On the morning of the 13th Roger set off as usual for Versailles; but when he reached the last houses of the city he found that the road was blocked by a barricade of overturned carts, looted furniture and paving stones. It was manned by an armed rabble who would allow no one to pass in either direction, and were seizing all would-be travellers to rob them of their valuables. Roger’s horse saved him from such treatment, but his fine clothes excited shouts of hatred and he did not get away without a shower of stones being hurled at him.
Returning to his inn he changed into his most sober garments, then went out again to discover what was going forward. He soon learned that every exit of the city was in the hands of the mob and that they now regarded Paris as a beleaguered city. Somewhat uneasily he wondered when the bombardment from the royal artillery on the heights of Montmartre would commence; and cursed the idiocy of the King, who a week before could have put an end to the seditions of the Palais Royal with a company of troops, done so yesterday morning with a battalion, but to achieve the same end now would need to employ an army.
In the gardens of the Palais Royal he saw to his surprise that every chestnut tree was entirely stripped of its leaves; but a waiter at one of the cafés told him that green being the colour of the Duc d’Orléans, Camille Desmoulins had, the day before, plucked a leaf and stuck it in his buttonhole, upon which the crowd had swarmed up the trees and decorated themselves with similar symbols before rushing off to the Hôtel de Ville.
The habitual loungers in the garden being now otherwise occupied, it was almost deserted, so Roger decided to go to the Hôtel de Ville, as the new centre of the mob’s inspiration. He found it surrounded by a seething mass of people, and only after two hours of persistent pushing managed to edge his way inside.
From scraps of conversation that he picked up it emerged that the Electors were now alarmed both for themselves and the city. Events were taking the course usual in revolutions. The more Liberal nobles, and the aristocratic lawyers of the old Parliament, had first opposed the King: they had been pushed aside by the more advanced reformers of the Third Estate; in its turn the Third Estate had recently shown signs of becoming dominated by the Left-wing element of the Clubs and Electors; and now the Electors found themselves at the mercy of the mob.
However, the Electors were mostly men of some substance, and they were determined not to allow further property to be destroyed if they could possibly prevent it. Quite arbitrarily they had virtually taken over the functions of the Municipality of Paris, but they now sought the aid of Monsieur de Flesselles, the Provost of the Merchants, and other officials of the city. De Flesselles, with a bravery that was soon to cost him dear, succeeded in getting rid of the major portion of the rioters by telling them that large quantities of arms were to be had for the taking in various places where, in fact, no arms were stored; and, in the meantime, the Electors hurriedly pushed forward a project upon which they had agreed two days earlier.
This was the formation of a Civic Guard, to consist of 200 men per district—12,000 men in all. The idea had been conceived with the object of creating a counterpoise to the royal troops, and, if necessary, giving armed support to the National Assembly; but it was now put into operation for the defence of the lives and properties of respectable citizens. By nightfall skeleton companies of the new militia were patrolling the streets in the better quarters, but the mob still reigned supreme in the faubourgs; and in the gardens of the Palais Royal a drunken orgy was taking place by the light of thousands of écus’ worth of fireworks, which d’Orléans’ agents were selling to the people at one quarter of their normal cost.
After the better part of two hours in the Hôtel de Ville, Roger had forced his way out of it and returned to his inn. Tired from the press of the crowd and its shouting, much worried by the turn events had taken, and no longer buoyed up by his old love of excitement, he ate a meal in solitary silence, then went up to his room and endeavoured to read a book. He was still wondering when the bombardment would open, but the King had been out hunting again all that day and on his return to the palace declared himself too fatigued to attend to business; so the only explosions that disturbed the stillness in Paris on that summer night were made by the rockets and Roman candles let off by the rowdies at the Palais Royal.
Next morning Roger’s enquiries produced the information that, although the mobs were still in possession of a large part of the city, the milice bourgeoise had succeeded in restoring order in its western end and demolished the barricades on the roads leading out of it. So he had his horse saddled and rode to Versailles.
He found the town unexpectedly quiet and, to his amazement, that the occupants of the palace were going about their normal routine as though nothing had occurred to disturb it in the last two days. The people he talked to were aware that there had been riots in the city, but they did not regard them with any more seriousness than they had the minor disturbances that had been taking place there for some months past. In vain he endeavoured to bring home to several of the courtiers the imminence of the peril that now threatened the whole structure of the State, but they merely offered him their snuff-boxes and assured him blandly that “now that vain, blundering fool Necker has gone everything will soon be put to rights”.
Later in the day the sound of cannon could be clearly heard from the direction of Paris. A report came through that the mob were attacking both the Invalides and the Bastille in the hope of obtaining further supplies of arms and ammunition. The courtiers now smiled a little grimly, and said that a few round-shot fired from the towers of the Bastille would soon teach the people better manners.
Early in the evening the usual royal progress was made through the long Hall of Mirrors. It had only just begun when the Duc de Liancourt, booted, spurred and covered with dust, arrived on the scene. Thrusting his way through the satin-clad throng he addressed the King without ceremony:
“Sire! I have to inform you that the people have sacked the Invalides, and with the arms so obtained stormed and captured the Bastille.”
