Flaunting, Extravagant Queen

by Jean Plaidy

  Such brilliance was certain to bring him enemies. He was threatened with the cry ‘Mirabeau à la lanterne!’ But he snapped his fingers. Marat accused him of working with the enemy. He snapped his fingers at Marat.

  His plan was to stop the violence of the revolution with greater violence, and he said to the King: ‘Four enemies are marching upon us: taxation, bankruptcy, the army and winter. We could prepare to tackle these enemies by guiding them. Civil war is not certain, but it might be expedient.’

  He was like a giant possessed. Civil war! Law and order armed to fight the murderous mob!

  The King was horrified. Was Mirabeau suggesting that he should fight against his dear people!

  ‘Oh, excellent but weak King!’ mourned Mirabeau. ‘Most unfortunate of Queens! Your vacillation has swept you into a terrible abyss. If you renounce my advice, or if it should fail, a funeral pall will cover this realm; but should I escape the general shipwreck, I shall be able to say to myself with pride: I exposed myself to danger in the hope of saving them, but they did not want to be saved.’

  Realising the danger which threatened the King and Queen in Paris, he consulted with Fersen, for he saw that the Swede’s plan to get them out of Paris was a good one.

  Rouen would be useless now; they must go farther towards the frontier, where the Marquis de Bouillé was near Metz with his loyal troops.

  Fersen made the journey to Metz and returned with the news that the King and Queen should leave Paris without delay, for Bouillé was not so sure of the loyalty of his troops as he had once been and he feared that disaffection was spreading.

  Still the King hesitated.

  ‘Then,’ cried Mirabeau, ‘must Your Majesty come out of retirement. You must show yourself in the streets. The people do not hate you. Have you not seen that, though they shout against you, when you appear they call you their little father? They have always had an affection for you. Are you not Papa Louis? But you shut yourself away, while your enemies spread evil tales concerning you.’

  Fersen was terrified of the Queen’s appearing in the streets, but Mirabeau was impatient.

  This was not the time to hesitate. It seemed to him that nobody but himself realised all that was at stake.

  He, Mirabeau, could save France; he, Mirabeau, would be remembered in the generations to come as the man who had averted the destruction of the monarchy; the man who had saved his country from anarchy.

  It was Mirabeau who had stood beside Orléans and helped to raise the storm; it should be Mirabeau who cried: ‘Be still!’ and for whom the rising tide of bloodshed should be called to halt.

  But he could get no help. The King would not countenance a civil war; he would not show himself to his people; he would not escape.

  So Mirabeau continued deftly to keep his balance. He swayed the Assembly and he worked for the monarchy.

  ‘Mirabeau is shaping the affairs of France,’ said Marat, said Danton, said Robespierre; and said Orléans.

  And one day, when his servant went to call Mirabeau, he found that his master was dead.

  Mirabeau had suffered from many ailments, which were largely due to the life he had led. Was it the colic which had carried him off, or that kidney trouble which had afflicted him?

  ‘Death from natural causes,’ was the verdict.

  But many people believed that the Orléans faction had determined to put an end to the man who had once been their friend and was now working to destroy all that they hoped for.

  There were many in the streets to whisper of Mirabeau’s sudden death: ‘Oh, a little something in his wine. He lived dangerously, this Mirabeau. He thought he was the greatest man in France. Then death came, silent and swift.’

  In the Tuileries fear descended. The King and the Queen now realised how much they had depended on Mirabeau.

  Chapter XIII

  ESCAPE TO VARENNES

  The death of Mirabeau greatly increased the danger to the royal family. In the Palais Royal men and women were demanding action. This was at the instigation of the Jacobins – members of that Club des Jacobins which the Club Breton had become. Club Breton had been the first of the revolutionary clubs, and many of its members were Freemasons or members of secret societies. It consisted mainly of partisans of Orléans – who was very much under the influence of Freemasonry – and the name of the club had been changed when it set up its Paris headquarters in the convent situated in the rue Saint-Honoré, for the headquarters of the convent which they had taken over was in the rue Saint-Jacques.

