OFF AND AWAY.
Spite of all precautions, or perhaps because they necessitated changes
in the usual order of things, suspicion was engendered in Paris by the
plot at the palace.
Lafayette went straight to the King, who mocked at his
half-accusations: Bailly sent a denunciatory letter to the Queen, having
become quite courteous, not to say a courtier.
About nine in the night of the 20th of June, two persons were conversing
in the sitting-room of the Countess of Charny, in Coq-Heron Street.
She was apparently calm but was deeply moved, as she spoke with Isidore,
who wore a courier's dress. It was composed of a buff leather riding
jacket, tight breeches of buckskin and top-boots, and he carried a
hunting-sword. His round laced hat was held in his hand.
"But in short, viscount, since your brother has been two months and a
half in town, why has he not come here?" she persisted.
"He has sent me very often for news of your health."
"I know that, and I am grateful to both of you; but it seems to me that
he ought to come to say good-bye if he is going on another journey."
"Of course, my lady, but it is impossible; so he has charged me to do
that."
"Is the journey to be a long one?"
"I am ignorant."
"I said 'yours' because it looks from your equipment that you are going
too."
"I shall probably leave town this midnight."
"Do you accompany your brother or go by another route?"
"I believe we take the same."
"Will you tell him you have seen me?"
"Yes, my lady: for he would not forgive me omitting to perform the
errand of asking after you, judging by the solicitude he put in charging
me, and the reiterated instructions he gave me."
She ran her hands over her eyes, sighed, and said after short
meditation:
"Viscount, as a nobleman, you will comprehend the reach of the question
I am putting; answer as you would were I really your sister; as you
would to heaven. In the journey he undertakes, does my Lord Charny run
any serious danger?"
"Who can tell where no danger is or is not in these times?" evasively
responded young Charny. "On the morning of the day when my brother
Valence was struck down, he would have surely answered No, if he had
been asked if he stood in peril. Yet he was laid low in death by the
morrow. At present, danger leaps up from the ground, and we face death
without knowing whence it came and without calling it."
Andrea turned pale and said,
"There is danger of death, then? You think so if you do not say it."
"I think, lady, that if you have something important to tell my brother,
the enterprise we are committed to is serious enough to make you
charge me by word of mouth or writing with your wish or thought to be
transmitted to him."
"It is well: viscount, I ask five minutes," said the countess, rising.
With the mechanical, slow step habitual to her, she went into her room,
of which she shut the door.
The young gentleman looked at his watch with uneasiness.
"A quarter past nine, and the King expects me at half after," he
muttered: "luckily it is but a step to the palace."
But the countess did not take the time she had stated; in a few seconds
she returned with a sealed letter, and said with solemnity,
"Viscount, I entrust this to your honor."
Isidore stretched out his hand to take it.
"Stay, and clearly understand what I am telling you," said Andrea: "if
your brother count fulfills the undertaking, there is nothing to be said
to him beyond what I stated--sympathy for his loyalty, respect for his
devotion and admiration for his character. If he be wounded"--here her
voice faltered--"badly hurt, you will ask the favor for me to join him,
whereupon you will send a messenger who can conduct me straight to him
for I shall start directly. If he be mortally injured--" here emotion
checked her voice: "Hand him this note; if he cannot read it, read it
to him, for I want him to know this before he dies. Your pledge as a
nobleman to do this, my lord?"
"On my honor," replied Isidore, as much affected as the speaker.
He kissed her hand and went out.
"Oh, if he should die, I must have him know that I love him!"
At the same time as he quitted his sister-in-law's and thrust the letter
in his breast, beside another of which he had read the address by the
light of a street lamp, two men, dressed just like himself, were ushered
into the Queen's boudoir, but by different ways.
These two did not know each other but judging that the same business
thus arrayed them they bowed to one another.
Immediately another door still opened and in walked Viscount Charny, the
third outrider, who was as unknown to the other two, Malden and Valory,
Royal Lifeguardsmen, as they, it happened, to each other. Isidore alone
knew the aim of their being brought together, and the common design. No
doubt he would have replied to the inquiries they were going to put but
the door opened and Louis XVI. appeared.