“Bon Dieu!” exclaimed the startled King. “It is then a revolt.”
“ ’Tis not a revolt, Sire,” retorted the Duc acidly. “It is a revolution.”
De Liancourt was one of the most Liberal-minded nobles, and also suspected of Orleanist tendencies, so the obvious concern with which he announced the news was all the more striking; but he knew little of what had occurred apart from the bare facts.
Hard on his heels came de Besenval, with a more substantial account, which had been furnished by the agents he had left behind him on his withdrawal from the city. The King suggested to the Queen that they should retire with the Ministers to hear the news in private; so accompanied by de Besenval, de Breteuil, de Broglie, and a few others, they withdrew amidst the never-failing ceremonial bows and curtsys that took place at their every movement.
But the details soon leaked out. Having secured a few cannon from the arsenal at the Invalides the mob had marched to the Bastille with the object of obtaining further weapons. The Marquis de Launay, who was governor of the fortress, had refused their demands and threatened to fire upon them. They had then attacked the approaches to the castle with great determination, and succeeded in severing the chains that held up the outer drawbridge. De Launay’s garrison consisted of only 32 Swiss and 80 pensioners, and his cannon were ancient pieces no longer of value except for firing salutes; so he offered to admit a deputation to parley provided that they undertook to attempt no violence while within the fortress. This being agreed a group numbering 40 were admitted, and the inner drawbridge drawn up behind them. As to what next occurred, accounts varied widely. Some said that de Launay had massacred the deputation, but as such an act of brutality could have done him little good it seemed most unlikely. The more probable version was that a nervous gunner had allowed his match to get too near the touch-hole of a cannon that was trained on the deputation as an insurance against their possible treachery, and that the piece, fired by accident, ki
lled a number of them.
In any case the mob outside, believing itself to have been deliberately betrayed, placed such cannon as it had against the gates, blew them in, and stormed through the debris with ungovernable fury. At the sight of them de Launay snatched a lighted match from one of his gunners and ran towards the powder-magazine with the intention of blowing the fortress up; but he was seized by his own men, who then surrendered to the mob on a promise that his life and their own should be respected.
The French Guard deserters who were present, and had done most of the fighting on the side of the attackers, showed great bravery in endeavouring to protect de Launay and carry out the terms of the surrender. But the canaille overcame them, and dragged the Governor to the Place de Grève, where criminals were habitually executed, and murdered him there with great brutality; afterwards cutting off his head and parading it in triumph on the point of a pike round the gardens of the Palais Royal.
The gunner who had fired upon the deputation, and several of his companions, were also butchered. In addition, that same evening, another mob had called Monsieur de Flesselles to account for sending them on a wild-goose chase when they had been seeking arms the day before. Having hauled him from the Hôtel de Ville, they were marching him away to try him at the Palais Royal when he was shot by an unknown hand. Thereupon they hacked off his head and carried it to join de Launay’s in the garden where so much infamy had been plotted.
On hearing of these wild scenes Roger did not feel at all inclined to return to Paris that night, so he gladly accepted the offer of a shakedown in the apartments of the Duc de Coigny. Next morning news came in that the barriers outside Paris had been re-erected, and that the Civic Guard were now refusing anyone entrance. De Coigny then told Roger that he was welcome to occupy his temporary quarters for as long as he liked, so Roger thanked him and went out into the town to buy some toilet articles and fresh linen.
When he returned he heard that the National Assembly had again sent an address to the King, asking him to withdraw his troops from the vicinity of the capital as the only means of restoring order; and that their request had met with a refusal. But later in the day the unstable Monarch changed his mind and gave way. That evening the sang-froid of even the courtiers was shaken and, although they still preserved appearances by talking of idle topics with their ladies, an atmosphere of gloom pervaded the whole Court.
On the 16th the full extent of the Court party’s defeat became apparent. The additional regiments that had been brought into Versailles were evacuating the town. The Marshal de Broglie was deprived of his command. De Breteuil, Barentin and the other royalist Ministers were dismissed. A courier was despatched post-haste to Switzerland to recall the now inevitable alternative, Monsieur Necker.
Feeling depressed by the long faces in the palace, Roger went that afternoon to the National Assembly. The scenes he witnesed there appalled him. He realised now how right Monsieur de Périgord’s forecast had been that, lacking all experience in parliamentary procedure, when the States General met it would resemble a bear-pit. No rales of conduct for debates had been laid down and none were observed. Often as many as fifty deputies were all on their feet at once endeavouring to shout one another down; and when at last one of them did get a hearing he did not speak as a participator in a prearranged debate; instead he held the floor for as long as he could, pouring out all the ideas for the regeneration of France which were uppermost in his mind at the moment. In consequence his hearers might wish to support some things he said while violently disagreeing with him about others; so that when a division was finally called for, two-thirds of the members were not clear in their minds upon what they were voting.
