In fact her parents were preoccupied with the myriad of lastminute arrangements that had to be made if the escape was actually to come off. One of their most pressing concerns was to brief the three professional soldiers who were to accompany the flight, take charge of the practical details, and provide some limited measure of protection. For this task the count d'Agoult, former commander of the now disbanded royal bodyguards, had recruited three of his best men. Francois-Florent de Valory, Francois-Melchoir de Moustier, and Jean-Francois Malden were obscure provincial nobles who had served in the same company of the king's guard for almost twenty years. All three had seen their regiment humiliated by the Paris crowds during the October Days, and they had since frequented the circle of reactionary nobles in Paris who had rushed to the king's defense on February 28-though they claimed not to have participated themselves. All had taken oaths of submission to the king, and they would maintain their loyalty to "their master" even under the harsh questioning of the Revolutionary interrogators after their arrest. "Entirely dedicated to my king," as Valory would tell them, "I would never have questioned his orders, having sworn to him my loyalty, my obedience, my respect, and my love." Louis himself first called in Moustier on June I'7 and asked him to obtain the disguise of a private courier for himself and for the two others: short coats, suede knee breeches, and round-brimmed hats. Just before dinner on the evening of the escape, the king and queen had the men secretly led into their chambers through the back corridors of the Louvre. Here the king gave them their instructions in detail, instructions that had been worked out by Fersen and Bouille over the previous months. The three always claimed, and there is no reason to disbelieve them, that they knew nothing of the escape before that night.2
In the meantime, Fersen was a whirlwind of activity, setting into motion a complex choreography of men, coaches, and horses. During the day of June zo he visited his banker and the Swedish ambassador; he secretly passed through the Tuileries to pick up more packages for the berline; he saw to the last-minute purchase of horses, saddles, and riding whips, and to the final movements of the various carriages-often in stages, to avoid arousing suspicion. About six that evening Fersen's German coachman, Balthasar Sapel, drove the large black escape coach from the carriagemaker's shop to the home of a wealthy Englishman on Rue de Clichy. Toward eight o'clock the two-wheeled cabriolet that was to carry the two nurses was parked on the Seine across the river from the palace. At about the same time an ordinary fiacre, or hackney cab, was left near the Tuileries gardens on the Champs-Elysees, where Fersen himself would pick it up later. At half past nine, Valory and Moustier met Sapel on Rue de Clichy, and they drove the berline together on a circuitous route through the western suburbs and then out around the new northern boulevards just beyond the city walls, positioning it near the Saint-Martin's customs gate at the northeast corner of Paris. Valory then rode off to the village of Bondy to prepare horses for the first relay stop.'
In the palace itself the first phase of the escape plan was launched at about three in the afternoon, when the duke de Choiseul, who had been sent to Paris with final messages from Bouille, left by carriage for the relay post of Somme-Vesle, where he was to meet the advance detachment of cavalry sent out for the protection of the king. In his company was perhaps the most unlikely participant in the whole adventure, the queen's hairdresser, Jean-Francois Autie, known to all the world as "Monsieur Leonard." In the final days the queen had decided that it would be unthinkable to face the rigors of life in Montmedy without a proper coiffeur. Shortly before Choiseul's departure she had called in Leonard and asked him if he was ready to do anything she asked. When the hairdresser responded enthusiastically in the affirmative-and what else could one say to a queen?-she told him to leave with Monsieur de Choiseul and to follow his orders to the word. With no idea where he was going, with no change of clothes, without even the possibility of canceling his afternoon appointments, the thirty-three-yearold hairdresser, stunned and confused, left with Choiseul on the road east.'
