1Day dawned.

2It was the 25th of June. They returned to Paris after five days absence.

3Five days! What terrible events had come to pass in the space of five days!

4As they approached Paris, Barnave retook his seat at the back.

5No longer was it a seat of honor, but the place of danger.

6If a fanatic should fire on the King, which was, indeed, probable; if on the Queen, which was more than probable;—Barnave was there, to arrest with his own body the fell bullet aimed at royalty.

7M. Mathieu Damas had been charged by Lafayette, Royalist though he was, to protect their entry.

8This able strategist had drawn from all parties in order to diminish the danger. He confided the guarding of the carriage to the grenadiers, whose tall hats hid entirely the doors; a line of horse grenadiers formed a second ring.

9As for the three guards whom Louis XVI had not wished to go, two grenadiers, with their muskets bayoneted, sat a little behind the box-seat, ready to suppress any attempt at rescue or flight.

10The heat was tremendous. The carriage, the nearer it approached Paris, appeared to be entering the mouth of a furnace.

11The Queen, whom nothing hitherto had conquered, was beaten by the heat. Twice or thrice she cried, “I suffocate!”

12At Bourget, the King asked for wine.

13Broken down by fatigue, Madame Elizabeth slept.

14The change of places had brought Pétion close by her. The face of the future Mayor of Paris had a remarkable expression of joy. The Queen, who cared not for sleeping herself, shook her by the arm in order to awaken her.

15“Let her alone,” cried Pétion. “Nature must take its course.”

16They passed the barrier, and entered into the midst of a moving and agitated people.

17From time to time the crowd gave a tremendous yell. The King, trying to show sang-froid began, apparently, to read.

18“Suppose one were to applaud the King!”

19“He shall be scourged!”

20“Suppose one were to insult him?”

21“He shall be hanged!”

22The crowd kept pace with the carriage.

23Mathieu Damas, commanding the escort, did not wish to enter Paris by the Faubourg St. Martin. He was nearer the Faubourg St. Antoine, of terrible memory, on account of the attack and seizure of the Bastille.

24He asked himself if he had a human barrier strong enough to protect the royal family from the crowd who had virtually sentenced them to death. He went round Paris by the external Boulevards, and entered it by the Champ Elysées and the Place Louis XV.

25On the Place Louis XV stood, at that period, the statue of the monarch whose name the place bore.

26They had bandaged the eyes of the statue with a handkerchief.

27This allusion, though ignored by the King, still disquieted him.

28“Why this bandage on the eyes of my predecessor?” inquired the King.

29“To show the blindness of the monarchy, sire,” replied Pétion.

30In the progress from the Champs Elysées to the Place Louis XV, the barrier of grenadiers was often broken.

31Then the Queen saw appear at the windows hideous faces, expressive of satisfaction and revenge.

32What caused those devils to turn away and bow?

33It was a kiss which the Dauphin sent them, and a bow from his sister; those white-winged angels hovering over the royal family.

34Lafayette, with his etat major, passed by the Queen.

35As soon as she perceived them, she cried out, “M. Lafayette, above all things save my three body-guards; their crime has been but to obey me.”

36The same cry was uttered by her at Versailles on the 6th of October. Their danger was really great.

37The carriages passed through the gate of the Tuileries, which was vainly endeavored to be shut after them. They proceeded along the grand promenade of the garden, and halted only at the end of the great terrace which stretched along the front of the palace.

38It was there that the crowd, greater than ever, awaited them. It was impossible to go farther; they must get out of their carriage.

39The Assembly was not present, but it had sent twenty deputies.

40Lafayette cleared a pathway from the terrace to the palace door. He constructed an iron arch with the muskets and bayonets of the National Guard.

41“M. Barnave,” again cried the Queen, “I ask you to protect my three guards.”

42The children first descended, and entered the palace without opposition. It was then the turn of the three guards, for whom the Queen had asked protection from M. Lafayette and M. Barnave.

43Then there came a terrible outcry.

44I had left my horse at the top of the Champs Elysées, and marched with the grenadiers on foot. At first, they tried to turn me out, but the King said, “Let him alone; he is a friend.”

45They did leave me alone. M. Pétion gave me a side glance; M. Barnave smiled.

46The King and Queen looked to see what would happen to the three guards; the King gazed with his usual apathy, the Queen with intense interest.

47The sabres and pikes of the National Guard waved over them as they shouted, “Death to the traitors!”

48All of a sudden, I saw a stream of blood running down M. de Malden’s cheek.

49Being in the circle, I drew him, with a vigorous effort, towards me, crying, “Peace! peace! I am the friend of M. Drouet.”

50Five hundred voices shouted, “Long live Drouet! Long live Guillaume!”

51I drew M. de Malden under the arch of the Grand Pavilion, but he would proceed no farther until assured of the safety of the King and Queen.

52During this time, in the midst of the most terrible murmurs, they saved M. de Valory and M. de Moustier.

53Like M. de Malden, M. de Valory was wounded; but also like M. de Malden, his wound was but slight.

54At this moment, the Queen cried, in a suffocating voice, “Help! help!”

