THE WORDS OF the king: “We get some information here,” were explained by the appearance of two or three houses on the right-hand side of the road. The nearest of these houses was opened at the sound of the approaching carriages, as they perceived by the light that shone through the doorway.
The queen descended, took the arm of M. de Maiden, and went towards the house. But at their approach the door was closed, yet not so quickly but that M. de Maiden had time to dart forward before it was quite shut. Under the pressure of M. de Maiden, although there was some resistance, the door opened.
Behind the door, and making an effort to close it, was a man about fifty, with his legs bare, and dressed in a robe-de-chambre and slippers. He cast a rapid look at the queen, whose countenance was visible by the light he held in his hand, and started. “What do you want, sir?” he asked of M. de Maiden.
“Monsieur,” was the reply, “we do not know Varennes, and we beg you to be so good as to point out the way to Stenay.”
“And if I do so,” said the unknown, “and if they ascertain that I have given you the information, then for giving it to you I should be lost.”
“Ah, monsieur, should you run some risk in rendering us this service, you are too courteous not to oblige a lady who finds herself in a dangerous position.”
“Monsieur!” replied the man, “the person who is behind you is the queen!”
The queen, who had heard or guessed what had just passed, touched M. de Maiden behind. “Before going further,” said she, “tell the king that I am recognised.”
M. de Maiden, in one second, had accomplished this commission.
“Well!” said the king, “beg this man to come and speak with me.”
M. de Maiden returned; and thinking it useless to dissimulate, he said: “The king wishes to speak to you, monsieur.”
The man sighed, threw off his slippers, and with naked feet, in order to make less noise, advanced towards the door.
“Your name, monsieur?” asked the king at once.
“M. de Prefontaine, sire,” he replied hesitatingly.
“A major of cavalry, and knight of the royal order of Saint Louis.”
“In your double quality as major and knight of the order of Saint Louis, you have twice taken the oath of fidelity to me; it is consequently your duty to assist me in the embarrassment I find myself in.”
“Certainly,” replied the major; “but I beg your majesty to make haste—I may be seen.”
“And, monsieur, if you are seen,” said M. de Maiden, “so much the better. You will never have so good an opportunity again to do your duty.”
The major, with whom this seemed no argument, uttered a kind of groan.
The queen shrugged her shoulders in pity, and stamped her foot with impatience.
The king made a sign to her, and then, addressing the major: “Monsieur,” he continued, “have you, by chance, heard speak of some horses that were waiting for a carriage, and have you seen any hussars stationed in the town since yesterday?”
“Yes, sire, horses and hussars are on the other side of the town: the horses at the Hotel du Grand Monarque, the hussars probably in the barracks.”
“Thanks, sir. Now go in; no one has seen you, and nothing will happen to you.”
The king, without listening any further, reached his hand to the queen to assist her into the carriage, and addressing the guards, who waited for his orders: “Gentlemen,” said he, “forward to the Grand Monarque!”
The two officers resumed their places, and cried to the postilions: “To the Grand Monarque!”
But at the same instant, a kind of shadow on horseback darted from the wood, and riding across the road, “Postilions,” said he, “not a step further!”
“Why so?” asked the postilions, astonished.
“Because you are conducting the king, who is flying from France, and in the name of the nation I order you not to stir.”
The postilions, who had already made a movement forward, stopped, muttering, “The king!”
Louis XVI. saw the danger was great. “Who are you, sir,” cried he, “who give your orders here?”
“A simple citizen; but I represent the law, and I speak in the name of the nation. Postilion, stir not. I order it a second time. You know me well—I am Jean Baptiste Drouet, son of the postmaster of St. Menehould.”
“Oh! the miserable fellow!” cried the two guards, jumping down from their seats, with their couteaus de chasse in their hands, “it is he!” But before they had reached the ground, Drouet had darted into the streets of the lower town.
“Ah! Charny, Charny!” murmured the queen, “what has happened to you?” She sank into the bottom of the carriage, indifferent to whatever might happen.
What had happened to Charny, and how had he let Drouet pass?—Fatality!
The horse of M. Dandoins was swift, but Drouet had already twenty minutes' start of the count. He failed in recovering these twenty minutes.
Charny drove the spurs into his horse; the horse bounded and went off at a gallop. Drouet on his side, without knowing whether he was followed or not, went as hard as he could. He, however, had only a post-horse, Charny a thorough-bred. At the end of a league Charny had shortened the distance by a third. Then Drouet perceived he was pursued, and redoubled his efforts to escape. He had left so rapidly that he was without arms.