The Great Escape
At about half past ten the escape of the royal family itself was set into motion. When dinner was finished, Louis embraced his younger brother, the count of Provence, and sent him off on his own successful escape northward to Brussels-the last time the two brothers would ever see each other. Then Marie-Antoinette and Madame de Tourzel slipped away to awaken the two royal children and to inform their nurses of the departure set for that evening. The two royal caretakers, Madame Brunier and Madame de Neuville, were scarcely less surprised than Monsieur Leonard. But they were utterly devoted to the royal family and prepared to follow them anywhere-indeed, it was Neuville who had rushed through the halls of Versailles with the dauphin in her arms during the October Days. The queen, Tourzel, and the nurses leading or carrying their royal charges went quietly down the back stairway to the ground floor and into the dark apartment abandoned by the king's first gentleman. The nurses quickly helped the children change into their disguises, with the dauphin and his sister both dressed as young girls. Once they had prepared the children, the nurses were led by the guard Malden back upstairs, out the main palace entrance, and across the Seine to the waiting carriage. A hired coachman drove them to the village of Claye, the second relay stop on the planned escape route, where they would wait anxiously through the nights
Back in the darkened ground-floor room, the queen quietly unlocked the exterior door of the apartment with a key she had obtained through a ruse some weeks earlier. A gibbous moon was low on the horizon and probably covered in clouds. The queen had carefully timed their exit to correspond with the moment when large numbers of servants left the palace to return to their homes.' In the considerable nightly exodus of men and women, the exterior guards seem never to have noticed the departure of the disguised escapees. Trembling, Madame de Tourzel gathered up the sleepy prince, took the older girl by the hand, and walked casually across the somber outside courtyard toward the line of carriages with their lanterns lit in the street just east of the palace-where they commonly waited at this time of night to pick up those leaving the Tuileries. Fersen himself, dressed as a common driver, was waiting in his hackney cab. They then took a short drive around the city until it was time for the rest of the family to leave, returning about eleven to the same spot. Tourzel was amazed at the Swede's imitation of a Parisian coachman, his whistling, his stopping to chat and exchange tobacco with the other drivers. The princess remembered only that "never had time seemed so long."'
Soon after Fersen had returned, the king's sister, Elizabeth, who had donned her own disguise and slipped out of her room through a secret door built into the apartment's woodwork, made her way out of the palace to the waiting hackney cab, where Fersen directed her to the correct door. The king was supposed to leave next, but at the last minute General Lafayette and Bailly, the mayor of Paris, arrived unannounced at the palace, and Louis was obliged to speak with them. Only at about half past eleven, when the two Parisian leaders had left, could he pretend to go to bed, dismiss his servants, and then get up, put on his own disguise, and walk cane in hand with Malden to the waiting carriage. With his usual phlegm, he even stopped to buckle his shoe as he crossed the courtyard. Last to depart was the queen herself. By some accounts she nearly collided with Lafayette who was also just leaving the palace. But dazzled by the torches held around him and preoccupied with other matters, the general took no notice of the lone woman walking in the shadows, and after an anxious moment she, too, climbed into the cab.'
It was now about half past twelve, an hour later than planned. As the family embraced one another and settled into the small carriage, Fersen drove across Paris, with Malden at the back as footman, advancing slowly for fear of attracting attention. Rather than taking the most direct route to the Saint-Martin's tollgate, he drove first to the northwest along Rue de Clichy, where he verified that the berline had been removed. He was also anxious to avoid the popular northeastern neighborhoods of Paris, where suspicions were always hi
gh and where activity in the streets continued well into the night. When he finally arrived at the gate, he spent several anxious minutes looking for Moustier, Sapel, and the berline, which had been parked in the dark much farther away than he had expected. Once he had located it, Fersen and the two bodyguards quickly transferred the travelers into the larger coach, pushed the smaller cab into a ditch, and set off along the main eastbound road out of Paris. The various delays had put them two hours behind schedule. It was the shortest night of the year, and the first signs of dawn were al ready appearing. Fersen shouted to his coachman to drive at full speed: "Come now, Balthasar," he said, as Sapel himself remembered it; "be bold, be quick! Your horses can't be tired, push them faster!" Half an hour later the berline arrived at the first relay post of Bondy, where Valory was waiting with a change of horses.'
[To view this image, refer to the print version of this title.]
