“So what happened to Junot yesterday? Was he hurt at the Invalides?”
“No, My Lady. The Governor there didn’t resist. No one was hurt. The crowd took several pieces of cannon from the Invalides, but they were short of ammunition. So they went to the Bastille to find some. That’s where everything changed. The garrison of the Bastille fired at the crowd and killed more than a hundred people. Everyone said that the fortress couldn’t be stormed, but the brave French Guards directed the attack. It fell in half an hour.”
“So it is true. What about Junot?”
“Oh, My Lady, people were running in a panic right after the garrison of the Bastille started shooting at the crowd. That’s when he fell. He broke his leg. He was carried to his niece’s lodgings. Now he’s afraid you’ll be angry because he took advantage of your absence to join the crowd. He begs you not to dismiss him.”
I sighed. “At his age, a broken leg is no light matter. Yet he was fortunate. From what you say, he could have been shot dead. You may tell him that he is an old fool and should know better. Has he seen a surgeon?”
“Yes. He won’t be able to resume his service for a month at least. So Your Ladyship won’t turn him out then?”
“No, I will not.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, he’s mightily worried about My Lord. Of course, Madam, Junot is in your employ, but all the same…he would never lie to you, because you’re so kind a mistress. But if you could tell My Lord that Junot fell in the stairs or something like that, he’d be grateful to you till his last day.”
I could not help smiling. “Tell Junot not to worry.”
What Manon did not say was that, after the fall of the Bastille, its garrison was massacred and its Governor beheaded by the crowd. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if the Queen had not used her influence to deny Lauzun his appointment as Colonel of the French Guards. He was always liked by his men for his bravery and cheerful temper. If he had been Colonel of the French Guards instead of the Duke du Châtelet, he might have prevented their mutiny at that crucial time. The course of events turned on small things indeed. A woman’s spite was one of them.
The fall of the Bastille was the signal for the first wave of what would become known as the émigration. The Count d’Artois, the King’s youngest brother and most fierce opponent of the Revolution, and other princes of the royal blood, left France. So did the Duchess of Polignac, the Queen’s favourite, with her husband, lover, sister-in-law and pet priest in tow. She never saw her country again and died an exile four years later. I pity her for it, although she was no friend of mine, for it is a fate I now seem bound to share. I have tasted all of its bitterness.
On the 15th, Villers sent me a note informing me that he had returned to Paris with Lafayette and would join me in Vaucelles as soon as he could. At least he was alive. For how much longer I knew not.
Two days later at dusk, I heard the whinnying of a horse and the sound of hooves in the courtyard. I ran outside. Villers dismounted. I threw myself into his arms. He held my face in his hands and greedily kissed my cheeks, my lips, my eyes as if he could not feast enough on them. I had never seen him act in such a manner in front of the servants.
“Belle, my Belle,” he said, “I thought I would never see you again.”
“So did I. Oh, my love, I heard that you would be beheaded.”
He put his arm around my shoulders as we went inside.
“The King has capitulated,” said Villers. “He announced to the Assembly the withdrawal of all foreign regiments. Nothing will ever be the same, Belle. Bailly, the astronomer, now heads the city of Paris, with the title of Mayor, instead of that of Provost of the Merchants. The last Provost was shot dead by the insurgents after the fall of the Bastille. Lafayette has been put in command of the new National Guard. So many things have changed since I last saw you, my love.”
“So you are safe?”
“So it seems, at least for a while. The King went to Paris today. I saw him accept on the steps of the City Hall a tricolour cockade from the hands of Lafayette. The white, representing the Crown, is surrounded by the blue and red, the colours of Paris. Quite a powerful symbol: the monarchy besieged by the people of Paris.”
“These also happen to be the colours of the American flag,” I said.
“True, my Belle. It must be Lafayette’s idea. I believe the events went to his head, which is not the strongest part of his person. He must now fancy himself the George Washington of France.”