The young patriot did not fear death, but he feared to be stopped. He feared the king would escape; he feared that this opportunity to render his name illustrious for ever would escape him.
He had still two leagues to go before reaching Clermont, and it was evident that he would be overtaken at the end of the third league from St. Menehould. And yet to stimulate his ardour he heard the carriage of the king before him. He redoubled his spurring and whipping.
He was only three-quarters of a league from Clermont, but Charny was not more than two hundred paces behind him. Without doubt, Drouet knew there was no post-house at Varennes; without doubt the king was going on to Verdun.
Drouet began to despair. Before he could reach the king he would be overtaken himself. At half a league from Clermont he heard the gallop of Charny's horse nearly as well as that of his own.
All at once, as Charny was not more than fifty paces behind him, some returning postilions crossed before Drouet. Drouet knew that they were those who had conducted the king's carriage.
“Ah!” said he, “it is you. On to Verdun, aye?”
“What? On to Verdun?” asked the postilion.
“I said,” repeated Drouet, “that the carriages you had just left have gone on to Verdun.” And he passed, pressing his horse for a last effort.
“No!” cried the postilions, “on to Varennes.”
Drouet gave a cry of joy. He is safe! and the king is lost! He darted into the forest of Argonne, all the paths of which he knew. In crossing the wood he would gain on the king. Besides, the darkness of the wood would protect him. Charny, who knew the country almost as well as Drouet, understood that Drouet would escape, and uttered a cry of anger. Nearly at the same time as Drouet, he pushed his horse into the open country that separated the road from the forest, calling out: “Stop! stop!”
But Drouet took care not to answer. He leant over on the neck of his horse, exciting him with his spurs, whip and voice. If he reached the wood he was safe.
He reached the wood, but when he reached it he was only ten paces from Charny.
Charny seized one of his pistols, and pointing it at Drouet, “Stop!” said he, “or thou diest!”
Drouet stooped still more over the neck of his horse, and pressed on. Charny drew the trigger, but it missed fire.
Furious, Charny launched the pistol at Drouet, seized the second, dashed into the wood in pursuit of the fugitive, aimed at him betwixt the trees, but a second time the pistol missed fire.
Then it was that he remembered as he galloped away from M. Dandoins that he had heard him cry out something which he had not understood.
“Ah!” said he, “I have mistaken the horse, and, without doubt, he cried to me that the pistols were not charged. N'importe! I'll overtake this fellow, and if necessary will kill him with my hands.” And he continued the pursuit. But he had scarcely gone a hundred yards before his horse fell into a ditch. Charny rolled over his head, got up, and jumped into the saddle again, but Drouet had disappeared.
And so Drouet escaped from Charny. So it happened that he crossed the high-road, like a threatening phantom, and commanded the postilions who were driving the king not to go a step further.
The postilions had stopped, for Drouet had ordered them in the name of the nation, which had already commenced to be more powerful than the king.
Drouet had scarcely got into the streets of the lower town before the galloping of an approaching horse was heard.
By the same street that Drouet had taken, Isidor appeared. His information was the same as that given by M. de Prefontaine.
The horses of M. de Choiseul and M. de Bouille and de Raigecourt were at the other end of the town, at the Grand Monarque. The third officer, M. de Rohrig, was at the garrison with the hussars. A waiter at a cafe, who was shutting up his establishment, had given him the information. But instead of finding the travellers, as he expected, full of joy, he found them plunged in the deepest grief.
M. de Prefontaine wept; the two guards threatened something invisible and unknown. Isidor stopped in the midst of his recital.
“What has happened, gentlemen?” said he.
“Did you not meet in the street a man who passed you at full gallop?”
“Well, that man was Drouet,” said the king.
“Drouet!” said Isidor, with profound grief; “then my brother is dead!”
The queen shrieked, and buried her head in her hands.
There was a moment of inexpressible depression among these unfortunates, threatened with a danger unknown but terrible, and stopped upon the highway. Isidor recovered himself first.
“Sire,” said he, “dead or living, do not think any longer of my brother. Think of your majesty. There is not a moment to lose. The postilions know the hotel of the Grand Monarque. At a gallop, to the hotel of the Grand Monarque!”
But the postilions did not stir.
“Don't you hear?” asked Isidor.
“Well then, why do you not start?”
“Because M. Drouet has forbidden us.”
“What! M. Drouet has forbidden you? And when the king commands and M. Drouet forbids, you obey M. Drouet?”
