THE ROAD.
In a moment, the clock struck eleven.
Every stroke penetrated the hearts of the fugitives, and caused them
to tremble.
They went out, one by one. But how were they able to make a passage
to the court, you will ask? This is how it was.
Madame de Rochereul, whose duties had finished on the 12th, occupied
a little chamber which opened into another, which had not been used
for six months.
The empty apartment was M. Villequier’s, first gentleman of the
bed-chamber. It was empty because M. Villequier had emigrated.
That apartment, situate on the ground floor, had a door opening into
the Cour des Princes.
On one side, the chamber of Madame de Rochereul opened both into one
belonging to M. Villequier and Madame Royale.
On the 11th, the moment that Madame Rochereul quitted the château,
the King and Queen visited her apartment.
Under the pretext of enlarging Madame Royale’s suite of rooms, the
Queen kept these apartments, and said that the _femme-de-chambre_ of
the Dauphin could share those of Madame de Chinnai, maid of honor.
When in the apartment of M. Villequier, the King demanded the key of
M. Renard, inspector of buildings. It was sent to him on the 13th of
June.
Numerous as were the sentinels, they had neglected to place one at
the door of that chamber, which had been unoccupied for the space of
three months. At eleven o’clock in the evening, the services in the
château being finished, the sentinels were accustomed to witness the
departure of a great number of people at one time.
So that once in the apartment of M. Villequier, and as the clock
struck eleven, they had every chance of escaping unobserved.
It was M. de Fersen’s business to smuggle the royal family out of
Paris, unobserved.
He was waiting with a fiacre, disguised as a coachman, at the Wicket
de l’Echelle; thence he was to take the fugitives to the barrier
at Clichy, where the berlin was in waiting, under the charge of an
Englishman, Mr. Crawford.
The three gardes du corps were to follow, in another fiacre.
The two _femmes-de-chambre_, Madame Brunier and Madame de Neuville,
went on foot to the Pont Royal, where they found a two-horsed
carriage stationed, in which they started for Claye, where they were
to await the Queen.
Madame Elizabeth stepped out first, with Madame Royale; then came
Madame de Tourzel, and the Dauphin, accompanied by one of the gardes
du corps.
The two parties were separated one from the other by about twenty
paces.
One of the sentinels crossed the road, and on seeing the first party,
stopped them.
“Oh, aunt!” cried Madame Royale; “we are lost! That man recognises
us!”
Madame Elizabeth made no reply, but continued to advance.
Madame Royale was deceived. They were not recognised—or, if they
were, it was by a friend.
The sentinel turned his back on them, and allowed them to pass.
At the expiration of five minutes, Madame de Tourzel, the two
princesses, and the Dauphin were in the carriage, which was awaiting
them at the corner of the Rue de l’Echelle.
M. de Fersen was so well disguised, that the princesses did not
recognize him. It was he who knew them. He leapt from his box, opened
the door, and assisted them in.
At the moment that M. de Fersen shut the door, an empty fiacre passed
by. Seeing a brother cabman stopping, he stopped likewise, and began
to enter into a conversation about the times.
M. de Fersen, a man of ready wit, sustained the conversation
wonderfully, and, drawing a snuff-box from his pocket, offered his
friend a pinch.
He plunged his fingers deep into the box, took a long and voluptuous
sniff, and drove on.
At this moment the King, followed by his garde du corps, came out in
his turn, his hands in his pockets, and swaggering like a well-to-do
tradesman.
He was followed by the second garde.
During his passage, one of the buckles of his shoes slipped off. The
King did not care to stop for such a trifling matter as that, but the
garde who came after him picked it up.
M. de Fersen got in front of the King.
“And the Queen, sire?” asked he.
“The Queen follows us,” replied the King.
He then got into the carriage in his turn.
They awaited the Queen.
Half an hour passed, and she did not arrive.
What detained her?
The Queen was lost. She maintained that the Wicket de l’Echelle was
to the right. The third garde, not knowing Paris well, yielded to the
Queen’s certainty, though he fancied that it was to the left.
They therefore left by the wicket at the water’s side; got confused
on the quays; crossed the bridge; walked down the Rue du Bac, where
the Queen was forced to acknowledge her error, as they had completely
lost their way.
The garde was compelled to inquire the way to the Wicket de
l’Echelle. They had to cross the Place de Carrousel a second time.
Under the arch, they found themselves face to face with some
lacqueys, carrying torches, and escorting a carriage which was
approaching at a trot. The Queen had just time to turn her face to
the wall, in order to avoid being recognised.
She had recognised Lafayette.
The garde came to the front, in order to the more effectually screen
her.
