Chapter 47

THE DEFENCE OF THE BODYGUARD

Word passed about at the stately tea _à l'Anglaise_ of the Princess de Poix that there was danger at the Palace.

"Germain, my knight," whispered Cyrène at the harpsichord, the bright tears in her eyes, "I must not keep you now. Go to the Queen. It is for times of peril that descendants of chivalry were born."

Tenderly kissing her hand and saying adieu, Lecour drove to the Palace and reported for service.

The great Hall of the Guards in the centre of the Palace faces the top of the Marble Staircase. To the left a landing leads to the Hall of the King's Guards and thence, to the apartment of the King; to the right another to the Hall of the Queen's Guards and the chambers of Marie Antoinette.

The Marble Staircase was approached by the Court of Marble, the smallest and innermost courtyard of the vast château, looked out upon by the royal apartments and paved with white marble. The exit from this was to the Royal Court, whence through a grating to the Court of the Ministers, and thence through the outer grating by the entrance gate to the Place d'Armes.

Though the season was yet early in October, it was as gloomy and forbidding a night as one in the worst of November. The darkness and chill were aggravated by a wearisome drizzle. They were further aggravated by the discomforts of an anxious situation. About fifty Bodyguards, lying and sitting under arms in the Hall, were trying to spend the night, or rather the early hours before dawn, entertaining each other. They were mainly of the command of the Count de Guiche, then in its turn of service, but a number among them wore cross-belts of other companies, for the need had been pressing, and all within reach had been hastily summoned. The reason for anxiety was a great invasion of women from Paris on the afternoon of the previous day headed by "a conqueror of the Bastille." A deputation of twelve of these women were led to the King, who satisfied and pleased them by his kindness, but the rest of the crowd, brandishing knives through the railing, accused these of treachery and tried to hang them. Outside the Palace on the Place d'Armes the numbers were increased by horde after horde of men marching from the slums of Paris, armed with pikes, muskets, and hatchets, and full of drink. After dark many had filled the streets, knocking at the houses demanding food and money, and terrifying the town. The sentinels, the Bodyguards, and the Flemish regiment had with difficulty rescued the women of the deputation, kept the gates and held the mob at bay. They were jeered at and even fired on, whereat one or two of the Bodyguards had fired back. The filthy furies, drunken and degraded to an extent of degradation almost unknown to-day, were especially foul-mouthed regarding the poor Queen. As for Wife Gougeon, she had stood out on the very floor of the Assembly, flourished her dagger and screamed "Where can I find the Austrian?"

At length rain and night brought a certain cessation, and with them hopes rose. The troops were withdrawn at eight. The main portion of the Bodyguard were sent to Rambouillet in the vicinity, as they seemed to excite antagonism among some companies of the National Guard or militia of Versailles. About twelve in the evening, General Lafayette, of American fame, came up at the head of the militia of Paris and took command of the external defences of the château.

The mob were still, however, permitted to camp out on the Place d'Armes.

"What are they doing now?" a tired officer of the Bodyguards asked of another, who had come in and was giving his dripping cloak to one of the King's lackeys.

"They are mostly asleep, on the Place. It is all over hillocks of rags."

"In the rain?"

"So it seems; it does not wet that sort."

"They must be hungry."

"Not at all. They have each his or her bottle of drink; besides, they roasted and ate our comrade's horse that they shot by the light of their bonfire. It was looking on at a cannibal's feast to see them dancing round it, men and women."

"More so had it been an ass's carcase, perhaps."

"Say a wolf's. If there is a breed of human wolves, I have had it proved to me to-night. The difference between these and the kind in the Menagerie is that it is we who are within the bars."

"You need not offer the breed as a novelty; I saw plenty of them at Eaux Tranquilles."

The speakers were Grancey and Germain. The Baron's face was full of indignation; Lecour's of platonic contempt.

The door of the Hall of the King's Guards opened, and the sentinels saluted for a Duke, while the Prince of Luxembourg entered. The Guards who were awake aroused their comrades. All sprang to their arms and saluted.

"Gentlemen," said the Prince, "you will be glad to know that his Majesty has such trust in your faithfulness that he is sleeping as quietly as usual."

A shout of "Vive le Roi!" arose.

