Flaunting, Extravagant Queen

by Jean Plaidy

  ‘We must leave on the 19th,’ said Fersen desperately. ‘We dare not delay longer.’

  So the escape was fixed for the 19th.

  But on the evening of the 18th Madame de Tourzel came to the Queen and said: ‘Madame Rochereuil will not be in atendance on the 20th. She has asked leave to go and visit someone who is sick. I believe this to be true, because I heard from another source that Gouvion is unwell.’

  ‘This is a heaven-sent opportunity,’ cried the Queen. ‘We will leave on the 20th. Not on the 19th.’

  It was late to make alterations, but she was sure that it would be folly to attempt to leave the Palace under the spy’s watchful eyes, when they could do so the next day in her absence. She called Monsieur Léonard to her and sent him off with the jewels. He would meet the cavalry on the road; and he was to tell their leader that the royal party would be twenty-four hours late.

  Léonard left.

  The 20th dawned. This was the day of escape.

  The day seemed endless. Antoinette was certain that never before had she lived through such a long day. In the late morning, to the great relief of the Queen, Madame Rochereuil went. She was sure now that if they had been suspected of trying to escape earlier in the month, they were no longer; for if this had been so surely Madame Rochereuil would never have been allowed to leave her post.

  Louis was as calm as ever. Louis was fortunate, as he never showed emotion.

  Often during that long day Elisabeth and the Queen exchanged anxious glances, each aware of the other’s thoughts. Will the time never pass?

  They stood at the windows, looking out. The sun was shining. That was fortunate; it was one of those lovely summer days which would draw the people out of the streets away to the open country.

  Antoinette saw that Elisabeth’s lips were moving silently in prayer.

  There was Mass to attend, and after that the family had their midday meal together. Antoinette was amazed that Louis could eat with his usual appetite. She had to force herself to appear normal, so did Elisabeth, and even Provence was more silent than usual. Antoinette was glad she had been able to keep their plans from the children.

  She said to the King: ‘You are going to your apartment to rest? I shall go to mine, I think. I wish to work on my tapestry.’

  She had not been in her room more than five minutes when a servant announced the arrival of Fersen. She received him in her apartment with only Elisabeth present.

  ‘The woman is not here?’ he asked.

  ‘No. She is having a short holiday.’

  ‘I wish she had taken it yesterday.’

  ‘Do not worry. You worry too much,’ said the Queen tenderly.

  ‘I am thinking of the soldiers waiting at their posts.’

  ‘But Monsieur Léonard can be trusted. He will reach them at the appointed time and tell them that we shall be twenty-four hours late.’

  ‘I would that I were driving you all the way.’

  The Queen did not meet his eyes. ‘It is the King’s command,’ she said.

  ‘Is everything ready now?’ asked Fersen. He looked anxiously at the gilded clock on the wall. ‘Does it seem to you that time stands still?’

  Antoinette nodded.

  ‘When I leave the Palace,’ he went on, ‘I shall take a look at the berline, to make sure everything is ready. I shall have the wine and food packed into it, and then it will be sent to wait for us beyond the Barrier. We shall then change vehicles, and away. You will not forget your parts.’

  ‘No,’ said the Queen. ‘I am the governess to my children, employed by Baroness de Korff – my dear Tourzel – the King is the lackey, and Elisabeth the companion; then dear Madame Neuville and Madame Brunier are servants, are they not? And that completes our little party.’

  ‘Is it necessary to take them? There seem so many of us,’ said Elisabeth.

  ‘I must have my maids,’ said the Queen. ‘I shall need them to help me with my toilet.’

  ‘They are trustworthy,’ said Fersen; ‘and they may leave an hour before you do, and can join the party later on. No one will stand in the way of their going. The difficulty will be to get you two ladies, the King and the children away without suspicion.’

  ‘I know,’ agreed the Queen.

  ‘Take care.’

  He put out his hands, and Elisabeth did not look at them as for a moment they clung together.

  Then Fersen was taking his leave.

