The Queen`s Confession

In the Anteroom

They gave me mourning clothes; I had a black dress and petticoat, black silk gloves, and two head scarves of black taffeta.

I looked at them with indifference. I told myself that it could not be long now until the end.

I never went down to the courtyard because I could not bear to go past those rooms which the King had occupied; but with Elisabeth and the children I went to the top of the tower for fresh air; there was a gallery there surrounded by a parapet, and there we would walk during those winter afternoons.

Toulon, one of the guards, had brought to me a ring and a seal and a lock of Louis’s hair. These had been confiscated by the Commune, but Toulon had stolen them and brought them to me because he believed they would comfort me. ” Toulon! A man who had been at the storming of the Tuileries; who had determined on our destruction. He had been set in charge of us because of his fierce revolutionary views; because he was trustworthy and reliable. They had forgotten that he also had a heart.

I had seen the tears in his eyes; I had seen his admiration for our fortitude. He was a brave man. There was another too, named Lepitre, who had been won over to our side.

I still had Clery, the King’s valet, and Turgy, who had been in the kitchen of Versailles; he was a bold and brazen fellow and very brave, for he had managed by fabricating stories about his revolutionary zeal to become one of my guards.

I am thankful to these loyal people; it was they who gave me hope during those dark days. For the first weeks after Louis’s death I would sit listless thinking of the past, full of remorse, accusing myself of a hundred follies.

I would talk to my friends sadly of the loss of the Ring. It was Toulon who said: “Madame, there is still a King of France.”

This was true. My little boy was now Louis XVII. If I could get him out of this prison . if I could join my friends . I was suddenly alive again. I had a purpose.

My little circle was delighted in the change in me. I realised that I was the centre of that little circle, for Elisabeth was too passive to be, the children too young. Toulon and Lepitre thought of all kinds of ways of smuggling news in to me. Turgy, who served meals, would wrap notes round the corks of bottles so that it would appear that the paper had been put there to make them fit more securely; and although the Tisons would examine the bread to see if notes H were in it and peer under the covers of dishes, they never id discovered this ruse. Turgy sometimes would carry notes in his pockets and at an arranged signal one of us would lift them out as he brushed past when serving us. From ; Madame Clery shouting the news outside our windows I learned that the whole of Europe was shocked by the execution of Louis; even in Philadelphia and Virginia, murder was shuddered at. All very well to depose a tyrannical monarchy, but not ruthlessly to kill its figurehead, who could scarcely i be entirely responsible.

Sensing the disapproval did nothing to make the Republic more lenient towards us; in fact it increased their severity.

But the thought that I had friends had given me a reason for living: Escape.

And when I heard that Axel was trying to rouse Mercy to action, that he had prevailed upon him to ask the Prince of Coburg to send a regiment of picked men to march on Paris and pluck me from die Temple wild as it was, rejected as it was it put new heart in me. It was the plan of a lover rather than a strategist, just as the night to Varennes had been. I saw now that it indicated a frantic desire for my safety which was too passionate in its Intensity to be practical. And I loved him all the more because of this.

One piece of news which was brought to me was that Jacques Armand had died at the battle of Jemappes. I thought sadly of the lovely little boy whom I had picked up on the road when I so longed for children. He had been my substitute until I had my own. He had never forgiven me for that. and now, poor boy, he was dead.

I spoke to Elisabeth of the sadness of this and she tried to comfort me, pointing out the different life he had had because of what I had done for him; but I only replied:

“I used him, Elisabeth. I used him as a toy with which to amuse myself for a while. One cannot use people in that way. I see it now. There is so much I see that I did not see then. But one thing I believe, Elisabeth. No woman ever paid more highly for her follies than I have done. If I am given another chance …”

“You will be,” she told me in her placid way. But I was not sure. I lacked her faith.

Each evening the illuminateur came to light the lamps. I welcomed his coming because he had two little boys and I had always loved children.

They were rather dirty, their clothes stained by the oil used in the lamps, for they helped their father. The illuminateur never looked in my direction. There were so many like him who were afraid of appearing royalist. This dreadful revolution was not called the Terror for nothing. Countless numbers of its supporters went in terror of their lives never knowing when the great monster they had created would snap at them.

