The Queen`s Confession

To Varennes

When Axel heard that we had been turned back to the Tuileries he came straight to Paris from Auteuil, the little village near Saint-Cloud where he had arrived intending to stay there while we were at the chateau. He was deeply disturbed, convinced that we were in acute danger.

I took him to my husband, who listened to what he had to say, and, prodded by the memory of the mob’s insolence, he was ready to agree that we must consider flight.

Artois and the Prince de Conde, who had safely reached the frontier, were aggravating the situation by talking too freely of their attempts to bring an army against the revolutionaries. They were travelling from foreign court to foreign court trying to urge rulers to make war on the French people and force them to restore the Monarchy.

My brother Leopold was aware of this; he wrote to Mercy;

“The Comte d’Artois has little concern for his brother and my sister.

He ignores the dangers to which his project and his attempts expose them. “

Mercy was urging me to persuade the King to consider flight also. We must escape from Paris; the King must raise a loyal army and take by force or menaces that which had been snatched from him. Louis was beginning to realise that this was necessary but it was too late now that Mirabeau was dead, for Mirabeau was the man who could have managed it.

However, we still had friends, and at length we had persuaded Louis that flight was essential Axel begged to be in charge of the preparations. He would start preparations immediately, and the first was to have a carriage a be rime made which would be suitable for the escape.

He was a constant caller at die Tuileries, and, lest this should attract too much attention, sometimes came disguised, I could never be sure whether he would come as a lackey, a coachman, or stooping a little as an ageing nobleman.

This lent excitement to the days. I had not felt so alive for a long time, and Axel was possessed with a furious de termination to make the plan succeed. shall carry you off to safety,” he told me.

He would talk of the berline, which was to be a very luxurious affair.

“Nothing but the best will do,” he had declared; he had mortgaged some estates in Sweden to provide the money. It was wonderful to be so loved. His plan was that we should leave with as few people as possible. Madame de Tourael must come with us because the children would need her to look after them, so Axel’s plan was that Madame de Tourael would be a Russian lady, Madame de Korff, travelling with her children, their governess and one lackey; and three women servants, one of whom should be Madame Elisabeth. I was to be the governess, Madame Rochet. He had acquired a passport in the name of Madame de Korff and we knew we could trust Madame de Tourzel to play her part.

The days were flying past; we were so excited; even Louis was caught up in it and eager to begin our flight. But, said Axel, there must be no hitches; everything must be planned down to the last detail and we must not slip up. The most difficult part would be to get out of Paris. That was the danger spot. Axel himself was going to take the part of coachman and would drive the berline. Everything de pended, he said, on our putting as great a distance as possible between ourselves and Paris before our escape was noticed.

Provence, who was to escape with us, pointed out that the berline was so magnificent that it might attract attention, but Axel reminded him that we had to travel many miles in it. It would be an uncomfortable journey, and the Queen could not endure hours in a badly-sprung vehicle.

Provence shrugged his shoulders and said that he would provide his own conveyance for himself and his wife, and decided on one of the shabbiest carriages that he could find.

Meanwhile Louis made a stipulation. Axel naturally wished to drive us to the frontier, but the King said he should do so only to the first halt, which would be Bendy.

Axel was dismayed. This was his plan. He was in charge; and how could he be, if he were to leave us at Bondy! But Louis for once was stubborn. I wondered whether he was comparing himself with Axel and realising why I could love this man as I never could himself.

I could not believe Louis was jealous; I knew that he loved me in his way, but it was an affection without passion. Yet he was adamant and would not allow Axel to come beyond Bondy; so there was nothing we could do but accept his decision. The ninth of June was the day which we settled on to begin our escape.

I was absorbed in my preparations. Madame Campan was with me; she knew of the plan, for I could trust her absolutely. I said when I arrived at Montmedy I should not want to appear as a governess but as a Queen, and how could I take all I would need with me. Madame Campan must make the preparations for me. She must order chemises and gowns. She must also buy for my son and daughter. She had a son of her own who could act as model for the Dauphin, I told her.

I knew Madame Campan would carry out these commands, although from her expression she was against my ordering clothes.

She was always frank, and said: “Madame, the Queen of France will find gowns and linen wherever she goes. This buying may well attract attention, which is what we wish to avoid.”

I was light-headed and growing as careless as I used to be, so I smiled at her. But she was disturbed.

I told her about the berline, which I couldn’t help boasting of because Axel had designed it.

“It is painted green and yellow,” I said, ‘and upholstered in white Utrecht velvet. “

“Madame,” she answered, ‘such a vehicle will never pass unnoticed. “

She added with that touch of asperity which she did not hide even from me that the berline would be very different from the carriage in which Monsieur and Madame travelled.

“Oh, very different,” I agreed. Theirs had not been designed by Axel.

I was to realise later how firmly planted in our minds were these rules of etiquette at which I had laughed so much when I had first come to France. We could not even attempt to escape except in the royal manner, even though what we must disguise was our royalty. There were to be six of us in the be rime—myself, the King, the children, Elisabeth and Madame de Tourzel. This was a large number and would slow down the speed, but we must all be together, and naturally Madame de Tourzel as Madame de Korff must be with us. I had never dressed myself so I must have two ladies in waiting, who were to follow the berline in a cabriolet. Then of course we must have outriders and lackeys, so the party was brought up to more than a dozen; and of course Axel and his coachman would be with us. Our clothes, packed in new cases, had to be carried too, which would make the berline very cumbersome and cut down speed even more.

