Виктория Холт - The Queen`s Confession

Axel was there. He made a step towards me but I ordered him with my eyes to keep away. He must not betray our love before all these people. That could only add to our troubles.

I stepped towards the balcony.

My daughter began to cry and I said: “It’s all right, darling. Don’t be frightened, little Mousseline. The people only want to see me.”

It was Axel who thrust my daughter’s hand in mine and, lifting my son, put him in my arms.

No! “I cried.

But he was pushing me on to the balcony. He believed the people would not harm the children.

There was silence as I stood there. Then they cried:

“No children. Send the children back.”

I was sure then that they were going to kill me. I turned and handed the Dauphin to Madame de Tourzel. My daughter tried to cling to my robe but I pushed her back.

Then alone I stepped on to the balcony. There was buzzing in my head but perhaps it was the whispering below me. It seemed to take me minutes to make that one short step. It was as though time itself had stopped and the whole world was waiting for me to cross the threshold between life and death.

I was alone and defenceless facing those people who had come to Versailles to kill me. I had folded my hands across my gold-and-white striped robe into which I had been hastily put when I was aroused from my bed, my hair fell about my shoulders.

I beard a voice cry: Now, there she is. The Austrian Woman. Shoot her. “

I bowed my head as though to greet them; and the silence went on and on.

What happened in those seconds I do not know except that the French are the most emotional people in the world. They love and hate with more vehemence than others. All their feelings are intense, and the more so, perhaps, for being transient.

My apparent lack of fear, my extreme femininity perhaps, my cool indifference to death, touched them momentarily.

Someone shouted: “Vive la Heine’ And others took it up. I looked down on that sea of faces on those disreputable people with their knives and cudgels and their cruel faces. And I was not afraid.

I bowed once more and stepped into the room.

There I was received by a few seconds of bewildered silence. Then the King was embracing me with tears in his eyes and my children clinging to my skirts were crying with him.

But this was a momentary respite.

The crowd was shouting again: “To Paris. The King to Paris.”

The King said this matter must be discussed with the National Assembly. They should be invited to come to the Palace.

But the people outside were growing restive.

“To Paris,” they chanted.

“The King to Paris.”

Saint-Priest was gloomy. So was Axel.

“They will break into the chateau,” he said.

“It is clear. Monsieur de La Payette, that you have no power to restrain them,” La Fayette could not deny this.

“I must save further bloodshed,” said the King.

“I will go peaceably to Paris.” He turned to me and said quickly: “We must be together … all of us.”

Then he stepped on to the balcony and said: “My friends, I shall go to Paris with my wife and children. I shall mist what is most precious to me to the love of my good and faithful subjects.”

There were shouts of joy. The journey had been a success, the mission carried out.

La Fayette stepped from the balcony into the room.

“Madame,” he said gravely, ‘you must consider this. “

“I have considered,” I answered.

“I know that those people hate me. I know they are intent on murdering me. But if that is my fate I must accept it. My place is with my husband.”

It was one o’clock when we left Versailles. Yesterday’s rain had given place to sunshine and it was a lovely autumn day, but the weather could not lift our spirits.

In the carriage in which I rode with the King were my children and Madame de Tourzel, with the Comte and Comtesse de Provence and Elisabeth.

I shall never forget that drive, and although I was to experience greater humiliations, greater tragedies, it stands out in my mind. The smell of the people; their leering faces beside our carriage; the murderous looks which came my way; the long slow drive which took six hours. I could smell blood in the air. Some of these savages had murdered guards and carried their heads before us on pikes—a grim warning, I suppose, of what they would do with us. They had even forced a hairdresser to dress the hair on these heads; the poor man, revolted and nauseated, had been obliged to do so at the point of a knife.

Astride the cannon were drunken women who shrieked obscenities to each other. My name was mentioned often;

I was too sickened to care very much what they said of me. Some of the women, half-naked, for they had not bothered to replace their skirts, went arm in arm with the soldiers. They had robbed the royal granaries, and carriages had been loaded with sacks of flour which were well guarded by the soldiers. The poissardes danced about the carriage crying:

“We shall no longer lack bread. We are bringing the baker, the baker’s wife and the baker’s boy to Paris.”

My little son was whimpering: “I’m so hungry, Maman. Chou d’Amour has had no breakfast, no dinner….”

I comforted him as best I could.

And at last we came to Paris. Bailly the Mayor welcomed us by the light of torches.

