The comtesse de charny, p.39
THE COMTESSE DE CHARNY, page 39
This invitation resembled an order too much for any one to gainsay it, and if they had attempted they would probably not have succeeded. The tocsin continued to ring, the drum to beat, and the crowd to increase at each step.
More than a hundred persons, accompanying the carriage, remained on the outside of the house of M. Sausse, which was situated in a little square.
“Well,” said the king, as he entered.
“Well, monsieur,” replied Sausse, “we were speaking of the passport; if the lady who is said to be the mistress of the carriage will show hers, I will carry it to the municipality, where the council is sitting, and see if it is correct.”
As in any case the passport given by Madame de Korff to Count Charny and by Count Charny to the queen, was quite correct, the king made a sign to Madame de Tourzel to give it up.
She drew this precious paper from her pocket and put it into the hands of M. Sausse, who bade his wife do the honours of his house to his mysterious guests, and left for the municipality.
As Drouet was present at the sitting, every one there was very excited. M. Sausse entered with the passport. Each knew that the travellers had been conducted to his house, and on his arrival curiosity made them silent. He deposited the passport before the mayor.
We have already given the contents of this passport. After having read it: “Gentlemen,” said the mayor, “the passport is perfectly good.”
“Good!” repeated eight or ten voices with astonishment, and at the same time their hands stretched out to receive it.
“Without doubt, good,” said the mayor, “for the king’s signature is there.” And he shoved the passport towards the stretched-out hands, which seized it immediately. But Drouet nearly tore it from the hands that held it: “Signed by the king?” said he, “well, so it may be; but is he one of the National Assembly?”
“Yes,” said one of his neighbours, who was reading the passport at the same time as himself, and by the light of the candle, “I see the signature of a member of one of the committees.”
“But,” replied Drouet, “is it that of the president? And, besides all that,” went on the young patriot, “the travellers are not Madame Korff, a Russian lady, her children, her steward, her woman, and three servants, but the king, the queen, the dauphin, Madame Royale, Madame Elizabeth, some great lady of the palace, three couriers — the royal family, in fact! Will you, or will you not, permit the royal family to leave France?”
The question was placed in its proper light; but, place it as you would, it was a very difficult one for the authorities of a third-rate town like Varennes to determine.
Then they deliberated, and the deliberation promised to be so long that the procureur determined to leave them to it and returned home.
The king advanced three steps to meet him. “Well,” he asked, with an anxiety that he strove in vain to conceal, “the passport?”
“The passport,” replied M. Sausse, “at this moment, I ought to say, has raised a great discussion at the municipality.”
“And why?” demanded Louis XVI.; “they doubt its validity, perhaps?”
“No — but they doubt its belonging really to Madame de Korff; and the rumour goes that it is in reality the king and his family that we have the honour to have in our walls.”
Louis XVI. hesitated replying for a moment; then, determining all at once what to do —
“Yes, monsieur,” said he, “I am the king, that is the queen, those are my children! and I beg you to treat us with that respect which the French have always shown their kings.”
A great number of the curious surrounded the door. The words of the king were heard, not only within, but without too.
Unfortunately, if he who had just pronounced these words had said them with a certain dignity, the grey coat in which he was dressed, and the little peruke, a la Jean Jacques, that ornamented his head, would not have corresponded with his dignity. To find a King of France in such an ignoble disguise! The queen felt the impression produced on the multitude, and coloured to the very temples.
“Let us accept the offer of Madame Sausse,” said she, quickly, “and go upstairs.”
M. Sausse took a light and went towards the stairs, to show the way to his illustrious guests.
During this time, the news that it was really the king who was at Varennes, and that he had said so with his own lips, flew through every street in the town. A man rushed into the municipality. “Gentlemen,” said he, “the travellers stopping at M. Sausse’s really are the royal family! I heard the confession from the king’s own mouth!”
“Eh bien! gentlemen,” cried Drouet, “‘what did I tell you?”
At the same time a great hubbub was heard in the streets, and the tocsin continued to clang and the drums to beat.
A deputation of the commune soon arrived, who said to Louis XVI.:
“Since it is no longer doubtful that the inhabitants of Varennes have the happiness to possess their king, they come to take his orders.”
“My orders?” replied the king, “direct my carriages, then, to be got ready, so that I may continue my route.”
None of the municipal deputation knew what to reply to this demand. Just then the gallop of the horses of De Choiseul was heard, and the hussars were seen to draw up with bare blades in the square.
The queen became highly excited, and a ray of joy passed across her eyes. “We are saved!” murmured she, in the ear of Madame Elizabeth.
“God grant it to be so!” said the pure-hearted, lamb-like woman, who appealed to God under all circumstances.
The king arose and listened.
The municipal officers seemed uneasy.
Just then a loud noise was heard in the ante-chamber, which was guarded by peasants armed with scythes: a few words were interchanged, and then a contest ensued, and De Choiseul, bare-headed and hat in hand, appeared at the door.
Behind him appeared the pale head and resolute face of M. Damas.
In the expression of the two officers’ faces there was such an air of menace, that the members of the commune separated, leaving an open space between the new-comers and the royal family.
