When the King Took Flight (28 page)

There can be no mistaking the feelings of respect shown for
Louis XVI in the grievance lists of 1789, the thousands of formal
statements drawn up by the French during the elections to the Estates General. Almost everywhere people continued to address the
king with the traditional epithets of honor and consideration"Sire" or "His Majesty"-coupled with formal phrases of supplication. "His Majesty is most humbly beseeched" to grant such-andsuch a request, as the expression commonly went. More than half
of the grievance lists opened with statements of enthusiastic praise
for the reigning monarch, and well over a third made references to
his paternal virtues. Nearly as many stressed his goodness, and a
fourth commented on his justice-though none made mention of
his military prowess. Almost one in five specifically used the word
sacred in reference to the king. Although this word was also occa sionally used in speaking of abstract concepts, such as the "sacred
right of property" or the "sacred constitution," in no other instance
was it utilized to describe a specific individual.' It was the cultural
strength of the royal mystique-coupled with gratitude for Louis'
actions in summoning the Estates General-that rendered most patriots so tolerant of and forgiving toward the king during the first
two years of the Revolution.

[To view this image, refer to
the print version of this title.]

"How Precious Is This Image to All Good Frenchmen!" Rural people of all ages
kneel before the portrait of Louis XVI in 1789.

We have seen that from October i789-if not earlier-Louis
had self-consciously followed a policy of deceit. Even while he publicly accepted the laws sent to him by the National Assembly, he se cretly announced to the king of Spain that he was signing them
under duress. But the French in general knew nothing of this.
The moderate patriots, determined to strengthen the constitutional
monarchy, had done all in their power to promote Louis' image
through carefully orchestrated speeches and appearances that they
persuaded the king to make.' And if we are to judge by the letters
flooding into the National Assembly, Louis' popularity may even
have increased during the first two years of the Revolution. Soon
after the king's speech to the deputies in February 1790, the small
western town of Ernee wrote of "this happy and blessed day, forever memorable, when the best of kings, the restorer of French liberty, the gentle father of the nation, honored our Assembly with his
presence and gave his approval to all its labors." The leaders of
Troyes were scarcely less enthusiastic in describing their filial links
to the king: "Children of a common father, listen to the king's
words and unite behind him as he desires. The paternal heart of His
Majesty asks for this proof of our love."6

There could be no doubt that the Revolution had substantially
diminished the authority of the king. The constitution had transformed his status from that of absolute monarch to that of chief executive, with institutional powers not unlike those of the American
presidency only just created across the Atlantic. Yet for most citizens the special, semireligious aura of the monarch persisted. They
remained convinced that the king supported the Revolution and that
ultimately the will of the monarch and the will of the nation would
always correspond. The smattering of critical remarks from Jacobin
clubs in the first half of I791-some urging the king to ban refractory clergymen from his court-were overwhelmed by a chorus of
affection and respect. The small town of Coudray, not far from
Paris, expressed its indignation over the violent acts committed in
the royal palace on February 28 and the supposed insults to "the sacred person of our good king."' When Louis came down with his
sore throat in March of that year, hundreds of municipal councils
and Jacobin clubs held solemn masses for his recovery, and virtually
every town in France organized thanksgiving celebrations upon learning of his return to good health. "The God who oversees the
destinies of empires did not wish to deprive us of our strongest
supporter, the anchor of our happiness. Our churches ring out with
prayers of thanksgiving" (Laval, in western France); "as the adoptive children of the Great Henry, we will forever maintain our attachment to this Bourbon prince, so worthy of his name and so precious to France" (Belley, in eastern France); "may God save the idol
of the nation" (Bourges, in central France). A few weeks later, the
small town of Chateaurenard in Provence unveiled a portrait of the
king on the wall of the city hall, and the recently elected mayor
gave a dedication speech. The French monarch, he argued, had created an entirely new relationship to his people, so that Louis seemed
hardly even to belong in the same category as other monarchs:
"Kings seek to be powerful through the use of terror, but Louis
XVI wants only that confidence which his virtues inspire; kings
command respect and obedience, Louis XVI asks only for the love
of the French; kings wish to be the masters of their people, Louis
XVI wants only to be his nation's father; kings work to enchain
their subject's freedom, Louis XVI is the restorer of ours. 0 friend
of mankind! 0 citizen king!"'

