THE FLIGHT OF LOUIS XVI

THOMAS CARLYLE

NOTE. The escape of Louis XVI, with his subsequent capture, forms one of the most striking episodes in Carlyle's "History of the French Revolution," from which the following account is taken.

But of

On Monday night, the 20th of June, 1791, about eleven o'clock, there is many a hackney-coach and glass-coach 5 still rumbling, or at rest, on the streets of Paris. all glass-coaches, we recommend this to thee, O Reader, which stands drawn up hard by the Carrousel and outgate of the Tuileries, opposite Ronsin the saddler's door, as if waiting for a fare there.

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Not long does it wait; a hooded Dame, with two hooded Children, has issued from a door, where no sentry walks, into the Tuileries Court of Princes; into the Carrousel; into the street, where the Glass-coachman readily admits them and again waits. Not long; another Dame, like- 15 wise hooded or shrouded, leaning on a servant, issues in the same manner; bids the servant good-night; and is, in the same manner, by the Glass-coachman, cheerfully admitted. Whither go so many Dames? Dames? All the palace world is retiring home. But the Glass-coachman still 20 waits, his fare seemingly incomplete.

By and by, we note a thick-set Individual, in round hat and peruke, arm-in-arm with some servant; he also issues

through the same door; starts a shoe-buckle as he passes one of the sentries, stoops down to clasp it again; is, however, by the Glass-coachman still more cheerfully admitted. And now, is his fare complete? Not yet; the Glass-coachman still waits.

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Alas! and the false Chambermaid has warned Gouvion that she thinks the Royal Family will fly this very night; and Gouvion, distrusting his own glazed eyes, has sent express for Lafayette; and Lafayette's carriage, flaring with lights, rolls this minute through the inner Arch of 10 the Carrousel, where a Lady, shaded in broad gypsy hat and leaning on the arm of a servant, stands aside to let it pass, and has even the whim to touch a spoke of it with the light little rod, such as the Beautiful then wore. The flare of Lafayette's carriage rolls past: all is 15 found quiet in the Court of Princes; sentries at their post; Majesties' Apartments closed in smooth rest. Your false Chambermaid must have been mistaken. Watch thou, Gouvion, with Argus's vigilance; for, of a truth, treachery is within these walls.

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But where is the Lady that stood aside in gypsy hat and touched the wheel-spoke with her wand? O Reader, that Lady was the Queen of France! She has issued safe through that inner arch, but not into the street itself. Fluttered by the rattle and rencounter she took the right 25 hand, not the left; neither she nor her courier knows Paris; he, indeed, is no courier, but a loyal, stupid

Bodyguard disguised as one. They are off, quite wrong, over the Royal Bridge and the River, roaming disconsolate, far from the Glass-coachman who still waits.

Midnight clangs from all the City steeples; one precious 5 hour has been spent so. Most mortals are asleep. The Glass-coachman waits, and in what mood? Be the Heavens blest! here at length is the Queen-lady, in gypsy hat, safe after perils, who has had to inquire her way. She too is admitted; her courier jumps aloft, as the other 10 has done; and now, O Glass-coachman of a thousand, Count Fersen, for the Reader sees it is thou, — drive!

Crack! crack! the Glass-coach rattles, and every soul breathes lighter. But is Fersen on the right road? Northeastward, to the Barrier of St. Martin, thither 15 were we bound; and lo! he drives right Northward. The royal Individual, in round hat and peruke, sits astonished; but, right or wrong, there is no remedy. Crack, crack, we go incessant through the slumbering City! Seldom, since Paris rose out of mud, or the Long-haired 20 Kings went in Bullock-carts, was there such a drive. Mortals on each hand, close by, stretched out horizontal, dormant; and we alive and quaking! Patience, ye Royal Individuals; Fersen understands what he is about.

... Once more, by Heaven's blessing, it is all well. 25 Here is the sleeping hamlet of Bondy, Chaise with waiting-women; horses all ready, and postilions impatient in the dewy dawn. Brief harnessing done, the

responses.

postilions vault into the saddle; brandish circularly their little noisy whips. Fersen bends in lowly, silent reverence of adieu; royal hands wave speechless, inexpressible Deft Fersen dashes obliquely Northward through the country, finds his German Coachman and 5 chariot; cracks off, and drives undiscovered into unknown space. A deft, active man, we say; what he undertook to do is nimbly and successfully done.

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And so the Royalty of France is actually fled. This precious night, the shortest of the year, it flies and 10 drives. O Louis! and this all round thee is the great slumbering Earth and overhead the great watchful Heaven. But right ahead the Northeast sends up evermore his gray, brindled dawn; from dewy branch birds here and there salute the coming Sun. The Universe, 15 O my brothers, is flinging wide its portals for the levee of the GREAT HIGH KING.

glass-coach a superior kind of public carriage. Formerly only private. carriages had glass windows. - the Carrousel: a square in Paris, at one time an entrance to the Tuileries. the Tuileries (twēl'rēz): the royal residence. — peruke: wig. - Gou'vion: a French officer. He had served in the American Revolution. the Beautiful: the ladies of fashion. Argus : according to the Greek myth Argus had one hundred eyes and never slept with more than two at a time. cou'rier: an attendant on travelers. roaming disconsolate: this story of the queen's losing her way is of doubtful accuracy. Count Fersen: "a gallant soldier and Swede, devoted to the Queen" (Carlyle). — Paris rose out of mud: for many centuries Paris comprised only one small island in the Seine. - Long-haired Kings: the early rulers of France wore their hair long. - postil'ions: men who ride and guide the leading horses of a coach. - levee (lev-ee'): literally, the rising. A morning reception.