Виктория Холт - Flaunting, Extravagant Queen

It was that of James Armand. Very prominently he wore the blue, white and red cockade.

Meanwhile Provence and Josèphe, travelling quietly and inconspicuously, had arrived at Montmédy and, having heard of the King’s bad luck, crossed the frontier into safety.

Back to prison. Back to the gloom of the Tuileries. They had tried and they had failed; and because of that failure they had taken yet a further step along the road to destruction.

Antoinette thought of Axel – continually she thought of him. Had he escaped? He must have, or she would have heard by now. She had learned from the guards who had travelled with them that it was known what part he had played in the escape. A price was on his head. If he ever set foot in Paris again he would be running great risks.

Shall I ever see him again? she wondered. What will be the end of all this misery?

She could not resist writing to him.

‘Let me assure you; we are still alive. I have been terribly uneasy about you, and I am distressed because I know how you will suffer if you get no news of us. Do not return here on any pretext whatsoever. They know that you aided our escape, and we are watched night and day. I can only tell you that I love you. Do not be uneasy about me. I crave so much to know that you are well. Write to me in cipher. Let me know where I am to address my letters, for I cannot live without writing to you. Farewell, most loved and most loving of men.’ Letters? What poor consolation!

* * *

It was February in the Tuileries – eight weary months after the humiliating return to what could only be called captivity.

Life had been harder to bear than before the escape. There were guards in the Palace; they filled the gardens; they were determined not to let the King and Queen escape again.

Always the Queen’s mind was busy with plans for escape.

‘I have been foolish,’ she declared again and again to her dear friends, the Princesse de Lamballe and Madame Elisabeth. ‘When I might have learnt of state matters I danced and gambled. Now I find myself ignorant.’

‘You are learning quickly,’ said Elisabeth.

‘And bitterly, little sister.’

It was true. That September following the return, the King had been forced to accept the Constitution. This meant that not only was absolute monarchy finished but that the King was shorn of all power. Government was to be by an elected body of men.

Louis had held out as long as he could, but he realised that if he accepted the Constitution there would be no reason for continuing with the revolution. It was true that when he gave way there was a lull in the riots.

But the Jacobins were not pleased at this turn of events. Their great desire was to continue with the revolution and, knowing that the King would not agree that émigrés should be recalled to France and sentenced to death if they did not return, they began to agitate for this.

The law was passed that November, but Louis, thinking of his two émigré brothers, and knowing that they would not return refused to have the death penalty pronounced on them. He applied the veto; and soon the whole of Paris – inflamed by the Jacobins – was calling out against a King who dared veto the desires of the government. Monsieur Veto, they called the King; and of course Madame Veto was blamed for the King’s refusal to submit.

Meanwhile the émigrés, including Provence and Artois, talked of raising forces against the revolutionaries, and so angered the people of France. Antoinette cried out against them – for neither Provence nor Artois were in a position to help – and even Louis agreed that they were doing more harm than good to him and his family.

The Queen was now in despair. She was writing to Fersen and receiving letters from him. She was stunned by the behaviour of her husband who seemed unable to arouse himself from his lethargy. Again and again she thought how different their lives might have been if Louis had but possessed a little initiative, if he would only act, and could conquer the vacillation which seemed to beset him on every important occasion.

She wrote to her brother Leopold, who had succeeded Joseph, and implored his help. The countries of Europe, while not prepared to risk much on behalf of the King and Queen, were anxious that the monarchy should be preserved. They feared the rot might spread to them.

Leopold and Frederick of Prussia met and issued a call to other European nations to get together and save the French monarchy. Meanwhile Fersen was using all his powers to persuade his King, Gustavus, to come to the aid of the royal family.

The people in the streets were now saying that the Queen was sending secret messages to the foreign Princes imploring them to destroy the French. She was distraught. She knew for once that what was said of her was true.

‘Nothing but armed force can set things right again!’ she cried to Louis.

‘I do not wish for bloodshed,’ said the King.