  The purpose of the Jacobins was to press on with the revolution.

  Soon after the death of Mirabeau, the King and Queen, feeling the need of a change, decided that they would go to Saint-Cloud for Easter. Their plans soon became known to the Jacobins, as one of the Queen’s women, Madame Rochereuil, had a lover, a member of the Club, and he had assured her that the way in which she must serve her country – or herself be suspected of treachery – was to spy on the Queen.

  So Madame Rochereuil lost no time in telling her lover of the intended visit to Saint-Cloud.

  There was to be no secret about this visit; the carriages would arrive in the courtyard and the King and Queen would get into them; people would see them leave, and perhaps shout after them as they had when they had left for Saint-Cloud last year: ‘Bon voyage, Papa!’

  But the fact was that the Jacobins had intended to prevent the King’s and Queen’s departure last summer, and they had only failed to do so because they had insufficient time to organise a riot.

  Now, thanks to the work of Madame Rochereuil, they were warned in time of the royal intentions; and Danton arranged that the rioters should be mustered in good time, made drunk, reminded of their wrongs, and incited to revolution that they might give as good a performance as they did in October.

  So on the day of the departure the Jacobins were busy. Laclos, disguised as a jockey, harangued the crowds. ‘Citizens,’ he cried, ‘the King is running away from you. He will join Artois and the émigrés; he will plot against you and bring armies to conquer you. Citizens, will you allow the King to escape?’

  The carriages were waiting. The King, the Queen and the royal children with their attendants and servants, came out and took their seats. But the rabble surrounded them.

  ‘You shall not pass,’ they cried.

  And again Antoinette saw those leering drunken faces near her own, again she was forced to listen to the obscenities and insults.

  La Fayette rode up with his soldiers and demanded that the mob stand clear and the carriages be allowed to drive on.

  But what cared the mob for La Fayette? They jeered at him; they flung mud at him; they took the horses from the carriages and demanded that the King and Queen, with their family, return to the Tuileries.

  Antoinette said: ‘We are truly prisoners now. They have determined that we shall not leave the Tuileries.’

  Even Louis was abashed, and there was a worried frown on his brow.

  Antoinette went to him and put her arm through his. ‘Louis, we cannot go on like this. I cannot endure this life.’

  He looked at her sadly and shook his head.

  ‘I think perhaps,’ he said, ‘that you are right. I think perhaps there is nothing we can do while we remain their prisoners.’

  Fersen begged an audience. He had come from Saint-Cloud where he had hoped to meet the Queen; but news had reached him of the mob’s decision not to let them leave the Tuileries.

  ‘Your Majesty must see,’ he cried passionately to Louis, ‘that this state of affairs must not go on.’

  Louis looked at his wife’s lover; and in that moment he felt a glimmer of understanding as to why Antoinette loved this man; he saw in Fersen all that he himself was not, and in a sudden moment of clarity – which was gone almost as soon as it came to him – he realised that his indecision had brought him to this pass, that there had been moments in the dangerous road he was travelling when he might have said, ‘Halt. I will take my stand here’
; when he might have turned and taken the offensive. Who could say that, had he been blessed with the boldness of this man, with the boldness of Mirabeau, his position might not have been different from what it was today, and France not the tortured nation she was fast becoming.

  ‘You are right,’ said Louis.

  ‘Your Majesty will consider my plans for your escape?’

  The King nodded.

  Now there was great activity in the Tuileries – secret activity. They missed the brilliant Mirabeau, but they were certain they could do without him.

  Fersen planned like a lover, worked like a lover. He lived for one purpose – to remove Antoinette from danger. He needed money and he must procure it in such a way that it would not be noticed, so he provided it himself by mortgaging his estates. He was already in correspondence with several foreign countries; he had General Bouillé on his side, for it was General Bouillé with whom Mirabeau had planned the royal escape. Bouillé was still prepared to help, although he warned Fersen that every week’s delay was dangerous, as each day the cavalry under his command was being indoctrinated with revolutionary ideas.