Departure of Louis XVI from the Tuileries palace at /2.30 A.M. on June 21, 1_79/. The king, holding a lantern, leads the escape party across the Tuileries courtyard to meet Fersen and the waiting hackney cab. In reality, most of the party left one at a time.
Here Fersen left the party. He had brought off his part of the conspiracy with aplomb and audacity, engineering an almost miraculous escape from the Tuileries and from Paris. He planned now to travel separately on horseback, northward into the Austrian Netherlands and then along the border just outside the kingdom, meeting the family again in Montmedy. "Goodbye, Madame Korff," he said simply, addressing the disguised queen. And he rode off toward Le Bourget as the family headed east.10
At their next relay stop, in Claye, the travelers completed their party, picking up the cabriolet containing the two nurses. As the sun rose-somewhat after four-the caravan headed across the rolling plains of Ile-de-France and Champagne. They were hardly an inconspicuous ensemble. The yellow cabriolet, the large black berline with its yellow frame, and the three bodyguards in bright yellow coats-Valory leading on horseback, Malden atop the larger coach, and Moustier on horseback bringing up the rear-attracted the attention of countrypeople and townsmen wherever they passed." To be sure, this was the main road from Paris to Germany, and the passage of wealthy travelers in luxurious vehicles was by no means unprecedented. But as they advanced farther toward Lorraine, observers focused in particular on the three guards. Apparently Moustier had chosen yellow uniforms quite by accident. For the local people, however, they seemed remarkably similar to the livery of the prince de Conde, the detested emigrant leader of a counterrevolutionary army and seigneurial lord of numerous territories in this region of France.'Z
The route followed was one of the major highways of the kingdom, broad, straight and well maintained, lined with trees for the most part and with a roadbed-paved with stones for about half the journey and thereafter covered in gravel-raised well above the fields. Portions of the road had been completed only in 1785. Like many other wealthy long-distance travelers, the king's party changed both horses and drivers at each of the royal relay posts along the way. Valory generally rode well ahead of the others to rouse the "post-master" at the next stop and have the horses prepared, ready to be hitched to the arriving carriages. At each post they requested ten or eleven fresh horses-six for the berline, two or three for the cabriolet, and two mounts for Valory and Moustier. Each team was accompanied by one or two "drivers" or "guides," who usually rode astride one of the carriage horses, directing the party to the next relay station and then returning the teams to their home post. Louis carried a sack of gold coins that he periodically distributed to Valory to pay and tip the drivers." They normally made about nine or ten miles per hour on the road, although if one also takes into account the fifteen to twenty minutes spent at each of the nineteen relay stops, the average for the trip was closer to seven miles per hour.'
As the day warmed and the carriages moved steadily across the countryside, the horses changed regularly and without difficulties, the travelers felt a sense of liberation and euphoria. The weather was hot and humid, but they encountered no rain. At one point, probably near Etoges, one of the berline's wheels hit a stone road marker, and four of the horses stumbled, breaking their traces. The thirty- or forty-five-minute repair job put the party even further behind schedule." But otherwise the drive itself went without a hitch. The most dangerous part of the trip seemed to lie behind them, and now it was simply a question of arriving at Somme-Vesle, where they would be watched over and taken in care, if necessary, by Choiseul's cavalry.
Inside the coach, the family ate a pleasant picnic breakfast with their fingers, "like hunters or third-class travelers," as Moustier described it. They shared accounts of their experiences in leaving the Tuileries. The queen commented on how Lafayette must be embarrassed and squirming now that the royal departure had been discovered. The king took out his maps and the itinerary he had carefully prepared in advance, announcing each village or relay post as they passed by. It was only his third trip outside the region of Paris, the first since his glorious journey to Cherbourg in 1786, and he indulged his passion for geography and detailed lists. The queen took charge of assigning the roles they would all assume-as she had once delighted in doing with her courtiers in the Petit Trianon palace near Versailles. Madame de Tourzel would be the baroness de Korff, the dauphin and the princess would be the baroness' two children, and Madame Elizabeth and Marie-Antoinette would be her servingwomen. The queen and the king's sister were appropriately attired for such roles in simple "morning gowns," short capes, and matching hats. As for the king, dressed in his commoner's frock coat with a brown vest and a small round hat, he would be Monsieur Durand, the baroness' business agent.'
