THE TRAGEDY OF ROYALTY BEGINS.
Scarcely five minutes had passed, when I began to distinguish a
black phantom; and soon after I saw the sparks flying from under the
horses’ hoofs.
As the mass approached, I saw that it was composed of two carriages.
The first was an ordinary cabriolet; the second, an immense
travelling carriage.
On seeing the road blocked by one man, on foot, holding a horse by
the bridle, the postilion cracked his whip, and shouted to the horses
to go on.
But the unknown, in an imperative voice, cried out “Stop!” lifting
his hand at the same time. “I wish to speak to the travellers in the
second carriage!”
“Oh, Valory!” cried a voice from the first; “is anything wrong?”
“No, madame; only a slight mistake.”
Then approaching the second carriage, “Pardon,” said he; “we have
arrived at Varennes, and there is no relay.”
“How!—no relay? What is the reason of it?” replied a female voice.
“I know not; but I am very nervous about it.”
“Wake up, monsieur,” said the same voice, with an impatient gesture.
“Do you not hear what M. Valory says?”
“What does he say?” replied a masculine voice.
“He says that we are at Varennes, and that there are no relays.”
“Has he asked?”
“For a quarter of an hour I knocked; for another quarter, I talked, I
asked, and commanded fruitlessly.”
“Let us get out,” said the masculine voice, “and take a look about
for ourselves.”
The door opened.
“No,” said the female voice; “let me get down; I will manage it,”—and
she leaped nimbly to the earth.
“Madame—madame!” said the voice of a child; “let me get out with you.”
“No, Louis,” said the lady; “stay in the carriage with your papa; I
shall come back in a moment. Give me your arm, M. de Valory.”
The courier approached, respectfully, his hat in his hand, and
offered his arm to the lady who asked it.
“Here,” said she; “just here is a door opening.”
But as she spoke the words, though in the slightest degree open, it
was shut again.
M. de Valory jumped forward, and, at the risk of cutting his hand,
seized the door on his side, and pulled it violently backward.
The door yielded to the force used, and showed a man of fifty or
fifty-five years, holding a candle in his hand. He was attired in a
dressing-gown, and had his naked feet thrust into slippers.
This was the same M. Préfontaine whom I have already spoken of, and
with whom M. Dampierre stayed when he came to Varennes.
“What do you want, Monsieur?” asked the astonished old Chevalier;
“and why do you break open my door?”
“Monsieur,” replied the courier, “we do not know Varennes; we are _en
route_ for Stenay. Will you be kind enough to point out the road we
ought to follow?”
“If I render you this service, perhaps I shall be compromised!”
“You, I am sure, will never refuse to render a service to a lady who
is in danger.”
“Monsieur,” said the old gentleman, “the lady who is behind you is
not simply a woman.” Then lowering his voice, he said, “It is the
Queen!”
M. de Valory tried to deny it; but the Queen, taking him by the arm,
“Lose no time in discussion,” she said; “tell the King alone that we
are discovered.”
At this moment, two other young gentlemen, dressed as couriers,
jumped down from the box of the chaise.
“Sire,” said M. Valory, “the Queen desires me to tell you that she is
recognised.”
“By whom?” asked the King.
“By an old man, of courteous manners, who, though a little timid, has
the air of a gentleman.”
“Ask him to come and speak to me,” said the King.
M. Valory transmitted the invitation to the gentleman.
He went to the carriage, showing signs of great apprehension.
The Queen followed him; her face, made visible by the light of the
candle which he held, expressed supreme disdain.
“Your name, sir?” asked the King.
“De Préfontaine,” replied the interrogated, hesitatingly.
“Who are you?”
“Major of cavalry, sire, and Chevalier of the Military Order of St.
Louis.”
“In your double capacity as major of cavalry, and Chevalier of the
Order of St. Louis, you have twice sworn fealty to your King. It is,
therefore, your duty to aid me in the difficulty in which I find
myself.”
The Major murmured some words; the Queen stamped her foot with
impatience.
“Ah, sire!” said she; “see you not that the Major is afraid.”
The King looked as if he had not heard her remark.
“Monsieur,” continued he, “have you heard that a detachment of
hussars, and relays of horses, await a treasure which must pass
through Varennes?”
“Yes, sire,” replied M. de Préfontaine.
“Where are the hussars? Where are the horses?”
“In the Low Town, sire.”
“And the officers?”
“At the ‘Hotel du Grand Monarque.’”
“Monsieur, I thank you,” said the King. “You can return to your
house; no one has seen you—no one has heard you; therefore, no harm
can happen to you.”
The Major took the hint, and retired, after having made a profound
obeisance.
“Messieurs,” said the King, addressing the two young gentlemen who
had dismounted from the box-seat, “take your places. You, M. de
Valory, jump on your horse, and gallop on to the ‘Grand Monarque.’
