The Rising Storm

UNEASY INTERLUDE

ROGER did not even contemplate following the Queen's injunction to set off for England; his duty to his own master quite clearly lay in remaining at the centre of events. The problem that exercised him now was, since he could no longer remain in the palace, how was he going to get back to Paris unmolested?

Having decided to sleep upon it he went to his temporary quarters with the de Coignys. The suite of rooms was in disorder and the Due and Duchesse gone. A footman told him with a pert grin that they had left half an hour before by a side entrance of the palace, as plenty of other fine people were doing that night. Roger worked off a little of his nervy unhappiness by taking the insolent fellow by the scruff of the neck and kicking him out of the room. Then he undressed, got into the Duke's bed and soon fell asleep.

Next morning his problem was solved quite simply for him. The good people of Paris had demanded a sight of their King, and however weak Louis XVI may have been as a Monarch, neither then nor during any of the terrible situations with which he was afterwards faced did he show the smallest lack of physical courage.

To those who sought to dissuade him from such rashness he replied: 'No, no, I will go to Paris; numbers must not be sacrificed to the safety of one. I give myself up. I trust myself to my people and they can do what they like with me.' And that he thought himself probably going to his death was shown by the fact that he made his will and took Holy Communion, before his departure under escort by the new troops of the Revolution.

The Electors had decreed an increase of the Civic Guard to 800 men per district, making a total of 48,000; and at the instance of the Marquis de Lafayette, whom they appointed to command it, this milice bourgeoise had been rechristened the Gardes de la Nation.

As a young man, fired by the thought of adventure, Lafayette had volunteered to go to America and fight for the rebellious Colonists against the British. Although only nineteen at the time, owing to his rank, wealth and connections it was agreed that he should be given the rank of Major-General. Actually he never had any great number of troops under his command, but he fought with gallantry, had received the thanks of Congress, the friendship of Washington, and returned to France a national hero. In the Assembly of Notables, held in '87, he alone had proposed and signed the demand that the King should convene the States General, so in a sense he was the Father of the Revolution. He was now thirty-one; a sharp-featured man with a pointed chin and receding forehead. He was vain, dictatorial and of no great brain, but honest, passionately sincere in his desire to bring a free democracy to his country and immensely popular with both the middle and lower classes.

On the morning of July 17th, therefore, it was into Lafayette's keeping that the King gave himself for his journey to Paris. Only four of his gentlemen and a dozen of his bodyguard accompanied him. Lafayette rode in front of his coach; the captured flag of the Bastille was carried before it and the captured cannon, with flowers stuffed in their muzzles, were dragged behind. The rest of the long procession consisted of the newly enrolled National Guard, which as yet had neither uniforms nor discipline, so presented the appearance of an armed mob. Thousands of women were mingled with them, and occasional horsemen rode alongside the throng, so it was simple for Roger to ride to Paris as one of the procession.

At the barrier the King was met by the honest and courageous Bailly, who, in addition to his herculean labours of endeavouring to direct the debates of the National Assembly, had suddenly had the office of Mayor of Paris thrust upon him. He handed the keys of the city to the King with the tactless but well-meant words: 'These are the same that were presented to Henri IV. He had reconquered the people; now the people have reconquered their King.'

Once inside the barrier Roger left the procession as soon as he could, so he learned only by hearsay what transpired later. The King was conducted to the Hotel de Ville, where Bailly delivered an address, then offered him the new tricolor cockade. Its adoption as the national colours was an inspiration of Lafayette's, as it combined the red and blue of Paris with the royal white. After a second's hesitation the King took it and put it in his hat; but the poor man was so embarrassed that he could find no words to reply to the address, except the muttered phrase: 'My people can always count on my love.' However, on leaving the building he received some reward for his humiliation.

Lafayette had that morning ordered that in future the people should greet the Monarch only with shouts of 'Vive la Nation /' But on seeing that the King had donned the tricolor, the old shouts of 'Vive le Roil' rang out; and he was escorted back to Versailles by a cheering multitude.

During the days that followed it soon became clear that, as was always the case when he gave way to the people, he had won a new lease of popularity; but this time, his surrender having been so complete, it looked as if he would retain the public favour longer than he had on former occasions.

The new National Guard had the Gardes Francais incorporated in it, and was taking its duties seriously. Most of the bad elements had been disarmed; and, although the ex-Minister Foulon, and de Sauvigny, the Intendant of Paris, were murdered, relative quiet had been restored in the city.

As Roger moved about it he now began to see the other side of the Revolution. The cut-throats and extremists formed only a small part of the population, and at times of general excitement coloured the picture more by their excesses than their numbers. The great majority of the Parisians were good, honest people, and they now went about their work again with a real happiness and pride in their new-won liberties. By comparison with the idle, arrogant, narrow-minded nobles and the fat, self-indulgent priests, Roger found them, on average, much more genuine and likeable; and he felt every sympathy for their ambition not only to make their country rich again but also to enjoy a fair share of its riches.

Like everyone else in Paris, he went to see the fallen Bastille. A start had already been made at pulling down this symbol of the old tyranny, and some 200 volunteer workmen were tackling the job with a will; but the fortress consisted of eight massive towers linked by high curtains, the whole being built of immensely heavy blocks of stone, so it looked as if a considerable time must elapse before these patriotic enthusiasts succeeded in levelling it to the ground. In spite of the excitement at the time, only eight people had lost their lives during its capture, and only seven prisoners were found in it. Of the latter, one, an Englishman name Major White, had been there for thirty years and when released had a beard a yard long; two others were lunatics and the remaining four convicted criminals.

Towards the end of the month it seemed to Roger that the Revolu­tion was virtually over. It still remained to be seen which men would emerge as the permanent leaders of the nation, and what their foreign policy would be; but his visit to the National Assembly had convinced him that, for some time to come, it would remain far too much of a melting-pot for any serious forecast to be made about the deputies who would rise to its surface. In consequence, he decided that, since he could now do little good by staying in Paris, he might as well take a few weeks' leave; and with this in view he set off for England on July 28th.

He slept that night at Amiens, and found the situation there typical of what he had heard reported of the other great cities in France. There had been many disturbances and the old municipal authorities had been overthrown; the most vigorous among the Electors had taken the running of the city on themselves and a local copy of the Parisian National Guard was now keeping the rougher elements in check.

Next morning, on riding through a village, he passed a meeting of yokels who were being brought up to a pitch of angry excitement by an agitator; but he took scant notice of them. However, on seeing a similar scene a few miles farther on, he began to wonder what was afoot. At Abbeville, where he meant to take his midday dinner, he realized that fresh trouble of a very serious nature had broken out.

The town was in an uproar. Armed bands were marching through the streets. In the square the National Guard had been drawn up, but apparently had no intention of interfering with the rioters. From three directions Roger could see columns of smoke swirling above the roof­tops, so it looked as if the mobs were already burning the houses of people known to be opposed to the new reign of liberty.

His enquiries elicited the most fantastic rumours. 'The Queen had conspired with the nobles throughout the country to kidnap and kill the people's leaders. The royal troops had marched on Paris two days before and were now systematically levelling it to the ground. The Swiss Guards had been sent to massacre the National Assembly. The Comte d'Artois had gone to Germany for the purpose of raising an army there, and he had crossed the Rhine with 100,000 men to conquer France and re-enslave the people.'

In vain Roger assured his informants that there was not one atom of truth in their wild stories; they would not believe him, and said that couriers had arrived from Paris the previous night bearing this terrible news. When he said that he had left Paris himself only the day before, they began to suspect that he was an agent of the Queen sent to lull them into a false sense of security.