Mistress of the Revolution: A Novel

by Delors, Catherine

  “It’s a pity, but I don’t blame you. I’m not sure I’d do it myself, even if I were younger.” She laughed. “Also, with my looks, the turnkeys would charge too much. I couldn’t afford it.”

  Victorine’s name was called soon afterwards. I rose to embrace her, but she gently pushed me away.

  “You’re a kind person, Citizen Labro,” she said, “but if you kiss me, I’ll become soft-hearted and lose my courage in front of the judges. That’s the last thing I have left. I wish you luck. Don’t forget what I told you about being with child. You’ve time to reconsider.”

  She was taken away by the gendarmes.

  83

  I missed Victorine and, to avoid reflecting upon my own situation, kept thinking of her trial. Around noon, the gendarmes put an end to my anxiety by calling my name. I followed them upstairs through a labyrinth of passages and corkscrew stairwells. Some doorways were so low that they had to remind me not to hit my head. My heart was beating fast as I wondered whether I was being taken to Pierre-André’s chambers. I went instead to the ground floor of the other round tower.

  I waited, standing between the two gendarmes, next to an open door. I heard a man’s voice, not Pierre-André’s, swearing inside the room and understood that I had some time left to myself. I fell to my knees, facing the wall. My eyes closed, I whispered the Prayer for the Dying. Its simple words comforted me as they had done in La Force. One of the gendarmes grabbed me by the shoulder to raise me, but the other stopped him.

  “Leave her alone,” he said. “She’s not hurting anybody.”

  At last a clerk, white in the face, left the office, carrying a pile of papers. The voice shouted, “Bring her in.” I blessed myself, rose and followed the gendarmes inside. A man was seated behind a desk covered with papers.

  “Wait outside, you two,” he told the gendarmes, “and leave the door open.”

  He did not rise but looked at me with some interest.

  “I am Fouquier, Public Prosecutor of the Revolutionary Tribunal.”

  He was by then one of the best-known men in Paris and the simple mention of his name was sufficient to inspire terror in the bravest hearts, for he could bring anyone to trial before the Tribunal. I was, of course, apprehensive, but could not help feeling a great curiosity towards him. Pierre-André had told me that they had been friends since before the Revolution. Fouquier was rather tall, well built, and not young anymore, as revealed by deep vertical wrinkles on each side of his mouth. His hair was still black, his eyes dark and intelligent, and his nose, a prosecutor’s nose, long and pointy.

  “What were you doing out there on your knees?” he asked in the familiar mode.

  “I was saying the Prayer for the Dying, Citizen Prosecutor.”

  “Do you expect to die?”

  “It will be for you, Citizen Prosecutor, and for the judges and jurors of this court, to decide.”

  “I saw that a rosary was found among your things. Have you any connections to unsworn priests?”

  “I never had any. I used to attend Mass served by sworn clergy. Now I address my prayers directly to God and His Saints without recourse to priests of any sort.”

  “All right. Make yourself comfortable and tell me why you find yourself here today.”

  I sat down. “You will be the one to explain why I am here, Citizen Prosecutor,” I said, “because I do not know. I am a widow and lead a very retired life. I am a seamstress at the Théâtre du Marais and only stir from home to go to work or buy food. I have no relations with the enemies of the Nation. I am as good a patriot as you will find anywhere. That explains why I had no trouble receiving a Civic Certificate from my Section.”

  “Your Section must have been deceived, because there are strong suspicions of aristocracy, maybe even of emigration, against you.”

  “It cannot be, Citizen Prosecutor. I have been a seamstress at the Théâtre du Marais for over a year. Before that, I used to live in Auvergne.”

  I told again the story of Citizen Labro, her early widowhood, her woes, her ill-fated journey to Paris. While I was continuing my narrative, to which Fouquier listened carefully and without interruption, I saw on his face the look of someone who has heard many stories, and not believed them all.

