During the month of June 1789 an event took place some 10,000 miles from Florence that was to have serious repercussions in Europe and, eventually, decide the fate of Isabella and Roger.
On the other side of the world, in the distant Pacific, Spanish and English seamen became involved in a local dispute that later threatened to develop into a world war. Many years earlier the Spaniards had sent expeditions from their South American ports northward along the Pacific coast on voyages of exploration. Mexico was already one of their oldest colonies, and they further claimed sovereign rights over the western seaboard all the way up to Alaska. More recently, one of their captains, named Perez, had, in 1774, discovered the harbour of Nootka Sound on the island of Vancouver. But Britain’s great explorer, Captain Cook, paid a lengthy visit to the place four years later; and, as the Spaniards—apparently content with their rich possessions in Chile, Mexico and Peru—showed no signs of developing this outpost in the far, cold north, it was assumed in Whitehall that it could now be regarded as British.
Owing to the wars that ensued during the next seven years the shipping of both nations was so fully occupied that the North American Pacific coast remained deserted. But from ’85 numerous British vessels visited Nootka Sound to buy furs from the Indians. Then, in ’88, Catherine IPs greed for territory led to the Russians pushing eastwards across the Behring Strait into Alaska. The Spaniards, alarmed for their theoretical sovereignty over lands first discovered by them, decided to bestir themselves. In the following summer, Flores, Viceroy of Mexico, sent the Captains Martinez and Haro north in the warships Princesa and San Carlos to occupy Nootka before a base could be established there by any other Power. On their arrival they found two English traders, the Iphigenia and Argonaut, in the Sound; upon which they seized the ships, imprisoned their British crews and sent them as captives to Mexico.
Nothing of this was known in Europe until many months later; but owing to it, had things taken only a slightly different turn, all history from that year might have entirely altered its course. The King and Queen of France might have escaped execution, the Revolution never culminated in a monstrous Terror, Napoleon Bonaparte never emerged to disrupt the lives of millions; and those two tiny pawns in the game, Roger and Isabella, might have met with a fate far removed from that which actually fell to them.
But in those middle days of June neither believed that they would ever meet again. Miserable but resigned, she was travelling south in her coach to Naples; while, filled with bitter rage and frustration, he was riding as though possessed by devils north-westward back across the Alps into France.
On learning of her departure there had been nothing that he could do. Nothing. In his saner moments he realised that he was extremely lucky to have escaped being hauled back to Florence and thrown into prison. So, electing to return to France by the shortest route, he had allowed himself to be escorted to the Tuscan frontier; and from there on endeavoured to allay his grief through the physical exertion of hard riding.
In any other circumstances he would have lingered among the treasures that Bologna, Modena, Parma, Piacenza and Turin had to show, and delighted in the landscapes of snow-capped mountains against blue skies as he wound his way through the Mont Cenis pass; but he dismounted only to eat and sleep; his eyes were blind and his heart numb from the belief that he had lost for good the love of a lifetime. On June 16th he arrived in Paris, half dead with fatigue, yet still consumed with unappeasable longings and such poignant grief that he felt he would never again be capable of taking a real interest in anything.
Next morning, although he woke early, he lay long abed; but eventually he felt that he could not stay there indefinitely and must sooner or later make an effort to pull himself together. It was a subconscious impulse to deaden the pain in his mind by employing himself with his original mission that had dictated his return to France; and he realised now that he must either go on to England with the object of resigning his task, or take it up again with such initiative as he could muster. If he adopted the first course he knew that it would lead to a brief interval of wild dissipation in London, followed by a long period of penniless brooding at his home in Lymington; moreover, it would probably mean the untimely end of a career which, despite its occasional dangers, provided him with everything that he normally prized most highly. On the other hand, the second course, while seeming at the moment dreary, fatiguing and lacking in all interest, would at least prevent him making a fool of himself. So, being at rock bottom a sensible young man, he decided on the latter.
When he had lived in Paris as secretary to Monsieur de Rochambeau he had often dined at La Belle Êtoile in the Rue de l’ Arbe Sec, and had come to know well the patron and his wife, a couple from Cabourg in Normandy, named Blanchard. In consequence, on his return in the previous April he had taken a room there; and, once more, the preceding evening, they had welcomed his reappearance. So, when he was dressed, he went downstairs and invited his old friend, the landlord, to join him in a midday draught.
Monsieur Blanchard was a fair-haired, blue-eyed man; honest according to his lights, intelligent and hardworking. He was also shrewd enough to realise that in these times of violent and diverse opinions it paid an innkeeper better to let his customers talk, and agree with them, than to air his own views. As mine host of a well-patronised hostelry in central Paris he missed very little of what was going on in the capital; and, knowing his deliberately cultivated impartiality, Roger felt that a talk with the cautious Norman would be the quickest way to bring himself up to date with the news.
The good Mère Blanchard, an apple-cheeked, motherly soul, had already solicitously remarked on Roger’s haggard looks, and he had put them down to a slow summer fever contracted in the south of France; so he was not called on now to give further explanations to account for his sadly altered appearance. Without preamble he announced that, having been absent from Paris for seven weeks, he had heard little of what had been going on, except that the States General had met early in May, and was anxious to be acquainted with more recent events.
The landlord shrugged. “Really, Monsieur le Chevalier, there is little to tell. So far the States have disappointed us sadly. Their proceedings go on with zealous regularity but they have not yet got to the point of discussing the ills of the nation, let alone proposing remedies for them. The whole time of the Third Estate has been taken up with urging the other two to join it, but the nobles continue adamant in their refusal and meanwhile the clergy sit upon the fence.”
“Has nothing whatever been accomplished, then?” asked Roger in some surprise.
“Nothing, Monsieur; although the events of the past week give slightly better promise. On the 10th the Abbé Sièves moved that a last invitation be issued to the first Two Orders to join the Third, and that if it was refused the Third should proceed on its own with the verification of credentials. No reply being forthcoming verification was started on the 12th. Since then nine of the clergy have come over, and verification has been completed. What will be the next move remains to be seen.”
“And how have the people of Paris taken this inactivity?”
“With patience, Monsieur. There have been no major disturbances. But a new element seems to be percolating into the city which fills many of us with uneasiness. As you walk abroad you will now notice here and there little groups of foreigners idling on the street corners—rough, brutal-looking men who speak only a patois of the South. How or why they should have come here, and who supports them, nobody knows; but wherever there is an outcry they are to be seen participating in it, although it is no concern of theirs.”
“Is there no other news?”
“None of moment; other than the death of the Dauphin on the fourth of this month; but naturally, you will have heard of that.”
Roger shook his head. “I had not. As I told your wife and yourself last night, I have been ill for some weeks; and on my journey north I still felt too poorly to enter into conversation with strangers. Of what did the young prince die?”