The Prince withdrew. From the opposite door--that of the Hall of the Queen, now came out Monsieur d'Aguesseau, Mayor of the Guard, who was making the disposition of sentries.

The contingent, who were still standing, turned to him with looks of anxiety, and Lecour, as spokesman for the rest, said respectfully--

"How sleeps the Queen?"

"Her Majesty, alas! does not sleep. She starts up continually, haunted by the foul insults of yesterday and the immense unmerited hatred of the people of France. What a load for a woman to bear!"

The cry of "Vive la Reine!" which had been ready went forth only as a low murmur.

"Gentlemen," said d'Aguesseau, "our duty may be grave before long. General Lafayette has, it is true, assumed the external defence of the Palace with the National Guard of Paris. At the same time, we must remember that that Guard are now scattered among the churches of the town and fast asleep, while the invaders are a countless multitude at our doors, and we but a handful. On us depend, as on a thread, the lives of our King and Queen and of all these helpless persons of the household. Remember, sirs, that your time to die, the soldier's hour of glory, may now have come."

A shoot of "Vive le Roi!" from every throat was again the response. It echoed through the windows across the Court of Marble and down the Great Staircase. It was memorable as the last loyal cry of the household of Versailles.

"The hour has arrived to change guard," Mayor d'Aguesseau went on. "Will you, Monsieur de Lincy, take command in the Hall of the Queen?"

D'Aguesseau passed on to inspect the precautions at other points of the Palace.

No sooner had he left than the men disposed themselves with serious faces for active work. A sympathetic feeling of devotion displayed itself. Suddenly Des Huttes, the best voice in the company of Noailles, struck up solemnly that tender reminiscence from the opera of "Richard Coeur de Lion"--

"Oh, Richard, oh my King, the world forsaketh thee,"

and the Bodyguards, overcome with emotion, one and all stood still with bended heads.

It was then about three o'clock.

In four hours' more the French Monarchy was to fall and the ancient _régime_ to pass like a dream. The east wind dashed a terrible gust of rain against the windows and shook their panes like a summons.

* * * * *

"Oh, Richard, oh my King, the world forsaketh thee," haunted Germain as he paced the Hall of the Queen's Guards. Recent political events connected with the drawing up of a national constitution, and the hunger of the poor, which they naturally blamed on those in power, had, he knew, raised deep animosity towards Louis XVI. and the Queen. Her thoughtless life of gaiety in past days, and the greedy demands of her friends the Polignacs, had made her particularly the mark of venomous hate. As d'Aguesseau said, "what a load for a woman to bear!" The thought raised in Lecour the deepest pity. Opposite him was the door of the first antechamber, called the Grand Couvert, where had posted Varicourt, and within it some dozen others. There Varicourt stood, handsome and elegantly uniformed, at that beautiful door in that fine hall. Yet behind all this elegance what misery! The Canadian could not suppress the vision of the tortured Queen starting out of her sleep in her chamber a few paces away. This suffering woman was in his charge--he must be loyal to her and lay down his life before hers should be taken. Well, he had faced death before--it had not yet quite come to that; but he would be loyal and true. Oh, if he could only cross for a few minutes to the Noailles mansion and have a word with Cyrène. Was she in danger too? His heart ached with anxiety.

So the hours of the night passed.

A little before six, while he was resting on a bench and all seemed quiet, he suddenly heard shouting. He was startled, for it was much nearer than the Place d'Armes. Yes, there was no doubt of it; he heard a pistol-shot close by, and at the same time he sprang to his feet. There was a simultaneous stir in the Great Hall of the Guards, and de Varicourt, at the entrance to the Queen's antechamber, rapidly drew his sword. So did du Repaire, sentinel at the door to the Marble Staircase.

Germain ordered Miomandre de Ste. Marie, another faithful Guardsman, who was posted at the door of the Great Hall, to go down the Marble Staircase and bring back a report of the trouble.

It afterwards appeared that the two of Lafayette's Paris militiamen posted at the outer gateway had betrayed their trust and let in the mob of viragoes and armed brigands who pressed for admittance early in the morning. Now commenced a season of terror in the Palace.

