Confessions of Marie Antoinette by Juliet Grey Read Free Book Online Page B

fact that they have demanded in great detail various parts of my body as though I were a calf they were driving to the slaughterhouse.
    And so I sink to my knees in a deep court curtsy, inclining my head in a show of profound humility. The roar diminishes to a murmur. And when I rise, I lay my arms across my bosom and raise my eyes heavenwards, offering a prayer to God to spare my husband and children as well as myself. Out of the corner of my eye I spy a man in the crowd raising a musket to his shoulder and peering over the barrel. I can even see him squint as he takes aim at my breast and I pray with greater fervor. The crowd falls silent. Will this would-be assassin pull the trigger?
    But when the moment comes, he cannot bring himself to commit regicide in the presence of thousands of witnesses; he is unprepared to become a martyr to the Revolution.
    It seems to take an eternity, but he lowers his musket. My armpits are wet with perspiration. For another few moments the mob remains hushed, but then the spell is broken by one, then two, then a chorus of ragged cries of “Vive la reine!” Soon the courtyard reverberates with resounding applause. I shut my eyes and thank heaven, and a moment later, am sensible of someone beside me. Lafayette has stepped through the doorway onto the balcony. Withtremendous deference he makes a great show of raising my hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it as the approbation continues.
    “Madame,” he murmurs, for my ears alone, “what are Your Majesty’s personal intentions?”
    I am no fool. “I know the fate that awaits me,” I reply softly. “But my duty is to die at the king’s feet and in the arms of my children.”
    With one hand the general raises my arm to indicate that we are united, while with his other, he calls for silence. “Men and women of France, the queen has been deceived,” he tells them. At this, one cannot hear so much as a hairpin fall. “But she promises that she shall be misled no longer. She promises to love her people and to be attached to them as Jesus Christ was to His Church.”
    The applause crescendos again, to cries of “Vive la reine! Vive le général!”
    My cheeks are now wet with tears. The people think they are tears of shame.
    But before the clapping peters out, a lone voice shouts, “The king to Paris!” Within seconds, dozens of others have taken up the call, transforming it into a chant, and once more I am frightened. “To Paris! To Paris!” they cry. His hand on my elbow, Lafayette guides me inside. The crowd’s admiration is so fleeting that shots are once again being fired from the courtyard. I shudder and look to Louis to see what he thinks we should do next, but he is deep in conversation with Monsieur Necker. Necker’s wife and daughter Germaine, Madame de Staël, are in the king’s bedchamber as well, witnesses to the scene on the balcony just now.
    I approach Madame Necker. “They are going to force us to go to Paris with the heads of Messieurs Deshuttes and de Varicourt on pikes at the head of the procession, just to prove that our bodyguards are useless. We are prisoners of the people, now.” I glance at the Provences, Monsieur and Madame. For they, too, will be compelledto accompany us to the capital; if the mob is to be appeased, the entire royal family must depart Versailles. Marie Joséphine looks terrified, her complexion more green than usual. But my beau-frère ’s sangfroid is admirable, unless of course he has no reason to be afraid.
    The comte de Saint-Priest is shaking his head. If only we had fled to Rambouillet as he had urged, we would not be in such a predicament.
    Out of Général Lafayette’s earshot, Louis confides in his family. “I feel we must go,” my husband says heavily, his voice barely above a whisper. “Although I have never been fond of wagering, if I were to stake one bet this day it would be that my cousin has something to do with this attack. If I—if we —do not acquiesce to