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arrived from Clermont, but without his insubordinate on her hands, and having near her mesdames Brunier and detachment. This was the scene which presented itself, according to Choiseul's own narrative:-" The king and the royal family were in two dirty rooms on the first floor. I ascended by a crooked staircase. In the front room, which faced the street, I found some armed country people, two of whom, with pitchforks in their hands, stood sentinels

Neuville, the two waiting-women who had followed the berline in the chaise. Near the window were madame Elizabeth and the little princess-royal. The king and queen were standing and talking with M. Sauce and one or two municipals; and, at the end of the room, seated upon chairs. were the three gardes-du-corps.

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young De Bouillé with his dragoons? The king replied that he had not so much as seen one of them. One of us said we believed they were killed before the wheels of the royal carriage. The king said, What is to be done?' 'You must try and escape,' said M. de Damas. I added, 'Give your orders, sire. I have here forty hussars that may cut their way as far as Dun; something must be done at once.' 999

Choiseul proposed to mount the royal party on hussar horses, surround them with the hussars, and cut their way out of the town. The thing, to a spirited king, might yet, probably, have succeeded, for not only De Bouillé, but an orderly, whom De Choiseul dispatched to bring up the detachment of captain Deslons from Dun, managed to cross the river; but Louis was no hero. He said, if he were alone, he would try it, but that with the ladies and the children it was impossible, though there is very little doubt but that the children and the ladies would have shown more courage and address than himself. Poor Louis said that M. Sauce did not forbid his proceeding, but that he demanded that this should not be till morning, and that he should take a body of the national guards with him as an escort. And all this time national guards and armed peasantry were pouring into the town from all quarters, so that before the morning there are said to have been ten thousand national guards alone. None but poor Louis XVI. could for a moment have put any faith in the jacobin lawyer and tallow-chandler's transparent proposal.

Captain Deslons was at the bridge of Varennes with a hundred men by five o'clock in the morning, but he found the bridge strongly barricaded, and, though he made his own way into the town, leaving his soldiers behind him, he could effect nothing. By this time, the hussars of Choiseul, though chiefly Germans, had been treated with wine and corrupted by the patriots, and they began to cry, "Vive la nation!" Deslons was in constant expectation of seeing the troops of Bouillé come up from Stenay, the next place to Dun; but Bouillé had been much nearer than Stenay; he had been that night posted close to Dun, and it seems strange that he had not made captain Deslons aware of it. Not seeing the royal carriage arrive, he had marched back at daylight to Stenay, so that at the moment that Deslons was expecting him from Stenay, he was returning thither. There it was that he found his son, the messenger of ill tidings, who had, in reality, galloped past the very place where De Bouillé had been secretly posted near Dun. Marshal Bouillé, in great consternation, instantly ordered the royal German regiment to horse, but these troops, too, were in bed; they could not start before five o'clock, and as it was twenty-five miles to Varennes, and through a bad and mountainous road, it was a quarter past nine before he reached the vicinity of Varennes, having had to disperse a party of national guards, who fired on them from a wood. On coming up with the detachment of captain Deslons, that officer informed him that the king had been forced, with his family, on the arrival of an aide-de-camp from M. La Fayette, to re-enter the berline, and return towards Paris, and that they had been gone full an hour and a half. To this astounding intelligence he added that the soldiers at Clermont and at Varennes had been corrupted; that

Choiseul, Damas, and Goguelat, were all arrested; and that the king had said that he feared nothing could be done to benefit him, but that he hoped Bouillé would do what he could.

In fact, Romeauf, the aide-de-camp of La Fayette, arrived at half-past six in the morning, with the decree of the assembly for the arrest of the king. He found the berline with the horses already put to, and their heads turned towards Paris. He entered the chamber where the royal family was, and presented the decree to the king. Louis, on receiving it, murmured, in a dejected manner, "I am a prisoner; there is no longer any king!" There was a general burst of indignation at La Fayette for causing them to be arrested. Romeauf replied that both his general and himself had done their duty with great pain, and had wished that he might not overtake them. The queen replied that she wondered that he, a gentleman and soldier, should charge himself with such a commission. The king threw the decree on the bed where the dauphin was still sleeping; the queen snatched it up, saying it would pollute her child. Rumours having arrived that Bouillé was in quick march for Varennes, the royal family were hurried into the berline, and at half-past seven o'clock they were on their way back to Paris and the scaffold! The three gardes-du-corps were tied to the coachbox like felons, and an immense rabble of national guards and of other people surrounded and followed the carriage in a frenzy of wonder and delight at having their king for a captive. They dragged along with them the only two old, rusty cannons that Varennes was in possession of. Just as they quitted the town, the vicomte Dampierre, who had heard of the king's arrest, and had hastened up to the carriage to kiss the king's hand with tears in his eyes, was at once stabbed and trodden under foot by this sanguinary mob.