“What a splendid day,” said the Mayor, ‘when Parisians are at last able to have His Majesty and his family in their city. “

“I hope,” replied Louis with dignity, ‘that my stay in Paris will bring peace, harmony and obedience to the laws. “

Tired out as we were we must drive to the Hotel de Ville.

There we sat on the throne where the Kings and Queens of France had sat before us. The King told Bailly that he should tell the people that it was always with pleasure and confidence that he found himself among the inhabitants of his good city of Paris.

Bailly when repeating this left out the word ‘confidence’ and I noticed this at once and reminded Bailly of his omission.

‘you hear, gentlemen,” said Bailly.

“This is even better than if my memory had not betrayed me.”

They were mocking us. They were pretending to treat us as King and Queen when we were merely their prisoners.

And then we were offered a brief respite. We were allowed to drive from the Hotel de Ville to the Tuileries—that gloomy, deserted palace which they had chosen for us.

With what a horrible feeling of doom I entered the Tuileries. It was long since the place had been inhabited; it was damp and cold. The passages were so dark that even by day they had to be lighted by oil lamps which smoked. We were so exhausted that all we wanted to do was sleep. The Dauphin had given up declaring that he was hungry; his eyelids were drooping, but he said: “This is an ugly place, Maman. Let us go home now.”

“Why, mon Chou d’Amour, Louis Quatorze lived here and liked it. So you must like it, too

Why did he like it? “

“Perhaps you will find out He was loo sleepy for more questions, and I was glad of that.

I tried to sleep on the hastily-improvised bed; but I kept waking, startled and fancying I could feel the movement of the coach, hear the shouts of the people and see those bloody heads held aloft on pikes.

What will become of us now, I wondered.

The King slept heavily.

In the morning my spirits were lifted a little. The sun showed up the decrepit appearance of the palace but at least the daylight was comforting; and I felt that to have lived safely through the night was somehow a triumph.

The King was full of optimism.

“We will have furniture brought here from Versailles,” he said.

“I am sure my people will wish to see us properly housed.”

It seemed incredible that he could still believe in the love of his people.

Our faithful servants found some food for us and we were able to explore the palace. The only part that seemed in order was that which looked on the gardens. On the first floor were several rooms which could be lived in and these became the King’s bedroom, Elisabeth’s bedroom, one bed room each for the Dauphin and his sister, a drawing room and a few reception rooms; on the ground floor was my bedroom with four more rooms; a flight of stairs connected the apartments so that in any emergency we could very quickly all be together.

But it seemed we were to have link peace, for with the coming of the morning the people were assembling again. My son heard them and came running to me.

“Afon Dieu, Maman,” he cried, ‘is it yesterday again? “

I tried to comfort him, but the women were already shrieking for me to appear on the balcony. I stepped out, believing as I had yesterday that I could well be stepping out to death; but this was a different crowd, I saw at once, a more sober crowd. These were the citizens of Paris; they stood firmly behind the revolution but they were not the criminals and prostitutes who had marched on Versailles. I sensed at once the difference and I believed that I could speak to them.

There was a silence as I stood there. I knew that they respected my courage in showing no fear in facing them.

I said: “My friends, you should know that I love my good city of Paris.”

“Oh yes,” cried a voice, ‘so much so that on the fourteenth of July you wanted to besiege it and on the fifth of October you were about to flee to the frontier. “

There were cheers and laughter; but how different it was from yesterday.

“We must stop hating each other,” I said; and there was again that silence. Then someone said: “She has courage, this Austrian Woman.”

Another silence and then: “Vice la Reins’ When I stepped into the room, I felt greatly comforted, but I knew nothing would ever be as it had in the past. There would be great changes. Yes, that was necessary; there would be no more extravagant balls, no more gowns from Rose Berlin, no more additions to the Trianon. I did not want them. I could be satisfied with my children, my lover, my kind and tender husband.

I sat down and wrote to Mercy, whom I had told to keep away from the Court for a while because I feared that the Austrian Ambassador would be considered an enemy and would doubtless be in danger:

“If we forget where we are and how we came here, we should be pleased with the people’s mood, particularly this morning. I hope that if there is no lack of bread a great many things will settle down. No one would believe all that has happened in the last twenty-four hours, and yet whatever one imagined, would be less than what we have had to endure. “

The Ring came into my room and he said: “I heard the people applauding you. This is the end of the revolution. Now we will work out a new order—the best for us all.”

I embraced him but I did not really agree with him. I could not forget that however mild the mood of the people today, we were prisoners; and as I said to Madame Campan when I knew that they were going to force us to leave Versailles for the Tuileries: “When Kings become prisoners, they have not long to live.”