w r as aroused by a great tumult in the 
 street, below his window. 
 
 It was the people declaring the abolition of royalty, and 
 the declaration of a republic. 
 
 "My kingdom," he said to the Queen, "has passed 
 away like a dream, and it has not been a happy dream. 
 God gave it me, and the people take it away. 1 pray that 
 France may be happy." 
 
 On the evening of the same day, one of his gaolers 
 asked the King brutally, if he knew that he was living in 
 a republic. 
 
 " I have heard it," he replied; " and I have prayed that 
 the republic may deal justly with my country. I have 
 never placed myself between the people and their happi- 
 ness." 
 
 So far, the King had been allowed to wear his sword and 
 his heraldic orders. 
 
 " You must know," said his gaoler, "that the republic 
 has suppressed these baubles ; so take them off. You are 
 now but a citizen, as we are, and must be as we are ; yet, 
 what you want, ask the republic for, and you shall not be 
 denied." 
 
 " I thank you," said the King calmly. " I want for noth- 
 ing." 
 
 Very calm!}', he continued his interrupted reading. 
 
 Amongst the books he read at this time were "The Life 
 and death of Charles I, of England," and the " Decline and 
 Fall of the Roman Empire." 
 
 The Convention, however, had not behaved illiberally to 
 the captives. The members assigned twenty thousand
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 291 
 
 pounds to their use; but very little was really expended in 
 the direct ion it was intended to go. The royal family were 
 wretchedly off for clothes. They had borrowed here and 
 there; and the Queen herself employed many hours daily 
 in mending and patching the clothes of the family, which 
 had been much torn during the day which ended in the 
 imprisonment of Louis and his family in the Temple. 
 
 The English ambassador, in fact, was the chief donor of 
 the clothes which enabled the royal family to be the pos- 
 sessors of a mere change of linen. 
 
 It is said that the wretched gaolers vied with each other 
 in making the fallen captives shed tears. That man who 
 succeeded was envied by his comrades. Well has it been 
 said that the success of a revolution which was the result of 
 generations of niisgovernment, had fallen heavily upon those 
 royal personages who had least helped to produce the na- 
 tional hate of royalty, while that victory had of itself driven 
 the vanquishing people into madness. 
 
 But the last degradations had not been put upon the 
 Bourbons. Soon there came an order from the Convention, 
 to the effect that the King was to be utterly separated from 
 his family. 
 
 The}' were now to be debarred that last consolation of 
 the unfortunate — to suffer together. 
 
 The despair which ensued even moved the wretch, Boch- 
 er. But the order was imperative, and that night the King 
 was removed from the small tower, and was imprisoned in 
 the larger. He was now quite alone. 
 
 This occurred before the termination of September; and, 
 as though to make the desolation still more complete, the 
 whole family were utterly deprived of the means of writing, 
 even to each other. Not a scrap of paper was allowed — not 
 a pencil — not even a fragment of chalk. 
 
 The great tower was being repaired. All the accommo- 
 dation offered to Louis was a bed and a chair, set in heaps 
 of brick and plaster rubbish, which overspread the floor. 
 
 Boor man ! nature compelled him to be active ; and, 
 therefore, being deprived of reading and writing materials, 
 he passed this first excruciating night of his acutest misery 
 in counting the steps of the sentinel as he passed up and 
 down in the corridor outside the King's cell. 
 
 This night, the King, for the first time, shed tears. His
 
 292 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 only companion was a valet, named Clery, who had been 
 appointed by the municipal authorities when the King's 
 servants were removed. He was a Revolutionist ; but his 
 heart was in the right place. 
 
 The one fragment of hope to which the king clung on 
 this wretched night was the suggestion made by this valet, 
 that as he had, since his appointment, dressed daily the 
 hair of the ladies of the family, that he should be able to 
 carry messages between them and the King. 
 
 Daylight dispelled this hope. It was intimated that 
 Clery was not to leave the tower — that the isolation of the 
 King from all exterior communication must be complete. 
 
 When the man made application to this effect, the 
 answer he scoffingly received was, " Your master will never 
 see even his children again." 
 
 " 'Tis an outrage upon nature!" urged the King, when 
 he was visited by the authorities. " You murder five 
 hearts in one — you do that, indeed, which is worse than 
 murder ! " 
 
 The authorities turned their backs upon the King, not 
 deigning to answer him. 
 
 All that was brought him as food on that first morning 
 of the separation from his family, was a piece of bread, and 
 a pot of water, into which a lemon had been squeezed. 
 
 "They have forgotten we are two," said the King, ad- 
 vancing to Clery, and breaking the bit of bread in half; 
 "but I do not forget. Take this; the remainder is enough 
 for me." 
 
 The servant refused, but the King insisted ; and so the 
 valet took it, and wept as he ate. The King also wept. 
 What a picture to contemplate! — a king and a valet eat- 
 ing a fragment of bread between them, and tears falling 
 upon the wretched meal ! 
 
 The King again asked for news of his family, and a re- 
 ply not forthcoming, he entreated that he might have some 
 books given him to drive away the hours. 
 
 The Queen had passed the night in a series of fainting- 
 fits ; but, even at that pass, that far higher spirit than the 
 King's, which had begotten her so much of the popular 
 hate, still supported her. The King, though weeping, could 
 eat half the morsel of bread — she resolutely refused to 
 touch food.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 Tins determination startled the municipals. They were 
 answerable to the Convention for the prisoners. What if 
 the Queen should starve herself to death ? 
 
 " Well, they shall dine together to-day," said a municipal 
 officer; "and to-morrow the Commune must decide." 
 
 The Queen, holding her children in her arms, flung her- 
 self upon her knees, and began rapidly praying — so also did 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 "I believe," said the brutal Simon, "that these con- 
 founded women are even making me weep! Bah!" he 
 added, turning to the Queen ; "you did not let tears fall 
 when you caused the people to be assassinated, on the 10th 
 of August ! " 
 
 " I never harmed human being,"' said the Queen. 
 
 The Commune decreed that the family should take their 
 meals together. The members knew somewhat of Marie 
 Antoinette's determination, and they found that, if separ- 
 ated from her husband, she really would die from inanition, 
 it has to be recorded that the re-union of the King and 
 Queen, during the last four months of their lives, was due, 
 not to the pity, but the fear, of their gaolers. 
 
 But they only met at meals, and then they were com- 
 pelled to speak French onty, and in a loud voice. The 
 children were never again allowed play about their father. 
 This family was killed by inches. Their hearts were dead 
 before the knife of the guillotine mercifully released them. 
 
 Clery took pity upon them, and, at the risk of his own 
 liberty and life, forwarded, by his wife, who was allowed to 
 come and see him once a week, a line of farewell to this or 
 that friend, from the King and Queen. These adieux, 
 some of which still exist, are written with the stump of a 
 pencil, upon the margins of printed pages, and which were 
 torn from books. 
 
 The King's cell was, in a few days, set in something like 
 order; but, with a refinement of cruelty beyond description, 
 the walls were hung with a paper representing the interior 
 life of prisons. 
 
 Now quite desolate, this is how the King spent his time. 
 He rose at daybreak, and, kneeling, prayed for a long 
 time. Then, the light quickening, he went to the window, 
 and read the psalms for the day. After this, the King read 
 what books he could obtain — he read many scores during
 
 294 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 Lis captivity — and this reading appeared entirely to occupy 
 his mind. At nine, the family met, when he kissed them 
 all on the forehead. After breakfast, he taught his son in 
 various branches of knowledge. The Dauphin, precocious 
 in misery, had by this time tested the dispositions of most 
 of the sentinels ; and when one he knew to be less brutal 
 than the majority mounted guard, the poor child ran with 
 the news to his mother, and he was happy for the day. 
 
 At two, the family again met, and dined. But the King 
 dared not give way to the fine appetite which never desert- 
 ed him at any period of his life, for he knew not only that 
 the quantity of food he ate was recorded, and the amount 
 spead over Paris, but that the Queen herself was exceed- 
 ingly desirous that this weak point in the King's prison- 
 life should not give cause to enable it to be said that the 
 King's appetite in prison was so great that necessarily he 
 must be hardened and callous to a degree. 
 
 After dinner, the King and Queen were allowed to 
 remain for a brief time together — nay, they were allowed a 
 pack of cards and a set of chessmen ; but they were forbid- 
 den to speak in a low tone to each other, and a sentinel 
 always kept the unhapp} r couple within view. 
 
 At four, the King generally fell asleep, when the family 
 remained religiously silent. 
 
 At six, the lessons were re-commenced with the Dauphin, 
 and these went on until supper-time, when the Queen her- 
 self undressed the Dauphin, who said, in a low tone, the 
 following prayer: "Almighty God, who has created and 
 redeemed me, I love you. Watch the days of my father 
 and my family, and save us from our enemies, and give my 
 mamma, and my aunt, and sister strength to bear all their 
 trouble." 
 
 The Dauphin put to bed, the Queen read aloud to the 
 King, her daughter, and Madame Elizabeth. 
 
 At nine, the king was conducted back to his prison, 
 where he read until midnight, when he went to bed, and 
 slept until daybreak. He, however, did not retire until he 
 had learnt who was master of the guard for the following 
 day. If the name was one associated with kindness, the 
 King's heart was light, and he fell asleep with utter 
 serenity. 
 
 The prison was very damp, and, after a time, the King
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 fell ill. Clery watched him, and himself fell ill as Louis 
 became convalescent. This valet, long after all was over, 
 recounted some beautiful particulars of this illness. 
 
 The Dauphin would nurse him, and passed day after day 
 in the man's sick-room; while the King himself would 
 often come in the night, bare-footed, and merely in his 
 night-dress; to see how the valet was progressing, or to give 
 hiiu medicine. 
 
 It being ordered that more bolts should be placed upon 
 the doors of the tower in which the King was imprisoned. 
 the mason employed to sink the holes in the stone-work 
 into which the bolts were to run, going to a meal, and 
 leaving bis work tools upon the ground, the King took up 
 a chisel, and began laboring at the means taken to 
 strengthen his prison. The mason recognised the King at 
 this labor. 
 
 " Ah," said he " when you leave this place, you will be 
 able to say you worked at j'our own prison." 
 
 " And how shall I leave it? " asked the King, who sud- 
 denly drew his son towards him, and retired to his cell, 
 where he paced up and down a long while. 
 
 The watch was intense. Every loaf of bread sent to the 
 royal table was searched and broken, the fruit — the very 
 kernel of a peach, upon one occasion split to find a letter." 
 
 A deputation arriving, asked the King whether he lacked 
 anj'thing. 
 
 " Yes," he said ; " my wife and family want clothes — 
 you see we are in rags." 
 
 Meanwhile, the King's cousin, the Duke of Orleans, who 
 had become a Republican under the name of Citizen Philip 
 Equality, uttered no word in favor of his royal cousin lan- 
 guishing in the Temple. 
 
 Another misfortune now fell upon the King. It will be 
 remembered how fond the King was of lock-making. His 
 master in the art, one Gamain, had loved the King clearly, 
 but he turned upon the fallen monarch. It appears that 
 prior to quitting the Tuileries, the King, being desirous of 
 hiding certain treasures, and especially certain papers 
 received from abroad, relative to the schemes in progress 
 for helping the King by the invasion of France, he had 
 worked with this blacksmith at the formation of a hiding 
 place in the walls of the palace for the iron box, which con- 
 tained these papers and valuables.
 
 296 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 After'the arrest of the King, Gamain fell ill of a slow 
 consuming illness, probably low fever, when gradually lie 
 convinced himself that a certain glass of water the King 
 had himself handed the locksmith, while they were both 
 putting the finishing strokes to the hiding place, was poi- 
 soned, and that the King's motive was a conviction that 
 the secret of these State papers could only be safe through 
 his, the blacksmith's, death. This man must surely have 
 been overpowered by delirium when such a conviction took 
 possession of him. His illness continuing, the thought of 
 revenge took possession of him ; and finally, he denounced 
 the whole affair to the Convention. 
 
 This act did more to send the King to the scaffold than 
 any other process executed against Louis XVI. In the 
 frrst place, the theory of the poison was at once accepted, 
 and it appeared necessarily very feasible to a multitude 
 ignorant of the question of poisons ; and, in the second, no 
 proof could be brought against Louis of conspiring with a 
 foreign Power to invade France; an act which was treason 
 ■ — therefore one which, proved, called for the penalty of 
 death. 
 
 Gamain led the way to the spot where lay concealed the 
 hidden treasure, and upon papers found in that box Louis 
 XVI was put upon his trial. 
 
 The King became accustomed to captivity — found it 
 almost rest — rest which was disturbed only on December 11 
 (1792), when the noise of an approaching procession drew 
 the attention of the royal family to their windows. 
 
 The King learnt that he was to be put upon his trial. 
 Two hours afterwards, he was on his way to the Conven- 
 tion. 
 
 To him, the city appeared as though besieged. Every 
 soldier around the royal carriage had had served out to him 
 sixteen cartridges. 
 
 The King looked wretched. His razors had been taken 
 from him, and his hair was rough and scrubby about his 
 face. He had grown thin, and his clothes hung miserably 
 about him. But he was quite unmoved. 
 
 He took his seat quietly before the Convention. 
 
 "Citizens," cried the President, "Louis Capet is at the 
 bar. You are about to give a lesson to kings." 
 
 The accusation was then read. It accused him of high 
 treason in calling upon the foreigner to enter France.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 He listened quite unmovedly until he was accused of 
 "shedding the blood of the people." He raised his eyes to 
 heaven. It was clear lie had not anticipated being tailed a 
 sanguinary prince. 
 
 At the close of the first day's examination, the King's 
 fatal appetite failed him, and be refused an offer to obtain 
 refreshments ; but almost immediately afterwards, seeing a 
 soldier gnawing a piece of bread, he asked for a part, and 
 ate it with relish. 
 
 Upon the return-ride to the Temple, he counted the 
 number of streets. 
 
 It was the King's sister, Elizabeth — a veritable angel, — 
 who foresaw what was to happen. 
 
 '•Was the Queen mentioned in the indictment?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " No," replied the King. 
 
 "Thank heaven!" said the good Princess; "for if the 
 Queen were taken, who, then, should look after these 
 children ? " 
 
 These very words foretell what the Princess foresaw — 
 that if the Queen's blood was demanded, her own would 
 follow. 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 THE KING'S TRIAL PROCEEDED "WITH. 
 
 The King had scarcely quitted the Convention upon the 
 occasion of his first appearance there, than he was accorded 
 the privilege of even the commonest prisoner on his trial — 
 that of choosing two counsel for his defence. The King 
 chose two — one named Trouchet ; the other, Target. Ihe 
 former willingly accepted the office ; the second dreaded to 
 appear as the accomplice of the King; and wrote a cow- 
 ardly letter, saying, to defend Louis Capet would be to out- 
 rage his own principles. But this precaution, so far from 
 saving him. marked him out to the terrorists as a man who 
 was a coward, and. in his turn, he was drafted to the scaf- 
 fold, undefended and unlamented.
 
 298 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 An old man, and a great one, of a family notorious for 
 their wisdom and their justice — one Malsherbes, aged 
 seventy-four, and who had served twice as a Minister dur- 
 ing Louis XVI's reign — took the position offered to the 
 wretched man, Target, and refused by him. 
 
 Indeed, he asked for it. The act is well worth admira- 
 tion. At seventy-four, when most men are weary of life, 
 this good man asked for a position which he knew was one 
 which might involve the forfeiture of his own existence. 
 ►Said he, " I was twice summoned to the council of him 
 who was my master at a time when everybody was ambi- 
 tious of the post, and I owe him this service now that this 
 office is, in the eyes of most persons, one of danger ; and 
 had I the means of acquainting him with my wishes, I 
 should not seek another mode of striving to serve him " (he 
 was speaking to the President of the Convention) ; " but I 
 think, seeing the position you hold, that you can most 
 safely convey to Louis XVI my desire to se^ve him." 
 
 The Convention, violent as were its members, reverenced 
 this devotion of friendship, and honest Malsherbes was 
 appointed to the task of defending the fallen King. 
 
 " Malsherbes," said a friend to him, as he was leaving 
 the Convention, "you are the friend of Louis XVI; how 
 can you bring him papers in which he will read the expres- 
 sions of the wrath of the people against him ? " 
 
 " The King is not like other men," returned M. de Mal- 
 sherbes. " He possesses a great mind, and such faith as 
 raises him above all things." 
 
 "You are an honest man," replied the friend. "But if 
 you were not, what is to prevent you from bringing him 
 poison, as a weapon, or advising him to commit suicide ? " 
 
 Malsherbes hesitated for a moment, and then he replied, 
 "If the King were of the religion of the philosophers — 
 were he a Cato or a Brutus — he might kill himself. But 
 he is pious — he is a Christian — he knows that religion for- 
 bids him to lay violent hands upon himself, and he will not 
 commit suicide." 
 
 Malsherbes went daily after this to see the King, to com- 
 mune with him upon the defence which was to be set up. 
 
 But of what avail was any defence ? The question was 
 not whether or not the King was guilty, but whether or 
 not his death would be of advantage to the establishment 
 of the republic.
 
 LOVE AXD LIBERTY. 29 9 
 
 During these final days of li is life, the King was entirely 
 deprived of the consolation of set eing his family. He was 
 now kept completely isolated. However, by the mercy of 
 Glory, his servant, on the one hand, and that of Turgy, the 
 Queen's attendant, on the other, the desolate couple com- 
 municated. A few words were written on a morsel of thin 
 paper, which, being folded, a needle was run through it, and 
 it was in this condition concealed in a hank of sewing- 
 thread, which was put in the Queen's work-box by Turgy, 
 who placed the thread, and its answering line, in Clery's 
 way, who conveyed it to a place where the King would look 
 for it. 
 
 Louis XVI never had any doubt that he would be exe- 
 cuted. On the other hand, he does not appear, up to the 
 time of his trial, to have assumed for one moment that the 
 Queen would suffer. 
 
 Before his sentence was pronounced, he made his will. 
 It is a long document. Here are some of the chief lines in 
 this testament : — " I, Louis XVI of that name, and King 
 of France, confined for four months in the Tower of the 
 Temple, at Paris, by those who were my subjects, and de- 
 prived during eleven daj's of all communication with even 
 my family, and, moreover, implicated in a trial, the outcome 
 of which no man can with certainty foresee — for who can 
 measure the passions of men ? — having no one, save God, 
 as a witness of my thoughts, or to whom 1 can address my- 
 self, do here declare, in His presence, this my last will and 
 testament. I bequeath my soul to God, my creator, and 
 pray that, in all his mercy, he will accept it. I die in the 
 faith of the Church, and bow to its laws. I pray the good 
 Lord to forgive me as I have forgiven. I have striven 
 hard to remember some of my sins, and to abominate them. 
 1 bow before God. I beg all that I have accidental!}' 
 injured — for by my will I never hurt human being — to for- 
 give me the harm they ma}- believe I have caused them. 
 
 " I pray all men of charity to add their prayers to mine. 
 I pardon, from the bottom of my heart, all those who are 
 my enemies, without that I have given them cause to be 
 other than my friends ; and I ask God to pardon them also, 
 for they know not what they do. I also pray pardon for 
 those whose zeal in my cause has done me so much harm. 
 I recommend to God my wife and children, my sister, my
 
 300 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 aunts and brothers, and all those belonging to me through 
 blood, or by any other way. I pray heaven to look pitying- 
 ly upon my wife, and children, and sister, all of whom have 
 too long suffered with me, and to strengthen them if they 
 lose me, so long as they shall remain in this world. To my 
 wife I recommend my children, whom she has never ceas-ed 
 to love ; and I pray my wife to teach her children to look 
 upon the pomps and vanities of this world — if they should 
 be so unfortunate as to suffer them — only as dangerous and 
 vanished possessions, and to turn their thoughts to eternity. 
 And I pray my sister to he gentle as ever to my children, 
 should they have the misfortune to lose her." 
 
 This is the first time, in sooth, the King betrays the least 
 intimation of his fears that his blood will not suffice to ap- 
 peased the national rage. And even here it may be doubt- 
 ed whether Louis does not rather refer to natural than vio- 
 lent death, for the Princess Elizabeth was younger than the 
 Queen. It will be seen that, even at this pass, and solemn 
 moment, the King has not the least thought that the Prin- 
 cess herself will be despatched below the knife of the guil- 
 lotine. 
 
 The King's will continued : — 
 
 " I pray my wife to pardon me all she has suffered, and 
 will suffer, on my account, and all the sorrow I may have 
 caused her in my life, as she may be certain I forgive her if 
 she can possibly suppose that she has ever caused me a 
 grief. 
 
 " I pray my children, after their love to God, which is 
 above all, to love one another, and to live in peace ; to be 
 grateful and obedient to their mother ; and in memory of 
 me. I pray them to look upon my sister as their second 
 mother. 
 
 " I pray my son, should he be so luckless as to become 
 King, t > forget the troubles I shall have parsed through, and 
 to forgive the people, who know not what they do, that which 
 they will accomplish. Let him not forget that he was 
 born for the happiness of his subjects ; that he. can only 
 reign safely by upholding the laws ; and that he can only 
 do this while his power lasts. Once let him lose power, and 
 he becomes more injurious than ever he was useful ; and, 
 above all, let him remember the load of debt I owe to the 
 children of the men who have already fallen in defending 
 my cause."
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 301 
 
 [These words are obviously the result of Louis's study of 
 the history of England, of the stigma that rests upon the 
 memory of Charles II, through persistently ignoring the 
 just claims of the children of the men who had died in 
 the Pause of his beheaded father, Charles L] 
 
 The King concludes his will by recommending ChSry to 
 the Convention, and asking that the sword, purse, jewels, 
 and other ornaments taken from him may be given to that 
 person after the writer shall be dead. 
 
 He signed the will "Louis," as though he still reigned. 
 
 This will is sublime in its simplicity; its Christianity, 
 pity, regret, and massive setting aside his life as past away, 
 are all very beautiful points; while the belief that his death 
 would compensate all, and that the country would not visit 
 his faults upon the heads of his family, shows still an 
 amount of faith in his people which is truly touching. 
 
 I pon the defence being read, the King found it opened 
 with an appeal to the people, and a description of the wretch- 
 ed condition of the royal family. The two counsel and the 
 King, who were the only people who heard this defence 
 read, and which had been put into form by the reader, De- 
 seze, were all moved at the beauty of the language. 
 
 But the King was inflexible. 
 
 " All that must be struck out," he said. 
 
 And he insisted — for was he not a dying man ? The 
 wishes of the dying are obeyed. 
 
 After the reading of the defence, the King, being left 
 alone with Malsherbes, he was tormented by the thought 
 that he could not compensate his counsel for their labors. 
 