But it was such a wonderful vehicle. It filled me with pleasure merely to look at it. Axel had thought of everything, there was even a silver dinner service, a canteen to contain bottles of wine, a cupboard and even two pots de chambre in tanned leather.

It was too much to hope that our plan would go through without hitches, and there were hitches in plenty.

The first came through the wardrobe woman, Madame Rochereuil. I had become suspicious of her soon after we were turned back to the Tuileries when we had planned to go to Saint-Cloud, for I had learned that she had a lover, Gouvion, who was a fierce revolutionary and had in fact arranged that she should have the post in my household that she might spy on me. She had warned Gouvion of our intention to go to Saint-Cloud at Easter, and in consequence the Orleanists had had time to inflame the mob and prevent our going.

How I longed to rid myself of that woman, but of course we were in truth prisoners and unable to choose those whom we wished to serve us.

I told Axel that we could not go on the ninth for the woman had seen me packing and might even have overheard the date mentioned. If we attempted to leave then, we should most certainly find ourselves stopped. What we must do was go on with our preparations, let the woman think we were leaving on the ninth, and then stay at the Tuileries as though it were all a mistake. When we had lulled her suspicions we could leave swiftly, without her having an inkling we were going.

Axel saw the reason in this but was dismayed, for he said the longer we delayed the more dangerous it was becoming; but we fixed a secret date for the nineteenth, which was long enough to allow Madame Rochereuil to become convinced that she had been mistaken.

This was the first setback, but, we all agreed, inevitable. As the nineteenth came nearer the tension was almost unbearable. How grateful I was for Louis’s calm; he at least had no difficulty in showing a placid face to all. I tried to too, but I dared not look at Elisabeth for fear I should betray by a look that there was a secret between us.

We had not, of course, told the children. The nineteenth was almost upon us. All was ready. It became very clear that something had leaked, because an article by Marat appeared in L'Ami du Peuple, in which he expressed his suspicions that there was a plot afoot.

“The idea is to remove the King forcibly to the Low Countries on the pretext that his cause is that of the Kings of Europe. Are you imbeciles that you take no steps to prevent the flight of the Royal Family? Parisians, fools that you are, I am weary of saying to you over and over again that you should have the King and the Dauphin in safe keeping; that you should lock up the Austrian Woman, her brother-in-law and the rest of the family. The loss of one day might be disastrous to the nation, might dig the graves of three million Frenchmen.” Axel was frantic with anxiety.

“It is too coincidental,” he said.

“Something has leaked.”

I know it is that Rochereuil woman I’ I cried.

“She is aware of something, though I do not believe she is sure what.”

“Yet we must leave on the nineteenth,” insisted Axel.

“We dare not wait longer.”

It was the eighteenth and we were prepared to begin the escape next day. Then Madame de Tourzel came to me in some excitement, and lowering her voice told me that Madame de Rochereuil had asked leave of absence for the twentieth.

“I have ascertained,” added Madame de Tourzel, ‘that she wishes to visit a sick friend. Gouvion is unwell, so it seems obvious whom she will visit. “

We must postpone our departure until the twentieth,” I said, and I sent a messenger at once to Axel. He was disturbed at the postponement, for everyone involved throughout the journey had had their instructions; but we arranged that Leonard, the hairdresser, whom I knew I could trust, should take my jewels to Brussels and at the same time he could meet the cavalry on the road with a note explaining that we should be a day late.

This was settled; Leonard left with the jewels. And now we were breathlessly awaiting the twentieth.

The important day had arrived. The sun was shining brilliantly and this seemed a good omen. There would be few people in the city, I whispered to Elisabeth; they would be out in the country on such a day. Madame Rochereuil had gone off to visit her sick friend; and the day passed very slowly so that I thought it would never end. But outwardly it appeared to be an ordinary day, which was as we wanted it.

At last it was supper time; we lingered as usual, but naturally there was not the same ceremony as we had had to endure at Versailles. At least we could be thankful for this. I went to my bedroom and from there hurried to my daughter’s on the first floor. The waiting woman, Madame Brunier, opened the door. I told her that she must dress Madame Royale as quickly as possible and be prepared to slip out of the chateau with Madame de Neuville, the Dauphin’s waiting woman. A cabriolet was waiting for them at the Pont-Royal; they were to leave Paris at once and wait for us at Claye.

My daughter was old enough to guess what this meant. She did not ask questions. Poor child, she was being brought up in an odd world. She looked a little surprised at the simple dress we had made for her; it was cotton with little blue flowers on a gosling-green background pretty enough for the daughter of a Russian lady; scarcely a Princesse’s gown.

I kissed her and held her against me for a few seconds.

“My darling Mousseline,” I whispered.

“You will obey quickly?”

And she nodded and said, “Yes, Maman,” almost reproach fully as though she was surprised I should ask.

Then to my son’s room. He was already awake and gave a cry of delight when he saw me.

“Maman,” he cried.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going where there are a lot of soldiers.”

“May I take my sword? Quick, bring me my sword, Madame. And my boots.

I’m going to be a soldier. “

He was dismayed when he saw what he was to wear:

a girl’s dress!

“Oh … is it a play, then?” he asked.

“So we are going to be disguised.” He began to laugh. He loved playacting.

“And at night too,” he added.

“That is the best time for plays.”

‘now, my little Chou d’Amour, you must be quiet and quick and do what you’re told. Everything depends on that. “

He nodded conspiratorially.

