51
I liked the sound of the church bells of Paris, their rhythm joyful for weddings and solemn for funerals. The tocsin was quite another thing: its urgent cadences served to warn the people of disasters, fires or other emergencies. It was also the name given to the largest bell in Paris, which was kept at City Hall and could be heard all over town. When it rang, all the bells of all the churches of Paris joined in. It was indeed a deafening, awe-inspiring sound.
I heard the dreaded peals on the morning of the 21st of June 1791, the longest day of the year. Villers and I were interrupted during breakfast by cries coming from the street. At the same time, we heard the sound of the cannon mingling with the tocsin. I ran to the window. Villers tried to stop me, but I opened it and looked out. A crowd was marching in the direction of the Tuileries. I called to a woman.
“The King was abducted!” she shouted. “The Austrian Woman has taken him away from us.”
Villers blanched and departed in haste for the Assembly. Given the unprecedented circumstances, it remained in session for the following days without any recess. I would not see him during that time.
Junot, my footman, was still limping from the injury he had received two years earlier during the storming of the Bastille. His participation in that event had earned him a bronze medal, shaped like the towers of the old fortress, with the inscription Victor of the Bastille engraved on the back. He had shown it to me with immense pride and told me that he now felt personally responsible for the fate of the Nation. After liveries had been forbidden, he had asked my permission, which I had granted, to wear it on a tricolour ribbon on his coat.
I sent him to gather news. He returned before the morning was over, running as fast as his stiff leg allowed.
“Turns out the King wasn’t abducted after all,” he said. “He left a letter all in his own handwriting. It says that he never meant to pledge allegiance to the Constitution. He wants nothing to do with the Revolution. I still can’t believe it, My Lady, but it looks like he quit Paris of his own free will.” Junot paused to catch his breath. “The King’s been deceiving us all along. And we loved him so! Everyone says he’s reached the Austrian Netherlands by now. He’ll place himself at the head of an army of foreigners and émigrés to attack Paris! See what I found lying on the ground by the gates to the Palace!”
It was a handwritten bill that read:
MISSING:
A LARGE SWINE THAT USED TO ROAM THESE PREMISES.
A REWARD OF TWELVE FRANCS IS OFFERED FOR ITS RETURN.
Indeed, the King was overnight revealed to be a liar, a perjurer, a traitor. The gutters of Paris were littered with his portraits, which had formerly decorated shops and private homes. They were now discarded in disgust for his treachery. I saw the fleurs-de-lys, emblems of the French Crown, taken down or covered with tar everywhere, while the word royal was erased from public buildings. Every name referring to the monarchy was changed, and even such an exotic character as the King of Siam, who could hardly be deemed a threat to the Nation, lost his street in Paris.
The Assembly, while preparing for war, had suspended the monarchy until further notice. Later during the day, Junot burst into my drawing room without knocking.
“My Lady, I just heard that the King’s been arrested in Varennes,” he announced.
“Varennes? I have never heard of it.”
“It’s a little town barely five leagues from the eastern border. The King came so close to crossing into Austrian territory! I hope you’ll forgive me for disturbing you like this, My Lady, but I’m very upset.”
“What else have you learned?”
“It looks like that scoundrel Fersen and the Queen hatched a plan to join the armies of Bouillé. You know, My Lady, that General they call the Butcher of Nancy.”
The escape plan included the Count and Countess de Provence. They left separately in plain carriages, reached the border and crossed into the Austrian Netherlands without any difficulty. Madame, when I saw her again many years later, told me that she had been informed of the plan at the very last minute. Apparently, she was not trusted enough to be taken in her husband’s confidence ahead of time.
The royal family, apart from the Count and Countess de Provence, now faced a most unpleasant return. Madame de Tourzel, who had taken part in the whole journey, told me about it later.
“Can you imagine, dear Madam,” she said, “that we heard not one cry of Long live the King! I cannot recall a more painful journey. We had been boiling in the heat, choking from the dust for days since leaving Varennes. All the way, men kept their hats on. In Paris, a cook, who happened to be bareheaded, even covered himself for the occasion with a dirty towel he was carrying on his arm to show his contempt for Their Majesties.”
In the meantime, at the Tuileries, the Assembly was debating whether to keep France a monarchy.
“How could the King be allowed to remain on the throne?” I asked Villers. “He tried to flee abroad to attack the Nation!”
Villers shook his head. “What is the alternative? A republic? Inconceivable. The abolition of the monarchy would lead to chaos, to civil war, to the reign of the lowest kind of rabble. Little as we trust the King, we have no choice but to tolerate him.”
“Why does not the Duke d’Orléans avail himself of the moment? He is as popular as ever. Everyone would be happy to have him as Regent if the King were deposed now.”
“A great many would even make him King outright, on the grounds that the Dauphin is a bastard, the offspring of the Queen’s adultery with Fersen. This would indeed be the perfect time for him to make a move, but he is always paralyzed whenever action is required. Ask his warmest supporters, ask Lauzun. Orléans is an imbecile, my dear.” Villers shrugged dismissively and finished his glass of wine. “Oh, he is ambitious enough. Yet, like the rest of the males in the Bourbon family nowadays, he does not carry much of anything between his legs. He must have consulted his astrologer and been told that the moment is not auspicious.”