You hear that our escort is there.”
The two young gentlemen took their places, and M. de Valory vaulted
into his saddle.
The King and Queen re-entered the carriage, the door of which was
shut by one of the postilions.
“Postilions!” cried all three gentlemen, with one voice, “to the
‘Hotel du Grand Monarque.’”
The men whipped up their horses; but at the same instant, a man,
covered with dust, on a horse flecked with foam, seemed to spring
from the ground, and rushing diagonally across the road, cried out,
in a voice of thunder, “Stop, postilions! You drive the King!”
I uttered a cry of astonishment, for I recognized the voice of M.
Drouet.
The postilions who had hitherto been lashing their horses, stopped,
as if stricken by a cannon-shot.
The Queen felt, without doubt, that it was a moment for decisive
action.
“Order them! Command them!” she cried, to the King.
The King put his head out of the carriage window.
“Who are you, sir,” said he, “that you dare to give orders here?”
“A simple citizen, sire,” replied M. Drouet; “but,” continued he,
raising himself in his stirrups, and stretching out his arm, “I speak
in the name of the nation and of the law. Postilions! not a step
farther, on your lives!”
“Postilions!” cried the King, “to the ‘Grand Monarque!’ It is I who
command you!”
“To the ‘Grand Monarque!’” cried the three gentlemen.
“Postilions!” cried M. Drouet, “you know me well, and are accustomed
to obey me. I am Jean Baptiste Drouet, postmaster at St. Menehould.”
M. de Valory saw the indecision of the postilions—ten men stopped by
one. He saw that it was necessary to slay that one, and, drawing his
_couteau de chasse_, he went at him.
In a moment, I jumped out of my hiding-place, and seized the bridle
of his horse.
The horse, being frightened, reared, and threw its rider.
M. Drouet recognised me.
“Ah! is it you Réné?” he exclaimed. “Follow me!”
Sticking his spurs into his horse, he seemed to sink into the ground,
so quickly did he disappear down the declivity of the Rue des
Réligieuses.
“Here I am! Here I am, M. Drouet!” cried I, following quickly behind
him.
M. Drouet dashed down the Rue des Réligieuses, crossed, like a flash
of lightning the Place Latry, plunged under the arch, and reappeared
in a moment on the other side, in front of the “Hotel Bras d’Or,”
running up against another cavalier as he did so.
“Is it thou, Drouet?” said the cavalier.
“Is it thou, Guillaume?” cried Drouet.
“Yes!” “Yes!” each replied simultaneously.
Both dismounted, that they might pass under the entrance of the inn.
In the meantime, the billiard-players, hearing a noise, rushed to the
window, to see what it meant.
“Be on your guard!” cried M. Drouet. “The King, with his family, are
trying to escape! They are travelling in two carriages. Wake up M.
Sauce!—cry ‘Fire! fire!’ Guillaume and I will guard the bridge.”
At this moment, I arrived, and dashed against the door of the
Procureur de la Commune, crying as loud as I could, “Fire! fire!” as
M. Drouet had recommended.
In the meantime, he and Guillaume had disappeared down the Rue Neuve.
At the end of the bridge, they encountered a cart filled with
furniture.
“Whose cart is that?” cried M. Drouet.
“Mine,” replied the driver.
“Ah, is it yours, Regnier?” said Guillaume. “You, I know, are a good
patriot. Turn your cart across the bridge; it will stop the passage
of the king.”
“The King?”
“Yes; the King. He wishes to get to the Place of the ‘Grand
Monarque,’ where the hussars await him.”
“I have seen them,” said Guillaume.
“And I also,” said Regnier.
“Now to work,” said the two young men.
“Yes; to work!” replied the proprietor of the furniture.
And all three with their united efforts, managed to upset the cart
across the bridge.
When the operation was finished, they listened.
They heard the rumble of the carriages, which descended the Rue des
Réligieuses at full speed, at the same time the cry of “Fire! fire!”
burst upon their ears.
I will now tell you what occurred on the high road, after M. Drouet
and I left the two carriages, as well as I can from the description
given me afterwards by M. de Préfontaine, who, though he had closed
his door, took good care to open his window, and, therefore, saw and
heard all that passed.
M. de Valory, when he fell, did not abandon his hold on the bridle of
his horse, and as he tumbled on soft ground, he escaped with a few
bruises.
He was, therefore, soon again mounted, and, threatening the
postilions with his raised whip, he cried, “Well, wretches, have you
understood?”
“Certainly; and have you?”
“What?”
“That which M. Drouet said. He told us not to go any farther.”
“You dare to quote M. Drouet, when the King commands!”
“Get rid of the three scoundrels!” said one of the young gentlemen on
the box, “and let us drive the carriage ourselves.”