 "Deseze and Trouchet," he said, "owe me nothing. 
 They gave me their time, exertions, and, perhaps, their lives, 
 and I cannot pay them. Even if I leave a legacy, it will 
 not be paid. Again, what could pay such work as theirs ? " 
 
 " Sire, you have the power of repaying them.'' 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 " Take them, for one mere moment, to your heart." 
 
 So, next day, when the two gentlemen came, he held 
 open his arms, and pressed these brave men, one after the 
 the other, to his heart. 
 
 This was all that he had to bestow — a royal accolate, the 
 peaceful kiss of a dying man. 
 
 At this second examination, they gave the King a suit of
 
 802 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 clothing, in which he looked at worst passable. But another 
 shape of indignity was put upon him: he was kept waiting 
 in a cold waiting-room during a wdiole hour. 
 
 The King was advised not to shave, that the savagery of 
 his gaolers in even depriving him of so common a necessa- 
 ry as a razor should move his judges. But the King refus- 
 ed to avail himself of this theatrical effect. He was rather 
 fitted to fall with dignity into the repose of death, than to 
 war, fight, battle for life. 
 
 Louis XVI forgave the men who were to condemn him 
 before they tried him ; but his very pardon became his 
 most perfect revenge in the eyes of posterity. 
 
 The King's counsel spoke logically, but with no power of 
 words. Having finished, Louis XVI, who had followed 
 his advocate as though rather interested for this gentleman 
 than for himself, rose and uttered these words : — 
 
 " You have now heard the grounds of my defence, and I 
 shall not repeat them. In speaking to you for the first, and 
 perhaps the last, time, I declare that I can accuse myself of 
 nothing; that my advocate has spoken the truth, and noth- 
 ing but the truth. I never feared that all I did should be 
 make public, but I grieve that you accuse me of spilling 
 the blood of the people. And that the misfortunes of the 
 10th of August are attributed to me. I had thought that 
 the numerous evidences of love for my people which I have 
 shown would have placed me above such an accusation. 
 This is not the case, and I must bear with what has happen- 
 ed. I declare that I exposed my life to save the shedding 
 of one drop of the blood of my people." 
 
 He turned, and left the chamber. 
 
 "Let him be judged ! " cried Bazere. 
 
 "'Tis time the nation learns if she is right in wishing to 
 be free, and if this is a crime ! " 
 
 " I ask," cried Languinais, " that the sentence be declar- 
 ed by a ballot of all France ! " 
 
 " To prison with Languinais ! " cried many voices. 
 
 " You are too openly a Boyalist," cried Thuriot. 
 
 " Why," cried another, " he wills to try us, and make 
 Louis himself judge." 
 
 " And I say," replied Languinais, fearlessly, " that you 
 constitute yourselves accusers, judges, jury, and execution- 
 ers. Let the people declare themselves ! Let there be lib- 
 erty of speech, to declare whether the King shall live or die."
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 803 
 
 "Down with him ! " cried a voice. 
 
 " You shall hear me," cried Languinais. 
 
 " Put him upon his trial ! place him in the dock, and let 
 him instantly be tried ! " 
 
 '• To prison with him ! " 
 
 Silence was at last restored ; hut when Languinais sat 
 down, he knew he was a condemned man — he knew nothing 
 could save him. 
 
 Meanwhile, in an antechamber, where the murmurs of 
 his judges were audible, the King's counsel were endeavor- 
 ing to cheer him with a little hope. The people had demon- 
 strated with somewhat of kindly feeling in favor of the 
 King at various theatres. 
 
 On his return to the Temple, the King having nothing of 
 value with which he could partially repay his counsel, took 
 off his laced cravat and gave it to Deseze. 
 
 On the 1st of January, after the French fashion of wish- 
 ing friends a happy new year, Clery approached his mas- 
 ter's bed and offered him best wishes for the continuance of 
 his life. 
 
 The King put his hands together and prayed, for he 
 remembered that this was the day in the year when his 
 thousand courtiers flocked to his palace to congratulate 
 him. 
 
 Rising, he sent to ask if his daughter was better (for the 
 Princess was ill), and to wish the Queen a happy new year. 
 
 From the first to the 16th of January, he was kept 
 immured in the great tower of the Temple, perfectly iso- 
 lated. No one was allowed to see him, not even one of his 
 family. The fallen King passed his time reading the his- 
 tory of England, especially the volumes of the life and 
 execution of Charles I — history which appeared to fascinate 
 him. 
 
 Meanwhile, the members of the Convention were daily 
 disputing the question of the King's life or death. 
 
 St. Just now rose to the surface. Unpityingly he cried, 
 " If the King is innocent, the people are guilty. You have 
 declared martial law against the tyrants of the whole 
 world, and spare your own. The Revolution only begins 
 where the tyrant ends." 
 
 Another cried, " If with this, my hand, I alone could 
 strangle all tyrants, I would not hesitate to rid the world of 
 them."
 
 304 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 But the rising party in the house lived by favor of the 
 eager revolutionists, whom they dared not oppose. With, 
 them it was necessary that the King should die. 
 
 Another, upon another day, cried, " We have lost three 
 hours this day talking of a thing they call a King. Are 
 we, then, revolutionists ? No ; we are vile slaves." 
 
 Camille Desmoulins stuttered, " Let him be killed, with 
 this word on his brow — ' Tratior ! ' and this ou his back — 
 'King!'" 
 
 Another cried, " Henceforth, let murderers and thieves 
 be buried in the royal vaults ! " 
 
 At length the Convention agreed to the plan of every 
 member of the Convention voting upon these three 
 questions : — 
 
 1. Is Louis guilty ? 
 
 2. Shall the decision of the Convention be submitted to 
 the ratification of the people. 
 
 3. What shall be the sentence ? 
 
 To the first question, nearly seven hundred as against 
 about a dozen, voted " Yes." 
 
 On the second, two hundred and eighty voices voted for 
 the appeal to the people ; four hundred and twenty-three 
 against it. 
 
 It was now (January 16) that Danton first betrayed his 
 insatiable thirst for blood. 
 
 "I thought," cried he, "we were assembled for other 
 purposes than those of the drama." 
 
 Ct Tis a question of liberty ! " cried several voices. 
 
 " Question of liberty ? " cried Danton. " 'Tis a question 
 of a comedy — that taking off the head of a tyrant with the 
 axe of a King! I demand that we do not separate before 
 we have pronounced sentence upon Louis ! His accomplices 
 have fallen without delay, therefore let him fall at once ! " 
 
 Everything declared in favor of Louis's death by this 
 same January 16. On this day itself, a poor fellow named 
 Louvain, who had been one at the taking of the Bastille, 
 venturing to say that the republic ought to be established 
 without the death of Louis XVI, a friend and companion 
 near him plunged his sword into his breast. 
 
 In the evening, a book-pedlar, suspected of royalism, 
 leaving a public reading-room, was accused by the people 
 of distributing pamphlets in favor of the King's cause. He 
 was assassinated with thirty dagger-thrusts.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 305 
 
 Upon this day the soldiery swept over Paris, brandishing 
 their swords, singing patriotic songs, and looking eagerly 
 for the least signs of opponents. 
 
 In a certain church in Paris, the hearts of past-away 
 kings were kept in silver vases. These were seized and 
 broken open, and the contents cast into the common sewer. 
 
 At the Hall of the Convention a fearful scene was pro- 
 gressing — the voting upon the sentence. It is night-time, 
 and the hurriedly raised black hangings suggest more an 
 execution than a place of justice. The Convention is held 
 in an old monastery — dark, drear, and wretched. A few 
 scattered lanterns make the darkness visible, and throw 
 a pale light upon the faces of passers-by. At the two 
 principal entrances are cannon, the attendant artillerymen 
 with the continuously lighted fuse in hand. The cannon 
 is there rather to be turned upon the members of the Con- 
 vention than to intimidate the people. 
 
 " His death — or thine ! " 
 
 These were the words each Conventionist heard as he 
 passed into the Hall — words uttered in whispers, but which 
 shook the hearers as though they were thunder. 
 
 Persons who knew the various members were present, 
 who received them and commented upon their opinions. 
 As Danton, Marat, Robespierre and Camille Desmoulins 
 passed, the ranks showed all the signs of respect. Others 
 were threatened. Languinais passed through a forest of 
 thrusting pikes to reach the voting table. 
 
 The Hall itself was very dark, the benches being filled 
 with young and beautiful women of the people class. Be- 
 fore them were a number of butchers, reeking from their 
 slaughter-houses. 
 
 Fifteen hours had the deputies sat — few remained. Of 
 those present, some were in little groups — others had fallen 
 asleep. 
 
 The first votes left everything in uncertainty. Death 
 and Exile were voted alternately. 
 
 Vergniaud, the leader of the Girondists, who had sworn 
 to save the King's life, whose vote would control that of 
 all the Girondists, voted " Death ! " 
 
 The King was doomed, because the Jacobins were all 
 certain to vote " Death " to a man. 
 19
 
 306 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 Robespierre started, and Danton said, in a low, scoffing 
 voice, " These are j'our orators ! " 
 
 The last man but one called to vote was the King's 
 cousin, the Due d'Orleans, Philip Equality. It was 
 thought the ties of nature and of blood would compel him 
 to vote for exile. 
 
 He said these words : — 
 
 " My thoughts being fixed wholly upon duty, convinced 
 that whoever shall now or hereafter attempt to establish 
 monarchy in this land is worthy death — I vote death ! " 
 
 This man, this monster to his own blood, had in early 
 youth been so abject a coward, that, during a naval engage- 
 ment between the French and English, he had gone down 
 into the cock-pit, whence no one could induce him to 
 remove until the action was over. The cowardice of his 
 youth was well supplemented by his voting the King's 
 death. 
 
 Even Robespierre condemned him. Returning to Du- 
 play's house in the evening, he said, " The miserable man ! 
 He was expected to listen to the pleadings of his own 
 heart, and vote exile ; but he would not, or dared not. The 
 nation despises him henceforth ! " 
 
 The monstrous act did not save him from the Reign of 
 Terror. He died on the scaffold — the most guilty wretch 
 who there ended life. 
 
 Followed the man Orleans, a deputy, lying on a hand- 
 bed. He was dying, and he voted death ! 
 
 A herald arrived from the King of Spain, interceding 
 for the King's life. 
 
 Danton rose to speak, without the Speaker's permission. 
 
 " Thou art not yet King, Danton ! " cried a voice. 
 
 " I am astounded at Spain's insolence ! " cried Danton. 
 " I desire that war against Spain be immediately declar- 
 ed ! " 
 
 The intercession damaged, rather than benefited, the 
 royal cause. 
 
 The scrutiny of the votes now commenced. 
 
 Three hundred and thirty-four voted for exile or impris- 
 onment. 
 
 Three hundred and eighty-seven voted for death. Thus 
 death was in a majority of fifty-three ; but, by subtracting 
 from this number the forty-six voices which had also voted
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 307 
 
 a suspension of the execution of death, the majority in 
 favor of immediate death was seven ! 
 
 The Girondists, who did not wish for the King's death, 
 had voted his execution, and thereby favored their enemies, 
 the Jacobins, whose thirst for death was unquenchable. 
 
 On the morning of the 19th January, Louis, who had 
 been by this time restored to his family, saw Malsherbes 
 approaching him. The old man fell on his knees. 
 
 " I see," said the King ; " Death ! " 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 NEAR THE BLOCK. 
 
 The King, learning that he was to die at once, became a 
 man almost heroic. 
 
 With calm curiosity, and as though making inquiries 
 concerning the affairs of another man, and not of his own, 
 he learnt the particulars of the voting ; and he made 
 special inquiries concerning the votes of various members 
 of the Convention. 
 
 " Petion and Manuel," he said, — " I am sure they did 
 not vote my death ? " 
 
 No answer returned. 
 
 "And my cousin, the Due d'Orleans, — how voted he ? " 
 
 Malsherbes bowed his head. 
 
 The King now exhibited the first signs of pain — of 
 agony. 
 
 " That vote affects me more than all the rest." 
 
 This was as the words of Csesar, falling, "And you, too, 
 Brutus?" 
 
 Here a posse of authorities arrived, to announce his sen- 
 tence to the Ki^g, with all the pomp and display of circum- 
 stance. 
 
 The King stood up, his head erect, his eyes upon his 
 judges, and he listened to his fate — death within twenty- 
 four hours — with the intrepidity of a brave man. One look 
 towards heaven, as he heard the words which curtailed his 
 life, and then he was once more facing his enemies.
 
 308 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 The commtucation read, the King advanced, and, taking 
 it, put the document very calmly into a little portfolio. 
 
 " Sir," he said to the officiating minister of the Conven- 
 tion and speaking half roj'ally, half supplicating]}^ " 1 re- 
 quest you to deliver this letter to the Convention." 
 
 The secretary hesitated to take the paper. 
 
 "I will read it to you," said the King; and he com- 
 menced. " I demand from the Convention three da}'s, in 
 which to prepare my soul for God, I require freely to see 
 the priest, whom I am ahout to name, and that he be pro- 
 tected while extending to me the charity of his holy office. 
 I demand to be freed from the shameful watchfulness which 
 has surrounded me now for many days past. I ask, during 
 tnese nry last moments, leave to see my family when I will, 
 and without witnesses. And I pray most earnestly that the 
 Convention will at once take into consideration the fate of 
 my family ; and that they may, after my death, at once be 
 allowed to go whither they will. I recommend to the love 
 of the nation all persons who in any way have claims on 
 me. These are, man} r of them, old men, and women, and 
 children. Many of them must be in want." 
 
 These words show that even at this point the King had 
 not the least thought of the popular vengeance going be- 
 3'ond himself, and falling on the Queen. He cannot com- 
 prehend that they will kill women and children — his faith 
 in loyalty and manhood is too strong to admit of anj T such 
 suspicion in his breast. The faults of Louis, those rather 
 of apathy than action, were many; but he was a brave and 
 loyal gentleman, who certainly could not comprehend cow- 
 ardice. 
 
 The name of the minister for whose holy office the King 
 asked, and which was written upon the separate piece of 
 paper, was Abbe Edgeworth de Fermont — a gentleman de- 
 scended from a good Irish family. 
 
 The secretary took the two papers ; whereupon the King 
 bowed, as though dismissing his ministers at Court, thereby 
 intimating his desire to be left alone. 
 
 The minister retired. 
 
 "When they were gone, the King walked up and down his 
 prison with a firm, steady step. Suddenly he looked up — 
 his fatal appetite, that scourge of the Bourbons, was upon 
 him — and asked for his dinner.
 
 TOVE AND LIBERTY. 309 
 
 It was served without a knife — a spoon replacing that 
 utensil. He was far more indignant at these precautions 
 than at hearing his death-warrant read. 
 
 " Do they think me such a coward," he cried, " as to de- 
 prive my enemies of my life ? Do they think if a knife is 
 given me to feed with, I shall save the guillotine the trouhle 
 of destroying me ? Poor creatures ! I am accused of pub- 
 lic crimes — I have committed no crimes ; and, therefore, why 
 should I so much fear death as to anticipate its terrors. I 
 die innocent, and therefore, fearlessly. I would that my 
 blood might atone for France, and that thereby the troubles 
 I foresee coming be averted." 
 
 At six o'clock, Garat, the reader of the sentence, and San- 
 terre, had an interview with the King, to bring the answer 
 of the Convention to his commands. 
 
 The Convention had decided that no farther time should 
 be given to the King. A few members had shown some 
 sentiment of mere}'. The reply was the exhibition of half 
 a dozen sabres on the part of the fiercer deputies, who de- 
 clared that if these men who pleaded for the concession of 
 the King's request were not silent living, they should be 
 mute dead. 
 
 These courageous men, however, fought the good fight of 
 pity through five hours. 
 
 A majority of thirty-four refused all delay. 
 
 One man, Kersaint, protested with a reckless nobleness of 
 courage, which has placed him in the rank of great heroes. 
 
 He gave in this written protest : — 
 
 " Citizens, — 
 
 " It is impossible for me any longer to support the dis- 
 grace of sitting in the Convention with blood-thirsty men, 
 when their opinion, aided by terror, prevails over that of 
 good men. If the love of my country has forced me to en- 
 dure the misfortune of being one in a body of men amongst 
 whom there is a section who applaud the murders of Sep- 
 tember, I will at least defend my memory from the charge 
 of having been their accomplice. I have but the present 
 moment in which to do this act; to-morrow it will be too 
 
 late.'' 
 
 The Convention was angered, not confounded, by (his
 
 310 LOVE AND LIBERT* 
 
 language. The Minister of Justice was charged to inform 
 the Citizen Louis that he could see the priest whom he had 
 named, and that he could see his family without any interfer- 
 ence by his gaolers, — but that on the morrow he must die. 
 
 The King accepted the decision without a murmur ; for 
 he did not so much battle for those days' longer life, as ask 
 for a few hours' pause between life and eternity. 
 
 He asked Malsherbes to seek the priest. 
 
 " 'Tis a strange request to make to one of the school of 
 philosophers," he said, with a smile ; " but I have always 
 preserved my faith as a curb on my power as a King. As a 
 consolation in mine adversity, I have proved it in the depths 
 of my prison ; and if ever you should be sentenced to a 
 death similar to mine, I trust you may find the same solace 
 in your last moments." 
 
 The Abbe Edgeworth and the ex-King were old and fast 
 friends. The priest did not hesitate a moment, and at once 
 hastened to the prison, albeit he knew that the probability 
 was that he would never be free again. 
 
 Abbot Edgeworth was taken from his obscure lodging, in 
 the first place, to the Convention, where many of the mem- 
 bers made a demonstration in admiration of his courage ; 
 for, by this time, to be a priest was to be in danger of 
 death. 
 
 With the fall of the King's head, the utter Reign of Ter- 
 ror was to commence. 
 
 Garat, while in his carriage, conveying the Abbot to the 
 Temple, broke out into admiration of the King. 
 
 " Great heavens ! " he cried, " with what a terrible 
 mission am I not charged ! What a man is this Louis 
 XVI — what resignation he shows, and what courage ! No 
 mere human strength could give such force ; in this there is 
 something of the supernatural." 
 
 The priest remained silent ; he hesitated to betray him- 
 self. 
 
 Not a word more was said up to the moment when 
 the carriage stopped at the Temple. 
 
 The Abbe remarked that the first room through which 
 they passed was filled with armed men. Thence they 
 passed to .a larger apartment, which the Abbe saw had 
 been a chapel ; but the signs of religion had been swept 
 away — the altar was broken in pieces.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 311 
 
 Here the Abbe was seached for weapons by a number 
 of rough men, while the minister passed up into the King's 
 .cell. 
 
 When the Abbe followed him, the old man fell at the 
 King's feet, and burst into tears, with which the Kirjg min- 
 gled his own. 
 
 "Pardon me," said Louis, raising him, "this is incWd 
 weakness ! I have so long lived amongst my enemies, that 
 1 have grown to think little of their hatred, and my heart 
 has grown hard and callous. But the sight of an old friend 
 restores to me that tenderness which I thought was long 
 since dead, and I weep in spite of 1113' will to be unmoved." 
 
 Then, taking the priest by the hand, he drew him into the 
 little turret which served him for a studio. In this room, 
 all that was to be found consisted of a couple of chairs, a 
 small earthenware stove, a few books, and an ivory crucifix. 
 
 " 1 have," said he to the Abbe, " arrived at that moment 
 in my life when I must earnestly seek to make my peace 
 with heaven, so that 1 may humbly hope to pass from a 
 weary life to one of peace and quietude." 
 
 "With these words, he produced his will, and read it over 
 twice to the Abbe, electing him as his judge in this final 
 act of life. He feared that, in the very act of pardoning his 
 enemies, he might accuse them, and he was specially desirous 
 that au3 T appearance of this nature should be avoided. 
 
 His voice only faltered when he spoke of the Queen, his 
 sister, and his children. He lived now only in the love he 
 had for his family ; apart from them, he had resigned all 
 thoughts of life. 
 
 A calm conversation ensued. The King inquired after 
 many old friends; speaking, not with the air of a man who 
 is vanishing into death, but with the appearance of a man 
 who, after absence, asks eagerly for those he loved and left 
 behind. 
 
 Hour after hour passed away, and still the Abbe waited 
 for the King to give an intimation that he wished to pray 
 with the minister. 
 
 At seven, he was to have his last interview with his fam- 
 ily ; and as this moment approached, he appeared to dread 
 it far more than the thought of the scaffold. 
 
 He was unwilling that so great an agony as this parting 
 must necessarily be, should trouble the calmness of his
 
 312 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 death, which, obviously, he looked upon in the light of a 
 sacrifice. 
 
 The Queen and princesses had the news by this time, for 
 the street criers bawled the fact of the next day's execution 
 of the King under the very windows of the Temple tower. 
 All hope was dead ; and the only sentiment which swayed 
 them was this : would' the King be prevented from taking 
 a last good-bye — would he be prevented from kissing them, 
 and blessing them, before he went forth to die ? 
 
 One last word — one last kiss ! — this was now the bound- 
 ary of the wishes of the once brilliant Marie Antoinette, 
 one of the proudest princesses, and, as a wife, one of the 
 greatest martyrs, the world has j'et seen. 
 
 At last the members of his family were told that they 
 were to see the King prior to his execution. And this was 
 their joy in the midst of a desolation from which their only 
 relief was death itself. 
 
 The poor creatures prepared for this interview hours he- 
 fore it could take place. They asked incessantly of their 
 gaoler if it was time for the King's arrival, and bore 
 patiently with the rough, rude answer only too frequently 
 bestowed upon them. 
 
 The King himself, though apparently more calm, was 
 equally agitated. He had never experienced but one affec- 
 tion — that for his wife; but one friendship — his sister's; 
 hut one joy — his children. The cares of the throne may 
 have hidden much of these qualities, but never extinguish- 
 ed them ; and, in his adversity, they had flowed back in 
 the shape of a wealth of consolation. 
 
 Nevertheless, the King's calmness, almost callousness, ap- 
 pears amazing in its contemplation. Re-entering the ordi- 
 nary room, or cell, in which he passed his imprisoned days, 
 he began to set in order to receive the Queen. 
 
 " Bring some water, and a glass." 
 
 Clery pointed to a carafle standing on the table. 
 
 "No," said the King; "it is iced; and I fear, if the 
 Queen drinks it, that it may disagree with her." 
 
 The door, at last, was thrown open, and the Queen, lead- 
 ing her son, threw herself into his arms, and was about to 
 lead him to her chamber. 
 
 " No, no," whispered the King ; " I may only see you 
 here."
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 313 
 
 Madame Elizabeth followed, leading the Princess Royal. 
 