  Fersen knew full well that if one little hitch occurred in his plans, if one of the numerous letters he was constantly writing went astray, it would be ‘Fersen à la lanterns’, and hideous death would await him. The thought imbued him with a reckless courage.

  Fersen was truly in love.

  Every day he was at the Tuileries and, in order not to attract too much attention, he often came disguised. Each evening he would join the King and Queen, and in hushed voices they would discuss the plans for the escape.

  He would look at the Queen with glowing eyes.

  ‘I have ordered a berline to be built,’ he said. ‘It is a comfortable vehicle … very wide, and the springs are good. I have seen to that myself, so that Your Majesties will travel in the utmost comfort.’

  They listened eagerly. It sounded miraculous.

  ‘The passport I have had forged is made out in the name of Madame de Korff – a Russian lady. Madame de Tourzel, who of course must travel with the children, will be Madame de Korff. Her Majesty the Queen will be the governess, and His Majesty the King, the lackey; there will be three women servants. Madame Elisabeth will of course be one of these.’

  ‘And there will be room for all these in the berline?’

  ‘Indeed yes,’ said Fersen. ‘There was never such a berline as this which is being built for the flight, but it will be necessary for Your Majesty to send some of your clothes and jewels in advance.’

  ‘I will send them to Brussels,’ said the Queen. ‘Monsieur Léonard will take them. I shall not need him to dress my hair while we are on the journey.’

  ‘Indeed not. You must not forget that you are the governess.’

  The Queen smiled. Already her spirits were lifted. It was due to the thought of escape from the dreary Tuileries; it was due to the joy of planning with Fersen.

  ‘I have arranged with Bouillé and the Duc de Choiseul that troops shall be posted along the route, so that once we are out of Paris the greatest of the danger will be past.’

  ‘That is wonderful,’ cried Antoinette. ‘And you … Comte?’

  ‘I shall be disguised as your coachman. I shall drive you to the frontier.’

  Louis looked at them sombrely, and he thought: They love each other.

  There was the man he might have been; and had he been that man, handsome, distinguished, a man of action, Antoinette might have loved him as she loved Fersen.

  He did not blame Antoinette; he did not blame Fersen.

  But he was in danger of losing his kingdom and his wife, and suddenly he felt an unusual emotion; mingled with it was anger against the Swede. Why should the man arrange their lives; why should he take charge of this adventure? Why should Antoinette look at him with those adoring eyes?

  No. He must accept Fersen’s help but, once they were out of Paris, the escape should be his own achievement. He was the King; and he would be in command.

  ‘Monsieur le Comte,’ he said, ‘I think you might accompany us to Bondy. There another shall take over the berline and you shall ride on by a different route to the frontier.’

  Fersen was bewildered. ‘But, Sire,’ he said, ‘I have been over the route. I have made all the arrangements … I … I have planned this … ’

  Louis’ face was quite expressionless. ‘I would wish you to leave us at Bondy.’

  Fersen looked at the Queen. She said; ‘The King is right. The risk … if we were discovered … would be too much for you to take. The mob would tear you to pieces if they discovered who you were and all you had done for us.’

  ‘But I must beg of you to listen to me,’ said Fersen.

  Louis was a King in that moment, who did not give reasons for his decisions.

  ‘I wish it,’ he said.

  Fersen bowed.

  The plans were ready. The 6th of June was fixed for the day of escape, and all details were completed. Fersen had arranged everything. The King and Queen were to leave the Tuileries separately; they were to cross the square to where he would have an old-fashioned fiacre waiting for them. When they were all assembled, he would drive them out of Paris to where the berline would be waiting for them; in that he would drive them to Bondy, where he would leave them. They must make with all speed to Châlons-sur-Marne, for once they were through that town they would find the soldiers waiting for them, half an hour’s drive ahead at Pont de Somme-Vesle; and so they would make their way to Montmédy, which was but ten miles from the frontier. Fersen would be impatiently waiting at Montmédy; and once they had reached that town they would be safe.