“Trust Chou d’Amour, Maman.”

“I do, my darling,” I said kissing him.

It was a quarter to eleven. Axel had worked out times very carefully and we should be on our way. The plan was that the children with Madame de Tourzel should leave first. I had been against this, for I could not bear to think of the children’s beginning the perilous journey without me, but Axel would be with them until I joined them and that had to be my consolation.

Madame de Tourzel picked up the Dauphin, and, taking my daughter’s hand, I led the way to the apartments of one of the gentlemen of the bedchamber who had left Paris only the day before, consequently his apartments were empty. I had the key to these apartments and we went in. From there we stepped into the Cour des Princes through a door which was unguarded. Waiting there was Axel. I scarcely recognised him in his coachman’s uniform.

In the middle of the courtyard was the citadine which was to take them to the rendezvous in the Rue de l”Echelle at the corner of the Place du Petit-Carrousel.

Axel lifted the Dauphin into the carriage; Madame Royale followed with Madame de Tourzel, and Axel shut the door. He looked at me for a brief second, and although he dared not speak he was telling me that he would defend them with his life if need be. Then he leaped into the coachman’s seat, cracked his whip and the dtadine moved, off.

I felt sick with apprehension. What if my children should be recognised? What if my son in his excitement at the adventure should betray them? What if they should be attacked? Memories of faces I had seen in the mob kept coming into my mind; I kept thinking of those dirty bloodstained hands touching my darlings.

But Axel was there to defend them. His love for me would give him the strength of ten men and the cunning to outwit a mob of savages.

But I must not stand here in the Cour des Princes. If I were recognised the whole plan would fail. I was courting disaster; I went quickly back into the palace through the empty apartments to the drawing-room, where Provence and his wife were saying goodbye. I embraced them and wished them good fortune. He and his wife had never been friends to me, but misfortune had softened resentments. Provence was more of a realist than Louis. Perhaps had he been the King . But who could say? Now, though, rivalry had gone. The only goal of us all was to preserve the Monarchy.

I heard them leave through those empty apartments. In their shabby carriages they left the Tuileries and were on their way.

I left the King in conference with La Fayette and went to my room. My women undressed me; the servants fastened the shutters and I was alone. I looked at the clock. It was eleven-fifteen—the longest half-hour I had ever known.

Madame Thiebaut came into the room. I was out of bed in a second and she was helping me to put on the grey gown and black mantle. There was a large hat with a veil falling from it to shade my face. I looked unlike myself-but I was ready.

Madame Thiebaut slipped back the bolt on the door and I started out. I jumped back in terror. There was a sentry outside my door. I shut the door quietly and looked at Madame Thiebaut. What now? They had heard.

They were waiting for me to go, and then . they would stop me. Had they already stopped the citadinef What was happening to my children, to my lover?

Madame Thiebaut said she would slip out and that might engage the sentry’s attention; when his back was turned I must somehow cross the corridor and reach those empty apartments. It was a desperate plan; but it had to be.

And we did it. I had always been light on my feet, and spurred on by the thought of the children, I dashed across the corridor to the staircase and flew down. I stood for a second listening; there was no sound of commotion. I had succeeded.

Outside the unguarded door of the empty apartment the loyal guard who was to conduct me to the rendezvous in the Rue de L’Echelle was waiting. He was disguised as a courier and I scarcely recognised him.

“Madame,” he whispered, and I could sense his agitation. The affair of the sentry had delayed me almost ten minutes. You should take my arm.”

I did so and we walked across the Cour des Princes in the manner, I hoped, of a courier and his wife or mistress.

No one looked at us. It is succeeding, I thought. Soon I shall be with the children.

It was fantastic. Here I was walking through the streets of Paris on the arm of a courier, brushing shoulders with men and women who did not give me a second glance . fortunately. I wondered what they would say, what they would do, if someone suddenly recognised the Queen. But it was something I dared not think of.

How little I knew of our capital city! The alleys and byways were new to me. All I knew of it were the palaces, the Opera House, the theatres. My companion drew up suddenly with a start, for a coach was coming towards us and before it walked the torchbearers in the livery of La Fayette. I was quickly drawn into the dark shadow. I lowered my head, but through my veil I saw the General. There was one second when, had he looked into my face, he who knew me so well would have recognised me, and that would have been the end of everything.

But luck at that moment was with me. He did not glance at the woman on the pavement and his coach went rattling on. I felt dizzy with the shock, and I heard the man beside me whisper: “Thank God, Madame! A lucky escape.”

“Perhaps,” I murmured, ‘he would not have recognised me in this. “

He answered: “Madame, it is not easy for you to disguise yourself. I am going to take a slightly longer route to the Rue de FEchelle. We cannot risk meeting any more carriages.”

“I think that would be best.”

“We must hurry, because it will take a little longer and we are already late.”

So instead of taking the planned route through the main streets we went through the byways and alleys and when we had gone a little way my guide stopped and declared himself lost.

I was conscious of the time, which had seemed so slow during that first half-hour and now was maliciously rushing by. My companion was mortified, myself in a panic. I pictured Axel’s anxiety. Even my husband must be there by now, for we had seen La Fayette leaving the palace and as soon as he was rid of him Louis would have prepared himself to leave.

For half an hour we wandered through those alleys—afraid to ask the way—and then at last my guide gave a cry of triumph. We had reached the Rue de FEchelle.