“None of the doctors could put a name to his ailment, Monsieur; although it lasted for fifteen months. ’Tis said that all the poor little fellow’s hair fell out and that his body was covered with pustules. And further, that since his corpse was embalmed it has shrunk to the size of a new-born infant’s. His sufferings were great but I understand that he showed extraordinary fortitude for a child, and spent his last moments comforting his distraught parents.”
“His loss must have proved a tragic sorrow to the Queen.”
“Aye,” nodded the stolid Norman dispassionately. “Perhaps it was a judgment on her; but wicked as she is one cannot help feeling sorry for the poor woman in the loss of her eldest son.”
It was Roger’s business to collect information; so he refrained from the impulse to prejudice his source by entering on a defence of Madame Marie Antoinette. For a moment he remained silent, then, feeling that nothing more was to be gathered from his landlord, he ordered his horse with the intention of riding out to Versailles.
While it was being saddled he pondered the mystery of the Dauphin’s death. To him, the symptoms—loss of hair, suppurating sores and decayed bones—sounded suspiciously like hereditary syphilis. Yet the Queen came from healthy stock, and the King was said to have refrained from sexual intercourse until eight years after his marriage, owing to a slight malformation which was later rectified by the nick of a surgeon’s knife. Perhaps the boy had been the innocent victim of the immoralities of his great-grandfather, Louis XV. On the other hand it was just possible that one of the lecherous old King’s cronies had, when Louis XVI was only a lad, amused himself by initiating the young prince into vice. If so, such a terrible disease contracted in his youth might easily account for his later horror of women and continued celibacy even after his marriage. It was an interesting speculation.
When Roger arrived at Versailles he found to his annoyance that the Court was not in residence. On the previous Sunday, following the obsequies of the Dauphin, the King and Queen had retired with the barest minimum of attendants to the privacy of their little château not far distant at Marly. Nevertheless, owing to the sittings of the States General the royal town was a seething mass of people; and the very first of his acquaintances that Roger ran into was the suave and subtle Monsieur de Périgord.
Limping up to him, the elegant but unworthy Bishop first congratulated him on his return, then expressed concern at his woebegone appearance.
Again Roger explained his hollow cheeks and sunken eyes as the result of a slow fever, and added that never again would he be tempted to expose himself to the treacherous climate of the Mediterranean. For a few moments they talked of Cannes, where he said he had spent the greater part of his period of exile, owing to its already having become a favourite resort of the English; then he remarked:
“From what I hear you do not seem to be making much progress with your Revolution.”
“On the contrary,” replied the Bishop blandly. “The Revolution became an accomplished fact three days ago.”
Roger cocked an eyebrow. “Are the people then already become bored with politics, that they have accepted their triumph with so little excitement?”
“Nay, ’tis simply that few, even of the deputies themselves, realised the full implication of the momentous step taken by the Third Estate until this morning.”
“I pray you read me this riddle.”
“On Friday the 12th, all efforts of the Third Estate to induce the other two Orders to join them having failed, they decided to proceed with verification on their own. The verification was completed on the 14th. From that point they could not go backwards, or stand still, so willy-nilly they had to go forward and consider themselves as a duly elected parliament with powers to legislate on behalf of the nation. If the taking of such a step without the consent of the King, clergy or nobles does not constitute a Revolution, tell me what does.”
“You are right. But what has occurred this morning to make people suddenly sensible of this epoch-making development?”
“For the past three days the deputies of the Third Estate have been debating their next move. They sat all through last night until near dawn. After a few hours’ sleep they met again and formally announced their decisions. They have assumed the title of National Assembly, promised an immediate enquiry into the reasons for the scarcity of bread, pledged the credit of the nation to honour the public debt and, last but not least, deprived the King of all power to levy future taxes. They have decreed that all existing taxes, although unlawful, not having been sanctioned by the people, should continue to be paid until the day on which the National Assembly separates; after which no taxes not authorised by them should be paid by anybody.”
“Strap me!” exclaimed Roger. “This is indeed a revolution. Should the King now force their dissolution he will be left high and dry without a penny. Who were the men that initiated such defiance?”
“Their new title was suggested by Legrand of Berry; Sieyès drafted many of the minutes; Target and La Chapelier proposed the measures, but the dynamic force of Mirabeau lies behind everything they do. I think him loyal to the Crown but he is determined to humble his own Order.”
“I should much like to meet him.”
“You shall. Come and sup with me one evening at Passy. I can linger no longer now, as I am on my way to a session of my own chamber. Three curés of Poitou went over to the Third Estate on the 12th, and six other clergy joined them the next day. More will follow, without a doubt, so I am watching developments with considerable interest.”
Roger accepted the invitation with alacrity and, having said adieu to the cynical Churchman, spent an hour or two in casual gossip with various other people. He then returned to Paris, stabled his horse and walked round to the Palais Royal.
The palace had been built by the millionaire minister Cardinal Mazarin, during the minority of Louis XIV. It was a vast edifice enclosing a huge quadrangle in which flourished a number of chestnut trees. The Duc d’Orléans’ household occupied only the main block and the upper parts of its three other sides. An arcade ran round the latter, beneath which their ground floors had been converted into shops and cafés. The open space under the trees was now what the corner of Hyde Park inside Marble Arch was later to become—the stamping-ground of every crank and soap-box orator who thought he could impart a certain remedy for the public ills. In recent months, under the protection of M. d’Orléans it had become the central breeding-ground of all sedition, and from morning to night agitators were to be seen there openly inciting the mob to resist the edicts of the Government.
At the Café de Foix Roger had a drink, then strolled across to join the largest group of idlers, who were listening to an attractive-looking man of about thirty. He had wild, flowing hair and, despite an impediment in his speech, drove his points home with the utmost violence, An enquiry of a bystander elicited the fact that he was a lawyer from Picardy, named Camille Desmoulins, who held extreme views and was one of the crowd’s favourite orators.
Having listened to his diatribes for a while Roger picked ten chestnut leaves and a twig from a low branch of one of the trees, put them in an envelope he had brought for the purpose, and took it along to Monsieur Aubert’s. He then returned to his inn and spent the evening writing a report for Mr. Pitt upon the political situation as he had found it in Tuscany, and the personality of its ruler.
Next morning at ten o’clock he met Mr. Daniel Hailes at a small café just round the corner from the Palais Royal, in the Rue Richelieu. After handing over his despatch he gave a bare account of his journey to Italy, omitting all mention of his love affair with Isabella, then asked the diplomat what he thought of the present situation.
“This week,” Mr. Hailes replied a trifle ponderously, “we shall witness the crisis in the affairs of France to which events have steadily been leading ever since Louis XVI dismissed Turgot, in ’76. Had the King had the courage to maintain that wise Minister in office a steady series of Liberal reforms, each initiated before it was demanded, might by now have regenerated the nation and even further increased the stability of the monarchy. But thirteen years of vacillation and futile announcements that reforms were being considered have ended by bringing the monarchy to the brink. If the King accepts the declaration of the self-constituted National Assembly, he will be laying his crown at their feet. But he may not do so. At the moment troops from all parts of the country are being concentrated in the neighbourhood of Paris. Having ample forces at his disposal His Majesty may decide to face the people’s wrath and send his loyal commons’ packing.”
