The Queen's Confession Part 28

Louis was deeply affected; I felt his hand on my shoulder, kind and tender. It was true he was a good man. I thought of how we had longed for children, how we had suffered because we could not have a son and now how we suffered because we had one.

Little Louis-Joseph was fighting for his life. I think he was trying to cling to it because he knew I so much wanted him to live. He was thinking of me even in those last moments.

I cried to myself: "Oh, G.o.d, leave me my son. Take anything from me but leave me my son."

But one does not make bargains with G.o.d.

I felt a warm hand in mine and there was my youngest boy. Louis had sent for my daughter and son to remind me that they were left to me.

On one side of me my lovely ten-year-old daughter and on the other four-year-old Louis-Charles.

"You should comfort your mother," said the King gently.

And I held my children close to me and was, in some measure, comforted.

CHAPTER 20.

25th June 1789: "Nothing. The stag was hunted at Saint-Appoline and I was not there."

14th July 1789: "Nothing."

-Louis XVI's Journal "I have just come from Versailles. Monsieur Necker is dismissed. This is the signal for a St. Bartholomew's day of the patriots. This evening the Swiss and German battalions will slit our throats. We have but one resource: To Arms."

-Camille Desmoulins at the Palais Royale "Still the people spoke of the King with affection and appeared to think his character favourable to the desire of the nation for the reform of what was called abuses; but they imagined that he was restrained by the opinions and influence of the Comte d'Artois and the Queen; and those two august personages were therefore objects of hatred to the malcontents."

-Madame Campan's Memoirs The Fourteenth of July THE FOUR CANDLES HAD GONE OUT and it seemed that the lights of my life were going out for me. Two children lost in less than two years. I turned to those left to me ... my serene and lovely daughter, whom I called affectionately Mousseline, loving and calm, never causing me anxiety, and my dearest son. The new Dauphin was very different from his brother, willful yet lovable, and even more pa.s.sionately devoted to me; he was by nature gay and one of the best tonics I could have during those days of mourning was to hear his merry laughter as he played his games. He was self-willed and showed temper if he could not have his own way - but what child of four does not? But he could always be brought to obedience when I showed that I wished it. He adored his sister and it was a pleasure to see them together, for she liked to mother him and he wanted to share everything he had with her. Like most boys, his great pa.s.sion was for uniforms and soldiers; and he was a great favorite with the guards and would watch them from the windows or better still go out into the garden and march along beside them.

His charm endeared him to all. I called him my chou d'amour.

I did not wish him to be too much aware of his position; yet on the other hand I always remembered my husband's complaint that he had never been educated to understand statecraft. I had even wondered whether this neglect was in some way responsible for our present difficulties.

So I talked to my son about the change his brother's death had made in his future.

"So you see, my darling," I said, "you have now become the Dauphin."

He nodded while he traced a pattern with his fat little finger on my dress.

"Which means you will one day be the King of France. Think of that."

He looked at me gravely. "I'll tell you something better, Maman," he said. "Shall I?"

I lifted him on to my lap. "What could be better, dearest?"

He put his mouth close to my ear and whispered: "Moufflet is my dog now."

I held him to me too tightly apparently, for he said: "Maman, it is good to be loved, but sometimes it hurts."

I felt a rush of emotion. And I thought: Oh, my little one, how right you are!

Life was moving fast toward some fearful climax, and the death of my son had temporarily made me forget this, for during those first days of grief I did not care much what happened. But now I realized that I had others to consider.

The first meeting of the States General had been held in Salle des Menus and there the King, Baretin, the Keeper of the Seals, and Necker had spoken. Necker explained to the a.s.sembly that they had been called together at the express wish of the King, whose chief point was that the two wealthy orders - the n.o.bility and the clergy - were willing to make great sacrifices for the sake of the country. Something happened which was significant of the new mood of the people. Having uncovered his head while speaking, the King replaced his hat at which point the custom was that the n.o.bles should remove theirs and the members of the Third Estate kneel. This the latter declined to do and put on their hats.

Indignation was expressed by the n.o.bles and someone called out an order to the Third Estate to take off their hats. It was immediately apparent that they obstinately refused to do this; and what would have happened I cannot say if my husband with great presence of mind had not removed his own hat; which gesture meant that everyone else must do the same - even the churlish members of the Third Estate. Thus it seemed that an unpleasant contretemps was avoided. But this was symbolical of the struggle which was about to begin with the n.o.bles and clergy on one side and the members of the Third Estate on the other.