“Still, the fact that the King himself visited Paris is a hopeful sign. The city should be quieter now.”
“Carriages are still not allowed on the streets, but I pinned a tricolour cockade to my hat and had no trouble returning here on horseback. Yet order is not restored. I met with a mob carrying at the end of a pike the head of Bertier de Sauvigny, the King’s intendant in Paris, its mouth stuffed with hay. Of course, he had declared that the Parisians, if they were starving, could always eat grass. These words were not forgotten. The people of Paris are indeed hungry and angry.”
The demolition of the Bastille was decreed. I joined the crowds that hurried to visit the fortress while it was still standing. I did not approve of the violence that had followed its fall, but, as almost everyone in Paris, I rejoiced to see it destroyed. It was the symbol of the arbitrary detentions of the Old Regime, of the dreaded lettres de cachet. Outside the dismantled fortress, little temporary cafés, sheltered under striped tents, sprang up in the summer heat. The site had become a fashionable excursion in spite of the dust and noise of the demolition. I bought Aimée a game of dominos made from the old stones of the Bastille, which had been turned into all sorts of mementos.
The situation had quieted by the end of July, to the point where I deemed it safe to leave Vaucelles and join Villers in Versailles. Yet the strangest rumours were spreading through the countryside. It was widely believed that the Queen was conspiring with the local nobility to massacre the peasants. As a result, they attacked many châteaux during the summer of ’89, in what would be called la Grande Peur, “the Great Fear.”
Since the opening of the Estates General, I had caught sight of the Chevalier des Huttes from time to time in Versailles. We had barely spoken to each other since the duel between my brother and Villers. However, after crossing his path in the Palace, I began a conversation with him, awkward at first, but after a few minutes marked by some return of our former friendship. I knew that he did not wish to call on me in a house rented by Villers, and that Villers himself would not be any happier to know that I had received the Chevalier, so we agreed to meet in the salons of the Palace once a week.
The Chevalier remained staunchly loyal to his Queen. He expressed the point of view that the conduct of “my friends,” as he called Villers, Lauzun and the noblemen who had joined the Third Estate in June, was tantamount to treason. I did not conceal my difference of opinion. We therefore agreed to never talk about politics, since it was a subject of conversation unlikely to give either of us any kind of pleasure.
Around the end of July, we met again. I was impatient to hear whether there was any truth to the rumours of the Great Fear.
“Have you received any news from my brother?” I asked the Chevalier.
“You need not worry, My Lady. He is unharmed, although the peasants did attack Fontfreyde. They intended to burn the old deeds proving the existence of your family’s feudal rights. The Marquis, as could be expected, displayed great courage. Although he may not be popular with everyone, he has always known how to keep his vassals in their place. After he addressed them from the top of the outside staircase, they withdrew, their hats off, without causing any damage. Your sister, the Countess de Chavagnac, is also safe. The peasants also marched against the château of Saint-Hippolite, and her husband had a stroke during the attack. That scared the rabble away and saved the archives from destruction. I am sorry to report that he is not expected to live many weeks longer.”
I wondered how much sorro
w Madeleine would feel if she too became a widow.
“How sad,” I said. “What about Cénac?”
“Things did not go well there, Madam. The current Baron is not so well liked as your late husband. He was made to watch, with the Baroness at his side, while the château was ransacked, the furniture thrown out of the windows and the archives burnt. The peasants even molested him.”
It was with great relief that I learned of my brother’s and sister’s safety. Yet I pictured with some satisfaction the new Baron and Baroness de Peyre, pitchforks pointed at their stomachs, forced to watch the sacking of Cénac. My feelings, as usual, must have been easy to read.
“There is nothing amusing about it, Madam,” said the Chevalier, frowning. “If the audacity of the rabble is not checked, both in Paris and in the provinces, the country is doomed. The King has shown towards those responsible for the troubles an amazing leniency, which those scoundrels have interpreted as weakness.”
