"Sir," said she, "I thank you, and I know that I may reckon upon you. I am sure that to-day as always you have thought upon our welfare, and that you will remain mindful of the oath of fidelity which you once gave me. Farewell! Do you go to the National Assembly. I will go to the palace, and may we each do our duty." She saluted Toulan with a gentle inclination of her head and with beaming looks of gratitude in her beautiful eyes, and then hurried on up the grand mall to the palace.
In Versailles all was confusion and consternation. Every one had lost his senses. Every one asked, and no one answered, for the only one who could answer, the king, was not there. He had not yet returned from the hunt in Meudon.
But the queen was there, and with a grand calmness and matchless grasp of mind she undertook the duties of the king. First, she sent the chief equerry, the Marquis de Cubieres, to meet the king and cause him to hasten home at once. She intrusted Count St. Priest, minister of the interior, with a division of the guards in the inner court of the palace. She inspired the timid women with hope. She smiled at her children, who, timid and anxious at the confusion which surrounded them, fled to the queen for refuge, and clung to her.
Darker and darker grew the reports that came meanwhile to the palace. They were the storm-birds, so to speak, that precede the tempest. They announced the near approach of the people of Paris, of the women, who were no longer unarmed, and who had been joined by thousands of the National Guard, who, in order to give the train of women a more imposing appearance, had brought two cannon with them, and who, armed with knives and guns, pikes and axes, and singing wild war-songs, were marching on as the escort of the women.
The queen heard all without alarm, without fear. She commanded the women, who stood around her weeping and wringing their hands, to withdraw to their own apartments, and protect the dauphin and the princess, to lock the doors behind them and to admit no one--no one, excepting herself. She took leave of the children with a kiss, and bade them be fearless and untroubled. She did not look at them as the women took them away. She breathed firmly as the doors closed behind them.
"Now I have courage to bear every thing," she said to St. Priest.
"My children are in safety! Would only that the king were here!"
At the same instant the door opened and the king entered. Marie Antoinette hastened to meet him, threw herself with a cry of joy into his arms, and rested her head, which had before been erect with courage, heavily on his shoulder.
"Oh, sire, my dear sire! thank God that you are here. Now I fear nothing more! You will not suffer us to perish in misery! You will breathe courage into these despairing ones, and tell the inexperienced what they have to do. Sire, Paris is marching against us, but with us there are God and France. You will defend the honor of France and your crown against the rebels?"
The king answered confusedly, and as if in a yielding frame of mind.
"We must first hear what the people want," he said; "we must not approach them threateningly, we must first discuss matters with them."
"Sire," answered the queen, in amazement, "to discuss with the rebels now is to imply that they are in the right, and you will not, you cannot do that!"
"I will consult with my advisers," said the king, pointing at the ministers, who, summoned by St. Priest, were then entering the room.
But what a consultation was that! Every one made propositions, and yet no one knew what to do. No one would take the responsibility of the matter upon himself, and yet every one felt that the danger increased every minute. But what to do? That was the question which no one was able to answer, and before which the king was mute. Not so the queen, however.
"Sire!" cried she, with glowing cheeks, "sire, you have to save the realm, and to defend it from revolution. The contest is here, and we cannot withdraw from it. Call your guards, put yourself at their head, and allow me to remain at your side. We ought not to yield to revolution, and if we cannot control it, we should suffer it to enter the palace of the kings of France only over our dead bodies.
Sire, we must either live as kings, or know how to die as kings!"
But Louis replied to this burst of noble valor in a brave woman's soul, only with holding back and timidity. Plans were made and cast aside. They went on deliberating till the wild yells of the people were heard even within the palace.
The queen, pale and yet calm, had withdrawn to the adjoining apartment. There she leaned against the door and listened to the words of the ministers, and to the new reports which were all the time coming in from the streets.
The crowd had reached Versailles, and was streaming through the streets of the city in the direction of the palace. The National Guard of Versailles had fraternized with the Parisians. Some scattered soldiers of the royal guard had been threatened and insulted, and even dragged from their horses!
The queen heard all, and heard besides the consultation of the king and his ministers--still coming to no decisive results, doubting and hesitating, while the fearful crisis was advancing from the street.
Already musket-shots were heard on the great square in front of the palace, wild cries, and loud, harsh voices. Marie Antoinette left her place at the door and hurried to the window, where a view could be had of the whole square. She saw the dark dust-cloud which hung over the road to Paris; she saw the unridden horses, running in advance of the crowd, their riders, members of the royal guard, having been killed; she heard the raging discords, which surged up to the palace like a wave driven by the wind; she saw this black, dreadful wave sweep along the Paris road, roaring as it went.