They were all there, Axel, pacing the pavement; Elisabeth as pale as a ghost; the King, roused from his usual placidity; my daughter calming my son, who was plaintively asking when I was coming.

We lost our way,” I said; and Axel helped me into the citadme.

In the coach everyone was trying to embrace me at once. I felt so relieved I was almost in tears. I took my son on to my knee while my husband told me how easily he had effected his escape.

We must have been an hour late.

The King looked out on his city as we rode through it. He was feeling very sad, I knew, because he had stood out for so long against running away; it seemed to him unworthy of his ancestors. I took his hand and pressed it and he returned the pressure.

He whispered to me: “This is not the quickest way to the Saint Martin Barrier.”

“The … the coachman will know the way,” I answered.

“It is not the quickest way,” he said; and I wondered whether he was stirred to some resentment because the hero of this adventure was my lover and not himself. He had seemed to understand my need of Axel so well; but perhaps there were some depths which I had not yet probed in this unusual man who was my husband.

The carriage drew up in the Rue de dichy, where the berline had been kept. Axel leapt down and knocked on the door. The porter told him that the beriine had left at the appointed time. Satisfied) Axel jumped into the driver’s seat and we were off.

It was half past one when we went through the Barrier. On for a little, and then we stopped. There was consternation, for the beriine was not where it had been arranged it should be.

Axel was nonplussed. He dismounted and I could hear him calling. We sat there while time began its trick of racing on. How much time had we lost so? How late were we so far?

It was half an hour before Axel found the beriine. The coachman whom Axel had employed had grown anxious because we were so late and had thought be had better hide the berline in a less prominent position. This he had done, with the consequence that we lost half an hour looking for it.

It was now two o’clock; this was the height of summer and the nights were the shortest. In an hour or so, dawn would be on us. We should have been much farther on our journey by now.

Axel drove the citadme to the side of the berline so that we could get into the latter without dismounting from the former. We settled in and were away, and in half an hour we had reached Bondy, the place where the King had decreed that Axel was to leave us.

I almost thought he would refuse to leave us; but Axel was a born royalist; he would accept the orders of the King.

Bondy! The place of separation. We had drawn up. The carriage door opened and there was our coachman.

“Adieu, Madame de Korff,” he said. And he was looking at me.

The King said in moving tones that he would never forget the service Axel had done to him and his family.

Axel bowed and replied it had been his duty and his pleasure. He leaned towards me and said: “Your Majesty should not forget that for the journey you are Madame Rocher the governess.” And in those words he managed to convey a world of tenderness and devotion.

Axel mounted the horse which he had arranged should take him back to Le Bourget; then he left us. And as I listened to his horse’s hoofs on the road I tried to sri’ll the foreboding in my heart and to tell myself that in two days’ time we should meet at Mononedy.

Then we resumed our journey.

We were two hours behind schedule.

The children slept and I was glad of this. So did the King. Would anything disturb his slumbers? Elisabeth, Madame de Tourzel and I closed our eyes. I doubt if those two slept; I know I did not. The Dauphin woke. He was hungry.

I told him we would have a picnic. He had always loved them. He began to chatter. We would find a spot. A shady spot perhaps. It would be a breakfast picnic. I told him it would be a carriage picnic; and I showed him the cupboard in the coach and the food and wine it contained. He was delighted and we all declared that he made such an odd little girl in his frock and bonnet that we were soon laughing as we discovered how hungry we all were.

How different, I thought, everything is by daylight. It is at night that the fears come. Yet it was the cover of darkness we needed badly.

The bright sunshine could serve to betray us. I remembered those words: “It is difficult for you to disguise yourself, Madame.” They were true. My picture had been painted many times. It had hung in the salons; crude drawings of me had been circulated daily about the city, and although, I trust, these were ill representations, they bore some semblance of likeness, for the people had to know whom the picture was meant to portray.

Still for the time being I laughed with the children as we devoured the delicacies which Axel had provided as being fit for a royal party.

And I tried not to think of what would be happening back at the Tuileries, where our escape would very soon be discovered if it had not been already.

Louis took a map and followed the route we were to take. After Bondy, Claye, where we picked up the two ladies who had gone on ahead, and then La Ferte and on to ChalonssurMame.

Chalonssur-Mame! How I longed to be there, for there we should meet the cavalry under the young Due de Choiseui, nephew of my old friend, and outside that town Bouine would be waiting to conduct us to Montmedy—and at Montmedy . safety . and Axel.

How much happier I should have felt if Axel had been driving us now! The Dauphin whimpered that he was hot. It was certainly stifling in the beriine, which laboured painfully up the hills, overloaded as it was. Madame de Tourzel suggested that she get out and walk up the hill with the children, which would lighten the load and give them a little fresh air and the opportunity to stretch their legs.

This seemed a good idea, but the Dauphin wanted to stay in the fields awhile and he ran away and Madame de Tourzel and his sister had to catch him. The sound of his merry shrieks was like a tonic, but the minutes were slip ping by.

In the afternoon we stopped at Petit Chaintxy, the small village near Chaintry, for Axel had wisely said that we should change horses at the smaller rather than the larger places.

At the inn a young man came out to look at the berline. He was talkative, I heard him chatting to the coachman. He had never seen such a magnificent carriage. The occupants must be very rich and important people. His name, he said, was Vallet, Gabriel Vallet, and he was the postmaster’s son-in-law. He was an innkeeper himself, and he often went to Paris.

