Chapter 26
I have retreated from everything and everyone but my children.
It is the safest way, all things considered.
My brother always said that motherhood was the only role that truly suited me, and perhaps he was right.
I cannot even walk the balcony at Versailles without receiving insults hurled my way.
I am without any political power, yet somehow a pariah to France and her people, and some harbinger of their doom.
If that be true, what am I to my children, who are heirs of France?
Antoinette
The Petit Trianon had never been a more welcome retreat from the world and its troubles.
Nestled into the grounds of Versailles, it allowed Antoinette the freedom to feel as though she were rusticating in the countryside without the trouble of retreating in such a way.
Here, she could host whomever she pleased however she pleased, and no one would expect the grandeur of the main palace.
She could host theatricals, musical evenings, tea parties, card parties, and anything else she wished, so long as the number of guests suited the constraints of the house.
Her apartments overlooked the garden and the grotto, which had entertained her more solitary reveries of late.
She even had her own chapel here, which had housed her agonized prayers after the deaths of both Sophie and Louis-Joseph.
Today, she was simply existing, taking a breath from the strain of life in Paris and the reputation she had somehow acquired of being France’s token villainess. It was a quiet reprieve, and she welcomed it freely.
So many changes had taken place in the last few months.
Louis’s appearance in Paris had settled the crowds, much to their mutual relief.
She had remained at Versailles for the most part to keep a lower profile and keep the anger aimed at her to a minimum.
Riots had continued, mischief abounded, but the Assembly had formed a National Guard, of which the Marquis de Lafayette was named commander.
He had been received by Louis in private and expressed his continued loyalty, though he also believed more rights should belong to the people.
It had been a comfort to both Louis and Antoinette that he had not completely abandoned them and would still stand by their side so long as it fit his conscience.
But the National Assembly was still a great unknown and untrusted.
They were in the midst of writing a new constitution and therein lay much of the difficulty.
The Assembly had been pressing Louis to concede on several issues and wished to detail his surviving powers now that they had a certain level of control in the nation.
It was unnerving, to say the least, and even this brief span of peace felt unsteady.
They’d hosted a banquet at the palace theatre for the recently arrived Royal Flanders Regiment a few days earlier, and the king’s bodyguards had enjoyed the occasion to fraternize with fellow soldiers.
Louis, Antoinette, and the children had made an appearance to much applause and cheers, bringing tears and a hopeful warmth to them all.
It had felt so comforting, so freeing, to enjoy some levity and to sing along and listen to the wonderful music of Gréty.
Word had come from Paris, however, that they had hosted a wild party and roused feelings of a counterrevolution by spreading rumors of plots against the Assembly and disrespect to the new tricolors, none of which were true. And now Paris was growing restless again.
Perhaps there was no more comfort and no more peace to find in France.
“Madame!” a shrill cry echoed from the distance.
Antoinette, sitting quietly in the grotto, straightened in concern, as one of the pages burst into the clearing, his face flushed from exertion.
“Women from Paris are marching here. They have a series of demands they insist on seeing settled, and they may be incited to violence.”
“What?” Antoinette cried, springing to her feet.
“The Dauphin’s carriage outing has been canceled,” the boy went on, “and the king is returning from his shooting. Your presence is begged at the palace so that all might be secured.”
Antoinette nodded and followed him quickly along the path to the palace. She must make certain her children were secured and their fears soothed.
But she was immediately pulled into a room with Louis and senior members of their households to discuss their options.
“Decamp to Rambouillet,” someone insisted firmly. “It is far more secure.”
“The queen and the children should be transported away,” another stated. “The horses are still hitched to the carriage from the Dauphin’s canceled outing.”
Antoinette shook her head firmly and folded her arms tightly. “My place is by the king’s side and nowhere else.”
Louis had sunk onto a couch and placed his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do,” he murmured as though no one else was in the room. “I don’t know what to do. Can I become a fugitive king? Should I? I cannot . . . What do I . . . ?”