 Clery closed the dour upon the Jamil}' ; and, for the first 
 and last time since their return to Paris from Varennes, 
 they were unwatched. The King was almost dead, and 
 dead men can do no harm, even to revolutionary authori- 
 ties. 
 
 The King gently forced his wife to sit on his right, while 
 his sister he placed on his left ; and, as he sat down between 
 them, they put each an arm about his neck, and laid their 
 beads above the heart which, in a few hours, was to cease 
 beating. The Dauphin was on his father's knee, while the 
 little daughter's head lay in her father's lap. 
 
 It is said that for more than half-an-hour not a word was 
 spoken ; but the sudden bursts of grief, and especially the 
 Queen's frantic, terrific screams, were heard not only 
 throughout the prison, but positively in many of the 
 streets adjacent to the gaol. 
 
 Yet nature is very good, and enables us to bear our trials 
 by the force of physical weakness. But soon, indeed, the 
 miserable family, their e}'es exhausted of tears, were able 
 to talk in low whispers, to console each other, and to give 
 each other many agonized last embraces* This dread agony 
 laser! through an hour and a half. The ex-royal family 
 had been together two hours. 
 
 Of those five unhappy people, only the little Princess, 
 aged seven or eight, lived to tell in after years, what hap- 
 pened at that interview. They confided to each other what 
 they had thought about during their separation ; repeated 
 promises over and over again to forget and forgive all their 
 enemies, should either of them ever come to power ; and, 
 finally, sublime prayers, offered by the King, to the effect 
 that he trusted his death might cause the nation the loss 
 of not one drop of blood. The directions he gave his son 
 (so soon to follow him into the grave) were not royal, but, 
 better, they were Christian. 
 
 Those who listened — miserable creatures — heard only a 
 low, sweet murmur. 
 
 At last the King rose. 
 
 The moment had arrived. 
 
 The Queen threw herself at the King's feet, and entreat- 
 ed him to allow her and her children to remain with him 
 all night. This request, in mercy, he would not grant;
 
 314 love; and libekty. 
 
 but warded off the request by gently intimating that he 
 must have some hours' tranquillity, in which to gain 
 strength to die fittingly. 
 
 He, however, promised his family that they should see 
 him at eight in the morning. 
 
 " Why not at seven ? " asked the Queen. 
 
 "Very well — at seven," he replied. 
 
 "You promise ? " cried the women and children. 
 
 He then led them to the door — they uttering louder cries 
 as he did so. 
 
 "Adieu, adieu!" he cried, in a voice equally yearning 
 after passing-away love, and an expression of hope in the 
 future. 
 
 The poor little Princess here fell inanimate at her father's 
 feet. The attention the Queen now gave the child amelior- 
 ated the agony of that parting. 
 
 The King availed himself of the heart-rending event to 
 turn away. He closed the door, and the agony of royalty 
 was ended. 
 
 "Ah!" he cried, entering the turret, where the Abbe 
 Edgeworth was awaiting him, " what a scene ! Alas! why 
 do I love so deepl}- — why am I so deeply loved ?" 
 
 He paused for a few moments ; then he added, " But I 
 have done w 7 ith to-day — let me prepare for eternity." 
 
 At this point Clery appeared, and asked the King to 
 take some refreshment. Louis refused at first ; but even 
 at that ghastly pass his appetite asserted itself, and he ate 
 and drank during five minutes — only bread and wine ; and 
 this he did standing, after the manner of a traveller hur- 
 rying on a journey. 
 
 The priest now asked the King if he would like early in 
 the morning to communicate. 
 
 The King turned, and a last look of pleasure shone upon 
 his face. He was essentially a religious man, but he had 
 despaired of being permitted to take the communion, for 
 the Convention, amongst other things, had abolished the 
 theory and practice of the Lord's Supper. 
 
 The Abbe therefore sought the commissaries on duty, 
 and asked for the necessary articles, without which, accord- 
 ing to the Roman Church, the ceremony of the communion 
 cannot be effected. 
 
 The gaol authorities were excessively confused. On the
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 315 
 
 one hand, they were ashamed to refuse this consolation to 
 a dj'ing man ; on the other, the constitution of the coun- 
 try then held that this helief in transuhstantiation, or the 
 passage of the bread and wine into the actual body and 
 blood of Christ at their raising, was a superstition. 
 
 " And if we give you permission," cried one of the lead- 
 ing men, " how do we know you will not cheat the scaffold of 
 his blood by poisoning him with the holy wafer? It is 
 well known to us that certain kings have been poisoned in 
 the holy wafer, given to them as the very blood of the 
 Redeemer." 
 
 " I can set that doubt at rest," said the Abbe. " You 
 can yourselves supply me with both bread and wine." 
 
 The hope of "communicating" elevated the dying King 
 almost to ecstasy. He fell upon his knees, and until far 
 into the night recited the simple, almost innocent, sins of 
 which he had been guilty. A very innocent and simple- 
 hearted man, the list could not have been formidable. 
 
 Then he lay down, and fell asleep, as calmly as a little 
 child — as though that final night was to be succeeded by a 
 long and peaceful morrow. 
 
 CHAPTER LIU. 
 
 THE SACRIFICE OF BLOOD. 
 
 The Abbe, meanwhile, prayed unceasingly in an outer 
 chamber, and separated only from the King's by a wooden 
 partition. 
 
 He and Clery, the recently-appointed but faithful attend- 
 ant on the King, heard the condemned man's breath regu- 
 lar and peaceful, uninterrupted by cries or restlessness. 
 His heart beat regularly, with no more fear than is experi- 
 enced by clockwork which has nearly run down, and is 
 about to stop. 
 
 At five, it was necessary to awaken the King. 
 
 "Has it struck five ? " 'he inquired, of Clery. 
 
 " Not yet, by the town clock," the man replied " but 
 several bells have sounded the hour."
 
 316 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 " I have slept heartily," remarked the Ring; 'I suppose 
 because, yesterday, I was very much fatigued." 
 
 Clery now lighted the fire, and helped his dying master 
 to dress. 
 
 The King "communicated," the altar being raised in 
 the room in which he usually sat. 
 
 He took the substantiated, or, rather, consecrated, bread, 
 with awful gravity, but with utter calmness. 
 
 While the priest was disrobing, the King retired to the 
 little turret; and here, being joined by Clery, the good ser- 
 vant knelt, and requested the King's blessing. 
 
 Louis XVI raised his hand, and desired him to convey 
 that blessing, through himself, to all who loved their King, 
 and especially to those of his gaolers who had shown to the 
 royal family anything like pity or kindness. 
 
 Then, leading the valet to the window, he gave him, so 
 that those watching through the glass of the doors should 
 not see the act, a seal, which he had detached from his 
 watch, a small parcel, taken from his bosom, and the 
 wedding-ring with which, at their royal marriage, the 
 Queen had pledged her faith to him. This ring he took 
 from the hand upon which he had worn it since placed there 
 at his marriage. 
 
 " When I am dead," he said, "you will give this seal to 
 my son, and this ring to the Queen. Tell her that I give 
 it up with great pain, and onty because I do not will that it 
 should share in the profanity to which, of course, my body 
 will be subjected. And this little parcel has in it locks of 
 the hair of all my family. Give it, also, to my lady. Say 
 to the Queen, and to my most dear children, and to my 
 sister, that though I promised to see them this morning, I 
 meant to spare them the grief of another bitter separation. 
 It costs me more than I can describe, to go without kiss- 
 ing them again !" 
 
 Here he wept, for the last time in his life, it being one of 
 the very few occasions when he was moved to tears. 
 
 " I give to you," he added, in a sweet, low, suppressed 
 voice, — " I give to you my last farewell, to take to those I 
 love ! " 
 
 Clery retired, weeping, though his tears were an evidence 
 against him which might cost him his life. 
 
 A moment passed, and the King, leaving the little room, 
 asked one of the gaolers for a pair of scissors.
 
 LOVE AND LIBEKTY. 317 
 
 "What for, citizen?" 
 
 "I wish the Citizen Clery to cut off my hair; it is the 
 only legacy I have to leave my family." 
 
 " ? Tis well," said the gaol< r. 
 
 And Clery performed this ghastly office. 
 
 Clery, turning to the commissaires, said, "And now, 
 citizens, I beg that I may be allowed to accompany the 
 Citizen Louis Capet" — he dared not call him King; to 
 do so would have teriiiined his own life — " to the scaffold. 
 I seek permission to perform this last office, and that it 
 may not be left to the executioner." 
 
 " Bah ! The executioner is good enough ioxhim ! " cried 
 one of the more influential commissaires. 
 
 The King turned away. 
 
 The Abbe, following him some moments afterwards, 
 found the King calmly warming himself near the stove, 
 and evidently contemplating his approaching end with a 
 certain calm joy which was to be envied by very many of 
 those who had condemned him. 
 
 "Good heavens !" he cried, "how glad I am that while 
 on the throne, I maintained my faith in the Eternal ! 
 What now would be my sufferings, if I had not steadfast 
 hope in the world to come ! Oh, yes ; above there is a 
 Judge of courage, who cannot be influenced or threatened 
 — who will judge me honestly, and accord to me that 
 justice which has been denied me in this world." 
 
 The winter day now broke, and light struggled between 
 the bars and planks which combined to shut out light from 
 the royal prisoners, one of whom was now destined soon to 
 be free. 
 
 The roll of the drum, on one side or the other far and 
 near, now was heard ; hurried steps passed ; the click of 
 arms could be distinguished ; and soon horses, heavily 
 mounted, were heard beating along the street. 
 
 A heavier sound — cannon, and strongly-built tumbrils or 
 wagons were heard, taking up their position in the court- 
 yard of the prison, and about its entrance. 
 
 The King, true to the last to his marvellous character — 
 which his friends describe, as one not to be swayed by pas- 
 sion, which his enemies analyzed to be one of callousness 
 and incapability of feeling, not only with regard to others, 
 but even for himself — the King commented on these sounds,
 
 318 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 not as though they affected him and his life, hut as though 
 they were an agreeable puzzle he was putting together. 
 
 " 'Tis probably the National Guard assembling," he 
 said, in a half curious voice, to the still praying Abbe, 
 when the first roll of the drum swept through the cold 
 morning air. 
 
 A few moments passed, and the trampling of horses' 
 hoofs at the foot of the tower attracted his attention. 
 Then followed the voices of officers, giving military direc- 
 tions. 
 
 " They are come," he said. 
 
 He spoke without impatience or fear, after the manner 
 of a friend quietly waiting for a friend, and at last hearing 
 the amicable step upon the stair. 
 
 And now the King : s last torture — not his execution, for 
 that was in mercy extended to him — commenced. 
 
 Through two long hours was this poor man tortured by 
 a refinement of cruelty for which there can he found no 
 extenuation, to which no parallel can be discovered. 
 
 Through these two hours came frequent summonses at 
 the door. Upon each occasion the King rose, ready. 'Up- 
 on each occasion some poor, petty excuse was made. He 
 himself (the King) opened the door, answered the wretch 
 and coward who tortured him, bowed eivilly when he learnt 
 his presence was not required, and closing the door, w r aited 
 until a fresh summons beat upon his heart.. 
 
 Ah, posterit} T cannot forgive those acts ! Long must the 
 question remain unsettled whether or not Louis XVI was 
 rightfully put to death. Possibly he but paid the debt his 
 ancestors had incurred. Millions had died of starvation. 
 Taxes annihilated industry through generations previous 
 to the uprising of the people. Even salt w r as weighted 
 with a tax which caused it to be sold at an enormous rate 
 — thirty pence a pound. Finally, Louis may have been 
 guilty, as a man who was false to his oaths to keep the 
 land of France free of enemies, of calling foreign help to 
 France. It must be felt that when his throne was sinking 
 from beneath him, other kings, in the interests of thrones, 
 being desirous of maintaining Louis upon his, would wil- 
 lingly offer that foreign aid which it is felt Louis had been 
 more than humanly self-denying in refusing. He fell a 
 sacrifice to the errors of the two Louises who had preceded
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 319 
 
 him on the throne — a hlood compensation for the waste, 
 luxury, and sensuality of half a dozen generations of 
 French nobles. 
 
 The measure of the people's misery being full, they rose, 
 and rose successfully. Their mistake — one which ultimate- 
 ly suffocated all the good it was intended they should effect 
 — took the shape of success, intoxicating itself with victory. 
 
 Give a lesson to kings not to exceed their duty — yes. 
 All France knew that the English Revolution, which sent 
 Charles I to the block, had resulted in a social condition in 
 England which offered an example for France to follow. 
 
 But having once passed upon a man the dignity of 
 approaching death ; having thrown round him the darkness 
 of the coming tomb — to orush his heart — to humiliate him 
 — to embitter his last moments — to play with his life as a 
 cat with a poor, palpitating mouse — to try to resuscitate 
 the desire to live — to seek to change the calmness of resig- 
 nation back into the whirlpool of despair — these are not 
 the acts of men, but demons. 
 
 Yet let not these acts be set down to the people. In 
 times of trouble, all the scum boils to the surface, and it is 
 the surface we see, not the clarified water below it. Few, 
 very few men completed the murders of September; seven- 
 eighths of all France knew nothing about these wholesale 
 murders until they were achieved. 
 
 But the miserable attempt to torture the King's last 
 hour upon earth failed utterly — he was beyond attack. 
 His soul had already passed away. 
 
 At nine o'clock there was a tumultuous noise upon the 
 staircase, and now there was a summons at the door. It 
 was thrown open. 
 
 As far as the King's eyes could stretch were armed men 
 — all gazing towards Louis. 
 
 Santerre appeared, attended by twelve municipals, and 
 ten gendarmes, all of whom fell into two lines in the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 The King turned to the little turret door, and with his 
 hand upon it, looked towards Santerre. 
 
 In this final moment all the reserve and imperiousness 
 of a prince returned to Louis XVI. 
 
 " You are come for me," he said. " Await me — and 
 for a mere moment."
 
 320 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 He paused, closed the door, and knelt at the minister's 
 feet. 
 
 " It is finished," he said. " Bless me, and let me go." 
 
 A moment, and he rose, came out, placed himself smil- 
 ingly between the double row of armed men. In his hand 
 was a paper. It was his will. Addressing himself to the 
 man who appeared to be the chief of the squad, he said, 
 " I pray you to give this letter to the Queen." 
 
 The Republicans started, and the act reminded the King 
 of the error he had committed. 
 
 " To my wife," he said, correcting himself, to please the 
 Republican ears. 
 
 "It's no affair of mine," replied the man addressed, and 
 in savage tones. " I'm not here to carry messages to your 
 wife, but to take j'ou to the scaffold." 
 
 This unhappy creature, one Jacques Roux, had actually 
 been a priest, who had thrown off the cassock and joined 
 the revolutionary army. 
 
 " True," said the King, his head falling. 
 
 But the name of a man in those ranks was to be made 
 illustrious amongst pitying and tender-hearted men. The 
 King, looking up, glanced rapidly along the two lines of 
 faces to find one pitying look. His eyes rested upon one 
 Gobeau, a man with a frightful name, but possessed of a 
 far better heart. 
 
 " I pra} T } T ou give this paper to my wife." 
 
 Gobeau hesitated, and looked from the King to his com- 
 rades, from his comrades back to Louis. 
 
 " You may read it — if you will. 'Tis but my wishes, 
 which I trust the Commune may read." 
 
 The man Gobeau asked the consent of his comrades, and 
 then took the paper. 
 
 The morning was very cold, and to complete the resem- 
 blance between the fates of the two beheaded Kings, 
 Charles I of England, and Louis XVI of France, exactly 
 as Charles's valet put a cloak round his master, so that he 
 should not appear to tremble at the scaffold, so Clery, 
 knowing nothing of the parallel, put a cloak about his mas- 
 ter. 
 
 Both kings were beheaded towards the end of January. 
 
 " I do not require a cloak," he said. " Give me my 
 hat."
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 321 
 
 As he took it, he shook the faithful Clery's hand. Then, 
 turning to Santerre, and looking him full in the face, he 
 said, " 1 am ready." 
 
 Santerre and Ills troop rather followed than escorted him. 
 
 The King passed down the staircase slowly, and without 
 any signs of tremor. Now, it is in descending a staircase 
 that a man, convulsed by agitation, is almost sure to 
 stumble. 
 
 The King did not make one false step. 
 
 Beaching the foot of the steps, the King encountered 
 one Mathey. 
 
 "Citizen Mathey," said Louis, "j'ou offended me very 
 cruelly last night, and 1 replied angrily. For the sake of 
 this hour, pray pardon me." 
 
 Mathey, instead of replying, pretended to turn his head 
 away, and not see the King. However, it is only just to 
 say, in some extenualion of the brutality of most of those 
 to whom the King addressed himself during the last hour 
 of his existence, that death was now so quickly dealt to 
 any man whose words could be twisted into an expression 
 of even pity for fallen royalty, that it was only at the risk 
 of exposing life that a man could be humane in an answer 
 to any question addressed to him by any one of the royal 
 family. 
 
 The King was now crossing the court-yard. He had 
 achieved half the distance before his heart failed him ; and, 
 turning yearningly, he looked towards the tower within 
 which the Queen was confined. A moment, and his face 
 was towards the people glaring in at the gate. Once more 
 he looked, as he passed out of the court-yard; then he, 
 death, and eternity were alone ! 
 
 A carriage awaited him, an armed man standing each 
 side the door. One of these men entered the carriage, and 
 took a front seat ; the King followed, and took the place of 
 honor — the right, facing the horses. The Abbe Edgeworth 
 followed, and sat beside Louis. The second gendarme now 
 entered, and slammed and fastened the door, and the carri- 
 age was at once started. 
 
 Sixty drums lead the way, incessantly sounding, and a 
 mass of armed men surrounded the victim. 
 
 The reign of terror had begun, in truth. A Governmen- 
 tal order had been issued, forbidding any citizen to show 
 20
 
 322 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 himself at a window ; and the infraction of such an order 
 was, in itself, probably a condemnation to death. The 
 citizens were also forbidden to cross any of the streets upon 
 the line of march. 
 
 A strange effect was this procession. 
 
 The morning was lowering, cold, dead, and damp; and 
 the noisy sixty drums, purposely used to drown any cry 
 that might be raised, led the way for a hurried, half- 
 disciplined, half-armed horde of armed men ; in their midst, 
 a carriage, half-rilled with two such as those who formed 
 the escort. 
 
 And this procession marched through a double row of 
 steel — of pikes and bayonets, held by silent men. At dis- 
 tances were squads of the regulars, armed and prepared as 
 for an action in the field. 
 
 A strange sight ! Thousands of armed men — soldiers 
 ■with cannon and musket, prepared against a numerous foe ; 
 a swiftly passing crowd of men, armed to the teeth, jealous- 
 ly guarding a carriage half-filled with two such as they 
 themselves were, — all against — what ? 
 
 Sixty drums beating to drown — utter silence ! Two 
 hundred thousand men, to keep order amongst — space! 
 Armed men- — and that was all ! 
 
 On the line, not a human being to be seen bej'ond the 
 serried lines of armed men. Not a woman's form for the 
 ej - e to rest on — every window blind, every street passed, a 
 desert. Paris was a city of the dead. Even the market- 
 places were silent, and not even the voice of a child was to- 
 be heard. 
 
 Cannon gaped at every street corner, the artillerymen 
 holding lighted matches ; in a word, on all sides were to be 
 seen evidences of preparations to meet a formidable enemy 
 — on not one was the shadow of an enemy to be seen. 
 
 The King could, scarcely be perceived though the forest 
 of steel in which he was lost. He wore a brown coat and 
 a white waistcoat. His hair was raised up already for the 
 executioner's hands. 
 
 So great was the noise created by the drums, that he 
 could not hear what the Abbe Edgeworth said, or even 
 what he himself said to that self-devoted gentleman. 
 
 Therefore he took the minister's breviary, and opened it 
 at those particular pslams which he had learnt in his cap-
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 823 
 
 tivity, suited to his situation. These he began to recite while 
 the priest prayed beside him. 
 
 It is said the expression of the two men-at-arms were 
 those of astonishment and admiration. 
 
 All these warlike preparations were met by the opposition 
 of seven or eight opponents. 
 
 The procession moved from the Temple up to the boule- 
 vards, the line of which was kept by the procession, until 
 it reached the place of execution, on that spot which is now 
 the Place de la Concorde. At thai point on the line of 
 March which now lies between the Fortes St. Denis and St. 
 Martin, occurred the one sign of any opposition to the 
 tragedy which was about to be completed. 
 
 There was a sudden stir; and, suddenly, seven or eight 
 young men, sword in hand, rushed from the Rue Beaure- 
 gard, dashed forward through the line of armed men, and 
 even reached the carriage, they crying, "Help, help, those 
 who would save the King!" 
 
 The leader of these frantically-daring young men was one 
 Baron de Batz, a man of extremely adventurous tendencies. 
 Chiefly by his means, three thousand young men had com- 
 bined to effect this diversion in the King's favor, and they 
 were to respond to the call to arms led by Batz. 
 
 The three thousand made no reply ; the seven or eight 
 devoted men stood alone in the midst of nearly a quarter 
 of a million of armed enemies. 
 
 But some mercy was shown them, for those about them 
 did not massacre the youths, — they were all very young. 
 They even escaped into a side street; but here they were 
 fallen upon by a squad of gendarmes, rapidly told off for 
 that purpose; and being caught sword-in-hand, they were 
 shot down, and left where they fell. 
 
 « »«— » 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 EXECUTION OE LOUIS XVI. 
 
 As the Place de la Revolution, the place of execution, 
 came in view, a ray of sunshine fell upon the guillotine —
 
 p24 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 one of those coincidences which the superstitious and the 
 wonder-loving remember and treasure up. 
 
 This open space was filled with a hundred thousand of 
 the lowest rabble; soldiers thick about the scaffold; and 
 high above the people stood a something, the woodwork of 
 which was painted a blood-color. 
 
 This was the guillotine! 
 
 The guillotine had only just been introduced. It had 
 been invented in Italy, and imported into France by a 
 humane doctor, named Guillotin, whose name was cruelly 
 taken and applied to the machine, an " e " being added to 
 make it feminine — for, according to the custom of most 
 men in most times, a something terrible and merciless is 
 always feminine. If the women had the naming, perhaps 
 the other gender would as frequently be applied to things 
 of terror. 
 
 The guillotine was essentially a humane invention. 
 Previous to its introduction, the condemned man knelt 
 down and placed his head on a block. A headsman then 
 with an axe endeavored to sever the head from the body. 
 The least swaying on his part, and instead of death, a 
 wound was the result. Often an executioner, unnerved by 
 the failure of his first blow, would hack and chop many 
 times before the victim ceased to show signs of life, and 
 before the head was off the body. 
 
