"The Chambre Nationale is
declared," she wrote. "They are deliberating, but I am in despair to see
nothing come of their deliberations; every one is greatly alarmed. The
nobility may be wiped out forever. But the kingdom will be calm; if not,
one cannot estimate the evils by which we shall be menaced. . . . Not
far away civil war exists, and, besides, bread is lacking. God give us
courage!" Three days later the King read to the deputies an arbitrary
declaration that had been composed by interested advisers. He commanded
the assembly to disperse, and met a calm and silent resistance. Workmen
entered to demolish the amphitheater, but laid down their tools on the
declaration of Mirabeau that "whoever laid hands on a deputy was a
traitor, infamous and worthy of death." At last the King, wearied and
confused, commanded, "Let them alone."
The parterres, the courts, even the salons of the palace swarmed with
ruffians that had marched out from Paris to menace Versailles. By June
25th there was open revolt in the capital. "A stormy, heavy, gloomy
time, like a feverish, painful dream," prefaced the furious deeds of the
14th of July. Every day witnessed some new outbreak. July was a month
of insurrections and murders. The Bastille was assailed by rioters.
News came to the King that the ancient fortress had fallen. "Sire,"
announced the Duke of Orleans to the sleepy Monarch in his bedchamber,
"it is a Revolution!"
Lafayette, back from the war across the sea, became the unwilling leader
of the National Guard.
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