Everywhere in the provinces, on the eve of Varennes, the overwhelming majority of French citizens continued to feel affection,
even reverence, for the person of the king. They continued to think
of the monarchy as central and integral to the unity and coherence
of the nation.

Perhaps it was the very intensity of their attachment to the monarch
that prompted so many French to recount their experiences during
the traumatic days following the king's flight. Between June 21 and
the end of July more than 650 letters were received by the secretaries of the National Assembly from a variety of collective bodies all
over the country: from every department, from virtually every
town of any size, and even from a surprising number of villages. The ostensible purpose of this mass of correspondence was the
reaffirmation of allegiance to the Assembly in what was undoubtedly the greatest political crisis since the beginning of the Revolution. But a great many of the letters contained heartfelt testimonies
of changing attitudes toward the monarch in the face of the crisis. Municipal and administrative councils, patriotic clubs, national
guard units, women's societies, regional tribunals, and unspecified
collections of "citizens" all sent in statements, statements undoubtedly drafted by local elites, but frequently signed by dozens or hundreds of others. Taken as a whole this correspondence constitutes a
poll of provincial opinion over time, as people throughout the
country attempted to come to terms with the king and the king's
place in the nation in the weeks after Varennes.9

In the first days of the crisis-after citizens had learned of the
king's disappearance, but before they had heard of his arrest-reactions depended in large measure on how and from whom the news
was received. The petitions of the Parisian clubs and the reports of
the radical newspapers were anything but gentle with the missing
monarch. But the early announcements of the Assembly itself were
much more ambiguous, never mentioning the king's antirevolutionary declaration, and leaving ample room for the belief that
the royal family had somehow been kidnapped. Many provincial
groups were eager to accept such a scenario and to give Louis the
benefit of a doubt. Overall, close to a third of those sending in
views during this early period persisted in their positive and sympathetic views of the monarch.10 They spoke bitterly of "the frightful
crime of the abduction of the king and the royal family"; of "these
monsters of humanity who have carried away the best of kings"; of
"France now having been left an orphan." The Jacobins of Arras,
usually linked closely to their compatriot Robespierre, were particularly poignant in their initial reaction to the event. "They have
taken him away from us," they lamented, "this king who seemed to
live only for his people, this king who so frequently offered his
homage to the National Assembly, and whose patriotic actions were
imbued with such candor and truth." When they learned that the king had been found and was being returned to Paris, many provincial towns launched spontaneous celebrations. Within minutes the
courtyard of the Rouen city hall "was filled with a prodigious number of citizens, both men and women, attracted by the news of the
event. They expressed their happiness with a spontaneous dance
that lasted until three in the morning." Everywhere church bells,
fireworks, thanksgiving prayers, and public celebrations marked the
moment when their "bitter sorrow," as Limoges described it, was
transformed into "the exhilaration of joy.""

In general, it was only at the end of June that people in the provinces began to appreciate the full significance of the events which
had just transpired and that a veritable crisis of conscience began to
sweep across France. As the National Assembly entered into its
three-week interregnum, placing a moratorium on considerations
of the king, its official pronouncements were no longer the preeminent source of information in the provinces. Towns were inundated
with circular letters and petitions from the various clubs and sections in the capital and with Parisian newspapers of every political
stripe. The great mass of newspapers, in particular, enormously
broadened the range of information and interpretations available.
"The public papers," as the patriotic club of Vendome explained,
"have continually helped us develop our opinions. Like all French
people, we have closely followed the regular rhythms of their publications."" Many of the circumstances surrounding the flight had
been neglected or censored in the Assembly's initial accounts. It was
from newspapers and brochures that people in the provinces first
heard of the Parisians' disapproving reception of the returning
royal family on June 25, and of the early efforts of the Cordeliers
Club to have the king deposed. Only now did they read of the
king's personal declaration in which he implicitly repudiated his
earlier oath and denounced many of the Revolutionary decrees that
he had previously signed into law. Local leaders in Toulon first
learned of the king's letter on July i. When citizens in Bergerac first
saw it, four days later, they publicly burned a copy in the town
square.13