“One thing is certain,” remarked Roger. “He will do nothing into which he is not forced by some stronger personality.”
Mr. Hailes nodded. “Yes, he is now doubtless tossing like a shuttlecock between Messieurs Necker, Montmorin and St. Priest on the one hand, and the Queen, the Comte d’Artois, Barentin and d’Espréménil on the other.”
“I thought the latter was the member of the Parliament of Paris who led its violent opposition to the King two years ago.”
“He is, but times have changed. The Parliament now realises that in having weakened the King’s authority it has also weakened its own. Since he was forced to call the States General, the Parliament has become practically an anachronism. All too late it is now trying to get back its prestige by clinging to the coat-tails of the Sovereign. D’Espréménil is one of the few Nobles of the Robe who have secured a seat in the Second Estate, and he has emerged as an ardent champion of the monarchy.”
Leaning forward, Mr. Hailes went on in a lower tone: “I have much to do, so I must leave you now. But this is for your ear alone, as it is still a closely guarded secret. I have it on good authority that on Monday next, the 22nd, the King intends to hold a Royal Session. At it he will address the Three Estates in person. He is in a corner now and can vacillate no longer. When he has spoken the fate of France will be known.”
The Royal Session did not take place on the 22nd; it was postponed till the 23rd; but the preparations for it brought about an event of the first importance. The Court not only kept the secret well but committed the stupid blunder of not even communicating the King’s intention to Monsieur Bailly, the much-respected scientist whom the National Assembly had appointed as its President.
In consequence, on the morning of Saturday the 20th, the members of the Third Estate arrived at their usual meeting-place to find its doors closed against them. Actually this was in order that workmen could once more erect the throne-dais and stands in the hall necessary for a royal appearance there; but the deputies, not unnaturally, jumped to the conclusion that an attempt was being made to prevent their holding further meetings.
Thereupon, they adjourned in an angry crowd to the palace tennis court and, in the presence of numerous members of the public, gave vent to their indignation. Mounier proposed that they should take an oath not to separate until Constitutional Government had been established, and the oath was taken amid scenes of wild enthusiasm, only one solitary member dissenting.
On the Monday the situation was further aggravated by the Comte d’Artois taking possession of the tennis court to play a game there; but the Assembly resumed its sittings in the Church of St. Louis and the day proved one of triumph for it. Already, on the 19th, the clergy, their long indecision resolved by the momentous events of the proceeding days, had voted by 149 against 115 for joint verification; and now, headed by the Archbishops of Vienne and Bordeaux, and accompanied by two nobles, the bulk of the First Estate came to sit with the Third in its new temporary quarters.
Roger, meanwhile, had found his plans frustrated by the death of the Dauphin. Normally he would have sought access to the Queen as soon as possible, reported the delivery of her letter, and requested permission to remain at her disposal, as that would have placed him in a good position to find out the intentions of the Court. But he did not feel that he had sufficient excuse to disturb her at Marly, so he remained gloomily in Paris, occupying his mind as well as he could by renewing his acquaintance with various people.
However, on Sunday evening he learned that the Court had returned to Versailles; so on the Monday morning he rode out there again, and, after some difficulty, ran de Vaudreuil to earth. His ex-jailor greeted him as an old friend but advised against any attempt to see the Queen for the moment. He said that far from the Sovereigns having been left to their grief while at Marly they had been disturbed almost hourly with fresh advice as to how to deal with the crisis, and were still fully occupied by it. The Royal Council had joined them there, with the addition of the King’s two brothers, and the most frightful wrangles had ensued. Monsieur Necker had prepared a speech for the King which Barentin, the Keeper of the Seals, had violently opposed as a complete surrender to the Third Estate. Necker had retired in a dudgeon and the others had altered his speech till it was unrecognisable; but no one yet knew for certain what the unstable Monarch really would say at the Royal Session.
Roger said that he would greatly like to be present at it, so de Vaudreuil obligingly secured him a card of admission to the stand reserved for distinguished foreigners.
In consequence, he was up before dawn the following day and early at Versailles to secure his place in the Salle des Menus Plaisirs. It was raining quite hard and when he arrived he found that although the great hall was already a quarter filled with clergy and nobles, standing about talking in little groups, the Third Estate had been locked outside to wait in the wet until the Two senior Orders had taken their seats. Since the hall was so vast that it would hold 2,000 people there seemed no possible excuse for such invidious and flagrant discourtesy.
As an Englishman, he appreciated the great virtues of his own country’s political system, by which King, Lords and Commons each enjoyed a degree of power that acted as a protection against a dictatorship by either of the other two; so he sympathised with the Court and nobles of France in their endeavour to retain powers which would act as a brake upon any attempt by the representatives of the masses to overturn the whole established order. But the way they were going about it filled him with angry amazement, and the idea of keeping even a deputation of peasants out in the rain unnecessarily showed both their stupidity and heartless lack of concern for anything other than their own interests.
Eventually the Third Estate was let in and in due course the royal party arrived, so Roger was able to let his eye rove over the sea of faces behind which lay the thoughts that would prove the making or marring of the France that was to be. Many of the senior prelates looked fat, self-satisfied and dull. The nobles held themselves arrogantly, but they were mainly narrow-headed and rather vacuous-looking. The faces of the Third Estate were, on average, much sharper-featured than those of the other two, their eyes were keener and many of them possessed fine broad foreheads. Roger decided that in them were concentrated four-fifths of the brains, ability and initiative of the whole assembly.
On the King’s appearance many of the nobles and clergy had received him with shouts of “Vive le Roi!” but the whole of the Third Estate had maintained a hostile silence. A young Bavarian diplomat, who was next to Roger, remarked to him that the gathering had a sadly different atmosphere from that at the opening of the States on the 5th of May, as then everyone had been hopeful and enthusiastic, whereas now, not only good feeling, but the splendid pageantry of the first meeting, was lacking.
From the throne the King made his will known. As he proceeded to reprimand the Third Estate for its recent assumption of powers without his authority, he spoke awkwardly and without conviction. His uneasiness became even more apparent when two secretaries read on his behalf the decisions arrived at, as these were mainly contrary to his own sentiments and obviously those of the more reactionary members of his Council.
The statements decreed that the Three Orders should remain separate as an essential part of the Constitution, but could meet together when they thought it convenient. Revision of taxes was promised, but all feudal rights and privileges were to be maintained. Provincial Estates were to be established throughout the kingdom, but no promise was given that another States General would be summoned on the dissolution of the present one. The creation of the National Assembly and the measures passed by it the preceding week were declared illegal and thereby cancelled.
Finally the King spoke again, bidding the Three Orders to meet again in their respective chambers the next day, and in the meantime to separate.