Sometimes the children would look wistfully at the food on the table and I liked to give them some of it. This they ate greedily; and I would find their eyes under their floppy hats regarding me intently. I wondered what tales they had heard of the Queen.

Madame Tison would come hustling in frowning at them, searching them, looking to see whether I bad given them some message to take out.

The visits of the illuminateur were one of the pleasant interludes of the day because of the children.

Toulon spoke to the lamplighter and asked him whether the boys were learning the trade. The lamplighter nodded.

Toulon saw the boys regarding me with awe.

“At what are you looking?” he demanded.

“The woman? No need to blush, boy. We’re all equal now.”

The illuminateur gave his agreement by spitting on the floor.

I was accustomed to this; I wondered whether Toulon had scented something suspicious in the illuminateur’s attitude and that was why he had mentioned we were all equal.

We all had to be very careful.

I was disappointed when the illuminateur came alone. I set my eyes on my book.

very skilful way and I realised that 4 was noi the same man ‘”” who had come with the children.

“I’m Jarjayes, Madame. General Jarjayes.”

Why yes . “

Toulon bribed the illuminateur and got him the worse for drink in a tavern. I am in touch with the Comte de Fersen. “

At the mention of that name I could have fainted with happiness.

“The Comte is determined to free you. He has sent a message to say he will not rest until you are free.”

I knew he would do this—I knew. “

“We have to plan carefully. But Madame, be ready. Toulon is our good friend. Lepitre too … but we must be sure of him.”

I saw Madame Tison hovering in the doorway and I tried to convey by my expression that we were spied on.

The General went away, and I felt a wild hope surging within me.

Axel had not forgotten me. He had not given up hope.

From Toulon I heard how the plan was progressing. He was to smuggle clothes into the prison which when they put them on would make the Dauphin and his sister look like the lamplighter’s boys. Elisabeth and I were to be disguised as municipal councillors. It would not be difficult to obtain the hats, cloaks and boots, and of course the tricolour sashes which would be required.

The Tisons, who were never far from us, would be Ola-great difficulty. We could never escape while they were watching over us.

But Toulon was a man of imagination. We will drug them,” he said.

They had a fondness for Spanish tobacco. Why should not Toulon present them with some? It would be heavily drugged and make them unconscious for several hours. When they were under its influence we would hastily dress in our clothes and pass out of the prison in the company of Toulon. It was a bold but not impossible plan. “I should need a passport,” I fold him, but be had thought of that.

Lepitre could provide it.

By the time the flight was discovered we could all be in England.

We were all ready, waiting.

But Lepitre was not a brave man. Perhaps it was too much to ask of him. He had prepared the passport, but a chance remark of Madame Tison’s made him wonder whether she knew that something was brewing.

Lepitre could not bring himself to go on with it. It was too risky, he said. We must make another plan in which I alone should escape.

This I would not do. I would not consent to be parted from the children and Elisabeth.

I wrote to Jarjayes:

“We have bad a beautiful dream and that is all. But we have gained much in finding again on this new occasion a further proof of your wholehearted devotion to me. My trust in you is limitless. You will always find I have some courage, but the interests of my son are my sole care, and whatsoever happiness I may be able to win, I can never consent to leave him. I could do nothing without my children, and the failure of any such idea is something I do not even regret I sent him my husband’s ring and lock of hair that he might take them to the Comte de Provence or d’Artois, for I feared they would be taken from me; and I had a wax impression made of a ring Axel had given me on which was inscribed: ” All leads me to thee. “

I sent this impression to Jarjayes with a note which said:

“I wish you to give this wax impression to one you know of, who came to see me from Brussels last year. Tell him at the same time that the device has never been more true.”

There was another attempt, but I believe I expected failure from the start. I had begun to believe that I was doomed and nothing could save me.

Baron de Batz, a royalist adventurer, formulated a plan in which Elisabeth, Marie Therese and I were to walk out of the prison in the uniform of soldiers with members of the loyal guard; the Dauphin was to be hidden under the cloak of one of the officers.