  When he had gone the Queen and Elisabeth took Madame Royale and the Dauphin for a drive in the Tivoli pleasure garden; when they returned the children went to bed and the King and Queen took supper with Elisabeth, Provence and Josèphe. After the meal they retired to the great drawing-room and, huddling together far from the doors, discussed the last-minute plans.

  Every now and then they would glance at the clock and comment on the slow passage of time.

  Privacy was never of long duration. The royal family must not excite suspicion by remaining too long in the private drawing-room. They made their way to the great salon where the members of the Court were gathered. Some talked; some were engaged in card games. The great test was beginning. There among those courtiers the impression must be given that this night was no different from countless others.

  The King was calm, enough. He sat on his chair, looking sleepy, as he usually did during the evening. He was discussing the latest phase of the revolution in the way he discussed such things every night.

  It was ten o’clock when the Queen rose and remarked that she wished to write a letter and would shortly return. With madly beating heart she slipped through the gloomy corridors to the children’s apartments. Madame de Tourzel was waiting for her.

  ‘You are ready?’ breathed the Queen.

  ‘Yes, Madame.’

  Antoinette went to her daughter’s bed. Madame Royale opened her eyes and stared at her mother. ‘You are to get up quickly. Ask no questions. Dress at once. Madame de Tourzel will help you.’

  Madame Royale obeyed instantly.

  Antoinette went to the Dauphin’s bed.

  ‘Come, my darling,’ she said. ‘We are going on a journey.’

  The Dauphin sprang up. ‘Now … Maman? Now? Where do we go? Are the soldiers coming with us?’

  ‘We shall go to a fortress where there are many soldiers. Come now. I will help you to dress. Be quiet, for it is late and there is not a moment to lose.’

  ‘These are girls’ clothes!’ cried the Dauphin in dismay. Then gleefully: ‘Is it a masked ball, Maman?’

  ‘I said, be quiet. It is important to be quiet.’

  ‘Are you coming?’ he whispered.

  ‘Yes … but later. Do as I say, or you will be brought back and there will be no journey. Do not say a word until you are told you may.’

  The Dauphin nodded conspiratorially and allowed himself to be dressed in a girl’s gown and bonnet.

  ‘Now,’ said the Queen. She led the way swiftly through silent rooms, down a private staircase to that exit at which Fersen had made sure no sentry should be placed.

  The Queen went ahead of her children and looked out. Almost immediately a cloaked figure appeared from the shadows. It was a coachman, and Antoinette recognised him by his gait. She could have wept with joy and gratitude. She might have known he would not fail.

  No word was spoken. Fersen took the Dauphin’s hand; Madame de Tourzel was holding fast to Madame Royale. Fersen led the way to where the fiacre was waiting, and Antoinette returned to the salon.

  At eleven the Queen intimated that she was tired and would retire for the night.

  Her women undressed her, and never had they seemed so slow.

  ‘Pray,’ she said to one of them, ‘order the carriages for tomorrow morning. If the weather is as good as it has been today I should like to go for a drive.’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

  The Queen yawned.

  ‘Your Majesty is tired?’

  ‘It is the heat, and the conversation in the salon seemed
even duller than usual.’ While they removed her headdress she watched them through half-closed eyes. She wanted to shriek at them: ‘Be quick. Every moment is important.’

  At last they drew the curtains about her bed, and she heard the door close.

  Immediately she was out of bed; she dressed herself in a simple grey silk dress and put on a black hat with a thick veil. Her fingers were clumsy, for she was unused to dressing herself. She wondered how Elisabeth was faring. But Elisabeth would be calmer than she was. No doubt Elisabeth was already joining the fiacre in the rue de l’Echelle.

  She wondered about Louis. He too had to make ready for his escape. He would find it even more difficult. La Fayette would pay his nightly visit to the Tuileries and would spend some time with the King. A good deal depended on how soon the King could dismiss La Fayette without arousing his suspicions.

  But she must think only of her own escape which would need all her care.

