Mistress of the Revolution: A Novel

by Delors, Catherine

  So the men were not thieves. Moreover, the deep voice was familiar. I took my chances and cried for help with all of my remaining strength.

  “Listen,” said one of them. “It sounds like a woman.”

  I continued crying out to guide them. I heard their footsteps. The corpses crushing me were lifted from my back.

  “She is covered with blood,” said the unknown voice.

  “It must not be hers. Her dress is not even torn.”

  The man rolled me gently onto my back. It was Pierre-André, his face lit by his companion’s lantern. My first reaction was to try to escape, but my entire body was so stiff that any movement was impossible.

  “Fear not, Madam,” said the unknown man. “We will not harm you. My name is Antoine Ferrat, and I am a surgeon. My friend Dr. Coffinhal is a physician. We came here to treat the survivors, but it seems that no one, apart from you, is in need of our help.”

  “I believe you are right, Sir.” I took deep breaths of the night air. “The troops came back already. I saw them finish off the wounded and throw bodies into the river.”

  Pierre-André was looking down at me. “What are you doing here?” he asked, frowning.

  “Do you know her?” asked Ferrat.

  “Oh yes. She is a ci-devant Baroness from my country.”

  “No matter who or what she is, we cannot leave her here. Even if she is unharmed, she must be stiff as a board.”

  “I am sure Her Ladyship can walk. These aristocrats may faint on demand in their salons, but they are sturdy enough when their lives are at stake.”

  I was still lying on my back. He bent over and caught me by the shoulders to raise me. The pain was so sharp that I let out a whimper. I was unable to hold myself and began to list to the side. Pierre-André stopped my fall with his arm. I was again on my back. He sighed.

  “You may have suffered broken bones after all,” he said in a softer tone. “I need to examine you. Do not worry. I will do so through your dress and keep it quick.”

  He knelt by my side and felt my thighs, legs and ankles. I do not think that I could have borne the embarrassment but for the darkness. He rose as soon as he was done.

  “She may be bruised,” he said, turning to Ferrat, “but she is fine. She can have another physician fetched once she is back home. You live on Rue Saint-Dominique, Madam, do you not?”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “You cut a prominent figure in the so-called Court, and your career is not difficult to follow. The day may come when you wish you had been wiser and less conspicuous in your choice of friends. Tonight, since we found you here, it seems that we have to offer you our help. Unless, of course, you prefer to wait for the soldiers to return.”

  “Of course not. I am most grateful for your assistance. I should be able to walk in a few minutes. Please, Sir, wait a little longer.”

  The two men stood looking down at me. “We should not tarry,” said Ferrat. “I will carry her if you do not want to be bothered.”

  “No, I will do it. She must not even be half my weight.”

  Both men lifted me, this time more gently. When I was on my feet, Pierre-André put his arms across my back and under my knees. He carried me like a child. The numbness of my legs was subsiding and giving way to cramps. I was jolted with every step he took and felt the awkwardness of my position.

  “If you would put your arms around my shoulders, it would make it easier for both of us,” Pierre-André said. “You may rest against me if you are tired. I will not bite your head off.”

  I followed his invitation. My face was level with his neck. His hair was shorter now, cut above his shoulders. I could feel that mine was matted in places with blood. For the first time in many hours, I worried about my appearance. My straw hat with its pretty pink ribbons had been lost. The bodice of my white linen dress, wet and sticky on the back, was dusty in front. Unaccountably, a pink rose I had arranged between my breasts as a babarel was still there. It had been crushed in my fall and was beginning to fade but its fragrance was still sweet. Pierre-André glanced at it, then looked away. I had to speak before he could say anything.

  “I apologize for this inconvenience, Sir,” I said. “I must be soiling your coat with blood.”

  “These days one should worry about saving one’s skin, not about the clothes that cover it. You have not answered my question. What were you doing at the Champ de Mars?”

  “I went there out of curiosity. I knew of the petition, but I would never had imagined that it would lead to such a disaster.”

  “The petition did not lead to the massacre. What did is the desire of certain people, whom I believe to be your friends, to make an example of a few hundred Patriots. They wanted to teach the good people of Paris not to question the monarchy. We counted fifty-four dead before finding you, but you know that there must have been many more. The Nation will not forgive this atrocity.”

  “I can assure you, Sir, that I would not call anyone my friend who has been complicit in this.”

  “I almost believe you. The person you used to be would not have condoned the slaughter of innocents. If my memory serves me well, even the punishment of the guilty elicited your compassion.” Pierre-André gave me a hard look. “But you are very naive with regard to your friends.”

  We had almost reached my lodgings.

  “You may put me down if you want, Sir,” I said. “I feel much better now.”

  “Are you afraid of being seen with us? Fine, run home by yourself then.”

  Pierre-André let go of me. I had overestimated my strength. My legs were still too weak to carry me. He had to catch me by the waist to prevent me from falling.

  “It seems that you still need us for a few more minutes after all. Do not worry, we will leave you as soon as we can.”