The name which was on everyone's tongue was that of the Comte de Mirabeau. He was an aristocrat by birth but had been made to suffer greatly during his childhood by a s.a.d.i.s.tic father, who had beaten and tortured him and even sent him to prison. He was a brilliant man and by placing himself on the side of the Third Estate, he had greatly strengthened that body and it very soon became apparent that there was to be a conflict between the Third Estate and the rest of the States General.

The Third Estate had set itself up as the National a.s.sembly; for they declared they represented ninety-six percent of the nation. They began to make their rules and announced that they would draw up a Const.i.tution setting out how much power belonged to the King.

The Duc de Luxembourg, who was the President of the n.o.bility, called on the King in company with the Duc de la Rochefoucauld-Liancourt and talked earnestly to him.

"The Monarchy will be lost if Your Majesty does not dissolve the States General," said de la Rochefoucauld-Liancourt.

The King was in a dilemma. He wished to please all, he said.

He summoned Necker, who advised him to act in a conciliatory fashion. I was against this. Something told me that the States General was planning our destruction. I was on the side of the Duc de Luxembourg and the Duc de la Rochefoucauld-Liancourt, who were asking that the States General be disbanded. The Deputies, I said, were a pack of madmen. We must dismiss them.

Louis as usual could not make up his mind. I could see him swaying toward Necker's views and then to mine. He compromised. He would not, he said, treat with rebels.

It was on the 20th June when the King was out hunting at Le Butard and the a.s.sembly wished to meet. The Salle des Menus Plaisirs was shut, so they held their meeting in the tennis court and there they swore not to dissolve until they had fulfilled the wish of the people and a Const.i.tution had been granted.

This was defying the King, for it was the King's right to dissolve the a.s.sembly when he so wished.

When Louis discovered that the oath had been taken in the tennis court, he was as undecided as ever. On one side were those who declared that the men who were now called rebels should be driven away by the military; and on the other was Necker, advising conciliatory methods. Mirabeau, the strength behind the Third Estate, then announced that the National a.s.sembly would only give way at the point of the bayonet, while Jean Sylvain Bailly, the President of the National a.s.sembly, added that the nation once a.s.sembled could be dismissed by no one.

And the nation had a.s.sembled. That was what we did not realize soon enough. The Duc d'Orleans, who had added his voice to that of the Third Estate, had been spreading sedition in the Palais Royale and was encouraging agitators. Each day there were meetings; new pamphlets were appearing several times a day.

The words Liberty and the People had a magic quality. There was an air of tension through Versailles and the whole of Paris. And there was fear everywhere. We could not guess what would happen next. Axel spoke to me; he said: "You know that I shall always be here if I am wanted." And I felt happier than I had for some time.

Perhaps he, as a foreigner, one who mingled with the people of Paris, understood the situation far more than we could. We did not believe that the Monarchy was tottering; we could not conceive it; but he had mingled with those crowds in the Palais Royale, he had heard the mutterings of the people.

It was necessary for Louis to go to Paris to attend a meeting of the States General and I was worried as to what would happen there. I could not forgive Necker for not accompanying him. The man was annoyed because the King would not take his advice and although I had asked him specially to be with the King, he had failed to do so. Louis' great quality was his courage. I never saw fear in him, as in most men. If he took the wrong action - which he did so often - it was never through fear. Now that he had decided to be firm, I knew that if someone could put up a good argument in favor of changing that firmness, he would waver again.

At the a.s.sembly he made a firm declaration. He would not allow any changes of inst.i.tutions, by which he meant the Army. He would make taxation equal; the n.o.bility and the clergy should resign their privileges. He wished advice as to how to abolish lettres de cachet.

When he left, he ordered that the a.s.sembly should be disbanded for the night, but no one obeyed the order. And when the Master of the Ceremonies, the Marquis de Breze, announced the meeting closed and advised all to go home, Mirabeau stood up and shouted that they would go when they wished and as for Breze, he could go back to those who sent him; and he repeated that only by the use of bayonets could they be separated.

But how typical of Louis to lose his firmness as quickly as he had put it on. When Breze reported to him, he merely shrugged his shoulders and said: "Very well. Let them stay where they are."

Then he made a mistake. He dismissed Necker and called in de Breteuil to take his place.

I was with the children reading to them aloud from the fables of La Fontaine. My daughter leaned against my chair following the text as I read and my son sat in my lap watching my lips and every now and then he would shriek with laughter as some phrase of the story struck him as particularly funny.