“Allons, gentlemen,” said Isidor to his two companions, “there are moments when the life of a man is nothing. Each of you charge one of these men: I will charge this one. We will drive ourselves.”
And he seized the nearest postilion by the collar, and put the point of his hunting-knife to his breast.
The queen saw the three knives sparkle, and uttered a cry.
“Gentlemen,” said she, “gentlemen, pardon!” and then to the postilions: “My friends,” said she, “you shall have fifty louis to divide amongst you now, and a pension of five hundred francs each, if you will save the king.”
Whether they were frightened by the warlike demonstrations of the three young men, or whether they were seduced by the queen's offer, the postilions recommenced their journey.
M. de Prefontaine went into his house, trembling, and locked the door.
Isidor galloped before the carriage. He traversed the town and passed the bridge. In five minutes they would be at the Grand Monarque. The carriage descended the hill that conducted to the low town at a good rate: but on reaching the entrance to the bridge they found one of the gates closed. They opened the gate; two or three wagons barred the passage.
“Come!” said Isidor, jumping from his horse and pulling the wagons aside.
At this moment they heard the first beat of the drum, and the first clang of the tocsin. Drouet had done his work.
“Ah, fellow!” said Isidor, grinding his teeth, “if I find you.” And by a great effort he pushed one of the wagons aside, as M. de Maiden and M. de Valory did the other.
A third still remained in the way.
“Come! the last one!” said Isidor; and at the same time the wheels moved.
All at once, between the spokes of the third wagon, they saw the barrels of four or five muskets thrust.
“A step further and you die, gentlemen!” said a voice.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” said the king, “do not attempt to force a passage. I order you not.”
The two officers and Isidor drew back a step.
“What is it you wish?” asked the king.
At the same moment a cry of terror was heard from the carriage. Besides the men who intercepted the passage of the bridge, two or three others had glided behind the carriage, and the guns of several appeared at the door. One of these was directed against the breast of the queen.
Isidor saw all, and seized the barrel and knocked it up.
“Fire, fire!” cried several voices. One of the men obeyed, but happily his gun snapped.
Isidor raised his arm, and would have poniarded the young man, but the queen caught his arm.
“Ah, madame!” cried Isidor furiously, “let me charge these ruffians.”
“No, monsieur. Put up your sword! Listen!”
Isidor half obeyed. He let his hunting—-knife fall half-way down the scabbard.
“Ah, if I could meet Drouet!” he murmured.
“As for him,” said the queen, in a low tone, and grasping his arm firmly, “as for him, I give you leave.”
“Now, messieurs,” repeated the king, “what is it you wish?”
“We wish to see the passports,” replied two or three voices.
“The passports?” said the king; “go and fetch the authorities of the town, and we will show them to them.”
“Ay, by my faith! good manners!” cried the man whose gun had already snapped, throwing himself towards the king. But the two guards threw themselves between him and the king and seized him. In the struggle, the gun went off, but the ball struck no one.
“Halloa!” cried a voice, “who fired?”
The man whom the guards had seized cried: “Help! help!” Five or six other armed men ran to his assistance.
The two guards bared their hunting-knives, and prepared to fight.
The king and the queen made useless efforts to stop both parties. The struggle was about to commence—terrible, mortal—when two men suddenly threw themselves into the midst of the melee, one girdled with a tricoloured scarf, the other dressed in a uniform.
The man with the tricoloured scarf was Sausse, the procureur of the commune; the other, in the uniform, was Hannonet, commander of the National Guards. Behind them, lit up by torches, were twenty guns.
The king saw, in these two men, if not assistance, at least a guarantee of his safety.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “I am ready to trust myself, and those with me, to you, but defend us from the brutality of these people.” And he pointed to the men armed with guns.
“Ground your arms, gentlemen!” said Hannonet. The men grumblingly obeyed.
“You will excuse us, monsieur,” said the procureur of the commune, addressing the king, “but the report is spread that his majesty Louis XVI. is fled, and it is our duty to see for ourselves if it is true.”
“To see if it is true!” cried Isidor. “If it were true that this carriage contained the king, you ought to be at his feet. If, on the contrary, it only contains a private gentleman, why do you stop us?”
“Monsieur!” said Sausse, continuing to address the king, “it is to you I speak; will you do me the honour of answering?”
“Sire,” said Isidor, in a whisper, “gam time; M. de Damas and his dragoons follow us, without doubt, and it will not be long before they arrive.”