  I bit my lip. “This is not what I meant.”

  Each of my companions took me by one arm. We arrived at my lodgings. Manon, still dressed, answered the bell. She put her hand to her mouth, silenced for once, and ran to open the door to the drawing room. Pierre-André and Monsieur Ferrat put me down on a sofa there.

  “Please bring refreshments, Manon. These gentlemen saved my life.”

  “Certainly, Madam. My Lord was here half an hour ago. He didn’t know you had gone to the Champ de Mars. He was beside himself when I told him. He went in search of you.”

  I wished Manon had not mentioned Villers in front of my visitors. Pierre-André, who had remained standing, was surveying the drawing room with a cold eye. He looked at the blue and white paneling, the silk drapes, the delicate porcelain-inlaid furniture. Colour rose into my cheeks.

  “I had heard from my brothers that your late husband had not been generous in his will,” he said. “They must have been misinformed. You live in the lap of luxury here. I should not be surprised, of course. These are the proper surroundings for a person of your rank.”

  “There are no ranks anymore. We are all equals now.”

  He shrugged. “How stupid of me to forget it! Equals or not, Madam, it seems that our intervention was useless after all. A few minutes later, you might have been rescued by your noble protector, instead of two strangers. When he returns, you might ask him why he did not tie you to a chair here instead of letting you walk into that butchery.”

  “I am sure that he did not know about it.”

  “And I am sure that he did.” Pierre-André’s jaw tightened. “This exploit had been planned for a few days by his friend Lafayette. He could not have been unaware of it.”

  “Who could plan such a thing?”

  “That is a question you will have to ask your protector, or whatever other title you give your generous friend.” Pierre-André turned to Ferrat. “We should go. Monsieur de Villers might be unhappy to find us here and have us arrested.”

  “On the contrary,” I said, “he would thank you for rescuing me.”

  “It just happens that I do not want his thanks, or anything else from him. Keep your refreshm
ents. I am sure that he has paid for everything here, including your person. Good night to you.”

  Monsieur Ferrat gave me a sheepish look and followed his friend out of the room.

  I heard Villers’s step and voice in the drawing room about half an hour later. He was speaking to Manon. I was in bed, wide awake, although I had blown out the candle on my nightstand. When he entered my bedroom, I pretended to be asleep. He sat on the bed and ran his hand on my cheek. I opened my eyes. He was bending over me.

  “Thank God you are safe,” he said. “I was sick with worry when Manon told me that you had gone to the Champ de Mars. Why did you not listen to me, Belle?”

  “What exactly did you know? Had you been warned that peaceful, unarmed people would be slaughtered?”

  “Do you mean the peaceful, unarmed people who killed those two men?”

  “That happened in the morning. Everything was quiet by the time I arrived. Most people were there for a stroll and did not even care about the petition.” I could feel myself colour as my temper rose. “You have not answered my question, Villers. Did you know of the massacre ahead of time?”

  He frowned. “Of course not. Of what are you accusing me?”

  “The men who brought me back here said that it had been planned. What did you know about it? Is that why you warned me to stay away from the Champ de Mars?”

  “Any fool could have foreseen what was going to happen with the kind of rabble gathered there to sign the petition. Speaking of those two fellows, what were they doing there themselves in the middle of the night? Manon said one of them was addressing you in an insolent manner. She heard him raise his voice to you. Who is he?”

  “He did not tell me his name. The other one said that he was a surgeon and that they had gone to the Champ de Mars to treat the survivors.”

  “I will have enquiries made about those men. Manon told me that the loud, rude one is six and a half feet tall, and built to match. That should make it easy. There cannot be too many surgeons in Paris answering to this description.”

  “What do you want from them? You should be grateful to them for saving my life. Do you not care about that at all?”

  “I do, although I have no illusions about their motives. They probably brought you home with the sole idea of receiving a reward. Agreed, they deserve one and that is why I will have them traced. Good night, Belle.”

  Villers’s tone was not one of gratitude. His answers had not dissipated my doubts concerning his advance knowledge of the massacre. I was certain that he wished to find Pierre-André and his friend to have them arrested.

  It remained to decide how to express my thanks to Pierre-André. What surprised me was the strength of my feelings toward this man I had not seen in years. My first thought was to call on him at his chambers. Then I recalled his anger at my surroundings and the abrupt manner in which he had left. How would he receive me? What if he reproached me for the past? What if he upbraided me for my current position? I had never been proud of being a kept woman, but now I saw my own situation through his eyes. I resolved to write him.

  Sir,

  Please excuse the awkwardness of this letter. The truth is that I do not know what to do or say to thank you for your help last night. I am mortified by the opinion you have of me. It does not diminish my appreciation for your assistance but makes any expressions of gratitude clumsy.

  Many times over the past years I have been tempted to call on you. Yet I have always been deterred by the fear of angering you or exposing myself to your contempt. The feelings of disgust you expressed last night, although they may be justified, proved me right.