Everything was prepared but the Tisons had grown suspicious, and the day before that fixed for the escape Madame declared that she suspected Toulon and Lepitre of being too friendly with me.

As a result they were removed, and that plan collapsed, for it could not be carried out without their help.

I can scarcely write of this scene. It fills me with emotion and a sorrow so acute that my hand grows limp with agony. They could not have thought of a more exquisite torture. During these days of gloom and horror my great solace had been my children. They had enabled me to feign a haughty indifference to insolence and cruelty. Now they saw the way to pierce that armour of indifference and disdain.

It was July—hot, turgid—and we were in our room together—Elisabeth, Marie Therese, my boy and I. I was mending my son’s coat and Elisabeth was reading aloud to us.

We looked up startled, for this was no ordinary visit. Six members of the Municipaux bad come into the room.

I rose to my feet.

“Messieurs,” I began.

One of them spoke, and his words struck me like the funeral knell for a loved one.

“We have come to take Louis-Charles Capet to his new prison.”

I gave a cry. I reached for my son. He ran to me, his eyes wide with terror.

“You cannot …”

“The Commune believes it is time he was put into the care of a tutor.

Citizen Simon will care for him. “

Simon! I knew this man. A cobbler of the lowest, coarsest, crudest type.

No, no, no! ” I cried.

We’re in a hurry,” said one of the men roughly.

“Come on, Capet.

You’re moving from here. “

I could feel my son clutching my skirts. But rough hands were on him;

they were dragging him away. I ran after them but they threw me off.

Elisabeth and my daughter caught me as I fell.

They had gone. They had taken my boy with them.

I could think of nothing but that. My sister-in-law and my daughter tried to comfort me.

There was no comfort. I shall never forget the cries of my son as they carried him away. I could hear him screaming for me.

“Maman … Maman … don’t let them.”

It haunts my dreams. Never never can I forget. Never never can I forgive them for doing this to me, This was the depth of sorrow; there could be nothing more terrible. I was wrong. These fiends had found they could plunge me into even further despair.

So I was without him.

Life had no meaning now. He was lost to me . my beloved son, my baby.

How could they do this to a woman? Was it because they knew that while I had him with me I could go on living, I could hope, I could even believe that there was some happiness left to me?

I lay on my bed. My daughter sat beside me holding my hand, as though to remind me that she still remained. How I could have lived through those days without her and Elisabeth I cannot imagine.

Madame Tison was acting strangely. Perhaps she had been doing so for some dme. I was scarcely aware of her. I could think only of my son in the hands of that brutal cobbler. What were they doing to him? Was he crying for me now? I almost wished that he had died as his brother had, rather than that he should have come to this pass.

Sometimes I heard as though from a long way off Madame Tison storming at her husband; sometimes I heard her giving way to wild crying.

And one day she came into my room and threw herself at my feet.

“Madame,” she cried, ‘forgive me. I am going mad because I have brought these troubles on you. I have spied on you . They are going to murder you as they murdered the King . and I am responsible. I see him at night . I see his head all bloody . it rolls off, Madame, on to my bed. I must have your pardon, Madame. I am going mad mad. “

I tried to calm her.

“You have done as you were bidden. Don’t blame yourself. I understand.”

“It’s dreams … dreams … nightmares. They won’t go…. They are after me … even by day. They won’t go. I murdered the King … I .

The guards rushed in and carried her away.

Madame Tison had gone mad.

From one of the window-slits on the spiral staircase I could see the courtyard where my son was sent out for fresh air.

What joy it seemed when I saw him after all those days.

He no longer looked like my son. His hair was unkempt;

his clothes were dirty and he wore the greasy red cap.

I did not call him, I feared it would distress him; but at least I could stand there and watch. Each day at the same hour he came there;

so here was something to live for. I should not speak to him, but I should see him.

He did not seem unhappy, for which I was grateful. Children are adaptable. Let me be grateful for that. I saw what they were doing.