“Gentlemen!” cried the Queen, who saw that there was going to be
bloodshed.
Then to the postilions—“Gentlemen,” she said, in her softest voice,
“I do not order, I entreat. Fifty louis to each one of you, if you
drive us safely to the ‘Grand Monarque.’”
Frightened of the swords of the gentlemen, and melted by the entreaty
of the Queen, the postilions set off at a gallop.
But they had lost ten minutes, and these ten minutes M. Drouet had
turned to profit.
They dashed on, but were obliged to avoid the arch, for fear of
breaking their heads, so they turned round the church, and began to
descend the Rue Basse Cour.
But before they could execute that manœuvre, their course was
suddenly arrested.
The cabriolet, as we have said, preceded the chaise; but scarcely
had it turned out of the Place, when the bridles of the horses were
seized by two men. These were the elder Leblanc, and M. Thevenin, of
Islettes.
That first carriage contained but two maids of honor to the
Queen—Mesdames Brunier and De Neuville.
“Messieurs! messieurs!” cried they; “what is your will?”
At this moment, a man advanced towards the cabriolet. He was the
Procureur de la Commune, M. Sauce, who, awakened from his sleep had
sallied out, determined to do his duty.
“Excuse me, ladies,” said he, “but, without doubt, you have
passports?”
“They are with the people in the other carriage,” replied Madame de
Neuville.
The cabriolet having stopped, the chaise was forced to do likewise;
thus it was completely blockaded. MM. Drouet, Guillaume, and Regnier,
having finished barricading the bridge, rushed to the spot. There
were four persons, armed with guns—namely, our four billiard-players,
Coquillard, Justin, Soucin, and Delion; a fifth had arrived—namely,
Billaud, who had heard the noise; and a sixth, M. Bellay, opened his
door, and seemed not less ardent than the others.
All at once, I felt my arm grasped by a trembling hand, and the voice
of Sophie whispered in my ear “For the love of me, Réné, do not
meddle in this matter!”
If M. Drouet had required my assistance, I am afraid that he would
have triumphed over Sophie; but he did not, as he was incurring no
present danger; so I stood silent, motionless at the corner of the
street, with Sophie on my arm.
M. Gerbaut’s window opened, and we heard him ask what was the matter.
All the windows and doors in the street opened one after the other,
the cries of “Fire! fire!” having alarmed all, and made them anxious
to see what was the matter.
During this time, M. Sauce had been approaching the chaise; and as if
he knew not who the travellers were—“Who are you?”
“I am the Baroness de Korff,” replied Madame de Tourzel, governess of
the Dauphin.
“Where are you going?”
“To Frankfort, with my two children, my two sisters, my steward, and
my two female attendants. The latter are in the first carriage.”
“Madame,” said Sauce, “you are going the wrong way to Frankfort—but
that is not the question. Have you a passport?”
Madame de Tourzel drew the passport from her pocket, and presented it
to the Procureur de la Commune.
The passport was correct. It was, in fact, that of Madame de Korff,
which M. de Fersen had given to the Queen.
M. Sauce took the passport, which the false Baroness handed him; and,
by the light of a lantern which an officious bystander offered him,
began to reconnoitre the King.
The king, no doubt, wounded by the mark of disrespect, tried to make
some resistance.
“Who are you, sir?” asked he of the magistrate. “What is your rank?
Are you only a National Guard?”
“I am Procureur de la Commune,” replied M. Sauce.
The King, whether dumbfounded by the force of these words, or
conceiving that the response was sufficient, made no further
objections.
The procureur threw his eyes over the passport, and addressing, not
the King, but the false Baroness de Korff,—“Madame,” said he, “it is
too late to _viser_ a passport to-night; and, on the other hand, it
is my duty to detain you!”
The Queen interposed.
“Why so, sir?” she demanded in an imperative manner.
“Because, did I permit you to continue your route, I should be
running a risk, on account of the reports that are flying about.”
“Pray, sir, to what reports do you allude?”
“The report of the flight of the King and his family,” replied Sauce,
fixedly regarding the King.
The travellers were aghast. The Queen drew back into the shadow of
the carriage.
All this time, the passport was being examined, in a public room in
the “Grand Monarque,” by the light of two candles. A member of the
council remarked that the passport was correct, since it had been
signed by the King and the Minister for Foreign Affairs.
“Yes,” remarked Drouet, who had arrived with Guillaume and Regnier
during the discussion, “but it is not signed by the President of the
National Assembly!”
“How?” said a voice. “Why should it be signed by him?”
“Certainly, it should be,” said Drouet, “considering that France is
a nation—considering that it has appointed deputies to maintain its
rights. The true King of France is he who sat on a seat as lofty as
the King’s at the Champ de Mars—not only the veritable, but the more
than King!”
