AT ELEVEN O'CLOCK, at the very time when Mesdames de Tourzel and Brennier, after having undressed and put Madame Royale and the dauphin to bed, awoke and dressed them again, much to the mortification of the dauphin, who insisted on putting on boy's clothes instead of petticoats, the king and queen and Madame Elizabeth received Lafayette and his aides-de-camp, Gouvion and Romoeuf. This visit was most annoying, especially when they took into consideration the suspicions they entertained of Madame Rochereul.
The queen and Madame Elizabeth had, during the evening, gone into the Bois de Boulogne, and had returned at eight o'clock. Lafayette asked the queen if her promenade had been pleasant; but added that she was wrong to return so late, as the evening mists might hurt her.
“Mists in June!” said the queen, with a smile; “but unless one be manufactured expressly to conceal our flight, I do not know where, at this season, I could find a mist. I presume there is a report that we are about to fly.”
“The fact is, madame, the report is more current than ever; and I have even been told that it is to take place to-night.”
“Ah! I bet that you received that intelligence from M. Gouvion,” said the queen.
“Why from me, madame?” said the young officer, blushing.
“Because you have acquaintances in the palace. M. de Romoeuf has none; and I am not sure he would he answerable for me.”
“There would be no great merit in it, madame, as the king has given his word to the National Assembly not to leave Paris.”
It was the queen's turn to blush.
The subject of the conversation changed.
At half past eleven Lafayette and his two aides took leave of the king. Gouvion, yet unsatisfied, returned to his room in the chateau, where he found his friends on duty, and instead of relieving them, urged double diligence. Lafayette went to the Hotel de Ville to make M. Bailly easy, in case he should have felt any fear.
Lafayette having gone, the king and queen rang for their servants, had the usual services rendered them, and then dismissed everybody.
The queen and Madame Elizabeth dressed each other. Their dresses were as plain as possible; their hats w-ere very large, and concealed their faces.
“When they were dressed, the king entered. He was clad in a grey coat, and one of those little bag-wigs called a la Rousseau. He wore short breeches, grey stockings, and shoes with buckles.
Bight days before, Huet, the valet, had, in precisely such a dress, left the door of M. de Villequier, who had emigrated six months before, and had gained the square of the Corvuses, and the street of St. Nicaise. This precaution had been taken in order that people might be used to the dress, and that, if seen in the Tuileries, it might occasion no remark.
The three courtiers were taken from the queen's boudoir, where they had been waiting, and were taken through the saloon into the room of Madame Royale, who was there with the dauphin.
Once in M. Villequier's room it was easy to leave the palace. No one knew that the king had the keys, and there was no sentinel there. Besides, after eleven o'clock the sentinels in the courtyard were used to see many people pass.
There all arrangements were made.
The Vicomte de Charny, who had gone over the road with his brother, and knew the difficult and dangerous places, was to ride ahead and prepare the postilions, that there might be as little delay as possible.
M. de Maiden and M. de Valory were on the seat, and were ordered to pay the postilion thirty sous: ordinarily twenty-five was the price, but in consideration of the heaviness of the carriage five were added.
The Count de Charny would be in the coach ready to provide against all accidents. He would be well armed, and each of the couriers would find a pair of pistols in the carriage.
By paying well, it was hoped to reach Chalons in thirteen hours.
All this had been decided on between Charny and De Choiseul.
De Maiden and De Valory would pay. Charny from the inside would talk, if there were anything to be said.
All promised obedience. The lights were blown out, and they went to the room of M. Villequier.
It struck twelve as they passed the room of Madame Royale. The Count de Charny must have been at his post an hour.
The king put the key in the door.
Steps and whisperings were heard in the corridor. Something strange was going on. Madame de Tourzel, who lived in the chateau, and who passed to and fro so frequently that her presence would cause no surprise, offered to see what was the matter.
They waited motionless. Madame de Tourzel returned and reported that .-he had seen M. de Gouvion and several uniforms. It was impossible to leave this room unless it had some other outlet.
They had no light. A lamp was in the room of Madame Royale, and Madame de Tourzel lighted the candle, which had been blown out. For a long time the search was thought useless, but at last a little stairway was found leading to a small room on the ground floor. The door was locked. The king tried all his keys, but in vain. Charny tried to open it with his hunting knife; but the bolt would not move. They had found an outlet, but were as closely confined as ever. The king took the lamp from Madame de Tourzel's hands, and leaving all the rest in darkness, went back to his bedchamber and thence to the forge. He took a bundle of picklocks and came down. When he had reached the group he had already made his choice. The picklock the king had selected grated, and slipped twice from the wards. The third time, however, the bolt turned, and all breathed freely.
Now the order of departure was to be regulated. Madame Elizabeth went first, with Madame Royale. Twenty paces after followed Madame de Tourzel with the dauphin. Between them was M. de Maiden, prepared, if necessary, to aid them. Trembling and timidly, these few grains detached from the royal chaplet, looking behind them for those they loved, descended and went into the circle of light formed by the lamp at the palace door. They passed the sentinel, who did not even seem to notice them.
“Good!” said Madame Elizabeth, “we have already passed one difficulty.”
