The Queen`s Confession (52 page)

But,” I said, ‘you were not entirely happy?”

“Though many shouted for Your Majesties,” she told me, ‘there were some who did not; and there was one in the next

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box to that which I occupied with my niece who reproved us for shouting “Vive Ie Roi.” He said that American women would be contemptuous of us, screaming as we were for the life of one man. It was shocking, he said, to see handsome Frenchwomen brought up in such servile habits. To which, Madame, my niece replied that we had all lived close to the King and to do so was to love him, and he had better save his breath, for his disloyalty to a good King did not affect us one jot. “

I laughed.

“But was it not wonderful? They were so enthusiastic. They loved us and they wanted us to know it. We have seen so much of our enemies that we have forgotten our friends.”

She was less complacent than I; Dear Campan, she was always so much wiser.

The affair caused some consternation in Paris. The pamphleteers, fearing that more might wish to show their friendship, were feverishly printing their sheets. Marat and Desmoulins wrote of that evening as though it were an obscene orgy. They declared that we had all trampled the tricolour underfoot. Was it not time that someone slit the throat of the Austrian woman?

Bread had become more and more scarce in the capital. There was no flour to be had.

“They are hoarding the people’s flour at Versailles!”

was the cry which ‘was echoing through the streets of Paris.

The winter lay ahead—the cold and hungry winter—for October was with us.

It was the afternoon of the fifth of October, a dull day with an overcast sky and intermittent showers. I decided that I would go to the Trianon. Perhaps I would sketch a little. Perhaps Axel would come to see me. If we could be together for even a little while I would find the courage to go on. I now realised that the banquet had not been the wonderful turn of the tide which I had made myself believe. I knew of the riots that were continuing and becoming more and more violent every day. There was no end to the terrible tales of

atrocities. We were less safe than we had been a week ago, for with every hour our danger increased.

Why would Louis not leave for Metz? Surely he could see it was the wise thing to do. At times I was sure he agreed, but always he would waver.

So I would go to Trianon and perhaps between the showers walk out to the Hameau. Perhaps I would drink a glass of milk fresh from my cows or sit in the Temple of Love and dream of Axel.

The Petit Trianon I Even on a grey day it was beautiful. I sat in the white and gold room and looked out on my gardens. Did I have a premonition then that I would never see it again?

I walked through the house; I touched the carved and gilded wooden panelling; I went to my bedroom which had been so entirely my own, and I remembered how when I entertained friends there and my husband came as a guest-for he always respected my desire for privacy—we had put the clock on an hour to make him leave earlier so that we could enjoy ourselves without restraint.

So many memories of the past. and the present.

I longed to hear Axel’s voice on this day—more, I told myself, than ever before. I wanted to see him walking across the garden to the house. But he did not come.

The rain had stopped and I took my sketching pad and walked out to the grotto, and I sat there not sketching but thinking. I looked over the grounds at the changing leaves. There were a few flowers left. The winter was very close. How beautiful! Those gentle hillocks, the pond, Cupid’s Temple, the meadows, die charming little houses of the Hameau my own little village which was so natural and yet was in fact the height of artificiality.

How I loved it!

There was no need to hurry. I would stay here until it was almost dark. Perhaps I would stay the night here. I could send for the children. How pleasant it would be . not to sleep in the palace, to pretend Versailles was miles away.

I heard the sound of footsteps. My heart leaped in anticipation. Could it be Axel who had come in the hope of finding me here? The thought drove away my morbid reflections and temporarily I was as lighthearted as that young woman who had once held her Sunday balls on the lawns here, who had milked her own ribbon-decorated cows into Sevres pails.

Then I saw not Axel but one of the pages from the palace. His hair was awry; he was hot and breathless but there was no mistaking his relief when he saw me, “Madame—Madame-‘ he cried.

“I have here a note from the Comte de Saint-Priest.” The Comte was one of those ministers resident at Versailles.