But she struck the wheels of the carriage with the little cane that
ladies carried at that period, saying, “Go to, gaoler!—I am out of
thy power.”
This is but a tradition; the garde says, on the contrary, that the
Queen was so frightened, that she dropped his arm and fled, but that
he ran after her, took her by the hand, and drew her back.
They crossed the Carrousel at full speed, passed the Wicket de
l’Echelle, and at last saw the carriage which was awaiting them.
M. de Fersen assisted the Queen into the vehicle, and she sank into
her seat by the side of the King, trembling with fear.
M. de Fersen had stopped a voiture, for the accommodation of the
three gardes du corps.
They jumped into it, telling the driver to follow the other vehicle.
M. de Fersen, who knew not Paris much better than the garde du corps,
who had followed the Queen, fearing to get lost in the streets, went
to Faubourg St. Honoré, along the length of the Tuileries.
Thence, he soon found his way to the barrière of Clichy.
A few paces before the house of Mr. Crawford, the gardes du corps
got down, paid and dismissed their vehicle, and took their places
behind the other.
The travelling berlin was ready when they arrived.
The change was effected.
M. de Fersen overturned his carriage in a ditch, then mounted on the
box of the berlin. One of his men mounted a horse, and conducted them
to Daumont.
They took at least an hour to arrive at Bondy.
All progressed capitally.
At Bondy, they found the two _femmes-de-chambre_, who were to have
awaited them at Claye.
It appeared that they came in a cabriolet, expecting to find at Bondy
a post-chaise; but there were none, so they had struck a bargain with
the postmaster for a cabriolet, the price of which was a thousand
francs.
The driver of the other cabriolet was brushing down his horse
previously to returning to Paris.
At this place, M. de Fersen was to leave their Majesties.
He kissed the King’s hand, in order that he might be able to kiss the
Queen’s.
M. de Fersen would rejoin them in Austria.
He returned to Paris, to acquaint himself with what was going on; he
would then start for Brussels.
Man proposes, God disposes.
The Queen, two years later, was executed in the Place de la
Revolution; and M. de Person perished at Stockholm, where he
was slain in a riot, stricken to death by blows from umbrellas,
administered by drunken women.
But, mercifully, the future was not known to them. They parted full
of hope.
M. de Valory borrowed a post-horse, and galloped on in advance, to
command the relays.
M. de Malden and De Moustier took their seats on the box of the
berlin, which set off at the full speed of which six vigorous horses
were capable.
The cabriolet came on in the rear.
M. de Fersen followed with his eyes the carriage, rapidly
disappearing in the distance; and when it had entirely disappeared,
he got into his own carriage, and returned to Paris.
He had on his costume as coachman; and much did it astonish the
driver of the cabriolet to see a coachman kissing the hands of the
King, disguised as a domestic.
It is true that M. de Fersen had only kissed the King’s hands in
order to be able to go through the same ceremony with regard to the
Queen.
That was another imprudence added to those which we have already
mentioned.
All went well as far as Montmirail, where the traces of the royal
carriage snapped asunder.
It was necessary to stop. They thus lost two hours—the days were
long; the night of the 20th of June is the shortest in the year.
Then they came to a hill. The King insisted on their walking up; thus
they lost another half-hour.
Half-past four sounded from the cathedral as the berlin entered
Châlons, and stopped at the post-house, then situated at the end of
the Rue St. Jacques.
M. de Valory approached the carriage.
“All goes well, Francis,” said the Queen to him. “It seems to me
that, if there had been an intention of stopping us, it would have
been put into execution before now.”
In speaking to M. de Valory, the Queen disclosed her countenance.
The King likewise imprudently showed himself.
The postmaster, Oudes, recognized him; one of the spectators, whom
curiosity had drawn to the spot, at once knew that it was the King.
The postmaster saw the above-mentioned spectator disappear, and
consequently feared some evil to the King.
“Sire,” said he, in a whisper, “for heaven’s sake do not expose
yourself, or you are lost!” Then, speaking to the postilions, “How
now, idlers!” cried he. “Is this the way that you treat well-to-do
travellers who pay thirty sous?”
And he himself, to set an example to the postilions, put his shoulder
to the work.
The horses were put to, and the carriage was in readiness speedily.
“Off you go!” cried the postmaster.
The first postilion wished to raise his horses into a gallop. They
both fell, but gained their feet again on the application of the
whip. They wished to upset the carriage. The two horses under the
guidance of the second postilion fell in their turn.
They drew the postilion from under the horse he had been riding, with
the loss of one of his boots.
The horses picked themselves up, the postilion regained his boot,
and, putting it on, he remounted his saddle.