‘I believe,’ she cried passionately, ‘that you would see your crown trampled in the dust – I believe you would go smiling to your death, if they bade you.’

‘My life is in their hands,’ said Louis. ‘I would be King through their love or not at all.’

She cried out in exasperated anger: ‘Yes, I see. I see it is this meekness of yours that is bringing us to ruin.’

Then she burst into tears and flung herself into his arms. Louis comforted her.

‘It is too much for you to bear,’ he said. ‘You must rest. You must let things take their course.’

‘Louis … Louis …’ she cried. ‘How can we know what to do? I ask Leopold to put himself at the head of the armies and lead them across our borders. I tell him the revolutionaries would be terrified if he did because of what they have done to us. Then I am afraid. If Leopold marched, what would become of us? They would put our heads under the knife. What can we do? What can we do?’

Louis could only shake his head. Of what use was Louis? She went to Esterhazy who was about to leave for Sweden.

She cried: ‘You are going to see someone who is a friend of us both. Tell him that although we are miles apart nothing can separate our hearts. It is a torment to have no news of those we love. Take this ring to him. I have always worn it. Now I would like him to wear it and think sometimes of me.’

There was an inscription on the ring; she read it for the last time: ‘Faintheart he who forsakes her.’

And no sooner had she sent the ring than she was afraid. Would he see in it a reproach? Would he come to her – he for whom the French were waiting?

She wrote to him immediately and despatched the letter by yet another messenger.

‘You must not attempt to come here. Your coming would ruin my happiness. I have a great longing to see you, do not doubt that, but you must not come here.’

He wrote to her. He thanked her for her gift. ‘I live only to serve you,’ he wrote.

She had received that letter on a cold day a week ago, and she re-read it and cherished it; and she thought of him, pleading her cause with Gustavus, begging Gustavus to act. But what cared Gustavus for Louis and Antoinette? He cared though for the preservation of the monarchy. He had said he did not care whether it was Louis the 16th, 17th or 18th who reigned in France. But the rabble should not be allowed to sweep away a throne.

I am foolish, she thought. My tragedy is that I learned what life was, too late. For so many years I thought it was made up of dancing and beautiful clothes, extravagant balls; then when it was too late I found that this was not so.

She smiled faintly, thinking of her beautiful Trianon. Ah, Trianon, shall I ever see you again?

It was easy to drift into dreams – and so pleasant; for only in dreams of the past was there happiness for her.

She heard a sound in her room suddenly. She did not move. She knew that someone had silently opened a door. She had heard the turning of a key. She was alone in her apartments, and her rooms were on the ground floor. She dared not move. All through the days and nights she was tense, waiting … never knowing who would come upon her suddenly.

And now … someone was in her room.

‘Antoinette.’ She did not look round. She dared not. She thought, Oh, God, I am dreaming. It cannot be.

‘Antoinette!’

He was coming towards her. It was a dream of course. She was delirious. In truth it could not have happened.

She turned and saw the familiar figure; the rough wig he wore, the all-concealing great-coat could not hide him from her.

She flew to him and threw herself into his arms. She let her fingers explore his face while the tears ran silently down her cheeks.

‘It is a dream, I know,’ she cried. ‘But, oh Holy Mother of God, let me go on dreaming.’

‘It is no dream,’ he said.

And he wiped the tears from her cheeks.

‘It is not truly you?’

‘But it is. I have come to you – all the way from Sweden.’

‘But why … why?’

‘To see you. To hold you thus. Does not the ring say “Faintheart he who forsakes her”?’

‘Oh, give me the ring, give me the ring. I should never have sent it. It has brought you here … to danger … to God knows what. Axel … my love … you are truly here. You are in this room, are you not? Oh, foolish one … foolish one to come and risk your life to see me.’

‘Of what use is life to me when I do not see you?’

‘Hold me tightly, Axel … for a little while. I wish to dream. I call you foolish … and foolish you are, to come here. But I am the greatest fool in the world because I have called you here, because I have brought to danger the one I love.’