You have hurried,” I began, but he interrupted without ceremony, ” Monsieur de Saint-Priest says the matter is most urgent. Your Majesty must return at once to the Palace. “

I opened the note and read: “Return to the Palace immediately. The mob is marching on Versailles.”

I felt the horror grip me. I rose and picked up my hat.

“I will walk back through the woods at once,” I said.

“Monsieur de Saint-Priest commanded me to bring the carriage, Madame.

Some of the mob may already be in Versailles. The danger is great.

”

“Take me to the carriage I said.

In silence I rode back to the Palace.

No sooner had I arrived at the chateau than the King came back. He was mud-spattered from the hunt but as calm as ever.

The Comte de Saint-Priest was waiting impatiently.

He said: “There is little time. The women of Paris are marching. They are on the outskirts of Versailles.”

The Captain of the Guards came in and saluting the King asked what his orders were.

“Orders 1’ cried Louis.

“For a crowd of women? You must be joking.”

Saint-Priest said: “Sire, these are no ordinary women. There may be

men disguised as women amongst them. 390 They come with weapons knives and cudgels. They are in an ugly mood.”

“We cannot use soldiers against women, my dear Comte,” said the King.

The Comte de Saint-Priest raised his eyebrows, and then I heard the clatter of boots on the staircase and into the room burst Axel. His eyes at once sought me and his relief was obvious.

He cried: “The mob is on the march. They’re … murderous. The Queen and the children must leave at once.”

Louis smiled at him as though he understood the concern of a lover.

“Monsieur de Saint-Priest wishes to discuss this matter,” he said.

“You should join us, my dear Comte.”

I could sense Axel’s impatience. After all, he had seen those women.

He knew their mood; he had heard their comments; he knew they were after blood my blood. He knew too that the march of the women was a clever ruse on the part of the revolutionaries. If men had come the soldiers would have fired on them, but the chivalrous King would never allow them to fire on women. The revolutionary leaders had planned this well. They had inflamed the women of Paris; they had held up bread supplies so that the scarcity seemed even worse than it was;

they had circulated their pamphlets more assiduously than ever and they were more scurrilous against me.

was the reason for the women’s march on Versailles;p>

they wanted my head; they wanted to march back to Paris with the King and my children and myself. But it was to be my mutilated body carried in pieces by a mob of women as wild as savages with the blood-lust in their hearts.

I could read this in Axel’s face. I had never seen him so afraid before, and never did I see him afraid for his own safety only for mine.

Saint-Priest was aware of the relationship between Axel and myself, but his one idea was to preserve the Monarchy and he knew that Axel was a good friend, a reliable friend. He could be of service, and who more loyal than a lover?

Saint-Priest immediately called a conference of the loyal 39i

ministers who remained. Immediate action was needed, he said. The bridges of the Seine should be guarded by the Flanders regiment;

Saint-Cloud and Neuilly should be held. The Queen and the Royal Family should be sent 19 Rambouillet and the King with a strong force of Guards should ride out to meet the marchers. With a thousand horse and armed soldiers he could order the mob to retire, and if they refused there would be no alternative but to open fire.

“And if this did not succeed, if there were armed men and women in the mob, if fighting broke out asked the King.

“Then, Sire, at the head of the troops you would march to Rambouillet.

There you would make plans to join the forces at Metz. “

“Civil war?” asked the King.

“Preferable to revolution. Sire,” replied Axel.

“It means that the King would face danger,” I said.

“Madame,” answered Axel, ‘you are facing clanger at this moment.

The King was wavering. I knew what would happen. He would ride out there but he would never give permission for women to be fired on.

Saint-Priest’s excellent plan would founder because my husband would never stand firm.

I must be with him. I believed it was imperative that I remain at his side. Moreover, I did not wish him to face a danger which I did not share.

I turned to him and said: “I believe we should be together. You should leave with me and all the family now for Rambouillet.”

The King hesitated. Then he decided that he could not run away. He must face these people. And so we talked and Axel grew more and more alarmed and news was brought to us that the marchers were almost on the Palace. Some carried knives; they were shouting threats, they wanted my blood. They wanted to take the King to Paris.