 The guillotine exactly fell in with the views of the 
 equallist Republicans, for they objected to the executioner, 
 because it was a disgrace to a man to be an executioner. 
 On the other hand, the guillotine, consisting of a heavy, 
 razor-like knife, which worked in grooves, and fell upon a 
 neck irrevocably placed below the knife, the head was 
 separated at a blow, in a moment, and death achieved with 
 the least possible cruelty. 
 
 But if the guillotine was merciful — and of this there 
 can be no doubt — on the other hand-^it may be questioned 
 if so many people would have been condemned to death 
 during the Reign of Terror if the old slow mode of decap- 
 itation had remained. 
 
 ¥>y a singular fatality the head of Guillotin himself was 
 taken off by the very instrument he had introduced from 
 Italy into France. 
 
 All the vagabondage of Paris was present at this execu-
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 325 
 
 tion. The trees bent under the masses of people who had 
 climbed into them. There was not breathing room, while, 
 •by connivance of the most bloodthirsty of the revolutionary 
 leaders, the spaces immediately round the scaffold were 
 occupied by the men who had effected the massacre of 
 September. 
 
 These men were there to applaud. 
 
 But when the carriage containing the King drew up be- 
 fore the scaffold, the mob was silent — even the September 
 men, for a little time, held their peace. 
 
 The King perceiving the carriage stop, looked up, and 
 said to the Abbe, " We have arrived, I think." 
 
 The minister replied by a gesture. 
 
 One of the three brothers Sanson, the three executioners 
 of Paris, opened the door. 
 
 The gendarmes got out, whereupon the King, closing the 
 door, and placing his hand upon the minister, he said 
 authoritatively to those who were pressing forward, " Gen- 
 tlemen, I recommend this gentleman to your care. Be 
 brave enough to save him from insult after I am dead. I 
 charge you to save him ! " 
 
 No one replied. 
 
 " I charge you to save him ! " 
 
 One of them, more sinister than the rest, replied. 
 
 " Yes, yes," he said ; " be at peace — we will save him, 
 and let us hear no more about it." 
 
 Louis now stepped from the carnage. 
 
 Three executioners' attendants came forward, and wished 
 to undress him at the foot of the scaffold. 
 
 He waved them back, took off his coat, cravat, and 
 turned down his shirt. 
 
 The executioners again approached him. 
 
 " "What do you seek to do ?" lie asked, angrily. 
 
 " Bind you ! " they said, seizing his hands. 
 
 " Bind me! " the King cried, all the passion of centuries 
 of petted and idolized royal blood rising in the veins which 
 were row in a few moments to be empty. "Never! — I 
 will not permit it. Do your work, but you shall not bind 
 me — do not even dream of such a thing ! " 
 
 This man, the descendant of hundreds of kings, could 
 not, even after recommending his soul to God, uncrown him- 
 self. The Convention might call him a citizen — but he had,
 
 326 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 as all kings must, lived in the belief of that half-divinity 
 which is still in some places supposed to surround a king. 
 
 The executioners had their duty to do. Here was a man 
 to be guillotined. Men who were guillotined had to be 
 bound. Then they must bind their man. 
 
 They again approached. 
 
 A veritable struggle was about to commence at the foot 
 of the scaffold. 
 
 The King saved himself from himself in time. He re- 
 membered the dignity of his death, and he looked towards 
 the Abbe. 
 
 " Sire," said the man of religion, " compare yourself to 
 One far greater than yourself, who was bound with cords, 
 and who will soon welcome you as a brother." 
 
 The King looked to heaven, appeased, but the royal pride 
 still lingered. 
 
 "Truly, only the Divine example enables me to bear this 
 disgrace." 
 
 It is probable this final demonstration, in his very ex- 
 tremity, of his superiority to touch from common hands, 
 helped to harden the nation against the life of the widow. 
 On the other hand, it proved the first occasion on which he 
 showed the least sign of impatience with his tormentors. 
 
 "Do as-you will," he said. "I will drink the cup to the 
 dregs." 
 
 Supported by the help of the aged minister, he ascended 
 the steps of the scaffold, and, it must be admitted, with signs 
 of physical fear — the first he had yet shown. Possibly this 
 condition of body was chiefly brought about by the actual 
 physical resistance he had made at the foot of the ladder. 
 But upon coming to the level, all his natural calmness or 
 courage, whichever it was, came to his aid ; and, stepping 
 quickly forward across the platform without help, he con- 
 templated the means of his death. 
 
 Suddenly, he turned, and faced the people, and used the 
 royal gesture of his life. It was quite natural — a habit of 
 his life — and testified to no violent defiance of his position, 
 and of those who placed him where lie stood. 
 
 The drummers mechanically obeyed. 
 
 "People," he said, in a voice which was heard afar off, 
 even in the very confines of the square, — "People, I die 
 innocent of all the crimes of which I am declared guilty. I
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 327 
 
 forgive those who send me to death, and I pray God that 
 the blood you are about to shed may not fall upon France." 
 
 The crowd trembled — murmured. 
 
 He was about to speak again, when the officer of the 
 troop gave orders to the drums to beat and the King's voice 
 was drowned. 
 
 He had said enough. Nothing could add to the majesty 
 of those few words. The agony was spared him of learning 
 who the man was that gave the order which drowned 
 his last words. It was the Count d'Ctyat, a natural son of 
 Louis XV; and therefore by blood, if not by marriage, the 
 King's uncle — Louis XVI being the grandson of Louis XV. 
 
 What a fate ! His cousin voted for his death, and the 
 last words he uttered were drowned by the command of his 
 uncle. 
 
 The condemned man turned slowly away. As they fas- 
 tened him to the plank, he cast one look upon the praying 
 minister, and the next moment the plank was sinking for- 
 ward, carrying down Louis of France, his face towards the 
 earth. 
 
 Another moment — the time for the passage of the heavy 
 blade — and Louis of France was dead ! 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 "WHAT FOLLOWS. 
 
 I saw Louis XVI die. 
 
 " Go," said Robespierre, " see liberty declared, and a 
 King proved to be no more than a man." 
 
 I stood amongst those at the foot of the scaffold. 
 I will say no more than this — Louis died bravely, and 
 like a man. And I think the people were sorry. Of course 
 they had more to regret before the Reign of Terror was 
 over- 
 Robespierre changed nothing in his mode of life after 
 he came to Duplay's. He drank water, he lived very tem- 
 perately and frugally, was always master of himself. By 
 the way, another of Duplay's daughters coming home, Max-
 
 328 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 imilian actually fell in love -with her, in a grave, calm way ; 
 and it was agreed that, when liberty was completely ob- 
 tained, and France was at peace, that they should be mar- 
 ried, live in a cottage, and hide away from the world. 
 
 I hud frequently been at the Temple during the incarcer- 
 ation of the King, and often saw various members of the 
 unhappy family. I am desirious that my hearers should be- 
 lieve that the men who surrounded the Capets in their im- 
 prisonment, were no more good examples of the revolution- 
 ary masses than I am an angel. A few hundred ferocious 
 men rose to the surface of the Revolution, and disgraced it. 
 At heart, its adherents sought to make France happy, and 
 the people richer. 
 
 But let me return to the course of events. 
 
 There is very little known of what the widowed Queen 
 did or said during the night before the execution, and upon 
 that morning itself, beyond the fact that she passed from 
 praj'er to insensibility continuously. The entire family 
 seem to have been conscious, from the first, that the separa- 
 tion with the King, on the eve of the execution, was final 
 — that his promise to see them in the morning was a pious 
 fraud. 
 
 As the morning progressed, after she knew by the lessen- 
 ing noise of the drums that he was on the way to execution, 
 her great anxiety appeared to be to ascertain the exact mo- 
 ment when he died, so that from praying for him. she might 
 entreat his soul to pray and plead for her and his children. 
 
 The loud cries of "Long Live the Republic," and the 
 rumbling return of the cannon, were the first evidences she 
 received that all was over. 
 
 !She appears from that time to have passed into a state of 
 half-unconscious moroseness — a condition which is one of 
 the mercies of nature, and which only ended in her life. 
 
 She knew, she said, that he would die like a man, and 
 that was her consolation, when, with a cruelty beyond 
 measure, she was refused any information concerning his last 
 moments. 
 
 Clery, the valet, now, apart from her family, the dearest 
 being to her in all the world, as the man who had been with 
 the King during his last days, — Cleiy was now a prisoner, 
 and remained one during a whole month, during which time
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 329 
 
 he had not the faintest approach to an opportunity to give 
 the queen the King's last words, or place in her keeping the 
 hair and ring with which the King had entrusted him. 
 
 About these relics there is a strange bit of tender history. 
 One Toulan concealed under the most frantic demonstrations 
 of Republicanism, a sacrificial devotion to the royal family. 
 He feared these relics would be wilfully destroyed by some 
 drunken, ruthless hand ; and pretending that he would not 
 allow the chance of their being delivered to the Queen, he 
 insisted on their being placed under the keeping of the 
 chief officers of the Commune. 
 
 The Queen asked very humbly permission to wear mourn- 
 ing for the King, and this was granted, on condition of ex- 
 treme parsimony and meanness. 
 
 There was a special debate, in order to ohtain the Dau- 
 phin a few shirts. 
 
 The more merciful men of the Revolution fully expected 
 that the death of the King would be followed by the liber- 
 ation of the Queen, her children, and the Princess Elizabeth. 
 This hope being held out to the Princess Elizabeth, she 
 carried the grateful news to the Queen, who heard it, with- 
 out interest, and returned an answer almost stupid to this 
 good news. Either she knew that a nation who had not 
 spared her husband would not spare her, who had always 
 been the least liked of the two, or she did not care to live. 
 Probably the latter surmise is the nearer correct. 
 
 Her only expression of resolution took place when she 
 was requested for her health's sake to walk in the garden of 
 the prison. She resolutely refused. She said she could not 
 pass the door of the King's prison — could not put her feet 
 upon the stairs down which he had marched to death. It 
 was only at the end of six weeks — at the close of February 
 — that she consented, for the sake of the children, who 
 never left her side, to walk on the platform at the top of the 
 tower. Here, between the battlements of the parapet, she 
 could be seen from the neighboring houses ; and this tending 
 to create pity, it was ordered that the spaces between the 
 battlements should be tilled up with boards — an order which 
 pleased the Queen, for it shut out from her sight a city 
 which, to her, appeared a mere charnel-house. This in- 
 tended petty cruelty — which was a relief — took place towards 
 the end of March.
 
 330 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 The King had now been dead ten weeks, and Marie Antoi- 
 nette had yet to live six crnel months. 
 
 Her bodily health was breaking, but she had no knowl- 
 edge of this fact. Her heart was dead. She was simply 
 decaying. For whole nights she would lie awake, never 
 complaining, never showing signs of weariness. 
 
 Her life had passed into wailing. She was weary almost 
 of the love of her children. Upon the face, and in her step, 
 walk, in every gesture, and at rest, at last, or awake, the 
 woman appeared to be pleading, "Good Lord, how long 
 shall this endure? '"' 
 
 She was now more closely watched. The Princess Eliza- 
 beth, at peace, become essentially a religions woman, con- 
 trived to obtain intelligence of what was happening. One 
 Hue — once valet to the King when in prosperity — conveyed 
 messages through the friendly Toulan into the prison. 
 These messages were put in the pipe of a portable fireplace, 
 and found by the Princess Elizabeth, who replied in letters 
 written with sympathetic ink, so that only those who knew 
 how to treat them could read their contents. 
 
 These letters contained minutes of all that was doing in 
 Europe in the royal cause. Many promising lines thus 
 came to the prison. The Queen heard them read, said a 
 vacant word or two, and sank back into her usual condition 
 of partial lethargy. 
 
 She only came back to life when she heard the voices of 
 either of her children. Then she lived. When they were 
 silent, she was dead, though her heart still beat. 
 
 CHAPTER LVL 
 
 THE REIGN OF TERROR. 
 
 The remains of Louis XVI were conveyed in a cart to 
 the graveyard, flung into a hole, and lime cast upon the 
 remains, that the bones might never be found, in order to 
 be exalted into relics. 
 
 Paris was silent — except for the voices of the more excit- 
 ed of the Revolutionists, who overrun the city, announcing
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 331 
 
 the death of the tyrant, and proclaiming the advent of lib- 
 erty. 
 
 The body of the people did not respond to this enthusiasm 
 ■ — they did not confound punishment with victory. The 
 body of the King was not cold before the people began ask- 
 ing themselves whether <ir not a righteous act had been 
 committed. The King's death left this problem to be dis- 
 cussed by the nation. Many years have elapsed as 1 write, 
 and the problem is still discussed — had the- people a right 
 to kill Louis XVI ? 
 
 The result of the King's death upon the more moderate 
 Republicans, and upon those who had agreed to the new 
 constitution, but were Royalists at heart, were in some 
 cases terrible. To many, this execution appeared a sacri- 
 lege, which must bring down upon the people who had com- 
 mitted it one of those vengeances in which heaven demands 
 for the spilt blood of one just man the blood of an entire 
 people. 
 
 Men died of grief when they learnt the awful facts, and 
 many more went mad. 
 
 Women cast themselves in panic from housetops, others 
 from the bridges into the River Seine. 
 
 Sisters, wives, and mothers of the Conventionalists, who 
 had condemned lovers to death, shrank from them as from 
 lepers. 
 
 One of the principal judges at the trial, Michael Lepelle- 
 tier, was almost immediately stabbed in an eating-house by 
 one Paris, a hot-headed Royalist, who escaped only for a 
 short time. Tracked, he shot himself; and upon the body 
 was found a paper bearing these words : — 
 
 " I alone did the deed — let no other man be suspected. 
 I did not mean to kill the wretch, Lepelletier, but he came 
 in my way. I was waiting for the parricide D'Orleans, of 
 whom I hoped to rid the world. All Frenchmen have 
 become cowards." . 
 
 Three days after, Lepelletier was publicly buried, after 
 the antique Greek mode, and thousands were squandered 
 upon this pomp. 
 
 Meanwhile the nations were rising against France, 
 although about this time the Prussians had been worsted 
 by the Trench on the eastern frontiers.
 
 332 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 In England; the horror produced was great ; and one 
 Chauvelin having returned from London to Paris, declaring 
 to the Convention that the English masses were ready to 
 rise and massacre the King (George III) in his palace, the 
 French ambassador at London was ordered to leave Eng- 
 land within twenty-four hours. 
 
 The Convention thereupon declared war against Holland 
 and England. 
 
 Catharine II, of Russia, revoked the treaty of 1786, by 
 which the French were more favored in Russia, than other 
 foreigners; and ordered all the French in Russia to return 
 to Fiance, who would not swear that thej* abhorred revolu- 
 tionary sentiments. This Empress joined the coalition 
 against France. 
 
 The Convention had already declared war against Spain. 
 
 And now, England, Prussia, Austria, Russia, and Spain 
 were all at war with France — which was at war with itself. 
 
 Even Sweden had declared against the Republic. Not a 
 friendly national face looked upon France beyond the boun- 
 daries. 
 
 In mercy to what was now to happen to France, let it be 
 said that, cast upon her own resources, the armies of other 
 people advancing upon her by land, and by sea, despairing 
 of help from the United States, which had not yet recov- 
 ered the blood spilt in obtaining her independence, France 
 was panic-stricken at the fear of civil war, and rashly 
 sought, by the most unpardonable acts, to exterminate 
 this probability b}* the extermination of all those who 
 were suspected of favoring Royalism. 
 
 The leader of blood amongst the Conventionists, im- 
 mediately after the execution of Louis XVI, took the 
 hideous form of Marat. Dirty, mean, fetid, disgusting in 
 look and action, he endeared himself to the most foul 
 amongst the lowest by these attributes. But, like Robes- 
 pierre, who was a very fop in appearance and action, he 
 accepted no public money, and lived most obscurely in 
 three or four garret-like rooms, most meanly furnished. 
 This man was the idol of the commonest people, who 
 saluted him almost as though* a God: and he must have 
 had some occult powej of attraction, for a woman really 
 beautiful devoted her life and honor to this creature. 
 Nor was he without the sentiment of self-sacrifice ; for,
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. * 333 
 
 though dying, though every violent speech he made, 
 which was always prefaced by the cry u Bloo<}!" brought 
 
 him nearer to the grave, he never hesitated to exert him- 
 self, and quitted his bed or his bath, in which he passed 
 
 the greater part of his time, to go down to the ('(inven- 
 tion, and denounce men on the most frivolous pretences. 
 
 The moderate party in the Convention — the Girondists 
 — who in theory desired to save the King, and in practice 
 condemned him to death, were by this time in danger. 
 They were in the way of the fiercer part}', led by Marat, 
 Danton, and Robespierre, who were to eclipse both; and 
 these Girondists were already in the hands of their op- 
 ponents, condemned to follow the King to the scaffold. 
 
 It was in such language as the following that Marat, 
 who gained a poor living as the editor of a very fierce pa- 
 per, spoke, in his Friend of the People : 
 
 " I pray my readers pardon me to-day if I speak of 
 myself; not because I am vain, or a fool, or because I 
 wish to serve the people, and, therefore, must justify myself 
 in their sight; for I am accused of being a monster, 
 greedy of blood — a tiger, longing for gore ! 
 
 "Born with a sensitive heart, carefully nurtured, at 
 twenty-brie, I was pure, and had long since given myself up 
 to knowledge. 
 
 " My mother gave much in charity, and all she gave 
 passed through my hands. At eight, I could not endure 
 cruelty, and the sight of it enraged me to madness. 
 
 "As a child I was weak, and never did I know the joys 
 of childhood. I was so loved, that I was never punished 
 but once, when eleven, and then unjustly. I sprang from 
 the window of the room in which I was confined, and found 
 liberty in the streets, where, even now, only liberty is to 
 be found." 
 
 He concluded this article : — 
 
 " Restored to health, I only thought how I could be 
 useful to the cause of freedom. And yet they accuse me 
 of having sold myself, — I, who could amass millions by 
 merely selling my silence, — I, who am in poverty and 
 want ! "
 
 334 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 Strange enough, like Robespierre, Marat firmly be- 
 lieved he was an instrument in the hands of God. " The 
 Revolution," he would say, " is the Gospel, and I am its 
 apostle." 
 
 But all the raving in the world could not hide the fact 
 that France had suddenly become poor. To be rich, was 
 to run the risk of being accused of being an aristocrat. 
 And as all gold and silver was in the hands of the rich, 
 and these were flying from Trance, the land was actually 
 being drained of specie. 
 
 Paper money was issued — a currency which the people 
 mistrusted, as the people always mistrust the unusual ; and 
 the Girondists were popularly accused of causing the dis- 
 appearance of the precious metals. 
 
 The walls of popular hate were closing round that score 
 of devoted men. 
 
 The aspect of the land was horrible. People feared to 
 go about in anything but rags, dreading to be supposed 
 rich, and therefore only fit to die ; land remained uncultiva- 
 ted, for its owners had fled ; and the half-destroyed, empty 
 houses of the nobility began falling into ruins. Not a car- 
 riage was to be seen, nor a jewel, nor any sign of luxury. 
 All was abject, wretched, debased. The bakers' shops were 
 almost like prisons (to this day, bakers' shops in Paris are 
 often barred) ; and the only prodigality was that of wine, 
 the manyj'ears store of which flowed in terrible abundance. 
 It was cheaper than bread, and steeled the heart to pity. 
 Commerce had ceased, and not a sail beyond that of a 
 French fishing-smack was to be seen in the French waters. 
 
 Marat now advocated the pillage of every store-house in 
 the land, and the hanging of some of the owners in their 
 own gateways, as an example to the rest. 
 
 And now that which was most feared occurred — civil 
 war. La Vendue, in the north-west of France — the Brit- 
 tany of to-day — rose almost to a man, and defied the repub- 
 lic. 
 
 Spain now began to pour her soldiers upon the south, 
 while Austrians and Prussians were gaining victory after 
 victory in the north and east. 
 
 So north, south, east, and west, enemies' faces were 
 turned upon France, while England was preparing to sweep 
 her navy around the whole of the coasts of the now devoted 
 land.
 
 LOVE A^D LIBERTY. 335 
 
 The Convention commanded that a black flag should 
 float from the towers of the Cathedral of Notre Dame de 
 Paris. 
 
 The theatres were closed. 
 
 Only one cry was heard in the streets — " To arms — to 
 arms ! " 
 
 Danton and Robespierre now quarrelled. One Legendre 
 undertook to reconcile them, and they met without previous 
 warning. Danton. a bull-dog in ferocity, and with the bull- 
 dog's generosity advanced, and held out his hand. Robes- 
 pierre, with the silent stealth of the tiger, which waits and 
 pounces, affected not to see it. ate his dinner in silence, and 
 went away, after the utterance of a few words, which were 
 the first that openby indicated his intention of betraying 
 Danton. 
 
 Danton was beginning to repent. His remorse was nat- 
 ural. He had lost his wife, whose death had been accel- 
 erated by terror. Unable to endure his loneliness, he sought 
 another wife ; her parents rejected him with loathing. But, 
 after a little, they pitied his misery, and gave their daugh- 
 ter to this strangely compounded man. 
 
 Danton now contemplated what was clone after Napoleon 
 had reigned and lived, after Louis XVIII had reigned and 
 died, after Charles X had been driven from the French throne 
 — the giving of a King to France, not belonging directly 
 to the hated 'Bourbons, but to the younger branch, the 
 Orleanists, the leader of whom, Philip Equality, had voted 
 Louis XVI's death. He was never crowned; he died on the 
 scaffold. His son, Louis Philippe, ultimately became King 
 of France. 
 
 Philip Equality refused the proposal. 
 
 Meanwhile, the convention was becoming a mere field of 
 battle. On one particular night, the two sides clash — a 
 poniard is drawn, a pistol is clapped to a breast, and murder 
 is nearly done. It is felt that one party must be swept 
 away, or nothing will be done. The moderate party, the 
 Girondists, twenty-two in all. are to-night nearer the scaf- 
 fold by a long journey than they were in the morning. 
 
 Marat is declared a traitor by two hundred and twenty 
 voices, against ninety-two. Marat defies the vote, throws 
 himself into the arms of the people, and is borne home in 
 triumph.
 
 336 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 The people rise in his favor. 
 
 On the 24th of April (the Queen has been waiting death 
 during three months) Marat is strong enough to appear 
 and defy Parliament. He commands them to declare him 
 innocent of treason. This defiance is carried to the thous- 
 ands of armed men waiting the issue outside the House of 
 Assembly. A cannon-like roar from the people declare their 
 ■will — and he is pronounced innocent. 
 