I frowned. “You cannot be in earnest, my dear.”
“He is as superstitious as a scullery girl. I remember one night being dragged by Lauzun to the caves of Montmartre to attend some kind of secret ceremony for the benefit of Orléans, and of course at his expense.”
I winced. “A black mass?”
“Nothing quite as gruesome, my love. Orléans is not cruel. It began with the christening of a toad by a man dressed as a priest, who then asked everyone to kneel and prepare to worship the Devil. I alone declined. Another fellow appeared, stark naked. He looked in every regard like a tall, well-built man, save for the fact that he lacked male genitals.”
I stared at Villers, who seemed amused by my amazement.
“You did not know that the Devil was a eunuch, did you?” he continued. “I was certainly surprised. I had imagined the contrary. The Satan character, whatever it was, spoke in a booming voice and predicted great and terrible things for Orléans, who was shaking with fear and excitement. I had to pinch myself, or I would have laughed aloud. I was reminded of the scene between Macbeth and the three witches, though at least Macbeth was fooled free of charge.”
Whether upon the advice of his astrologer, the Devil or anyone else, the Duke d’Orléans failed to seize the moment. The Assembly soon received a letter from Bouillé. In it, the General claimed the entire responsibility of the idea and organization of the King’s flight. The Assembly, then controlled by moderates, hastened to use Bouillé’s declaration to exonerate the King and Queen. Bouillé himself, along with those on his staff who had participated in the conspiracy, crossed the eastern border to escape charges of high treason. Villers’s son, Charles-Marie, was among the officers who followed the General into exile.
I had met the younger Villers several times before, when he had visited his father in Paris during his leaves from his regiment. He had treated me with the icy politeness to be expected under the circumstances. I had not liked Charles-Marie much in return. Yet I felt for Villers. H
e was now separated forever from his son, not only by a border but also by an intractable difference of political opinions.
52
The flight of the royal family marked a complete change in the public perception of the King. A petition was to be signed on the Altar of the Homeland at the Champ de Mars, to propose the outright abolition of the monarchy. Villers had warned me to stay away, but I no longer listened to much of what he told me. I decided to see first-hand how much of a crowd the petition would draw. That day, the 17th of July, was a Sunday, and the Champ de Mars would be filled by the usual families out for their weekly walk. It would be interesting to see how many of those good bourgeois would be tempted by the extreme changes proposed by the petition.
I had an early dinner with Aimée and resisted her entreaties to take her with me to the Champ de Mars. When I arrived, I noticed nothing unusual. The day was hot; thunder rumbled in the distance. Small groups of people were milling around in a torpid manner. Some were resting, seated on the steps of the wooden pyramid that supported the Altar of the Homeland. Others had climbed to the top and waited for their turn to sign the petition.
Women pushing little carts were selling lemonade and biscuits. I stopped to speak with one of them.
“Is your lemonade made with spring water?” I asked.
“Certainly, Ma’am,” replied the young woman. “That’s why I sell it two sols more than the others, but it’s worth it. Would you like a biscuit too?”
“No, thank you, I had dinner, but a glass of lemonade would be refreshing in this heat.”
“Yes, Ma’am, it’s been very hot. I wouldn’t be surprised if we had a thunderstorm before long. It’ll be night soon and I’ll wheel my cart home.”
“Things seem rather quiet around here.”
“Mind you, the day started in a different manner.”
“What happened?”
“Haven’t you heard? I knew that it would be a good day for business, with the petition and everything, so I arrived early.” The young woman handed me a tin cup full of lemonade. “One of my friends, over there, climbed the steps to the Altar. She wanted to be one of the first to sign. She felt something sharp under her shoe. She cried aloud. The crowd gathered around her and they saw a drill sticking out of the wood. They fetched the National Guard, who removed the planks. What do you think they found underneath? Two scoundrels were hidden there. They tried to explain that they wanted only to drill a hole to look under the skirts of the women who came to sign the petition. What do you think of that impudence?”
“It is indeed an outrage. What happened to those men?”
“They were hanged from a lamppost, that’s what happened. Serve them right. The National Guards found a barrel with them under the planks. Some say it was full of gunpowder. The scoundrels wanted to blow up the Altar of the Homeland and the good people who came to sign the petition. One of the two brigands was a wigmaker. I don’t need to tell you what those people are about. There are no worst royalists, since nowadays nobody decent wears a wig anymore.”
“When did this happen?”
“Oh, it was all over before nine in the morning. First, the washerwomen of the Gros-Caillou fetched their beaters to teach the two bandits a lesson. The National Guards tried to save them, but they were outnumbered. After the scoundrels were hanged, their heads were cut off and carried through town at the end of pikes. I won’t shed any tears for them, let me tell you.”
“And what has been going on since the incident of the morning?” I asked the lemonade girl.
“Not much, except that thousands have already signed the petition. Are you going to, Ma’am?”
“I will think about it.”
“You should. It’s time to rid ourselves of those Kings. Look, there’s a man up there making a speech.”
