Just then the door opened and the king entered.
"Sire," said the queen, as she advanced to meet him, "help me to persuade these noble friends that they ought to leave us!"
"The queen is right," said Louis, sadly, "they must go at once. Our misfortune compels us to part with all who love and esteem us. I have just said farewell to my brother, now I say the same to you; I command you to go. Pity us, but do not lose a minute's time. Take your children and your servants with you. Reckon at all times upon me. We shall meet again in happier days, after our dangers are past, and then you shall both resume your old places. Farewell! Once more I command you to go!" [Footnote: The king's own words. This intense parting scene is strictly historical, according to the concurrent communications of Montjoie in his "Histoire de Marie Antoinette."
Campan, Mem., ii. Weber, Mem., i.]
And as the king perceived that the tears were starting into his eyes, and that his voice was trembling, he silently bowed to his friends, and hastily withdrew.
"You have heard what the king commands," said Marie Antoinette, eagerly, "and you will not venture to disobey him. Hear also this: I too, the Queen of France, command you to take your departure this very hour."
The duke bowed low before the queen, who stood with pale cheeks, but erect, and with a noble air.
"Your majesty has commanded, and it becomes us to obey. We shall go."
The duchess sank, with a loud cry of grief, on her knee before the queen, and buried her face in the royal robe.
Marie Antoinette did not disturb her, did not venture to speak to her, for she knew that, with the first word which she should utter, the pain of her heart would find expression on her lips, and she would be composed; she would not let her friend see how severe the sacrifice was which her love compelled her to make.
"Let me remain with you," implored the duchess, "do not drive me from you, Marie, my Marie!"
The queen turned her great eyes upward, and her looks were a prayer to God to give her power and steadfastness. Twice then she attempted to speak, twice her voice refused to perform its duty, and she remained silent, wrestling with her grief, and at last overcoming it.
"Julia," she said--and with every word her voice became firmer and stronger--" Julia, we must part. I should be doubly unhappy to draw you and yours into my misfortunes; it will, in all my troubles, be a consolation to me, that I have been able to save you. I do not say, as the king did, that we shall meet again in happier days, and after our perils are past--for I do not believe in any more happy days--we shall not be able to survive those perils, but shall perish in them.
I say, farewell, to meet not in this, but in a better world! Not a word more. I cannot bear it! Your queen commands you to go at once!
Farewell!"
She extended her hand firmly to her, but she could not look at her friend, who lay at her feet weeping and choking; she saluted the duke with a mere wave of the hand, turned quickly away, and hastened into the adjoining room, and then on till she reached her own toilet-room, where Madame de Campan was awaiting her.
"Campan," she cried, in tones of anguish, "Campan, it is done! I have lost my friend! I shall never see her again. Close the door, draw the bolt, that she cannot come in, I--I shall die!" And the queen uttered a loud cry, and sank in a swoon.
At midnight two well-packed carriages drove out of the inner courts of the palace. They were the Polignacs; they were leaving France, to take refuge in Switzerland.
In the first carriage was the Duchess de Polignac, with her husband and her daughter. She held two letters in her hand. Campan had given her both, in the name of the queen, as she was stepping into the carriage.
One was directed to Minister Necker, who, after his dismissal, had withdrawn to Basle. Since the National Assembly, the clubs, the whole population of Paris, desired Necker's return, and declared him to be the only man who could restore the shattered finances of the country; the queen had persuaded her husband to recall the minister, although an opponent of hers, and appoint him again minister of finance. The letter of the queen, which the Duchess Julia was commissioned to give to Necker, contained his recall, announced to him in flattering words.
The second letter was a parting word from the queen to her friend, a last cry from her heart. "Farewell," it ran--" farewell, tenderly-loved friend! How dreadful this parting word is! But it is needful.
Farewell! I embrace thee in spirit! Farewell!"