When the Monarch had retired the majority of the clergy and nobles followed him, but the Third Estate remained where they were. The Marquis de Brézé, who was Grand Master of the Ceremonies, then came forward and said in a loud voice:
“Gentlemen, you have heard His Majesty’s commands.”
All eyes turned to the Comte de Mirabeau. Springing to his feet, the great champion of liberty cried:
“If you have been ordered to make us quit this place, you must ask for orders to use force, for we will not stir from our places save at the point of the bayonet.”
The declaration was a bold one, as the town was full of troops, and a company of guards had even been stationed in and about the chamber. But Mirabeau had voiced the feelings of his colleagues, and his words were greeted with a thunder of applause.
De Brézé refused to take an answer from a private member, so Bailly, as President of his Order, announced firmly that he had no power to break up the assembly until it had deliberated upon His Majesty’s speech.
On De Brézé withdrawing an angry tumult ensued. The Abbé Sieyès at length got a hearing and with his usual penetrating brevity reminded the deputies that they were today no less than what they were yesterday. Camus followed him with a resolution that the Assembly persisted in its former decrees, which was passed unanimously. Then Mirabeau mounted the tribune and proposed that “This Assembly immediately declare each of its members inviolable, and proclaim that anyone who offers them violence is a traitor, infamous and guilty of a capital crime.”
There were excellent grounds for such a proposal at the moment, as many of the more outspoken deputies now feared that their defiance of the royal command might be used as an excuse for their arrest; so the motion was passed by an overwhelming majority. The Assembly, having assumed this new sovereign power of the sacredness of its persons, then adjourned.
After lingering for an hour or so at Versailles, talking to people whom he knew, Roger returned to Paris to find the city in a state of frantic excitement. The King had that day tacitly acknowledged a Constitution; but he had given too little and too late. Good solid citizens as well as the mobs were now alike determined that he should give much more.
It was rumoured that Necker had resigned and this caused a panic-stricken run on the banks. Next day it transpired that he had done so but the King, now scared by such widespread commotions, had humbled himself to the extent of begging the Swiss to continue in office, for a time at least.
On the 25th Roger went again to Versailles and found it as agitated as Paris. That morning, to the wild applause of the population, the Duc d’Orléans had led 47 nobles to join the National Assembly, and the clergy who had so far stood out were now coming over in little groups hour by hour. Their most obstinate opponent of union was the Archbishop of Paris. During the previous winter he had practically ruined himself in buying food for the starving; but, despite this, he was set upon by a band of ruffians and threatened with death unless he joined the Assembly. Alternately the streets of the royal town rang with cheers and echoed with shouts of hatred.
Late that afternoon Roger found de Vaudreuil, who agreed to mention his return to the Queen, and asked him to wait in the Galerie des Glaces, from which he could easily be summoned if she had a mind to grant him an audience.
The long gallery was crowded with courtiers and their ladies, and Roger was immediately struck by the contrast of the calm that reigned among them to the commotion going on outside the palace. Faultlessly attired, bowing to each other with urbane grace as they met, parted or offered their snuff-boxes, they were talking of the latest scandals, gaming parties, books, Opera—in fact of everything other than the political upheaval that menaced their privileges, and incomes. Roger did not know whether to admire their well-bred detachment—which was quite possibly assumed so as not to alarm the women—or dub them a pack of idle, irresponsible fools.
An hour later there was a call for silence, the ushers rapped sharply on the parquet with their wands, and the occupants of the gallery formed into two long lines, facing inwards. As the King and Queen entered the women sank to the floor in curtsys and the men behind them bowed low. The Sovereigns then walked slowly down the human lane that had been formed, giving a nod here, a smile there and occasionally pausing to say a word to someone.
Roger had never before seen the King so close, and he was no more impressed than he had been at a distance. Louis XVI was then nearly thirty-five, but owing to his bulk he looked considerably older. He was heavily built and now grossly fat, both in figure and face, from years of overeating. His curved, fleshy nose and full mouth were typical of the Bourbon family; his double chin receded and his mild grey eyes protruded. Even his walk was awkward and he lacked the dignity which might have made a stupid man at least appear kingly.
To Roger’s disappointment the Queen did not, apparently, recognise him, and, having reached the end of the human lane, the royal couple passed out of a door at the far end of the gallery; so he feared that he had had his wait for nothing. But presently de Vaudreuil came to fetch him, and led him to the petit appartements: a series of small, low-ceilinged private rooms adjacent to the Queen’s vast State bedchamber. Her waiting-woman, Madame Campan, took him into a little boudoir, where Madame Marie Antoinette was sitting reading through some papers.
He thought her looking tired and ill, but she greeted him with her habitual kindness, and obviously made an effort to show interest in the journey he had undertaken for her. When he had given a brief account of it, she expressed concern at his having been wounded, asked after her brother, and then said:
“You find us in a sad state here, Mr. Brook, but that is no reason why I should fail to reward you for the service you have rendered me.”
“If that is Your Majesty’s gracious pleasure,” he replied at once, “I have two requests to make, one for myself and one for another.”
As she signed to him to go on, he continued: “On my first coming to France I sailed in an English smuggler’s craft. She was sunk off Le Havre by a French warship and the crew taken prisoner. The captain’s name was Dan Izzard, and I imagine that he and his men were sent to the galleys. They may be dead or have escaped long ere this, but Dan was a good fellow, and if Your Majesty_________”
With a wave of her hand she cut him short. “At least le bon Dieu still permits the Queen of France to perform an act of mercy at the request of a friend. Give all particulars to Monsieur de Vaudreuil and if these men are still our prisoners I will have them released and repatriated. And for yourself, Monsieur?”
Roger bowed. “ ’Tis only, Madame, your permission to remain unobtrusively about the Court, in the hope that I may be of some further service to Your Majesty.”
She smiled rather wanly. “I grant that readily; although I warn you, Mr. Brook, that in these days the Court of Versailles is but a poor place in which to seek advancement. We are having all we can do to maintain ourselves.”
As Roger was about to reply the door was flung open and the King came lumbering in. Ignoring Roger and Madame Campan, he cried:
“What do you think, Madame! D’Espréménil has just been to see me.”
The Queen sighed. “To offer more advice, I suppose; and no doubt contrary to the innumerable opinions we have heard so far.”
Pulling a large handkerchief from his pocket the King began to mop his red, perspiring face. “But what do you think he said, Madame; what do you think he said? He wants me to summon the Parliament of Paris, of whose loyalty he now assures me; march on the city with my troops, surround the Palais Royal, seize my cousin of Orléans and his confederates, try them summarily and hang them to the nearest lamp posts. He says that if I will do that the people will be too stunned to rise against us. That I could then dissolve the National Assembly as unfaithful to its mandates; and that if I will grant by royal edict all reasonable reforms the Parliament will register them, the country be pacified, and the monarchy established on a firm foundation.”
“Worse advice has been offered to other Monarchs who found themselves in similar difficulties,” said the Queen quietly.