He passed the window of the coach, I was sure to see what manner of people travelled in such style. And as he looked in at us he knew.

I glanced uneasily at Louis. His wig was the rough wig of the lackey he was supposed to be, but those heavy Bour bon features had been well known in France for centuries. Then Vallet’s eyes went to me. Did I look like a governess? I felt the haughty look coming into my face which always seemed now to be there, much as I tried to suppress it when I came into contact with the people.

He moved away and went to the postmaster; I saw them whispering together. Then the postmaster approached the carriage.

He bowed and his words sent shivers through me.

“Your Majesties, this is a great honour. And we shall remember it as long as we live. We are humble but all we have is at your service.”

Louis, who had always been moved by any affection displayed by his subjects, was even more so now. Tears came into his eyes and he said that it made him very happy to be with friends.

The postmaster signed to his wife and children, who all came to the be rime and were presented; then Vallet’s wife came and she too mumbled her awareness of the honour.

“Your Majesties, we nave a goose cooked all ready to be eaten. If you would honour us by eating it we should be deeply honoured.”

Louis was the King immediately. To refuse such an invitation would be churlish. Therefore we must all descend and eat goose with the postmaster. The children were delighted. It was such a pleasure to get out of the stuffy beriine. And it was quite clear that this loyal family were aware that we were escaping from Paris.

When we had eaten and the King explained that it was imperative he must say goodbye although he would have wished to spend more time with such kind, good people, Vallet asked a favour. Could he act as postilion on the beriine as far as ChalonssurMame?

How could the King refuse such an offer of loyal service? We would have an extra passenger, but there was no help for it and so we set off. And to show his zeal, Vallet tried to drive the beriine beyond its capabilities, with the result that two of the horses fell and there was damage to the traces. Repairs took further time, and when we arrived at Chalons we were even further behind the arranged time.

Chalons was a larger town, but the people were more interested in wine-growing than the revolution; the beriine attracted attention but the people shrugged their shoulders. Some rich emigres. There were too many of such people to cause a great deal of comment.

It had been a mistake to bring Vallet, I began to realise, for although he was the most loyal of subjects he could not hide his awareness of the honour that had been done to him. While the horses were being changed one or two people spoke to him and he betrayed the fact that he was on no ordinary mission. People were already looking askance at the magnificent vehicle. Two children I That in itself was suspicious.

I was very glad when we left Chalons, although the King had noticed nothing. As we rode out of the town he settled down to a nap.

We were near Font de Somme-Vesk; at that town, according to the plan, we should meet the Due de Choiseul’s cavalry; he would then join us and remain with us until we reached Bouille’s loyal troops.

The worst was over. We could all settle down secure in the thought that we were really at the end of our journey.

The heat grew intense. My son wanted to get out and pick some flowers.

He loved flowers and he had missed his little garden at the Trianon sadly.

“Please, Madame Rocher,” he said mischievously, for I had warned him that part of the play was that I was his governess and he must not forget it.

The King woke up and said that he believed Monsieur Ie : Dauphin should have his wish and that it would do us all good to stop for a while.

So the cumbersome vehicle pulled up at the side of the road and Madame de Tourzel and Elisabeth got out with the children.

The Dauphin was picking the flowers and bringing them to me.

I was longing to move on, but the King said a few minutes more could do no harm and he sat benignly smiling at the children through the open door.

And while we sat there we heard the sound of galloping hoofs, and soon a rider came info view. He was coming straight towards us and as he approached the be rime he did not stop although he slackened his pace.

As he came level with us he shouted: Take care. Your plan is known.

You will be stopped. “

Before we could question him he had ridden on.

We summoned the others back to the berline and the King gave orders for us to proceed at once with all speed.

Into Font de Somme-Vesle where the cavalry should be waiting. The place was deserted. While the horses were being changed a cavalryman rode up.

Where is the Due de Choiseui? ” asked the King.

“He has left. Sire,” was the answer.

Left! But he had orders to meet us here “You did not arrive at die appointed time. Sire. He could not understand the confused message of Monsieur Leonard, and Monsieur de Choiseui presumed that you had not left Paris and the plan was called off.”

“He had orders to wait.”

Yes, Sire, but he feared trouble. People were asking why there were troops on the road and there were rumours that a magnificent be rime grand enough for royalty alone was on the road. There has been trouble between the peasants and soldiers so Monsieur de Choiseui has gone to Clermont and has sent Monsieur Leonard with a message to the Marquis de Bouille explaining this. “

Now I was frightened. I saw the chain of misfortunes which had led us to this—die sentry, the immense ill luck of meeting La Fayette’s carriage which had made us change our route, that was the beginning.

Then the inability to find the be rime . but one misfortune bad grown out of another. We should not have stayed to eat the goose. We should not have allowed the children those rests by the roadside. I could see that it was not only fate which was to blame, and I wondered vaguely whether it ever is.

“But we must go on.” I said.

“We must go without our escort. We have missed the support of Choiseul’s hussars but the dragoons will be at Sainte-Menehould and we must join up with them as soon as possible.”

Uneasily we rode on.

When we came into Sainte-Menehould I knew that something was wrong.

This was not as Axel had planned. Oh, why had he not come with us?

That seemed to me the greatest misfortune of all. The town was full of soldiers and this naturally aroused the curiosity of the people.

Something very extraordinary was about to happen in their town. What?

