Chapter 24
You once told me to take comfort in my grief, for it meant I loved well.
But what comfort can be found in a creature that claws at barely healed wounds, ripping them open again and again, leaving me forever bleeding, never healing, and shivering with an eternal cold?
There is no comfort, no respite, no relief, and France would have us burn all the while.
Antoinette
“Shall we prepare you for bed, Your Majesty?”
Antoinette blinked, looking up from her poor attempt at embroidery to stare at Henriette Campan, the only one of her ladies in the room with her. Was it truly late enough to retire?
She glanced out the window and saw the darkness there.
“Oh,” she murmured softly. It had been five weeks since Louis-Joseph’s death, and the world had still not returned to normalcy; time was still an evil presence, and her awareness still diminished. “Yes, I suppose we should.”
She had barely risen to her feet when the door to her quarters burst open.
Louis staggered in, his clothing in disarray, his eyes wide but clear.
Not intoxicated, then.
“Louis?” Antoinette ventured, reaching out a hand but unsure if she ought to go to him.
He stared at her, a wildness in his expression but a strange distance in his gaze.
“My love?”
He shook himself and came to her, taking her hand and sinking down to a divan. “I have . . .” He cleared his throat. “I have just come from my bed. The Duc de Liancourt woke me and said that . . . there is a revolution in Paris.”
Antoinette clutched his hand hard, her nails going into his skin, though he did not seem to notice. “What?”
“The Bastille has fallen,” he rasped. “More than eight hundred people formed a mob and circled the place. Demanded a cannon be removed. We had set our defenses there but gave no instruction to discharge anything on the people. I would not harm my people.”
There was nothing to do but nod. She knew Louis and his passion for his people. It was one of the reasons he struggled with his decisions regarding them.
“The Swiss contingent leader went against Governor de Launay and told the crowd’s leaders that they would lay down arms if the garrison was spared.”
“Why?” Antoinette whispered, moving her hands to Louis’s arm to save his hands further injury. “Why would he—?”
“Because they had already demolished the first two drawbridges,” Louis overrode in a flat tone. “And their militia were being led by Lafayette.”
A pained, gagging sensation tugged at Antoinette’s throat. “The . . . the Marquis de Lafayette?”
Louis nodded slowly, his jaw tight.
But . . . but the marquis and marquise were friends of theirs. Why would he march with the crowd against the Bastille?
The Third Estate had started to call themselves the National Assembly and had been growing steadily more vocal and outraged against the clergy, the nobility, and the monarchy.
Especially the monarchy.
And Lafayette was marching with them? Leading their militia?
What would drive him to such a betrayal?
Louis covered her hand on his arm, squeezing to bring her attention back to him.
“The drawbridge was lowered, and the crowd stormed in. All guards who hadn’t lowered their weapons were killed.
There were only seven prisoners in the Bastille, but they were all released.
The man who attempted to assassinate my grandfather was one of them. ”
Antoinette closed her eyes in horror, swallowing a lump of emotion.
“Governor de Launay was captured and taken out,” Louis went on, his voice taking on a darker note.
“His hair was pulled out. He was molested and stabbed. Then a butcher sliced off his head. This man, this loyal officer, had always treated the prisoners with kindness and humanity. He had been governor of the prison since 1776. His father was governor before him. And his own people murdered him for not surrendering to a mob.”
She felt Louis move, and her eyes snapped open, watching as he buried his face in his hands, hunching over and breathing unsteadily. She scooted closer to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her cheek against his trembling back.
“My people,” he cried hoarsely, his voice muffled by his hands.
“They are doing this to each other. How is an act of defense an act of aggression? How are they being so misled? What have I been missing that they were driven to this? They hate you, Antoinette, and they hate my brother Artois. They were screaming against you both, and said I have been restrained by your opinions, and I cannot—”
Antoinette pressed a soft kiss to his back, so close to tears it was astonishing they did not fall.
“A representative of the Assembly came and asked me to withdraw soldiers from the Champs de Mars, and I agreed,” Louis told her, his hands sliding to his mouth as if in prayer.
“But the Bastille is fallen. And I must meet with the Assembly tomorrow and say something. I do not know what they will ask of me, Antoinette. What they seek. The crowd . . . They were carrying busts of d’Orleans and Necker in their demonstrations two days ago.
Necker, who we dismissed again, as you know, supports them.
And my cousin . . .” He shook his head, a dry sob racking his body.
“Are all our people to turn against me? Even my blood and my associates?”
She hugged him closer, her tears falling onto his linen shirt. “Oh, Louis . . .”
He sniffled and leaned into her, releasing a slow breath. “I need to write a speech. I will never be able to sleep.”
Nodding, Antoinette sniffled. “What will you say?”
“That I trust them,” he replied bitterly. He laughed once. “Because I have no choice but to.”
“Perhaps you should not say that part,” she suggested with the weakest smile possible.
His short exhale was as close to a laugh as she was going to get.