I opened my mouth to reply.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I know that we agreed never to discuss that question. Please accept my apologies.”
Madame de Gouville wrote me, for she found me a more reliable correspondent than her nephew, that most of Normandy had remained quiet and Dampierre had not been attacked.
“I have always been accommodating with my tenants, especially since the last harvest,” said Villers when I read him her letter. “Moreover, I can hardly be accused of being part of an aristocratic conspiracy. And my aunt has knit enough stockings for little peasants to have gained some measure of goodwill.”
The events of the following August are too well known to be related in detail here: during a late session on the night of the 4th and 5th, some of the Representatives of the nobility in the Assembly, led by the Viscount de Noailles, brother-in-law to Lafayette, proposed the abolition of the privileges of the old feudal society. The lords’ private courts of justice were abolished. Access to the judicial system was to be free. Judges would no longer purchase their functions but would now be appointed on the basis of merit. Commoners would no longer be barred from any profession or place, whether in the army, the civil service or the church.
My friends, as the Chevalier called them, were all part of that movement. The Representatives of the Clergy likewise renounced its tithes. The members of the National Assembly had embraced in the middle of general rejoicing. When Villers came home after one in the morning and told me what had happened at the Assembly, I threw my arms around his neck and together we cried with joy. Everything seemed possible. A new era of happiness and liberty was opening before the Nation. Those who have not lived through such changes cannot imagine the headiness of those days.
The Assembly proceeded to draft a Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen, which was to inspire two years later the American Bill of Rights. It spelled out the right to resist oppression, the freedom from arbitrary arrest and detention, the presumption of innocence in criminal proceedings, the freedom of religion, the freedom of opinion and the equality of all before the law. I know that it is fashionable, now that France has been, for fifteen years, suffering under the yoke of Bonaparte’s tyranny, to denigrate the legacy of the Revolution and the merits of its first Assembly, but the night of the 4th of August and the adoption of the Declaration of Rights remain unmatched achievements. They still make me, although I have not been allowed to set foot in my country in twenty years, proud to be French.
The Queen, however, made no mystery of her distaste for the new ideas. On the 25th of August was celebrated the holiday of Saint-Louis, the King’s ancestor and patron saint. Upon that occasion, Their Majesties traditionally received the good wishes of the City of Paris, represented by its Provost. Of course, there was no more Provost since the fall of the Bastille six weeks earlier, but it had been decided that the Queen would greet delegations from both the National Guard and the new Municipality of Paris, led by its Mayor.
This ceremony was held in the Salon of the Nobles, the green room where I had been presented. The Queen, covered with diamonds from head to toe, had taken her place on a throne raised on a dais. I, in my best white Court dress, was standing behind the Duchess, who sat on a stool. An usher announced: “The City of Paris!” Bailly, the new Mayor, made his entrance. I was surprised to observe that, instead of kneeling before the throne, as was required by the etiquette, he made a deep bow. Curious to see the Queen’s reaction, I watched her. Her face was frozen, but her entire body was shaking. After introducing the members of the Municipality, who also bowed, Bailly made a short speech in which he assured the Queen of the devotion of her subjects. She did not make any gesture or utter any word in response.
Then it was Lafayette’s turn to introduce the officers of his staff. Again, all bowed to the ground. The Queen’s face was now scarlet and livid welts were visible on her throat under her diamonds. This time she regained enough composure to stutter a few indistinct words and shake her head sideways to dismiss her visitors from her presence. All left promptly, astonishment and anger painted on their faces.
“Well,” asked the Duchess once we left the room a few minutes later, “what did you think of this, Belle? Many of those members of the Municipality had never seen the Queen before. They asked to come to Versailles especially to be introduced to her. Now they have seen her indeed.”
“She did look extremely upset. I was surprised myself by the fact that none of her visitors knelt. Yet, Madam, it was to be expected. Nowadays many consider those antiquated marks of respect humiliating and unworthy of a free country.”