“You are right,” said the king. Then, answering M. Sausse, “And if our passports are correct, you will let us continue our route, monsieur?”
“Well, then, Madame la Baronne,” said the king, addressing himself to Madame de Tourzel, “have the goodness to seek for your passport, and give it to these gentlemen.”
Madame de Tourzel complied with what the king meant to say, by the words, “have the goodness to seek for your passport.” She commenced immediately to hunt up the passport, but in the pockets where it certainly was not.
“Ah!” said an impatient threatening voice, “you know well you have no passports.”
“Pardon, gentlemen,” said the queen, “we have one, but ignorant that we were going to be asked for it, Madame de Korff does not know where she put it.”
A kind of humming went through the crowd, implying that they were not to be duped by any subterfuge.
“There is something more simple than all this,” said Sausse. “Postilions, drive the carriage to my store. These ladies and gentlemen will come into my house, and there all can be put right. Forward! gentlemen of the National Guard, escort the carriage!”
This invitation resembled an order too much for any one to gainsay it, and if they had attempted they would probably not have succeeded. The tocsin continued to ring, the drum to beat, and the crowd to increase at each step.
More than a hundred persons, accompanying the carriage, remained on the outside of the house of M. Sausse, which was situated in a little square.
“Well,” said the king, as he entered.
“Well, monsieur,” replied Sausse, “we were speaking of the passport; if the lady who is said to be the mistress of the carriage will show hers, I will carry it to the municipality, where the council is sitting, and see if it is correct.”
As in any case the passport given by Madame de Korff to Count Charny and by Count Charny to the queen, was quite correct, the king made a sign to Madame de Tourzel to give it up.
She drew this precious paper from her pocket and put it into the hands of M. Sausse, who bade his wife do the honours of his house to his mysterious guests, and left for the municipality.
As Drouet was present at the sitting, every one there was very excited. M. Sausse entered with the passport. Each knew that the travellers had been conducted to his house, and on his arrival curiosity made them silent. He deposited the passport before the mayor.
We have already given the contents of this passport. After having read it: “Gentlemen,” said the mayor, “the passport is perfectly good.”
“Good!” repeated eight or ten voices with astonishment, and at the same time their hands stretched out to receive it.
“Without doubt, good,” said the mayor, “for the king's signature is there.” And he shoved the passport towards the stretched-out hands, which seized it immediately. But Drouet nearly tore it from the hands that held it: “Signed by the king?” said he, “well, so it may be; but is he one of the National Assembly?”
“Yes,” said one of his neighbours, who was reading the passport at the same time as himself, and by the light of the candle, “I see the signature of a member of one of the committees.”
“But,” replied Drouet, “is it that of the president? And, besides all that,” went on the young patriot, “the travellers are not Madame Korff, a Russian lady, her children, her steward, her woman, and three servants, but the king, the queen, the dauphin, Madame Royale, Madame Elizabeth, some great lady of the palace, three couriers—the royal family, in fact! Will you, or will you not, permit the royal family to leave France?”
The question was placed in its proper light; but, place it as you would, it was a very difficult one for the authorities of a third-rate town like Varennes to determine.
Then they deliberated, and the deliberation promised to be so long that the procureur determined to leave them to it and returned home.
The king advanced three steps to meet him. “Well,” he asked, with an anxiety that he strove in vain to conceal, “the passport?”
“The passport,” replied M. Sausse, “at this moment, I ought to say, has raised a great discussion at the municipality.”
“And why?” demanded Louis XVI.; “they doubt its validity, perhaps?”
“No—but they doubt its belonging really to Madame de Korff; and the rumour goes that it is in reality the king and his family that we have the honour to have in our walls.”
Louis XVI. hesitated replying for a moment; then, determining all at once what to do—
“Yes, monsieur,” said he, “I am the king, that is the queen, those are my children! and I beg you to treat us with that respect which the French have always shown their kings.”
A great number of the curious surrounded the door. The words of the king were heard, not only within, but without too.
Unfortunately, if he who had just pronounced these words had said them with a certain dignity, the grey coat in which he was dressed, and the little peruke, a la Jean Jacques, that ornamented his head, would not have corresponded with his dignity. To find a King of France in such an ignoble disguise! The queen felt the impression produced on the multitude, and coloured to the very temples.
“Let us accept the offer of Madame Sausse,” said she, quickly, “and go upstairs.”