“But Madame!” the harassed man exclaimed in alarm. “Because I dislike and distrust my cousin, that would be no excuse for hanging him. Besides, such a tyrannical act could not possibly be carried through without innocent persons becoming embroiled in it. We might even have to fire on the crowds and kill a number of the people. The people love me and in no circumstances will I allow their blood to be shed. They are not disloyal, but simply misguided. No! No! If blood is to be shed I would rather that it were my own. You at least agree with me about that, do you not, Madame?”
The Queen inclined her head. “Sire, you know well that you have my full understanding and approval of any measures that you think fit to take. What reply did you make to Monsieur d’ Espréménil?”
“I—I thanked him for his advice,” faltered the unhappy King, “and told him that we were opposed to extreme measures; but would think about it. You see, Madame, I did not wish to offend him, as I am sure that he meant well. I am much relieved that you feel as I do. I pray you excuse me now, for I am due to listen to a lecture from that depressing Monsieur Necker.”
The King made an awkward bow to his wife, and hurried like a naughty schoolboy from the room. There was silence for a moment, then the Queen said to Roger:
“Had you been the King, Mr. Brook, what would you have thought of Monsieur d’Espréméménil’s advice?”
“I would have taken it, Madame, and acted upon it this very night,” replied Roger without hesitation. “But may it please Your Majesty to understand me. I have little sympathy for your nobles, and still less for the majority of your clergy. Both Orders have become parasites, and I believe that the only sound future for France lies in utilising the brains and initiative of the Third Estate. But it should not be allowed to usurp the royal prerogative. Since things have gone so far, I think His Majesty would be justified in taking any measures—however violent—to silence His Highness of Orléans and restore the authority of the monarchy.”
The Queen nodded noncommittally. “You are not alone in your opinion, Mr. Brook; but His Majesty’s feelings are also mine. You may leave me now; and in future I shall see you with pleasure among the gentlemen of our Court.”
As Roger rode back to Paris he felt sad for the French nobles; for, although he found little to admire in them as a body, he would have hated to be one of them and have to rely for support on such a sorry King. His pessimistic view of their chances was confirmed the very next day.
Barentin had won the round over the speech at the Royal Session, but Necker got the upper hand in the one that followed. At his insistence the King wrote to the Presidents of the Two senior Orders, the Cardinal de la Rochefoucauld and the Duc de Luxembourg, asking them to invite their members to join the Third. Both demurred, so he sent for and pleaded with them. Still they held out, preferring his displeasure, and the howls of execration of the mob wherever they appeared, to a surrender that they considered to be against the true interests of the nation.
The King then panicked and restarted to a stratagem which came near to baseness. He ordered his brother, the Comte d’Artois, whom the nobles regarded as the leader of their resistance, to write a letter stating that if they persisted further in their refusal His Majesty’s life would be in danger from the fury of the populace. The letter was read in the chamber of the nobles on the morning of the 27th. The gallant Marquis de St. Simon instantly sprang to his feet and cried: “If that be the case, let us go to him and form a rampart round him with our bodies.” But the majority were against provoking an armed conflict; so, although with the greatest reluctance, out of personal loyalty to their Sovereign, the remaining members of the two senior Orders were tricked into joining the National Assembly.
That it was a shameful manœuvre Roger had no doubt, as he was in Versailles at the time with every opportunity to assess the facts; and he knew that there was as yet little real strength behind the noisy rabble, whereas the Court still had ample power to suppress any serious disturbance.
For a week past bands of hooligans had been parading the streets creating disorder, and threatening anyone they saw whom they believed to be opposed to their idol, Monsieur Necker. In the neighbourhood of the park the peasants now defied the gamekeepers; three poachers had been brutally butchered, one of them only a few days previously, and the villagers round about were openly shooting the game in the royal forests. The whole country was in a state of extreme agitation, and during the past four months over 300 outbreaks of violence had occurred in different parts of it.
Even the French Royal Guard were no longer to be relied upon, as the agents of the Duc d’Orléans were employing women as well as men to stir up sedition, and great numbers of the prostitutes of Paris were being used to suborn the troops. Both in the capital and at Versailles it was now a common sight to see groups of guardsmen arm-in-arm with girls, drunk in the middle of the day, and shouting obscenities, picked up in the gardens of the Palais Royal, against the Queen. Moreover it was known that a secret society had been formed in the regiment, the members of which had sworn to obey no orders except those emanating from the National Assembly.
But, despite all this, not a voice, much less a finger, had as yet been raised against the King. Every time he gave way he won a new, if temporary, popularity, and even when he stood firm there was no decrease in the respect shown to him. He had 40,000 troops within a few hours’ march of the capital. The discipline of his Royal Swiss Guard was superb, and he had several other regiments of Swiss and German troops who had long been embodied in the French Army in the immediate vicinity. As they did not speak French they understood little of what was going on, could not be tampered with, and were entirely reliable. He therefore had nothing whatever to fear and must have known it from the fact that whenever he appeared even the rabble still greeted him with shouts of “Vive le Roi!”
So he had betrayed his nobility, and deprived them of all further opportunity to exercise a restraining influence on the extremists of the Third Estate, solely for the sake of escaping a little further badgering from a Minister whom he disliked and distrusted, yet had not the courage to dismiss.
Of his abysmal weakness further evidence was soon forthcoming. The Duc de Châtelet, Colonel of the French Guard, much perturbed by the open disaffection of his regiment, arrested fifteen of the ringleaders and confined them in the prison of l’Abbaye. One of them managed to get a letter smuggled out to the Palais Royal. On its contents becoming public a tumult ensued, the mob marched upon the prison, forced its doors, released the offenders and carried them back in triumph.
Since the elections the revolutionary Clubs in Paris had gained enormously in strength, and they used as their mouthpiece a body of the Electors who had made their headquarters at the Hôtel de Ville. Instead of dispersing after having elected their deputies to the Third Estate these Electors continued to sit, forming an unofficial but most powerful committee, who, every day, deluged their representatives in the National Assembly with a constant spate of requests and orders. The Electors now demanded that the Assembly should use its weight with the King to secure the pardon of the mutinous guardsmen. This the Assembly, now itself frightened of the mobs that the Electors controlled, was sapient enough to do; and the miserable King acceded to their request, thereby destroying at a stroke the authority of the officers of his own regiment of guards.
Roger now went daily to Versailles. He would have moved to lodgings there if he could, but ever since the assembling of the States General the town had been packed to capacity and every garret in it occupied; so he often had to ride back to Paris in the small hours of the morning.
His temporary captivity at Fontainebleau now stood him in good stead, as the courtiers he had met through de Vaudreuil extended their friendship to him, introduced him to their families, and invited him to their parties. For, in spite of the troubled times, life within the palace went on as usual, except that there were no public entertainments owing to the Court being in mourning for the Dauphin. Twice the Duchesse de Polignac invited him to musical evenings in her suite, and on both occasions the Queen spoke kindly to him. He now saw her, although not to speak to, several times a day, and his affable manners rapidly gained for him an accepted place among the fifty or sixty people whom she regarded as her personal friends.
