By Honor Bound (35 page)

Chapter Thirty-Six

October 5, 1789

The day was unusually warm for October. Summer seemed to cling, reluctant to leave. Fall had been held at bay, and there was not yet any color in the trees. It was undoubtedly pleasant, but Honneure knew sharper weather was right around the corner. It was going to change, suddenly, and then would come the winter storms. She wondered if she would ever see another summer at Versailles.

Honneure put the thought out of her mind and tried to enjoy her surroundings as she strolled along through the gardens of the Trianon behind her queen and Madame Dupin, who had come for a brief visit. It had been wonderful to hear news of Philippa, who was apparently doing well. It had been less agreeable to see the silent plea in Madame Dupin’s gaze. Her plea to the queen, however, was not silent at all.

The two women had been walking arm in arm, but now Antoinette stopped and shook her head in response to something her friend had said.

“Please be reasonable, my dear,” Madame Dupin continued. “Your husband was wise enough to send Artois and his family and the Polignacs out of the country. They are safe, and so should you and the children be.”

Antoinette dropped her friend’s arm and looked her in the eye. “You know I cannot leave my husband.”

Honneure knew what an effort the queen was making to hide her emotions. She would never forget the night of July 16. Antoinette had been in tears at saying farewell to her most loyal friend. Gabrielle had disguised herself as a chambermaid, not for the Trianon Theater this time but to escape the country. The two women knew they would probably never see each other again.

“And you know,” Madame Dupin pressed, tearing Honneure from her memory, “that calumnies are being spread about you in the newspapers.”

Antoinette shrugged and gave a small laugh. “The tales are ridiculous. If I had taken all the lovers they are saying I did, I would be too exhausted to get out of bed. Why, they’re even saying the Duc de Coigny is the father of my first child! How could anyone possibly believe such lies?”

“I don’t know,” Madame Dupin responded quietly, her expression grim. “But they do. And you are in danger, dear friend. Grave danger. The country has gone mad. Did you not have warning enough with the storming of the Bastille?”

Antoinette paled and her smile faltered, but she quickly regained control of herself. Once again she linked her arm through Madame Dupin’s and resumed their stroll.

“Though I have been accused, through all the long years of my marriage to Louis, of interfering in politics and directing his decisions, particularly in favor of Austria, nothing could be further from the truth. You know it well enough. Louis is the sole voice of the crown, and I trust him. At this very moment he is out shooting, and my only concern is that he bag enough for supper. Despite defections, we still have many mouths to feed!”

It was Madame Dupin’s turn to shake her head. She started to speak, but Antoinette interrupted her.

“Look.” The queen waved in the direction of the little stream that fed the pond of the Hameau. “Here is another of my concerns. Do you see how low the water level is?”

“I do. Furthermore, I know why it is low. And so do you, though you will unquestionably continue to deny it.”

Both Honneure and the queen stared at Madame Dupin in shocked silence.

“There is a drought,” the older woman went on, a tone of near desperation in her voice. “There is a drought and, although the price of a loaf has dropped to twelve sous, the new harvest is slow in coming through the water mills. Bread is still scarce in Paris and of poor quality. The people must eat, dearest friend. And to whom do you think they will turn if they cannot? Whom do you think they will blame?”

“The ones they have blamed all along,” Antoinette replied at length, her voice nearly a whisper. “The ones they blame for everything.”

“Yes!” Madame Dupin grasped her friend’s hands. “And in a world gone mad, who knows what they will do?”

Madame Dupin’s very real fears finally seemed to have communicated to the queen. Her eyes widened, and her lower lip appeared to quiver.

“You don’t … you don’t think they would come here, to Versailles … do you?”

“I think there is absolutely no guessing what they will do. Which is exactly what makes them so dangerous! Antoinette, please, dearest friend … I am leaving in an hour for Chenonceau. Come with me. Come with me, and let us find a way to get you and the children out of the country from there.”

Honneure saw the queen’s moment of indecision. She saw her waver before giving her final refusal. Mere hours later, Honneure would curse herself for not taking advantage of that moment, for not falling on her knees and begging Antoinette to leave with Madame Dupin. It was a regret that would remain with her for the rest of her life.

Madame Dupin had departed, as she had said she would, within an hour after their stroll through the gardens. Though the queen had put on a brave face, it had been a difficult farewell. Honneure had been torn as well.

“Know that I keep Philippa well and safe,” Madame Dupin had said to her in parting. “But also know that she depends upon her mother and father for her happiness. And that you and Philippe are always welcome at Chenonceau.”

