Chapter 30 #2
She felt her head move in the mute acceptance of a nod, as though she was a marionette on a string. There were no other arguments to be made, no options to consider.
Louis tilted his head toward the door. “Go and wake the children.”
For the next hour or so, the farewells among the household and friends commenced.
Mr. Roederer eventually allowed Pauline de Tourzel and Thérèse de Lamballe to accompany them, but no one else.
Antoinette managed to keep her emotions in check during the interactions with everyone, but the moment they stepped out into the courtyard, the first of her tears began.
The gathered crowd had to be at least ten thousand strong, and they were pressing in with a ferocity that robbed her of breath and strength. Six ministers were escorting them, but what hope were six against ten thousand?
For the sake of appearances, for her children, Antoinette forced a smile, but her cheeks ached the moment it was placed there. She wiped away her tears as they fell, but there was no stopping them. No stopping her hitching inhales as they made their way through the jeering mob.
Louis-Charles was the only one who seemed unbothered by the crowd, taking note of the leaves that had been piled up along the path by the gardeners. He kicked each pile he crossed, sending leaves flying into the air and giggling every time.
It was the strangest, most childlike action she had seen from him in months, and so at odds with their situation that it was disconcerting rather than comforting.
“What a lot of leaves!” Louis commented in a faux casual tone for their son’s benefit. “They have fallen early this year.”
The crowd began to press even more closely upon them, both for the numbers and for the nature of the buildings compressing them. One of the largest guards accompanying them eventually swept up Louis-Charles to carry him above the heads of the crowd and keep him safe.
At long last, they arrived at the Assembly, entering with subdued spirits and clear signs of exertion. Antoinette’s fichu was wet through with her perspiration, and the rest of the group looked equally exhausted.
Members of the Assembly were waiting for them in the hall.
Louis gave them a polite smile as they approached. “I have come here to avoid a great crime, and I believe that I cannot be safer than in your midst.”
There was no missing the emotion in his voice, and the men of the Assembly all seemed to smile in response. It was not clear if it was the pleasure of seeing him brought so low or the pride in hearing him admit safety with them, but their smiles were there for all to see.
Antoinette didn’t trust those smiles. Didn’t trust these men. Didn’t trust the Assembly. Didn’t trust they would be safe here.
The sounds of guns firing rattled the nearby windows, drawing a startled yelp from Antoinette and the other ladies. Louis and the men only stiffened, and the Assembly members moved to investigate the sounds, but without haste. Without concern. Without emotion.
Leaving the entire royal family contingent in the hall of the Assembly without direction.
Glass broke. Rifles fired. Screams rent the air.
They were perfectly safe in the hall, but the apprehension of what they had left behind based on those sounds fell upon them all.
A man in dark clothing calmly approached them from the front of the building. He did not bow, but simply said, “It is recommended that the king order the Swiss Guard to stand down. They are outnumbered, and it will be a massacre.”
Antoinette gasped loudly, clutching a handkerchief to her mouth, unsure if she was stifling the sound or holding back sobs—perhaps both.
Louis paled considerably and asked for paper and pen. Once it was fetched, he scribbled something down, coming to Antoinette to show her the message.
The king orders the Swiss to lay down their arms immediately and to withdraw to their barracks.
Louis
She nodded her agreement, the tremors in her hands increasing in intensity and creating a similar effect throughout her body.
He handed the note to the man, who took it and turned on his heel.
For the longest time, there was no change to the sounds coming from the palace and courtyard.
And then the entire crowd seemed to roar, glass crashed against the ground, guns fired at random intervals, curtains were torn.
There were piercing screams of pain and fear, and there were other noises .
. . a grotesque thudding mingled with squelching.
Antoinette could not bring herself to dwell on it, but it immediately made her nauseous.
What fresh horrors had just been unleashed on the Tuileries?
Their little group remained in their place, resting against the walls or sinking against the ground, hours passing by. A simple meal was brought to them without fanfare, and they silently ate it. Even the children were reserved, asking no questions and indulging in no curiosity.
Then others began entering the Assembly Hall, bringing with them familiar items from the Tuileries.
Their items.
Her jewels. Goblets. Items from the chapel. From the bedrooms. From the staterooms.
Even with the poor condition of the Tuileries, there had been plenty of finery remaining.
And none of it belonged to the monarchy now.
It belonged to the people.
Eventually, when night fell, members of the Assembly returned to them.
“The Tuileries is uninhabitable,” an older man announced. “We will escort you to the Convent of the Feuillants. The fate of the king will be decided through debate in the coming days.”
There was no point in arguing, despite the rage and humiliation coursing through Antoinette. They had no power here, and any refuge would be welcome.
Wordlessly, they followed their enemy escorts, now charged with their safety, toward the convent.
Days and weeks passed without much change, apart from the Assembly moving them from the convent to the temple in the Marais district.
