“Apparently he remembers your family too. I did not tell you of this earlier, Gabrielle, because I did not want to worry you for nothing if it happened not to be true. Carrier is an excellent administrator. Thanks to his skills, neither Nantes nor the Republican army have lacked food, in the middle of a civil war, no less. His military decisions have been sound. The rebels now seem likely to be defeated. Yet a few weeks ago, rumours began to reach Robespierre.” Pierre-André shook his head. “They were too atrocious to be believed. Robespierre asked me what I thought of Carrier. The man is from our country, of course, but I do not know him well. He had a reputation in Aurillac for being a good attorney, but also a drunkard. That was the worst I had heard. Robespierre and I agreed that the rumours must be the kind of heinous lies the rebels spread to discredit the Republic. He nevertheless sent Jullien, in whom he has complete trust, as an envoy to Nantes to look into the veracity the stories.”
Pierre-André stroked my hair. “They were true, Gabrielle. Carrier did not believe in the Revolutionary Tribunal or the guillotine, which he found too slow, too inefficient. He had hundreds, maybe thousands of prisoners, men, women and children, some no older than twelve, drowned without trial in the Loire River. He boasted that he had killed two birds with one stone by thinking of that mode of execution: he had resolved both the overcrowding of the jails and the disposal of the bodies. Jullien brought back a list of the persons presumed drowned. I saw your sister’s name on it. Robespierre was appalled and recalled Carrier on the same day. Mark my words, the scoundrel will be put on trial; he will pay for his crimes before the year is over. Robespierre will not forgive this.”
“What happened to Hélène?”
“She was drowned.”
I looked into his eyes, trying to read the truth. “You are not telling me all.”
“I am telling you all I know for certain.”
“I have never forgotten the way in which Carrier used to look at me. What did he do to Hélène?”
“Only he can tell now.”
“I think I can guess anyway. He wanted me. Hélène was very like me, only more beautiful. What did he do to her?”
Pierre-André sighed. “That is what upset Robespierre most among the horrors we heard. The prettiest women were taken from prison and brought to Carrier. They could win a reprieve or even their freedom if they pleased him. It seems that your sister fell into his hands. She must have resisted, for she was taken to the river the next morning.”
Carrier had indeed turned into a lunatic in Nantes. He would draw his sword in front of the members of the local Revolutionary Committee and threaten to hack them to pieces with his own hand. In his calmer moments, he talked only of having them guillotined if they showed any reluctance in carrying out his orders. He plunged into drunkenness and debauchery. He had taken his concubine with him to Nantes, but that was not enough. He would, in addition to female prisoners, avail himself of the fine ladies of the aristocracy who threw themselves at his feet to beg for the lives of their husbands or fathers.
Pierre-André, although he must have known of it, did not tell me what happened to the women taken to the river. I learned later, at the time of Carrier’s trial, that the criminals he had appointed executioners would strip them naked and violate them in turn before throwing them alive, hands and feet bound, into the Loire River. Ci-devant noblewomen suffered additional humiliations and cruelties, which I cannot bear to describe here. The thought of Hélène’s final torments still keeps me awake at night.
Such would have been my fate had I stayed in Noirvaux with my sister. I loved her too well to abandon her in the middle of her dangers. I too would have gone from Carrier’s bed to that, cold and slimy, of the river.
80
LONDON, THIS 15TH OF APRIL 1815
I just had a terrible dispute with Edmond Levassor, Viscount Morton. Although I should not speak of my own son in this manner, he is the most handsome man I have ever seen. He has my colouring, only his hair is a darker shade of red, between mine and that of Hélène. He has inherited his father’s height and build, along with an aquiline nose and, I am afraid, a rather quick temper.
We received momentous news from the Continent: Napoléon Bonaparte has escaped his golden cage on the Island of Elba and landed in the south of France. Cities and entire regiments along his path have rallied to him. King Louis the Eighteenth has packed his trunks in haste and again fled abroad. Bonaparte has now reached Paris and settled in the Palace of the Tuileries. The war, that interminable war started in 1792, twenty-three years ago, has once more resumed. England is leading all of Europe in a coalition against France.
