Виктория Холт - Flaunting, Extravagant Queen

‘Papa, I do not want you to go. I want to fly our kite together …’

‘Ah, my son, that is of the past. Promise me what I ask. Promise me now, for there is little time.’

‘I promise,’ said the Dauphin.

‘Make the sign of the cross, that it may be a sacred promise.’

The Dauphin did so.

‘Love your mother well. And be a good Catholic. Then you too, as I do, will find great comfort in your faith.’

Madame Royale was kneeling at his feet, weeping quietly, and Louis, knowing that his presence with them could do nothing but increase their grief, left them.

He went to his confessor and as they sat together he said to him: ‘Why must one love and be loved?’

* * *

He did not see the Queen again. ‘It would be too painful for her,’ he said.

His hair was cut and he was prepared for his journey.

Those who watched him go were shaken. ‘Such courage in the face of death is not human,’ they said.

He stood on the scaffold. He unbuttoned his shirt himself, and his fingers showed no sign of trembling. He lifted his hand suddenly and said in a loud firm voice:

‘Frenchmen, I die innocent. I pardon my enemies, and I pray God that my blood may not fall back on France.’

That was all.

When it was over the executioner held up the head of King Louis XVI, and a few cried: ‘Long live the Republic!’

But the cry was half-hearted; the crowd could not forget the calm acceptance of his fate by the man who had been their King.

The Duc d’Orléans was smitten with a terrible remorse such as he had not believed possible and when, on his return to the Palais Royal, his little son, the Comte de Beaujolais, came running to meet him, he could not bear to look at the boy.

‘Go away from me now,’ he said to the astonished child, ‘for I do not think I am worthy to be your father.’

And all that day there was a silence throughout the Capital as though of mourning.

She sat in her prison – the widow Capet – and there were those among her guards who were stirred to pity.

In the streets there were still many who called for her blood; but those who came into contact with her could not but respect her. There were some who were incapable of pity. There was Simon the rough cobbler, uncouth and of the gutter, who had been chosen by Hébert because he feared the compassion of the more cultured. Simon was brutalised; it amused him to spit on the floor of the Queen’s prison. There was Madame Tison, asking herself a hundred times a day: ‘Why should I be poor and she be rich? Why should I have lived in a garret while she lived in luxury in that wicked Trianon?’

But there were others.

There was François Toulan, one of the guards of the Temple. He had been as eager as any to fight for the revolution; he had been among those who had stormed the Tuileries and shouted for the blood of the King and Queen. It was a different matter when he saw the Queen every day.

‘How she suffers!’ he would murmur to himself as he stood on duty. The Dauphin came close and looked at him.

‘What’s that medal?’ he demanded.

And Toulan had invented some story, for he was ashamed to say he had won it for pillaging the Tuileries and bringing distress to the boy’s family.

Toulan longed to do something to make up for his conduct on that June day, so he stole the King’s belongings which had been put in the security of the Commune – there was a locket containing some hair of Madame Royale’s, a watch, a seal and a ring – and took them to the Queen, for it was easy to reach her now, far more easy than it had been when the King was alive.

‘Madame,’ he said haltingly, ‘I have brought you these.’ For some seconds Antoinette would not look, expecting mockery. He thrust them into her hands, and when he saw the sudden rush of tears he turned quickly away. But she knew then that she had a friend.

* * *

Toulan could not rest now. He longed to set the Queen free. Greatly daring he asked for a private interview with a General who was an official in the War Office. He knew that General Jarjayes was a secret supporter of the monarchy, and he suggested to him that, with the help of one of the regular guardians of the Temple such as himself, and the money which such as General Jarjayes could provide, the Queen’s escape could be brought about.

The General was ready to consider this plan and asked Toulan to keep his eyes open and see how it could be brought about.

* * *

The Queen and Elisabeth sat in the small room with the bars across the window. They were working on a piece of embroidery. It was good to keep the hands busy although, as Antoinette had said, that did not prevent the thoughts from going their own way.

They had heard news this day; it was news which made the Queen very thoughtful.

She had heard that James Armand had been killed fighting for the French last November at the battle of Jemappes.

‘Poor James,’ she said. ‘I shall never forget seeing his face close to mine … he was a member of the mob then … one of our enemies. Little James, whom I had nursed and kissed so often. You remember how he used to call himself my little boy?’

‘He was a jealous child,’ said Elisabeth. ‘I remember seeing him look at little Louis Joseph as though he could kill him.’

‘Poor James Armand! Monsieur James, I used to call him, do you remember? It was my fault, you know, little sister. I forgot little James when I had my own children, I used him as a substitute for my own. You cannot use people like that. What a pity such knowledge comes to us too late.’

They were interrupted by the arrival of the illuminateur.

‘We are trying our eyes,’ said Antoinette, ‘and did not realise it. Let us put our work away now. To work by the light of the lamp tires me.’

The illuminateur went straight to the lamps but his two little boys, who always accompanied him, came to stand before the ladies and stare at them.

‘And how are you these days?’ asked the Queen.

They did not answer. They just smiled and nudged each other. Antoinette wondered what they had heard about her.

The little boys always came and, knowing they were coming, she saved delicacies from her meals for them. She in any case had little appetite.