When she saw De Choiseul, the queen crossed the whole length of the room and gave him her hand: “Ah, sir! is it you? You are welcome.”
“Alas! madame, I have come very late.”
“It matters not; you have come in good company.”
“Madame, we are almost alone. M. Dandoins has been detained with his dragoons at St. Menehould, and M. Damas has been deserted by his men.”
The queen shook her head.
“But,” said De Choiseul, “where is M. de Bouille? where is De Raigecourt?” and he looked anxiously around him.
“I have not seen those gentlemen,” said the king, who had approached.
“Sire,” said Damas, “I give you my word of honour I believed they were killed in front of your carriage.”
“What must be done?” said Louis XVI.
“Sire, I have forty hussars here. They have marched forty leagues to-day, but will go much farther to serve you.”
“But how?” asked the king.
“Listen, sire,” said De Choiseul. “This is all that can be done: I have, as I said, forty hussars. I will dismount seven. You will mount one of the horses, with the dauphin in your arms, the queen will take a second, Madame Elizabeth a third, and Madame Royale a fourth. Mesdames de Tourzel, de Neuville, and Breunier, whom you will not leave, will mount the others. We will surround you with the thirty-three hussars, and cut our way through. Thus we shall have a chance of escape. Reflect, though, sire. If you adopt this course, you must do it at once, for in an hour, or half-hour, the soldiers will have left me.”
M. de Choiseul awaited the king’s order. The queen appeared to like the project, and looked at Louis XVI., as if to question him. But he, on the contrary, seemed to shun the eyes of the queen, and the influence which she could exert over him. At last, looking M. de Choiseul in the face: “Yes,” said he, “I know well that there is a way, and only one, perhaps; but can you answer me that in this unequal contest of thirty-three men against seven or eight hundred, some shots will not kill my son, my daughter, the queen, or my sister?”
“Sire,” replied Choiseul, “if such a misfortune happened, and happened because you had yielded to my counsel, I should kill myself before your majesty’s eyes.”
“Well, then,” said the king, “instead of yielding to these wild projects, let us reason coolly.”
The queen sighed, and moved two or three steps away. In this she did not feign regret. She met Isidor, who, attracted by the noise in the street, and still hoping that it was occasioned by the arrival of his brother, had approached the window. They exchanged two or three words, and Isidor left the room.
The king seemed not to have noticed what passed between Isidor and the queen, and said: “The municipality refuses to let me pass. It wishes that I should wait here until the break of day. I do not speak of the Count de Charny, who is so sincerely devoted to us, and of whom we have no news, but the Chevalier de Bouille and M. de Raigecourt left, as I am assured, ten minutes after my arrival, to warn the Marquis de Bouille, and cause the troops to march, which were surely ready. If I were alone, I would follow your counsel and pass on; but the queen, my two children, my sister, and these two ladies, it is impossible to risk, especially with the few people you have, for I would not certainly go leaving my three guards here.” He took out his watch. “It is near three o’clock. Young De Bouille left at half-past twelve. His father had certainly formed his troops in echelons, one before the other. The first will be advised by the chevalier. They will arrive successively. It is only eight leagues from here to Stenay. In two hours, or three hours and a half, a man may easily get over the distance on horseback. Detachments will continue then to arrive throughout the night. Towards five or six o’clock, the Marquis de Bouille will be here in person, and then, without any danger to my family, without any violence, we will leave Varennes and continue on our way.”
M. de Choiseul assented to the logic of this reasoning, and yet his instinct told him that there are certain moments when it is not necessary to listen to logic.
He turned then towards the queen, and by his looks seemed to supplicate her to give him other orders, or at least get the king to revoke those that he had already given. But she shook her head.
“I do not wish to take anything on myself,” said she; “it is for the king to command, my duty is to obey. Besides, I am of the opinion of the king. It cannot be long before M. de Bouille arrives.”
M. de Choiseul bowed, and drew some steps back, taking M. de Damas with him, with whom he wished to concert measures, and making a sign to the two guards to come and share in their councils, when a second deputation arrived, consisting of M. Sausse, M. Hannonet, commander of the National Guard, and of three or four municipal officers.
They caused their names to be announced, and the king, thinking that they came to say the carriages were ready, ordered them to be admitted.
The young officers, who interpreted every sign, every movement, every gesture, fancied they saw in Sausse’s face something of hesitation, and in that of Hannonet a determined will, which seemed to them a good augury.
The king looked anxiously at the envoys of the commune, and awaited until they spoke to him. They did not speak, but bowed. Louis XVI. did not seem to mistake them. “Messieurs,” said he, “the French people have only gone astray, for their love of their sovereigns is real. Weary of the perpetual outrages I have been subjected to in my capital, I have decided to withdraw into the provinces, where the holy fire of devotion yet burns. There, I am sure, I shall find the love the people of France are wont to bear their rulers.”
The envoys bowed again.
“I am willing to give my people a proof of my confidence. I have come to take hence a force, composed one half of troops of the line, one half of the National Guard, with which I will go to Montmedy, where I have determined to fix myself. The consequence is, M. Hannonet, as commander of the National Guard, I wish you to select the troops who are to accompany me, and to have the horses put to my carriage.”