M. Sausse took a light and went towards the stairs, to show the way to his illustrious guests.
During this time, the news that it was really the king who was at Varennes, and that he had said so with his own lips, flew through every street in the town. A man rushed into the municipality. “Gentlemen,” said he, “the travellers stopping at M. Sausse's really are the royal family! I heard the confession from the king's own mouth!”
“Eh bien! gentlemen,” cried Drouet, “'what did I tell you?”
At the same time a great hubbub was heard in the streets, and the tocsin continued to clang and the drums to beat.
A deputation of the commune soon arrived, who said to Louis XVI.:
“Since it is no longer doubtful that the inhabitants of Varennes have the happiness to possess their king, they come to take his orders.”
“My orders?” replied the king, “direct my carriages, then, to be got ready, so that I may continue my route.”
None of the municipal deputation knew what to reply to this demand. Just then the gallop of the horses of De Choiseul was heard, and the hussars were seen to draw up with bare blades in the square.
The queen became highly excited, and a ray of joy passed across her eyes. “We are saved!” murmured she, in the ear of Madame Elizabeth.
“God grant it to be so!” said the pure-hearted, lamb-like woman, who appealed to God under all circumstances.
The municipal officers seemed uneasy.
Just then a loud noise was heard in the ante-chamber, which was guarded by peasants armed with scythes: a few words were interchanged, and then a contest ensued, and De Choiseul, bare-headed and hat in hand, appeared at the door.
Behind him appeared the pale head and resolute face of M. Damas.
In the expression of the two officers' faces there was such an air of menace, that the members of the commune separated, leaving an open space between the new-comers and the royal family.
When she saw De Choiseul, the queen crossed the whole length of the room and gave him her hand: “Ah, sir! is it you? You are welcome.”
“Alas! madame, I have come very late.”
“It matters not; you have come in good company.”
“Madame, we are almost alone. M. Dandoins has been detained with his dragoons at St. Menehould, and M. Damas has been deserted by his men.”
“But,” said De Choiseul, “where is M. de Bouille? where is De Raigecourt?” and he looked anxiously around him.
“I have not seen those gentlemen,” said the king, who had approached.
“Sire,” said Damas, “I give you my word of honour I believed they were killed in front of your carriage.”
“What must be done?” said Louis XVI.
“Sire, I have forty hussars here. They have marched forty leagues to-day, but will go much farther to serve you.”
“Listen, sire,” said De Choiseul. “This is all that can be done: I have, as I said, forty hussars. I will dismount seven. You will mount one of the horses, with the dauphin in your arms, the queen will take a second, Madame Elizabeth a third, and Madame Royale a fourth. Mesdames de Tourzel, de Neuville, and Breunier, whom you will not leave, will mount the others. We will surround you with the thirty-three hussars, and cut our way through. Thus we shall have a chance of escape. Reflect, though, sire. If you adopt this course, you must do it at once, for in an hour, or half-hour, the soldiers will have left me.”
M. de Choiseul awaited the king's order. The queen appeared to like the project, and looked at Louis XVI., as if to question him. But he, on the contrary, seemed to shun the eyes of the queen, and the influence which she could exert over him. At last, looking M. de Choiseul in the face: “Yes,” said he, “I know well that there is a way, and only one, perhaps; but can you answer me that in this unequal contest of thirty-three men against seven or eight hundred, some shots will not kill my son, my daughter, the queen, or my sister?”
“Sire,” replied Choiseul, “if such a misfortune happened, and happened because you had yielded to my counsel, I should kill myself before your majesty's eyes.”
“Well, then,” said the king, “instead of yielding to these wild projects, let us reason coolly.”
The queen sighed, and moved two or three steps away. In this she did not feign regret. She met Isidor, who, attracted by the noise in the street, and still hoping that it was occasioned by the arrival of his brother, had approached the window. They exchanged two or three words, and Isidor left the room.
The king seemed not to have noticed what passed between Isidor and the queen, and said: “The municipality refuses to let me pass. It wishes that I should wait here until the break of day. I do not speak of the Count de Charny, who is so sincerely devoted to us, and of whom we have no news, but the Chevalier de Bouille and M. de Raigecourt left, as I am assured, ten minutes after my arrival, to warn the Marquis de Bouille, and cause the troops to march, which were surely ready. If I were alone, I would follow your counsel and pass on; but the queen, my two children, my sister, and these two ladies, it is impossible to risk, especially with the few people you have, for I would not certainly go leaving my three guards here.” He took out his watch. “It is near three o'clock. Young De Bouille left at half-past twelve. His father had certainly formed his troops in echelons, one before the other. The first will be advised by the chevalier. They will arrive successively. It is only eight leagues from here to Stenay. In two hours, or three hours and a half, a man may easily get over the distance on horseback. Detachments will continue then to arrive throughout the night. Towards five or six o'clock, the Marquis de Bouille will be here in person, and then, without any danger to my family, without any violence, we will leave Varennes and continue on our way.”