Meantime Bouillé, distracted at the news which captain Deslons gave him, resolved to force his way into Varennes, and pursue the royal carriage for three or four leagues; if possible, to overtake it, and rescue the captives. But he soon found this impossible. The patriots had broken down several arches of the bridge; and, when he attempted to cross the river, his soldiers gave him unmistakable proof that they did not share in his enthusiasm. They declared themselves worn out by the rough march from Stenay, and would go no further. At the same time, Bouillé could se great numbers of men under arms in Varennes, and wa informed that the revolutionary troops from Metz and Verdun were marching against him with their cannon. The whole country was clearly in motion; the chance was lost, and Bouillé sorrowfully marched back to Stenay. There, having quartered his troops, he assembled his principal officers, and, assuring them that nothing but flight would save them from arrest, for the troops were no longer to be trusted, he and twenty others that very night rode off ff the frontier. This they did not pass without being fired upon by patriots, but they escaped into the territory of Luxembourg, and were safe.

The mob of patriots were, about the same time, entering Chalons, with their royal prize, in great triumph, thong we are of the opinion of Napoleon, that "the natives assembly never committed so great an error as in bringug

A.D. 1791.]

RETURN OF THE ROYAL FAMILY TO PARIS.

back the king from Varennes. A fugitive and powerless, he was hastening to the frontier, and in a few hours would have been out of the French territory. What should they have done in these circumstances? Clearly, have facilitated his escape, and declared the throne vacant by desertion. They would thus have avoided the infamy of a regicide government, and have attained their great object—a republican institution. Instead of which, by bringing him back, they encumbered themselves with a sovereign whom they had no just reason for destroying, and lost the inestimable advantage of getting quit of the royal family without an act of cruelty."

On the 23rd the escorting party, continually replaced by fresh national guards, entered Epernay, where they met the commissioners dispatched by the national assembly to take charge of the royal family, and to see them again safely lodged in the Tuileries. These commissioners were Barnave, Petion, and Latour-Maubourg. Barnave we have seen amongst the most thorough-going of the revolutionists. He was the son of a very rich attorney at Grenoble, and was sent by the tiers-état of that town as deputy to the statesgeneral. He was from the beginning one of the most implacable enemies of the court. He warmly supported the tennis-court oath, and declared loudly in favour of the assertion of the rights of man. In 1790 he voted for the abolition of the religious orders. At the meeting of the 22nd of May, he was of the party that declared that the king should be deprived of the right of making peace and war. He voted for the abolition of all feudal rights and titles, and he opposed Mirabeau in many of his moderating measures. This contact with the royal family, however, produced a great change in his opinions, and was, in the end, fatal to him.

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Latour-Maubourg was an aristocrat by birth and education; he was a colonel in the king's army. He was a friend of La Fayette's, and was, perhaps, somewhat ashamed of his present mission, as well as fearful, from his rank, of being suspected, on this occasion, of having conversed too much with the royal family. He, therefore, did not take his place in the royal carriage on resuming the journey next morning, but conceded that honour to Barnave and Petion; Thiers says, because he wished to interest these men of the tiersétat in behalf of fallen greatness. He followed in a second carriage with madame de Tourzel, and Barnave was placed at the back in the berline betwixt the king and queen; Petion in front, betwixt madame Elizabeth and the little princess. The dauphin sate on the lap of first one and then another. "Such," says Thiers, "had been the rapid course of events: a young advocate of only about twenty years of age, remarkable only for his abilities, and another distinguished by the sternness of his principles, were seated beside a prince, lately the most absolute in Europe, and governed all his movements."