In consequence, he was now admirably placed for learning what was going on, and he soon became aware that the Court party was by no means yet prepared to knuckle under to the National Assembly. The Marshal de Broglie, a stout-hearted veteran of the Seven Years’ War, had been appointed to the supreme command of the Army, and he meant to stand no nonsense if the mobs of Paris took up arms against the King. The Queen’s old friend, de Besenval, had been selected to command the troops in the capital, and between them they now had 50,000 men concentrated in and about it.
Most people at the Court now felt that, unless the King’s timidity led him to an abject surrender of every right still vested in the Crown, civil war must soon break out. They also believed that, although he might be prepared to do so on his own account, his jelly-like back would be stiffened for once at the thought that his powers did not belong to himself alone, but were held by him in trust for transmission to his children and future heirs as yet unborn.
De Broglie and his staff were therefore preparing against all emergencies with the utmost activity. The palace and its grounds were now an armed camp. Batteries were being erected to cover the bridges over the Seine and thousands of men were labouring to throw up a vast system of earthworks on the slopes of Montmartre, from which guns could bombard rebellious Paris.
Roger kept Mr. Hailes informed of all the details he could gather, but the main facts were common knowledge and, not unnaturally, the National Assembly took alarm at these military measures, believing their purpose to be the intimidation of themselves. De Mirabeau voted an address to the King asking that the troops be withdrawn.
On July 10th the Monarch replied that the troops had been assembled only for the purpose of preventing further disorders, and that if the Assembly had any fears for its security it had his permission to remove to Noyon or Soissons. Then, on the night of the 11th, he at last plucked up the courage to dismiss Necker.
When the news reached the Palais Royal next day pandemonium broke loose. Fuel was added to the fire by the tidings that Montmorin, St. Priest and other Ministers who had supported Necker’s policy had been dismissed with him; and that the Baron de Breteuil, one of the Queen’s intimates, had been appointed principal Minister in his place.
Leaping on to a table, with a brace of pistols in his hands, Camille Desmoulins harangued the crowd, inciting them to insurrection. D’Orléans’ swarthy ruffians from the South and a number of deserters from the Gardes Français reinforced the mob, which surged through the streets, burst into the Hôtel de Ville and seized all the arms there. For the rest of the day and far into the night anarchy reigned in Paris. The lawless multitude broke open the prisons, looted the shops and burnt the hated customs barriers at all the entrances to the city.
De Besenval, believing that he would pay for it with his own head if he ordered his troops to attack the people without the royal authority, sent courier after courier to Versailles for instructions. But the King was out hunting and, even when he did return, could not be prevailed upon to give any. Meanwhile de Besenval’s men had begun to fraternise with the rioters and were deserting by the score; so, as the only means of stopping the rot, he withdrew his troops during the night to the open country.
On the morning of the 13th Roger set off as usual for Versailles; but when he reached the last houses of the city he found that the road was blocked by a barricade of overturned carts, looted furniture and paving stones. It was manned by an armed rabble who would allow no one to pass in either direction, and were seizing all would-be travellers to rob them of their valuables. Roger’s horse saved him from such treatment, but his fine clothes excited shouts of hatred and he did not get away without a shower of stones being hurled at him.
Returning to his inn he changed into his most sober garments, then went out again to discover what was going forward. He soon learned that every exit of the city was in the hands of the mob and that they now regarded Paris as a beleaguered city. Somewhat uneasily he wondered when the bombardment from the royal artillery on the heights of Montmartre would commence; and cursed the idiocy of the King, who a week before could have put an end to the seditions of the Palais Royal with a company of troops, done so yesterday morning with a battalion, but to achieve the same end now would need to employ an army.
In the gardens of the Palais Royal he saw to his surprise that every chestnut tree was entirely stripped of its leaves; but a waiter at one of the cafés told him that green being the colour of the Duc d’Orléans, Camille Desmoulins had, the day before, plucked a leaf and stuck it in his buttonhole, upon which the crowd had swarmed up the trees and decorated themselves with similar symbols before rushing off to the Hôtel de Ville.
The habitual loungers in the garden being now otherwise occupied, it was almost deserted, so Roger decided to go to the Hôtel de Ville, as the new centre of the mob’s inspiration. He found it surrounded by a seething mass of people, and only after two hours of persistent pushing managed to edge his way inside.
From scraps of conversation that he picked up it emerged that the Electors were now alarmed both for themselves and the city. Events were taking the course usual in revolutions. The more Liberal nobles, and the aristocratic lawyers of the old Parliament, had first opposed the King: they had been pushed aside by the more advanced reformers of the Third Estate; in its turn the Third Estate had recently shown signs of becoming dominated by the Left-wing element of the Clubs and Electors; and now the Electors found themselves at the mercy of the mob.
However, the Electors were mostly men of some substance, and they were determined not to allow further property to be destroyed if they could possibly prevent it. Quite arbitrarily they had virtually taken over the functions of the Municipality of Paris, but they now sought the aid of Monsieur de Flesselles, the Provost of the Merchants, and other officials of the city. De Flesselles, with a bravery that was soon to cost him dear, succeeded in getting rid of the major portion of the rioters by telling them that large quantities of arms were to be had for the taking in various places where, in fact, no arms were stored; and, in the meantime, the Electors hurriedly pushed forward a project upon which they had agreed two days earlier.
This was the formation of a Civic Guard, to consist of 200 men per district—12,000 men in all. The idea had been conceived with the object of creating a counterpoise to the royal troops, and, if necessary, giving armed support to the National Assembly; but it was now put into operation for the defence of the lives and properties of respectable citizens. By nightfall skeleton companies of the new militia were patrolling the streets in the better quarters, but the mob still reigned supreme in the faubourgs; and in the gardens of the Palais Royal a drunken orgy was taking place by the light of thousands of écus’ worth of fireworks, which d’Orléans’ agents were selling to the people at one quarter of their normal cost.
After the better part of two hours in the Hôtel de Ville, Roger had forced his way out of it and returned to his inn. Tired from the press of the crowd and its shouting, much worried by the turn events had taken, and no longer buoyed up by his old love of excitement, he ate a meal in solitary silence, then went up to his room and endeavoured to read a book. He was still wondering when the bombardment would open, but the King had been out hunting again all that day and on his return to the palace declared himself too fatigued to attend to business; so the only explosions that disturbed the stillness in Paris on that summer night were made by the rockets and Roman candles let off by the rowdies at the Palais Royal.
Next morning Roger’s enquiries produced the information that, although the mobs were still in possession of a large part of the city, the milice bourgeoise had succeeded in restoring order in its western end and demolished the barricades on the roads leading out of it. So he had his horse saddled and rode to Versailles.