55In getting out of the carriage, she found herself in the arms of two men, who regarded her with looks of mortal enmity, and at the same time held her fast.

56These two men were M. de Aguillon and M. de Noailles. The Queen seemed likely to faint with terror. Both said to her, “Fear nothing, madame; we protect you.”

57At the peril of their lives, they conducted her to her room. There she was seized with agony. She called the Dauphin—she looked for the Dauphin, but no Dauphin was there.

58Madame Royale took her by the hand and led her into the bed-room, and pointed out to her the Dauphin, who, overcome with fatigue, slept.

59She could not believe, after the threats she had heard, that the whole of the royal family could re-enter their palace safe and sound.

60I returned to the carriage, where still remained Madame Elizabeth and the King.

61Barnave thought that it would not be too much for him and Pétion to safeguard the King.

62“Some one,” cried he—“some one to offer Madame Elizabeth an arm.”

63Madame Elizabeth descended from the carriage with her usual angelic calmness.

64“Monsieur,” said she to me, “will you give me your arm?”

65I was frightened out of my wits.

66“Oh, madame,” said I; “this dress?”

67“The dress that you wear is far better than a royal robe. And besides,” continued she, “I have watched you: you are a young man of a good heart.”

68I threw my gun over my shoulder, and took my hat in my hand.

69“Madame,” said I, “if you desire one ready to die for you—to throw down his life in your behalf, your choice could not fall on one better than myself.”

70They saw Madame Elizabeth take the arm of a simple National Guard, and they clapped their hands.

71Arrived at the foot of the staircase, I wished to retire.

72“My brother?” said she, trying to see.

73I looked back.

74“He is coming,” said I, “between M. Barnave and M. Pétion.”

75I then bowed to Madame Elizabeth a second time.

76“Will you not return to see us, sir?” asked Madame Elizabeth.

77“I fear, madame, that I shall not again have the opportunity of being of service to you.”

78“Perhaps so, but you have been; and, whatever people may say, we are a family that never forget.”

79At this moment the King arrived.

80“Thank you, gentlemen; thank you,” said he to Barnave and Pétion. “I need not say to you that if you like to come up-stairs——”

81“Sire,” replied Barnave, “your Majesty and her Majesty the Queen are at present in safety. We must go to render an account of our mission to the Assembly.”

82They bowed to the King, and retired.

83I did the same; that is to say, I bowed; but as I was retiring, Madame Elizabeth, pointing me out to the King, said, “My brother, this young man?”

84She evidently, in her noble heart, did not wish me to go without some recompense.

85“’Tis true,” said the King; “I forgot that he was your protegé.”

86“Say, rather, that I am his protegé.”

87He took me by the collar of my coat.

88“Look here, young man; unhappy as we are, can we do nothing to help you?”

89I felt wounded that the King should think that I required to be paid for what I had done.

90“Sire,” replied I, “if you make a promise to the nation, keep it; and, as a citizen, you will have done all for me that I can ask.”

91“You see, sister,” said the King, “he is a savage.”

92“What is your name, sir?” asked Madame Elizabeth.

93“Réné Besson.”

94“Whence come you?”

95“From the Forest of Argonne.”

96“I told you he was a savage,” said the King. “What else could you expect?”

97“What trade are you?”

98“A carpenter.”

99“My brother, you know the fable of the Lion and the Rat,” said Madame Elizabeth.

100“My friend,” said the King, “you see that I must enter my house. If you have need of me, ask for Cléry, my valet-de-chambre.”

101“Sire,” replied I, “a man who has an occupation has need of no one, much less of a King.”

102The King shrugged his shoulders, and mounted the staircase. Madame Elizabeth stayed behind.

103“But, on the other hand, my friend,” said she, “suppose that we have need of you?”

104“Ah, madame,” cried I, “that is another affair!”

105“In that case, M. Réné Besson, ask for Cléry.”

106She followed her brother, whilst I stood there motionless, regarding that angel who knew how to recompense one in asking.

107On the morrow, the journalist, Prudhomme, wrote:—

108“Certain good patriots, in whom the sentiment of loyalty has not extinguished that of compassion, appear uneasy concerning the moral and physical state of Louis XVI and his family, after a journey so fatiguing in all respects as that from St. Menehould.

109“Let them reassure themselves. Our friend, on entering his apartments, on his return, felt no more fatigue than if he had been indulging in the pleasures of the chase.

110“He ate his chicken as usual, and the next day played after dinner with his son.

111“As for the mother, she took a bath on her arrival. Her first request was for boots; she having remarked with sorrow, that hers had been destroyed by travelling. She acted with hauteur to the officers picked out especially to guard her, and said that it was ridiculous and indecent to have the door of her bath-room and bed-chamber left open.”

112We quote these four paragraphs to show to what an extent party spirit can blind men.

113The Citizen Prudhomme, who, after having written “The Revolutions of Paris in ’91,” was to write “The Crimes of the Revolution of ’98,” wrongfully describes four incidents:—“That the King ate a fowl, and that he played with his son; that the Queen had a bath, and shut her door when taking it.”

114It is always so. There can never be a revolution without a Prudhomme: first, to glorify them: and then to grossly insult.