Watching him ramble, seemingly devolving before her eyes, Antoinette fought for composure. If only he could be a man of firm decisions and confidence, this all might be a simpler affair. But he simply could not make up his mind.
It was scarcely an hour later, still no decision made, that the first women from Paris arrived at Versailles. After conferring with his ministers, Louis had agreed to meet a small delegation of them to hear their complaints, and now Antoinette was waiting for a report of what had transpired.
She could hear women assembling in the courtyard, the sound growing louder as more participants arrived.
She could not bring herself to look out the windows, fearing both the sight of them and the prospect of rocks or bricks being lobbed toward her.
She knew such actions had been taken in Paris, and if these women were truly vengeful, the possibility was a great one.
Why had she not fled with her family? Why had they wasted so much time debating the issue instead of acting? They could be safely away now and making further preparations to secure their family, but now . . .
Louis entered the salon, running a hand through his hair.
Antoinette turned toward him, remaining in place. “Well?”
He exhaled. “It was just one woman. She says the people of Paris need bread. They are crying out for it. I offered to tell the directors of our two granaries to release all possible stores, and she went out to her comrades to confer, only to return to ask for my word in writing. I agreed.”
She nodded, seeing the wisdom in the concession. They had long been aware of the spreading poverty, and access to the granaries could alleviate that concern.
But Louis still looked unsettled.
“And . . . ?” Antoinette’s heart began to thunder in fear.
“The National Assembly demanded that I sign their preliminary decrees to alleviate the situation,” he rasped, his voice breaking with what she could only perceive as shame. “I did not see any other way, Antoinette, so I . . .” He looked away, gripping his own throat.
An ache formed deep in the pit of her stomach, and it was all Antoinette could do to avoid sinking into a chair and weeping.
But they were in danger—her children were in danger—and she could not allow herself that weakness. Louis was watching his reign, his inheritance, his legacy crumble before his eyes and blow away as dust. He would break further if she grew vulnerable now.
She needed to be strong for all of them.
She strode over to her husband and captured his face in her palms, forcing him to look at her.
“You are not less of a man or a king for conceding,” she told him.
“You are following the advice of counsel that could prevent disaster for your queen, your children, yourself, and your kingdom. Your bodyguards cannot withstand the entire contingent of market women out in the courtyard. This is wisdom, not weakness.”
A pair of tears fell from his eyes, rolling onto her fingertips.
“Whatever comes of this,” Antoinette went on, her voice quiet but strong, “I will stand by you.”
He gripped her wrists, his eyes growing red as he nodded weakly.
She nodded in return, hopefully encouraging him. “So now we wait?”
“Yes, now we wait.” He sniffled and turned his face to kiss one of her palms. “The bodyguards say that they have heard women crying out for your head.”
Fear seized every organ inside Antoinette’s body, and her legs trembled beneath her skirts.
Of course they wanted her. She was the symbol of everything wrong in France and wrong with the monarchy. She was the scapegoat for every crime committed by anyone of an elevated station, and somehow her death could solve everything.
What a tribute to her this all was turning out to be.
“I will sleep in my own apartments tonight,” Antoinette told him as she lowered her hands from his face.
“No!” Louis cried at once. “No, my chambers are far more secure, and you’d be safer there.”
She shook her head firmly. “I will not be swayed, Louis. If they want me, then I must separate myself from you and from the children to keep all of you safe. I refuse to allow any of you to be in greater danger because of me.”
Her decision seemed to inflict an even greater agony in him, but she held firm. If this was the only way to save her family now that they could not depart, then she would gladly do so.
She could do no less.
It was pitch-dark out when the first cries were heard.
Antoinette had lain in bed, but she hadn’t slept, so the shriek of dismay roused her at once and forced her upright in a frantic scramble of her limbs.
Her ladies burst through the door of her apartments in various states of dress and rushed to her.
“They are coming to assassinate you!” one of them cried as she fastened simple skirts onto Antoinette. “Madame Auguié found a guard covered in blood!”