The journey was slow, because the carriage followed the pace of the national guards. It took four days to return from Varennes to Paris. The heat was excessive; and a scorching dust raised by the multitude, half suffocated the travellers. At first, a deep silence prevailed; the queen was too much troubled and vexed at the disastrous termination of the enterprise, and at the presence of the commissioners in the carriage, to speak. The king was the first to enter into conversation with Barnave. It turned upon all sorts of subjects, and, lastly, upon the flight to Montmedy. The queen was surprised at the superior understanding and the delicate politeness of the young Barnave. She soon threw up her veil, and joined in the conversation. Barnave was touched by the good nature of the king and the graceful dignity of the queen. Petion displayed more rudeness: he showed and received less

By the time they reached Paris, Barnave was strongly attached to the royal family; and the queen had acquired a great esteem for the young tribune; and in all future intercourse with the constitutional deputies, she placed the most entire confidence in Barnave.

As for Petion, he was a blunt and vulgar jacobin; a poor lawyer of Chartres. He was a man of narrow intellect, who had made his way with the mob by his surly conduct towards everything aristocratic and royal. He had, accord-respect. ing to Dumont, neither wit, vivacity, force of thought, nor expression; yet he had contrived to get a great name in the revolution, and, coming over to England, was wonderfully fêted by the Foxite party, which prided itself on its discern"The very first man that ever came over to England from the assembly," says Dumont, 66 was Petion. I had known him so well in Paris that I avoided him in London; but he was so eagerly received and so much sought after that the chances of seeing him were rare indeed. People disputed the honour of entertaining him; they loaded him with invitations; they showered upon him the most flattering attentions." He knew no English, and remained only three weeks, during which time he professed to be studying the management of trial by jury in both civil and criminal cases; but he, in truth, was engaged in fraternising with our republican clubs. Yet, on his return, he pretended to great knowledge of the jury law, was listened to by the assembly as an oracle upon it, and contributed especially to make the system which they adopted what it was. He was continually uttering, as a profound sentiment, that opposition was very troublesome; that the assembly suffered much from the revolt of the minority against the majority.

She

This is fully confirmed by the following particulars of the journey which the queen communicated to Madame Campan: "On the very day of my arrival the queen took me into her cabinet, to tell me that she had great need of my assistance for a correspondence which she had established with Messrs. Barnave, Duport, and Alexander Lameth. informed me that M. de J was her agent with these relics of the constitutional party, who had good intentions, which, unfortunately, came too late; and she added, that Barnave was a man worthy to inspire esteem. I was surprised to hear the name of Barnave uttered with such kindness. When I quitted Paris, a great number of persons never mentioned it but with horror. I made this remark to her. She was not astonished at it, but told me that he was very much changed; that this young man, full of intelligence and of noble sentiments, was of the class who are distinguished by education, and merely misled by the ambition arising from real merit. A feeling of pride, which I cannot blame too

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much in a young man of the tiers état,' said the queen, with reference to Barnave, has caused him to applaud all that tends to smooth the way to honour and glory for the class in which he was born. If power should ever fall again into our hands, the pardon of Barnave is already in our hearts.' "The queen added, that 'the same sentiments were not felt for the nobles who had thrown themselves into the revolutionary party; they who had obtained all favours, frequently to the detriment of persons of an inferior order, but of talents superior to themselves; they who were born to be the ramparts of the monarchy, had, therefore, been too culpable, in betraying, to deserve pardon.' She astonished me more and more by the warmth with which she justified the favourable opinion which she had formed of Barnave. She then told me that his conduct during the journey had been excellent, whilst the republican rudeness of Petion had been insulting; that he ate and drank in the king's carriage with little regard to delicacy, throwing fowl-bones out of the window, at the risk of hitting the king in the face; lifting up his glass when madame Elizabeth was helping him to wine, without saying a word to intimate that he had had enough; that this offensive manner was wilfully assumed, since he was a man of education; and that Barnave had been shocked at it. Being pressed by the queen to take something, 'Madame,' replied Barnave, 'the deputies of the national assembly, under circumstances so solemn, ought to trouble your majesty solely with their mission, and by no means with their wants.' In short, his respectful behaviour, his delicate attentions, and all that he said, had won not only her good-will, but also that of madame Elizabeth.