Off goes the carriage.
The travelers breathe again.
But as the postmaster had warned them of danger, in place of riding
in front, M. de Valory took up his position by the side of the
carriage.
The fact of the horses having fallen one after the other, without any
apparent reason, seemed to the Queen a presage of evil to come.
As yet, however, they had escaped the consequences of recognition.
The man who witnessed the arrival of the berlin had ran to the
Mayor’s house; but that official was a Royalist. However, the witness
swore that he recognised the King and the other members of the royal
family; so the Mayor, driven into his last entrenchment, was forced
to proceed forthwith to the Rue St. Jacques; but, happily, when he
arrived there, he found that the carriage had started some five
minutes before.
Passing through the gates of the city, and noticing the ardor with
which the postilion urged on their steeds, the Queen, and Madame
Elizabeth gave vent each to the same cry:—“We are saved!”
But at that very moment a man, arisen, as it were, suddenly from
the very bosom of the earth, passed on horseback to the door of the
carriage, and said, “Your measures are badly taken! You will be
stopped!”
It was never known who this man was.
By good luck, they were distant only four leagues from
Pont-de-Somme-Vesles, where M. de Choiseul was awaiting them with his
forty hussars.
Perhaps they should have sent M. de Valory to the rear, in order to
prevent this.
But the last warning had increased the Queen’s terrors, and she would
not part with one of her defenders.
They incited the postilions to greater speed.
The four leagues were accomplished in an hour.
They arrived at Pont-de-Somme-Vesles, a little hamlet, consisting of
two or three houses. They pierced with their eyes the wood which
overshadowed the farm to the left; and the trees which indicated the
windings of the river on the right, formed, as it were, a curtain of
green to hide the modest streamlet from the curious eye, but still no
De Choiseul, no De Goguelot, no forty hussars were to be seen.
On seeing that the place was desolate, the Queen uttered the words
“We are lost!”
In the meantime, let us explain why the hussars were not at their
post.
At eleven o’clock M. de Choiseul, still accompanied by Léonard, in
tears, who knew not where they were taking him, and who believed
himself to be the victim of some unjustifiable violence, arrived at
Pont-de-Somme-Vesles.
The hussars, as yet, were not at their posts; all around was tranquil.
He alighted at the post-house, his example being followed by Léonard,
who had the diamonds still concealed in his bosom, and asked for a
private chamber in which to don his uniform.
Léonard watched him; his cup of misery was filled to the brim.
Now that M. de Choiseul had, as he believed, nothing to fear, he
found time to pity him.
“My dear Léonard!” said he, “it is time that you knew the whole
truth.”
“How the truth? Do I not, then, already know the truth?”
“You know a portion. It is now my duty to tell you the rest. You are
devoted to your customers, are you not, my dear Léonard?”
“In life and death, M. le Comte.”
“Well, in two hours they will be here—in two hours they will be
saved.”
The hot tears coursed down poor Léonard’s cheeks, but this time they
were tears of joy.
“In two hours?” cried he, at last. “Are you sure of it?”
“Yes; they were to have left the Tuileries at eleven or half-past,
in the evening; they were to arrive at Châlons at mid-day; and an
hour, or, at most, an hour and a half, is sufficient to cover the
four leagues from Châlons to this place. They will be here in an hour
at the latest. I am awaiting a detachment of hussars, which should
arrive here under the command of M. Goguelot.”
Hearing a rumbling sound, M. de Choiseul put his head out of the
window.
“Ah, there they are, coming from the direction of Cilloy!”
And, in fact, the hussars were, at the moment, on the point of
entering the village.
“Come on!—all is well!” said M. de Choiseul.
And he waved his hat, making signs out of the window.
A horseman approached at a gallop.
M. de Choiseul went down stairs to meet him.
The two gentlemen met in the high road.
The horseman, who was M. Goguelot, gave M. de Choiseul a packet from
M. de Bouillé. This packet contained six blank signatures, and a copy
of the order which had been given by the King to every officer of the
army whatsoever his grade, commanding them in all things to obey M.
de Choiseul.
The hussars rode up. M. de Choiseul ordered them to picket their
horses, and caused rations of bread and wine to be served out to them.
The news which M. Goguelot brought was bad. All along his route,
everybody had been in a state of expectation. The reports of the
King’s flight, which had been disseminated about for more than a
year, had spread from Paris to the provinces; and the sight of the
different bodies of men arriving at Dun, Varennes, Clermont, and St.
Menehould, had awakened suspicion. The tocsin had been sounded in a
village by the side of the road.
