Ange Pitou (Volume 1)

by Alexandre Dumas

  In The Queen's Apartments

  WHILE the king was learning to oppose the revolution philosophically, by going through a course of occult sciences, the queen who was a much more substantial and profound philosopher, had gathered around her in her large cabinet all those who were called her faithful adherents, doubtless because there had been no opportunity afforded to any one of them either to prove or to try his fidelity.

  In the queen's circle, also, the events of that terrible day had been related in all their details.

  She had even been the first to be informed of them, for, knowing her to be undaunted, they had not feared to inform her of the danger.

  Around the queen were assembled generals, courtiers, priests, and ladies. Near the doors and behind the tapestries which hung before them might be seen groups of young officers, full of courage and ardor, who saw in all revolts a long desired opportunity to evince their prowess in presence of the fair sex, as in a tournament.

  All of these, whether intimately connected with the court, or devoted servants of the monarchy, had listened with attention to the news from Paris, which had been related by Monsieur de Lambesq, who, having been present during those events, had hastened to Versailles with his regiment, still covered with the sand of the Tuileries, in order to state the real position of affairs to the affrighted courtiers, and thus afford them consolation; for many of them, although the misfortune was sufficiently serious, had greatly exaggerated it in their apprehension.

  The queen was seated at a table. It was no longer the gentle and lovely bride, the guardian angel of France, whom we saw appear at the opening of this cycle, crossing the northern frontier, an olive-branch in her hand. It was no longer even that gracious and beautiful princess whom we saw one evening entering with the Princess de Lamballe into the mysterious dwelling of Mesmer, and seating herself, laughing and incredulous, near the symbolical vat, of which she had come to ask a revelation of the future.

  No! it was the haughty and resolute queen, with frowning brow and scornful lip; it was a woman whose heart had allowed a portion of its love to escape from it, to harbor, instead of that sweet and vivifying element, the first drops of gall, which by constantly filtering into it was finally to reach her blood.

  It was, in short, the woman represented by the third portrait in the gallery of Versailles, that is to say, no longer Marie Antoinette, no longer the Queen of France, but the woman who was now designated only by the name of the Austrian.

  Behind her, in the shade, lay a motionless young woman, her head reclining on the cushion of a sofa, and her hand upon her forehead.

  This was Madame de Polignac.

  Perceiving Monsieur de Lambesq, the queen made one of those gestures indicative of unbounded joy, which mean, "At last we shall know all."

  Monsieur de Lambesq bowed, with a sign that asked pardon at the same time for his soiled boots, his dusty coat, and his sword, which, having been bent in his fall, could not be forced into its scabbard.

  "Well, Monsieur de Lambesq," said the queen, "have you just arrived from Paris?"

  "Yes, your Majesty."

  "What are the people doing?"

  "They are killing and burning."

  "Through maddening rage or hatred?"

  "No; from sheer ferocity."

  The queen reflected, as if she had felt disposed to be of his opinion with regard to the people. Then, shaking her head:—

  "No, prince," said she, "the people are not ferocious; at least, not without a reason. Do not conceal anything from me. Is it madness?—is it hatred?"

  "Well, I think it is hatred carried to madness, Madame."

  "Hatred of whom? Ah! I see you are hesitating again, Prince. Take care; if you relate events in that manner, instead of applying to you as I do, I shall send one of my outriders to Paris; he will require one hour to go there, one to acquire information, one to return; and in the course of three hours this man will tell me everything that has happened as accurately and as simply as one of Homer's heralds."

  Monsieur de Dreux Brézé stepped forward, with a smile upon his lips.

  "But, Madame," said he, "of what consequence to you is the hatred of the people? That can in no way concern you. The people may hate all, excepting you."

  The queen did not even rebuke this piece of flattery.

  "Come, come, Prince," said she to Monsieur de Lambesq, "speak out."

  "Well, then, Madame, it is true the people are influenced by hatred."

  "Hatred of me?"