Edmond says that he wants to join the British armies. It is out of the question. No son of mine shall take arms against France, even when she is again in the grip of a dictator. Things did not go well. Edmond reminded me that he is, after all, half-English. He is twenty. Is he old enough, is he wise enough to understand the truth? Should I show him this memoir? Heaven help me, what is he going to think of me?
Time presses. I must resume my narrative.
After I finished my work at the theatre, Aimée would take her doll Margaret and me for walks in the Luxembourg gardens. Patriotic concerts there celebrated the victories of the soldiers of the Republic. We listened to the rousing accents of La Marseillaise and other patriotic airs, accompanied by fifes and drums. At that time, in 1794, the tide of war had turned in favour of France. The enemy was defeated on all fronts. Not only was the Nation freed from foreign invasion, but our armies occupied the former Austrian Netherlands and northern Italy.
During one of our walks, we found the aspect of the Luxembourg much altered. Throngs of workmen were digging out all of the lawns and flower beds. Astonished, I asked a guard what was happening.
“Orders of the Municipality,” he said. “Citizen Chaumette’s decided that there’s no room for flowers in the gardens of the Nation when patriots lack bread. They’re going to plant potatoes to feed the people.”
Within weeks the Luxembourg and all other public gardens in Paris were covered with neat rows of potatoes. I am in no way adverse to that plant, but found the monotony of the landscape oppressive. Even the walkways had been narrowed to give way to Chaumette’s agricultural zeal. I wondered what the Countess de Provence, who had been so proud of her vegetable garden, would have thought of these changes to her former residence. The Luxembourg Palace itself had become a prison.
Chaumette did not stop at half-measures. Our friend the guard, who always had candy in his pocket for Aimée, informed us that the beautiful old trees were to be pulled out.
“They make too much shade for the potatoes,” he said.
I stared at him. “But this is appalling. The flowers and lawns can easily be seeded again, but it will take decades to replace the trees.”
“Well, maybe, Citizen, but I’m not going to say anything about it. You should keep your opinion to yourself too.”
That night I asked Pierre-André about it.
“Chaumette and Hébert, those rabble-rousers, are responsible for this,” he said. “Those two hold crucial functions at the Municipality now. And Hébert uses his disgusting Père Duchesne rag to inflame the populace and aggrandize himself. As if a few acres of potatoes were going to alleviate the food shortages! Pure, outrageous demagoguery. And it is not their worst provocation. I am as fond of the trees of Paris as you are, but Chaumette has another idea: cleansing the capital of its harlots. He wants to send them to the Revolutionary Tribunal, because, he says, they harm the Nation by depraving the morals of the people.” Pierre-André shook his head. “As if, with foreign and civil wars raging, and all of the real conspiracies afoot to destroy the Republic, we had time to try the 30,000 harlots found in the city. I, for one, fail to see why they should be sent to the guillotine. All of that animosity towards those poor women reeks of buggery. Add to that the Goddess Reason tomfoolery, and you will see that Hébert and Chaumette are intent on disgracing the Revolution. They use their f
unctions to pander to the most ignorant segments of the people. Robespierre cannot tolerate this much longer. If we do not take control of the Municipality, we are going to see much worse.”
Within days, Hébert was arrested and stood trial before the Revolutionary Tribunal for conspiracy against the Republic. Pierre-André was put in charge of the questioning of the accused and his nineteen co-defendants.
“By the time I was done with Hébert,” he said, “the case was all but over. I know how to conduct the interrogation of scoundrels of that ilk. He looked stunned to find himself on the accused’s seat, and still more so to face an old acquaintance like me as his judge. He could only stammer. Later, at trial, all he did was to stare blankly and respond by yes or no to the questions. He barely presented any defense.”