M. de Choiseul had ordered dinner for M. de Goguelot and himself.
The two young men drew up to the table, leaving the detachment under
the command of M. de Boudet.
At the expiration of half an hour, M. de Choiseul fancied that he
heard a noise outside the door.
He went out.
The peasants from the neighboring villages had begun to crowd round
the soldiers.
Whence came these peasants, in a country which was almost a desert?
It was surmised that some days before the inhabitants of a tract of
land, near Pont-de-Somme-Vesles, belonging to Madame d’Elbœuf, had
refused the payment of irredeemable rights, on the strength of which
they had been threatened with military law.
But the federation of 1790 had made France one great family; and the
peasants of the villages had promised the tenants of Madame d’Elbœuf
to use their arms if any soldiers showed themselves in the vicinity.
As we know, forty had arrived.
On seeing them Madame d’Elbœuf’s tenants believed that they had come
with hostile intentions against them; so they sent messages to all
the neighboring villages, imploring them to keep their promise.
Those situate nearest arrived first, and that is how M. de Choiseul,
on arising from table, found a turbulent throng of peasants
surrounding the hussars.
He believed that curiosity alone had drawn them thither, and, without
paying any further attention to them, gained the most elevated part
of the road, which runs in a straight line through the plain of
Châlons to St. Menehould.
A little further on than could be seen with the naked eye was the
village itself.
An hour slipped away.
Two hours, three hours, four hours, followed in the track of the
first.
The fugitives ought to have arrived in one hour at
Pont-de-Somme-Vesles; and the time they had lost on the road made it
half-past four, as we have said, before they arrived at Châlons.
M. de Choiseul was anxious.
Léonard was in despair.
About three o’clock, the numbers of peasants increased; their
intentions became more hostile, and the tocsin began to sound.
The hussars were, perhaps, more unpopular than any other corps in
the army, on account of their supposed plundering propensities. The
peasants provoked them by all sorts of insults and menaces, and sang
under their very noses—
“The hussars are forlorn,
And we laugh them to scorn.”
Presently better informed people came up, and spread a report that
the hussars had come, not to injure Madame d’Elbœuf’s tenants, but to
escort the King and Queen.
This was also a very serious matter.
At about half-past four, M. de Choiseul and his hussars were so
completely hemmed in, that the three officers counselled together as
to what was best to be done.
They agreed unanimously that it was impossible that they could hold
out much longer.
The number of peasants was augmented to about three hundred, many of
whom were armed.
If, by ill luck, the King and Queen arrived at this critical
juncture, forty men, supposing that each killed his adversary, would
be insufficient to protect them.
M. de Choiseul re-read his orders:—
“Manage in such a manner that the King’s carriage shall continue its
progress without interruption.”
But his presence and that of the forty men became an obstacle instead
of a support.
There was no doubt about it. Their best plan was to depart.
But a pretext must be found.
M. de Choiseul, in the midst of some five or six hundred gaping
peasants who surrounded him, summoned the postmaster.
“Monsieur,” said he, “we are here for the purpose of escorting a
treasure, but this treasure does not arrive. Do you know if any gold
has been this last day or so to Metz?”
“This morning,” replied the postmaster, “the diligence brought a
hundred thousand crowns, and was escorted by two gendarmes.”
If the postmaster had been prompted, he could not have spoken better.
“It was Robin and me who escorted it,” cried a gendarme, hidden among
the crowd.
Then M. de Choiseul, turning to M. Goguelot, said, “Monsieur, the
Ministry have preferred the ordinary mode of carriage. As a hundred
thousand crowns have passed through here this morning, our further
presence here is unnecessary. Trumpeter, sound boot and saddle, and
we will be off.”
The trumpeter obeyed.
In a second, the hussars, who wished nothing better than to be off,
were mounted.
“Gentlemen of the hussars, march. Form by fours, and proceed at a
foot pace.”
And he and his forty men left Pont-de-Somme-Vesles at five punctually
by his watch.
The detachment was to have fallen upon Varennes. He took the by-road
in order to avoid St. Menehould, but lost his way above Mofficourt.
The little troop hesitated for a moment, when a horseman coming
from Neuville saw the perplexity of M. de Choiseul, and finding
that he was a Royalist and a gentleman, asked if he could be of any
assistance to him.
“Indeed you can,” replied M. de Choiseul. “You can conduct us to
Varennes by the Chalade.”
“Follow me, then,” cried the gentleman.
And he placed himself at the head of the hussars.
This gentleman was no other than M. de Malmy, and that is how it was
that I met him on the Place Latry, between two officers whom I knew
not—namely, M. de Choiseul and M. Goguelot.