In the evaluation of this mass of information, local patriotic
clubs played a particularly important role. By the middle of 1191
several hundred such clubs had already been created, including
some four hundred directly affiliated with the Jacobins of Paris."
But although the provincial clubs closely followed the debates of
the Jacobins in the capital, they were never blindly subservient
to the mother society. The British agent William Miles was struck
by the continual interchange of ideas among the various societies
throughout the country, a process that reminded him of "the whispering gallery of Saint Paul's Cathedral"-the circular walkway inside the great dome in London from which visitors could hear one
another speaking, no matter where they were standing. With the
Parisian Jacobins unable to reach a consensus, provincial clubs became even more independent in the range and subjects of their debates. Dozens of societies began circulating copies of local deliberations throughout the correspondence network of provincial clubs,
resulting in a rapid dissemination of ideas and proposals. In Bordeaux, in Bergerac, in Bar-le-Duc new tracts and petitions arrived
daily from sister societies around the kingdom without even passing
through Paris, tracts that seemed to grow more radical from one
day to the next."

In this liminal period of flux and uncertainty, in which the king
seemed to have disowned the Revolution and the National Assembly had not yet taken a position, people everywhere began a sweeping reevaluation of the foundational assumptions of the new constitution. Not only in the local political clubs, but in the diverse
administrative councils and the various ad hoc meetings set up to
meet the crisis, citizens pondered and debated and passed in review
the options available. In Toulouse "everyone made an effort to publicly pronounce his opinion, no matter how bold, on the question
of the king." In Tours, as one townsman described it, debates soon
focused on "the most interesting and probing questions ever discussed since the beginning of the monarchy. AN How can we describe it, the joy we felt in the midst of all our tensions and fears.
We saw shy adolescents stammer out their thoughts, bold young men express the ardor and impetuosity of their feelings, mature
men offer advice dictated more by reflection and prudence. What a
touching spectacle it was!""

And opinion now swung decisively against the monarch. During
the pivotal period between late June, when news arrived of the capture in Varennes, and mid-July, when the Assembly issued its decrees, only about one in six of the testimonies from the provinces
revealed any sympathy for the runaway king." Even those who did
show compassion frequently joined their remarks with harsh commentaries, linking the king's actions to his weakness of character
in accepting bad advice. "The monarch is unfortunate, weak, deceived, and taken advantage of," wrote one town council. "We
would like to believe," wrote another, "that it was through weakness and a blind submission to odious courtiers that Louis XVI was
led to desert his post and abandon a people who had overwhelmed
him with their love; that it was not through his own initiative, but in
order to yield to the desires and unrestrained ambition of those who
surrounded him. Because of this possibility we will remain silent
and not judge him."18

By contrast, close to three-fifths of the correspondents were distinctly negative in their assessment of the monarch.'9 In statements
that were striking for the anger and bitterness of their rhetoric, administrators, club members, and national guard units in every corner of the nation castigated the king for a whole range of sins.
Louis was indicted for having deserted the palace without any consideration for the consequences of his actions for the French people.
The man they had once considered their strongest supporter had
"abandoned his post in a cowardly manner and betrayed all his
oaths." His "desertion of the most admirable throne in the universe
could have turned France into a vast tomb." Despite Louis' disclaimers, most correspondents had little doubt that the king's real
intention had been to flee France and seek the aid of foreign powers
against his own country. "The supreme commander of the nation
planned to leave and take refuge in a foreign state that promised
him money, assistance, and troops in order to reconquer the imagi nary rights he claimed to be his." "He sought in vain to bring down
foreign swords upon us." Such actions could only have led to war
and could only be characterized as "treasonous." The king had
abandoned his throne "to travel to foreign soil and transform our
fertile plains into an ocean of blood. He would have delivered
France over to desolation and to foreign and civil war." Even if he
had been following the advice of others, he was "no less guilty
of utter treason against the nation." It was only too clear that his
ultimate aim had been to return "at the head of an army" and to reimpose "the former system" of the Old Regime. "Imbued with
the principles of despotism, Louis will forever be the enemy of our
liberty."20