"You are right, Lafayette," said the king, who looked calmly at this black sea of human life--"you are right, this is the people; there are here probably twenty thousand men, and Heaven defend me from regarding all as criminals and rabble! I believe--"
A tremendous shout now filled the air. The king had been seen, some one had noticed him at the open window, and now all heads and all looks were directed to this window, and twenty thousand voices cried, "Long live the king! Long live the king!"
Louis turned with a proud, happy look to the gentlemen and ministers who stood near him, Marie Antoinette having withdrawn to the farthest corner of the room, where, throwing her arms around both of the children, and drawing them to her bosom, she had sunk into a chair.
"What do you say now, gentlemen?" asked the king.
"Did they not want to make me believe that my good people hate their king, and wish him ill? But when I show myself to them, hear how they shout to greet me!"
"To Paris!" was now the roar of the mob below. "We want the king should go to Paris!"
"What do they say? What do they want?" asked Louis, turning to Lafayette, who now stood close beside him.
"Sire, they are shouting their wishes to you, that you and the royal family should go to Paris."
"And you, general, what do you say?" asked the king.
"Sire, I have taken the liberty already to say that words and promises are of no more avail to quiet this raving, maddened people, and to make them believe that you have no hostile designs against Paris."
"But if I go to Paris and reside there for a time, it is your opinion, as I understand it, that the people would be convinced that I have no evil intentions against the city--that I should not undertake to destroy the city in which I might live. That is your meaning, is it not?"
"Yes, sire, that is what I wanted to say."
"To Paris, to Paris!" thundered up from below. "The king shall go to Paris!"
Louis withdrew from the window and joined the circle of his ministers, who, with their pale faces, surrounded him.
"Gentlemen," said the king, "you are my counsellors. Well, give me your counsel. Tell me now what I shall do to restore peace and quiet."
But no one replied. Perplexed and confused they looked down to the ground, and only Necker found courage to answer the king after a long pause.
"Sire," he said, "it is a question that might be considered for days which your majesty has submitted to us, and on its answer depends, perhaps, the whole fate of the monarchy. But, as you wish to know the opinions of your ministers, I will venture to give mine: that it would be the safest and most expedient course for your majesty to comply with the wishes of the people, and go to Paris!"
"I supposed so," whispered the king, dropping his head.
"To Paris!" cried the queen, raising her head. "It is impossible.
You cannot be in earnest in being willing to go of your own accord down into the abyss of revolution, in order to be destroyed there!
To Paris!"
"To Paris!" was the thundering cry from below, as if the words of the queen had awakened a fearful, thousand-voiced echo. "To Paris!
The king and the queen shall go to Paris!"
"And never come from there!" cried the queen, with, bursting tears.
"Speak, Lafayette!" cried the king. "What do you think?"
"Sire, I think that there is only one way to restore peace and to quiet the people, and that is, for your majesty to go to-day with the royal family to Paris."
"It is my view, too," said Louis, calmly. "Then go, Lafayette, tell the people that the king and queen, together with the dauphin and the princess, will journey today to Paris."
The simple and easily spoken words had two very different effects in the cabinet on those who heard them. Some faces lightened up with joy, some grew pale with alarm; there were sighs of despair, and cries of fresh hope. Every one felt that this was a crisis in the fate of the royal family--some thinking that it would bring disaster, others deliverance.
The queen alone put on now a grave, decided look; a lofty pride lighted up her high brow, and with an almost joyful expression she looked at her husband, who had been induced to do something--at least, to take a decisive step.
"The king has spoken," she said, amid the profoundest silence, "and it becomes us to obey the will of the king, and to be subject to it.
Madame de Campan, make all the preparations for my departure, and do it in view of a long stay in Paris!"
"Now, Lafayette," asked the king, as the general still delayed in the room, "why do you not hasten to announce my will to the people?"
"Sire," answered Lafayette, solemnly, "there are moments when a people can only be pacified by the voice either of God or of its king, and where every other human voice is overwhelmed by the thunder of the storm!"
"And you think that this is such a moment?" asked the king. "You think that I ought myself to announce to the people what I mean to do?"
Lafayette bowed and pointed to the window, which shook even then with the threatening cry, "The king! We will see the king! He shall go to Paris! The king, the king!"
Louis listened awhile in thoughtful silence to this thundering shout, which was at once so full of majesty and horror; then he quickly raised his head.
"I will follow your advice, general," said he, calmly. "I will announce my decision to the people. Give me your hand, madame, we will go into the balcony-room. And you, gentlemen, follow me!"
The queen took the hand of her husband without a word, and gave the other to the little dauphin, who timidly clung to her, while her daughter Therese quietly and composedly walked near them.