  I know that I must have caused you great pain once. For this I beg your forgiveness. I would do anything, if you would let me, to atone for past or present offenses and regain some of your good opinion.

  If we never see each other again, I wish you the best and hope that in time you may come to think less ill of me.

  A thousand thanks to you, Sir, and to your friend Monsieur Ferrat.

  I would be honoured to remain, Sir, your humble servant.

  Gabrielle

  I could not bring myself to sign my married name. That letter, short as it was, required many drafts. All of my effort was in vain. For many days I hoped for a response, but none came. I concluded that Pierre-André either did not care enough for me to take the trouble to write back, or that he was still angry with me.

  53

  I was now a lady-in-waiting without any princess to wait upon. The flight of the Countess de Provence left me in an awkward position at Court. I felt compelled to approach Villers regarding financial matters, a subject we had not discussed since I had accepted the place with Madame.

  “Do you remember saying that you would reinstate my allowance if I renounced my place as a lady-in-waiting?” I asked.

  He was reading the Moniteur and did not look up from the newspaper. “I have been blessed with an excellent memory.”

  “So would you reinstate my allowance if I resigned?”

  “Why would you resign? You would not listen to me when I requested that you decline the place. You knew what I thought of the Countess de Provence. You nevertheless chose to disregard my wishes. Now that she is gone, very likely forever, you may remain her lady-in-waiting as long as you wish. No one will object and I no longer care.”

  “But I do. It does not seem right to continue collecting 6,000 francs a year for nothing.”

  “Your delicacy of feeling does you honour, but I do not see why I should be the one to pay for it.”

  I bit my lip. “I am sorry I broached that subject, Villers. Please forgive me.”

  “Now, Belle, there is no reason to be cross because I do not immediately agree to your every whim. I cannot recall anything you did of late that would incline me to generosity.” He looked straight into my eyes. “Yes, my dearest, you enjoy having your own way, regardless of what I think or say. That is fine, but, like any other pleasure, it must be paid for. Let me think about your request for a while.” He resumed his reading.

  I looked out the window. Why had my first impulse been to ask Villers for money? Had I become used to being a kept woman? I was reminded of Pierre-André’s disgust at my lodgings and what they implied regarding my situation. Shame came to me belatedly, but with full force.

  The next day, I spoke again to Villers. “I have given careful consideration to our conversation of yesterday. You were right. You have no reason to support me after I spurned your advice. You are doing more than enough by paying my rent and my servants’ wages. I do not wish to impose further upon your generosity. Please forget the request I made of you.”

  “Does this mean that you have reconsidered your decision to resign your place?”

  “I have not. I believe it would be unwise as well as dishonourable for me to remain a lady-in-waiting.”

  He smiled coldly. “May I ask how you intend to support yourself ?”

  “I have been able to set aside a few thousand francs over the years. It is not much, but I can certainly retrench on my expenses. That way the money will last several months.”

  “What will happen when you see the end of it?”

  “I can sell some pieces of jewellery. Of course, I would keep the most valuable ones, such as the diamonds and the ring you were kind enough to give me, as well as the ruby earrings I received from my late husband. These, I believe, should go to Aimée as a memento from her father’s family. However, I have many more, less valuable pieces with which I can part.”

  “Does that include some of my presents to you?”

  “I would of course sell first the jewels I received from my late husband, but if I had to, yes, I might part with some of your gifts. What choice have I?”

  “You could have waited for my decision before changing your mind so abruptly. Everything you have done lately seems designed to show me that you no longer care for me.”

  “You can hardly fault me for withdrawing a request that appeared to make you angry.�
� I reached for his hand. “I do care for you and am grateful for your help.”

  “You have an odd way of showing it. Beware, my dearest, or you might see the well of my generosity run completely dry.”

  “I have always known that I might lose your affections any day. Love does not last forever.”

  “True, but even when it fades away, it is sometimes survived by friendship and respect. Often, like a bad wine, it leaves nothing behind but a sour aftertaste. It is up to you, Belle, to determine my future behaviour to you.”

  He shook off my hand, his eyes fixed on my face. I was surprised by his bitterness.

  I also told the Duchess of my decision to resign.

  “Well, dear Belle,” she said, “you are right to keep away from the Court at this time. Things have been unsettled since the King’s little escapade to Varennes and you cannot be too cautious.” She shook her head. “I so regret having proposed you as a replacement for my daughter. It has caused nothing but trouble between Villers and you, and I hate to think of what might happen to you if you remained a lady-in-waiting.”

  I now limited my contacts with the Court to attending the monthly parties given at the Tuileries by the Princess de Lamballe, Superintendent of the Queen’s Household. I went there out of a sense of obligation for my past stipend rather than for any pleasure I found in those gatherings. They were spent anticipating the gruesome punishments to be doled out to the “traitors” once the Revolution was defeated. Another topic of conversation was the situation in the colonies, where the Negroes were in full revolt. They had the audacity to demand the abolition of slavery without thinking of the damage it would cause their masters, and the sugar trade.