No sooner had Miomandre reached the head of the staircase, and Lecour looked after him out of the open door, than they both saw the court below alive with a lashing ocean of pikes and furious faces.

The two Swiss sentinels who kept the foot of the staircase had managed to check the rush, and for a moment the brigands checked themselves to get each a hack at an object they had thrown down. Lecour saw instantly that this object was a man--a Bodyguard--who, as with a tremendous effort he threw off his assailants and stood up, the streams of blood pouring over his face, he recognised as poor Des Huttes. Germain's first impulse was to bound down the steps to his rescue--but discipline did its work and checked him. Should he leave his post, what would become of the Queen? Des Huttes during the moment of this quick reflection, was brained from behind by a man in a red cap, and fell, pierced with countless pike-wounds. His eyes still moved when the rag-picker Gougeon ran in, and, placing his foot on the chest, chopped the head from the body with blows of an axe. In an instant it was stuck on the point of a pike and triumphantly carried away.

Lecour, his brain on fire, drew back and steadied himself to retain presence of mind.

An instant after he could hear the roar of the mob as it surged up and the voice of Miomandre shouting to them, "My friends, you love your King."

They rushed on Miomandre and tried to kill him as they had done Des Huttes; but he was quick, and springing to the embrasure of a window, defended himself, while the yelling booty-seekers, athirst for easier-seized treasures, turned to press forward into the apartment of the Queen. The attack came quickly, but Germain shut the door in time and locked it, and thanks to the perfect make of the lock its bolt held out against the onset. That could not long be, however, as he knew the panels must give way before their axes.

"Stand firm, du Repaire!" he cried, and ran across the hall to where de Varicourt was guarding the door of the Queen's antechamber. Before passing in, he grasped the hand of the devoted Bodyguard, who understood that his hour had come, crossed himself, and answered with a look of unalterable devotion.

Germain closed the door of the antechamber lovingly and regretfully, locked and bolted it.

The howling pack were but a few minutes in breaking in. He could hear their shouts of triumph and the shameless cries of the women against Marie Antoinette.

Astonished at finding themselves in the inside of the Palace, the first comers were dumbfounded, but a red-nosed beggar in a red cap immediately sprang towards de Varicourt, shouting, "This way to the Austrian!"

"Vive la Nation!" roared men who were looting the tapestry from the benches.

"Death to the Sow!" was the shriek of Wife Gougeon.

"Death to the aristocrat!" shouted the Admiral with a devilish laugh, leading the rush on de Varicourt.

The latter defended himself with all his strength, first with his clubbed musket, then with his sword. For some seconds he kept the murderers at bay, and it seemed to du Repaire, looking eagerly across the hall, that after all the impossible might be accomplished, and the valour of his comrade stem the accursed horde. To no purpose. As he turned like lightning to deliver a thrust to the left, a blow from a billhook on the right crushed his skull; he dropped, and his bleeding body was instantly robbed and dragged out to the Place d'Armes.

Meanwhile du Repaire, inspired by the heroic conduct of de Varicourt, took advantage of the momentary diversion to slip across and occupy his fallen comrade's post. The assailants, some of the boldest of whom had suffered from de Varicourt's sword, were astonished and daunted by the sight of another Bodyguard in the same place.

"_Canaille!_ we know how to die!" he cried, and stood ready to strike the first on-comer.

"So do we!" cried the Admiral, and struck at him, but tripped and was pulled back.

"Save yourself, du Repaire, if you can," commanded Germain from within the door.

Seizing the moment's confusion, du Repaire sprang through the weakest part of the semicircle around him, and scattering the tramps in the rest of the hall before him, reached the door of the Great Hall of the Guards opposite, not without several wounds. The door was fortunately opened and Grancey, who opened it, emptied his pistol into the foremost pursuer and killed him, obtaining time to lock and bolt again.

The crowning instance of the spirit of the Bodyguard was now given. Miomandre de Ste Marie, who had sheltered himself from the first rush of the mob in the window embrasure at the head of the staircase, seeing the crowd rush after du Repaire, and not knowing of the command to abandon the post, sped over and stationed himself in the same position. Meanwhile, during the few minutes in which all this took place, Germain had opened the door of the Queen's drawing-room and said quietly to a lady of honour, "Save the Queen; they want to kill her." The ladies of honour bolted the drawing-room door, hurried to the Queen, hastily dressed her, opened a secret door in a panel near her bed, and hurried her by a passage to the chamber of the King.

