"Since the Revolution I have forbidden myself any correspondence abroad and I have never meddled at home."
But it was not true. I was lying. I had sent out my appeals to Axel. I had written to Barnave and Mercy.
Oh, yes, they would prove me guilty, for I was guilty in their eyes.
"It was you who taught Louis Capet the art of profound dissimulation by which he so long deceived the good French people."
I closed my eyes and shook my head.
"When you left Paris in June 1791, you opened the doors and made everyone leave. There is no doubt that it was you who ruled the actions of Louis Capet and persuaded him to flight."
"I do not think that an open door proves that one is constantly ruling a person"s actions."
"Never for one moment have you ceased wanting to destroy liberty. You wanted to reign at any price and reascend the throne over the bodies of patriots."
"We had no need to reascend the throne. We were already there. We have never wished for anything but France"s happiness. As long as she was happy, as long as she is so, we shall always be satisfied."
"Do you think a King necessary for a people"s happiness?" "An individual cannot decide such matters."
"No doubt you regret that your son has lost a throne to which he might have mounted if the people, finally conscious of their rights, had not destroyed the throne?"
"I shall never regret anything for my son when his country is happy."
The questions continued. They asked about the Trianon. Who had paid for the Trianon?
"There was a special fund for the Trianon. I hope that everything connected with it will be made public, for I believe it to be greatly exaggerated."
"It was at the Pet.i.t Trianon that you first met Madame de la Motte."
"I never met her."
"But did you not make her your scapegoat in the fraud of the diamond necklace?"
"I never met her."
It was then I believed I was living in a nightmare ... that I had died and gone to h.e.l.l. I could not believe that I heard correct.
What were these monsters saying about my son? They were accusing us of incest. My own child! A boy of eight! I could not believe it. This Hebert ... this monster ... this crude man of the streets was telling this court that I had taught my son immoral practices ... that I had ... But I cannot write it. It is too painful; too horrible ... too fantastically absurd!
My son had admitted it, they said. We had indulged in these practices ... he and I and Elisabeth ... His saintly Aunt Elisabeth and I his mother!
I was staring ahead of me. I saw the boy playing in the yard ... my boy who was in the hands of these wicked men. I saw the dirty red cap on his head; I heard the coa.r.s.e words in his mouth; I heard him singing the ca Ira in his childish voice.
They had forced this confession from him. They had taught him what to say. They had ill-treated him, made him agree to what he could not understand. He was eight years old and I was his mother. I loved him. I had lost my lover and my husband - and my boy was my life. Yet they had taught him to say these things of me ... and his aunt who had taught him to say his prayers.
I heard only s.n.a.t.c.hes of the report. I heard them say that they had confronted him with his sister, with his aunt, and that naturally these two had denied the accusations. It was natural, they said, that these people who were capable of such unnatural actions should.
His Aunt Elisabeth had called him a monster.
Oh, Elisabeth, I thought, my dear Elisabeth, what did you think of my boy?
I had believed when they took him from me that I had touched the depth of despair. Now I knew that I had not done so then. There was more to be suffered. This!
Horror possessed me. What had they done to my child to make him say this? They had ill-treated him ... starved him, beaten him. He, the King of France, my love, my darling!
Hebert - surely these people only had to look at him to understand that he was a degraded creature - was looking at me slyly. How he hated me! I remember how he had regarded me when we had first come into his power. Devil! I thought. You are not fit to live on this earth. Oh, G.o.d, save my child from such men.
I felt that I was going to faint. I fixed my eyes on the candles, trying to steady myself. And then I was conscious of what I so often encountered in my prisons ... the sympathy of women. There were mothers in this courtroom and they would understand how I was feeling. I was an enemy of the state, they believed; I was haughty, arrogant, and I had frittered away the finances of France ... but I was a mother and they knew I loved my son. I felt those women in the courtroom would vindicate me.
Even Hebert was aware. He was growing a little uneasy.
He did not believe that this disgustingly immoral conduct was indulged in for the sake of immorality. It was solely for the purpose of weakening my son"s health so that when he became King, I should govern him, that I should be able to dominate him and rule through him.
