The family was homeless now. The Tuileries was unfit for human habitation.
Where should they go now?
It was decided that the Temple, that medieval palace which had once sheltered the Knights Templar, should be their home.
Antoinette cried out in protest when she heard. She had always hated the place. But it was not for her to protest. She must be grateful that a shelter was provided for her, grateful that she and her family were alive to need it.
The rioting had died down, and carriages were brought to the Assembly Hall. The postilions no longer wore the royal livery and their hats were decorated with the tricolor.
The carriage made a slow journey from the Assembly Hall to the Temple, the crowds shouting after it as it crawled along.
And so they came to the new home – ancient and gloomy, a more fearful prison than that of the Tuileries.
Chapter XV
THE KING ON TRIAL
Those who had been set to guard the King and Queen found it impossible to dislike them.
The Queen’s aloofness, her determination to show no fear, aroused their respect. As for Louis, how could they call this man a tyrant when he was so gentle?
In the Temple they saw him accept the life of an ordinary man. He never complained; he ate heartily, took his exercise in the grounds, and was often seen walking in the courtyard with the Dauphin, the little boy’s hand in his.
Watching the King and his son together they saw how human was this man, how indulgent, how unselfish. He would abandon himself to the Dauphin’s game, and when he taught the boy how to fly his kite, it would seem that the most important task possible was the maintenance of that kite. They would measure the distance with their steps in the courtyards, and the Dauphin’s shrill voice could be heard consulting with his father.
It was impossible for ordinary human beings to hate this man or see him as a tyrant, except when they were intoxicated by wine or the words of violent revolutionaries.
When they first arrived at the Temple certain alterations had been allowed to be made in the place for their comfort. Four rooms were made into the King’s suite and another four were refurnished for the use of the Queen, Madame Elisabeth, Madame Royale and the Dauphin.
But although the Assembly had saved the lives of the royal family they wished them to understand that Court life, as they had once known it at Versailles, was over. They accordingly removed the Princesse de Lamballe and Madame de Tourzel to another prison. The royal family must live simply.
Antoinette had been greatly saddened at parting with these two. Marie de Lamballe had been her great friend for so long that it seemed an unnecessary hardship to do without her now.
‘It would seem,’ said Antoinette, on bidding farewell to her friend, ‘that they look about them and say “What would hurt her deeply?” And they do that. There are times when I am terrified … terrified of the future.’
She had had a strand of her hair put into a ring, and the inscription engraved on it: ‘A tress whitened by misfortune.’
‘Keep it, dearest Marie,’ she said, ‘in memory of me.’
Now they must live simply, as humble people, the King adapted himself with ease; so did Madame Elisabeth. She had always wanted the quiet life and had often thought of going into a nunnery. Life at the Temple, she told Antoinette, could not be unlike life at a convent.
‘All about a convent there is peace,’ said Antoinette. ‘All about the Temple there is terror.’
She gave herself up to her children – playing with them, teaching them. Sometimes, when they laughed at their play, she would laugh with them; but always she was straining her ears for those sounds in the streets which could grow to a roar; always she was waiting for the next terrifying ordeal.
Jacques Rene Hébert, Deputy Public Prosecutor of the Commune, was in charge of the Temple. He was the worst kind of revolutionary leader, inspired by no feelings but greed and envy. An unscrupulous criminal, he had been poor when the revolution began and had seen in it, as had so many, a means of profit and glory. Now he was a man of power. He had established his own newspaper Père Duchesne; and in this he vilified the monarchy.
As soon as he took charge of the Temple there was a subtle change in the place. No one dared show leniency towards the King or Queen for fear that in Hébert’s eyes they would be suspected of having royalist leanings.
He would watch the Queen whenever he could; she gave no one outside the Temple the opportunity of seeing her; she never ventured out; she could not endure the indignity of being shouted at by the mob.
Hébert, deeply sensual, could not keep his eyes from the Queen. For all her sufferings, she was still a beautiful woman; she had preserved her dainty charm; and the whiteness of her hair accentuated her fine clear skin even as it had in the days of its golden beauty.
He showed her some civility and asked that he might speak with her.
He had tried to explain to her that the revolution was for the good of France.
‘I do not think,’ said Antoinette haughtily, ‘that you and I could agree on these matters.’
‘We could discuss them,’ Hébert had suggested.
‘I prefer not to,’ said the Queen.
She rose and left him staring after her with lustful eyes.
In his paper that day he asked why fat Louis and the Austrian strumpet should be allowed to live at the country’s expense. Was it not time for the employment of the national razor?
On a warm September day the people began pouring into the streets.
‘Have you heard? The enemies of France are advancing.’
‘The Prussians are across the border.’
‘Verdun has fallen. The Prussians swear that ere long they will be in Versailles to drink the health of the Austrian woman.’
‘It shall not be.’
‘Antoinette à la lanterne!’
They were mad with the lust for blood. They ran into their houses to snatch up weapons. They congregated in the Place du Carrousel and the Champs Elysées.
‘Citizens, to the lanterne with all these accursed aristocrats! It is they who have massed the world against us. Why should we wait, Citizens? Why should we wait?’
Their inhuman yells filled the streets as they marched together.
‘Allons, enfants de la patrie …’ they sang, and the words inspired them with greater lust to kill.
A crowd had assembled at La Force prison. ‘We want justice,’ they cried. ‘Bring out the prisoners. Let them be tried.’
They knew of one exalted prisoner in La Force prison. It was the Princesse de Lamballe.
They insisted on breaking into the prison and dragging her before the tribunal, which was presided over by Hébert.
He looked at the woman; the proud tilt of her head reminded him of the Queen, and a savage fury possessed him.
‘Are you acquainted with the plots of the Palace?’ he asked.
‘I know of no plot,’ answered the Princesse.
‘Swear to love liberty and equality. Swear to hate the King, Queen and royalty.’
The Princesse did not answer. Like an accursed aristocrat, thought Hébert, she stood, haughty and unmoved by his threats.
He shook her. ‘Swear … swear … if you value your life,’ he demanded.
‘I will take the first oath,’ she said coldly. ‘I could not take the second. I should merely lie if I did so.’
Hébert looked about the court; the mob was pushing its way into the room. He could put her in safe keeping or he could send her back to prison. The latter would be to send her to certain death – and violent horrible death – for the mob were waiting for her and they would spare her nothing.