M. de Choiseul assented to the logic of this reasoning, and yet his instinct told him that there are certain moments when it is not necessary to listen to logic.
He turned then towards the queen, and by his looks seemed to supplicate her to give him other orders, or at least get the king to revoke those that he had already given. But she shook her head.
“I do not wish to take anything on myself,” said she; “it is for the king to command, my duty is to obey. Besides, I am of the opinion of the king. It cannot be long before M. de Bouille arrives.”
M. de Choiseul bowed, and drew some steps back, taking M. de Damas with him, with whom he wished to concert measures, and making a sign to the two guards to come and share in their councils, when a second deputation arrived, consisting of M. Sausse, M. Hannonet, commander of the National Guard, and of three or four municipal officers.
They caused their names to be announced, and the king, thinking that they came to say the carriages were ready, ordered them to be admitted.
The young officers, who interpreted every sign, every movement, every gesture, fancied they saw in Sausse's face something of hesitation, and in that of Hannonet a determined will, which seemed to them a good augury.
The king looked anxiously at the envoys of the commune, and awaited until they spoke to him. They did not speak, but bowed. Louis XVI. did not seem to mistake them. “Messieurs,” said he, “the French people have only gone astray, for their love of their sovereigns is real. Weary of the perpetual outrages I have been subjected to in my capital, I have decided to withdraw into the provinces, where the holy fire of devotion yet burns. There, I am sure, I shall find the love the people of France are wont to bear their rulers.”
“I am willing to give my people a proof of my confidence. I have come to take hence a force, composed one half of troops of the line, one half of the National Guard, with which I will go to Montmedy, where I have determined to fix myself. The consequence is, M. Hannonet, as commander of the National Guard, I wish you to select the troops who are to accompany me, and to have the horses put to my carriage.”
There was a moment of silence, during which Sausse expected Hannonet to speak, and when Hannonet thought Sausse would speak.
Hannonet at last bowed. He said: “Sire, I would obey the orders of your majesty, but for a clause which forbids the king to leave France, and all Frenchmen to aid him in doing so.”
“Consequently,” said Hannonet, making a gesture to beseech the king to let him finish, “and consequently, the municipality of Varennes has resolved, before it suffers the king to pass, to send a courier to Paris, to ask the will of the National Assembly.”
The king felt the sweat roll from his brow, and the queen bit her lips with impatience. Madame Elizabeth clasped her hands and looked to heaven.
“So, so, gentlemen,” said the king, with that dignity which always came to his aid when forced to an extremity; “am I no longer able to go whither I please? if so, I am a more abject slave than the humblest of my subjects.”
“Sire,” said Hannonet, “you are still our master, but the humblest of all men, king or citizen, is bound by his oath. You made an oath. Sire, obey the law. This is not only a great example to follow, but to give.”
The king saw that if, without resistance, he submitted to this rebellion—and such he thought it—of a village municipality, he was lost.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “this is violence. I am not, though, so isolated as I seem. Before my door are forty faithful men, and around Varennes I have ten thousand soldiers. I order you, then, M. Hannonet, commander of the National Guard, to have the horses at once put to my carriage. I order, and will have it so.”
The queen drew near, and in a low tone said: “Very well, sire! let us risk our lives, but not our honour.”
“And if we refuse to obey your majesty, what will be the result?”
“The result will be that I will appeal to force, and that you will be responsible for the blood that will be shed, and which you really will have spilled.”
“So be it, sire,” said Hannonet. “Call your hussars—I will appeal to the National Guard.”
He left the room. The king and queen looked at each other in terror, and the latter, seeing the danger of their position, hastily taking the dauphin, who was yet asleep, from his bed, went to the window, and throwing it open, said:
“Monsieur, let us show ourselves to the people, and ascertain if they be entirely gangrened. Let us appeal to the soldiers, and encourage them with our voices. That is as little as those who are ready to die for us can expect.”
The king followed mechanically, and appeared with her on the balcony.
The square into which Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette looked seemed a prey to the greatest agitation.