I could only look at this man with the contempt and loathing I felt. I could not see those women in the court, but I knew they were there and I felt that they were with me. Perhaps they were those who had cried Antoinette a la lanterne, but I was not a Queen now, I was a mother, accused by a man with brutality written all over his face. And they did not believe him.
They believed the stories of my lovers; but they would not believe this.
I heard someone say: "The prisoner makes no comment on this accusation."
I heard my voice loud and clear echoing through the court.
"If I have made no reply, it is because nature refuses to answer such a charge brought against a mother. I appeal to all the mothers present in this court."
I sensed the excitement, the murmurs of anger.
"Take the prisoner away," was the order.
Back to my cell.
Rosalie was waiting for me. She tried to make me eat, but I could not. She made me lie down.
She told me later that she had heard Robespierre was furious with Hebert for bringing the charge against me. It was false. Everyone knew it was false. No one doubted my love for my son. Robespierre was afraid that had I stayed in that courtroom, the women would have risen against my judges and demanded my freedom, that my son be given back to me.
"Oh, Madame, Madame," sobbed Rosalie and she knelt by my bed and wept bitterly.
I was taken back to the court. I listened to an account of my sins. I had plotted with foreign powers; I had led my husband into wrongdoing; I had squandered the country"s money on Trianon and my favorites; the Polignacs were mentioned; but nothing was said of that other vile charge.
Then the questions were put to the jurors: Was it established that there were intrigues and secret dealings with foreign powers and other external enemies of the Republic, which intrigues and secret dealings aimed at giving them momentary a.s.sistance enabling them to enter French territory and facilitating the progress of their armies there?
Was I convicted of having cooperated in these intrigues?
Was it established that there was a plot and a conspiracy to start civil war with the Republic?
Was Marie Antoinette, widow of Louis Capet, convicted of taking part in this plot and conspiracy?
I was taken to a small room close to the Grande Chambre while the jury decided, but the verdict was a foregone conclusion.
At length, it came. I was guilty and I should be punished by death.
I sit in my room writing. There is little more to be said.
First I must write to Elisabeth. I think of what my son has said of her and, knowing her chaste mind, I understand well how shocked she will be. I must make her try to understand.
I take up my pen.
"It is to you, sister, that I write for the last time. I have just been condemned, not to a shameful death, for it is shameful only for criminals, but to rejoin your brother. Like him, innocent, I hope to display the same firmness as he did in his last moments. I am calm as one is when one"s conscience holds no reproach. I deeply regret having to abandon my poor children. You know that I lived only for them and for you, my good sister. In what a situation do I leave you, who for your affection sacrificed everything to be with us ..."
I went on to write of my dear daughter, whom I had heard had been separated from her. I wanted her to help her brother if that were possible ... And I must write of my son to Elisabeth. I must try to make her understand.
"... I have to mention something which pains my heart. I know how much distress this child must have caused you. Forgive him, my dear sister. Remember his age and how easy it is to make a child say anything you want, even something he does not understand. The day will come, I hope, when he will be the more conscious of the worth of your goodness and tenderness ..."
The tears were blinding me and I could write no more, but later I would take up my pen and finish.
The time is almost upon me.
The cart will come for me. They will cut my hair; they will tie my hands behind my back; and I shall ride through the streets along the well-known route which so many of my friends of the old day have traveled ... as Louis went before me, through streets where I once rode in my carriage drawn by white horses, where Monsieur de Brissac had told me two hundred thousand Frenchmen were in love with me ... through the Rue Saint-Honore, where Madame Bertin might be watching, to the Place de la Revolution and the monster guillotine.
They will shout at me as they have so many times before, and I shall be thinking of my life as I ride. I shall not see the streets with those shouting gesticulating crowds all calling for my blood. I shall think of Louis gone before me, of Axel, grieving somewhere ... oh, but do not mourn too bitterly, my love, for I shall be past my pains. I shall be thinking of my boy and praying that he will not suffer too great a remorse. My darling ... it is nothing. I forgive you ... You did not know what you said.
So now I wait and pray that during this last ride I shall be a true daughter of my mother. I shall face death with the courage she would have wished.
There is no time to write more. They are coming.
