When the King Took Flight

by Timothy Tackett

  Jolted into action by the crisis, the officials quickly organized emergency committees, bringing together representatives from the various power centers in their areas. In a typical regional capitalin Lyon or Beauvais or Auch-the departmental authorities summoned deputies from the district directory and the local municipal council, as well as from the principal law courts, the patriotic clubs, the national guard, and the regular army. If a town was divided into neighborhood sections-as was the case in the largest municipalities-or if the electoral assemblies happened to be meeting, these bodies, too, were invited to send representatives. Thus, in the northeastern town of Thionville over a hundred people had crowded within minutes into the mayor's office, the largest assembly space available, where many of them remained around the clock for the next three days."

  Whether or not this collective approach to crisis management was the most efficient means available, it did provide a muchneeded sense of unity and solidarity. Especially in the larger communities, where multiple levels of authority existed side by side, fierce rivalries had often arisen during the previous year-between department and district, or district and town, or department and town.12 But now, confronted with this stunningly unexpected emergency, officials everywhere made unity and cooperation their highest priorities. Numerous patriots attested their newfound sense of harmony in letters to the National Assembly. "There exists in this town," wrote the leaders of Dieppe, on the English Channel, "the greatest possible unity between the different bodies holding power." In Lyon patriots were convinced that their security depended on "the rapid unification of all authority, and on the general confidence which such power will inspire."" To reinforce the sense of common purpose, the town of Saint-Quentin required all men and women to wear specially manufactured ribbons with the words "Union! Live free or die!" Indeed, in a number of towns local authorities ordered all citizens to affirm their solidarity by displaying Revolutionary cockades, the tricolor bull's-eye badge that had become one of the symbols of the patriots in Paris.'

  Even more dramatic emblems of unity were the emotion-filled oaths organized by people almost everywhere as soon as they learned of the king's disappearance. Residents of the small town of Juillac, in central France, meeting in their electoral assembly, vividly recalled the moment the news arrived. At first they all sat stunned in "mournful silence." Suddenly the president of the assembly rose to his feet, raised his hand to heaven, and pronounced an impassioned oath: "I swear to defend to my last drop of blood the nation, the law, and the National Assembly. I swear to live free or die!" Immediately all the others present stood, raised their hands, and shouted in unison: "I, too, so swear." Everyone then filed out of the room, sustained with a new sense of purpose, and walked to the city hall, where members of the local Jacobin Club and the national guard took a similar oath.15

  In town after town, civic leaders and common citizens, men and women, old and young, national guardsmen, soldiers, and even a scattering of patriot nobles and clergy-all clamored to enunciate oaths of their own. They did so spontaneously, for the most part, even before learning of the similar declarations sworn with such fervor in Paris on June 23. And in most cases they replaced "king" with "National Assembly" in the oath formula that had previously been used. In Valenciennes, near the Austrian border, "we all swore to shed our blood for the defense of freedom and the happiness of the nation." In Tours the ceremony took place out of doors near the Loire River, with "a thousand voices" uniting in a vow to sacrifice their lives for the preservation of the constitution. Beneath the walls of Saint-Malo, on the Breton peninsula, 4,000 armed guards, along with 2,000 women and children, swore their allegiance to the nation and the constitution. In Cahors, in south-central France, oaths were also pronounced by women as well as men, each occupying a separate space: "the women, standing nearby in the garden imitated the men, repeating in a touching manner their affirmations of fraternal and patriotic love.""

  In their near obsession with oathtaking in a moment of crisis, the French were using a symbolic language with which almost everyone was familiar. They lived in a world in which solemn vows of this sort retained a religious character and remained requisite acts for entry into the army, the clergy, or the law courts. Those with any education were also familiar with the oathtaking tradition of classical Greece and Rome-a tradition given new immediacy by the stirring oaths of the National Assembly at the beginning of the Revolution. The oath of June 1'7, 1789-when the Assembly was created-and the Tennis Court Oath three days later had been widely publicized, inspiring the whole nation to excited emulation. Even more pervasive had been the waves of oathtaking in February and July 179o-the latter as part of the federation ceremonies celebrated throughout the country. But the earlier oaths had always been somewhat abstract, pronounced in moments of general calm. Now the French found themselves facing the very real danger of invasion and war. It was in this context, in a moment of great tension, that they frequently attached the coda "to live free or die." For people who were now confronted with the prospect of living in a nation without a king, the one individual who had always represented the unity of that nation, oathtaking held an additional relevance. It was the visible symbol of patriotic union and a willingness to work together and die together for the greater good of the national community. In this way, the great surge of oathtaking in June 1791 played a major role in easing anxiety and instilling a sense of common purpose." It was a signal moment in the emergence of French nationalism.

