It had gunpowder, which was carried in pocket-handkerchiefs, in caps, and in pockets; and in the midst of these living cartouche-boxes walked the artillery-men with their lighted matches.
That the whole army was not blown into the air during this extraordinary journey, was certainly a perfect miracle.
Maillard at one glance appreciated the feelings of his army. He saw that it would be of no use to keep it on the square where it had assembled, nor to confine it within the walls of Paris, but to lead it on to Versailles, and once arrived there to prevent the harm which it might attempt to do.
This difficult, this heroic task, Maillard was determined to accomplish.
And in consequence, Maillard descends the steps and takes the drum which was hanging from the shoulders of the young girl.
Dying with hunger, the poor young girl has no longer strength to carry it. She gives up the drum, glides along a wall, and falls with her head against a post.
A gloomy pillow,—the pillow of hunger.
Maillard asks her name. She replies that it is Madeleine Chambry. Her occupation had been carving in wood for churches. But who now thinks of endowing churches with those beautiful ornaments in wood, those beautiful statues, those magnificent basso-relievos, the master-pieces of the fifteenth century?
Dying with hunger, she had become a flower-girl in the Palais Royal.
But who thinks of purchasing flowers when money is wanting to buy even bread? Flowers, those stars which shine in the heaven of peace and abundance,—flowers are withered by storms of wind and revolutions.
Being no longer able to sculpture her fruits in oak, being no longer able to sell her roses, her jessamines, and lilacs, Madeleine Chambry took a drum, and beat the terrible reveille of hunger.
She also must go to Versailles,—she who had assembled all this gloomy deputation; only, as she is too feeble to walk, she is to be carried there in a cart.
When they arrive at Versailles, they will ask that she may be admitted into the palace with twelve other women. She is to be the orator; famishing, she will there plead before the king the cause of all those that are starving.
This idea of Maillard was much applauded.
And thus by a word Maillard had at once changed every hostile feeling.
They did not before this know why they were going to Versailles; they did not know what they were going to do there.
But now they know; they know that a deputation of twelve women, with Madeleine Chambry at their head, is going to supplicate the king, in the name of hunger, to take compassion on his people.
Somewhere about seven thousand women were there assembled. They commence their march, going along the quays.
But on arriving at the Tuileries, loud shouts were heard.
Maillard jumped upon a post in order to be seen by the whole of his army.
“What is it that you want?” he asked them.
“We wish to pass through the Tuileries.”
“That is impossible,” replied Maillard.
“And why is it impossible?” cried seven thousand voices.
“Because the Tuileries is the king’s house and its gardens the king’s; because to pass through them without the king’s permission, would be to insult the king,—and more than that, it would be attacking, in the king’s person, the liberty of all.”
“Well, then, be it so,” say the women; “ask permission of the Swiss.”1
Maillard went to the Swiss, his cocked hat in his hand.
“My friend,” said he, “will you allow these ladies to go through the Tuileries? They will only go through the archway, and will not do any injury to the plants or trees.”
The only answer the Swiss gave was to draw his long rapier, and to rush upon Maillard.
Maillard drew his sword, which was full a foot shorter, and their weapons crossed.
While they were tilting at each other, a woman went behind the Swiss, and gave him a fearful blow upon the head with a broom-handle, and laid him at Maillard’s feet.
At the same time another woman was about to run the Swiss through the body with a thrust of her bayonet.