  "Of everything that rules."

  "Well said!—that is the truth! I feel it," exclaimed the queen, resolutely.

  "I am a soldier, your Majesty," said the prince.

  "Well, well! speak to us then as a soldier. Let us see what must be done."

  "Nothing, Madame."

  "How—nothing?" cried the queen, taking advantage of the murmurs occasioned by these words among the wearers of embroidered coats and golden-sheathed swords of her company; "nothing! You, a Prince of Lorraine,—you can speak thus to the Queen of France at a moment when the people, according to your own confession, are killing and burning, and you can coolly say there is nothing to be done!"

  A second murmur, but this time of approbation, followed the words of Marie Antoinette.

  She turned round, fixed her gaze on all the circle which environed her, and among all those fiery eyes sought those which darted forth the brightest flames, as if she could read a greater proof of fidelity in them.

  "Nothing!" continued the prince; "but allow the Parisian to become calm—and he will become so-for he is only warlike when he is exasperated. Why give him the honors of a struggle, and risk the chances of a battle? Let us keep quiet, and in three days there will no longer be a question of a commotion in Paris."

  "But the Bastille, sir?"

  "The Bastille! Its doors will be closed, and those who took it will be taken, that is all."

  Some laughter was heard among the before silent group.

  The queen continued,—

  "Take care, Prince; you are now reassuring me too much." And thoughtfully, her chin resting on the palm of her hand, she advanced towards Madame de Polignac, who, pale and sad, seemed absorbed in thought.

  The countess had listened to all the news with visible fear; she only smiled when the queen stopped opposite to her and smiled; although this smile was pale and colorless as a fading flower.

  "Well, Countess," said the queen, "what do you say to all this?"

  "Alas! nothing," she replied. "How, nothing!"

  "No."

  And she shook her head with an indescribable expression of despair.

  "Come, come," said the queen in a very low voice, and stooping to the ear of the countess, "our friend Diana is terrified."

  Then she said aloud,—

  "But where is Madame de Charny, the intrepid woman? We need her assistance to reassure us, I think."

  "The countess was about to go out," said Madame de Misery, "when she was summoned to the king's apartments."

  "Ah! the king's," absently answered Marie Antoinette.

  And only then did the queen perceive the strange silence which pervaded all around her.

  The truth was, these wonderful and incredible events, accounts of which had successively reached Versailles like repeated shocks, had prostrated the firmest hearts, perhaps more by astonishment than fear.

  The queen understood that it was necessary to revive all these drooping spirits.

  "Can no one advise me?" said she. "Be it so; I will advise myself."

  They all drew nearer to Marie Antoinette.

  "The people," said she, "are not bad at heart, they are only misled. They hate us because we are unknown to them; let us approach them more nearly."

  "To punish them, then," said a voice, "for they have doubted their masters, and that is a crime."

  The queen looked in the direction from which the voice proceeded, and recognized Monsieur de Besenval.

  "Oh, it is you, Monsieur le
Baron," said she; "do you come to give us your good counsel?"

  "The advice is already given," said Besenval, bowing.

  "Be it so," said the queen; "the king will punish only as a tender father."

  "Who loves well chastises well," said the baron.

  Then turning towards Monsieur de Lambesq:—

  "Are you not of my opinion, Prince? The people have committed several murders—"

  "Which they unfortunately call retaliation," said a sweet, low voice, at the sound of which the queen turned in her seat.

  "You are right, princess; but it is precisely in that that their error consists, my dear Lamballe; we shall be indulgent."

  "But," replied the Princess, in her mild manner, "before asking whether we must punish, I think we ought to ask whether we can conquer."

  A general cry burst forth from those who were present, a cry of protestation against the truth which had just been spoken by those noble lips.

  "Conquer! and where are the Swiss?" said one.

  "And the Germans?" said another.

  "And the body-guards?" said a third.