  “I will be more candid than you,” he said when I was done, “and tell you why you are here. Citizen Granger, your employer, has reported you as an aristocrat in disguise, which of course raises suspicions of emigration. That good patriot says that you give yourself the airs of a Marquise. Those are his words, and I cannot say that I disagree with his assessment.”

  I took a deep breath. “I am not surprised to hear that Citizen Granger is at the root of my troubles. The truth is that he is unhappy with me for reasons that have nothing to do with my supposed aristocratic airs. I spurned his advances yesterday, Citizen Prosecutor. He must have reported me out of spite.”

  A thin smile appeared on Fouquier’s face. “I have no trouble believing that a man could be tempted by a juicy little morsel like you. If true, it makes Granger a swine, but in no way does it preclude your being an aristocrat. A search of your lodgings produced sheets of a child’s lessons. You have obviously received an excellent education yourself. You express yourself very well and without any country accent. Now would you like to explain to me where the wife of a cheese merchant would have learned to speak like this?”

  “I was sent to a convent for a few years as a child. There I learned to speak French. My parents used to have a bit of money, but I was orphaned early and had to marry Citizen Labro when I was fifteen. I am in turn striving to give my daughter a decent education.”

  “Where is your child now?”

  “I do not know, Citizen Prosecutor. We were separated when I was arrested at the theatre.”

  “Why did you resist arrest if you were innocent?”

  “I was terrified of going to jail.”

  He arched his eyebrow. “You do not look terrified at all. Indeed it has been some time since I have seen anyone answer my questions with such composure.”

  “It is only in your presence that I am not terrified, Citizen Prosecutor, because you are speaking to me with great kindness.”

  “Have you been imprisoned before?”

  “Never.”

  “I will make some enquiries to verify your story. Until then, you will remain here as a guest of the Nation in our pailleux. If you are telling the truth, you have nothing to fear and will be released. If not…Now it would seem that we have a visitor.”

  I turned around in my seat. Pierre-André bent slightly to go through the door frame. It was the first time I saw him in his full official dress. Whoever had designed the judges’ uniform had not had a man like him in mind. The plumed hat added another foot to his height, and the cape hanging from his shoulders made him look like a tower draped in black cloth. He slammed the door closed. Everything in the room shook. He walked directly to Fouquier’s desk.

  “You and your mania to keep your door open!” he said. “This woman is a good patriot. Let her go.”

  Fouquier smiled again, this time broadly. “So you know this pretty little fish I caught in my nets, do you not? It was kind of you to recess your trial to inform me of it in person. She is, if one is to believe her, a Citizen Labro, a seamstress, the widow of a cheese merchant from your country. Do you want her sent to your courtroom for trial? Or, I can, if you prefer, ship her to Dumas. I guess it would not make much of a difference.”

  “She is telling the truth,” said Pierre-André, looking straight at Fouquier. “There is no need to try her before anyone.”

  “Now, friend Coffinhal,” said Fouquier, “I would be the last man to accuse you of lying to protect the enemies of the Nation, but she looks like the widow of a cheese merchant as much as I resemble the Pope. I was thinking of sending for some of the National Guards who were on duty at the Palace before the 10th of August. I believe, I do not know why, that they might recognize her. Many, especially those partial to red hair,
would consider her rather attractive. The National Guards will remember her better than her plain friends.”

  Fouquier rose from his chair to sit on his desk before me. “If I am not mistaken, not only is she an aristocrat, but she might be one of the ladies of the Court. Look at her hands, so soft and white, with long, tapered fingers. I have never seen such delicate wrists in a grown woman.”

  He had taken both of my hands into his, turning them over and considering them with great attention. Pierre-André wrenched them away from Fouquier and took them in his.

  “Never touch her again,” he said.

  Fouquier grinned. “There is no need to be cross with an old friend. I was only testing you. I knew she was yours from the moment you stormed my office.”

  Pierre-André let go of my hands and looked at the Citizen Prosecutor as if he were ready to seize him by his necktie.