A great calm has descended on me. There is one thing of which I am certain. The worst is over; I have suffered the greatest pain. What remains is the last sharp stroke which will bring deliverance.
I am ready. And I am not afraid. It is to live that requires courage - not to die.
Marie Antoinette on her way to the guillotine in an open cart. She wears a white dress, has hands tied behind her back and hair shorn. Pen and ink by Jacques-Louis David, 16 October 1793. (Departement des Estampes, Bibliotheque nationale de France, Paris) Marie Antoinette died at the guillotine on October 16 1793 aged 38. Sanson, the executioner, is showing Marie Antoinette"s head to the people. (Anonymous, 1793. Musee Carnavalet, Paris) Glossary List of mostly French place-names, words and phrases used in this book. The first use in the main text links to these pages; similarly most of the links here should take you to the first use of the term in the text.
a to, in, at, with, by, upon, like, in the style of; a la Dauphine: in the style of the Dauphine.
a bas down with; a bas Antoinette: down with Antoinette.
a la lanterne to the lamp post. Mobs used lamp posts to perform extemporized lynchings and executions in the streets, with officials and aristocrats the usual targets.
accouchement delivery of a baby.
accoucheur a person who a.s.sists during childbirth; midwife or obstetrician.
Allons, enfants de la Patrie ... see La Ma.r.s.eillaise.
Almanach de Liege Almanac of Liege, a Belgium city.
Amours de Charlot et "Toinette The love life of Charlie and Antoinette, probably fict.i.tious.
Arethusa the British HMS Arethusa (1759) was a 32-gun ship captured from the French Navy in 1759.
au to, until, with.
Autrichienne Austrian b.i.t.c.h (chienne is a female dog).
aventure du fiacre the carriage adventure. A fiacre is a form of hackney coach, a horse-drawn four-wheeled carriage for hire. The modern equivalent is a taxi.
Barbier de Seville The Barber of Seville (play), 1773 by Pierre Beaumarchais.
bas bleu a woman with good scholarly, literary, or intellectual ability.
Bastille medieval fortress and prison in the center of Paris representing royal authority. The prison contained just seven inmates at the time of its storming on the morning of 14 July 1789, but was a symbol of the abuse of the monarchy; its fall was the flashpoint of the French Revolution.
Belle Poule a French 26-gun frigate (1765), famous for her duel against the English frigate HMS Arethusa on 17 June 1778, which started the French intervention in the American War of Independence.
berlin originating in Berlin, a light four wheeled covered carriage with two interior seats. With an improved suspension, it was lighter and less likely to overturn.
blond cendre ash blond; very pale yellow, almost white.
bon good, fine.
bonsoir good evening; h.e.l.lo or goodbye in the evening.
bouilli boiled or stewed meat; beef boiled with vegetables to form a stew.
Bourbon a royal dynasty or House of French origin that began in the 1500s. As well as France with the Louis lineage, Bourbons have also held thrones in Spain, Naples, Sicily, and Parma.
bundle person of low status, loser.
ca Ira revolutionary song written to commemorate the capture of the Bastille. In contrast to La Ma.r.s.eillaise which was directed at external enemies such as Austria, this song was directed against internal enemies: the aristocracy and royalty. The celebration (and song writing) took place two years after the fall of Bastille, on July 14 1790 when it poured with rain: Ah, it"ll be fine, be fine, be fine, Despite the aristocrats and rain We are soaked, but it will end It"ll be fine, be fine, be fine canaille villain(s).
Cardinal sur la paille Cardinal on the straw, half red and half yellow.
carrabas c.u.mbersome coach drawn by eight horses; the modern equivalent is a bus.
chambre bedroom, chamber, hall or room; house or cabinet (of a government).
chansonneurs singers (male).
chateau (pl. chateaux) a large French country house or castle.
cheveux de la Reine the Queen"s hair.
Choisy chateau overlooking the river Seine, about 11km from Paris and a royal residence often visited by Marie Antoinette.
chou d"amour term of endearment, poppet; literally "love-cabbage"
citadine small carriage, typically drawn by two horses with driver seated outside.
collets montes straight-laced, prissy.
comme un ange like an angel.