There was a moment of silence, during which Sausse expected Hannonet to speak, and when Hannonet thought Sausse would speak.
Hannonet at last bowed. He said: “Sire, I would obey the orders of your majesty, but for a clause which forbids the king to leave France, and all Frenchmen to aid him in doing so.”
The king trembled.
“Consequently,” said Hannonet, making a gesture to beseech the king to let him finish, “and consequently, the municipality of Varennes has resolved, before it suffers the king to pass, to send a courier to Paris, to ask the will of the National Assembly.”
The king felt the sweat roll from his brow, and the queen bit her lips with impatience. Madame Elizabeth clasped her hands and looked to heaven.
“So, so, gentlemen,” said the king, with that dignity which always came to his aid when forced to an extremity; “am I no longer able to go whither I please? if so, I am a more abject slave than the humblest of my subjects.”
“Sire,” said Hannonet, “you are still our master, but the humblest of all men, king or citizen, is bound by his oath. You made an oath. Sire, obey the law. This is not only a great example to follow, but to give.”
The king saw that if, without resistance, he submitted to this rebellion — and such he thought it — of a village municipality, he was lost.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “this is violence. I am not, though, so isolated as I seem. Before my door are forty faithful men, and around Varennes I have ten thousand soldiers. I order you, then, M. Hannonet, commander of the National Guard, to have the horses at once put to my carriage. I order, and will have it so.”
The queen drew near, and in a low tone said: “Very well, sire! let us risk our lives, but not our honour.”
“And if we refuse to obey your majesty, what will be the result?”
“The result will be that I will appeal to force, and that you will be responsible for the blood that will be shed, and which you really will have spilled.”
“So be it, sire,” said Hannonet. “Call your hussars — I will appeal to the National Guard.”
He left the room. The king and queen looked at each other in terror, and the latter, seeing the danger of their position, hastily taking the dauphin, who was yet asleep, from his bed, went to the window, and throwing it open, said:
“Monsieur, let us show ourselves to the people, and ascertain if they be entirely gangrened. Let us appeal to the soldiers, and encourage them with our voices. That is as little as those who are ready to die for us can expect.”
The king followed mechanically, and appeared with her on the balcony.
The square into which Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette looked seemed a prey to the greatest agitation.
One half of the hussars of M. de Choiseul were mounted, and the others on foot. Those who were on foot were pulled about, lost, drowned amid the people, and suffered themselves, with their horses, to be taken anywhere. They were already won over by the nation. The others, who were on horseback, seemed submissive to M. de Choiseul, who spoke to them in German: but they informed him that half of the troop had mutinied.
The cry of “The king! the king!” was at once uttered by five hundred mouths.
De Choiseul was desperate, and wished to die. He made one effort. “Hussars!” said he, “in honour’s name save the king!”
Just at that moment, surrounded by twenty armed men, a new actor appeared on the stage. Drouet came from the municipality, where he had resolved to stop the king’s journey. “Ah!” said he, as he passed De Choiseul, “you would convey the king away! I tell you, that if you do, you will take away only his body.”
Choiseul advanced with his drawn sword. The commander of the National Guard was there, and said: “M. de Choiseul, if you come a foot nearer, I will kill you!”
Just then a man advanced whom no threat or menace could induce to pause. It was Isidor de Charny. The man he looked for was Drouet.
“Back, back!” said he, driving his spurs into his horse, “that man belongs to me!”
He rushed on Drouet with his couteau de chasse.
When he was just within reach, two shots were fired, one from a pistol, and the other from a gun. The ball from the latter struck him in the breast.
The two shots were fired so near to him that the unfortunate young man was literally wrapped in flame and smoke. He readied out his arms, and, as he fell, exclaimed, “Poor Catherine!”
Letting the couteau de chasse fall, he sank back on the crupper of his horse, and thence to the ground.
The queen uttered a terrible cry, and nearly let the dauphin fall from her arms: but as she was dropping into a chair she saw another horseman coming down the pathway Isidor had made in the crowd.
The king, when the queen had retired, turned and shut the window.
Not a few voices only cried, “Vive la Nation!” — not a few hussars; the whole crowd did so. Only twenty hussars remained faithful, and they were the hope of the French monarchy.
The queen threw herself in a chair, and with her hands over her face saw Isidor de Charny die, as she had seen George.
All at once a loud noise was heard, and she looked up.
We will not seek to tell what passed in the mind of the woman and the queen. Olivier de Charny, pale and bloody with the last embrace of his brother, stood at the door.
Sombre and calm, he made a sign to the persons who were present, and said:
“Excuse me, messieurs, I must speak to their majesties.”
The National Guards sought to make him understand that they were there to keep his majesty from having any communication with any one else.
Charny, however, folded his pale lips, knit his brow, opened his frock, and showed a pair of pistols, repeating, at the same time, in a gentler but more positive voice than he had before:
“Gentlemen, I had the honour to tell you that I wished to speak to the king and queen alone!”
He at the same time made with his hand a gesture for all strangers to leave the room.
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