  The most difficult part of the operation was slipping out of Paris. They talked of it continually, rehearsing what they would do.

  It was inconceivable, of course, that the Queen should leave her jewels behind. She visualised her arrival in a foreign Court. She must be adequately dressed. She must not let her friends think that she came as a beggar.

  Fersen had realised this, and the berline itself was the most magnificent of its kind ever built. There had never been such a large carriage; this was necessary, Fersen declared, as it had to carry so many.

  Fersen had put all his love into the building of the berline. Continually he thought of the comfort of the Queen. He had built into it a cupboard for food, and this was to be packed with chicken, wine and various delicacies for the journey; there was a clothes-press, for the Queen had always been fastidious about her clothes; there was even a commode – everything for the comfort of the travellers.

  Fersen, who had planned every detail to perfection, failed to realise that the building of such a magnificent vehicle could not be kept entirely secret; and although his story was that it was for a Russian baroness, rumours soon started from the coachmaker’s workshop.

  Provence and Josèphe were to leave the Tuileries at the same time, but Provence was arranging his own escape and proposed to travel to Montmédy by a different route; there they would meet.

  Provence had different ideas from those of Fersen, and decided that he and Josèphe would travel in a shabby carriage without attendants.

  The Queen was packing her jewels, in her apartment, preparing them for Monsieur Léonard to take into Brussels, when she became aware of Madame Rochereuil standing in the doorway, watching her.

  Antoinette swung round, and with difficulty prevented herself from crying out.

  ‘Yes, Madame Rochereuil?’ she said coldly.

  ‘I wondered if I might help you, Madame, with the packing.’

  The woman’s eyes were on the jewels spread out on the sofa.

  The Queen said: ‘There is nothing you can do.’

  Madame Rochereuil left her, but the Queen was anxious. She called Madame Elisabeth to her.

  ‘That woman is spying on us,’ she said. ‘That woman knows we plan to go.’

  ‘Could we not rid ourselves of her?’ asked Elisabeth.

  ‘That would be to cal
l suspicion on us. I have discovered that Gouvion, a member of the Jacobin Club and a rabid revolutionary, is her lover. She watches all we do, and reports it to her Jacobin friends. Elisabeth, she knows!’

  ‘She cannot know when. No one knows when …’

  ‘But she will be spying on us. How can we ever leave as we planned? You know how careful we shall have to be … And she will be watching us all the time.’

  And so it seemed, for at odd moments Madame Rochereuil would be near them, smiling quietly, alert, watchful, knowing herself to be recognised as a spy, the spy of whom they dare not rid themselves.

  ‘We cannot leave on the 6th,’ said Antoinette to Fersen. ‘The wretched woman, Rochereuil, knows we intend to go. She saw me packing my jewels. I told her that they were a present to my sister, but I could see she did not believe me.’

  ‘We must wait awhile,’ said Fersen uneasily.

  It became clear that they were wise to do so, for shortly afterwards an article by Marat appeared in the Ami du Peuple. ‘There is a plot,’ he wrote, ‘to carry off the King. Are you imbeciles that you take no step to stop the flight of the royal family? Parisians, you stupid people, I am weary of telling you that you should have the King and Dauphin under lock and key; you should lock up the Austrian woman and the rest of the family. If they escaped it might mean the death of three million Frenchmen.’

  Marat was afraid that, if the King escaped from Paris, he would gather forces together and there would be civil war throughout France.

  ‘We cannot go yet,’ it was decided in those secret meetings in the Tuileries. ‘We must wait until suspicions are lulled.’

  Fersen fretted; so did Bouillé and the Duc de Choiseul. Everything had been arranged to the smallest detail. But Marat had aroused the suspicions of the people and Madame Rochereuil was watchful.

  So during the days of that June it was necessary to infuse a listless air into the Tuileries. Never for one instant must they forget the watching eyes of Madame Rochereuil.