  The Enemy Without

  But oaths of allegiance and a determination to die for the country were hardly sufficient in themselves to confront the crisis. Emergency committees throughout France were faced with the need to organize an immediate response to the various dangers their communities might encounter. The National Assembly's initial decrees provided only the roughest outline for action. The printed proclamation sent out on June 22 ordered administrators to halt all movement across frontiers of people, arms, munitions, precious metals, and horses, and "to take all necessary steps for the maintenance of law and order and the defense of the nation."18 But there would be enormous variation from region to region in the ways in which local people interpreted and implemented those decrees.

  For towns adjoining coastlines or foreign frontiers, the most immediate concern was the threat from abroad. For a great many people, both in Paris and in the provinces, the implications of the king's flight seemed obvious. Whether Louis had left of his own will or had been abducted, everyone expected him to leave the country. And once the royal family had crossed out of France, war seemed an inevitable consequence. For the town of Mezieres, only a few miles from the frontier, the flight could only have been "assured through the authority of the house of Austria, which now reveals its clear intention of waging war on France." The town leaders of Dole, close to the Swiss and German borders, generally agreed: "At present, we should consider ourselves to be in a time of war and of imminent peril." And they issued detailed instructions for the mobilization of the whole society, establishing procedures by which all citizens were to contribute both time and money for the defense of the nation."

  Almost as soon as they learned of the crisis, leaders in frontier or coastal areas sent out units of the national guard and the regular army to establish lines of defense and brace for invasion. The city of Strasbourg took the initiative in stationing guardsmen up and down the Rhine. Longwy, on the northern frontier near Luxembourg, urged all border communities to arm themselves and prepare for war. In Provence a protective cordon was set up along the neighboring Italian states, and in Perpignan detachments were directed to guard both the passes of the Pyrenees and the Mediterranean coast near Spain. Similar steps were taken along the Atlantic coast. Bordeaux and Dieppe temporarily closed their ports, going well beyond the instructions from Paris. Rouen established observation posts on the English Channel from Le Havre to the department border at Le Treport. A semaphore chain was prepared along the south Breton coast to relay word quickly of suspicious sightings.20
But even in locations a considerable distance from coasts or frontiers, citizen militias were called up for service to patrol the streets and guard city gates and bridges. Rusty cannons were dragged into position to defend local stores of ammunition and strongboxes containing public funds. Barricades were established at central positions-the city hall, the courthouse, the offices of the department and the district-to protect against the uncertain threats that everyone feared but no one could quite name.21

  The situation was particularly tense in the northeastern sector of France. This was the zone traversed by the king in his attempted escape, and it took no feat of genius to conclude that he had been heading for the border of the Austrian Netherlands. Since General Bouille and his entire general staff had deserted to the enemy, the armed forces in the region had been left leaderless, and civilian authorities had to step in and improvise as best they could.22 All along the frontier, from Metz to Givet and Rocroi, volunteer citizens' brigades and patriot soldiers rushed to shore up the frontier fortresses, left in disrepair since the previous war thirty years earlier. In Sedan city administrators even organized a special festival dedicated to the defense of the fatherland, a festival that conveniently coincided with the Corpus Christi ceremony. After the celebration some three thousand citizens, joined by infantrymen garrisoned nearby, set to work repairing the walls and moats protecting the town.23

  But although teams of citizens could help shore up the defenses, they could do nothing about the problem of arms. And almost everywhere municipalities found that their stores of muskets and powder were distressingly meager. General Bouille had surreptitiously removed armaments from most of the strongholds in Lorraine in order to concentrate them in Montmedy for the protection of the king. When local administrators discovered what had happened, many assumed that it was part of a general conspiracy to weaken defenses in anticipation of invasion. Everywhere in the northeast, in the hours and days after Varennes, people began looking out for the arrival of enemy armies. Not surprisingly, perhaps, some began to see them.24

  The origins of the invasion panic that swept across northeastern France can be precisely identified. Early on the morning of June 22 General Bouille, still hoping to rescue the king, ordered a regiment of Swiss infantry in the pay of France to march westward from the town of Metz to the Meuse River, only ten miles from Varennes. In fact, when the regiment arrived near its destination late that night, most of the soldiers mutinied and refused to advance, announcing that they were not paid to fight against the French people. The officers then fled, and the remainder of the Swiss retreated in good order to Verdun. But coming as it did in a moment of supreme tension, this strange cross-country movement away from the frontier of several hundred heavily armed, German-speaking soldiers provoked pandemonium among the local population.2

  Late in the afternoon of June 22, authorities in Verdun sent word to the surrounding villages that an army was moving toward Varennes, and that all available guardsmen must march to the Meuse and burn all the bridges, if necessary, in order to halt the attack. Soon thereafter the panic-stricken leaders of Varennes issued their own urgent call for help.26 Within hours, the messenger chain that had spread the word of the king's arrest was set in motion once again to announce the approaching "enemy" troops. For the second night in a row, guardsmen were mobilized all across the region to come to the aid of Varennes.