“No, I shall keep that back for us alone. But I will . . . I will tell them that I want to be at one with my nation. That, to ease the concerns of my subjects, I will remove the guards from Paris and Versailles. I cannot see that we have a choice there either. Our desire for protection is perceived as an evil intention somehow, and we must give it up. I must capitulate somehow.”
“And you must go to the Assembly to say all of this?” Antoinette asked softly.
“Just to the chamber of the Estates General,” he reassured her. “I will take Provence and Artois with me. Without finery or fanfare. We shall go simply and humbly and call upon their humanity.”
Was there humanity left in those they would see? Would her husband and his brothers be safe without an escort?
Would their very world end within the next few hours?
She could only cling to her husband for the few moments they had before his speech needed to be written and she would be left to suffer the night of horrors silently in her own chambers, afraid of the future.
Waiting on Louis to return was taxing the frayed edges of Antoinette’s nerves. Visions of Governor de Launay’s fate raced through her mind, only with Louis as the victim. What if this moment of revolution and riot was nothing more than an excuse to get the king alone and unprotected?
How would Antoinette survive if they were coming for her family afterward?
Her pacing in the entrance to the family quarters had been constant since his departure, and she refused to move herself to any other portion of the palace until she knew what had happened and how they would move forward.
A nearby door opened and closed loudly, causing her to jump. She waited for the door just ahead of her to do the same, bearing either news of relief or news of despair.
The door opened, and Louis appeared, looking weary and aged, but alive and uninjured.
Antoinette ran to him and flung her arms around his neck, holding tightly as she sobbed. “You are alive,” she whimpered into his shoulder.
“I am,” he rumbled in response, rubbing her back. “But I fear we must make several difficult decisions very soon.”
She nodded but did not move to look him in the face. “Such as?”
“They want me back in Paris. I am apparently still the king.” He scoffed softly, his hand at her back clutching her dress. “They believe the sight of me will make the insurrections cease.”
Antoinette immediately shook her head, digging her fingers into her husband as though she could get him to remain by sheer force of her own. “No. I cannot let you go.”
“We may not have a choice.” He reached up and pulled her hands from around his neck, showering them with gentle kisses of reassurance. “But we shall save those who are at the brunt of the anger of the people by sending them away.”
“Not me,” Antoinette demanded fiercely, turning her hands to grip his.
His smile was sad and soft. “Perhaps, but I cannot say for certain yet. I do not want you to leave my side, but if it will save you? I will not hesitate. And you will not argue, because our children will need you.”
She almost choked on the order, but he was right. Their children could not be sent away without one of their parents unless absolutely necessary, and if there was a choice, they would flee together.
“We must plan for several eventualities,” Antoinette whispered.
He nodded. “Including having me retreat with the soldiers I have ordered to withdraw, if they do not have me going to Paris. But we will certainly send Artois away. And we must do the same with the de Polignacs and some others. They are in danger, and no eventualities exist there.”
The idea of losing Yolande was a crushing blow, but Antoinette could see the wisdom of it. The people might not be able to take out their fury on Antoinette herself, but they would have no issue with attacking her friends as proxy.
“They will not want to go,” Antoinette murmured as she cradled both her and Louis’s hands at her chest. “Not your brother nor our friends.”
Louis gave her a serious look. “We will have to convince them. Our faithful friends must leave us. They must not waste a single minute. We have a few days at most. The Assembly will have more demands for me, I am sure, but I do not yet know what they are.”
“Do you think the people will be soothed by your presence?” she asked him. “Truly?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged in a way that made him seem like a child. “I really do not know. But there are crowds gathering here, and they wish for us to appear on the balcony with the Dauphin.”
Antoinette groaned, leaning into Louis as pain ripped through her. The Dauphin. That was now Louis-Charles, but her mind jumped to their lost little Louis-Joseph still. France did not care which of her sons lived or died, just that one was the heir.
And Louis-Charles, only four, was the one they wanted now.
Looking up, Antoinette whispered, “Are we in danger?”
He shook his head. “This is not Paris. We will appear, and we will wave, and we will retire. Then we will plan.” He kissed her hands once more and inclined his head toward the rest of their quarters behind her. “Go now and fetch our son. We must make an appearance and satisfy those outside.”
Antoinette stepped back with an obedient nod and started toward their son’s rooms, but then turned to face her husband again, clenching her fists at her sides.
“Louis, I want you to know . . . If you should be taken in Paris, I will be throwing myself on the mercy of the Assembly for the children and myself to remain with you.”
His eyes widened as he stared at her. She watched as tears covered his eyes and his throat worked several times. “You wouldn’t,” he eventually managed.
She nodded firmly. “I would. My place is by your side. And surely, they would not suffer that those who have been united by heaven to be put asunder on earth. Even they must have that much morality.”
Louis released a groan that warmed her heart more than anything she had known in ages. “My love . . .” He shook his head, unable to continue.
“That,” Antoinette told him with a watery smile, “is precisely my point, my king.”