Indeed all but one of the co-defendants were found guilty. Hébert, the idol of the sans-culottes, went to the guillotine. I expected the Parisians to rise in support of a man who had been so popular, but all remained quiet. Chaumette followed a few days later. The trees of Paris were saved in extremis by his demise.
After Hébert’s execution, Robespierre was able to strike his more moderate enemies, those who, like Danton, demanded an end to the Terror. Danton, notorious for taking bribes, was an easy target for a criminal prosecution. He, along with his main allies, was also tried before the Revolutionary Tribunal for corruption, found guilty and guillotined.
The Municipality was now deprived of Chaumette, its National Agent, and Hébert, his chief ally. Robespierre had achieved a major victory in defeating his extremist enemies. He could now replace Hébert’s friends at the Municipality with his own. Pierre-André recommended one of the jurors of the Tribunal, Claude-François de Payan, for the function of National Agent.
“Payan is a ci-devant nobleman,” Pierre-André said. “Yet he is a true patriot, one of our most solid jurors. He is only twenty-seven, but he will be able to handle the function of National Agent. It was offered to me, but I can be more useful at the Tribunal. It is not always a pleasant function, but someone has to exercise it, and forcefully. In any event, I will not leave the Municipality. I will remain a member of the Council General and keep things in line there.”
So Robespierre now controlled the Municipality of Paris through a group of men who were, and would remain till the end, entirely devoted to him.
More changes occurred at the Tribunal itself. Dumas, a staunch Jacobin, was promoted to the function of President and Pierre-André to that of Vice President, each in charge of one of the two Sections. His position in the new regime was becoming more prominent.
81
I had become Charlotte’s friend at the theatre. She confided in me her liaisons with various characters and her many grievances against Granger. He was not, she complained, much of an athlete in bed nor did he know how to set off her talents as an actress at the theatre. She was not shy about disclosing the tastes and peculiarities of her past and current lovers.
“What about your late husband?” she once asked. “You never mention him.”
“He was not as entertaining as your suitors.”
“He mustn’t have made much of an impression on you.”
“Quite the contrary. He used to beat me without mercy.”
“That’s unfortunate. Still it’s no reason not to remarry. Most husbands are better behaved. And then marital authority has been abolished now. They can’t order you around anymore. And if you’re plagued by a brute, it’s easy to obtain a divorce these days. You don’t even need a reason.”
“You may be right, dear, but I am content with my current situation.”
I often wondered whether Charlotte would reveal anything concerning Pierre-André, but she never mentioned him, maybe for fear of compromising him. I trusted his assurance that their liaison had ceased years earlier, but would have liked to know how he behaved with other women.
My conversations with Charlotte were always abruptly interrupted whenever Granger entered the room, for they often revolved around him. He seemed to guess it and looked none too happy about it.
“Citizen Labro,” he said one day, “I need to talk to you in my office. Without your daughter, please.”
I left Aimée with Charlotte and followed him with some reluctance.
“Have a seat, Citizen, have a seat,” he said. “We are between friends here, are we not? There is no occasion for you to fret. Do you know that Julie is leaving us for the Théâtre des Variétés?”
“This is the first I hear of it. She did not confide in me. I hope that you will be able to find a replacement shortly for the part of Annette in The Lovesick Shepherd. We can use the costumes she wore in Lisbeth’s Cottage, but I may have to alter them on short notice.”
Granger smiled. “I would not worry about that. I believe I have already found her replacement.”
He was clearly waiting for me to ask who it was. I remained mute.
“You should not limit your ambitions to sewing, my pretty,” he continued, rising from his chair. He stood before me, the buttons of his breeches level with my face.
I looked away. “Indeed, Citizen Granger, I cannot think of anything else I could do here.”
“What about acting, little goose?”
“I am flattered by your offer, but I am sure I have no talent at all for it.”
“How do you know if you do not try?”
“I have always been told that I am a poor liar.”
