And there, in those terrifying August days the Queen seemed to lead two lives: one of horror and foreboding in Versailles, one of love and passion in the Trianon.

She would cry in her lover’s arms and beg him to make her happy, beg him to shut out the hideous world.

‘It must be, it must be,’ she cried. ‘For how could I endure my life unless I had this love?’

Sometimes she would think how ironical was life. She loved this man who seemed to her all that a man should be. He was strong, he was resourceful. His was a quiet dignity, which was born of great courage.

And in this fairy palace, with its model village clustered about it, with its air of complete unreality, Antoinette could shut herself away, and for a few brief hours forget all else but love; and so she found the courage to live through the anxious days.

The King was aware of what was happening.

They did not speak of it, but he knew. He would regard her sadly, for he understood. He had failed as lover; he knew that. His nature was such that, apart from that disability of the first years of his marriage, he must always be cold. He was fond of the Queen as he was fond of his children; he was the kindest and most tolerant of men.

His failing was that he was perhaps too kind, too tolerant. He was always able to see every side of every problem; thus he could rarely make up his mind how to act effectively, and his hesitation cost him dearly. He lacked the fire of men like Mirabeau, Desmoulins, Marat, Robespierre.

The Queen had a lover, and this Swedish nobleman, who was every inch a hero, was giving the Queen the courage she so desperately needed during these days of terror.

So the King was silently sad and never forced himself upon her.

When he saw the cruel pamphlets directed against her, when he heard the threats and libels, when he realised how she had been chosen for a scapegoat, he said to himself: ‘How could I make her life more burdensome by reproaching her?’

There were so many problems for Louis to face during those weeks, so he stood aside and allowed the Swedish Count to comfort Antoinette.


* * *

On the first of October a new regiment arrived at Versailles and, in accordance with the old tradition, a banquet was given by the regiment already garrisoned in the château.

It was agreed that the banquet should be given in the Palace theatre. This was a grand occasion such as those of the old days. The King and Queen with their children were present, and when they appeared the Guards – every man among them – rose and cheered them until they were hoarse. The band played some of the old songs which rang with fervour and loyalty to the crown. The cheers were ecstatic, for the Guards wished their sovereigns to know that they were loyal.

They had all arrived wearing the white cockade – the pledge of loyalty.

It was possible during that day, to believe that there had been no riots, no fall of the Bastille, no revolution.

That night and the next day the atmosphere of Versailles seemed to have lightened.

It was as though the laughter of the guests and the shouts of loyal men lived on.


* * *

In the streets of Paris the banquet was discussed. Crowds gathered at the Place de Grève and outside the Palais de Justice. In the gardens of the Palais Royal the agitators were at work.

‘Citizens, while you starve there is plenty at Versailles. These pigs of aristocrats sit at their tables which sag under the weight of so much food. You wait in vain outside the bakers’ shops for bread. Shall you stand aside and touch your caps and cry: “So be it!” No, Citizens. You are not made of ice; you are made of proud flesh, and good red blood flows in your veins. Have done with this injustice. Come, Citizens. Arm yourselves and then … to Versailles!’

So they marched through the city, brandishing knives and broken bottles. They passed through the poorest streets calling to the men and women: ‘Come! Join us. We go to Versailles. To the lantern with Madame Déficit! There is one head we shall bring back to Paris. The hair will be dressed three feet from the forehead, Citizens, and the neck adorned with a diamond necklace which will keep you all in bread for a year. To the lantern with the Austrian strumpet! To the lantern with the foreign whore!’

And so they marched out of Paris, rioting and stealing from the shops as they went. At their head marched the ‘women’ – big broad figures, all wearing dirty mob caps as the best means of disguising their masculine features.


* * *

La Fayette, commanding officer of the National Guard, was afraid of the rabble when he saw them in their present mood.

He, the hero of the American war, tried to reason with them.

‘Wait, my good people,’ he cried. ‘You demand justice, and you are right to demand justice, but this is not the way in which to enforce it …’

The leaders of the mob laughed at him. They were out for plunder; they were out for blood, and they would not look too kindly on any – hero of the American war, head of the National Assembly or not – who tried to detain them.