 The people place him on a plank, the throne of the peo- 
 ple, and bear him through the streets, after crowning him 
 with flowers. 
 
 " It is }'ou, the people," he cries, "who crown themselves 
 upon my head. I am the King of Poverty. May every 
 head, which would rear itself above the level of the people 
 soon fall, "when I cry ' Kill ! ' " 
 
 A few days, and, in his arrogance, he says to his brother 
 Conventionists, " I hold } 7 ou as a little water in the palm 
 of this hand ; and as readily as I spill it, so I can spill the 
 blood of all of you ! " 
 
 By this time, Philip Equality, for what he had been — a 
 Duke — had become hated of the people. Strangely enough, 
 he who had been so cowardly as a youth, now, when his 
 life was threatened, became brave. When he was arrested, 
 he was perfectly calm ; when separated from the elder of 
 his two sons, he was perfectly resigned. He had turned 
 from his family to serve the people, and he now wore their 
 chains. 
 
 The people now demanded the deaths of all the leaders 
 of the more moderate Conventionists. 
 
 " Death to the twenty-two ! " 
 
 The people had slain a King — therefore they began to 
 demand the lives of those who sought, as Republicans, to 
 govern tl*e stricken land. 
 
 CHAPTER LVII. 
 
 WHOLESALE MASSACRE. 
 
 The twenty-two deputies were already condemned by 
 the will of the ensanguined mob.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 337 
 
 On the eve of the last day in May (1793), of those 
 twenty-two, only one, the leader, Yergniaud, slept in his 
 own home. The others feared an assassination, and sought 
 the a ; d of friends. 
 
 A vote being carried against the moderates, the victors 
 proposed to walk with the people through the city, which 
 was illuminated. The Girondists, as a measure of pre- 
 caution, joined in the procession. 
 
 While the procession was progressing, that now or- 
 ganized hand, the Revolutionary Committee, sent to 
 arrest Madame Roland's husband. 
 
 That evening, Roland, who does not show well in this 
 business, fled into hiding. Madame Roland then deter- 
 mined to go down to the Convention and upbraid it. So 
 far, the French had not begun to behead women. Starting 
 from her home, she was surprised to find the cit}' had been 
 suddenly illuminated. Making her way to the Convention, 
 she found it closed. And she learnt that the moderate 
 party were overthrown, and that they would soon be head- 
 less. 
 
 She returned home, to await her fate. She did not seek 
 to fly. Roland, poor man, remained in concealment — only, 
 after a time, to be ashamed of his cowardice, and to commit 
 suicide. 
 
 She prepared to send away her daughter to trusted 
 friends, made up a packet of clothing to take with her to 
 prison, and waited. At midnight, they came beating at 
 her door, and she had to be awakened ; for no fear of death 
 deprived her of that balm of life — sleep. 
 
 " How much you are beloved ! " said the leader of the 
 sectionaries, seeing the eagerness with which the young 
 daughter kissed her mother. 
 
 " Because I love," she replied, proudly. 
 
 Reaching the carriage waiting for her, she was asked if 
 she would have the window closed. 
 
 " No," she replied ; " I have done no harm, and I can 
 face my enemies." 
 
 " You are braver than many men waiting the decree of 
 justice." 
 
 " If in France there were justice, /should not he seated 
 with you. I shall go to the scaffold as fearlessly as I go to 
 prison. I despise life." 
 21
 
 338 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 Marat now became supreme. " Rise, sovereign people ! " 
 he cried ; " no man dare oppose you." 
 
 There was never given a more fearful impetus to murder 
 than these words. 
 
 What it pleased men to call a Committee of Public 
 Safety was now organized, and its operation was the killing 
 of every human being who could by any means be made to 
 appear not utterly to sympathise with the seething mob. 
 
 The Convention existed, but its power was completely at 
 an end. Its votes were laughed at. Queen Guillotine was 
 the one power left in France. 
 
 Every day the foreign arms directed against France 
 obtained successes. Meanwhile, the land was like a vessel 
 without a rudder. No man was strong enough to control 
 the mob. Indeed, it was only when Napoleon Bonaparte 
 rose, that internal peace was established. It is not to be 
 wondered at that he came to be looked up to as a demi-god. 
 
 Twenty thousand Royalist volunteers were now in arms 
 against Marat, in one department of France alone. 
 
 Marat was at this time King of Paris. Robespierre 
 was waiting. Danton was threatening and trembling at 
 the same time. Another week, and the foul Marat would 
 have conquered both, and been proclaimed, by the voice of 
 the streets, President of the Republic. 
 
 But his hideous career was to be arrested by the feeble 
 hand of a girl — Charlotte Corday. 
 
 Just before the commencement of the Reign of Terror 
 in France, there might have been seen in a quiet corner of 
 a quiet old street in Caen (that city in Normandy so much 
 mixed up with the early history of English), a quiet old 
 house, called the Grand Manor — a house around a court- 
 yard, in the centre of which was a mossy fountain. Near 
 this fountain, through the sunny hours, might frequently 
 be seen a very beautiful girl, the niece of an aged woman, 
 who was the maiden's aunt. This was Charlotte Corday. 
 Fair of skin, and grey of eye, her hair was what had not 
 inaptly been termed gilded-black. In other words, it was 
 black hair, golden-tipped, with golden lines veining it. 
 She was always dressed plainly, in brown cloth, and her 
 voice was sweet and lingering. No man has ever breathed 
 a word against her character. 
 
 By a peculiar course of study — which it is needless to
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 339 
 
 analyze — she had brought herself to that condition of mind 
 when the sufferer experiences the belief that a self-sacrifice, 
 of some nature must be made, in order to appease an inex- 
 plicable, unknown longing to do some good — a something 
 which is supposed to be good — in the world. 
 
 She was essentially a Republican ; but gradually, slowly, 
 the conviction enchained her, that Marat was its monster, 
 and that he must die. Her resolve appears to have been 
 hastened by the departure of her lovir, who joined the 
 Caen volunteers. This gentleman, one Franquelin, was, it 
 is said, accused by Marat as a conspirator against the re- 
 public, and assassinated by villains hired for that purpose. 
 He did not die on the spot, as it was at first reported, but 
 returned home after Charlotte Corday-s execution. His last 
 words were an entreaty to his mother to bury with him 
 Charlotte's portrait, and all the letters she had ever written 
 to him. 
 
 Supplemental to the latter motive, Charlotte Corday 
 believed Marat was ruining all France. Here she believed 
 truly. 
 
 She obtained a letter to one of the Conventionists. No 
 one had the slightest idea of her intentions. She retained 
 a sweet, soft gaiety, which was quite natural to her, and 
 which accompanied this lady to the scaffold. An anecdote 
 is very characteristic of her life. Just before she started 
 for Paris, passing a cafe, outside of which some inen were 
 card-playing, she said, " Cards ! Do you know your 
 country is dying?" 
 
 Taking a sheet of drawing-paper one morning, she said, 
 " Aunt, I am going to sketch the hay-makers — kiss me." 
 
 Going out, she met a child, of whom she was very fond. 
 
 " Here, Robert," she said, giving him the drawing-paper; 
 " kiss me, and be a good boy. You will never see me again."' 
 
 She chattered in the coach most of the way to Paris. 
 One young man fell in love with her, and asked to apply to 
 her friends. She mirthfully repulsed him, and told him to 
 wait, at least for some days. 
 
 It was now July. On the eleventh of that month, Char- 
 lotte Corday reached Paris. At five in the afternoon she 
 retired to rest in a public-house, and slept until next day, 
 when she presented her letter at the house of the conven- 
 tionist, Duperret. When she saw him, she vaguely en-
 
 340 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 treated him to flee from Paris. " After to-morrow evening," 
 she said, "it will be too late." 
 
 Duperret spoke of her as a beautiful girl, slightly de- 
 ranged. 
 
 Her great desire was to remain unknown by name in 
 connection with the death of Marat. With this view, she 
 determined to kill him before the people, so that she might 
 at once be torn to pieces, and her mutilated face be beyond 
 recognition. But she learnt that Marat was so ill that he 
 could not appear in public again. He still issued, daily, 
 stronger and more defiant demands for men's lives. It was 
 said he remained at home from fear of assassination. Char- 
 lotte Corday resolved to seek him in his home. 
 
 She wrote this letter : — 
 
 " I have just arrived from Caen. Your patriotism allows 
 me to be presumptive enough to hope that you will hear 
 privately what I have to say concerning events in that city. 
 I shall present myself at your door about one o'clock. I 
 pray you for the good of all France — receive me ! " 
 
 She went to his house, and was refused admittance. She 
 wrote another letter : — 
 
 " I cannot believe that it was you yourself refused me ad- 
 mission : you are too good a patriot. I repeat, I have im- 
 portant news to tell you ; that I have just arrived from the 
 north, and I have secrets to disclose. I am persecuted. 
 Will you, then, not aid me ? " 
 
 At seven the next morning she dressed herself very care- 
 fully. She wore a white dress, with a silk scarf crossed over 
 the breast and knotted behind — a white Normandy cap, 
 bound with a green ribbon — her hair falling over her should- 
 ers. Her face was bright, fresh-colored, her countenance 
 smiling. 
 
 Thus she presented herself at the house occupied by 
 Marat, who happened to be in his bath, which he used, not 
 for its cleanly offices, but because it reduced the bodily 
 inflammation which had now become habitual to him. 
 
 The house, which bore all the aspects of that poverty in 
 which Marat was really plunged, was jealously guarded.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 341 
 
 But what men could suspect a beautiful girl, clothed in 
 brilliant white, her face flashing with youth and beauty ? 
 
 Charlotte Corday stepped from her coach, and approached 
 the house. She reached the outer door of the apartments 
 in which Marat lived, and there her entrance was jealously 
 opposed by Albertine, Marat's mistress, and a female friend. 
 
 Marat, hearing the altercation, and associating the plead- 
 ing voice with the letters he had received, imperatively 
 ordered the applicant to be admitted. 
 
 Now mark what occurred. The woman Albertine, offend- 
 ed, walked away, her friend followed her, and Charlotte 
 Corday was alone with Marat. 
 
 The room was dark, close, and smelt abominably. He 
 was wrapped in a dirty sheet, and sitting in a bath, across 
 which was a rough piece of wood which he made his desk, 
 for he passed hours in the water. He was writing when 
 Charlotte Corday entered. He had finished this sentence : 
 — "I demand that every man in France who has the blood 
 of the Bourbons in his veins, however little, shall be put 
 upon his trial, and his wife and children also." 
 
 She approached this human monster, her eyes downcast. 
 He spoke to her imperiously — " What is the state of Nor- 
 mandy ':' '' 
 
 " Certain deputies have taken refuge in Caen." 
 
 l; Their names ? " 
 
 She gave certain names, and he wrote them down. 
 
 " Good ! ' he said ; " before another week is past, they 
 shall be guillotined." 
 
 At this moment she raised the dagger she took from the 
 breast of her dress, and plunged it down into his bosom. 
 
 " Help, my dear, help ! " he cried, and fell back dead. 
 
 Albertine, the woman, and a man named Basse rushed 
 forward in time to see his last-drawn breath. By this time 
 the water was like that crimson stream Marat was forever 
 demanding. He was bathed in it himself now. 
 
 She did not attempt to escape. She drew out the dagger, 
 let it fall, and took two or three steps to the window. The 
 man Basse caught up a chair and beat her down, whereupon 
 the woman, Albertine, trampled upon her. 
 
 The news spread in an incalculably short space of time, 
 and the seething people called up into the air, "Throw her 
 out to us ; we are waiting."
 
 842 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 Soldiers rushed in, forming a hedge of steel ahout Char- 
 lotte Corday, and beat back the blaspheming crowd. 
 
 Charlotte showed no fear, crossed her hands ready for the 
 cords, and her first words were " Poor woman ! " in refer- 
 ence to Albertine, who was rending the air with her cries. 
 
 She said afterwards she had not asked herself the ques- 
 tion, "Could this man be loved?" 
 
 " Poor people ! " she said to those who endeavored to tear 
 her to pieces ; "you desire my death, whilst you owe me an 
 altar for having freed you from a monster! Oh, throw me 
 to the people," she said to the soldiers ; " as they regret 
 him, they are fit to be my executioners ! " 
 
 She was not cast among the people — at least, she died in 
 peace. She boasted of her act, and declared herself a mar- 
 
 Paris turned pale at the news. The panic reaching the 
 Convention, business was arrested. One Henriot, the 
 Commandant-General of the National Guard, entered. 
 "Tremble!" he cried. "Marat has been assassinated by 
 a girl, who boasts of her deed ! Tremble ! Such a fate 
 threatens all ! Mistrust green ribbons, and let us swear to 
 avenge the death of this great man." 
 
 Charlotte Corday, accused of murder, stood beautiful and 
 smiling in the midst of accusers, all of whom wore fierce 
 looks of hate and rage. 
 
 She w T as fearless until she reached the street, when the 
 blaze of shouts so terrified this young country girl, that she 
 fainted. Restored to consciousness, (they had bound her 
 weak hands), she cried, " Alas ! do 1 still live? " 
 
 Then quite consistently, she thanked her guardians for 
 saving her from the crowd. 
 
 She never for one moment looked upon her act as a crime. 
 When interrogated at her trial, she adhered to this state- 
 ment : — " I saw civil war enveloping France. I considered 
 Marat its chief cause, and to save my country I sacrificed 
 myself, and slew him." 
 
 That her virtue was attacked at her trial, is a condition 
 of things which clearly proves how deephy dyed in preju- 
 dice by this time had become the revolutionary tribunals. 
 
 One Chabot under pretence of suspecting a concealed 
 paper, tore off her breast kerchief. She leaped back at the 
 outrage, the string of her dress broke, and her fair chest
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 343 
 
 was exposed to the gaze of a number of savage men. Her 
 hands were corded, so that she could not sav< herself from 
 degradation ; and her virtue gave of itself h <r best proof, 
 for she crouched down to hide her disarranged dress. En- 
 treating them to untie her hands, they complied ; and turn- 
 ing her back to the wall, she rapidly completed her toilette. 
 Where the cords had been, the flesh was marked with great 
 blue bands; and very meekly she asked to be allowed to 
 put on her long gloves before the knots were again tied. 
 Upon her dress, alter her death, was found pinned a long 
 address to France, in which she entreated all men to destroy 
 the Jacobins, and save France; 
 
 She was condemned to die the following morning. An 
 artist, during her trial, having been remarked by her draw- 
 ing her face, she requested he might complete it, and the 
 painter was introduced to her cell. One man endeavored 
 to save her by maintaining she was insane. In this shape 
 of pity, he nearly lost his own head. 
 
 She wrote of Marat finally: — "Pardon me, oh men! 
 The name of Marat ditdionors j-our race. He was a beast 
 of prey seeking to devour France by war and hate. I 
 thank Heaven that by birth he was no Frenchman." 
 
 She was pained by the accusation made by Chabot. the 
 wretch who had torn away her neckerchief, who declared 
 she had been his mistress, far more than by the thought of 
 approaching death. ''Chabot," she wrote, "is a mere mad- 
 man. I never even dreamed of this man. He need not be 
 feared — he has not intellect enough to be dangerous." 
 
 In the same paper she said, "All Parisians are such 
 good citizens, they cannot comprehend how a useless 
 woman, whose longest term of life would be good for noth- 
 ing, can calmly sacrifice herself for her country. To- 
 morrow, at twelve, I shall have lived ! " 
 
 Again she said, " 'Tis crime gives the shame — it is not 
 the block." This is the verse of the great French poet 
 Corneille, who was her ancestor. 
 
 Tried at eight in the morning, and knowing she should 
 die at mid-day, she said, upon leaving the prison, " Madame 
 Kick aid, pray let my breakfast be ready upon my return, 
 or we shall not have time to take it together." 
 
 At her trial, it being maintained that the nature of the 
 blow which killed Marat had been that of one accomplished
 
 344 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 in the use of the dagger, she cried, " Miserable wretch — 
 he takes me for an assassin ! " 
 
 The counsel for her defence urged that she only pleaded 
 that in killing Marat she was doing a public good. 
 
 The jury directly found her guilty, and ordered her prop- 
 erty to be confiscated. 
 
 "Sir," she said to her defender, "} - ou have done well. 
 But I cannot pay you, for you have heard how my property 
 has been seized. However, I do you this honor ; I pray 
 that you will pay the few pieces of silver I owe to the 
 prison people — they ought to be paid." 
 
 Going back to her prison, where the painter finished her 
 portrait, she conversed about painting. 
 
 A knock at the cell-door, and the executioner entered, 
 carrying scissors with which to cut away her hair, and the 
 red garments worn by the condemned on their way to exe- 
 cution. 
 
 "Sir," she said to the painter, "I can only offer you a 
 lock of hair." 
 
 And taking the gaoler's scissors, she cut a lock of the 
 wonderful hair. 
 
 A priest coming, she said, " I thank those who have 
 been kind enough to send you, but I do not require j'our 
 services. The blood I have spilt, and my own, which I am 
 about to shed, are the only sacrifices I can offer the Eter- 
 nal." 
 
 The executioner now cut off her hair, and flung over her 
 head the red garment. 
 
 " This,' 1 she said, " is the toilette of death, arranged by 
 somewhat rude hands, but it leads to immortality." 
 
 As she stepped upon the cart, such as carried all those 
 condemned to death to the place of execution, a violent 
 storm burst over Paris. Women danced about the death- 
 cart, uttering imprecations ; hers was the only calm face to 
 be seen. Strangely enough, the rain wetting the red flan- 
 nel — her only covering to the waist — it clung to her skin, 
 and betrayed her to be exquisitely formed, especially as her 
 hands were so tied behind her that she was forced to hold 
 herself upright. 
 
 As she neared the scaffold, the sun appeared, and the 
 gold threads in her hair shone out magnificently. 
 
 The leaders of the rebellion, Danton, Robespierre,
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 345 
 
 Camille Desmoulins, standing at a window, saw her pass. 
 She had preserved them from Marat, but, at the same time, 
 she had shown how a tyrant could be slain. She .saved 
 their lives by her act ; but she taught, also, how they 
 might be taken. 
 
 One Adam Lux, a German, was hopelessly stricken by 
 love as she passed along, lie followed to the scaffold's feet, 
 asking to die with her. 
 
 Beaching the scaffold, she turned pale, and, for one 
 moment, shrank ; but the next, recovering herself, ascended 
 the steps as rapidly as her long red dress and pinoned arms 
 would allow. 
 
 When the executioner pulled down her dress, that her 
 neck might be bare, she was for the last time outraged 
 while living. She placed herself upon the plank, and, the 
 next moment, her head fell. 
 
 Legros, a miserable scaffold-dog, took up the head by the 
 remaining hair, and struck at the cheeks. It is said the 
 skin grew scarlet, as though the modesty of Charlotte Cor- 
 day outlasted her life. 
 
 Did her face change color? Some hold that the head 
 has consciousness and power after being severed from the 
 body, and that it can see and hear. Nay, it was urged dur- 
 ing the Revolution that the passion of the heads remained, 
 because the interior of the wicker baskets in which the 
 heads were carried away were often found to be gnawed, as 
 though the teeth of the heads gnashed after separation 
 from the body. For my part, I believe that this gnawing 
 was effected by rats, which at that time, even more than 
 now, overran Paris. 
 
 Such was the death of Marat — of his murderer, whom we 
 cannot praise. But who can blame her? Assuredlj T her 
 death was necessary to purge her of assassination, to some 
 ex cent. 
 
 Adam Lux, wild with love, published a defence of 
 Charlotte Corday. He was seized, and, three days after- 
 wards, died by the very knife which destroyed her life. 
 
 Chenier, the patriotic poet, sang her heroism. He was 
 soon arrested, and therefore beheaded. 
 
 But what good had Charlotte Corday done ? 
 
 She had strengthened the love of the people for desperate 
 measures ; she had made a martyr of their most foul lead-
 
 346 LOVE ANP LIBERTY. 
 
 er. She gave a dignity to those who advocated the scaf- 
 fold. The liberal twenty-two knew that this last act anni- 
 hilated them. 
 
 CHAPTER LVIII. 
 
 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 The Convention ordained the worship of Marat, and 
 cast his corse to the people as an idol. 
 
 He was called Caesar, and his funeral was modelled upon 
 the historical narrative of that given by Rome to the great 
 Julius. 
 
 The body was carried by torchlight to the garden of the 
 house in which he made his most inflammatory speeches ; 
 and there he was buried under trees heavily laden with 
 countless brilliantly-illuminated paper lamps. 
 
 His head was placed in an urn, and hung in the centre 
 of the Convention. His memorj 1 was decreed an altar, and 
 at its-foot his admirers appropriately called for blood. 
 
 The enemy was now approaching on all sides, and thous- 
 ands more Roj'alists were in array. 
 
 Meanwhile Danton was sinking in estimation, Robes- 
 pierre rising, for Robespierre was a patient man. 
 
 Danton, dazzled with his new wife, wished to live the life 
 of a small country gentleman. It was too late. 
 
 Robespierre was breaking in health, but his temperance 
 would stand him in good stead of health for a long while. 
 His motto was " Wait." 
 
 The Committee of Public Safety was meanwhile reaping 
 a rich harvest of death. 
 
 Money was no longer to be seen. 
 
 Bread was rare. 
 
 People were dying of starvation (especially the old) in 
 every street. 
 
 The more cruel of the Conventionists carried by acclama- 
 tion these decrees — the true legal inauguration of the 
 Reign of Terror : 
 
 " Six thousand soldiers and twelve hundred artillerymen
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 347 
 
 to do blindly the Lidding of the Committee of Public 
 Safety. 
 
 " All men who have been in the Government occupation 
 during the late King's life, to quit Paris. 
 
 " The delivery of the Revolutionary Tribunal of the 
 Moderate Conventionists. 
 
 " The right to search any house at any hour of the night. 
 
 " The transportation beyond the seas of every common 
 woman in the land. 
 
 " Finally, the payment of workmen who should leave 
 their shops to follow up the public service." 
 
 By these measures the mob were not only encouraged to 
 take life, but paid to do it. Nothing could save such a sys- 
 tem resulting, if long continued, in national death ! 
 
 By the way, Sunday was chosen as the best day for 
 working these mob committees. 
 
 This was followed by Merlin's decree, which provided for 
 the arrest (without proof) of any suspected person, and of 
 all those who, not working, were enabled to live in a better 
 condition than one of penury. This was an attack upon all 
 people who had hidden money. In fact, starvation had by 
 this time become the only mode of avoiding the guillotine. 
 