  “Congratulations,” continued Fouquier, “quite a prize you have here! But if you want to save her, why not wed her as well as bed her? You know that I married a noblewoman myself. Those who are cured of their aristocratic prejudices make excellent wives. Provided that this one has no connection with the conspirators of the ci-devant monarchy, you have nothing to fear by taking that step.”

  “I am old enough,” said Pierre-André, “to manage these matters without the benefit of your advice.”

  “So I was right, was I not? You, of all men, with a lady of the Court! I know that you stopped, some time ago, patronizing the houses of convenience of the Palais-Egalité. Let me assure you, by the way, that you are sorely missed there. Your custom was very regular and you left nothing but good memories. And your more elegant lady friends, one in particular whom I will not name, also lament the loss of your society. What was I supposed to think? That you had suddenly converted to continence? In all the years I have known you, it has never struck me as one of your many virtues.”

  “How kind of you to take such a keen interest in my affairs!”

  “It is one of my duties to be well informed. I have long suspected that you were discreetly keeping a woman somewhere, not at your own lodgings of course, but probably not too far either, because you are a busy man. And why such secrecy, except to hide a liaison with an aristocrat? But I must confess that I would not have imagined anything like this one. You make a fine couple together.” Fouquier chuckled. “Beauty and the Beast, if you do not mind my saying so.”

  “Instead of making stupid jokes,” said Pierre-André, “you should be thinking of a way to resolve this. One thing I know. She is not going back downstairs to that squalid hole you call a prison. I want her out of here before the day is over.”

  Fouquier, in excellent spirits, and Pierre-André appeared to have become the best of friends again. They agreed that Pierre-André would keep me for the rest of the day in his chambers and assume all responsibility to take me out of there after dark. Fouquier would have the clerk record my transfer from La Conciergerie to the jail of Les Oiseaux, “The Birds.” Pierre-André asked who had reported me.

  His eyes narrowed. “Granger, is it? The promoter of The Pope in Hell. Probably a friend of the late Hébert, intent, like him, on discrediting the Revolution. And now he wastes the time of the Nation’s magistrates by filing idle reports to harass patriots. A provocation too many. Have him arrested. Today.”

  Fouquier concurred. He rose to bow to me. “It was an honour and a pleasure meeting you, Madam. I hope to be, someday, the best man at your wedding.”

  Pierre-André marched me out of Fouquier’s office. He ordered the two gendarmes who were still waiting for me outside to escort me to his chambers. There he dismissed them and locked the door.

  Without a word, he took me in his arms and held me tight for several minutes. My cheek pressed against the black silk of his waistcoat, I could barely breathe, both from the strength of his embrace and the sudden relief of my escape. Then he made me sit in one of the chairs. He opened the door and called a gendarme.

  “Fetch something to eat,” he said. “I have no time to go down to the buvette today.”

  The man came back with a basket containing a bottle of red wine, a cold chicken and a loaf of fresh bread, as well as plates, a glass and silverware. I could not imagine a finer or more joyful meal, which we shared on his desk.

  “I only learned of your arrest today,” he said. “Charlotte sent a note here last night, but I had left early for the Jacobins. I found it when I arrived in the morning. I had enquiries made at your Section and learned that you had been taken to La Conciergerie. From there, it was easy to track you to Fouquier’s office.” He ran his finger on my cheek. “All of this is my fault. I should have kept a closer eye on you, and of course absolutely forbidden that nonsense about working at the theatre.”

  I stared at my feet.

  “From now on, my love,” he continued, “you will obey me. And I will come by every night, regardless of the hour, to make sure that you are safe. For this afternoon, I will keep you locked here while I am in court. After dark we can go to my lodgings. You will stay there until I find something else for you.”

  “Why can I not return to my lodgings?”

  “Fouquier knows about that place, Gabrielle.”

  “Are you not friends? He arranged everything to let me go.”