And into this town of suspicion rolled the most elaborate berline which had ever been created and its passengers were two children, a lackey who looked astonishingly like the King, and a governess who had an uncontrollably haughty air, and a Russian lady who somehow could not hide her deference towards her lackey and governess; and a quiet woman who was supposed to be a maid of some sort yet who bad the air of a Prmcesse.

Who were these travellers? Rich emigres, yes, but very special emigres, and they had a striking resemblance to a very celebrated family.

I did not know then, but I was to learn later, that the son of the postmaster here was an ardent revolutionary, a certain Jean Bapriste Drouet. He had looked at us sullenly and not recognised us; but rumour was in the air.

It must have been after the horses were changed and we were on our way to Varennes that someone told Drouet the news. The King and Queen had escaped from Paris and were travelling along this road towards Mommedy.

It was ten o’clock when we came into Varennes. The King was sleeping, but I felt I should never sleep easily until I was in Montmedy. It was dark.

We were passing under an archway and there was just room for the berline, when we were suddenly called to a halt.

A voice said: “Passports.”

Madame de Tourzel produced the forged document with which. Axel bad provided her and which announced that she was Madame de Korff from Russia travelling with her children and servants.

I did not recognise the man who took the passport as Jean Baptiste Drouet who had been at the posting station at Sainte-Menehould; but I did realise that he was trembling with excitement.

“This passport is not in order,” he said, and although he spoke to Madame de Tourzel he was studying me intently.

“I assure you it is in order,” protested Madame de Tourzelle.

“I am sorry but I must take it to the town’s solicitor, and I must ask you to accompany me to his house.” “What!” cried Madame de Tourzel in dismay.

“All of usi’ ” Yes, Madame, all of you. You will be led to the house of Monsieur Sausse. “

I looked out of the window and saw that die be rime was surrounded by young men and that all wore the badge of the revolution.

The berline moved slowly on and drew up before a house. The Ring showed no sign of alarm. He whispered: “It is nothing. Merely a check on the passport. It is in order. Fersen will have seen to that.”

Monsieur Sausse was not only the solicitor but a keeper of a shop and mayor of Varennes. A mild comfortable man, I recognised him at once as one who would want to keep out of trouble.

He examined the passport and proclaimed it to be in order. We had his permission to leave at once.

But Drouet was a fierce revolutionary. He cried out:

“This is the King and Queen. Are you going to be a traitor, Monsieur Sausse, and let them slip through the people’s fingers?”

Monsieur Sausse was alarmed, for even now the crowds were gathering outside his door.

He looked at us apologetically and I recognised that respect in his eyes. He knew us . even as Drouet did.

“I must regret,” he said, ‘that you cannot leave Varennes tonight. I offer you what hospitality I have. “

It was over, I knew. Desperation overwhelmed me. People* were gathering about the house. I could hear the shouts. It was going to be that terrible October all over again.

I could hear the mob screaming. From the window I could see their scythes and pitchforks.

Not that again! I thought. Why did we attempt this? Why did we not know that God was against us? Not God, I thought, we have brought this on ourselves. The Sausses were our friends, however. They had prepared a good meal for us, and that made it clear that they wished us nothing but good luck. If they could have prevented our detention, they would.

As it was, in their humble home they treated us as their sovereigns. They dared not help us escape, though. That would have been more’ll than their lives were worth. And what would be the us l of attempting escape when the mob surrounded the house; Throughout Varennes, Drouet was gathering his revolutionaries together. He was doubtless visualising the great honour which would come to him. The man who prevented ( the escape of the King and Queen!

‘ I was surprised how the King could eat in the face of all this.

Appetite in such circumstances astonished me. While he was eating, two soldiers fought their way into the house, and when I saw them my spirits rose, for they were the loyal dragoons.

Their names were de Damas and Goguelat, and they told us they had brought a company of soldiers with them to the town but when their men had seen the revolutionaries gathering and knew that the King and I were prisoners they deserted. They had no wish to anger the leaders of the revolution by helping the King and Queen escape.

It was not long after when Choiseui himself arrived; he had a small company of men with him and had also had to fight his way to us.

He told us that the battle had been fierce and that he had been obliged to inflict wounds on some of those who sought to deter him.

The plan had gone awry, he said, and now they must plan afresh from here.

“I have sent warning to Bouille and it cannot be long before he joins us. I suggest. Sire, that we fight our way out of Varennes and take the road to Mononedy, we cannot then fail to meet Bouille. He will have his loyal troops and none will dare attack us then. We can carry Your Majesties to safety.”

“This is an excellent idea!” I cried. We must do it. ” But the King shook his head.

“I have said all along that I will not be responsible for shedding the blood of my people. If we tried to fight our way out of here many would be killed. These people out there are determined not to let us go.”

They are the mob,” said Choiseul.

“They have their pitchforks, but pitchforks are no use against our weapons.”

“As I said, there would be slaughter. Who knows, the Queen or the Dauphin might be hurt.”

“We could protect the child,” I said.

“I am ready to take a chance.”

“I would never permit it,” said the King.

“For even though we were all safe, some of my people would surely be killed. No, no. We must wait for Bouille to come. When the people see him they will realise that it is no use to fight against him and his army. They will go back to their homes and allow us to depart peacefully.”

“It is possible. Sire, that the revolutionaries may decide to take Your Majesties back to Paris before Bouille gets here.”

“It is a chance we must take. I will not have bloodshed on my account.”

I saw the stubborn look in his face and I knew he meant it.

I knew too that everything depended on Bouille reaching Varennes in time.