He found the town unexpectedly quiet and, to his amazement, that the occupants of the palace were going about their normal routine as though nothing had occurred to disturb it in the last two days. The people he talked to were aware that there had been riots in the city, but they did not regard them with any more seriousness than they had the minor disturbances that had been taking place there for some months past. In vain he endeavoured to bring home to several of the courtiers the imminence of the peril that now threatened the whole structure of the State, but they merely offered him their snuff-boxes and assured him blandly that “now that vain, blundering fool Necker has gone everything will soon be put to rights”.
Later in the day the sound of cannon could be clearly heard from the direction of Paris. A report came through that the mob were attacking both the Invalides and the Bastille in the hope of obtaining further supplies of arms and ammunition. The courtiers now smiled a little grimly, and said that a few round-shot fired from the towers of the Bastille would soon teach the people better manners.
Early in the evening the usual royal progress was made through the long Hall of Mirrors. It had only just begun when the Duc de Liancourt, booted, spurred and covered with dust, arrived on the scene. Thrusting his way through the satin-clad throng he addressed the King without ceremony:
“Sire! I have to inform you that the people have sacked the Invalides, and with the arms so obtained stormed and captured the Bastille.”
“Bon Dieu!” exclaimed the startled King. “It is then a revolt.”
“ ’Tis not a revolt, Sire,” retorted the Duc acidly. “It is a revolution.”
De Liancourt was one of the most Liberal-minded nobles, and also suspected of Orleanist tendencies, so the obvious concern with which he announced the news was all the more striking; but he knew little of what had occurred apart from the bare facts.
Hard on his heels came de Besenval, with a more substantial account, which had been furnished by the agents he had left behind him on his withdrawal from the city. The King suggested to the Queen that they should retire with the Ministers to hear the news in private; so accompanied by de Besenval, de Breteuil, de Broglie, and a few others, they withdrew amidst the never-failing ceremonial bows and curtsys that took place at their every movement.
But the details soon leaked out. Having secured a few cannon from the arsenal at the Invalides the mob had marched to the Bastille with the object of obtaining further weapons. The Marquis de Launay, who was governor of the fortress, had refused their demands and threatened to fire upon them. They had then attacked the approaches to the castle with great determination, and succeeded in severing the chains that held up the outer drawbridge. De Launay’s garrison consisted of only 32 Swiss and 80 pensioners, and his cannon were ancient pieces no longer of value except for firing salutes; so he offered to admit a deputation to parley provided that they undertook to attempt no violence while within the fortress. This being agreed a group numbering 40 were admitted, and the inner drawbridge drawn up behind them. As to what next occurred, accounts varied widely. Some said that de Launay had massacred the deputation, but as such an act of brutality could have done him little good it seemed most unlikely. The more probable version was that a nervous gunner had allowed his match to get too near the touch-hole of a cannon that was trained on the deputation as an insurance against their possible treachery, and that the piece, fired by accident, killed a number of them.
In any case the mob outside, believing itself to have been deliberately betrayed, placed such cannon as it had against the gates, blew them in, and stormed through the debris with ungovernable fury. At the sight of them de Launay snatched a lighted match from one of his gunners and ran towards the powder-magazine with the intention of blowing the fortress up; but he was seized by his own men, who then surrendered to the mob on a promise that his life and their own should be respected.
The French Guard deserters who were present, and had done most of the fighting on the side of the attackers, showed great bravery in endeavouring to protect de Launay and carry out the terms of the surrender. But the canaille overcame them, and dragged the Governor to the Place de Grève, where criminals were habitually executed, and murdered him there with great brutality; afterwards cutting off his head and parading it in triumph on the point of a pike round the gardens of the Palais Royal.
The gunner who had fired upon the deputation, and several of his companions, were also butchered. In addition, that same evening, another mob had called Monsieur de Flesselles to account for sending them on a wild-goose chase when they had been seeking arms the day before. Having hauled him from the Hôtel de Ville, they were marching him away to try him at the Palais Royal when he was shot by an unknown hand. Thereupon they hacked off his head and carried it to join de Launay’s in the garden where so much infamy had been plotted.
On hearing of these wild scenes Roger did not feel at all inclined to return to Paris that night, so he gladly accepted the offer of a shakedown in the apartments of the Duc de Coigny. Next morning news came in that the barriers outside Paris had been re-erected, and that the Civic Guard were now refusing anyone entrance. De Coigny then told Roger that he was welcome to occupy his temporary quarters for as long as he liked, so Roger thanked him and went out into the town to buy some toilet articles and fresh linen.
When he returned he heard that the National Assembly had again sent an address to the King, asking him to withdraw his troops from the vicinity of the capital as the only means of restoring order; and that their request had met with a refusal. But later in the day the unstable Monarch changed his mind and gave way. That evening the sang-froid of even the courtiers was shaken and, although they still preserved appearances by talking of idle topics with their ladies, an atmosphere of gloom pervaded the whole Court.
On the 16th the full extent of the Court party’s defeat became apparent. The additional regiments that had been brought into Versailles were evacuating the town. The Marshal de Broglie was deprived of his command. De Breteuil, Barentin and the other royalist Ministers were dismissed. A courier was despatched post-haste to Switzerland to recall the now inevitable alternative, Monsieur Necker.
Feeling depressed by the long faces in the palace, Roger went that afternoon to the National Assembly. The scenes he witnesed there appalled him. He realised now how right Monsieur de Périgord’s forecast had been that, lacking all experience in parliamentary procedure, when the States General met it would resemble a bear-pit. No rales of conduct for debates had been laid down and none were observed. Often as many as fifty deputies were all on their feet at once endeavouring to shout one another down; and when at last one of them did get a hearing he did not speak as a participator in a prearranged debate; instead he held the floor for as long as he could, pouring out all the ideas for the regeneration of France which were uppermost in his mind at the moment. In consequence his hearers might wish to support some things he said while violently disagreeing with him about others; so that when a division was finally called for, two-thirds of the members were not clear in their minds upon what they were voting.
Still worse, the public galleries were packed with spectators and no attempt whatever was made to keep them in order. They shouted witticisms and gave loud cat-calls; yelled for deputies to speak who had not risen, cheered their favourites and booed those they suspected of holding reactionary opinions. With such an audience, mainly composed of roughs and agitators, it was clearly impossible for moderate men to state their views without being subject to intimidation.
Horrified as Roger was by this travesty of parliamentary government, he was so fascinated by the spectacle that he remained watching it much longer than he had intended. When he came out it was getting dark, and the hour for supper in the palace had already passed, so he decided to get a meal in the town before rejoining his friends.
As he walked back to the palace, in the great square upon which it faced, several hundred people, among whom were many French Guards accompanied by loose women, were busy starting bonfires. The fever of revolution which still gripped Paris had spread, and groups of drunken roisterers were now singing ribald songs about the Queen under her very windows.
Sadly, Roger went up the great staircase, and made his way to de Vaudreuil’s rooms. To his surprise he found his friend throwing books, boots and pistols higgledy-piggledy into a big trunk.
“What in the world are you about?” he asked anxiously.
“Packing my own things, as I have sent my man to get my coach,” replied the Count tersely.