with odd contrasts, and that, on this occasion, the pious Elizabeth, holding Barnave by the skirt of his coat, had appeared to her a most surprising thing. The deputy had experienced a different kind of astonishment. The remarks of madame Elizabeth on the state of France, her mild and persuasive eloquence, the noble simplicity with which she conversed with Barnave, without abating an iota of her dignity, all appeared to him celestial in that divine princess, and his heart, disposed, undoubtedly, to noble sentiments, if he had not pursued the way of error, was subdued by the most touching admiration. The conduct of the two deputies showed the queen the total separation between the republican party and the constitutional party. At the inns where she alighted, she had some private conversations with Barnave, and the result was her determination to trust him."

These extracts from madame Campan make us vividly acquainted with all these parties. The news of the king's arrest had been dispatched from Varennes by M. Mangin, a surgeon of that place, and who reached Paris, by using the utmost speed, at ten o'clock at night of the 22nd. The assembly immediately appointed and sent off the three commissioners, Petion, Barnave, and Latour-Maubourg. The next morning, the 23rd, the assembly decreed that all who had assisted in carrying off the king should be pronounced traitors, as well as all who should throw obstacles in the way of his return and reunion with the representatives of the people; that all who dared to insult the king, on his return, should be put under arrest. Robespierre sueered at the care for the king') person, which he declared unnecessary, and his friend Revbell ridiculed the word enlèvement, or "carrying off," as the assembly knew very well that the king had not been carried off, but had gone off of himself. Then there was another great swearing of national guards to a new oath, and the

"The king had begun to speak to Petion on the situation of France, and on the motives of his conduct, which were grounded on the necessity of giving to the executive power a force requisite for its action, for the welfare of the con-house was in a tumult all day with the passing and repassstitution and itself, since France could not be a republic. 'Not yet, to be sure,' replied Petion, 'because the French are not yet ripe enough for that.' This audacious and cruel reply imposed silence on the king, who maintained it till his arrival in Paris. Petion had the little dauphin on his knees; he amused himself with rolling the fair hair of the interesting child upon his fingers, and, in the heat of discussion, he pulled his locks with such force as to make him cry. Give me my child,' said the queen; 'he is accustomed to kindness, to respect, which unfit him for such familiarities.'

"The chevalier de Dampierre had been killed near the king's carriage as it left Varennes. A poor village curé, a few leagues from the place where this crime was committed, had the imprudence to approach for the purpose of speaking to the king. The savages who surrounded the carriage rushed upon him. "Tigers!' cried Barnave, have you ceased to be French? From a nation of brave men are you changed into a nation of murderers?' Nothing but these words saved the curé, who was already struck to the ground, from certain death. Barnave, as he uttered them, had almost thrown himself out at the door, and madame Elizabeth, touched by this noble warmth, held him back by his coat. In speaking of this circumstance, the queen said hat, in the most critical moments, she was always struck

ing of all sorts of soldiers to swear, and with loud playing of ça ira! On the morning of the 24th, the aide-de-camp of La Fayette, who had carried to Varennes the order of the king's arrest, presented himself, and gave an account of hs journey; and, in the evening, Drouet, the postmaster, and Guillaume, his assistant, were introduced, and received with clamorous applauses. Drouet was declared to be an honos” and a glory to his country, and Robespierre moved that be Drouet was a made man; he should receive a civic crown. soon became a member of the national assembly, voted for the king's death, and figured prominently in the reign of terror.

On the evening of the 25th of June it was announced to the assembly that the king had arrived, and was surrounds! by the mob, who were threatening to murder the three gardes-du-corps. A placard had been posted, by order of th municipality, all over Paris-" Whoever applauds the k shall be flogged; whoever insults him, shall be hanged!” But this did not prevent an enormous crowd collecting, in ordr to insult the fallen monarch and his family, by staring w their hats on. Covered with dust and humiliation, after a suffocating drive through a fiercely hot day of June, the unhappy family arrived, a little before seven o'clock, at the barriers. To avoid passing as much as possible through the streets of Paris, the carriage was taken a circuitous route,

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