Honneure had not known how to reply, except to express her gratitude. She would not leave her queen. Standing near Antoinette, she had watched Madame Dupin’s carriage depart and then retired to the palace to await the king’s return from the hunt.

Louis had returned just before three. Antoinette had met him in the Royal Court, delighted with his twenty and a half brace.

“We shall be well fed tonight, indeed,” she had declared. Honneure and the assembled courtiers had watched her plant a fond kiss on her husband’s cheek when he had dismounted from his horse.

It was so normal, such a domestic scene, that Honneure was almost able to forget Madame Dupin’s dire words and the fear they had engendered. Minutes later the brief moment of happiness was snatched away.

A breathless messenger appeared and handed a note to the king. Honneure, slightly behind the queen, saw him open it.

“It’s from Saint-Priest,” he said, referring to his Minister of the Household. Louis’s brow furrowed as he scanned the lines. “He says the people are asking for bread.” The king crumpled the note and smiled thinly. “Of course they are. And if I had any, I would give it to them. They would not have to ask.”

Honneure watched her queen smile loyally at her husband’s good-natured attempt at levity. He rewarded her with a pat on the cheek.

“Sire!”

The crowd parted as a second messenger arrived. He was mounted, and his horse looked hard-ridden. The man leapt from the saddle and threw himself at his monarch’s feet.

“Sire, a mob approaches,” he exclaimed. Still on his knees, he looked up at the king. “But I beg you not to be afraid. They are only women!”

Louis bestowed a kindly smile on his messenger. “I have never been afraid in my life.” He turned from the man to one of his courtiers. “Summon my ministers. I am calling a Cabinet.”

It was well the king appeared so fearless, Honneure thought, recalling yet again Madame Dupin’s warning. She herself had never been so frightened in her life.

The summer-like dusk fell softly. Honneure hovered in a corner of the queen’s salon, waiting along with several of the queen’s ladies for further word of the approaching mob. Minutes earlier the queen had been informed of the Cabinet’s resolution.

One minister, Necker, had proposed to grant whatever the crowd should demand. Another, Saint-Priest, suggested the king place himself at the head of his troops and defend the Sevres Bridge. Still others recommended he retire, swiftly, with his family to a loyal province. Typically, Louis chose neither the hero’s nor the coward’s course. He had elected to wait quietly for the crowd. His bodyguard had been instructed on no account to open fire.

Honneure had watched Antoinette closely as she received the news. Her bearing remained regal. She did not betray her innermost thoughts by so much as the blink of an eye.

Honneure admired her courage. But at least she knew where her husband was and what he was thinking. Honneure’s own stomach churned with anxiety over Philippe.

Where was he? Had he learned of the imminent confrontation? Was he in a place of safety? More importantly, would he remain there … or seek to secure the safety of his wife?

Honneure clasped her hands and chewed at the inside of her lip. She longed to feel his arms around her, longed to press her face against his broad, strong chest and let his soothing caress take away her fears. She wanted to smell the familiar, heady scent of him and hear the sound of his voice, his lips against her ear.

But her place was with the queen. She could only pray that Philippe would trust her safety in the palace and see to his own.

Madame Campan came with the announcement that the Paris mob had reached Versailles and entered the Forward Court.

“We should be able to see them from the king’s Dining Room,” Antoinette replied calmly. “Ladies?”

It was simply a walk from the Queen’s Apartments to the King’s. So why did she feel as if she was going to an execution? Honneure realized she had begun to tremble.

The royal assembly lined up at the dining room window. Honneure, at the back, stood on tiptoe to see over the heads of those in front of her.

There appeared to be literally thousands. And they were not just women. Men now swelled the ranks, though the women stood out with their red cottons and white caps. They were armed with scythes, pitchforks, pikes, muskets, and daggers. They shouted that they would tear the queen to pieces to make the cockades.

Antoinette blanched and took a step away from the window.

“Come, Majesty,” Madame Campan urged. “There is no need to remain here and listen to this.”

“No. I must stay. What are they doing now?”

“They appear to be entering the Assembly,” one of the ladies-in-waiting replied.

“To make their demands, no doubt.” Antoinette appeared to have recovered her composure. “Let us pray they are more reasonable than their design for cockades.”

Darkness had fallen. The queen had dismissed most of her ladies to join their own families and had taken up her vigil, waiting for the king, in one of her formal reception chambers, the Queen’s Antechamber. It had always been one of Honneure’s favorite rooms with its deep burgundy wall coverings and Louis XIV marble revetments and brocades. The queen herself had had the wood moldings remodeled.