  "Can doubts be entertained about the army and the nobility" exclaimed a young man wearing the uniform of a lieutenant in the Hussars of Bercheny. "Have we then deserved such a reproach? Do but consider, Madame, that no later than to-morrow, if he chose, the king could assemble forty thousand men, throw these forty thousand men into Paris, and destroy the city. Remember that forty thousand faithful troops are worth half a million of revolted Parisians."

  The young man who had just spoken these words had without doubt a good many other similar reasons to advance; but he stopped short on seeing the eyes of the queen fixed upon him. He had spoken from the centre of a group of officers, and his zeal had carried him further than was consistent with etiquette and his rank.

  He checked himself, accordingly, as we have already said, feeling quite ashamed at the impression his words had made.

  But it was too late; the queen had already been struck with his enthusiasm.

  "You understand the present condition of affairs, sir?" said she, kindly.

  "Yes, your Majesty," said the young man, blushing; "I was at the Champs Elysées."

  "Then, do not fear to speak; come nearer, sir."

  The young man stepped forward, blushing, from the group which opened to let him pass, and advanced towards the queen.

  At the same moment the Prince de Lambesq and Monsieur de Besenval retired a step or two, as if they considered it beneath their dignity to attend this sort of council.

  The queen did not pay, or did not appear to pay any attention to this movement.

  "You say, then, sir, that the king has forty thousand men?" asked she.

  "Yes, your Majesty."

  "In the environs of Paris?"

  "At St. Denis, at St. Mandé, at Montmartre, and at Grenelle."

  "Give me some details, sir,—some details," exclaimed the queen.

  "Madame, the Prince de Lambesq and Monsieur de Besenval can give you them with infinitely more accuracy than myself."

  "Go on, sir. It pleases me to hear these details from your lips. Under whose orders are these forty thousand men?"

  "In the first place, under the orders of Monsieur de Besenval and Monsieur de Lambesq; then under those of the Prince de Condé, of Monsieur de Narbonne-Fritzlar, and Monsieur de Salkenaym."

  "Is this true, Prince?" asked the queen, turning towards Monsieur de Lambesq.

  "Yes, your Majesty," answered the prince, bowing.

  "On the heights of Montmartre," said the young man, "there is a complete park of artillery; in six hours the whole quarter of the town within the range of Montmartre could be laid in ashes. Let Montmartre give the signal to open fire; let it be answered by Vincennes; let ten thousand men debouch by the Champs Elysées, ten thousand more by the Barriére d'Enfer, ten thousand more by the Rue St. Martin, ten thousand more by the Bastille; make Paris hear our cannonading from the four cardinal points, and she cannot hold her ground for twenty-four hours."

  "Ah! here is a man who at all events explains his views frankly; here is at least a clear and regular plan. What do you think of it, Monsieur de Lambesq?"

  "I think," answered the prince, disdainfully, "that the lieutenant of hussars is a perfect general."

  "He is, at least," said the queen, who saw the young officer turn pale with anger, "he is, at least, a soldier who does not despair."

  "I thank you, Madame," said the young man, bowing.

  "I do not know what your Majesty's decision will be, but I beg you to consider me among those who are ready to die for you; and in so doing, I should only do that, I beg your Majesty to believe, which forty thousand soldiers are ready to do, as well as all our chiefs."

  And having said these words, the young man saluted courteously the prince, who had almost insulted him.

  This act of courtesy struck the queen still more than the protestations of fidelity which had preceded it.

  "What is your name, sir?" asked she of the young officer.

  "I am the Baron de Charny, Madame," replied he, bowing.

  "De Charny!" exclaimed Marie Antoinette, blushing in spite of herself; "are you then a relative of the Count de Charny?"

  "I am his brother, Madame."

  And the young man bowed gracefully, even lower than he had done before.

  "I ought," said the queen, recovering from her confusion, and casting a firm look around her, "I ought to have recognized you, on hearing your first words, as one of my most faithful servants. Thank you, Baron. How is it that I now see you at court for the first time?"