They were making him one of them, teaching him crudities . making him a son of the revolution. This I realised was the duty of the tutor, to make him forget chat the blood of Kings ran in his veins, to rob him of dignity, to prove that there was no difference between the sons of Kings and the sons of the people. I shuddered as I heard his shouts. I listened to his singing. Should I not rejoice that he could sing?

“Allans enfants de la Patrie .. The song of the bloodthirsty revolution. Had he forgotten the men who had murdered his father? I listened to the voice I knew so well:

“Ah, (a ira, fa ira, a ira En de frit des aristocrats et de la plule, Nous nous mouillerons, mais fa fm ira Ca ira, a ira, fa ira.”

Oh, my son, I thought, they have taught you to betray us.

And I lived for these moments when I could stay at the slit in the wall and watch him at play.

It was only a few weeks after they had taken my son from me when at one o’clock in the morning I heard a knocking at the door.

The Commissaries had come to see me. The Convention had decreed that the Widow Capet was to stand trial. She would therefore be removed from the Temple to the Con-dergerie.

I knew that I had received my death sentence. They would try me as they had tried Louis.

There was to be no delay. I was to make ready to go at once.

They allowed me to say goodbye to my daughter and my sister-in-law.

I begged them not to weep for me and I turned away from their sad stunned looks.

“I am ready,” I said.

I felt almost eager, because I knew this meant death.

Down the stairs, past the slit in the window—no use to look out now.

Never . never to see him again. I faltered and struck my head against a stone archway. “Have you hurt yourself?” asked one of the guards, moved as sometimes these brutal men were by a flash of kindness.

“No,” I answered.

“Nothing can hurt me now.”

So I am here . the prisoner in the Conciergerie.

This is the grimmest of all the prisons in France. It has become known during this reign of Terror as the anteroom of death. I am waiting to be called in to death as so many waited to be called to see me in my state apartments of Versailles.

I know now that I am here that there are not many days left to me.

Strangely enough I found kindness here. Madame Richard was my jail or—a very different woman from Madame Tison. I saw her compassion from the first. Her first act of kindness was to tell her husband to fix a piece of carpet over the ceiling from which water dripped on to my bed. She told me that when she had whispered to the market woman that the chicken she was buying was for me she had surreptitiously picked out the most plump.

She implied in a hundred ways that I had my friends.

Madame Richard had a boy of the same age as the Dauphin.

“I do not bring Fanfan to see you, Madame,” she told me, ‘because I feared it might remind you of your son and make you sadder. “

But I said I would like to meet Fanfan and she brought him. It was true I wept over him, for his hair was as fair as the Dauphin’s, but I loved to listen to his talk and I looked forward to his visits.

My health was beginning to fail; the damp caused pains in my limbs and I suffered frequent haemorrhages. My room was small and bare; the walls were damp and the paper, stamped with the fleur-delis, was peeling off in many places. There was herring-bone pattern on the stone floor which I stared at so much that I knew every mark. The bed and the screen were the only furniture. I was glad of the screen, for I was under constant supervision and it afforded me the little privacy I had. There was a small barred window which looked on to the paved prison yard, for my room was-a semi-basement.

Madame Richard had given me the services of one of her servant girls, Rosalie Lamorliere, a kind and gentle creature like her mistress, and these two did everything they could to make my life more bearable.

It was Madame Richard who prevailed on Michonis, the chief inspector of the prison, to bring me news of Elisabeth and Marie Therese.

“What harm to the Republic could that do?” demanded the good woman.

And Michonis, who was a tender-hearted man, could see no harm either.

He even had clothes brought for me from the Temple and he told me that Madame Elisabeth had said they were what I should need. I was pleased, because in spite of my despair I had always been conscious of my appearance and more able to bear my misfortunes if I was suitably dressed. So it was with a mild pleasure that I discarded the long black dress which was frayed at the hem and the white fichu which never seemed white enough, for something which I thought more fitting.

My eyes were constantly watering. I had shed so many tears. I missed the little porcelain eye-bath I had used in the Temple, but Rosalie brought a mirror for me which she told me was a bargain. She had paid twenty-five sous for it on the quai. I felt I had never possessed such a charming mirror. It had a red border with little figures round it.