We were at the Trianon, which seemed to have changed its character in the last year or so. The theater remained shut. I had no heart for it. Often I would wander through the gardens with Gabrielle and we would try not to speak of the fears that were in our hearts. I was no longer surrounded by gay young men. They had been robbed of those sinecures which they had all sought and which I had delighted to bestow upon them. They were a little sullen. "We shall all be bankrupt," was their cry.

I had stopped reading and closed the book.

"I wish to show you my flowers," said Louis-Charles. And so we went out into the garden to that little patch which I had given him all for his own, for he delighted in flowers and already, with the help of the gardeners, was cultivating them. "Flowers and soldiers, Maman," he had said, "I do not know which I love the best."

And hand in hand we walked out into the gardens and my dear villagers of the Hameau came out to curtsey and adore my children with their eyes; and no one would have guessed what was happening in the outside world. And yet again the Trianon was my heaven.

My son released my hand and ran on ahead.

He reached his garden and stood waiting for us. "I have been talking to a gra.s.shopper," he said. "He's been laughing at an old ant. But he won't laugh, will he, Maman, when the winter comes."

"When did you speak to the gra.s.shopper, my love?"

"Just now. You couldn't see him. He ran out of the book while you were reading."

He looked at me seriously.

"You are making that up," said his sister.

But he swore he wasn't. "I take my oath," he said.

I laughed. But his way of exaggerating did disturb me a little. It was not that he did not mean to be truthful; he had such a vivid imagination.

Then he was picking flowers and presenting them to me and his sister.

"Maman," he said, "when you go to a ball, I will make you a necklace of flowers."

"Will you, darling?"

"A beautiful, beautiful one. It'll be better than a diamond necklace."

Always close to me were the warning shadows.

I picked him up suddenly and kissed him fiercely.

"I'd far rather have the flowers," I said.

I heard news of what was happening in Paris. During those hot July days it seemed as though the city was preparing itself, waiting. I heard the names of dangerous men mentioned often. Mirabeau, Robespierre, Danton, and the biggest traitor of them all, Orleans - Prince of the Royal House - who was urging the country to rise against us.

"What does he hope for?" I demanded of Louis. "To step into your shoes?"

"It would be impossible," replied my husband.

But I heard that crowds were thronging to the gardens of the Palais Royale day and night and that Orleans was already king of this little territory. The journalist agitator Camille Desmoulins was in his pay, it was said. These men were working against us.

"They can never succeed against the throne," said Louis.

Madame Campan was quiet and more serious than ever.

"Tell me everything," I said. "Hold nothing back from me."

"There have been riots in Paris, Madame. Mobs are roaming the streets and the shopkeepers are barricading their shops."

"Violence!" I muttered. "How I hate it."

"Danton speaks in the Palais Royale gardens, so does Desmoulins. They have discarded the green c.o.c.kade because those are the colors of the Comte d'Artois."

"I fear they hate Artois almost as much as they do me."

I was sad, remembering those extravagant adventures we had shared.

"They have chosen the colors of Monsieur d'Orleans, Madame - red, white, and blue, the tricolor. They are asking for the recall of Necker. They parade through the streets with busts of Necker and the Duc d'Orleans."

"So they are heroes now."

Louis had changed again. He now decided that firm action was needed. He would call out the military; he would send garrisons to the Bastille. The States General must be disbanded. And while garrisoning the Bastille the King gave orders that the guns were not to be used against the people.

I shall never forget that night of the fourteenth of July. The hot sultry day was over and we had retired to our apartments.

I was unable to sleep. How different from Louis. His rest seemed never to be disturbed. He had to be aroused when the messenger came.

It was the Duc de la Rochefoucauld-Liancourt riding in haste from Paris with a terrible tale to tell. His face was ashen, his voice trembled.

I heard him calling to be taken to the King and I rose and wrapped a gown about me.

The King's servants were arguing. The King was in bed. He could not be disturbed at this hour!

And Liancourt's terse answer: "Awaken the King. I must see the King."

The Duc was in the bedchamber.

"Sire," he cried. "The people have stormed the Bastille." Louis sat up in bed rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"The Bastille ..." he murmured.

"They have taken the Bastille, Sire."

"But ... the governor ..."

"They have killed de Launay, Sire. They marched into the prison with his head on a pike."

"This would seem to be a revolt," said the King.

"No, Sire," answered the Duc gravely, "it is a revolution."