"Gentlemen," said he to Malden and Valory, "excuse me disposing of you
without your permission but you belonged to my guards and I hold you
to be faithful servitors of the crown; so I suggested your going to a
certain tailor's and trying one courier's costume which you would find
there and be at the palace at half-past nine this evening. Your presence
proves that you accept the errand with which I have to charge you."
The two guardsmen bowed.
"Sire," said Valory, "your Majesty was fully aware that he had no need
to consult his gentlemen about laying down their lives on his behalf."
"Sire, my brother-soldier answers for me in answering for himself, and I
presume for our third companion," said Malden.
"Your third companion, gentlemen, is an acquaintance good to form, being
Viscount Charny, whose brother was slain defending the Queen's door at
Versailles; we are habituated to the devotion of members of his family,
so that we do not thank them for it."
"According to this," went on Valory, "my Lord of Charny would know the
motive of our gathering, while we are ignorant and eager to learn."
"Gentlemen," said the King, "you know that I am a prisoner to the
National Guard, the Assembly, the Mayor of Paris, the mob, to anybody
who is for the time being the master. I rely on you to help me shake off
this humiliation, and recover my liberty. My fate, that of the Queen and
of our children, rests in your hands: all is ready for me to make away
to-night; will you undertake to get me out of this place?"
"Give the orders, my lord," said the three young men.
"You will understand that we cannot go forth together. We are to meet
at the corner of St. Nicaise Street, where Count Charny awaits us with
a hired carriage. You, viscount, will take care of the Queen, and use
the name of Melchior; you, Malden, under the name of Jean, escort Lady
Elizabeth and the Princess Royal; you, Valory, guard Lady Tourzel and
the Dauphin; they will call you François. Do not forget your new names
and await further instructions."
He gave his hand all round to them and went out, leaving three men ready
to die for him.
He went to dress, while the Queen and the others were also attiring
themselves plainly, with large hats to conceal their faces.
Louis put on a plain grey suit with short breeches, grey stockings and
buckled shoes. For the week past his valet Hue had gone in and out in
a similar dress so as to get the sentinels used to the sight. He went
out by the private door of Lord Villequier, who had fled the country six
months before.
In provision of this flight, a room of his quarters had been set aside
on the eleventh of the month. Here were the Queen and the others
assembled. This flat was believed uninhabited; the King had the keys:
and the sentries at about eleven were accustomed to see a number of the
servants, who did not sleep on the premises, quit the palace in a flock.
Isidore Charny, who had been over the road with his brother, would ride
on ahead; he would get the postboys ready so that no delay would be
incurred.
Malden and Valory, on the driver's box, were to pay the postillions, who
were given extra money as the carriage for the journey was a specially
built one and very heavy from having to carry so many persons. Count
Charny was to ride inside, ready for all emergencies; he would be well
armed, like the three outriders; a pair of pistols for each were to be
in the vehicle.
At a fair pace they reckoned to be at Chalons in thirteen hours.
All promised to obey the instructions settled between Charny and the
Count of Choiseul.
Lights were blown out and all groped their way at midnight into
Villequier's rooms. But the door by which they ought to have passed
straightway, was locked. The King had to go to his smithy for keys and a
pick-lock.
When he opened the door, he looked round triumphantly in the light of a
little night-lamp.
"I will not say that a locksmith's art is not good sometimes," said the
Queen; "but it is also well to be the King at others."
They had to regulate the order of the sallying forth.
Lady Elizabeth led, with the Princess Royal. At twenty paces she was
followed by Lady Tourzel and the Dauphin. Malden came on behind to run
to their succor.
The children stepped on tiptoe and trembling, with love before and
behind them, to enter the ring of glare from the lamps with reflector,
lighting the palace doors at the courtyard, but they passed before the
sentinel without his appearing to trouble about them.
At the Carrousel Gate, the sentinel turned his back and they could
easily pass. Had he recognized the illustrious fugitives? They believed
so, and sent him a thousand blessings.
On the farther side of the wicket they perceived Charny's uneasy face.
He was wearing a large blue coat with cape, called a Garrick from the
English actor having made it popular, and his head was covered with a
tarpaulin hat.
"Thank God, you have got through," he said, "what about the King, and
the Queen?"