I did not sleep through that terrible night. I was aware of the voices outside the house, of the light of torches.

I was praying silently. Not that again! It is more than I can endure.

Let Bouille come . or let death come quickly, but not that. The horror of it came back to me—that ride from Versailles to Paris . the crowd . the unclean crowd . the smell of blood, the horrible leering savage faces, the obscene words on vile lips. I hated them.

God help me; they were canaille; it was not love of country that prompted them, it was love of cruelty. I thought: I would rather die now than suffer it again. And the children, those innocent children, to be submitted to this humiliation; this fearful knowledge of all that was bestial in the world to be thrust under their innocent eyes. Oh God spare us.

Louis slept. I could almost hate him. Was he a man . to sleep while

we were all in such danger? He must not have bloodshed . he must not harm his dear children . his children . those screaming beasts out there;

‘ he called them his children. Why was not Axel with us? ” Axel would have fought his way through them. How I lived through that fearful night I do not know. But c the dawn came, and with the daylight the noise outside the house increased.

I tried to close my eyes; I tried to sleep. If only I could sleep for a few minutes as Louis had all through the night. A hammering on the door startled me. I heard heavy feet on the stairs, and two men burst in upon us. I recognised one of them as a man named Romeuf who had guarded us in the Tuileries. The other was a man named Bayon.

They explained that they came on order from the National Assembly. One of them handed a document to the King. I read it with him. His rights were suspended and these two men had been sent to prevent his continuing on his journey.

I screwed it up and threw it into a corner of the room. The men looked on helplessly. At least they had some shame.

The King said gently: “The Marquis de Bouin6 is on his way to Varennes.

If you try to force us to return to Paris there could be bloodshed.”

“On the orders of Monsieur de La Fayette we are to take you back to Paris, Sire.”

“And what of the orders of your King?” I asked indignantly.

“We are obliged to obey the Assembly, Madame.”

“I wish to avoid bloodshed,” said Louis gently.

“I do not wish to fight my people. When the Marquis de Bouille arrives I shall leave here and, from a place to which we shall go, come to an understanding with those who are making this revoluon.”

Romeuf looked at his companion.

“We could wait for the Marquis to arrive,” he suggested, ‘since we were given no orders as to when we were to return to Paris. “

Bayon did not possess his loyalty.

“Are you a fool?” he demanded.

“Bouille is armed. What have the people but their pitchforks and a few knives? We must set out for Paris before Bouille arrives.”

We are exhausted,” I said.

“There are the children to consider.”

Bayon did not answer. He left us and I heard him go out of the house and talk to the crowds.

Romeuf looked at us apologetically and said: “You must think of anything. Your Majesties, which will delay the departure. Once Bouille arrives you are safe.”

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

Bayon came back. Already I heard the shouts of “A Paris’ outside the house.

“Prepare to leave at once,” said Bayon.

“The children must not be frightened,” I told him.

“They are exhausted. They must finish their sleep.”

“Arouse them at once, Madame.”

Madame de Tourzel and Madame Neuville awoke them. The Dauphin looked at Bayon and Romeuf and shrieked with pleasure.

‘now we have soldiers! ” he cried.

“Are you coming with us?”

“Yes, Monsieur Ie Dauphin,” said Bayon.

Even the soldiers agreed that we must eat before we left, and Madame Sausse was told to prepare food. I saw the determination in her face to take as long as she possibly could, doing so.

Bayon was impatient. He warned her that the people would not feel very kindly towards a dilatory housewife who was responsible for holding up their orders. Poor Madame Sausse, she did everything she could to help us. Such people as herself and Romeuf brought great hope to us in our difficulties.

I tried to eat but could not. In fact the only ones who could do justice to the food Madame Sausse had been so long preparing were the King and the children.

“Come now,” said Bayon. And there was no sign of Bouille.

It is all over, I thought. We can find no excuse to stay longer. Oh

God, send Bouille. Please give us this. Come,” said Bayon, roughly.

“There has been enough ? delay.”

He was hustling us to the door when Madame Neuville gave a little cry and slipped to the floor; she started to throw her ( arms about and made strange noises as though in a fit. ( I knelt beside her. I knew she was acting. I cried:

“Fetch a doctor.”

‘ Bayon, cursing, gave the order; but everyone outside was determined that the doctor should be brought in record time.

All the time I watched Madame Neuville lying there on the floor I was praying: “Oh God, send Bouille.”

But it was the doctor who came, not Bouille, and Madame Neuville could no longer keep up her pretence. She was given a potion and helped to her feet. She swayed and would have fallen again, but Bayon supported her and with the help of the doctor dragged her out to the cabriolet.

No sign of Bouille.

“A Paris!” shouted the mob. No more waiting. There was no help for it.

We must all follow Madame Neuville out of the house. A shout went up when we appeared. I held the Dauphin’s hand tightly, too frightened for him to fear for myself.

It was coming again . I knew so well. I should never forget. The humiliating ride . a longer one this time, not merely from Versailles but from Varennes to Paris.

The journey to Paris lasted three days. I thought when we had come from Versailles that I had reached the nadir of humiliation, horror, discomfort and misery; I was to learn that I had not done so.

The heat was intense; we could not wash or change our clothes, and all along the route were those shrieking screaming savages. I cannot call them people—for all semblance of human kindness and dignity seemed to have left them. They hurled insults at us—mostly at me. I was the scapegoat as I had become accustomed to being.

“A bos Antoinette V they screamed.