One half of the hussars of M. de Choiseul were mounted, and the others on foot. Those who were on foot were pulled about, lost, drowned amid the people, and suffered themselves, with their horses, to be taken anywhere. They were already won over by the nation. The others, who were on horseback, seemed submissive to M. de Choiseul, who spoke to them in German: but they informed him that half of the troop had mutinied.
The cry of “The king! the king!” was at once uttered by five hundred mouths.
De Choiseul was desperate, and wished to die. He made one effort. “Hussars!” said he, “in honour's name save the king!”
Just at that moment, surrounded by twenty armed men, a new actor appeared on the stage. Drouet came from the municipality, where he had resolved to stop the king's journey. “Ah!” said he, as he passed De Choiseul, “you would convey the king away! I tell you, that if you do, you will take away only his body.”
Choiseul advanced with his drawn sword. The commander of the National Guard was there, and said: “M. de Choiseul, if you come a foot nearer, I will kill you!”
Just then a man advanced whom no threat or menace could induce to pause. It was Isidor de Charny. The man he looked for was Drouet.
“Back, back!” said he, driving his spurs into his horse, “that man belongs to me!”
He rushed on Drouet with his couteau de chasse.
When he was just within reach, two shots were fired, one from a pistol, and the other from a gun. The ball from the latter struck him in the breast.
The two shots were fired so near to him that the unfortunate young man was literally wrapped in flame and smoke. He readied out his arms, and, as he fell, exclaimed, “Poor Catherine!”
Letting the couteau de chasse fall, he sank back on the crupper of his horse, and thence to the ground.
The queen uttered a terrible cry, and nearly let the dauphin fall from her arms: but as she was dropping into a chair she saw another horseman coming down the pathway Isidor had made in the crowd.
The king, when the queen had retired, turned and shut the window.
Not a few voices only cried, “Vive la Nation!”—not a few hussars; the whole crowd did so. Only twenty hussars remained faithful, and they were the hope of the French monarchy.
The queen threw herself in a chair, and with her hands over her face saw Isidor de Charny die, as she had seen George.
All at once a loud noise was heard, and she looked up.
We will not seek to tell what passed in the mind of the woman and the queen. Olivier de Charny, pale and bloody with the last embrace of his brother, stood at the door.
Sombre and calm, he made a sign to the persons who were present, and said:
“Excuse me, messieurs, I must speak to their majesties.”
The National Guards sought to make him understand that they were there to keep his majesty from having any communication with any one else.
Charny, however, folded his pale lips, knit his brow, opened his frock, and showed a pair of pistols, repeating, at the same time, in a gentler but more positive voice than he had before:
“Gentlemen, I had the honour to tell you that I wished to speak to the king and queen alone!”
He at the same time made with his hand a gesture for all strangers to leave the room.
The voice, the power of Charny, exercised on himself and others, animated Damas and the guardsmen, who resumed all their energy, and at once they drove the National Guards from the room.
Then the queen saw how useful such a man would have been in the carriage, had not etiquette demanded that Madame de Tourzel should have been his substitute.
Charny looked around to see that none but the queen's faithful servitors were present, and, approaching, said, “Madame, I have seventy hussars at the gates, and can rely on them. What orders do you give?”
“Tell me first, dear Charny,” said the queen in German, “what has happened?”
The count made a gesture, which told the queen that De Maiden, who was there, also spoke German.
“Alas!” said the queen, “we did not see you, and thought you dead.”
“Unfortunately, madame,” said Charny, “I am not dead, but,” and he spoke in deep sadness, “my poor brother is.” He could not restrain a tear; but he added, in a low tone, “My time will come.”
“Charny! Charny! I ask what is the matter? Why did you leave me thus?” asked the queen; adding, in German, “You treated us badly, especially ourselves.”
“I fancied,” he said, “that my brother had told you why.”
“Yes, I know; you pursued that wretch Drouet, and we at once saw trouble in the fact.”
“I did meet with a great misfortune. In spite of every effort, I could not overtake him in time. A returning postilion told him that your majesty's carriage, which he had intended to follow to Verdun, had gone to Varennes, and he then went in the wood of Argonne. I followed, and sought twice to shoot him, but the weapons were not loaded. I did not get my horse at St. Menehould, but used Dandoins' instead. Ah, madame! about all this there was fatality. I followed him through the forest, but did not know the roads, while he was familiar with every by-path. The darkness became every hour more intense, and as long as I could see him or hear him I followed. At last light and the sound of his horse's heels passed away, and I found myself lost in the darkness of the forest. Madame, I am a man—you know me; I do not weep now, but then I wept tears of rage.”
