She still continued to receive news about every thing that transpired in Paris, every thing that was resolved upon in the National Assembly and discussed in the clubs, and had the libels and pamphlets which were directed at her all sent to her. Marie Antoinette understood the condition of the capital and the feeling of the people better than did the king (who often sat for hours, and at times whole days, silent and unoccupied) better even than did the ministers. She received every morning the reports of the emissaries, followed the intrigues of the conspirators, and was acquainted with the secret assemblies which Marat called together, and the alliances of the clubs. She knew about the calling together of the forty-eight sections of the Paris "fraternity" in one general convention. She knew that Potion, Danton, and Manuel, three raving republicans, were at the head, and that their emissaries were empowered to stir up the suburbs of the city. She knew, too, that the monsters from Marseilles, who had been active on the 20th of June, were boasting that they were going to repeat the deeds of that day on a greater scale.
Nor was it unknown to her that more than half the deputies in the National Assembly belonged to the Jacobin party, and that they were looking for an opportunity to strike a fresh blow at royalty. Very often, when at dead of night Marie Antoinette heard the noisy chorus of the rioters from Marseilles singing beneath her windows, "Allons, enfants de la patrie," or the Parisians chanting the "Qa ira, fa ira!" she sprang from her bed (she now never disrobed herself on retiring), hurried to the beds of her children to see that they were not in danger, or called her maids and commanded them to light the candles, that they might at least see the danger which threatened.
At last, on the night of the 9th of August, the long-feared terror arrived.
A gun fired in the court of the Tuileries announced its advent.
Marie Antoinette sprang from her bed, and sent her waiting-maid to the king to waken him. The king had already risen; his ministers and a few tried friends were now with him. The queen wakened her children, and assisted in dressing them. She then went with the little ones to the king, who received them with an affectionate greeting. At length a blast of trumpets announced that the movement had become general; the thunder of cannon and the peals of bells awakened the sleeping city.
The royal family, crowded close together, silently awaited the stalking of the republic into the halls of the king's palace, or the saving of the monarchy by the grace of God and the bravery of their faithful friends. For even then monarchy had those who were true to it; and while the trumpet-blasts continued and the bells to ring, to awaken republicans to the struggle, the sounds were at the same time the battle-cry of the royalists, and told them, that the king was in danger and needed their help.
About two hundred noblemen had remained in Paris, and had not followed the royal princes to Coblentz to take arms against their own country. They had remained in Paris, in order to defend the monarchy to the last drop of their blood, and at least to be near the throne, if they were not able to hold it up longer. In order not to be suspected, they carried no arms, and yet it was known that beneath the silk vest of the cavalier they concealed the dagger of the soldier, and they received in consequence the appellation of "Chevaliers of the Dagger."
At the first notes of the trumpet the nobility had hurried on the night of the 10th of August to the Tuileries, which were already filled with grenadiers, Swiss guards, and volunteers of every rank, who had hastened thither to protect the royal family. All the staircases, all the corridors and rooms, were occupied by them.
The "Chevaliers of the Dagger" marched in solemn procession by them all to the grand reception-room, where were the king, the queen, and the children. With respectful mien they approached the royal pair, imploring the king's permission to die for him, and beseeching the queen to touch their weapons, in order to make them victorious, and to allow them to kiss the royal hand, in order to sweeten death for them. There were cries of enthusiasm and loyalty on all sides, "Long live the king of our fathers!" cried the young people. "Long live the king of our children!" cried the old men, taking the dauphin in their arms and raising him above their heads, as if he were the living banner in whose defence they wished to die.
As the morning dawned, the king, at the pressing request of his wife, walked with her and the children through the halls and galleries of the palace, to reanimate the courage of their defenders who were assembled there, and to thank them for their fidelity.
Everywhere the royal family was received with enthusiasm, everywhere oaths of loyalty to death resounded through the rooms. The king then went, accompanied by a few faithful friends, down into the park, to review the battalions of the National Guard who were stationed there.
When Louis appeared, the cry, "Long live the king!" began to lose the unanimity which had characterized it in the palace. It was suppressed and overborne by a hostile murmur, and the farther the king advanced, the louder grew these mutterings; till at last, from hundreds and hundreds of throats, the thundering cry resounded, "Abdication or death! Long live Petion! Resignation or death!"
The king turned hastily around, and, with pale face and forehead covered with drops of cold sweat, he returned to the palace.
"All is lost!" cried the queen, bitterly, "Nothing more remains for us than to die worthily."
But soon she raised herself up again, and new courage animated her soul, when she saw that new defenders were constantly pressing into the hall, and that even many grenadiers of the National Guard mingled in the ranks of the nobility.