“Antoinette h la Ian-temel’ Very well then, I thought, but quickly—quickly. Gladly I will go rather than submit to life in these circumstances. Only let my children go freely. Let them live the lives of ordinary gentlefolk . but let me die, if that is what you want.

They had set two men of the National Assembly to guard us—Petion and Barnave. I suppose they were not bad fellows; indeed I know they were not, now. There was a difference between the rabble and those who believed that the revolution must come about for the good of France, whose creed was liberty, equality, fraternity;

they would have been ready to bargain for it around a conference table and Louis would have been eager to grant them what they wished. Men such as these were far removed from those animals outside who shrieked obscenities at us, who demanded our heads . and other parts of our bodies . who wanted blood and who laughed with demoniacal joy at the thought of shedding it. Oh yes, these men were different. They talked to us, as they thought, reasonably. We were only people, they told us. We did not deserve to be privileged because we were born in a different stratum of society from them. The King listened gravely, inclined to agree with them. They talked of the revolution, and what they wanted from life, and the inequalities of it; it was not reasonable to suppose that a people would go on indefinitely in want while a certain section of society spent on a gown what would keep a family in food for a year.

The Dauphin took a fancy to the two men and they to him. He read the words on the buttons of their uniforms.

“Vivre libre ou mourir.”

“Will you live freely or die?” he asked them gravely; and they assured him they would.

I felt that Elisabeth and Madame de Tourzel were near breaking point.

I knew that it was for me to keep them sane. My way of doing it was to attempt a lofty indifference. It did not please the mob, but it forced some respect from them. When we were obliged to draw up the blinds of the berline, which they demanded now and then, and Bamave or Petion would declare we had better do so as this mob was getting violent, I would sit staring straight ahead. They would come up to the window and call obscenities at me and I would ” look straight ahead as though they were not there. ” Whore! ” they shouted and I would not seem to hear. They jeered, but it had its effect on them. ( Food was brought to tike berline for us; the people shouted that they wanted to see us eat. I Elisabeth was terrified and thought we should pull up the blinds as the crowd demanded, but I refused to do so.

We must keep our dignity,” I told her.

Madame, they will smash the berline,” said Bamave.

But I knew that to draw up those blinds was to degrade ourselves, and refused to do so until I wished to throw out my chicken bones, and this I did into the crowd as though they did not exist for me.

Petion was the fiercer of the two; I detected in Bamave an admiration for me. He admired my manner with the mob and I could see that he was changing his ideas of us. He had thought arrogant aristocrats were unlike human beings, but I noticed how astonished he seemed when I spoke to Elisabeth and called her ‘little sister,” or she addressed the King as ‘brother.” These men were astonished at the way we talked to the children and impressed by the obvious affection between me and my family.

They must have been fed for years on those absurd scandalous sheets which had circulated through the capital. They thought I was some sort of monster incapable of any tender feelings—a Messalina, a Catherine de Medici.

Petion tried in the beginning to speak insolently of Axel. There had been many rumours about our relationship.

We know that your family left the Tuileries in an ordinary fiacre and that this was driven by a man of Swedish nationality,” he said.

I was terrified. They knew, then, that Axel had driven us!

We should like you to tell us the name of this Swede,” went on Petion, and I could see by the gleam in his eye that he enjoyed talking about my lover before my husband.

Do you think I would know the name of a hackney coachman? ” I demanded scornfully. And the haughty look I gave him so subdued him that he did not broach the subject again.

Pedon was a fool. When Elisabeth slept she was next to him her head fell on his shoulder and I could see by the smug manner in which he sat still that he believed she had laid it there purposely. As for Bamave, his manner was becoming more and more respectful towards me with the passing of every hour. I believed that given the opportunity we could have turned these two men from their revolutionary ideas and that they would have been our loyal servants.

These were the lighter moments of that nightmare journey. It lives with me now; in so much horror it still haunts me.

We were exhausted, dirty, unkempt; the heat seemed more unbearable than ever, the crowds more dense and hostile.

When someone in the crowd called “Vive Ie Roi,” the mob turned on him and cut his throat. I saw the blood before I could stop myself looking.

This was Paris that same city in which I had once been told, a lifetime away, that two hundred thousand of its people had fallen in love with me.

They were all round the berline now.

A face looked in at me, lips drawn back in a snarl, lips I realised I had once kissed.

“Antoinette a la lanterne.”

It was Jacques Armand, that little boy whom I had found on the road and brought up as my own until my children had arrived and made me forget him.

Were all my past sins and careless frivolities coming home to roost like so many vultures watching for the end?

I held my son against me; I did not wish him to see.

He was whimpering. He did not like it. He wanted to see the soldiers, he said. He did not like these people.

“We shall soon be home,” I told him.

Home that dark, dank prison from which a few days ago we had escaped.

We were ingloriously home.

Exhausted, desolate, we made our way to our old apartments.

“It is over,” I said. We are where we were before we attempted to escape But of course that was not true. We had gone forward towards disaster.

There was no longer a King and Queen of France. I knew it—although no one had told me yet.

I took off my hat and shook out my hair.

It was a long time since I had looked at myself in a mirror. I stared for a few seconds without recognising the woman with the red-rimmed eyes, the face covered with the dust of the roads, the torn gown. But it was not these things which startled me.

My hair, which Madame du Barry had referred to as ‘carrots’ and which the dressmakers of Paris had called the ‘colour of gold,” was completely white.