 Prisons were not large enough to contain prisoners, and 
 all the confiscated churches were converted into gaols. 
 Death was decreed for almost every act of life — certainly for 
 every act of pity. 
 
 A hundred men, less two, were beheaded in sixty days in 
 Paris alone. 
 
 The Queen was too noble a victim to escape. 
 
 The Convention suddenly ordered her trial, and command- 
 ed her separation from the -two children. 
 
 Now all the lethargy which has possessed her since the 
 King's death departs, and she becomes as a lioness fighting 
 for her young. 
 
 By this time, all the beauty of Marie Antoinette had 
 vanished, and there remained a very broken old woman, 
 aged about a little more than thirty, with very scanty 
 white hair, falling in patches from an almost bald head. 
 The bodj r , as the soul, had shrunken — a skeleton remained, 
 covered with mere skin.. 
 
 This was the Queen, who leapt into life when her dulled 
 hearing comprehended that she was to be separated from her
 
 348 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 children. They had hut the mercy only to remove the 
 son. 
 
 The boy clung to his mother, who lost all dignity, dug 
 her nails into the child's flesh, and called upon the men to 
 kill them both. 
 
 For two hours this lasted, and then she became a woman 
 again — a mother ; and dressing him to look as smart as 
 possible, she gave him up with her own hands to his gaoler, 
 Simon, who took him at once to the room where the child 
 was destined to die. For two days and nights the child 
 lay upon the floor, taking neither food nor drink. 
 
 The Queen never took her son in her arms. He was to 
 outlive her but a little time, and then die of sheer ill-usage 
 and neglect. 
 
 The Queen, however, still had her husband's sister and 
 her daughter with her. The only consolation they had, 
 was ascending to the platform of their tower, to catch a 
 glimpse of the boy on the platform of the other tower. 
 
 Simon's work it was to deprave the body and soul of the 
 wretched child. He forced him to drink strong wine, and 
 made him answer to the name of " Wolf." He beat him if 
 he wept, encouraged him to every possible disgusting act, 
 and compelled him to sing obBcene songs, while he (his 
 master) smoked and drank. 
 
 Once, he nearly destroyed one of the poor Prince's ej^es ; 
 at another, he raised a poker against him. Sometimes he 
 was kind ; and, upon one occasion, he said, " Capet, if the 
 soldiers come and deliver you, what will you do ? " 
 
 " Forgive you," said the child. 
 
 The man Simon actually wept, but he cried immediately 
 afterwards, " There's some of the blood of the lion in the 
 whelp." 
 
 In the middle of the night of the 2nd of August, the 
 Queen was awakened, and told she was to be removed alone, 
 to another prison. 
 
 In vain the women threw themselves at the feet of the 
 men. They had but their duty to do. 
 
 The Queen was compelled to dress before them, while 
 they ransacked the room, and seized every little object the 
 Queen still retained. The miserable creatures left her a 
 handkerchief. 
 
 And now, exactly as Louis XVI had told his children to
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 849 
 
 forgive their enemies, so now desolate Marie Antoinette 
 told her daughter, in her last words to the poor child, to 
 forgive those who parted them. 
 
 " 1 give my children to you, sister. Be a second mother 
 to them." 
 
 For precisely as Louis appears to have had no conception 
 of the monstrosity of putting a woman to death, so the 
 Queen, in leaving the Temple, appears not to have supposed 
 for one moment that the Princess Elizabeth would be 
 claimed by the scaffold, — she who had led the life of a true 
 woman, who bad nursed and helped the people, and never 
 joined in the frivolities of the Court. 
 
 The Queen was taken to the prison of the Conciergerie, 
 which is composed of the dungeons below high water mark, 
 to be found amongst the foundations of the Palace of 
 Justice. 
 
 To a wretched cell, having in one corner a straw bed, and 
 bj T the light of one candle, was the ex-Queen taken. 
 
 A woman desirous of death in the dungeon of a strong- 
 hold, and yet they only believed her safe when two soldiers, 
 swords drawn, stood at the outer door watching, with orders 
 not to lose sight of the Widow Capet, even when asleep. 
 
 Madam Richard, that good woman who tended Charlotte 
 Corday in her last moments, was the Queen's most humane 
 gaoler. She found something like furniture for the cell, 
 procured wholesome food for the captive, and often brought 
 a low-whispered message from the royal prisoners still in 
 the Temple. 
 
 A little while, and the dampness of the cell rotted the 
 Queen's only dresses — two very common ones ; and her 
 under-clothing becoming in tatters, she was half naked. 
 
 CHAPTER LIX. 
 
 MARIE ANTOINETTE FINDS PEACE AT LAST. 
 
 Marie Antoinette in her last prison, however, was 
 not without pitying friends. The fierce communists ordered 
 that she should drink the water of the Seine, drawn as it
 
 350 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 flowed past her prison-walls ; but an honest couple, named 
 Bault, obtained the posts of chief gaolers at the Concierge- 
 rie, in the full aim of assuaging the Queen's wretchedness. 
 Instead of Seine water, the poor prisoner found daily in 
 her cell refreshing draughts of water drawn from that well 
 at Versailles which was the Queen's chief cellar. She was 
 a great water drinker. 
 
 Madame Bault, to affect hai'shness, never entered the 
 Princess's cell, asserting that to do so was to be contamin- 
 ated. The royal tradespeople of former da} 7 s — especially 
 the fruit-women — brought little offerings secretly ; and so 
 it came about that the Queen, in her last prison and days, 
 ate such pare, simple meals as those which had been her 
 favorite food in the old days — a piece of melon, a handful 
 of figs, a little bread and a glass of water from her favorite 
 well. 
 
 The two gowns which the Queen possessed— one white, 
 the other black, — and which she wore alternately, soon fell 
 to pieces in the damp prison. Her underclothing was 
 always damp when put on, and often her shoes would be 
 completely wet ; for between her and the river there was 
 only the part protection of a wall. 
 
 Human nature demands some work. Not allowed writing 
 or sewing materials (Bault's daughter mended the Queen's 
 tatters, and gave away the little fragments which she cut 
 away in the process as relics of the poor lad}'), with a pin 
 she scratched her thoughts upon the driest portion of the 
 walls of her prison. After her death many of these sen- 
 tences were copied by one of the commissioners. They 
 were mostly German and Italian verses bearing reference 
 to her fate, and little Latin verses from the Psalms. No 
 French did she use, for she had been brought into the land 
 where that language was spoken to be cast into prison, and 
 to suffer death. The drier walls were covered with these 
 mute appeals. 
 
 Some idea may be gained of the cruelty exercised 
 towards the desolate prisoner, when she, asking for a lighter 
 coverlet, and Bault forwarding the request to a high author- 
 ity, the latter received this reply: — 
 
 " Take care ! Another sign of sympathy such as that, 
 and }'ou will visit the guillotine before she does ! " 
 
 Another shape of industry did the poor Queen find. She
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 351 
 
 wished to leave her daughter a memento of her last days, 
 and she had nothing to give; SO she ((inverted a couple of 
 bone toothpicks into knitting needles, pulled .some worsted 
 shreds from the heavy old coverlet which they refused to 
 replace with a lighter, and knitted a — garter. This she 
 dropped near the friendly Bault, who, with the heart of a 
 father, understanding the pom- little hit of workmanship, 
 let fall his handkerchief, and so possessed himself of the 
 little treasure. After her death the tribute reached the 
 young Princess for whom it was worked — truly a message 
 from the grave. 
 
 A few days hefore her trial, an order, possessed by some- 
 thing of mercy, arrived, by force of which she was relieved 
 from the continuous stare of the guard set to watch her. 
 By this relief, she was enabled to kneel, from which act she 
 had been warned throughout her confinement. 
 
 On October 13th, Fouquier-Tinville notified to Marie 
 Antoinette the fact of her having been indicted for high 
 treason. 
 
 She listened to the reading of the indictment as though 
 ,to a death-warrant — the shape, in fact, it really took. 
 
 As a maiter of form, she chose two counsel for her de- 
 fence — men who had secretly sought the appointment, and 
 who, afterwards, of course, paid for their pity with their 
 lives. 
 
 On the 14th, at noon, she made as elegant a toilette as 
 she could — hid the rags and the patchiness of her white 
 hair as much as possible, and went up the stone stairs of 
 her dungeon to the judgment-hall above her prison. The 
 passages were full of people, wdio reviled her as .-lie passed 
 along. She bore her head well up, but she could not 
 change the fallen mouth, the pinched nose, tarnished eyes, 
 and shrunken, weakened body. But the black circles 
 round those eyes artificial^* increased their failing brillian- 
 cy, and they fired glances of scorn and fearlessness at her 
 gibing enemies. She had never possessed the humble, 
 religious feeling and sweet patience which distinguished 
 Louis. A perfectly pure woman, at heart, she was some- 
 what of a Voltairean ; she despised death, and feared no 
 power. We are as we are made ; so, in her final trial, she 
 met the scowls of the people, chiefly of women, face to face. 
 Some authorities say that one girl uttered a cry of pity as
 
 352 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 the Queen passed — she was strangled. These unsexed 
 wretches had undertaken to accompany the Queen to the 
 scaffold with every possible indignity. 
 
 And she stands before her — judges. 
 
 " What is your name ? " 
 
 " I am called Marie Antoinette, of Lorraine, in Austria," 
 she replies, in a low, musical voice. 
 
 " Your condition ? " 
 
 " Widow of Louis, formerly King of the French." 
 
 " Your age ? " 
 
 "Thirty-seven." 
 
 Fouquier-Tinville now read the indictment. It was the 
 summing up of all her declared crimes of high birth, condi- 
 tion, and rank. She was quite guilty of all these things. 
 The chief accusations were merel} 7 echoes of all that had 
 been whispered of her in the foulest places. She was 
 accused of prodigality, licentiousness, and treason to 
 Prance. 
 
 She showed no sign of emotion, beyond an unheeded 
 movement of the fingers over the bar of a chair, as though 
 they were recalling some half-forgotten music. 
 
 She answered all questions quite patiently, showed sorrow 
 only when reference was made to the Princess de Lamballe, 
 and only lost her quietude when one Hebert was called. 
 It is to be hoped this man was mad. At all events, he 
 spoke to the Queen's acts while in the Temple; declared 
 that she was depraved and debauched, and that she had 
 even corrupted her own son, " that she might poison his 
 body and his soul, and so reign in his name over the ruin 
 of his understanding. 
 
 This man was mad — there can be no doubt upon the 
 point: he even included saintly Madame Elizabeth in this 
 frantic idiotic accusation. 
 
 Heaven be thanked, those present turned upon him, and 
 cried " Shame ! " The Queen herself shrank, raising her 
 hand as though to guard her from the wretch. 
 
 But one juryman was nearlj^as bad as Hebert. 
 
 " Why does not the accused answer ? " this foul wretch 
 asked. 
 
 " I do not answer," she said — and once again, it is said, 
 she looked radiantly beautiful in her momentary indigna- 
 tion — " because these are accusations to which nature refuses 
 a reply."
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 353 
 
 She turned to the women, with whom the court was 
 crowded. 
 
 " I appeal from him to all mothers present." 
 
 To the honor of these women lie it said, they cried He- 
 hert down — and so he passes out of this history. 
 
 The Queen met questions having reference to the King 
 with equal calmness. It being alleged that she endeavored 
 to obtain ascendancy over him through his mental weak- 
 ness, she replied, " I never knew that character of him. I 
 was but his wife, and it was my duty and my pleasure to 
 yield to his will." 
 
 By not one word, tending to save herself, did she injure 
 the memory of her husband. 
 
 One line in the trial is enough to show what a mockery 
 it was. 
 
 The Public Prosecutor cried, " All France bears witness 
 against this woman ! " 
 
 Fur form's sake, the jury deliberated an hour. She was 
 recalled to hear her sentence, but the cheering and scream- 
 ing of the people told her its terrors before the judge spoke 
 —death ! 
 
 Nine months since the King died, and now there was an 
 end to her weary waiting. 
 
 Asked if she had anything to say why the sentence of 
 death should not be carried out, she respected herself in 
 her very silence, and turned away, as though quite prepar- 
 ed for execution. 
 
 It was now five in the morning, and her last day was 
 come. At half-past five she was permitted to write a letter 
 to the King's sister, Madame Elizabeth. This lady never 
 saw it. The document was found long afterwards amongst 
 the papers of one Couthon. 
 
 u I write to you, my sister," she begins, " for the last 
 time. I have been condemned, not to an ignominious 
 death — that only awaits criminals — but to go and rejoin 
 your brother. Innocent as he, 1 hope to show such firm- 
 ness as the King's in his last moments. I grieve bitterly 
 at leaving my poor children. You know that I lived but 
 for them and you — you who, in your love, have sacrificed 
 all for us. I learnt, at my trial, that j*ou are separated 
 from my little girl. In what a position I leave you ! I 
 22 •
 
 354 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 dare not write to her; they would not give her my letter, 
 and, indeed, I do not know that you will receive this." 
 
 Some words of this final letter are inexpressibly touching. 
 " Let my son never forget his father's last words. Let him 
 never seek to avenge our deaths ! " 
 
 She then goes on to apologize for the child's possible con- 
 duct to her, after the influence over him necessarily obtained 
 by Simon, his tutor, and meekly she urges that he is so 
 young he is incapable of knowing what he does. 
 
 " Think of me always," she says, in conclusion. " Good 
 heaven, and my children ! How heart-rending it is to 
 leave them for ever — for ever ! " 
 
 This letter being finished, she kissed each page lovingly, 
 and folded it. 
 
 So far, the Republic had not entirely declared against 
 high heaven, and priests were still recognised by those who 
 had subscribed to the articles of the Revolution, and one of 
 these men was offered to Marie Antoinette to aid her in her 
 last moments. She refused to see him. The Convention 
 (still sitting) insisted upon one of these officials aecompan}'- 
 ing her to the scaffold. There was no devotion amongst 
 them. All hesitated, for all feared that the Queen would 
 be torn to pieces on her wa}' to the scaffold. 
 
 One proffered his help. 
 
 " Thank you," said the Queen ; " I have no need of 
 your services, though I am a great sinner. But I am about 
 to receive a great sacrament." 
 
 " Madyrdom," said the priest, in a low voice ; and he 
 bowed and retired. 
 
 She prayed alone. 
 
 However, she had been secretly informed that at a cer- 
 tain house on her way to execution a minister would be 
 stationed, who would give her absolution as she passed in 
 the cart. 
 
 She dressed herself in the white gown, put a white cap 
 on, bound with a black ribbon — and so came before the peo- 
 ple. 
 
 Then she drew back — her queendom still remained. She 
 had not thought the people so fallen that she should be 
 taken to the scaffold in the common cart. The King had 
 been taken to death at least in such a vehicle as he had 
 been accustomed to.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 355 
 
 Alas ! When Louis died all pity had expired ; with her 
 death, all France was to gasp with thirst for blood. 
 
 She mounted the cart — her hands having been bound be- 
 hind her, and in the midst of a raging crowd. The cart 
 swayed, and she could scarcely keep her seat on the plank. 
 
 She grew red and pale by turns, as she was dragged 
 through the mob. The patience and pit}' exhibited by the 
 King she could not imitate. Her lips were bitter each 
 moment ; but she never took her dry, hot eyes from the 
 raging people. 
 
 Suddenly, her head falls humbly, and, her hands being 
 tied, she makes the sign of the cross by three motions of 
 the head. 
 
 Her pride had passed with that unseen blessing from 
 the house on her way to execution. When the Palace of 
 the Tuileries came in view — the place where she had spent 
 nearly half her life — tears fell down her face. 
 
 A few- turns of the wheels, and she was at the foot of the 
 scaffold. 
 
 Reaching the place, accidentally she trod upon one of the 
 executioners' feet. 
 
 " Pardon me," she said, in a sweet, courtly voice. 
 
 She knelt for an instant, rose, stretched her neck towards 
 the distant towers of the Temple, and cried, " Good-bye, 
 my children! I am going to your father." 
 
 She did not, like her husband, speed to Heaven. It was 
 rather that she fled from earth. 
 
 The executioner was trembling more than his victim, so 
 that she suffered a long agony of a few moments after she 
 was upon the plank. 
 
 The assistant executioner took his brother's place. 
 
 The head fell. It was taken up and carried around the 
 scaffold. 
 
 "Long live the Rejjublic ! " saluted this brave display. 
 
 The Revolution thought itself avenged — it was befouled. 
 
 She came a foreigner — and they killed her. 
 
 Thus she died. Frivolous in prosperity, she died with 
 intrepidity. Her misfortune was her mistrust of the peo- 
 ple in her early days — her catastrophe, that all the sin and 
 wickedness of the Court was laid to her account. 
 
 Called upon to fill a throne, those who called her gave her 
 not even a tomb — for you may read in a parish register, 
 "For the coffin of the il'idocv Capet, six shillings ! "
 
 356 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 With her life, France threw away all Christian mercy. 
 Crimson swept over the breadth and length of the land. 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 THE TWENTY-TWO. 
 
 The twenty-two had literally been under the control of 
 the police, though not arrested, since May 31st. But as 
 events progressed, their destruction became almost necessary 
 to the safety of those members of the Convention, who, 
 obtaining power wholly through the will of the more 
 violent, could only retain it by a perfect recognition of the 
 will of those who had given them the victory. 
 
 The twenty-two were therefore seized, and placed in a 
 building coverted from a convent into a prison, and here 
 they made full preparations to die. 
 
 To this day, the walls of this place may be seen covered 
 with mementoes of the prison-days of the victims of the 
 Revolution. They are chiefly short verses, written in 
 blood, the purple hues of which many of the inscriptions 
 still retain. 
 
 A few days after the Queen's day of peace arrived, their 
 trial commenced. 
 
 Of what were they accused? 
 
 Really, nothing ; but they were in the way, and a threat- 
 ening division of the masses insisted upon their death. 
 
 After four days' mockery of justice, the twenty-two were 
 declared guilty of having conspired against the unity and 
 indivisibility of the republic, and the whole were condemn- 
 ed to die. 
 
 A cry of horror burst from the condemned, for many of 
 them could not believe that innocent men could be sent to 
 the scaffold. 
 
 Valase, one of the youngest, slipped from his seat to the 
 floor. 
 
 " What, Valase ! art losing courage now ? " cried his 
 friend Brissot, upholding him. 
 
 " No j I am dying ! " returned Valase ; and his fingers
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 357 
 
 quivered about the handle of the poniard with which he 
 had taken his own life. 
 
 Silent horror for a moment prevailed; the Girondists 
 blushed and bowed their heads before their dead compan- 
 ion, who had given them an example of fearlessness in 
 meeting death. 
 
 Only one, named Boileau, showed cowardice. He cast 
 his hat into* the air and screamed, " I don't belong to these 
 men ! I am a Jacobin ! " 
 
 But instead of pit}' he only gained contempt. 
 
 Aud now a cry was heard ; it came from Camille Des- 
 moulins : "Let me fly," he cried; "it is my book which 
 has killed them ! " 
 
 But the crowd seized Desmoulins, and forced him to re- 
 main. 
 
 The twenty-two came down from the high seats upon 
 which they had heard their trial and sentence, and for a 
 moment stood round the dead body of their friend, who had 
 shown them how to die. Almost simultaneously they 
 raised their hands and cried, " Innocent ! Long live the 
 republic ! " 
 
 Then they cast all the money they had with them 
 amongst the crowding, storming people, who greedily seized 
 it. This was done, not to excite the mob to revolt, but 
 with the thought that, their death at hand, they had no 
 farther need of wealth. 
 
 There was something strangely classic and Roman-like 
 in their death. They left the hall singing loudly the cele- 
 brated hymn, the "Marseillaise;" and in reference to 
 their death, they sang with amazing power the celebrated 
 two lines, 
 
 " March on, march on ! O children of the land, 
 The day, the hour of glory, is at hand I " 
 
 This terrible lrvmn they were. still singing as they enter- 
 ed their prison. It was now late in the evening, and they 
 were to suffer on the following morning. 
 
 The tribunal had decreed that the yet warm corpse of 
 Valase should be carried back to prison, conveyed in the 
 same cart with his accomplices to the scaffold, and interred 
 with their bodies. The only sentence, perhaps, which pun- 
 ished the dead.
 
 358 
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 Four men-at-arms carried the body upon a litter, and 
 thus the procession reached the prison. 
 
 The twenty-two were to pass the night in the same 
 room, the corpse in one corner. The twenty-one — even 
 Boileau, who repented of his momentary cowardice — came, 
 one by one, and kissed the dead man's hand, then covered 
 his face, saying, "To-morrow, brother!" 
 
 One Bailleul, a Girondist and a Conventionist, but who 
 had escaped the proscription, yet had not left Paris, liad 
 promised that, after the trial, he would prepare and send to 
 the prison, either a triumphant or a funereal supper, accord- 
 ing to the sentence. 
 
 The promise was kept. Upon the oaken table, stretch- 
 ing the length of their dungeon was set out a supper, royal 
 in its magnificence. Every luxury to be obtained, every 
 delicate wine with a name, filled those portions of the 
 table not covered by a wealth of flowers and great clusters 
 of brilliantly burning wax candles. 
 
 To one Abbe Lambert, who lived fifty years after that 
 night, we owe ail we have learnt concerning that final meal. 
 This minister was waiting to offer consolation to the con- 
 demned as they passed to the scaffold. 
 
 The supper lasted from midnight until the dawn of day 
 — at the end of October, about half-past five. It was the 
 feast of their marriage with death. ]STo sign was given of 
 their approaching end. All ate with sobriety, but with 
 appetite ; and it was only when the fruit and wine alone 
 remained on the table that the conversation became excited 
 and powerful. 
 
 Many, especially the younger men, who did not leave 
 families behind them, were very gay and witty. They 
 had done no great w r rong, and were sacrificed to duty, 
 therefore they met death with cheerful faces. 
 
 With solemn break of day, the conversation became 
 graver. 
 
 Brissot cried, " now that we, the honest men amongst 
 those who govern, are about to die, what will become of the 
 republic ? How much blood will it require to wash away 
 the memory of ours ? " 
 
 "Friends," cried Vergniaud, "we have killed the tree 
 by over-pruning it. It was aged — Robespierre cuts it 
 down. Will he be more fortunate than ourselves ? No ;
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 359 
 
 the land of France is now too weak for honest growth. 
 The people play with laws as children with toys ; they are 
 too weak to govern themselves ; and they will return to 
 their kings as children to their toys, after they are tired of 
 having thrown them away. We thought ourselves at 
 Rome ; we were in Paris. But, in dying, let us leave to 
 the whole of France — the strength of hope. Some day — 
 some great day — she will be able to govern herself." 
 
