The 14th of July had broken upon Paris with its fearful events. The revolution had for the first time opened the crater, after subterranean thunder had long been heard, and after the ground of Paris had long been shaken. The glowing lava-streams of intense excitement, popular risings, and murder, had broken out and flooded all Paris, and before them judgment, discretion, and truth even, had taken flight.
The people had stormed the Bastile with arms, killed the governor, and for the first time the dreadful cry "To the lamp-post!" was heard in the streets of Paris; for the first time the iron arms of the lamp-posts had been transformed to gallows, on which those were suspended whom the people had declared guilty.
Meanwhile the lava-streams of revolution had not yet flowed out as far as Versailles.
On the evening of the 14th of July, peace and silence had settled early upon the palace, after a whole day spent in the apartments of the king and queen with the greatest anxiety, and after resolution had followed resolution in the efforts to come to a decision.
Marie Antoinette had early withdrawn to her rooms. The king, too, had retired to rest, and had already fallen into a deep slumber upon his bed. He had only slept a few hours, however, when he heard something moving near his bed, with the evident intention of awakening him. The king recognized his valet, who, with signs of the greatest alarm in his face, announced the Duke de Liancourt, grand maitre de la garde-robe of his majesty, who was in the antechamber, and who pressingly urged an immediate audience with the king. Louis trembled an instant, and tried to think what to do. Then he rose from his bed with a quick and energetic motion, and ordered the valet to dress him at once. After this had been done with the utmost rapidity, the king ordered that the Duke de Liancourt should be summoned to the adjacent apartment, when he would receive him.
As the king went out in the greatest excitement, he saw the duke, whose devotion to the person of the king was well known, standing before him with pale, distorted countenance and trembling limbs.
"What has happened, my friend?" asked the king, in breathless haste.
"Sire," answered the Duke de Liancourt, with suppressed voice, "in the discharge of my office, which permits the closest approach to your majesty, I have undertaken to bring you tidings which are now so confirmed, and which are so important and dreadful, that it would be a folly to try to keep what has happened longer from your knowledge."
"You speak of the occurrences in the capital?" asked the king, slightly drawing back.
"I have been told that your majesty has not yet been informed," continued the duke, "and yet in the course of yesterday the most dreadful events occurred in Paris. The head of the army had not ventured to send your majesty and the cabinet any report. It was known yesterday in Versailles at nightfall that the people, with, arms in their hands, had stormed and destroyed the Bastile. I have just received a courier from Paris, and these tidings are confirmed with the most horrible particularity. Sire, I held it my duty as a faithful servant of the crown to break the silence which has hitherto hindered your majesty from seeing clearly and acting accordingly. In Paris, not only has the Bastile been stormed by the people, but truly dreadful crimes and murders have taken place. The bloody heads of Delaunay and Flesselles were carried on pikes through the city by wild crowds of people. A part of the fortifications of the Bastile have been levelled. Several of the invalides, who were guarding the fort, have been found suspended from the lantern-posts. A want of fidelity has begun to appear in the other regiments. The armed people now arrayed in the streets of Paris are estimated at two hundred thousand men. They fear this very night a rising of the whole population of the city."
The king had listened standing, as in a sad dream. His face had become pale, but his bearing was unchanged.
"There is then a revolt!" said Louis XVI., after a pause, as if suddenly awakening from deep thought.
"No, sire," answered the duke, earnestly, "it is a revolution."
"The queen was right," said the monarch, softly, to himself; "and now rivers of blood would be necessary to hide the ruin that has grown so great. But my resolution is taken; the blood of the French shall not be poured out."
"Sire," cried Liancourt, with a solemn gesture, "the safety of France and of the royal family lies in this expression of your majesty. I ought to be and I must be plain-spoken this hour. The greatest danger lies in your majesty's following the faithless counsels of your ministers. How I bless this hour which is granted me to stand face to face with your majesty, and dare to address myself to your own judgment and to your heart! Sire, the spirit of the infatuated capital will make rapid and monstrous steps forward.
I conjure you make your appearance in the National Assembly to-day, and utter there the word of peace. Your appearance will work wonders; it will disarm the parties and make this body of men the truest allies of the crown."
The king looked at him with a long, penetrating glance. The youthful fire in which the noble duke had spoken appeared to move the king.
He extended his hand and pressed the duke's in his own. Then he said softly: "You are yourself one of the most influential members of this National Assembly, my lord duke. Can you give me your personal word that my appearance there will be viewed as indicating the interest of the crown in the welfare of France?"
At this moment the first glow of the morning entered the apartment, and overpowered the pale candle-light which till then had illuminated the room.