“Sire,” said Saint-Priest, ‘if you let the people take you to Paris you have lost your crown. “

Necker, who was afraid of losing his popularity with the people,

advised against the Rambouillet scheme. And Louis oscillated between the two—at one moment turning to Saim-Priest.

“Yes, yes, my dear Comte, you are right. We must do this …” and to Necker, “You are right. I must stand my ground.” And to me: “We must be together. We must not be separated.”

And meanwhile the decisive moments were ticking by. This I suspected was what Louis wished. He would not be forced to make the choice.

Circumstances should do it for him. This was how he had always been.

This was why we now teetered on the edge of revolution. I can see it so clearly now . all the steps which had led to our downfall, the many chances which fate had offered us, and at each one Louis had hesitated undl it was too late and the decision was no longer his.

Down in the courtyards the horses were pawing impatiently;

the servant? were awaiting orders. They went on waiting. The rain was teeming down and the women of Paris put their skirts over their heads to protect them while they shouted obscene remarks to each other—and they were about the Queen.

They were in Versailles . cold, wet and angry—and intoxicated, for they’ had raided the wine shops on the way.

Behind the mob rode La Fayette and the National Guard. Whether he intended to curb them we were not sure. We were never sure of La Fayette, except that his actions were always too late to be effective and we suspected that he was not entirely enamoured of this revolution which he had done his best to bring about. He was imbued with American ideas and ideals. He doubtless visualised a speedy conflict and then a new nadon built on the remains of the old, in which liberty, equality and fraternity flourished. But he was not dealing with a band of colonists who fought for an ideal of freedom; his army was made up of agitators and prostitutes, men and women who were fed on envy, who demanded blood all the time not because they wished for freedom, not because they wished to build a new way of life—but because they wanted revenge. La Fayette was a man of honour. He must have realised this. He knew that

he had aroused a fury of lust, greed, envy, sloth, coverousness, wrath and pride . all the seven deadliest sins. And I believe he was an uneasy man.

But the very fact that the National Guard was there with its commander showed that this was no ordinary assault. There was purpose behind it;

and if the purpose of the women was to kill me, that of the Guards was to take the King to Paris.

Mist had fallen over the town; it seeped into the chateau;

it hung in patches like grey ghosts. The marchers now surrounded us. I could hear their chanting: “Du pain. Du pain.”

Then I heard my name. They wanted the Queen. They wanted her head on a pike. They were going to fight over my body. They would make cockades of my entrails. They would tear out my heart and carry it to Paris.

They would slit my throat with their butchers’ knives; they would ram the mouldy bread they had been forced to eat down my throat and make me eat it before they strangled me.

I tried to think of my mother, who bad always told me that I must never be afraid of death. When it came I must welcome it for it was the end of all earthly sorrows. Oh my mother, I thought, how I rejoice that you did not live to see this day.

I thought of my children. They would surely not harm them. Oh God, what would become of us?

The King’s calmness was a help to us all. He refused to believe that his good people would harm any of us. They would not even harm me, for they would know how that would grieve him. And when they said they would send a deputation of women to par ky with him he declared himself very happy to receive them.

Five of the women were chosen to speak to the King and tell him of their grievances. This cheered us greatly, for it seemed a reasonable arrangement.

The women were brought to the King, and they chose for their spokeswoman Louison Chabry, a flower-girl of outstanding beauty, who certainly looked well nourished, so it was evident that all the people

of Paris were not starving. 394 I guessed her to be a bold creature, but brought face to face with the courteous manners of the King she was bewildered and tongue-tied. Even Louis, who was so unlike his grandfather, bad inherited a little of that aura which surrounded his ancestors, and bold Louison suddenly realised that she. was in the presence of royalty, and could only goggle with amazement and murmur: “Du pain. Sire.” Perhaps the march in the rain had been too much for her, perhaps she was overcome by excitement, but she fainted and would have fallen if the King had not caught her.