  Fully dressed now in the hat with the heavy veil, she was unrecognizable. She drew the curtains about her bed again and slipped out through the private door, down the private staircase.

  As she came to that door through which the children had left, she saw the tall figure of a guardsman. She caught her breath in a moment of fear, although she knew she was to meet such a man who would conduct her to the fiacre. What if they had misjudged their man? What if he, like Madame Rochereuil, was a traitor after all?

  His voice was soft as he whispered: ‘All is well, Madame. Follow me.’

  Her heart leaped. She could trust Fersen to have made all the arrangements.

  Louis was yawning effectively, letting La Fayette see that he was weary of his company; but it was not as easy as it had been to dismiss a general. La Fayette talked, and Louis must not draw attention to his desire to go to bed. Marat’s article might be remembered, in which case La Fayette might consider it expedient to double the guard.

  But at length La Fayette, in consideration of the King’s yawns, took his leave; but Louis’ troubles were only just beginning. He must submit to his coucher, for the etiquette of the Court had not been so far forgotten as to allow the abandonment of such a traditional ceremony. So Louis was put to bed and, according to the old custom, his valet must sleep in his bed chamber, with a cord attached to his wrist and to the King’s bed-curtains, so that if the King needed him, all he had to do was reach for the curtains and jerk the man awake. How to escape from the valet, who was a man who could not be trusted with the secret, had occupied the minds of them all for many nights. It had been arranged that the King should go to his bed, have the curtains drawn as though he wished to settle down to immediate sleep, and while the valet went into his closet to undress, dart out from behind the curtains into the Dauphin’s bedchamber which adjoined his. There he would pick up the clothes which were ready for him in the Dauphin’s room – a lackey’s suit and hat, and a crude wig, and then tiptoe down the secret staircase with these to one of the lower rooms where Guardsman de Maiden who was in the secret would help the King to dress.

  So the King of France, barefooted and in his nightgown, escaped from his valet and, being dressed in these humble garments, walked calmly out of his Palace across the courtyard past the guards who mumbled a sleepy good night, and out into the streets, across to the Petite Place du Carrousel to the rue de l’Echelle and the fiacre.

  It was disconcerting to find that the Queen, who should have left the Palace earlier than the King, had not yet arrived.

  Antoinette followed the guardsman.

  They had escaped from the Palace, and her spirits were rising. Never again, she thought, shall I live a prisoner in that gloomy Palace.

  The guardsman was a little way ahead; she hurried to keep up with him. Who would have believed that escape could have been so easy? In five minutes, she thought, I shall be with the children. They are safe … safe with Axel.

  It was strange to be out walking in the streets of Paris. She realised then how little she knew the city. I should never have found the fiacre by myself, she thought.

  Suddenly she saw that the guardsman had halted, and in a second she understood why. Coming towards them was a coach before which walked the torchbearers. The guardsman was signalling her not to come forward, and looking about her, she saw an alley and slipped down it. The light from the torches shone on the dark wall of the alley. She lowered her head for she had recognised the livery of La Fayette’s men and she knew that the General would be in his coach.

  The coach passed so close to her that she saw La Fayette sitting in it. For an instant her heart felt as though it would choke her. Holding the veil tightly about her throat, she turned and began walking slowly down the alley.

  The sound of the carriage wheels had died away and then she heard footsteps behind her. She dared not turn. Her heart was beating madly. ‘Oh, God,’ she prayed, ‘let me reach the fiacre. Let me reach my children.’

  ‘Madame.’ She felt she wanted to shout with relief, for it was her guide. ‘That was a near thing. If the General had seen Your Majesty … ’

  ‘He would not have recognised me,’ she said, for the man was trembling.

  ‘Madame, it is not easy for you to disguise yourself.’ He was frowning. ‘Let us go another way to the rue de l’Echelle. I am afraid that if we take the route we planned we may meet more carriages.’

  ‘You are right,’ she said. ‘Let us do that.’