The length of the days t There is nothing I can do. I write a little but they are watchful and suspicious. There is always a guard sitting in the corner of my room. Sometimes there are two. I watch them playing cards. Madame Richard brought me books and I read a great deal. I have kept a little leather glove which my son used to wear when he was very small. It is one of my greatest treasures—in a locket I have a picture of Louis-Charles. I often kiss it when the guards are not looking.

The nights are so long. I am not allowed a lamp or even a candle. The changing of the guard always awakens me if I I am dozing. I sleep very little.

t Michonis came into my cell today. He dismissed the guards < for a few moments, saying he would guard me. With him i was a stranger who was looking at prisons. I asked the i usual questions about my family, and looking closer at the i stranger I recognised him as a colonel of the Grenadiers, a man of great loyalty and courage, the Chevalier de Rougeville. He saw that I recognised him, and with a quick gesture he threw something into the stove.

When he and Michonis had left I went to the stove and found a carnation. I was disappointed, and then examining it closer I discovered a thin paper among the petals. On it I read:

“I shall never forget you. If you have need of three or four hundred livres for those who surround you I will bring them next Friday.”

The note continued to tell me that he had a plan for my escape. Would I agree to this?

I felt my hopes rising. This I believed was another of Axel’s attempts. He would never tire of making them, I knew. The money would be. brought for me to bribe my guards . a means would be found for taking me out of the palace. And when I was out we would bring out my children and my sister-in-law, and we should join Axel. We would work to bring back the Monarchy to end this reign of Terror. I believed we could do it. People like the Richards, Rosalie, Michonis, upheld me in this belief. But how to smuggle out a note? I tore up the fragments of his and wrote:

*I depend on you. I will come. “

I must get the note to Rougeville. Rosalie would take it. But what if she were discovered? That would be a poor way to repay her for all she had done.

No, I would not involve her or Madame Richard, so I asked one of the guards, Gilbert, to give it to the stranger when he next came to the Conciergerie, which he would most certainly do. The stranger would reward him with four hundred louis.

Gilbert took the note, and then was terrified, so he showed it to Madame Richard. She was sympathetic but she did not wish to risk her head, so she showed it to Michonis. Both these people were good; they were sorry for me; but they were servants of the Republic. They did not wish to betray me, so Michonis advised Madame Richard to warn me of i the dangers of such actions to all of us.

Had Gilbert said nothing, all would have been well and it would have been just another attempt that failed. In any case it was too vague to have come to anything and I wondered afterwards how I could have been so foolish as to have hoped it could.

Gilbert told his superior officer, and as a result Michonis was dismissed and so were the Richards.

I now have new jailors. They are not unkind, but in view of what happened to the Richards they will run no risks.

I miss that kind woman; I miss little Fanfan.

And slowly the days and nights pass.

Soon they win bring me to stand my trial.

The time has come. This morning the door of my cell was opened and an usher and four gendarmes entered. They had come to conduct me to the old Grande Chambre which was now called the Hall of Liberty.

It is the seat of the Revolutionary Tribunal: the tapestries decorated with fleurs-delis which I had known, had been removed, and the picture of the Crucifixion replaced by another representing the Rights of Man. I was given a seat on a bench in front of Fouquier-Tinville, the Public Prosecutor. The room was dim for it was lighted only by two candles.

They asked me my name and I replied calmly: “Marie Antoinette of Lorraine of Austria.”

“Before the Revolution you carried on political relations with foreign powers and these were contrary to the interests of France from which you drew many advantages.”

“This is not true.”

You have squandered the finances of France, the fruit of H the people’s sweat, for your pleasure and intrigues. ” id ” No,” I said, but inwardly I felt sick. I thought of my extravagances: the Petit Trianon, Madame Benin’s bills, di Monsieur Leonard’s services. I was guilty … deeply o guilty.

“Since the Revolution you have never ceased to intrigue o with foreign powers and at home against liberty….” a “Since the Revolution I have forbidden myself any correspondence abroad and I have never meddled at home.” i But it was not true. I was lying. I had sent out my appeals to Axel. I had written to Bamave and Mercy.

Oh yes, they would prove me guilty, for I was guilty in their eyes.