All were silent. No one could oppose such logic as that. That great
social question, which had disturbed France for seven hundred
years,—“Is there in France an authority superior to the King’s?” was
settled in the public room of an inn in a little town on the borders
of the Forest of Argonne.
Drouet walked straight to the carriage. In all popular movements he
took the lead, and, therefore, the responsibility.
“Madame,” said he, addressing the Queen, and not Madame Tourzel,
“if you are really Madame de Korff—that is to say, a Swiss, and
consequently a stranger—how is it that you have sufficient influence
to command a military escort consisting of a detachment of dragoons
at St. Menehould, and another at Clermont; also a first detachment of
hussars at Pont-de-Somme-Vesles, and a second at Varennes?”
To end a fatiguing discussion, and one in which M. Drouet feared
that the Procureur, an honest man enough, but not equal to any great
situation, would eventually yield, he put his hand into the carriage
as a support for the Queen, and said, “Will you be so kind, madame,
as to descend?”
To tell the truth, the Procureur was most dreadfully embarrassed.
Encouraged by M. Drouet’s invitation to the Queen, and hearing the
tocsin begin to ring, he, however, approached the door—from which he
had been turned to make place for M. Drouet—with great humility, his
hat in his hand.
“The Municipal Council is deliberating,” said he, “whether it would
be advisable to allow you to continue your route; but a report,
wrong or otherwise, has been spread about that it is the King and
his august family whom we have the honor of receiving in our walls.
I beg you, therefore, to accept the shelter of my house, in all
amity, until such time as the council shall have finished their
deliberation. Against our will the tocsin has been sounded. The
concourse of the inhabitants of the city is increased by the entry of
the country people; and, perhaps, the King—if, in truth, I have the
honor of addressing a King—may be exposed to insults which we should
be unable to prevent, and which would fill us with unmitigated grief!”
It was no use his resisting. The Low Town was evidently ignorant of
what was passing in the High Town. No succor arrived, or, indeed,
appeared likely to arrive. The three young gentlemen dressed as
couriers had no other arms than their _couteaux de chasse_, and could
not undertake to fight with thirty men armed with guns. The tocsin
still vibrated in the air, and found an echo in every heart.
The King set the example, and alighted.
I then had a good view of him, and my astonishment at seeing a king
in such a costume was great.
He wore a drab gray coat, a satin waistcoat, and a pair of gray
trousers, gray stockings, shoes with buckles, and a three-cornered
hat.
In descending, he knocked his head against the top of the door, and
his hat fell off. His hair was in tresses on the top of his head, and
was fixed there with an ivory comb.
In a word, his costume corresponded with the title of a steward,
which he bore in the passport of Madame Korff.
I picked up the hat, and handed it to him.
The Queen descended next, and after her, Madame Royale and the
Dauphin, who was disguised as a little girl; then came Madame
Elizabeth, and, last, Madame de Tourzel.
Sauce had opened wide the door of his shop, and passed all sorts of
compliments on the King whom he persisted in calling “your Majesty,”
though the King equally persisted that his name was M. Durand.
The Queen had not the courage to support this humiliating assumption.
“Well, then,” said she, “if monsieur is your King, and I your Queen,
treat us with the respect that our rank demands.”
At these words, the King was ashamed, and said, “Very well, I am your
King; there is your Queen, and there are our children.”
Though vulgar enough in his royal dress, the King lost altogether
what little dignity he had under the costume of a steward.
Besides, always unfortunate, a grocer’s shop, with its surroundings,
was not the most romantic spot in which to utter those royal words:—
“Placed in the capital, in the midst of swords and bayonets, I came
to seek in the country, in the midst of my faithful subjects, the
liberty and peace that were denied me in Paris.”
Then, opening his arms, he pressed poor M. Sauce, paralyzed with the
honor, to his breast.
At the moment that the King embraced M. Sauce, a thunder of horses’
hoofs was heard coming in an unexpected direction—that is to say,
from the Place Latry.
The King believed that it was assistance, but the patriots smelt
danger; and M. Drouet cried out, “Take the King up to the first
floor!”
Sauce asked the King to follow him, and he did so, without making any
difficulty.
Scarcely was the door of the chamber on the ground floor shut, when
they heard a tumult at the head of the Rue de la Basse Cour, by the
side of the Place Latry.
Many voices cried out “The King! the King!”
One voice alone replied, “If it is the King you want, you will have
him dead!”
Recognizing Drouet’s voice, and thinking perhaps he might want me, I
crept to his side.
At the moment that I opened a passage to him they were parleying; but
M. Drouet and his friends parleyed with muskets in their hands, and
the officers of hussars with their sabres on their wrists.
Between the two officers of hussars I recognised M. de Malmy on
horseback, and covered with dust, like them.
It appeared as if he had guided them.