 At ten o'clock the executioners arrived to prepare the 
 victims for the scaffold. Gensome, picking up a lock of the 
 black, brilliant hair cut from his head, gave it to Abbe 
 Lambert, and begged him to carry it to his wife. " Tell 
 her," he said, " it is all I can send, and that I die thinking 
 of her." 
 
 Vergniaud drew his watch from his poeket, scratched his 
 initials and the date in it with a pin, and sent it by the 
 hands of one of the executioners' assistants to a young girl 
 whom he loved deeply, and whom it is said he intended to 
 marry. 
 
 Every one sent a something to some one or more in mem- 
 ory of himself, and it is pleasant to be able to state that 
 every message and remembrance were faithfully delivered. 
 
 When the last lock of hair had fallen, the victims were 
 marshalled, and they were led out to the carts waiting to 
 receive them. 
 
 They sang the "Marseillaise" to the scaffold — they sang 
 it when they reached it, the song growing fainter and 
 fainter as each head fell ; and the hymn only ceased, as the 
 last head fell — that of their leader, Vergniaud. 
 
 The dead body of their friend was carried with them. 
 
 Such was the end of the founders of the French repub- 
 lic. 
 
 With them the brightness, beanty, youth, wit, frankness 
 of the Convention passed away, and their places were filled 
 by sullen, threatening men.
 
 360 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 CHAPTER LXL 
 
 THE BED FLAG. 
 
 The first to fall was the Due of Orleans (father of Louis 
 Philippe, King of the French), He had clone nothing 
 against the interests of the republic, but his birth was a 
 crime, and his death was decided on. 
 
 The Prince and his sons were at table when the fatal 
 indictment arrived. 
 
 " So much the better," said he. " This must end one 
 way or the other. Kiss me, children. And I wonder of 
 what they accuse me ? " he said, opening the paper. " The 
 scoundrels ! " he added ; " they accuse me of nothing. 
 Come, boys, eat ; for this summons is indeed good news." 
 
 He was taken to Paris, where, at this time, no man of 
 mark, being put upon his trial, escaped the guillotine. 
 
 The one plausible accusation brought against Orleans 
 must have compressed his heart. 
 
 " Did you not vote the King's death in the hope of suc- 
 ceeding to his throne ? " 
 
 "No; I obeyed my heart and my conscience." 
 
 He heard his sentence calml}', despite the fact of his 
 cowardice in his early years ; and he replied sarcastically to 
 his judges, " Since you were determined to condemn me, 
 you should have found better pretexts than you have ; for, 
 as it is, you will deceive no man into believing that you 
 think me guilty. I am in the way. And you too," he 
 said, turning to a once Marquis d'Autonelle, an old friend, 
 — "you to condemn me ! Finally," he continued, " since I 
 am to die, I demand not to be left in gaol a whole night, 
 but to be at once taken to the block." 
 
 This desire was not complied with. Returning to the 
 gaol, his rage was terrible. 
 
 The Abbe Lambert approached and said, " Citizen 
 Equality, will you accept my assistance, or, at least, the 
 offer of my condolence ? " 
 
 " Who are you ? " 
 
 " The Vicar-General of the Bishop of Paris. If you 
 will not accept my religious help, can I be of any service to 
 you after your death ? Have you messages to send ? "
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 361 
 
 "No; I can die without help, and like a good citizen." 
 
 He went to the place of execution at three, accompanied 
 by three others. 
 
 Reaching the scaffold, he looked at the knife calmly ; 
 and the executioner offering to remove his boots, he said, 
 " You will do it more easily afterwards." 
 
 He was dressed very beautifully for his death, and he 
 died without fear. He had followed the Revolution blindly 
 — had thrown away fortune, name, reputation, in its cause, 
 and it destroyed him simply because he had belonged to 
 royalty. 
 
 Terror was rapidly reddening all the land. 
 
 The guillotine was not quick enough, and squads of 
 soldiers shot down the condemned. 
 
 Such sentences as the following, were accepted as 
 truths : — 
 
 " The time is come when the prophecy shall be fulfilled. 
 The wealthy shall be despoiled, and the poor shall be 
 enriched. 
 
 "If the people want bread, let them profit by the sight 
 of their misery, to seize on the possessions of the wealthy. 
 
 " Do you seek a word which furnishes all you need ? — 
 die, or cause others to die." 
 
 The great Terror began at Lyons. 
 
 " The great day of vengance has arrived," cried one 
 Cholier. "Five hundred men amongst us deserve to share 
 the fate of the tyrant. I will give you the list — be it your 
 part to strike ! " 
 
 He then seized a crucifix, dashed it upon the ground, 
 and trampled upon it. 
 
 Here is another theory which was applauded : — 
 
 " Any man can be an executioner — it is the guillotine 
 which really takes life." 
 
 This Cholier, who had trampled upon the crucifix, clung 
 to it when condemned to the death he was always seeking 
 for others. The knife was blunt, and five times it was 
 raised before the head fell. "Quick — quick!" the wretch 
 cried, when it was raised for the fifth time. 
 
 Some time after, when the Terror was rising to its height, 
 Cholier was looked upon as a martyr; his body was burnt, 
 and the ashes placed in an urn, were carried triumphantly 
 through the streets, and placed upon an altar of patriotism 
 raised to him.
 
 362 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 The altar in question was soon thrown down. 
 
 But only after the Terror ended. 
 
 With Cholier's after-death triumph, the " moderates " 
 began to fall. Ten of the municipals of Lyons (the" place 
 of Cholier's exploits) were beheaded in one day, and a mine 
 was exploded which destix>yed the finest parts of the city. 
 
 Lyons was almost annihilated. At a cost of half a mill- 
 ion of nrione}' (English), houses worth twelve millions were 
 destroyed. Why ? France was mad. So hurriedly was 
 this destruction effected, that hundreds of the workmen 
 themselves were buried in the ruins. 
 
 Life, however, was cheap. 
 
 Rags only were to be seen — a decent dress was equiva- 
 lent to condemnation. The city was dead but for the thun- 
 der of fallen houses, the roar of cannon and the rattle of 
 musketry mowing down suspected people, and the shrill cry 
 of the ragged as they marked another head fall beneath the 
 guillotine knife. It was now looked upon as a distinction, 
 and reserved onty for important people. 
 
 An entire generation was destroyed in Lyons alone. 
 Great houses were unowned — for their owners were dead. 
 Castles, churches, factories, work-shops, were closed, for 
 their heads had all passed under the guillotine. 
 
 Starvation increased, for the land lay a-djdng. 
 
 The guillotine was getting old and worn-out at Lyons. 
 
 One morning, sixty-four are marched out to death. They 
 are bound, and ranged in a line before an open trench. 
 Three pieces of cannon, loaded with bullets, sweep the 
 ranks. Not half are touched. "Forward!" is the word 
 given to the dragoons, who hack and shoot down the 
 victims. This lasts two whole hours. 
 
 Nine hundred and thirty executioners, in the shape of 
 an entire regiment, were to send their victims, marshalled 
 in a row, into eternity at the same moment. At the order 
 " Fire! " four bullets struck at the life of the victims, all of 
 whom are tied to a rope stretched from tree to tree. 
 
 Strange — when the smoke arose, only half were found 
 dead. The rest remained either wounded or untouched. 
 The unscathed stared in horror; the wounded screamed to 
 be despatched. 
 
 The soldiers could not fire again. Some of the prisoners 
 had freed themselves, and were escaping. The dragoons
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 363 
 
 were ordered forward to cut them down. The victims were 
 killed piece-meal. One man, a mayor of his town, readied 
 the river, hut there his bleeding hand betrayed him, and 
 he was cast into the river. 
 
 The soldiers protested against the use to which they 
 were put. The massacres lasted until night-fall. Yet 
 when the grave-diggers came next morning, some hearts 
 still beat. The sextons put the martyrs out of their misery 
 at once by blows on the head with their pickaxes. 
 
 " We are purging the land," wrote Collet d'Herbois to 
 the Convention. 
 
 Every day twenty-two were regularly shot. By this 
 time, the fear of life rendered death sweet. Girls, men, 
 children, prayed that they might be shot with their parents. 
 Sometimes they permitted this, and little boys and girls 
 were shot, holding their father's hands. 
 
 Women who were seen to shed tears at executions, were 
 shot. 
 
 Mourning was prohibited under pain of death. 
 
 One lad of fourteen, says, " Quick — quick ! You have 
 killed papa ! I want to overtake him ! " 
 
 One De Kochefort* was accompanied by a son to the 
 butchering-ground, whither he went with three relatives. 
 The men fell — the boy, aged fifteen, remained standing. 
 
 The executioner hesitated — the people murmured. 
 
 " God save the* King ! " cried De Kochefort. 
 
 A moment — a report — he fell, shattered to death. 
 
 A lovely girl, fourteen, is brought before the judge for 
 Musing to wear the national cockade. 
 
 " Why do 3 ? ou refuse to wear it ? " asks the judge. 
 
 " Because 3'ou do ! " replies the child. 
 
 Her beauty, rather than justice, pleading for her, a sign 
 was made that a wreath should be put in her hair, the 
 emblem of liberation. 
 
 She cast it upon the ground. She died. 
 
 A man came to the Hall of Justice. 
 
 " You have slain my father, ni}' brothers, my wife — kill 
 me. My religion forbids me to destroy myself. In mercy, 
 kill me." 
 
 In mercy — they killed him. 
 
 * Grandfather of the Henri de Kochefort who writes the Lan- 
 terne.
 
 364 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 A woman, who had fought bravely in the earlier and 
 fairer time of the Revolution, was carried to the scaffold, 
 though about to become a mother. She did not fear death 
 — she pleaded for the other life. 
 
 She was laughed at — hooted — and so died. 
 
 A girl of seventeen, and much resembling Charlotte 
 Corda} 7 , was accused of having served as an artillerist in 
 the trenches of the forces opposed to the national forces. 
 
 " What is your name ? " 
 
 " Mary ; the name of the mother of the God for whom I 
 am about to die." 
 
 " Your age ? " 
 
 " Seventeen ; the age of Charlotte Corday." 
 
 " How ! — at seventeen, fight against your country ? " 
 
 " I fought to save it." 
 
 " Citizen — we, 3 r our judges, admire your courage. What 
 would you do with your life if we gave it you ? " 
 
 " Use it to kill you ! " 
 
 She ascended the scaffold, alarmed at the crowd of people 
 — fearless of death. She refused the executioners help — 
 cried twice, " God save the King ! " — and lay down to die. 
 
 After her death, the executioner found amongst her clothes 
 a note written in blood. It was from her lover, who had 
 been shot some days before. 
 
 The lovers were only separated by a few days. Their 
 history touched the people, but the people of that day did 
 not know how to pardon. 
 
 These awful executions were at last arrested, not because 
 the victims were exhausted, but because the soldiers threw 
 down their arms and positively refused any longer to play 
 the shameful parts of executioners. 
 
 Napoleon Bonaparte, the tyrant-liberator of the oppressed 
 republic, now rose to his first distinction. 
 
 The English were in possession of Toulon. Admiral 
 Hood was preparing to flood France with English red-coats. 
 
 Within a week Bonaparte had compelled the English tc 
 retire, but not before they had destroyed the arsenal and 
 the whole of the French navy. 
 
 On the beach, fifteen thousand refugees from various 
 parts of France sought to get away to the combined English 
 and Spanish fleets. 
 
 A storm arose in the midst of this destruction. Seven
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 365 
 
 thousand were rescued from the vengeance of the Republi- 
 can arms ; eight thousand perished. 
 
 These refugees were chiefly carried to Leghorn, where 
 their descendants still reside. 
 
 The Convention ordered that Toulon should he razed to the 
 ground for having submitted to the English. 
 
 This frantic order, however, was not carried out. 
 
 Napoleon was now Emperor of Toulon. Already he 
 disobeyed orders, and rose daily to power. 
 
 Marat had risen over the Girondists and Liberals, Dan- 
 ton over him ; Robespierre was to destroy Lanton, but 
 Napoleon was to set his foot upon them all, and command, 
 until, in his turn, in 1815, he was to succumb. 
 
 i » ■ — > 
 
 CHAPTER LXII. 
 
 THE BLOOD OF WOMEN. 
 
 Madame Roland who had now been imprisoned through 
 five long months, was the next celebrated victim demanded 
 by the people. She had conquered her weariness by writ- 
 ing her life. 
 
 At one time, she sought to avoid death by poison ; but 
 the memory of her child prevailed, and she lived on to the 
 end. 
 
 When the Girondists fell, she knew all hope of life for 
 herself was at an end. She was then removed to the prison 
 whence Marie Antoinette went to the scaffold — nay, she 
 was imprisoned in the adjoining cell ; and here she passed 
 her days, watching the fragment of sky she could see 
 through the bars of her prison, or admiring the little 
 bunches of flowers the gaoler's good-hearted wife sent to 
 her dungeon almost daily. 
 
 She was tried for being the wife of Roland, and the 
 friend of the Girondists. She was proud of the accusation, 
 declared herself to be so, and she heard her condemnation 
 to death with a calm bearing and a smiling face. 
 
 " I thank you," she said, " that you think me worthy to 
 share the fate of great and good men."
 
 366 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 That same day she was placed in the last of a numher of 
 carts, her only companion being an old man. Her beauty 
 was more than radiant, seated so near trembling age. 
 
 She wore a white dress, and her long black hair streamed 
 down her back. 
 
 Near the scaffold had been erected a colossal statue of 
 Liberty. When she ascended the scaffold, she bowed to the 
 statue, and cried, " Oh Liberty, how much crime is commit- 
 ted in your name ! " 
 
 But she had shown her woman's tenderness at the foot of 
 the scaffold. She said to her companion, " Go first, that 
 you may not see me die. Let me save you that pain." 
 
 She died quite fearlessly. 
 
 The next day, some peasants, driving home their flocks, 
 found the dead body of a man, a sword-stick blade through 
 his heart. The position of the remains proved suicide, 
 effected by putting the sword-handle against a tree, when the 
 sufferer flung himself upon the point. A paper found upon 
 the dead man contained these words : — 
 
 "Whoever thou art that findest these remains, respect 
 them as those of a virtuous man. After my wife's death, I 
 will not remain another day upon this earth, so stained 
 with crimes." 
 
 This was Madame Roland's husband. 
 
 Very different from this honest woman's death was that 
 of Madame Dubarry, mistress of Louis XV. Her crime 
 was the concealment of a treasure. As a King's favorite, 
 she had amassed enormous wealth. Strangely enough, it 
 was a favorite of her own — a negro boy she had adopted — 
 that denounced her. She was condemned, and she went 
 shrieking to the scaffold — the only instance of this kind 
 amongst all the women who died during the Reign of Terror. 
 
 Her beauty was her crime. 
 
 " Life ! " she cried. " Life for repentance — for devotion 
 to the Republic ! All my treasures for a little life ! " 
 
 The knife only cut short these ignoble cries. 
 
 The next thing done was the abolition of the name of the 
 days of the weeks and months of the year, because they 
 were idolatrous. 
 
 Finally, the Catholic faith was abolished, the church bells 
 were cast into money, the worship of the Goddess of Rea-
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 367 
 
 son, was proclaimed. The proclamation was carried into 
 effect at the Cathedral. An actress, one Mdlle. Maillard, 
 beautiful, talented, and a favorite of the late Queen's, was 
 compelled to play the part of the goddess. 
 
 She was borne into the church (the only one now open in 
 all Paris) upon a kind of litter, covered with oak branches, 
 and followed by girls dressed in white, singing jubilant 
 songs. About the altar were the opera choristers and others. 
 The actress was now placed upon the altar, and she was 
 worshipped by those present. The Bishop had been com- 
 pelled to appear, and he sat motionless with fear, tears of 
 shame coursing down his face. 
 
 The burial places of the Kings were now invaded. The 
 remains of a thousand years of kings were torn from the 
 vaults of St. Denis, and cast into the country ditches. Noth- 
 ing was spared — anything which suggested royalty, was 
 destroyed. 
 
 Meanwhile, Carrier, at Xantes, surpassed in outrage all 
 that had gone before him. It was charitable to suppose 
 he was sheer mad. 
 
 Men, women, children, and especially priests, were shot 
 down by Carrier's orders. He said trial was useless. His 
 rivals had abandoned the guillotine for the butchery of the 
 soldier's lead. Carrier improved upon this. He said he 
 hated blood, so he positively sank hundreds, thousands of 
 accused, in huge barges. They were carried down to the 
 bottom, and there to this day the}' remain. 
 
 Carrier was the deputy sent by the Convention, of which 
 Robespierre was now King, 
 
 These massacres lasted months. Some complaints were 
 sent to Paris. Carrier seized two hundred of the principal 
 merchants of the place, cast them into prison, tortured them, 
 and then drowned the men. 
 
 At last, his madness becoming apparent, he was recalled. 
 Robespierre did not demand his punishment ; and this 
 omission of justice was one of the accusations brought 
 against Robespierre at his trial. 
 
 A woman began the attack upon Robespierre. She was 
 Rose Lacombe, beautiful, eloquent, revolutionary; but 
 pitying and hating blood. She was seized with love for a 
 young prisoner, tried to save him, failed, and she devoted 
 herself to Robespierre's death.
 
 368 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 Robespierre, to retain his popularity, determined to 
 sacrifice Danton, Cainille Desnioulins, and others. They 
 fell — all of them. 
 
 As these victims, on their way to execution, passed 
 Duplay's house, the shutters of which were closed, the 
 crowd burst into a roar of applause. Robespierre watching, 
 trembled. 
 
 A very short span, and his time was to come. 
 
 Herault de Sechelles was the first to alight from the cart. 
 He turned to embrace Danton, when the executioner 
 pulled him away. 
 
 " Brute ! " said Danton ; " but you cannot prevent our 
 lips touching in the basket." 
 
 Camille Desmoulins was the last but one of the four. 
 He was quite resigned. He looked at the knife, then 
 turning to the people, he said, " Look on at the end of the 
 first apostle of liberty ! He who murders me will not 
 survive me long ! " 
 
 " Send this lock of hair to my mother," he said to the 
 executioner. 
 
 Thejr were his last words. 
 
 Danton ascended last. He never looked more haughty 
 and defiant. For one moment he broke down. " Wife ! " 
 he screamed. 
 
 Then he added, " Come, come, Danton ; no weakness. 
 Executioner, show my head to the people ; it is worth 
 looking at ! " 
 
 The executioner caught the head as it was falling, and 
 carried it round the scaffold. 
 
 The mob applauded. Such is the end of favorites. 
 
 Eight thousand people were awaiting death in the prisons 
 of Paris alone, within a month of Danton's death. 
 
 Robespierre was delicate and decent in his power and 
 supreme cruelty, but he capped all his compeers. Men and 
 women were not shot or drowned in Paris, but the guillotine 
 worked unceasingly. 
 
 Certain children had, in 1791, taken part in receiving 
 the Prussian General at Verdun. They were all brought 
 to Paris, and guillotined. 
 
 The nuns of Montmartre were carried, abbess, young 
 girls, and old women, all to the scaffold — for praying ! As
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 3G9 
 
 the Girondists sang their hymns, so these poor women sang 
 theirs. The last death ended the last note of this hymn. 
 
 It was thus Robespierr* — now alone of all those with 
 whom he first came into power — and his statellites main- 
 tained their power. 
 
 One, and only one, grown-up scion of royalty remained 
 — Madame Elizabeth. 
 
 It was then more than a year since the King died. She 
 and the Princess remained together — deprived even of 
 cards, because of the kings and queens in the pack. 
 
 As for the Dauphin, he was confined in a iciem the bed 
 of which he never left. His bread was thrown to him. 
 No one ever spoke to him, and his clothes had not been 
 changed for nearly twelve months. His window would not 
 open. He was allowed no books, paper, or playthings ; in 
 a word, he was brutalized at six years of age. His limbs 
 stiffened, and he became an idiot, in which state he died. 
 
 The aunt and sister could hear nothing about the child. 
 They were treated tolerably well, but during Lent they 
 were only given fat meat to eat. This their consciences 
 would not allow them to touch, and for forty days they only 
 ate bread. 
 
 The summons came suddenly at night-time. The little 
 Princess, the only one of the five prisoners of the Temple 
 who survived the Eeign of Terror, wept, clung to her aunt 
 — but lost her. 
 
 Her defence was very simple: — "I am tried because I 
 am the King's sister. You call him a tyrant. Had he 
 been, you would not have been where you are ; I not be 
 where I am ! " 
 
 The people demanded her life, and they obtained it. 
 
 The very women who generally yelled around the carts 
 were dumb, as this serene, angelic woman was carried 
 through the streets. She died so peacefully, that many 
 envied her. 
 
 23
 
 370 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIII. 
 
 KOBES PIERRE FALLS. 
 
 Atheism was now preached openly. 
 
 Robespierre pronounced in favor of an unknown deity, 
 and in so magnificent a speech, that it may be said he gave 
 back religion to France. 
 
 But his time had come. 
 
 "What was his crime in the eyes of his accusers ? Un- 
 popularity. 
 
 One night he is addressing the Convention, when the 
 uproar is so incessant, that in endeavoring to make himself 
 heard, his voice fails him. 
 
 The people were already looking towards Napoleon — the 
 man of the sword, not of the tongue. 
 
 Robespierre fell back upon silence, but he was always to 
 be seen at his place at the Convention. Hour after hour, 
 friends became enemies. 
 
 He knew he was condemned, but he waited. 
 
 Here is the final scene : — 
 
 Robespierre and his friends, St. Just, Couthon, and 
 Lebas, seated in a room by themselves, hear the jingle of 
 approaching soldiers. Lebas takes one of a couple of 
 pistols, and presents it — " Robespierre, let lis die." 
 
 " No ; I await the executioner," says Robespierre, and 
 the other two murmur in assent. 
 
 The sounds come nearer. 
 
 A report — and Lebas falls. He has shot himself through 
 the heart. 
 
 The soldier-insurgents swarm into the room. 
 
 " Down with the tyrant ! Where is he ? " 
 
 These were the cries Robespierre heard. 
 
 He did not quail. 
 
 " Which is the man ? " asks a soldier of Leonard Bour- 
 don, who did not face his fallen enemy. 
 
 He pointed the questioner's pistol at Robespierre, and he 
 said, " That is the man." 
 
 The report was heard, and the next moment Robes- 
 pierre's head fell upon the proclamation he was signing at 
 the instant.
 
 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 371 
 
 The ball had entered the left side of the face, and carried 
 away part of the cheek and several teeth. 
 
 Couthon tried to rise, and fell to the ground. 
 
 St. Just sat calmly glancing from his fallen friend to his 
 enemies. 
 
 The procession to the Convention was horrible enough. 
 It vvas now daybreak. 
 