  Invariably some towns and villages, in relaying the appeals for reinforcements, exaggerated or expanded on the original message. In the atmosphere of fear and tension, there were inevitable misunderstandings and miscommunications. But it was also natural for terrified officials to exaggerate a bit, to make certain that the situation seemed sufficiently critical to rouse others to their aid-and to justify their own panic. Thus, when citizens in Clermont relayed Varennes' plea to "fly to the assistance of your brothers in arms," they inflated the story somewhat, announcing that fighting had already broken out between patriots and "the enemy." The next village to the south embellished the message further, asserting that a battle was now raging and that many French citizens had been killed. By the next morning, as the news reached the southern edge of the department of Meuse, the word enemy had subtly changed meaning: the threat was no longer from a regiment of Swiss mercenaries in the pay of France, but from the "Imperials" themselves, an invading Austrian army, which was now said to be advancing rapidly beyond the Meuse.27

  In the meantime, the news had traveled westward across the Argonne Forest and arrived in Sainte-Menehould. The small town was just recovering from an exhausting and harrowing night. The confrontation with Damas' German dragoons, the sudden appearance of the king and queen, and the havoc wrought by the duke de Choiseul's cross-country cavalry ride just north of the town had thrown the citizens into near panic. Now they heard, or imagined they heard, that Austrian soldiers had taken and destroyed Varennes, were heading directly west, and would soon fall on the people of Sainte-Menehould themselves-perhaps planning to punish them, as they had punished Varennes, for their part in the capture of the king. "Imperial troops have sacked Varennes," they wrote in a desperate call for help: "In the name of the Fatherland, we implore you to come to our aid. Quick! We are short of arms and munitions, and especially of men."28

  By the morning of June 23, the rumored invasion had produced a wave of terror not unlike the Great Fear of 1789. Toward nine the story arrived in Chalons-sur-Marne, where the royal family had just spent the night on their return trip to Paris. Rumors spread rapidly through the town that the Austrians had arrived and were just outside the gates. Soon a riot broke out as people desperately sought arms for their protection. The doors of the city hall were beaten down, and the mayor was surrounded by an angry crowd and forced to throw open the municipal arsenal-before leaping from a second-story window and making his escape. Terrified both by the imagined Austrians and by fellow townspeople clamoring for action, officials mobilized the national guards throughout the department, urging all citizens to come to their aid: "Take courage! Let us show ourselves worthy of our freedom by daring to defend it!"29

  To many people it now seemed obvious that the Austrians had invaded France in an attempt to recapture the king. And from this point on, the panic closely followed the monarch's procession back toward Paris. Guardsmen, sometimes accompanied by women and children, were on the road everywhere, advancing to the aid of Varennes or Clermont or Chalons, or returning home when they discovered that the enemy had "retreated." Thousands of others were hurrying to join the escort of the monarch-now, in part, to protect him from the Austrians. The weather was hot and dry. The myriad of marching men and women raised great clouds of dust in the light chalky soil of northern Champagne. The dust, the confusion, the noise of drums and plodding feet at night or in half light, could easily confirm one's worst fears that the invading army was just over the hill or in the woods beyond the river.

  Within two days the terrifying news had spread throughout much of Champagne and parts of the provinces of Lorraine, Picardy, and Ile-de-France. In Lorraine, the fortress city of Metz mobilized its guardsmen and sent them off toward Verdun for the second time in two days. Thionville, north of Metz, also heard of the invasion, but now there was confusion as to the direction of the attack, and citizens set to destroying all bridges across the Moselle River, in anticipation of an invasion from the German states farther east. In the meantime, moving from village to village, intensified everywhere by the warning sounds of church bells, the panic had surged to the northwest as far as Charleville and the northern frontier. When citizens in the cathedral city of Reims heard the rumor, they relayed it westward toward Soissons and Laon, and by the morning of June 24 the fear had swept into the province of Picardy beyond the river Oise. Now the threat had taken on epic proportions. The king, it was said, had already been stopped by an army of 40,000 to 50,000 Austrians-some said 6o,ooo. They had destroyed Varennes and Sainte-Menehould, had moved beyond Chalons, and were ravaging everything in their path, "burning and killing everywhere."30 That
afternoon, a day ahead of the king, rumors of an "invasion" from the east incited "a movement of unrest among the common people" in Paris itself."

  In the following days four other regions in the kingdom were touched by similar invasion panics. A shootout between soldiers and smugglers in the western Pyrenees ignited rumors that the Spanish army had crossed the frontier and was marching down three mountain valleys into southwestern France. Soon dozens of communities from Pau to Bayonne and as far north as Bordeaux rushed off guardsmen to confront the enemy.32 Along the central Atlantic coast, "the appearance of several unknown sails off Saint- Hilaire-de-Riez" prompted a report of an English invasion that spread throughout much of the province of Poitou.33 In Brittany a small fight near Saint-Maio between guardsmen and emigrant nobles sailing to Jersey sparked yet another rumor. The story spread that six thousand troops had disembarked from forty British ships and were now moving west along the coast. Guardsmen, mobilized from as far away as Rennes and Brest, rapidly converged on the "invaders" to save the fatherland.3"