Miomandre, meanwhile, was attacked like Varicourt and du Repaire. Knocked down from behind with the butt of a musket, he would have been despatched but for the scramble of the Galley men to rob his body of his watch, and by the diversion of the rage of the crowd against his companions shut in the Great Hall.

While Ste Marie lay insensible, those in the Great Hall were actively piling up benches against the door and removing the stacks of arms to the Oeil de Boeuf, which adjoined it, and where they proposed to make their next stand in the way to the apartments of the King. The Count of Guiche and the Prince of Luxembourg worked like the rest, and just as the door crashed through the last of the weapons were brought into the Oeil de Boeuf and its entrance closed. The Hall of the Courtiers seemed to receive the unusual invasion with the inperturbability of a courtier. One scene of bustling life appeared to suit it as well as another, even though death were so near to follow. The little reserve were drawn up in order, determined to fight it out there together.

And now a long, low sound was heard in the distance. It approached, and as it grew the shouts of rage in the Great Hall ceased, and a roar of scuttling feet was heard. Lafayette's National Guard were approaching, and as the serried lines, advancing at the double, reached the Court of Marble, their drum-beats suddenly burst into a thunderous roll, and the Court, the staircase, and the halls were cleared of the cowardly rabble.

Such was the glorious defence of the Bodyguard. And so the Queen was saved.

The Queen was saved; the King was saved; the household was saved--at least for the present--but the monarchy was lost.

His Majesty left Versailles at one o'clock. The Queen, the Dauphin, Madame Royale, Monsieur, Madame Elizabeth, the King's sister and Madame de Tourzel, governess of the children of France, were in his Majesty's carriage.

A hundred deputies of the Assembly in their carriages came next. The advance guard, which was formed of a detachment of the brigands, set out two hours earlier. In front of them Hache and Motte danced in triumph, carrying the pallid heads of Des Huttes and de Varicourt aloft on their pikes.

They stopped a moment at Sèvres in front of the shop of an unfortunate hairdresser. They caught hold of the latter and forced him to dress the gory heads; a task which made the poor man a hopeless maniac the same evening.

The bulk of the Paris National Guard followed them closely. The King's carriage was preceded by Wife Gougeon and the fishwomen and a rabble of prostitutes, the vile refuse of their sex, all raving with fury and wine.

Several rode astride upon cannon, boasting in the most horrible songs of the crimes they had committed themselves or seen others commit. Those who were nearest the carriage sang ballads, the allusions in which, by means of their gestures, they applied to the Queen. In the paroxysms of their drunken merriment these women stopped passengers, and pointing to the carriage, howled in their ears, "Cheer up, friends, we shall no longer be in want of bread; we bring the baker, the baker's wife, and the baker's boy."

They pointed to waggons which followed, full of corn and flour, which had been brought into Versailles, and formed a train, escorted by Grenadiers and surrounded by women and bullies, some armed with pikes and some carrying long branches of poplar. This favourite part of the _cortège_ looked at some distance like a moving grove, amidst which shone pike-heads and gun-barrels. Above and in front of the motley procession which accompanied them, mounted high on one of the waggons, rode Death himself, so the spectators thought, grinning, triumphing, and directing the whole, in the shape of the skull-like countenance of the Admiral of the Galley-on-Land.

Behind his Majesty's carriage were the remnant of the Bodyguard, some on foot and some on horseback, most of them uncovered, all unarmed, and worn out with hunger and fatigue. The Dragoons, the Flanders regiment, the Hundred Swiss and the National Guards, preceded, accompanied, or followed the file of carriages.

Lecour, weak with the night's anxiety and the frightful disappointment of the day, had scarcely strength to drag himself along between two Grenadiers, who from time to time supported him, and one of whose great hairy caps he wore as a token of fraternity. All at once hell seemed to have risen about him. He heard a united yell from many savage throats, and saw a ring of red-capped brutes lunging and striking at himself, and a little woman-fiend sprang at his breast and buried something sharp in it.

The last thing of which he was conscious was the satanic revengefulness of her eyes.