Still worse, the public galleries were packed with spectators and no attempt whatever was made to keep them in order. They shouted witticisms and gave loud cat-calls; yelled for deputies to speak who had not risen, cheered their favourites and booed those they suspected of holding reactionary opinions. With such an audience, mainly composed of roughs and agitators, it was clearly impossible for moderate men to state their views without being subject to intimidation.
Horrified as Roger was by this travesty of parliamentary government, he was so fascinated by the spectacle that he remained watching it much longer than he had intended. When he came out it was getting dark, and the hour for supper in the palace had already passed, so he decided to get a meal in the town before rejoining his friends.
As he walked back to the palace, in the great square upon which it faced, several hundred people, among whom were many French Guards accompanied by loose women, were busy starting bonfires. The fever of revolution which still gripped Paris had spread, and groups of drunken roisterers were now singing ribald songs about the Queen under her very windows.
Sadly, Roger went up the great staircase, and made his way to de Vaudreuil’s rooms. To his surprise he found his friend throwing books, boots and pistols higgledy-piggledy into a big trunk.
“What in the world are you about?” he asked anxiously.
“Packing my own things, as I have sent my man to get my coach,” replied the Count tersely.
“Indeed! And where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“Germany! Holland! England! Heaven knows, for I do not.”
“Come,” Roger insisted. “I beg you make yourself plain.”
“I thought that I had done so. I am going into exile.”
“Exile!”
“Yes. I have been banished. An hour since Her Majesty told me to pack this very night and leave the country.”
“But you are one of her oldest friends. How could you possibly have offended her to such a degree?”
“I spoke my mind too freely. For weeks past her brother, the Emperor Joseph, has sent letter after letter, urging her to take refuge with him in Vienna from the hatred of the people. This evening I told her plainly that it was useless to rely further upon the King. That he is constitutionally unfitted to cope with the problems with which he is faced. That she must either raise the standard of the monarchy herself and let us draw our swords in its defence, or seek safety in flight. She replied that she had complete faith in His Majesty’s judgment, would never abandon him or the station to which God had called her, and would not suffer to remain in her presence anyone who spoke ill of her husband; therefore I was to proceed abroad immediately.”
“She cannot have meant that!” cried Roger impetuously. “She is distressed beyond measure by events, and cannot have realised the full import of what she said. At such a time she more than ever needs her true friends round her. I beg you to ignore her order; for I vow you will find that she has repented of it by tomorrow.”
De Vaudreuil frowned, shook his head, and said sadly: “Nay. I have long been wearied of the Court and its futile ways. I have wasted half a lifetime bowing and posturing with a lot of other fools who have now brought calamity upon themselves. I have served her to the best of my ability, and would serve her still if she would but listen to the dictates of her own high courage instead of playing the loyal, subservient wife to that poor stupid man whom fate has made our King. But since she will not, did I remain I should only add to her distress by telling her further truths that she knows already; so ’tis best that I should go.”
In vain Roger argued and pleaded, so at length he left the Count to continue with his packing. Yet he knew that de Vaudreuil loved the Queen with a selfless devotion, and in recent weeks his own heart had ached so much for Isabella, that now, from sympathetic understanding, it ached for his friend.
He could not bear the thought that the Queen and her faithful knight should part in anger, so after a while he summoned all his resolution and went to her apartments.
Madame Campan opened the door of the ante-chamber to his knock. On his requesting an audience on an urgent matter she looked at him in astonishment and said that she could not take his name in at that hour, and that in any case the Duchesse de Polignac was closeted with Her Majesty.
At that momen
t the Duchesse came out. She was holding a handkerchief to her eyes and weeping bitterly. Roger again urged Madame Campan to beg the Queen to see him for a moment and at length she reluctantly consented.
She returned after a moment to say that the Queen was about to retire for the night, and could see no one. With his usual persistence when he had made up his mind to do anything, Roger said that he had been sent on a matter of the greatest urgency by Monsieur de Vaudreuil. Again Madame Campan reluctantly gave way. When she came back the second time she opened the door wide and led him without a word across the room to the great gilded double doors at its far end. At her touch one of them swung back a few feet, and he stepped through into the huge, lofty, ornate chamber, in which the Queen both slept and held her morning receptions.
Madame Marie Antoinette was sitting at her dressing-table, her head bowed between her hands, crying. As she turned to look at him her blue eyes were dim and the tears were still running down her cheeks. In that vast apartment she now seemed a small pathetic figure. Roger was suddenly conscious of an extraordinary urge to run to her and put his arms protectively about her.
Repressing this symptom of madness that she inspired in men, he made her three formal bows and waited to be addressed.
After a moment she said in a low voice: “You—you bring me a message from Monsieur de Vaudreuil.”
“I most humbly beg Your Majesty to pardon me,” he replied. “ ’Tis not Monsieur de Vaudreuil’s words I bring, only his thoughts; and those upon my own responsibility. He is distressed beyond measure at your treatment of him.”
The Queen drew herself up. “Monsieur! How dare you force your way in here, and require me to explain my conduct!”
The Rising Storm Page 31