“Those poor fellows from the Municipality probably thought that they were showing enough deference by bowing.” The Duchess shook her head sadly. “Now they will bring back to Paris a fine impression of the Queen. This does not bode too well.”
46
Villers and I continued to live in Versailles until the autumn of 1789. Late in September, he expressed concerns that the Court had again resorted to its old tricks. The regiment of Flanders, known for its loyalty to the Crown, was called to Versailles.
“An attack on the Assembly must be imminent,” he said. “The Queen has not abandoned the idea of seeing us hanged or beheaded, I suppose. The Bodyguards are to give a grand dinner to honour the officers of the Flanders regiment on the first of October. You should ask the Chevalier des Huttes for tickets. He cannot refuse since he is such a great friend of yours.”
“I will ask him if you wish, though I will not much enjoy attending a dinner at which I am not to be a guest.”
“Please, Belle. I am curious to hear what happens.”
The event took place in the Opera of the Palace of Versailles. Tables had been set on the stage, with officers from the Bodyguards and Flanders regiment alternating. The National Guards of Versailles, for by then these militias had been instituted in all cities, large and small, had also been invited. I was sitting in one of the boxes. The orchestra played, while one heard cries of Long live the King. The spectators comprised both courtiers and members of the Assembly. Acerbic exchanges of opinions took place from one box to another.
I found the atmosphere unpleasant and was ready to withdraw when the royal family entered the stage. The acclamations, joined to the music, became deafening. The Queen took her son Louis-Charles by the hand and walked with him between the tables, smiling graciously as she knew how to do on occasion. Officers were throwing themselves at her feet and she gave them her hand to kiss. In the heat of the moment, some of the National Guards took off the tricolour cockades that decorated their hats and trampled them underfoot in the midst of cheering. I was shocked to see the King and Queen smiling and nodding in approval. I left in disgust.
I told Villers of the incident that night.
“This is a disaster,” he said. “How could the King tolerate, much less encourage, such behaviour after he himself donned the tricolour cockade? News of this will spread to Paris in a matter of hours.”
A few days later, I was teaching Aimée h
er letters when, some time after five in the afternoon, we were interrupted by shouts and songs coming from the street. I ran to the window. From the direction of Paris, thousands of women on foot, armed with pikes and scythes, their rags stuck to their meager frames by a chilly rain, were marching on the Palace. That display of poverty and anger froze me to the bone.
Around eleven that night, I heard more noise coming from the street and rose to see another cortege file by my house. A crowd, this time composed of men carrying lanterns, was headed in the direction of the Palace. A sullen Lafayette, riding at the head of the National Guards from Paris, closed the procession.
Villers did not return from the Assembly until late the next morning, his face drawn. He collapsed in a chair. Eyes closed, he reached for my hand and kissed it.
“What a night this has been, my dear Belle,” he said. “You must have seen that mob arrive from Paris. The women were there first and set camp in the gardens of the Palace. The men joined them later. They were all clamouring for bread. Lafayette was granted an audience by the King and Queen. He assured them that there was nothing to fear. He himself retired around five in the morning.”
Villers rubbed his face.
“One hour later,” he continued, “a riot started after one of the men who had set camp in the gardens was shot dead by a Bodyguard. The whole mob stormed the Palace. The women in particular forced their way to the Queen’s apartments, shouting that they would make lace out of her bowels. Two Bodyguards on duty that night at the door to her bedroom were killed.”
I took a deep breath. “What about the Chevalier des Huttes? Is he safe?” I asked.
Villers shook his head. “I do not know, my dear. I would tell you if I did. What is certain is their sacrifice gave the Queen, barefoot and in her chemise, time to seek refuge in the King’s apartments. Lafayette, awakened at last, arrived in time to save the rest of the Bodyguards from the mob’s wrath.”
Mistress of the Revolution: A Novel Page 30