 First was carried Robespierre, on a litter, his face tied up 
 in a handkerchief; then came his brother, insensible, in the 
 arms of two men ; then followed the dead body of Lebas, 
 over which the}' had thrown a table-cover. 
 
 Couthon, who had rolled in the mud, followed ; and the 
 procession was closed by St. Just, walking bare-headed. 
 
 " The recreant Robespierre is here ! " said the President 
 of the Convention, a man just chosen. " Shall he be 
 brought in ? " 
 
 " No, no ! " cried the Conventionists. u The corpse of a 
 tyrant can carry nothing but contagion along with it. To 
 the scaffold ! " 
 
 Robespierre was put aside in a room, and hundreds of 
 people pushed in to assure themselves the tyrant was dead. 
 
 He heard and saw all ; but could not speak. 
 
 At three, he and his friends were tried. At six, they 
 were being conveyed in carts to execution. 
 
 There was no lack of people to see Robespierre die ; 
 women dressed as for a ball, believing that with Robes- 
 pierre the Reign of Terror was at an end. 
 
 Children huddled around the carts — orphans of his 
 victims — crying, " Kill him ! kill him !" 
 
 His procession to the scaffold was a line of loud-spoken 
 imprecations. 
 
 He never spoke or uttered a cry, except when the 
 bandage was taken from his face ; then a scream, heard 
 many hundred yards away, burst from him. 
 
 His head fell — he and the Terror ended together. 
 
 Trance fell into the hands of Napoleon. 
 
 My tale is done. I have said very little about myself — 
 I, Rene Besson, found in my old age by Alexander Dumas, 
 seated in the sunlight. I married Estelle Duplay (the 
 furies broke into the house of Duplay, the day after
 
 372 LOVE AND LIBERTY. 
 
 Robespierre's death, and killed his poor wife), and found 
 peace and happiness. One last word ! I have never re- 
 gretted saving Sophie Gerbaut, and the Viscount de Malmy, 
 from the Terror. That I did. I am now an old man. My 
 very last words are these. The Revolution Was terrible, 
 but it did the world more good in the long run than the 
 world has yet found out. 
 
 Rene Bess on. 
 
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 50 
 50 
 50 
 50 
 50 
 50 
 50 
 50 
 
 50 
 50 
 50 
 
 50 
 50 
 60 
 50 
 50 
 00 
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 WORKS AT 25 CENTS. 
 
 Aunt Margaret's Trouble, 25 
 
 The Woman in Grey, 25 
 
 The Deformed, 25 
 
 Two Prima Donnas 25 
 
 The Mysterious Marriage, 25 
 
 Jack Downing's Letters, 25 
 
 The Mysteries of a Convent,... 25 
 
 Rose Warrington, 25 
 
 The Iron Cross 25 
 
 Charles Ransford 25 
 
 BY BEST AUTHORS. 
 
 The Mysteries of Bedlam 25 
 
 The Nobleman's Daughter,,.. 25 
 Madison's Exposition of Odd 
 
 Fellowship, 25 
 
 Ghost Stories. Illustrated 25 
 
 Ladies' Science of Etiquette,... 25 
 
 The Abbey of Innismoyle 25 
 
 Gliddon's Ancient Egypt 25 
 
 Philip in Search of a Wife, 25 
 
 Rifle Shots 25 
 
 1 00 
 
 THE SHAKSPEARE NOVELS. 
 
 T l ,o Secret Passion, 1 00 I Shakspeare and his Friends,. 
 
 Th ■ Youth of Shakspeare, 1 00 I 
 
 The three above Books are also published completo in one large octavo 
 volume, bound in cloth. Price Four Dollars. 
 
 g^* Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, by 
 T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa.
 
 T. B. PETEESON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS. 15 
 
 PETERSONS' ILLUMINATED STORIES. 
 
 Each D 10k being in u\\ "Illuminated Cover," in fivo color?, full of 
 Illastrn.ti.oas. Thia is the most saleable series of 26 cent books overprinted. 
 
 Rebel ami Rover 
 
 First Love 
 
 The Two Merchancs, 
 
 A Year After Marriage, 
 
 L ivj in High Life, 
 
 The Divorced Wife 
 
 TIio Debtor's Daughter, 25 
 
 Tho Lady at Home, 2j 
 
 Mary Moreton, 25 
 
 25 
 
 The Two Brides 
 
 Dielc Parker, 
 
 Jack Ketch 
 
 Mother Brownrigg 
 
 Galloping Dick 
 
 M try 15 it j man 
 
 It io.il (Is Survillo 
 
 L : fj of llirry Thomas 
 
 Mrs. Whipple &, Jesse 
 
 A Iventures, , 
 
 Jonathan Wild's A Iventures 
 
 Ninon De L'Enclos' Life, 25 
 
 The Iron Cross 25 
 
 Biddy Woodhull tho Beautiful 
 
 Haymaker, 25 
 
 Tho River Pirate?, 25 
 
 Dark Shades of City Life, 25 
 
 The Rats of the Seine, 25 
 
 Mysteries of Bedlam 25 
 
 Charles Hansford, 25 
 
 Mysteries of a Convent, 25 
 
 The Mysterious Marriage, 25 
 
 C.ipt. lilood, the Highwayman, 25 
 
 Capt. Blood and the Beagles, 25 
 
 Highwayman's Avenger, 25 
 
 Itody the Rover's Adventures,. 25 
 Sixteen-Stringed Jack's Tight 
 
 for Life, 25 
 
 Ghost Stories. Illustrated,.... 25 
 
 Arthur Spring 25 
 
 The Valley Farm, 25 
 
 USEFUL BOOKS FOR ALL. 
 
 Lady's and Gentleman's Science of Etiquette. By Count D'Orsay 
 
 and Countess de Calabrella, with their portraits 50 
 
 Lardner's Oae Thousand and Ten Things Worth Knowing, 50 
 
 KnowUon's Complete Farrier and Horse Doctor, 25 
 
 Knowlson's Complete Cow and Cattle Doctor, 25 
 
 The Complete Kitchen and Fruit Gardener, 25 
 
 Tne Cj nplate Florist and Flower Gardener, 25 
 
 Arthur's Receipts for Preserving Fruits, etc., 12 
 
 LIVE 3 OF GENERALS AND OTHER NOTED MEN. 
 
 M>ore's Life of II . i. Schuyler C dfax. By Rev. A. Y. Moore, of 
 
 S nth Bead. With a, Fine Steel Portrait. One vol. cloth. Price.. 1 50 
 The Lives of Grant an I Colfax. With life-like portraits of each, and 
 
 other engraving*. Cloth, $1.00; or in paper cover, 75 
 
 Illuitntel Life, Speeches, Martyrdom and Funeral of President 
 
 Abraham Lincoln. Cloth, $1.75; or in paper cover, 1 50 
 
 Life an I Services of General Sheridan. Cloth, $1.00; or in paper,.. 75 
 Life, Bittles, Reports, and Public Services of General George B. 
 
 MjClallan. Price in paper 59 cents, or in cloth 75 
 
 Life an 1 Public S:rvices of General George G. Meade, the Hero of 
 
 Gettysburg 25 
 
 Life an! Public Services of General Benjamin F. Butler, the Hero 
 
 of New Orleans, 25 
 
 Life of President Andrew Johnson. Cloth, $1.00 ; or in paper 75 
 
 The Im >eaohment an I Tri tl of Andrew Johnson, cheap paper cover 
 
 eiition, price 50 cents, or a finer edition, bound in cloth, price... 1 50 
 Trial of the Assassins and Conspirators for the murder of President 
 
 Abraham Lincoln. Cloth, $1.50 ; or cheap edition in paper cover, 50 
 Lives of Horatio Sevmour and Francis P. Blair, Jr. Complete in 
 
 one duodecimo volume. Price 50 cents in paper, or in cloth, 75 
 
 Life of Archbishop Hughes, first Archbishop of New York, 25 
 
 glT Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, by 
 T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa.
 
 16 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS. 
 LIEBIG'S WORKS ON CHEMISTRY. 
 
 Agricultural Chemistry, 25 I Liebig's, celebrated Letters on 
 
 Auiuial Chemistry, 2o\ the Potato Disease, 25 
 
 Liebig's Complete Works on Chemistry, is also issued in one largo 
 
 octavo volume, bound in cloth. Price Two Dollars. 
 
 SIR E. L. BULWER'S NOVELS. 
 
 The Roue, 50 I The Courtier, 25 
 
 The Oxonians, 5U I Falkland, 25 
 
 DR. HOLLICK'S WORKS. 
 
 Dr. Hollick's great work on the Anatomy and Physiology of the 
 
 Human Figure, with colored dissected plates of the Human Figure, 1 25 
 Dr. Hollick's Family Physician, a Pocket Guide for Everybody, 25 
 
 GEORGE FRANCIS TRAIN'S SPEECHES. 
 
 Union Speeches. In 2 vols., each 25 I Downfall of England, 10 
 
 Speech to the Fenians, 25 I Slavery and Emancipation 10 
 
 REV. CHAS. WADSWORTH'S SERMONS. 
 
 America's Mission, 25 I A Thanksgiving Sermon, 15 
 
 Thankfulness and Character,.. 25 | Politics in Religion, 12 
 
 Henry Ward Beecher on War and Emancipation, 15 
 
 Rev. William T. Brantley's Union Sermon, 15 
 
 EXPOSITIONS OF SECRET ORDERS, ETC. 
 
 Odd Fellowship Exposed, 13 
 
 Sons of Malta Exposed 13 
 
 Life of Rev. John N. Maffit,... 13 
 
 Dr. Berg's Answer to Arch- 
 bishop Hughes 13 
 
 Dr. Berg on the Jesuits, 13 
 
 RIDDELL'S MODEL ARCHITECT. 
 
 Architectural Designs of Model Country Residences. By John Riddell, 
 Practical Architect. Illustrated with twenty-two full page Front Eleva- 
 tions, colored, with forty-four Plates of Ground Plans, including the First 
 and Second Stories, with plans of the stories, full specifications of all the 
 articles used, and estimate of price. Price Fifteen Dollars a copy. 
 
 GOOD BOOKS FOR EVERYBODY. 
 
 Southern Life; or, Inside Views of Slavery, 1 00 
 
 The Rich Men of Philadelphia, Income Tax List of Residents, 1 00 
 
 Childbirth. Its pains lessened and its perils obviated. Showing that 
 
 thepnins of childbirth may be mitigated, if not entirely prevented, 1 00 
 Peterson's Complete Coin Book, containing fac-similes of all the 
 
 Coins in the World, with the U. S. Mint value of each coin 1 00 
 
 New Card of Stamp Duties, approved by the last Acts of Congress, 15 
 Political Lyrics. New Hampshire and Nebraska. Illustrated 12 
 
 CHRISTY & WHITE'S SONG BOOKS. 
 
 Christy & Wood's Song Book,. 10 Serenader's Song Book, 10 
 
 Mclodeon Song Book 10 Budworth's Songs 10 
 
 Plantation Melodies 10 Christy and White's Complete 
 
 Ethiopian Song Book 10 Ethiopian Melodies. Cloth, 1 00 
 
 CURVED-POINT STEEL PENS. 
 
 The Slip Pen. ... per dozen .25, per gross, $2.50 
 
 The Birrrl Pen, per " .50, " 5.00 
 
 Magnum Bonum Pen, ... per " .75, " 8.00 
 
 Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of ths Retail Price, by 
 T. B. Potorson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa.
 
 T. B. PETERSON and BROTHERS, 
 
 PUBLISHERS AND BOOKSELLERS, 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, PA., 
 
 Ta&e pleasure in calling the attention of the public to their 
 Choice and Extensive Stock of Book?, comprising a col- 
 lection of the most popular and choice, in all styles 
 of binding, by all the favorite and standard 
 American and English Authors. 
 
 To Collectors of Libraries, or those desiring to form them. 
 
 JVfAny who have the taste, and wish to form a Library, arp (W»rrpd by fpar of the cost. 
 To all such we would say, that a large number of books may hp furnished for evpo One 
 Hundred Dollar-- — which, by a yearly increase of a small amount, will before long phtce 
 the purchaser iu possession of a Library in almost every branch of knowledge, and 
 Afford satisfaction not only to the collector, but to all those who are so fortunate as to 
 possess his acquaintance. 
 
 For the conveuieicp of Book buyers, and tho«e seeking suitable 'Works for Pre«enta- 
 rlon, great care is taken in having a large and varied collection, and all the current 
 works of the day. Show counters and shelves, with au excellent selection of Standard, 
 Illustrated, and Ilium! nated works, vary: in; in price to -nst all buyers, are available to 
 thos rrsitiug onr establishment, where purchases may be made with facility, and the 
 timo of the visitor greatly economized. Here may be seen not only books of the simplest 
 k ud for children, but also exquisite works of ait, of the most sumptuous character, 
 suitable alike to adorn the drawing-room table and the study of the couuoisseur. 
 
 Our arrangements f. .r supplying STvxnARD America* Books, suitable for Public Libra, 
 ries aud Private Families, are complete, and our stock second to none in the country. 
 
 &3f Catalogue* are sent, on application, and preat attention is paid to communications 
 frfin the country, and the goods ordered carefully packed aud forwarded with expedition 
 od T<?««ipt of orders accompauied with the cash. 
 
 To Booksellers and Librarians. 
 
 T B. Peterson & Brothers issue New Books every month, comprising the most enter- 
 taining aud absorbing works published, suitable for the Parlor, Library, Sitlin? Room, 
 Kailroad or Steamboat reading, by the best and most popular writers iu the world. 
 
 Any person wanting books will find it to their advantage to send their orders to the 
 '"PUBLISHING HOUSE ' OF T. B. PETERSON &.BROS., 806 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, 
 who have the laru'e^t stock in the country, and will supply them at very low prices for 
 cash. We have just issued a new and complete Catalogue and Wholesale Pries Lists, 
 which we send gratuitously to «uy Bookseller or Librarians ou application. 
 
 Orders solicited from Librarians, Booksellers, Canvassers, News Agents, and all others 
 in want of good and fast selling books, aud they will please send ou their orders. 
 
 Encloso ten, twenty, fifty, or a hundred dollars, or more, to ns in a letter, and write 
 what kind of books you wish, and on its receipt the books will be seut to you at once, 
 per first express, or aay way you direct, with circulars, show bills, etc., gratis. 
 
 Aeents and Canvassers are requested "> send for our Canvassers' Confidential Circular 
 containing instructions. Large wages can be laade, as we supply our Agents at very 
 low rates. 
 
 Address all cash orders, retail or wholesale, to meet with prompt attention, to 
 
 T. B. PETERSON and BROTHERS, 
 
 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Penna. 
 
 Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of retail price, to any address in the country. 
 
 All the NEW BOOKS are for sale at PETERSONS' Book Store, as socn as published. 
 
 43- Publishers of "PETERSONS" DETECTOR and BANK NOTE LIST," a Business 
 Journal and valuable Advertising medium. Price fl .Oo a year, inouthly ; or $3.00% 
 fear, semi-monthly. Every Business man shoald subscribe at ouce
 
 PETERSON'S MAGA; 
 
 THE CHEAPEST AND BEST IN THE WORLD 
 
 Splendid Offers for 18i 
 «_«. 
 
 This popular Monthly Magazine gives more for the money than any in the u>orld\ 
 For 1S69, it will be greatly improved. It will contain 
 
 ONE THOUSAND PAGES! 
 
 FOURTEEN SPEENDID STEEE PEATES ! 
 
 TWELVE MAMMOTH FASHBON PEATES! 
 TWELVE COLORE!) BERLIN PATTERNS! 
 
 NINE HUNDRED WOOD CUTS ! 
 
 TWENTY-FOUR PAGES OF MUSIC I 
 
 All this will be given for only TWO DOLLARS a year, or a dollar less than 
 Magazines of the class of " Peterson." Its 
 
 THRILLING TALES AND NOVELETTES 
 
 Are the best published anywhere. All the most popular writers are employed to write 
 orioinalh/ for "Peterson." In 1S69, in addition to its usual quantity of short stories. 
 FOUR ORIGINAL COPYRIGHT NOVELETS will be given, viz : "Mary Anlionette's 
 Talisman," by Mis. Ann S. Stephens; "The Mystery of Blackwood Grango," by 
 the author of "Sir Noel's Heir;" "Katie's Winter in Washington," by Frank Lee 
 Benedict; and " The Story of Maggio," by the author ot " Susy L's Diary.' 
 
 MAMMOTH COLORED FASHION PLATES 
 
 Ahead of all others. These plates are engraved on steel, twice the usual size, and 
 con'ain six figures. They will be superbly colored. Also, a pattern, from which a 
 Dress, Mantilla, or Child's Dress can be cut out, without the aid of a mantua-maker. 
 Also, several pages of Household and other receipts: in short, everything interest- 
 ing to Ladies. 
 
 SUPE&B P&EMJUM EKGBAVMCt 
 
 To ev«ry person getting up a Club for 1S69 will be sent GRATIS, a copy of our 
 new and splendid Mezzotint for framing, (size 24 inches by 16,) " The Star of Beth 
 lehen," after the celebrated master-piece, by Geronie, the famous French artist. 
 This is the most desirable premium ever offered. For large clubs, as will be seen 
 below, an extra copy will be sent in addition. 
 
 TERMS— Always in Advance: 
 
 One Copy, for one year - $ 2 00 
 
 Three Copies, for one year 5 00 
 
 Four Copies, for one year 6 00 
 
 Five Copies, for one year, (and one to getter up of club) 8 00 
 
 Eight Copies, for one year, (and one to getter up of club) 12 (.0 
 
 Fourteen Copies, for one year, (and one to getter up cf club) 20 00 
 
 Address, Post-paid, 
 
 CHARLES J. PETERSON, 
 
 No. 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 
 
 99" Specimens sent to those wishing to get up clubs.
 
 NEW BOOKS BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS, 
 
 THE CURSE OF 
 
 BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS, 
 
 Price $1.75 in Cloth ; or, $1.50 in Paper Cover. 
 
 Read what the Editors of the N?.w Fork Weekly say of it, in their paper, editorially : 
 " Mrs. Ann S. Stephens has thrown into ' The Curse of Gold' all that 
 graphic delineation of passion and character, beauty and strength of style, 
 reality of description, sweep of imagination, brilliancy of fashion, power 
 over the fount of tears and laughter, and trenchant sarcasm which have 
 male her writings the source of great pleasure to readers of fiction 
 wherever the English language is known. 
 
 "'The Curse of Gold' will be found to be one of the most thrilling, 
 intensely absorbing, unfailingly interesting, and delightfully romantic 
 stories which Mrs. Stephens has ever penned. 
 
 '• ' The Curse of Gold' never drags, but from the first chapter to the last 
 the intense interest is maintained, and incident follows incident, action 
 follows action with such rapidity that the reader is hurried along, fasci- 
 nated in the various windings and unwindings of the plot. The characters 
 are so naturally portrayed that they appear to have been drawn from real 
 life. The situations are never overstrained, nor yet commonplace, but of 
 a nature to excite the attention an'i elicit the admiration of the reader at 
 the fertility of invention of the author." 
 
 Fourth Edition Now Head}/. 
 
 MABEL'S MISTAKE. 
 
 BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS. 
 
 Price $1.75 in Cloth ; or, $1.50 in Paper Cover. 
 
 T. B. Peterson & Brothers have just issued a new and uniform edition 
 of all the popular works written by Mrs. Ann S. Stephens. Their names 
 are as follows. Price of each, $1.75 in cloth ; or SI. 50 in paper cover. 
 
 ANN S. STEPHENS' COMPLETE WORKS. 
 
 The Curse of Gold $1 75 
 
 Mabel's Mistake, 1 75 
 
 Doubly False 1 75 
 
 The Soldiers Orphans, 1 75 
 
 Silent Struggles, 1 75 
 
 The Wife's Secret, 1 75 
 
 The Rejected Wife, $1 75 
 
 Marj T Derwent 1 75 
 
 The Gold Brick 1 75 
 
 Fashion and Famine, 1 75: 
 
 The Old Homestead, 1 75, 
 
 The Heiress 1 75 
 
 Each of the above books are published in one large duodecimo volume, 
 bound in cloth, at $1.75 each, or in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 
 
 For sale by all Booksellers. Copies of any of the above books will be 
 gent to anv ono, fr>-e of postage, on receipt of price bv the Publishers, 
 
 T. B, PETERSON & BROTHERS, 
 
 No. 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa.
 
 BY MRS, EMMA U. t. n. auuinwun.n. 
 
 Price $1.75 in Cloth; or $1.50 in Paper Cover. 
 
 HE WON H 
 
 A SEQUEL TO " FAIR PLAY." 
 
 BY MRS, EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. 
 
 Price $1.75 in Cloth; or $1.50 in Paper Cover. 
 
 BY MRS. EMMA D. E, N. SOUTHWORTH. 
 
 Price $1.75 in Cloth; or $1.50 in Paper Cover. 
 
 T. B. Peterson & Brothers have just issued a new and uniform edition 
 •f the popular works written by Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southvvorth. Their 
 names are as follows. Price of each, $1.75 in cloth ; or $1.50 in paper cover. 
 
 MRS. SOUTHWORTH'S COMPLETE WORKS. 
 
 The Chan zed Brides, $1 75 
 
 How He Won Her, 1 75 
 
 F.irPlav, 1 75 
 
 Fallon Pride 1 75 
 
 The Widow's Son, 1 75 
 
 Bride of Llewellyn, 1 75 
 
 The Fortune Seeker, 1 75 
 
 Allworth Abbey 1 75 
 
 The Bridal Eve 1 75 
 
 The Fatal Marriage, 1 75 
 
 Love's Labor Won 1 75 
 
 Deserted Wife 1 75 
 
 The Gipsy's Prophecy 1 75 
 
 The Lost Heiress, $1 75 
 
 The Two Sisters 1 75 
 
 The Three Beauties 1 75 
 
 Vivia; or. the Secret of Power, 1 75 
 
 Lady of the Isle, 1 75 
 
 The Missing Bride, 1 75 
 
 Wife's Victory 1 75 
 
 The Mother-in-Law 1 75 
 
 Haunted Homestead, 1 75 
 
 Retribution 1 75 
 
 India ; Pearl of Pearl River,.. 1 75 
 
 Curse of Clifton, 1 75 
 
 Discarded Daughter, 1 75 
 
 Each of the above books are published in one large duodecimo volume, 
 bound in cloth, at $1.75 each, or in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 
 
 For sale by all Booksellers. Copies of any of the above books will be 
 sent to anv one, free of postage, on receipt of price by the Publishers, 
 
 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 
 
 Ho. 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa.
 
 6 
 
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