Marie Antoinette slept! The fearful excitement of the past day and of the stormy evening, crowded with its events, had exhausted the powers of the queen, and she had fallen into that deep, dreamless sleep which sympathetic and gracious Nature sometimes sends to those whom Fate pursues with suffering and peril.
Marie Antoinette slept! In the interior of the palace a deep calm reigned, and Lafayette had withdrawn from the court in order to sleep too. But below, upon this court, Revolution kept her vigils, and glared with looks of hatred and vengeance to the dark walls behind which the queen was sleeping.
The crown of France had for centuries sinned so much, and proved false so much, that the love of the people had at last been transformed into hate. The crown had so long sown the wind, that it could not wonder if it had to reap the whirlwind. The crimes and innovations which Louis XIV. and Louis XV. had sown upon the soil of France, had created an abyss between the crown and the people, out of which revolution must arise to avenge those crimes and sins of the past upon the present. The sins of the fathers had to be visited upon the children to the third and fourth generation.
Marie Antoinette did not know it; she did not see the abyss which had opened between the crown and the people; the courtiers and flatterers had covered it with flowers, and with the sounds of festivity the cries of a distressed people had been drowned.
Now the flowers were torn away, the festive sounds had ceased, and Marie Antoinette saw the abyss between the crown and the people; she heard the curses, the raging cries of these exasperated men, who had been changed from weak, obedient subjects into threatening, domineering rebels. She looked with steady eye down into the abyss, and saw the monster rise from the depths to destroy herself and her whole house; but she would not draw back, she would not yield. She would rather be dragged down and destroyed than meekly and miserably to make her way to the camp of her enemies, to take refuge with them.
Better to die with the crown on her head than to live robbed of her crown in lowliness and in a, subject condition. Thus thought Marie Antoinette, as at the close of that dreadful day she went to rest; this was her prayer as she sank upon her couch:
"Give me power, O God, to die as a queen, if I can no longer live as a queen! And strengthen my husband, that he may not only be a good man, but a king too!"
With this prayer on her trembling lips, she had fallen asleep. But when Campan stole on tiptoe to the queen's bed to watch her mistress while she slept, Marie Antoinette opened her eyes again, and spoke in her friendly way to her devoted servant.
"Go to bed, Campan," said she, "and the second maid must lie down too. You all need rest after this evil day, and sleep is so refreshing. Go, Campan, good-night!"
Madame de Campan had to obey, and stepped out into the antechamber, where were the two other maids.
"The queen is asleep," she said, "and she has commanded us to go to rest too. Shall we do so?"
The two women answered only with a shake of the head and a shrug of the shoulders.
"I know very well that we are agreed," said Madame de Campan, reaching her hand to them. "For us there must be no sleep to-night, for we must watch the queen. Come, my friends, let us go into the antechamber. We shall find Mr. Varicourt, who will tell us what is going on outside."
On tiptoe the three women stole out into the second ante-chamber, which was lighted only with a couple of glimmering wax tapers, and in its desolate disorder, with the confusion of chairs, divans, and tables, brought back sad recollections of the wild women who had on the day before pressed into this apartment in their desire to speak with the queen. Somebody had told them that this was the antechamber of the queen, and they had withdrawn in order to go to the antechamber of the king. But they now knew the way that led to the apartments of the queen; they knew now that if one turned to the left side of the palace, he would come at once into the apartments occupied by the royal family, and that the queen occupied the adjacent rooms, directly behind the hall of the Swiss Guard.
Madame de Campan thought of this, as she cast her glance over this antechamber which adjoined the Swiss hall, and this thought filled her with horror.
Varicourt had not yet come in; nothing disturbed the silence around her, except the dreadful shouting and singing outside of the palace.
"Let us go back into the waiting-room," whispered her companions, "it is too gloomy here. Only hear how they shout and laugh! O God, it is a fearful night!"
"Yes, a fearful night," sighed Madame de Campan, "and the day that follows it may be yet more fearful. But we must not lose our courage. All depends upon our having decision, upon our defying danger, and defending our mistress. And see, there comes Mr. Varicourt," she continued, earnestly, as the door quickly opened, and an officer of the Swiss guard came in with great haste.
"Tell us, my friend, what news do you bring us?"
"Bad news," sighed Varicourt. "The crowd is increasing every moment.
New columns have arrived from Paris, and not only the common people, but the speakers and agitators are here. Everywhere are groups listening to the dreadful speeches which urge on to regicide and revolution. It is a dreadful, horrible night. Treachery, hatred, wickedness around the palace, and cowardice and desertion pass out from the palace to them, and open the doors. Many of the royal soldiers have made common cause with the people, and walk arm in arm with them around the square."
"And what do these dreadful men want?" asked Campan. "Why do they encamp around the palace? What is their object?"