Charny bowed, and touched it with the tip of his lips.
“No one replied to my cries. I wandered all night, and at dawn I was at Genes, on the road from Varennes to Dun. Had you escaped Drouet, as he had me? But that was impossible: you had passed Varennes, and it was useless to go for you thither. Not far from the city I met M. Deslon and a hundred hussars. He was uneasy, but had no news except that not long before, he had seen MM. de Bouille and de Raigecourt flying across the bridge to tell the general what had gone on. I told M. Deslon all; I besought him to come with me, with his hussars, which he did at once, leaving only thirty to guard the bridge over the Meuse. In half an hour we were at Varennes, and have come the whole distance, four leagues, in one hour. I wished to begin the attack at once, to charge everything, even if we found barricade on barricade. At Varennes, however, we found some so high that it would have been madness to seek to pass them. I then tried to parley. There was an advance of the National Guards thrown out, and I asked leave to join my hussars with those who were in the city. This was refused. I then asked to send to the king for orders, and as they would have refused this, as they did the first request, I leaped my horse over the first barricade and also the second. Guided by the noise, I galloped up, and reached the square just when your majesty had left the balcony. Now,” said Charny, “I await your majesty's orders.”
The queen clasped Charny's hand in her own.
She then turned to the king, who seemed plunged into a perfect state of torpor.
“Sire,” said she, “have you heard what our faithful friend, the Count de Charny, has said?”
The queen then arose and went to him.
“Sire,” said she, “there is no time to be lost, for unfortunately we have already lost too much. M. de Charny has seventy safe men, and asks for orders.”
“Sire, for heaven's sake give your orders!”
Charny looked imploringly while the queen besought him.
“My orders!” said the king. “I have none to give. I am a prisoner. Do all you can.”
“Very well,” said the queen, “that is all we ask.”
She took Charny aside. “You have a carte-blanche,” said she. “Do as the king told you—all you can.” She then said, in a low tone: “Be quick, however; act with vigour, or we are lost.”
“Very well, madame. Let me confer for a moment with these gentlemen, and what we decide on will be done at once.”
De Choiseul came in. He had in his hand a bundle of papers wrapped up in a bloody handkerchief. He said nothing, but gave them to Charny.
The count at once understood that they were the papers found upon his brother. He took the bloody inheritance in his hand and kissed it. The queen could not but sob. Charny did not change, but placed the relics on his heart.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “will you aid me in the last effort I shall make?”
“We are ready to sacrifice our lives,” said all.
“Think you twelve men are yet faithful?”
“Well, I have sixty or seventy hussars. While I attack the barricades in front, do you make a diversion in the rear. I will then force the barricades, and with our united forces we shall be able to carry off the king.”
In reply, the young men gave Charny their hands.
He then turned to the queen and said, “Madame, in an hour I shall be dead or your majesty free.”
“Count,” said the queen, “say not so. Liberty would be too dear.”
Olivier bowed a reiteration of his promise, and without paying any attention to the fresh rumours and clamours which broke out, advanced to the door.
But just as he advanced his hand to the key, the door opened and admitted a new personage, who was already about to mingle in the complicated intrigue of the drama.
He was a man of about fifty or fifty-two years of age, with a dark, stern look. His collar was turned back, his neck bare, and his eyes were flushed with fatigue. His dusty apparel showed that some great exertion had urged him to attempt a mad journey. He had a pair of pistols, and a sabre hung to his belt. Panting and almost breathless, when he opened the door, he seemed to be satisfied when he recognised the king and queen. A smile of gratified vengeance passed over his face, and without paying any attention to the minor personages who stood in the back part of the room, he reached forth his hand and said:
“In the name of the National Assembly, all of you are my prisoners.”
With a gesture, rapid as thought, M. de Choiseul rushed forward with a cocked pistol, and seemed ready to kill the new-comer, who exceeded in insolence and resolution all they had yet seen.
By a movement yet more rapid, the queen seized his hand, and said in a low tone: “Do not be too hasty, M. de Choiseul. All the time we gain is gained, for M. de Bouille cannot be far off.”
“You are right, madame,” said De Choiseul, and he replaced his weapon.
The queen glanced at Charny, amazed that in this new danger he had not thrown himself forward. Strange though it was, Charny did not wish the new-comer to see him, and, to escape his eye, retired to the darkest corner of the room.
The queen, however, knew the count, and did not doubt but that, as soon as he was wanted, he would emerge from that recess.