“Indeed! And where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“Germany! Holland! England! Heaven knows, for I do not.”
“Come,” Roger insisted. “I beg you make yourself plain.”
“I thought that I had done so. I am going into exile.”
“Exile!”
“Yes. I have been banished. An hour since Her Majesty told me to pack this very night and leave the country.”
“But you are one of her oldest friends. How could you possibly have offended her to such a degree?”
“I spoke my mind too freely. For weeks past her brother, the Emperor Joseph, has sent letter after letter, urging her to take refuge with him in Vienna from the hatred of the people. This evening I told her plainly that it was useless to rely further upon the King. That he is constitutionally unfitted to cope with the problems with which he is faced. That she must either raise the standard of the monarchy herself and let us draw our swords in its defence, or seek safety in flight. She replied that she had complete faith in His Majesty’s judgment, would never abandon him or the station to which God had called her, and would not suffer to remain in her presence anyone who spoke ill of her husband; therefore I was to proceed abroad immediately.”
“She cannot have meant that!” cried Roger impetuously. “She is distressed beyond measure by events, and cannot have realised the full import of what she said. At such a time she more than ever needs her true friends round her. I beg you to ignore her order; for I vow you will find that she has repented of it by tomorrow.”
De Vaudreuil frowned, shook his head, and said sadly: “Nay. I have long been wearied of the Court and its futile ways. I have wasted half a lifetime bowing and posturing with a lot of other fools who have now brought calamity upon themselves. I have served her to the best of my ability, and would serve her still if she would but listen to the dictates of her own high courage instead of playing the loyal, subservient wife to that poor stupid man whom fate has made our King. But since she will not, did I remain I should only add to her distress by telling her further truths that she knows already; so ’tis best that I should go.”
In vain Roger argued and pleaded, so at length he left the Count to continue with his packing. Yet he knew that de Vaudreuil loved the Queen with a selfless devotion, and in recent weeks his own heart had ached so much for Isabella, that now, from sympathetic understanding, it ached for his friend.
He could not bear the thought that the Queen and her faithful knight should part in anger, so after a while he summoned all his resolution and went to her apartments.
Madame Campan opened the door of the ante-chamber to his knock. On his requesting an audience on an urgent matter she looked at him in astonishment and said that she could not take his name in at that hour, and that in any case the Duchesse de Polignac was closeted with Her Majesty.
At that moment the Duchesse came out. She was holding a handkerchief to her eyes and weeping bitterly. Roger again urged Madame Campan to beg the Queen to see him for a moment and at length she reluctantly consented.
She returned after a moment to say that the Queen was about to retire for the night, and could see no one. With his usual persistence when he had made up his mind to do anything, Roger said that he had been sent on a matter of the greatest urgency by Monsieur de Vaudreuil. Again Madame Campan reluctantly gave way. When she came back the second time she opened the door wide and led him without a word across the room to the great gilded double doors at its far end. At her touch one of them swung back a few feet, and he stepped through into the huge, lofty, ornate chamber, in which the Queen both slept and held her morning receptions.
Madame Marie Antoinette was sitting at her dressing-table, her head bowed between her hands, crying. As she turned to look at him her blue eyes were dim and the tears were still running down her cheeks. In that vast apartment she now seemed a small pathetic figure. Roger was suddenly conscious of an extraordinary urge to run to her and put his arms protectively about her.
Repressing this symptom of madness that she inspired in men, he made her three formal bows and waited to be addressed.
After a moment she said in a low voice: “You—you bring me a message from Monsieur de Vaudreuil.”
“I most humbly beg Your Majesty to pardon me,” he replied. “ ’Tis not Monsieur de Vaudreuil’s words I bring, only his thoughts; and those upon my own responsibility. He is distressed beyond measure at your treatment of him.”
The Queen drew herself up. “Monsieur! How dare you force your way in here, and require me to explain my conduct!”
Roger went down on one knee, and bowed his head. “Madame, I come but to implore you to forgive him.”
She put her handkerchief to her eyes, brushed away fresh tears, and said more quietly: “I did no more than my plain duty in reprimanding him for what he said.”
Throwing discretion to the winds, Roger burst out: “But, Madame! He has been so long in your service. He loves you so dearly. He would, I know, give his life for you without a moment’s hesitation. How could you find it in your heart to treat him with such harshness? ’Tis one thing to administer a rebuke, but quite another to send a faithful servant into exile because he has spoken overboldly, and at that solely from his devotion to you.”
For a full minute there was silence, while Roger continued to kneel, his eyes fixed on the floor. Then she said:
“Be pleased to rise, Mr. Brook. I thank you for coming to me. It will enable me to repair a misunderstanding which I should deeply regret. I spoke to Monsieur de Vaudreuil upon two matters. Firstly in reply to the uncalled-for advice he offered me; secondly regarding his own future. But neither had any connection with the other. I now see that in his distress at having incurred my displeasure, my poor friend must have confused the two. I told him that he must leave my service, only because His Majesty and I have decided that France is no longer safe for anyone who has shown us personal—devotion.”
The Queen choked upon the word and began to weep again; but after a few moments she restrained her tears, and went on: “ ’Tis said that in Paris there are already placards up demanding the head of Monsieur le Comte d’Artois; so the King has ordered his brother to leave the country. He has done the like with the Prince de Condé, and the Prince de Conti; with Monsieur de Breteuil, the Marshal de Broglie and a score of others. I have but this moment parted from my dear friend the Duchesse de Polignac.”
Once more her tears checked her speech, but she struggled to continue. “The de Coignys, de Ligne; all those we love we are sending abroad for their own safety. They begged to stay, but the King helped me to persuade a number of them only a few minutes after de Vaudreuil had left me. In the end His Majesty had to command them, and he urged them to depart without losing a moment. You, too, Mr. Brook, must go. Short as your time has been here, you are already known as one of those they call ’the party of the accursed Queen’. Think kindly of me sometimes, I beg; but leave me now and make all speed to England.”
There was nothing Roger could say; and, his own eyes now half blinded by unshed tears, he bowed very low.
As he was about to make his second bow she impulsively stood up, and thrust her handkerchief into his hand.
“Give this, please, to de Vaudreuil,” she stammered. “Tell him that I have shed many tears tonight; but that the first to fall on it were those I shed at the thought of having had to send him away.”
The moment Madame Campan had closed the door of the anteroom behind Roger, he hurried back to de Vaudreuil’s room. But he was too late. Both the trunk and its owner were gone. A mass of only partially torn up letters left scattered about the floor told of his hurried departure.
In the hope of catching his friend Roger ran through the long corridors, down the great staircase, and out on to the steps at the main entrance of the palace. But the Cour de Marbre was empty and no coach in sight.
Beyond the railings the square was now brightly lit by the bonfires. Like the nightmare figures at a Witches’ Sabbat men and women with linked arms were wildly dancing round them. Their drunken shouts made hideous the summer night.
In his hand Roger still clutched a small, damp handkerchief.