  So they walked and, after ten minutes, the man admitted that he was not sure where he was. He was not so well acquainted with this part of Paris, and these back streets were such a maze.

  ‘They will be waiting,’ she cried frantically. ‘They will think I have not escaped. We must find them … quickly.’

  But they were lost in that maze of streets and, when they tried to retrace their way to that spot where they had met La Fayette’s carriage, they could not do so. For half an hour they sought to find their way and, when they finally reached the rue de l’Echelle, it was to discover that the others were in despair, having been waiting for almost the whole of an hour.

  Antoinette took her place in the ancient fiacre; she felt too emotional for words; all she could do was take her sleeping children in her arms and hold them against her.

  Fersen climbed into the driver’s seat and whipped up the horses. Precious time had been lost, and in an endeavour such as this each minute was important.

  Through the narrow streets went the fiacre, Fersen alert for any sign that they were followed. The occupants of the fiacre scarcely dared speak to each other. Many possibilities occurred to them; they would feel greatly relieved when they had left Paris behind them.

  At length they came to the Barrier, but the berline was not at the spot where Fersen had arranged that it should be waiting for them.

  He drew up and looked around him in consternation. There was silence all about them. Fersen descended and went to the door of the fiacre.

  ‘Something must have happened,’ he said. ‘There may have been an alarm which caused them to move from this spot. I will leave the fiacre here and search awhile. It cannot be far away.’

  After half an hour Fersen found the berline; it was about half a mile away and it had not been visible because the lamps were covered up. The driver had been alarmed by the long delay and, when horsemen had ridden past, had felt it necessary to move from the appointed spot. Fersen then drove the fiacre to the berline and the royal family moved from one to the other.

  They were now ready to continue the journey; but it had been an uneasy beginning, and they had planned to leave Paris at midnight; it was now two o’clock.

  Fersen drove full speed to Bondy where it was necessary to change horses, and while this was being done, Fersen examined the berline, made sure that everything was in order; then he came to the door and said his farewells. His eyes were on the Queen, hers on him.

  She said in a quiet voice: ‘This could never have happened but for you.’

  ‘You have your parts to play,’ he said.
‘Do not forget, Your Majesty, that you are the governess.’

  ‘If we return,’ said the King, ‘we shall not forget you.’

  ‘When we return,’ corrected the Queen.

  Fersen stood back from the berline; he called in a loud voice: ‘Adieu, Madame de Korff.’

  The berline moved forward; Fersen lifted his hat and turned the horse, which he had arranged should be waiting for him at Bondy, towards Le Bourget.

  Antoinette thought: In two days’ time we shall meet at Montmédy, but as the first light of dawn showed her his retreating figure she was conscious of foreboding. This had been his endeavour; without him, she did not feel the same confidence, the same certainty that all would be well. Only two days, she reminded herself. But a great deal could happen in two days.

  The children awoke.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ announced the Dauphin. ‘Are we nearly there?’

  ‘Not long now,’ answered the Queen. ‘And we shall have our picnic now.’

  ‘A real picnic? In the fields?’

  ‘No, in the carriage. I will see what we have in the cupboard. No,’ she smiled at Madame de Tourzel who had risen and was about to open the cupboard door, ‘I shall do this. And Elisabeth shall help me. Do not forget that Elisabeth is the maid and I am Madame de Rochet, the governess. Madame de Korff, I beg you sit still and let your servants wait upon you.’

  Madame Royale looked bewildered, but the Dauphin lifted his shoulders with delight.

  ‘You see,’ said the Queen, ‘it is a new sort of masque. You are a little girl, my darling, do not forget that. And I am your governess. You must be a little afraid of me, I think, for I am very stern, and when you speak to me you must not forget to address me as Madame Rochet.’

  ‘Madame Rochet. Madame Rochet …’ crooned the Dauphin.

  Elisabeth brought out the silver platters which Fersen had had put into the coach, for he had deemed it inconceivable that the Queen could eat off anything but gold or silver; the Queen brought out chicken while the King found the wine.