  "Madame, my elder brother, who is taking the place of my father, has ordered me to remain with the regiment, and during the seven years that I have had the honor of serving in the army of the king, I have only twice been at Versailles."

  The queen looked for a considerable time at the young man's face.

  "You resemble your brother," said she. "I shall reprimand him for having so long omitted to present you, and left you to present yourself at court."

  And the queen turned in the direction of her friend the countess, who during all this scene had remained motionless and mute upon the sofa.

  But it was not thus with the remainder of those present. The officers, electrified by the reception the queen had given to the young man, were exaggerating to the utmost among themselves their enthusiasm for the royal cause, and from every group expressions burst forth, evincing a heroism capable of subjugating the whole of France.

  Marie Antoinette made the most of these manifestations, which evidently flattered her secret wishes.

  She preferred to struggle rather than to submit, to die rather than to yield. With this view, as soon as the first news had reached her from Paris, she had determined upon a stubborn resistance to the rebellious spirit which threatened to swallow up all the prerogatives of French society.

  If there is a blind and senseless degree of strength, it is that stimulated by figures and vain hopes.

  A figure, followed by an agglomeration of zeros, will soon exceed all the resources of the universe.

  The same may be said of the plans of a conspirator or a despot. On enthusiasm, which itself is based on imperceptible hope, gigantic conceptions are built, which are dissipated before the first breath of wind, in less time than was required to condense them into a mist.

  After hearing these few words pronounced by the Baron de Charny, after the enthusiastic hurrahs of the bystanders, Marie Antoinette could almost imagine herself at the head of a powerful army; she could hear the rolling of her harmless artillery, and she rejoiced at the fear which they would doubtless occasion among the Parisians, and had already gained a victory which she thought decisive.

  Around her, men and women, beaming with youth, with confidence and love, were reckoning the number of those brilliant hussars, those heavy dragoons, those terrible Swiss, those well-equipped artillerymen, and laughed at the vulgar pikes and their coarse wooden handles, littl
e thinking that on the points of these vile weapons were to be borne the noblest heads of France.

  "As for me," murmured the Princess de Lamballe, "I am more afraid of a pike than of a gun."

  "Because it is much uglier, my dear Thérèse," replied the queen, smiling. "But, at all events, compose yourself. Our Parisian pikemen are not a match for the famous Swiss pikemen of Morat; and the Swiss of the present day have something more than pikes; they have good muskets, with which they take good aim, thank Heaven!"

  "Oh, as to that, I will answer for it!" said Monsieur de Besenval.

  The queen turned round once more towards Madame de Polignac to see if all these assurances had restored her wonted tranquillity; but the countess appeared still paler and more trembling than before.

  The queen, whose extreme tenderness of feeling often caused her to sacrifice her royal dignity for the sake of this friend, in vain seemed to solicit her to look more cheerful.

  The young woman still continued gloomy, and appeared absorbed in the saddest thoughts. But this despondency only served to increase the queen's sorrow. The enthusiasm among the young officers maintained itself at the same pitch, and all of them, with the exception of the superior officers, were gathered round the Baron de Charny, and drawing up their plans for battle.

  In the midst of this febrile excitement the king entered alone, unaccompanied by an usher, and with a smile upon his lips.

  The queen, still greatly excited by the warlike emotions which she had aroused, rushed forward to meet him.

  At the sight of the king all conversation had ceased, and was followed by the most perfect silence; every one expected a kingly word,—one of those words which electrify and subjugate.

  When clouds are sufficiently loaded with electricity, the least disturbance, as is well known, is sufficient to produce a flash.

  To the eyes of the courtiers, the king and queen, advancing to meet each other, appeared like two electric bodies, from which the thunder must proceed.

  They listened, and trembled, and eagerly waited to catch the first words which were to proceed from the royal lips.

  "Madame," said Louis XVI., "amid all these events, they have forgotten to serve up my supper in my own apartment; be so kind as to have it brought me here."