“What does it have to do with acting? And even if you were the worst actress in town, how would it matter? This is not the Théâtre-Frauçais. People come here to see a pretty face, and yours is lovely enough to make them forget their troubles.”
He shrugged. “As if they cared about acting! In fact, it is a crime to hide as you do in the wings. Everyone should be allowed a good look at your charming person. Now that Julie has left, I cannot think of a better Annette than you. I saw you attend the rehearsals of The Lovesick Shepherd. You must know her lines by heart already.”
“I cannot thank you enough for your kindness, Citizen Granger,” I said, rising out of my chair, “but I have to decline. I cannot act, I am quite sure of it.”
He was no longer smiling. “Am I hearing you correctly? You, a little nobody, are refusing a part for which any actress in Paris would kill? Are you out of your senses?”
I shook my head. “Please do not insist, Sir, I mean Citizen. I feel quite unequal to it.”
A smile returned to his face. “All right, I understand. Poor little dear, I know you are shy. Do not worry, I will help you. I will be very good to you if you will let me.”
He put his arm around my shoulders and tried to kiss me. I turned away and pushed him back. “What are you doing, Citizen Granger?”
“What am I doing?” He paused, glaring at me. “What about you? I saw you befriend Lacoste, that miserable old debris I keep solely out of pity. I have seen how he leers at you. Yet it does not disgust you, does it? Maybe it is because you are an aristocrat too.”
He caught me by the arm. “Yes, my pretty, do you think I have not noticed those airs you give yourself ?”
I shook him loose. “Leave me alone. I am not interested in acting. I am a seamstress.”
“A seamstress! Tell a wooden horse that story and you will receive a kick. And now you refuse a part in one of my plays! You refuse me! I am not good enough for you, am I? And my theatre is not good enough for you either, perhaps? Your Ladyship was accustomed to something grander. Maybe you used to play in Versailles with the late Widow Capet.” He was almost spitting. “Dirty little bitch! Harlot! Aristocrat!”
I fled, pursued by a stream of insults and profanity. In my retreat, I ran into Charlotte.
“What’s the matter, Gabrielle?” she asked. “What have you done to Granger?”
“You should ask what he has done to me,” I said, catching my breath. “He offered me a part in The Lovesick Shepard and propositioned me.”
“To tell you the truth, I am surprised that
he waited so long.” She smiled. “What did you expect, Gabrielle, when he hired you? You should give it some consideration.”
“Certainly not.”
“But you will never become an actress if you act like a simpleton. How do you think I started in this business?”
“It was different, Charlotte. You wanted to become an actress. I do not. In fact, I believe that I will not return here at all tomorrow.”
“You can’t be serious.” She frowned. “How are you going to live?”
“Do not worry for me, Charlotte.”
“Let me at least lend you fifty francs. You will repay me when you can.”
I took her hands in mine and kissed her. “You are very good, dear Charlotte, but I will be fine.”
I usually left the theatre early in the afternoon, before the matinee audience arrived, but that day I decided not to tarry. I had put on my mantle and taken Aimée’s hand in mine when I heard a commotion at the entrance to the theatre. I peeked from behind a door. Lacoste, one hand resting on his chest, his other arm raised to the heavens, was making a speech to a group of unknown men. I heard him declaiming at the top of his voice about “the immortal principles of liberty and equality.” The men roughly pushed him aside. I seized Aimée’s hand and ran to Charlotte’s dressing room, where she was putting on her rouge.
“Oh, dear,” I said, “I am going to be arrested.”
She dropped her powder puff. “You, arrested? But why?”
“I saw Lacoste trying to stop a group of men. They must be the police. They are coming for me. Can you do me a great favour?”
“Of course.”
“I cannot escape with Aimée. Would you take care of her until this matter is cleared?”
“Of course, but what’s happening?”
“There is another thing, Charlotte, a very important thing. You know Citizen Coffinhal, the judge. Tell him of my arrest. Immediately. Please do not forget.”
Mistress of the Revolution: A Novel Page 50