When at the wicket on the Carousel, they saw the sentinel crossing their path. When he saw them approach, he paused. “Aunt,” said Madame Royale, “we are lost. That man sees us.”
“It matters not; we will certainly be lost if we hesitate.” They continued to advance. When about four paces from them, the sentinel turned his back, and they passed on. Did this man know them? Did he know what fugitives he suffered to escape? The princesses thought so, and mentally gave a thousand thanks to their unknown preserver.
On the other side of the wicket they saw the uneasy face of the Count de Charny. He was wrapped in a full blue cloak, and wore a hat of oiled cloth.
“Ah!” said he, “here you are at last! And the king and queen?”
“Come,” said Charny. He took them rapidly to a carriage which was waiting them in Rue Nicaise.
A hack drove up by the side of the remire, as if to watch it.
“Well, comrade,” said the hackman, as he saw Charny come up, “it seems you have a fare.”
He then said, in a low tone, to M. de Maiden, “Take this carriage, and go at once to Porte St. Martin. You will recognise the vehicle that waits you without trouble.” M. de Maiden understood, and got into the hack.
The driver thought his customer was some courier going to meet his master at the opera, and set out at once, making no remark, except about the price. He said, “You know, sir, it is after midnight.”
As, at that epoch, servants were sometimes more generous than their masters, the driver set out at a full trot, and without any observation but that about the price.
Scarcely had he turned the corner of the Rue de Rohan, than by the same wicket which had given a passage to Madame Royale, to Madame Elizabeth, the dauphin, and Madame de Tourzel, there advanced at a slow pace, like a clerk who had just left his office after a long and laborious day's work, a man in a great coat, with the corner of his hat over his eyes, and his hands in his pockets. It was the king, followed by M. de Valory.
Charny advanced a few paces towards him. He had recognised the king, not by himself, but by his being accompanied by M. de Valory. He sighed with grief and almost with shame. “Come, sire,” murmured he.
Then, in a low tone, he said to M. de Valory, “Where is the queen?”
“The queen follows with the vicomte.”
“Come: take the shortest road and await us at Porte St. Martin. I will take the longest; the rendezvous is the carriage.”
We will not attempt to describe the anxiety of the fugitives. Charny, on whom the responsibility rested, was almost mad.
The terror increased as they passed the carriage of General Lafayette all lighted up. It was entering the Carousel.
At the door of the court, the Vicomte de Charny gave his arm to the queen, and wished to turn to the left. The queen made him stop.
“To the corner of Rue Nicaise, where my brother awaits us.”
“Is the Nicaise on the river?” asked the queen.
“Then your brother awaits you at the wicket towards the water.” Isidor would have insisted, but the queen appeared so sure of what she said that doubts entered his mind. “My God, madame,” said he, “every mistake is fatal.”
“By the river-side, I am sure I heard by the river-side.”
“Let us go thither, then, madame, but if we find no carriage, we will go at once to Rue Nicaise.”
The queen and Isidor crossed the openings one after the other, and also the three lines of sentinels. None thought of stopping them. What reason was there to believe that this young woman, dressed like a servant of a good house, and giving her arm to a young man in the livery of the Prince de Condi, was the Queen of France? They came to the river; the quay was deserted.
“It is, then, on the other side,” said the queen. Isidor wished to retrace his steps. She seemed mad, though, and insisted on going to the other wicket. She dragged Isidor to the Port Royal. The bridge being crossed, the other side was found deserted as the first.
“Let us look down the street.”
She forced him to go down the Rue de Bac. After going a hundred yards, she saw her error, and all panting, said: “My strength begins to fail.”
“Well, madame, do you still insist?”
“No,” said the queen, “take me where you will.”
“Madame, for heaven's sake, have courage.”
“Ah! I do not need courage, but strength.” Then, turning back, she said: “It seems to me I shall never regain my breath. My God! my God I”
Isidor knew that breath was as much needed by the queen at this hour, as it is to a wolf pursued by hounds. He paused. “Get your breath, madame. We have time. I will answer for my brother; he will wait until morning.”
She resumed walking, and retraced the previous unnecessary course she had taken.
Instead of returning to the Tuileries, Isidor passed through the gate into the Carousel; the immense square was crossed; until midnight it was always covered with pedlars' stalls and with hackney coaches. It was nearly deserted and dark. The sound of wheels and of horses' feet, however, was heard. They had reached the gate at the head of the Rue des Echelles. It was evident that the horses, whose steps they heard, were about to pass in that direction. A light was seen, which doubtless was caused by the torches which accompanied the carriage. Isidor wished to pause; the queen hurried him on. Isidor rushed to the wicket to protect her, just as the torch-bearers appeared on the opposite side. He placed her in the darkest place, and stood before her. Even that, though, was for a moment inundated with the light of the torches. Amid them, in the rich uniform of General of the National Guard, was Lafayette.
At the moment the carriage passed, Isidor felt that a strong arm pushed him aside. This was the left arm of the queen. In the right hand she had a little bamboo cane with a gold head, such as was usually carried at that time by women. She struck the carriage wheels sharply, and said, “So, jailer, I am out of your prison.”