A man had indeed climbed midway up the Altar and was shouting at the top of his voice from the pyramid. I recognized Pierre-André. Indeed our paths had not crossed in years, since that day at the riverside guinguette, when I had seen him in the company of the girl in the yellow dress. I felt a jolt of pain.
I promptly turned around and walked away. His speech was often interrupted by cries and jeering from the crowd, which only made him raise his voice more. He stopped at last. When I risked a glance, I saw him leaving. I stopped a man, who looked like a merchant and was walking with his wife and daughter.
“Did you hear what that man said, Sir?”
“Oh, he was telling everyone to disperse right away, that he had just been at the Common House. You know that’s what they call City Hall now. He said that a full regiment of the mounted Gendarmerie, with the National Guard, was ready to attack. According to him, martial law’s been proclaimed and Lafayette’s marching on the Champ de Mars with the red flag.”
“Why were people jeering?”
“Nobody would believe him, of course. They shut him up at last. That was difficult, though, because of that big voice of his. He wouldn’t quit.” The man shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense. The signing of the petition was reported yesterday at City Hall. Everyone’s here lawfully. He must be some royalist agent, trying to scare people to prevent them from signing the petition. He left at last. Good riddance.”
The red flag mentioned by Pierre-André was the signal that martial law had been decreed. The Gendarmerie was the new name given to the old Constabulary. My knowledge of Pierre-André did not lead me to suspect that he was a royalist agent. I was beginning to question the wisdom of my presence at the Champ de Mars. Yet I did not believe Lafayette capable of slaughtering unarmed Parisians out for an evening stroll.
My assumptions were put to the test. All of a sudden, shots were fired. The crowd started crying aloud and running in terror. Some fell and were trampled underfoot. Billows of gunpowder smoke burnt my eyes and prevented me from seeing more than a few feet ahead. People shouted that the Patriots were being massacred on the steps of the pyramid. Bloodied citizens, confirming this report by their appearance, ran towards the river to the west.
The smoke began to dissipate. All was chaos. Cavalrymen pursued the fugitives and hacked them down as they fled. The young woman who had sold me the lemonade fell before my eyes. The few sols she had earned that day cost her her life. A tiny white lady’s dog was running around in all directions, yelping in a frenzy. People jumped into the Seine, and I heard more cries for help as they drowned.
Afraid of being trampled by the crowd, I sought refuge behind the cart of the lemonade girl. I watched the little dog bark in terror and run away. Two horsemen saw me and, sabres drawn, rode in my direction. I ran for the river, which the rays of the setting sun seemed to set ablaze. Several men were on my heels, also fleeing the gendarmes. I was wearing thin-soled silk shoes, unsuitable for this kind of exercise, but had never felt so light of foot.
All of a sudden, I felt something heavy hit me in the back. The wind was knocked out of me. I tripped. I believed at first that one of the gendarmes had struck me with his sabre. I said a silent prayer and prepared to die. I fell on my stomach as a mass collapsed on my back, followed by another one on my thighs. Only then did I understand that my companions had fallen under the blows of the cavalrymen. I closed my eyes and held my breath. The hooves of the horses raised puffs of dust inches away from my face. I heard cries a few yards away and the gendarmes rode off to turn their attention to other targets.
It was almost dark when silence, broken by the moaning of the wounded, finally settled on the Champ de Mars. I was unable to free myself from the weight of the men lying on me. No matter how fast or deeply I inhaled, no air seemed to enter my lungs. Panic engulfed me. After a few moments, I realized that I would die if I did not calm myself. Deliberately, I managed to bring my breathing under control. Time went by very slowly. Feeling was leaving my legs and my chest was sore. Although it was summer, I was cold and began to despair of ever leaving my position.
After a while, I heard the stamping of hooves again. I was able to lift my head to look in
their direction. Soldiers had returned. They were plunging their bayonets into the chests of the fallen. The bodies next to the river were thrown into the water without ceremony. Covered by my companions, I escaped again the notice of the soldiers. New corpses were brought to the pile resting on top of me and left there. I barely felt the additional weight. At last I heard orders being yelled and the troops withdrew a second time. They were replaced by groups of dogs, content at first to silently sniff the bodies. Soon they began to growl at each other and fight. I tried not to imagine the object of their dispute. One quietly lapped blood from a puddle a few feet from my face.
Darkness enveloped me and, after what seemed like many hours, a half-moon rose, throwing a white light over my surroundings. The dogs barked, then ran away yelping. I heard men’s voices. My heart skipped a beat. They could not be soldiers because there were only two of them. One was turning over the bodies and pawing them while the other was holding a lantern. They must be robbing the corpses. They would find me all too soon. I was not in the least concerned about what little money and jewellery I carried, but I pictured them stripping me of my clothes, taking turns to violate me and, once there was nothing more to be had from me, killing me. I dared not breathe.
“They are all dead,” one of them said. “There is nothing for us to do here. Let us go.”
“We can at least finish counting the bodies,” the other one answered in a deep voice. “Many of them have already disappeared. Mark my words, the cutthroats will return before the morning to remove all traces of the massacre.”
Mistress of the Revolution: A Novel Page 33