‘Have you come to see what I have for you to-day?’

They smiled and nodded.

‘Then see here …’

She watched them eat. They did so with relish, looking at her and Elisabeth as they did so, smiling and nudging each other.

Antoinette was reminded with a bitter pang of those days at Trianon when the children had gathered round her and she had given them bonbons. These children were grimy; the oil of the lamp was on their trousers, smocks and big floppy hats; their faces were none too clean. But she had always been fond of children and she liked to see these each day.

The illuminateur did not speak to her; he was afraid of appearing royalist.

Toulan looked in. He said: ‘Oh, it is the illuminateur. And the children. Ah, Monsieur l’Illuminateur, you bring your children that they may learn your trade and soon do your work for you.’

‘They could,’ said the illuminateur briskly, hoping that Toulan might find jobs for the boys in the prison. ‘They’re bright and old enough.’

Madame Tison came in; her eyes narrowed when she saw the children.

‘Here, what’s that you got?’ she demanded.

‘She gave it to us,’ said one of the boys, pointing to the Queen.

‘What else she give you, eh?’ The woman Tison was feeling in their pockets, her mouth tight, her eyes shining; she was hoping to find some message on the boys which the Queen had given them. Disappointed she said: ‘Well, don’t stand there looking as though you are in the presence of the Almighty. We’re all equal now, you know.’ The Queen smiled at the boys as though the woman had not spoken; and Toulan continued to look at the boys.

* * *

The next day the lamplighter came alone. The Queen was disappointed. She had liked to see the children.

She noticed that he fumbled with the lamps, and when she looked at him more closely she saw that he was a new man.

The woman Tison was in the next room and the lamplighter moved closer to the Queen. He whispered: ‘Your Majesty, Toulan persuaded the lamplighter to allow me to come in his place. We bribed him. I told him that I was eager to see the prison and the Queen. He is now enjoying himself in a tavern. I had to see you for myself to make certain that I could trust Toulan.’

‘You are …’

‘Jarjayes.’

‘My dear General …’

‘Madame, it is my earnest wish to free you from this place. I have been in touch with the Comte de Fersen. He will not rest until you are free.’

In that moment the Queen felt again a desire to live. The thought of possible escape lifted her spirits and it seemed to her that life could still hold some meaning for her.

‘We have to work this out with the utmost care. Toulan thinks that Lepître, the commissioner of the prison, may help. Everything depends on this man and whether he is amenable to bribes.’

‘I understand,’ said the Queen. ‘Have a care. The Tison woman watches continually.’

‘Ask me questions about my children and we will talk under cover of that.’

The Queen did so, and Jarjayes answered, interspersing his answers with an account of what they planned, keeping his eyes on the door while he talked, for fear Madame Tison should make an appearance.

It might be possible for the Queen and Madame Elisabeth to leave the prison disguised as municipal councillors, with large hats, cloaks, big boots and of course the sash of the tricolor. They would need not only forged passports but the cooperation of Lepître, the only man who could conduct them out of the prison.

‘My children …’ murmured the Queen.

‘I would come as the lamplighter, bringing clothes for the Dauphin and Madame Royale, so that they would look exactly like the lamplighter’s children. I should lead them out with me.’

‘And the Tisons?’

‘We should have to find some means of drugging them.’

‘They take snuff,’ said the Queen.

‘Drugged snuff would be the answer. I dare stay no longer. Be ready. I trust it will be soon.’

* * *

Lepître had been a schoolmaster before the revolution. He was a sick man, pale, delicate from childhood, and he longed to get away from the town and live in the country; but he needed money to do this.

It was a daring scheme and Lepître was not a daring man. If he were discovered leading the two most important prisoners out of the prison, what would happen to him? When he considered that, he trembled with fear.

He dared not do this thing. Yet if he had the money, if he escaped with them, he could live in quiet in the country for the rest of his life. He was not a violent man; he could not endure violence. He visualised a little cottage far away from the big towns, where at any moment frightening things could happen.

It should not be difficult. They had the guard Toulan to help them. The Tisons could easily be drugged. All he need do was walk out of the prison with confidence – for who should challenge him, who could suspect that the two municipaux were the Queen and Madame Elisabeth? Waiting outside the prison would be two carriages, and in the second of these he would be driven out of Paris.

And for that night’s work he was offered a lifetime of peaceful living in the country.

‘I will do it,’ said Lepître.

* * *

A great deal of money was needed for the enterprise, and Jarjayes found it difficult to raise it. It was necessary to wait awhile until he could sound those whom he could trust with the plan.

They needed forged passports. Lepître could provide these, but Lepître was nervous, and he was showing signs of strain.

Madame Tison noticed it. She said: ‘And what’s the matter with you? You look anxious this morning, Citizen.’

‘It’s my leg paining me,’ Lepître answered, indicating his lameness.

Madame Tison nodded grimly. ‘This is a different job from teaching a lot of children, eh?’

The ex-schoolmaster agreed that it was; he tried to talk of the old days, but all the time he was conscious of Madame Tison’s watching eyes. She was alert. There was no doubt of that. She hated royalty; she was a passionate exponent of equality, and her passion seemed to give her an extra sense. How could one be sure what she suspected?