But the travelers soon tired of their role-playing and the rigors of guarding a strict incognito. Louis in particular had never been adept at pretending to be someone he was not. In any case, he was convinced that with Paris behind them, with its Jacobin club and fanatical newspapers and wild-eyed mobs, everything would be different; the king and queen would now be properly respected. As the heat increased, they lowered the blinds, took off their hats and veils, and watched the peasants laboring in the fields. And the peasants watched back, wondering at the identity of these wealthy aristocrats in their curious yellow and black caravan. At the long uphill grades, like the one ascending from the Marne Valley after La Ferte- sous-Jouarre, most of the party got out and walked along behind while the horses labored up the hill. Later in the day the king began stepping out at the relay stops, relieving himself at the "necessary shed," and even stopping to chat with the people gathered around, asking about the weather and the crops, as he had talked in his youth with the laborers outside Versailles. The bodyguards and the two nurses worried at first about the king's insouciance, and Moustier tried to shield him from a group of gaping countrypeople at one of the rest stops. However, Louis told the guard "not to worry; that he no longer felt that such precautions were necessary; and that the trip now seemed to be free of all uncertainty." In the end, the bodyguards concluded that the royal members knew what they were doing and that they themselves need not be concerned."
And the king was in fact recognized. A wagon driver, Francois Picard, was convinced he had seen the monarch when the horses were changed outside the relay in Montmirail. Louis was recognized again three stops further, in Chaintrix, by the post-master, Jean-Baptiste de Lagny, and his son-in-law Gabriel Vallet, both of whom had attended the Festival of Federation in Paris in 1790. Here, as local memory would have it, the whole royal family got out and took refreshments at the inn attached to the relay, leaving two small silver bowls stamped with the royal insignia in appreciation. In any case, Lagny assigned Vallet to drive the berline on to Chalons-sur-Marne, and the son-in-law immediately whispered the news to the post-master there, a close friend of the family."
As they drove into Chalons about four in the afternoon, the travelers might have had cause to be nervous. It was by far the largest town between Paris and Montmedy, and there were undoubtedly several local
notables who had seen the royal couple in Versailles. Yet Louis seems to have taken no more care here than in the small rural posts he had just traversed. In addition to the post-master Viet, several other persons seem to have recognized them. "We were recognized by everybody," recalled Madame Royale. "Many people praised God to see the king and wished him well in his flight."" Whether people were really pleased to see the king leave Paris, or were simply too shocked to know what to do, Viet and his stable hands quietly changed the horses and watched the carriages drive out of town. The mayor was informed almost immediately, but he, too, was uncertain what to do. Only several hours later, when messengers began arriving from Paris, confirming the news of the king's escape and sending the Assembly's decree to stop him, did the municipal government swing into action."
On leaving Chalons and heading east toward the border of Lorraine, the travelers were extremely optimistic, feeling they had crossed their last major obstacle and would soon be in the care of the duke de Choiseul and his loyal cavalry. With his detailed itinerary at hand, the king was aware that they had fallen nearly three hours behind, yet it probably never occurred to him that this could pose a problem. The mood shifted abruptly, however, as they came in sight of the small relay post at Somme-Vesle, isolated on the main road at some distance from the village. In the great expanse of openfield farmland surrounding them there were no troops in sight. Valory cautiously inquired and discovered that the cavalry had indeed been there, waiting across a small pond beyond the relay, but that the troops had been harassed by local peasants and had left an hour earlier. At first the travelers thought that Choiseul might simply have pulled back to a quieter spot farther down the road. Yet when they reached the next relay, he and his men were still nowhere to be seen. As the family drove in the early evening toward the town of Sainte-Menehould, framed against the dark band of the Argonne Forest, they were beset, in Tourzel's words, by "terrible anxiety.""
When the King Took Flight Page 7