The Assembly gave up responsibility for them in favor of the revolutionary Paris Commune, cheerfully ridding themselves of the issue of their safety.
Rumors still managed to reach them, including one of the Marquis de Lafayette fleeing France, though no one quite explained why he’d left.
Their friends had been parted from them and housed in other locations, and no letters had been received in their new lodgings.
No letters were sent either, which left Antoinette to hide her letters to Charlotte and Abigail in deep cracks in the walls of their cells.
She had to write to them, to express her thoughts and feelings, even if the words were never read.
It was a cold, indifferent existence.
Antoinette stood beside Louis as they and Commune Commissioner Daujon watched a house being demolished beyond the walls of the Tower. Apparently, it was for increased security, though she doubted any of that security was actually for their benefit.
Louis was laughing about something the commissioner said when an impossibly loud boom filled their ears, and a large stone fell nearby.
They all jumped back with various yells, Antoinette shrieking while Louis dropped to his knees.
“Save my husband!” Antoinette cried, moving to Louis, who was pale and trembling.
“The children,” he muttered almost blindly. “The children.”
Daujon gripped both of them by their arms and hauled them back, bellowing for guards. Only when the king and queen were safely in their care did he race off to investigate.
Without much choice, Antoinette allowed herself to be dragged off, knowing this time it wasn’t toward punishment or vengeance but toward security.
Their quarters were the only place where their safety could be guaranteed, and there were enough guards about who were dedicated to protecting the inhabitants of the Tower, whoever they were.
Alarm bells sounded throughout Paris, and one of the guards mentioned something about Prussians advancing on Verdun, but there were no reliable reports of anything more. The Commune had been called to arms for assistance, but they took care to leave enough protection for the royal family.
There was a general sense of bewilderment and confusion while sounds of large crowds rose and fell like the waves of the sea. The only thing Antoinette could do was sit and wait for answers or information, provided anyone cared enough to pass that along. After all, they were prisoners.
Without a sentence. Without a crime. Without a resolution.
Without an ending.
It was fully night when Commissioner Daujon returned, his expression torn. “The enemy is at our gates,” he told them, his attention focused on Louis. “They want blood, and they’re asking for heads. Well, yours will be first.”
Louis blanched, going as white as a sheet while Antoinette sank onto a nearby chair, covering her mouth.
“Is that what they say?” her husband managed to ask.
The commissioner nodded, looking sympathetic for a man who was charged with keeping them imprisoned. “The prisons have been attacked, and many massacres have taken place. But you are safe here.”
There was no comfort in those words. None at all.
“I will let you know if there is anything else,” the commissioner said, nodding as he turned from their quarters.
Once the door was closed, Louis hunched over, gripping his hair. “What do we do, Antoinette? What has become of our France?”
She did not answer him, having no answers, no understanding, no clarity.
No hope.
The next evening, Antoinette was sitting at backgammon with Louis while they ate dinner, trying to find some sense of normalcy amidst their prison life. The children sat nearby and chatted with each other quietly, their topics as unclear as any amusement.
Shouts came from beyond the window, shrieking, boisterous, and raucous, the words unintelligible and accompanied by frenzied laughter. They were used to all sorts of mockery and jeers, belittling and humiliation, so Antoinette ignored the sounds and focused on her next move of the game.
“Queen of France! Queen of France!”
Antoinette froze at the clear calls for her. Since their imprisonment, the calls had been more for Louis and cries against any sort of king. She had been fairly left alone, even if her personal items had been waved mockingly in the air.
But this?
One of the National Guard soldiers appeared and smirked at them darkly. “I suggest you look out the window, Your Majesty. There is something nice for you. Something to show you what happens to tyrants.”
She bit her lip, fear making her stomach clench. There was very little to stop the guards from mistreating her and her family if she didn’t do as suggested.
On unsteady legs, Antoinette walked to the window, Louis softly calling her name out of concern.
Once at the window, she glanced down, only to freeze and then gag.
On a pike, hoisted high to be close to the window, was the severed, still bleeding head of Thérèse, Princess de Lamballe. Her lady-in-waiting. Her friend.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stand, couldn’t think.
“Kiss your favorite, Madame!” the crowd mocked, trying to get the head closer to her. People were crawling up the rubble near the walls to press nearer, as though her reactions were their favorite amusement.
Antoinette swayed, her vision darkening as her legs gave way.
Arms caught her before she reached the floor, and she was gently lowered instead, her ears ringing.
Yet through it all, she managed to hear shouting from a much closer quarter.
“The head of Antoinette does not belong to you!” Daujon bellowed from somewhere.
Was he defending them against the rabble pounding for entry to the Tower?
“Don’t fret, Majesty,” he said in a much lower tone. “I will not permit them entrance. They may march about outside, but there will be no entry. Do not let her look out again. There is . . . more horror to witness.”
Weakly, still tingling from head to toe, Antoinette began to cry without force, the tears simply falling from her eyes as she fully succumbed to the darkness that called her.