“It was you who taught Louis Capet the art of profound dissimulation by which he so long deceived the good French people.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head.

“When you left Paris in June 1791 you opened the doors and made everyone leave. There is no doubt that it was you who ruled the actions of Louis Capet and persuaded him to flight.”

“I do not think that an open door proves that one is constantly ruling a person’s actions.”

“Never for one moment have you ceased wanting to destroy liberty. You wanted to reign at any price and reascend the throne over the bodies of patriots.”

“We had no need to reascend the throne. We were already there. We have never wished for anything but France’s happiness. As long as she was happy, as long as she is so, we shall always be satisfied.”

“Do you think a King necessary for a people’s happiness?”

“An individual cannot decide such matters.”

No doubt you regret that your son has lost a throne to which he might have mounted if the people, finally conscious of their rights, had not destroyed the throne? “

“I shall never regret anything for my son when his country is happy.”

The questions continued. They asked about the Trianon. Who had paid for the Trianon?

“There was a special fund for the Trianon. I hope that everything connected with it will be made public for I believe it to be greatly exaggerated.”

“It was at the Petit Trianon that you first met Madame de la Motte.”

“I never met her.”

“But did you not make her your scapegoat in the fraud of the Diamond Necklace?”

“I never met her.”

It was then I believed I was living in a nightmare . that I had died and gone to hell. I could not believe that I heard correct.

What were those monsters saying about my son? They were accusing us of incest. My own child! A boy of eight ! I could not believe it. This Hebert . this monster . this crude man of the streets was telling this court that I had taught my son immoral practices . that I had . But I cannot write it. It is too painful; too horrible too fantastically absurd!

My son had admitted it, they said. We had indulged in these practices he and I and Elisabeth . his saintly Aunt Elisabeth and I his mother!

I was staring ahead of me. I saw the boy playing in the yard . my boy who was in the hands of these wicked men. I saw the dirty red cap on his head; I heard the coarse words in his mouth; I heard him singing the “Ca ira’ in his childish voice.

They had forced this ‘confession’ from him. They had taught him what to say. They had ill treated him, made him agree to what he could not understand. He was eight years old and I was his mother. I loved him.

I had lost my lover and my husband—and my boy was my life. Yet they had taught him to say these things of me . and his aunt who had taught him to say his prayers.

I heard only snatches of the report. I heard them say that they had confronted him with his sister, with his aunt, and that naturally these two had denied the accusations. It I was natural, they said, that these people who were capable j i< of such unnatural actions should. _ ,j t His Aunt Elisabeth had called him a monster. I c Oh Elisabeth, I thought, my dear Elisabeth, what did < you think of my boy?

i I had relieved when they took him from me that I had i touched the depth of despair. Now I knew that I had not done so then. There was more to be suffered. This I Horror possessed me. What had they done to my child to make him say this? They had ill treated him . starved him, beaten him. He, the King of France, my love, my darling!

Hebert—surely these people only had to look at him to understand that he was a degraded creature—was looking at me slyly. How he hated me I I remembered how he had regarded me when we had first come into his power. Devil! I thought. You are not fit to live on this earth. Oh God, save my child from such men.

I felt that I was going to faint. I fixed my eyes on the candles trying to steady myself. And then I was conscious of what I so often encountered in my prisons . the sympathy of women. There were mothers in this courtroom and they would understand how I was feeling.

I was an enemy of the State, they believed; I was haughty, arrogant, and I had frittered away the finances of France . but I was a mother and they knew I loved my son. I felt those women in the courtroom would vindicate me.

Even Hebert was aware. He was growing a little uneasy. He did not believe that this disgustingly immoral conduct was indulged in for the sake of immorality. It was solely for the purpose of weakening my son’s health, so that when he became King I should govern him, that I should be able to dominate him and rule through him.

I could only look at this man with the contempt and loathing I felt. I could not see those women in the court but I knew they were there and I felt that they were with me. Perhaps they were those who had cried

“Antoinette & la lanterne,” but I was not a Queen now, I was a mother, accused by a man with brutality written all over his face. And they did not believe him.

