This was after all the quarrel between the king and the National Assembly with regard to the veto. The king, during two months, had been struggling to recover some tattered shreds of sovereignty; he had, conjointly with the administration and Mirabeau, endeavored to neutralize the republican outburst which was endeavoring to efface royalty in France.
The queen had exhausted herself in this struggle, and was exhausted above all from having seen the king succumb.
The king in this contention had lost all his power and the remains of his popularity. The queen had gained an additional name, a nickname.
One of those words which were altogether foreign to the ears of the people, and from that reason more pleasing to the ears of the people,—a name which had not yet become an insult, but which was soon to become the most opprobrious of all; a witty saying, which afterwards was changed into a sanguinary rallying cry.
In short, she was called “Madame Veto.”
This name was destined to be borne in Revolutionary songs beyond the banks of the Rhine, to terrify in Germany the subjects and the friends of those who, having sent to France a German queen, had some right to be astonished that she was insulted by the name of the “Autrichienne” (the Austrian woman).
This name was destined in Paris to accompany, in the insensate dancing-rings, on days of massacre, the last cries, the hideous agonies of the victims.
Marie Antoinette was thenceforth called “Madame Veto,” until the day when she was to be called the “Widow Capet.”
She had already changed her name three times. After having been called the “Autrichienne,” she was next called “Madame Deficit.”
After the contests in which the queen had endeavored to interest her friends by the imminence of their own danger, she had remarked that sixty thousand passports had been applied for at the Hôtel de Ville.
Sixty thousand of the principal families of Paris and of France had gone off to rejoin in foreign countries the friends and relatives of the queen,—a very striking example, and one which had forcibly struck the queen.
And therefore, from that moment she meditated a skilfully concerted flight,—a flight supported by armed force should it be necessary; a flight which had for its object safety, after which the faithful who remained in France might carry on the civil war; that is to say, chastise the Revolutionists.
The plan was not a bad one. It would assuredly have succeeded, but behind the queen the evil genius was also watching.
Strange destiny! that woman, who inspired so many with enthusiastic devotedness, yet could nowhere find discretion.
It was known at Paris that she wished to fly before she had even persuaded herself to adopt the measure.
Marie Antoinette did not perceive that from the moment her intention had become known, her plan had become impracticable.
However, a regiment, celebrated for its royalist sympathies, the Flanders regiment, arrived at Versailles by forced marches.
This regiment had been demanded by the municipal authorities of Versailles, who, tormented by the extraordinary guards, and by the strict watch it was necessary to keep around the palace, incessantly threatened by fresh demands for distributions of provisions, and successive disturbances, stood in need of some other military force than the National Guards and the Militia.
The palace had already quite enough to do to defend itself.
The Flanders regiment arrived, as we have said; and that it should at once assume all the importance with which it was intended to be invested, it was necessary that a brilliant reception should be given to it, that it might at once attract the attention of the people.
The Count d’Estaing assembled all the officers of the National Guard and all those of the corps then present at Versailles and went out to meet it.
The regiment made a solemn entry into Versailles, with its park of artillery and its ammunition-wagons.
Around this group, which then became central, assembled a crowd of young gentlemen, who did not belong to any regular corps.
They adopted a sort of uniform by which they could recognize one another, and were joined by all the officers unattached, all the chevaliers of the Order of Saint Louis, whom danger or interest had brought to Versailles.