“What are you doing, madame? why expose yourself to such danger?”
“I avenge myself. For that one would incur much danger.”
When the last torch had passed, she rushed out radiant as a child.
The queen had not gone ten steps from the wicket when a man in a blue cloak, with his face hidden by an old cloth hat, seized her arm convulsively and dragged her towards a carriage which stood at the corner of Rue Nicaise. This man was the Count de Charny. The vehicle was the one in which the royal family had been waiting for an hour.
All expected to see the queen arrive terrified, downcast, and overcome; she came joyous and happy. The dangers she had run, the fatigue she had undergone, the time she had lost, all the consequences were forgotten in pleasure at the blow with the cane she had given the carriage of Lafayette, and which she felt as if she had given the general himself.
Ten paces from the vehicle a servant held a horse. Charny pointed the horse to Isidor, who mounted and galloped away. He hurried on to Bondy to order post-horses.
The queen got into the carriage, in which the whole royal family already were. She sat down, took the dauphin on her knee, and the king sat by her; the rest of the family occupied the front seat.
Charny shut the door and got on the box; and to divert the attention of spies, in case there should be any, went up Saint Honore, down the Boulevards to the Madeleine, and thence to Porte Saint Martin. The carriage was there in waiting, on a road leading to what was called La Voirie. The road was deserted.
The count sprang from the box and opened the door. In one moment the six persons in the one carriage were put into the other. Charny took the useless vehicle and upset it in a ditch, and then returned to the carriage.
De Maiden got up behind; M. de Valory sat with Charny on the seat. The carriage had four horses, and a clack of the tongue made them break into a trot. The driver moved rapidly. A quarter of an hour after the clock of Saint Lawrence struck one, they set out for Bondy. The horses were harnessed, and waited outside of the stable.
On the other side of the road was a hired cabriolet all ready. In this were the two femmes de chambre of the dauphin and of Madame Royale.
It had been agreed between the king and queen and Charny, that at Bondy he would get inside of the carriage, and that Madame de Tourzel would return thence to Pans. In this change, though, they had forgotten to consult Madame de Tourzel. The king proposed the question. Madame de Tourzel was devoted to the royal family, but, as far as etiquette was concerned, was a perfect pendant to old Madame de Noailles.
“Sire,” said she, “it is my duty to watch over the children of France, and not to leave them for a moment without the express orders of your majesty. As the order has no precedent, I will not leave them.”
The queen trembled with impatience. Two reasons excited her. She wished to have Charny in the carriage; as a queen he assured her safety, as a woman she delighted to have him by her.
“My dear Madame de Tourzel,” said the queen, “we are very grateful; but you suffer and exaggerate devotion. Remain at Bondy, and rejoin us wherever we be.”
“Madame,” said the old lady, “let the king order and I will obey, even though he place me on the roadside. An order of the king alone, however, can induce me to do this, and thus not only fail in my duty, but renounce my right.”
Louis XVI. did not dare to decide in so important a matter. He sought some exit, some mode of escape. “M. de Charny,” said he, “can you not remain on the seat?''
“I can do anything the king wishes,” said M. de Charny, “but I should have to remain there in my uniform of an officer in which I have for four months travelled up and down this road. If I did not do that, I would have to wear my coat and hat, a dress which by no means suits so elegant an equipage.”
“Get into the carriage, M. de Charny, get in; I will hold the dauphin, and Madame Elizabeth will take Marie Therese, and all will be right. We will only be a little crowded, that is all.”
Charny awaited the king's decision. “It is impossible, my dear,” said Louis XVI. “Remember that we have ninety leagues to go.”
Madame de Tourzel stood up ready to obey the king's order, if he should order her to get out. The king, however, did not venture to give it, so important do even the most trivial prejudices seem to people of courts.
“Monsieur de Charny, can you not replace your brother, and ride in advance to order the horses?”
“I have already told your majesty that I am willing to do anything, but would suggest to the king that post-horses are usually ordered by a courier, and not by a captain of the navy. Such a thing might awake the suspicions of the post-agents and give occasion to much trouble.”
“My God! my God!” murmured the queen, impatient to the last degree. Then; turning to the count, she said: “Settle matters as you please, sir, but you must not leave me.”
“It is my wish, madame, not to do so, but I see no way to avoid it but one.”
“What is that? Speak quickly,” said the queen.
“Instead of getting either on the box or in the carriage, instead of riding in advance, to return to Paris, and then ride back in the simple dress of a man riding post. Go on, madame, and before you have gone ten leagues, I will be within a hundred yards of your carriage.”
“Certainly, but till you reach Chalons your majesty has nothing to fear, and ere then I will have rejoined you.”
“How, though, will you return to Paris?”
“On the horse my brother rode; he is very swift, and has had time to blow; in less than half an hour I will be there.”
“Then, madame, I will put on a suitable dress, take a fast horse, and hurry on till I overtake you.”
“Is there no other way?” said Marie Antoinette, in despair.
“None,” said the king, “that I see.”
“Then,” said Charny, “let us lose no time.”
The importance of the discussion made all forget to give to Isidor, De Maiden, and De Valory, the loaded pistols which were in the coach.