They believed the stories of my lovers, but they would not believe this.

I heard someone say: “The prisoner makes no comment on this accusation.”

I heard my voice loud and clear echoing through the court.

“If I have made no reply it is because nature refuses to answer such a charge brought against a mother. I appeal to all mothers present in this court.”

I sensed the excitement, the murmurs of anger.

“Take the prisoner away,” was the order. Back to my cell.

Rosalie was waiting for me. She tried to make me eat but I could not.

She made me lie down.

She told me later that she had heard Robespierre was furious with Hebert for bringing the charge against me. It was false. Everyone knew it was false. No one doubted my love for my son. Robespierre was afraid that had I stayed in that courtroom the women would have risen against my judges and demanded my freedom, that my son be given back to me.

“Oh, Madame, Madame,” sobbed Rosalie, and she knelt by my bed and wept bitterly.

I was taken back to the court. I listened to an account of my sins. I had plotted with foreign powers; I had led my husband into wrongdoing;

I had squandered the country’s money on the Trianon and my favourites; the Polignacs were mentioned; but nothing was said of that other vile charge. Then the questions were put to the jurors:

Was it established that there were intrigues and secret dealings with foreign powers and other external enemies of the Republic, which intrigues and secret dealings aimed at giving the momentary assistance enabling them to enter French territory and facilitating the progress of their armies there?

Was I convicted of having cooperated in these intrigues? Was it established that there was a plot and a conspiracy . ” to start civil war with the Republic? ” Was Marie Antoinette, widow of Louis Capet, convicted . of taking pan in this plot and conspiracy?

I was taken to a small room close to the Grande Chambre while the jury decided, but the verdict was a foregone conclusion. c At length, it came. I was guilty and I should be punished by death.

I sit in my room writing. There is little more to be said.

First I must write to Elisabeth. I think of what my son has said of her, and knowing her chaste mind I understand well how shocked she will be. I must make her try to understand. I take up my pen.

“It is to you, sister, that I write for the last time. I have just been condemned, not to a shameful death, for it is shameful only for criminals, but to rejoin your brother. Like him, innocent, I hope to display the same firmness as he did in his last moments. I am calm as one is when one’s conscience holds no reproach. I deeply regret having to abandon my poor children. You know that I lived only for them and for you, my good sister. In what a situation do I leave you, who for your affection sacrificed everything to be with us….”

I went on to write of my dear daughter who I had heard had been separated from her. I wanted her to help her brother if that were possible. And I must write of my son to Elisabeth. I must try to make her understand.

‘. I have to mention something which pains my heart. I know how much distress this child must have caused you. Forgive him, my dear sister. Remember his age and how easy it is to make a child say anything you want, even something he does not understand. The day will come, I hope, when he will be the more conscious of the worth of your goodness and tenderness. “

The tears were blinding me and I could write no more, but later I would take up my pen and finish.

The time is almost upon me.

The cart will come for me. They will cut my hair; they will tie my hands behind my back; and I shall ride through the streets along the well-known route which so many of my friends of the old days have travelled . as Louis went before me, through streets where I once rode in my carriage drawn by white horses, where Monsieur de Brissac had told me two hundred thousand Frenchmen were in love with me . through the Rue Saint Honore where Madame Berlin might be watching, to the Place de la Revolution and the monster guillotine.

They will shout at me as they have so many times before, and I shall be thinking of my life as I ride. I shall not see the streets with those shouting gesticulating crowds all calling for my blood. I shall think of Louis gone. before me, of Axel, grieving somewhere . Oh but do not mourn too bitterly, my love, for I shall be past my pains. I shall be thinking of my boy and praying that he will not suffer too great a remorse. My darling . it is nothing. I forgive you . you did not know what you said.

So now I wait and pray that during this last ride I shall be a true daughter of my mother. I shall face death with the courage she would have wished.

There is no time to write more. They are coming.

A great calm has descended on me. There is one thing of which I am certain. The worst is over; I have suffered the greatest pain. What remains is the last sharp stroke which will bring deliverance.

I am ready. And I am not afraid. It is to live that requires courage—not to die.