"They follow us," said Lady Elizabeth.
"Come," said he, leading them to the hack in St. Nicaise Street.
Another was beside theirs, and its driver might be a spy; so Malden
jumped into it and ordered the man to drive him to the Opera-house as if
he were a servant going to join his master there.
Scarcely had he driven off before the others saw a plain sort of fellow
in a gray suit, with his hat cocked over his nose and his hands in
his pocket, saunter out of the same gate as had given passage to Lady
Elizabeth, like a clerk who was strolling home after his work was over.
This was the King, attended by Valory.
Charny went up to meet them; for he had recognized Valory, and not the
King. He was one of those who always wish to see a king kinglike. He
sighed with pain, almost with shame, as he murmured:
"Come, Sire, come. Where is the Queen?" he asked of Valory.
"Coming with your brother."
"Good; take the shortest road and wait for us at St. Martin's Gate; I
will go by the longer way round; we meet at the coach."
Both arrived at the rendezvous and waited half an hour for the Queen.
We shall not try to paint the fugitives' anxiety; Charny, on whom the
whole responsibility fell, was like a maniac. He wanted to go back and
make inquiries, but the King restrained him. The little prince wept and
cried for his mother. His sister and the two ladies could not console
him.
Their terror doubled when they saw Lafayette's carriage dash by,
surrounded by soldiers, some bearing torches.
When at the palace gates, Viscount Charny wanted to turn to the left;
the Queen, on his arm, stopped him and said that the count was waiting
at the waterside gate of the Tuileries. She was so sure of what she
asserted that doubt entered his mind.
"Be very careful, lady, for any error may be deadly to us," he said.
"I heard him say by the waterside," she repeated.
So he let her drag him through three courtyards, separated by thick
walls and with chains at each opening, which should have been guarded
by sentinels. They had to scramble through the gaps and clamber over the
chains. Not one of the watchers had the idea of saying anything to them.
How could they believe that a buxom woman in such dress as a housemaid
would wear and climbing over the chains on the arm of a strapping young
chap in livery, was the Queen of the French?
On arriving at the water's edge they found it deserted.
"He must mean the other side of the river," said the crazed Queen.
Isidore wanted to return but he said as if in a vertigo:
"No, no, there it is!"
She drew him upon the Royal Bridge which they crossed to find the other
shore as blank as the nigher one.
"Let us look up this street," said she.
She forced Isidore to go up the Ferry Street a little. At the end of a
hundred paces she owned she was wrong, but she stopped, panting; her
powers almost fled her.
"Now, take me where you will," she said.
"Courage, my lady," said Isidore.
"It is not courage I lack so much as strength. Oh, heaven, will I never
get my breath again," she gasped.
Isidore paused, for he knew that the second wind she panted was
necessary to her as to the hunted deer.
"Take breath, madam," he said: "we have time, for my brother would wait
till daylight for your sake."
"Then you believe that he loves me?" she exclaimed rashly as quickly
while pressing his arm against her breast.
"I believe that his life is yours as mine is, and that the feeling in
others which is love and respect becomes adoration in him."
"Thanks," she said, "that does me good! I breathe again. On, on!"
With a feverish step, she retraced the path they had gone and they went
out by the small gate of the Carrousel. The large open space was till
midnight covered with stalls and prowling cabs. But it was now deserted
and gloomy.
Suddenly they heard a great din of carriages and horses. They saw a
light: no doubt the flambeaux accompanying the vehicles.
Isidore wanted to keep in the dark but the Queen pressed forward. He
dragged her into the depths of the gateway but the torchlight flooded
this cave with its beams.
In the middle of the escort of cavalry, half reclining in a carriage, in
his costume of General of the National Guards, was Marquis Lafayette.
As it whizzed by, Isidore felt an arm, strong with will if not real
power, elbow him aside. It was the Queen's left arm, while with a cane
in her right hand she struck the carriage wheels.
"A fig for you, Jailer!" she said. "I am out of your prison!"
"What are you doing, and what are you risking?" ejaculated the Viscount.
"I am taking my revenge," said the silly victim of spite, "and one may
risk a good deal for that."
Behind the last torch-bearer she bounded along, radiant as a goddess,
and gleeful as a child.