‘A bas La Fayette!’ cried some.

But there were many who were not ready to see La Fayette’s head on a lamp-post. They shouted: ‘A Versailles!’

‘My friends …’ began La Fayette.

He was interrupted by a cry: ‘All good patriots march to Versailles this day.’

On marched the rabble.

And behind them, sick at heart, shamed and undignified, rode La Fayette with 20,000 men behind him.


* * *

It was a pleasant afternoon. The leaves were turning russet and gold.

‘How can I endure this château on such a day?’ said Antoinette to the Princesse. ‘I feel I must go out. I am going to walk over to Trianon.’

‘When shall we leave?’ asked the Princesse.

‘I wish to go alone. I shall merely take a footman to carry what I require. I want to be alone, Marie.’

The Princesse nodded. The Trianon was full of memories – memories of recent joys to overshadow those extravagantly splendid days of the past.

‘It may be that I will sketch awhile, or perhaps I will read. It is too pleasant a day to stay within walls.’

How lovely was the Trianon that day. She remembered how she had enjoyed seeing the little Dauphin – the Dauphin she had lost – playing there in the pleasant meadows of her perfect village.

She thought: Perhaps Axel will come to see me here. Marie will tell him where I am. We could walk together out to Cupid’s Temple and make each other believe that we are the only people in the world.

She sat on the terrace in front of her house, the sketch-book held idly in her hand as she looked out over the tree-lined meadow. The autumn wind ruffled the fichu at her bodice and her hair beneath her white hat.

And as she sat there she saw a page running towards her. He was clearly agitated.

She rose and went to meet him, and she saw as she came near to him that he carried a letter.

He cried breathlessly: ‘Your Majesty! Monsieur le Comte de Saint-Priest sent this letter. He begs you to read it at once.’

She opened it and read: ‘Return without delay. The mob is marching on Versailles.’

‘The carriage is waiting, Your Majesty,’ said the page.

‘I will walk back through the woods,’ she answered.

The young page shook his head. ‘Madame, I was commanded to beg you to take the carriage. It may be that some of the mob have already reached the woods. Madame, you are in acute danger.’

She smiled. ‘Come,’ she said. ‘We will take the carriage.’

She turned for one fleeting instant to look at the charming village she had created. Then she hurried after the page.


* * *

At Versailles there was confusion.

The King’s ministers were all about him, arguing, putting forward plans which were hastily discussed, discarded and discussed again.

‘Your Majesty should put himself at the head of his dragoons and march out to meet the rebels,’ said one.

The King was loth to do that. ‘These are my people,’ he said. ‘How could I take up arms against them?’

Another cried: ‘There is but one thing to do. Take the Queen and the royal children, say to Rambouillet. From a safe place it would be possible to treat with the leaders of the revolution. It is hopeless to parley with the mob.’

Horses and carriages were brought into the courtyard, but the King prevaricated. He could not make up his mind, and the minutes of indecision grew while the rioters drew nearer to Versailles.

Then in the courtyard was the sound of galloping hoofs.

A man leaped from his horse, threw the reins to a startled groom and strode into the Palace.

Antoinette felt immense relief when she saw him.

He cried: ‘The mob is marching on Versailles.’

‘We know it,’ he was told.

Fersen could only look at Antoinette, and his fears for her safety were apparent to them all. But he was there; he would remain near to her; he was there to defend her with his life against the bloodthirsty mob.


* * *

Now the rabble was in the Cour Royal, and the violent shouting echoed through the corridors of the château.

Fersen had insisted that the Queen shut herself away with her children in her apartments. To everyone’s surprise the Swedish nobleman had seemed to take charge with a firmness which the ministers had failed to show.

The King was insistent that he himself should speak to his people. Louis was amazing in that moment; he was quite calm, even bland; he appeared to have complete faith in the goodness of all. He was sure that when he explained certain matters they would understand; then all would be well.