The Swiss Guard of about a thousand men were all trustworthy; and there was also a small body of heavy cavalry of the gendarmery who had proved true enough to resist all the seductions of the conspirators. There were likewise a few cannon. In all, nearly four thousand men could be mustered for the defense of the palace; a force, if well equipped and well led, not inadequate to the task of holding it out for some time against any number of undisciplined assailants. But they were not well armed. They were nearly destitute of ammunition, and Mandat's most vehement entreaties and remonstrances could not wring out from Petion an order for a supply of cartridges, though, as he told him, several companies had not four rounds left, some had only one; and though it was notorious that the police had served out ammunition to the Marseillese, who had no claim to a single bullet. Still less were they well led; for at such a crisis every thing depended on the king's example, and Louis was utterly wanting to himself.
As night approached, the agitation in the palace, and still more in the city, grew more and more intense. It was a brilliant and a warm night. By ten o'clock the mob began to cluster in the streets, many only curious and anxious from uncertain fear; those in the secret hastening toward the point of rendezvous. The rioters also had cannon, and by eleven their artillery-men had taken charge of their guns. The conspirators had got possession of all the churches; and as the hour of midnight struck, a single cannon-shot gave the signal, and from every steeple and tower in the city the fatal tocsin began to peal. The insurrection was begun.
Petion, who, from some motive which is not very intelligible, wished to save appearances, and who, though in fact he had been eager in promoting the insurrection, pretended innocence of all complicity in it even to the Assembly, whom he was aware that he was not deceiving, on the first sound of the bells repaired to the Hotel de Ville. He found, as indeed he was aware that he should find, a strange addition to the Municipal Council. The majority of the sections of the city had declared themselves in insurrection; had passed resolutions that they would no longer obey the existing magistrates; and had appointed a body of commissioners to overbear them, trusting in the cowardice of the majority, and in the willing acquiescence and co-operation of Danton and the other members of the party of violence. The commissioners seized on a room in the Hotel by the side of the regular council-room, and their first measures were marked with a cunning and unscrupulousness which largely contributed to the success of their more active comrades in the streets. Even Petion himself was not wicked enough or resolute enough for them. The authority which Mandat had wrung from him on the previous morning was, in their eyes, a proof of unpardonable weakness. He might be terrified into issuing some other order which might disconcert or at least impede their plans; and accordingly they put him under a kind of honorable arrest, and sent him to his own house under the guard of an armed force, which was instructed to allow no one access to him; and at the same time they sent an order in his name to Mandat to repair to the Hotel de Ville, to concert with them the measures necessary for the safety of the city.
Had he acted on his own judgment, Mandat would have disregarded the summons; but M. Roederer urged upon him that he was bound to comply with an order brought in the name of the mayor. Accordingly he repaired to the Hotel de Ville, and gave to the Municipal Council so distinct an account of his measures, and of his reason for taking them, that, though Danton and some of his more factious colleagues reproached him for exhibiting what they called a needless distrust of the people, the majority of the Council approved of his conduct, and dismissed him to return to his duties. But as he quit their chamber, he was dragged before the other body, the Commissioners of the Sections,[2] and subjected to another examination, which, as a matter of course, they conducted with every kind of insult and violence. The Municipal Council sent down a deputation to remonstrate with them; they rose on the Council and expelled them from their own council-chamber by main force, and then sent off Mandat to prison, whither, a few minutes later, they dispatched a gang of assassins to murder him.
The news of his death soon reached the Tuileries, where it struck a chill even into the firm heart of the queen,[3] who had deservedly placed great reliance on his fidelity and resolution. She had now to trust to the valor and loyalty of the troops themselves, though thus deprived of their commander; and, as a last hope, she persuaded the king to go down and review them, hoping that his presence might animate the faithful, and perhaps fix the waverers. Louis consented, as he would have consented to any course that was recommended to him; but on such occasions more depends on the grace and spirit with which a thing is done than on the act itself, and grace and spirit were now less than ever to be looked for in the unhappy Louis. He visited first the courts of the palace, and the Carrousel, and then the gardens, at whose different entrances strong detachments of troops were stationed. When he first appeared he was greeted by one general cheer of "Vive le roi!" But as he passed along the ranks the unanimity and loyalty began to disappear. Even of those regiments which were still true to him the cheers were faint, as if half suppressed by alarm; while many companies mingled shouts for "the nation" with those for himself, and individual soldiers murmured audibly, "Down with the Veto!" or, "Long live the Sans-culottes!" secure that their officers would not venture to reprove, much less to chastise them. The Swiss Guard alone showed enthusiasm in their loyalty and resolution in their demeanor.
But when he reached the artillery, on whom perhaps most depended, many of the gunners made no secret of their disaffection. Some even quit their ranks to offer him personal insults, doubling their fists in his face, and shouting out the coarsest threats which the Revolution had yet taught them. Both cheers and insults the hapless king received with almost equal apathy. The despair which was in his heart was shown in his dress, which had no military character or decoration, but was a suit of plain violet such as was never worn by kings of France but on occasions of mourning. It was to no purpose that the queen put a sword into his hand, and exhorted him to take the command of the troops himself, and to show himself ready to fight in person for his crown. It was only once or twice that he could even be brought to utter a few words of acknowledgment to those who treated him with respect, of expostulation to those who insulted and threatened him; and presently, pale, and, as it seemed, exhausted with that slight effort, he returned to his apartments.
The queen was almost in despair. She told Madame de Campan that all was lost; that the king had shown no energy; that such a review as that had done harm rather than good. All that could now be done was for her to show herself not wanting to the occasion, nor to him. Her courage rose with the imminence of the danger. Those who beheld her, as with dilating eyes and heightened color she listened to the unceasing tumult, and, repressing every appearance of alarm, strove with unabated energy to rouse her husband, and to fortify the good disposition of the loyal friends around her, have described in terms of enthusiastic admiration the majestic dignity of her demeanor at this trying moment. She had need of all her presence of mind; for even among those who were most faithful to her dissensions were springing up. At the first alarm Marshal de Mailly and his company of gallant nobles and gentlemen had hastened to her side; but the National Guards were jealous of them. It seemed as if they expected to be allowed to remain nearest to the royal person; and the soldiers disdained to yield the post of honor to men who were not in uniform, and whom, as they were mostly in court dress, they even disliked as aristocrats. They besought the queen to dismiss them. "Never!" she replied; and, trusting rather that the example of their self-sacrificing devotion might stimulate those who thus complained, and full of that royal magnanimity which feels that it confers honor on those whom it trusts, and that it has a right to look for the loyalty of its servants even to the death, she added, "They will serve with you, and share your dangers. They will tight with you in the van, in the rear, where you will. They will show you how men can die for their king."