  “Indeed. He must be delighted to have learned about you. Not that he would necessarily use it, but he likes to be well informed about his friends and enemies alike. He is the creature of the Committee of General Safety. That gives him a hand in all police matters. He had me followed once. There he found some difficulty. I may be easy to spot, but I can tell a mouchard when I see one. One night, I caught one by the scruff of the neck after retreating into a carriage door. I cured him of the desire to ever follow me again. I let the scoundrel escape in one piece to make sure he told his colleagues of his unpleasant encounter with me. No one has bothered me since. Police informers have been content to ask about me where they know I can be found.” Pierre-André shrugged. “You heard what Fouquier said about my former habits. It amused him to shame me in front of you. I am glad I already told you about them; otherwise I would not have liked you to learn of them in this manner. Every bit of knowledge makes Fouquier more powerful. I do not want him to be able to find you.”

  “What about Aimée? I left her at the theatre with Charlotte.”

  “I know. I will fetch her tonight.”

  I hesitated. “Pierre-André, how will I ever thank you?”

  I took his hand in mine, caressed it and looked up at him.

  “What now?” he asked, frowning.

  “I am ashamed, after all you did for me already, to request still another favour from you. Please do not be angry. In any case, you can always refuse.”

  “May I ask the purpose of these preliminaries?”

  “This morning I met a poor woman who was kind to me. She made unpatriotic statements under the influence of liquor. Yet I am sure that she never meant any harm. She went up this morning and may be called to your courtroom. Perhaps she has already been sentenced and it is too late.”

  He withdrew his hand. “What is her name?”

  “Victorine Dubonnet.”

  He shook his head. “Ah yes, the woman who voiced her opinion of the Republic’s paper money. She was questioned yesterday and admitted everything. She is indeed on my docket this afternoon. You are right, Gabrielle. I already did much for you today. And you may recall that I expressly forbade this kind of plea.”

  “I did promise not to ask you for anything you would deem contrary to justice. By bringing Victorine’s case to your attention, I do not feel that I am breaching my pledge. She was speaking as a true patriot and expressing remorse for what she had said about the assignats.”

  “The jurors usually take a dim view of those cases,” he said. “They think, with good reason, that those servants are all royalists.”

  “But she is no lady’s maid. She is a servant in a tavern.”

  He sighed. “So what e
xactly do you expect me to do?”

  “You told me that sometimes, to save the accused’s life, you add a question for the jury as to whether the defendant acted with malice and counterrevolutionary intent. Also, you might show leniency in the sentencing. Again, I am sorry to bother you. Now that, thanks to you, I will escape, I cannot let her go to the guillotine without trying to do anything for her.”

  He rose. “Rest easy then. You tried. I am not angry with you, but I am not promising anything. I will form my own opinion of your friend when I hear her. If she deserves to die, she will. I have to go. Do not make any noise or light the candles.”

  Pierre-André returned after five o’clock.

  “The Dubonnet woman was acquitted,” he said. “I did add the intentional question. She cried when I read the verdict.”

  84

  We had to wait until after dark to leave through a little door opening on the Quai de l’Horloge. He went first and I followed ten feet behind. We crossed the Pont-au-Change in the direction of the Right Bank and then walked back south towards the neighbouring Island of Saint-Louis, or Island of Equality, as it was then known. In less than ten minutes, we reached the Rue de la Femme Sans Tête, or “Street of the Headless Woman,” where Pierre-André lived. I found that name a bit unnerving given his judicial functions. He was greeted by a maid, around fifty, her face slit by a harelip.

  “This is Pélagie,” said Pierre-André. “Pélagie, this citizen is a friend of mine who is going to stay here for some time. Be good to her.”

  Pélagie nodded at me and responded with garbled words I did not understand. The lodgings were clean, comfortable and pleasantly located in the quaint island, just a stone’s throw from the banks of the Seine. On the walls of the dining parlour hung an assortment of swords and pistols. In the drawing room, a fine picture of a woman in a black dress and a white bonnet had been given the place of honour. Pierre-André informed me that she was his late mother.

  Pierre-André left again and came back an hour later, holding Aimée’s hand. She held her doll tightly against her breast. It had been more than twenty-four hours since we had seen each other. When she saw me, she dropped Margaret, shook Pierre-André loose and ran to my arms.