French Passion (45 page)

“The minute this trial's over,” she said, “the two of you got to get yourself to that farm in America.”

“We'll leave this afternoon,” I replied fervently.

The cooper put his stained hand familiarly on my shoulder. “Bravo, Citizeness,” he said. “I was a cannonier there, that day at the Bastille.”

“Then you'll demand the freedom of Citizen Égalité?”

“Never you fear, them judges listen to us,” the cooper replied, pulling a long-bladed knife partway from his belt.

The members of the Assembly were straggling back, many of them picking their teeth. The reserved boxes were filling with Revolutionary ladies. Some glowed with love rather than food.

I crossed my arms on the balustrade in front of me, gazing at the door to the left of the bench. There, André would enter.

The jurers filed into their box. The Tribunal returned, the President settling his plumed hat squarely on his forehead.

Almost two hours had passed since that moment of excitement when the court had adjourned. There was a rustling as everyone leaned forward expectantly.

The public prosecutor squared those too-bulky shoulders, standing as tall as his stunted legs permitted. He raised his head toward the gallery. “I call as my witness,” he cried in long-drawn-out syllables, “one who will denounce the prisoner.”

“Openly, Prosecutor?” asked the President of the Tribunal.

“Openly, President.”

“Proceed.”

“I call André Capet, Duc de la Concorde”—a long, dramatic pause—“also known as Égalité.”

The moment stilled as if a dread magician had waved his wand. Those in the boxes below were cast in marble. The deputies of the Assembly remained staring at the bench. The gallery behind me quieted, the clink of the tin lemonade cup could be heard.

The Tribunal, jury, public prosecutor, and André's defense counselor were a tableau.

There was only my heart reverberating.

Capet.

The name the royal family was now called.

Capet? Duc de la Concorde?

My André?

The thoughts jumped and popped and nothing made sense.

King Louis, dead this past month at thirty-nine, had been too young to father André. Anyway, the Comte had told me that the King had been impotent until he'd had a minor correctional touch of the surgeon's knife at twenty-two. And, even if the time hadn't been too short, or so the Comte had informed me, the King was unique in his glittering Court: a faithful husband.

I couldn't sort out answers, or even questions. I remembered, briefly, the Comte demanding both doors be opened for André, the Comte warning me in our last moments together on this earth that I must avoid André.

My thoughts jumped to André's hatred of his father, the mystery he always kept around his birth.

André royal? But how, how?

In the hush voices began whispering the same question.

“And you never let on, not once,” Izette murmured reproachfully.

“I didn't know.” I shook my head as if to clear the bewilderment.

The side door opened, and breaths were drawn as André entered. As he climbed onto the platform erected for King Louis, he turned toward the gallery, searching for me.

The public prosecutor said, “You call yourself Égalité, Prisoner”

“Yes.”

“But you are in fact André, Duc de la Concorde?”

“According to the old laws, yes,” André replied.

“How so?”

“My mother named me André. The title was bestowed upon me by my father.”

“Your father's name?”

A rustle reached to the high roof of the vast denuded hall, once a glory of the Old Regime. Everyone leaned forward.

André said in a low, clear voice, “Louis the Fifteenth, King of France.”

Louis XV was grandfather to his successor, the recently guillotined Louis XVI. Louis XV's son had died in 1765, so André must be this long-dead Dauphin's half brother. I struggled to understand the relationships and failed. One thing, however, was clear. It was André's nephew who had died in the Place de la Révolution eleven days earlier, it was André's own family, imprisoned and hounded, that he'd sought so desperately to save.

“You are his legitimate son?”

“By edict he had me made so.”

“Therefore you are legal uncle to the late Louis Capet?”

“Younger by many years, but yes. I'm the dead King's uncle.” André paused, turning from the public prosecutor to the President of the Tribunal. “Am I indeed a witness?”

The plumed hat nodded assent.

“Then as a witness I may give testimony?”

“To what purpose?”

“That I may speak in my own defense.”

The President of the Tribunal darted those hasty, questioning glances to the few in the Assembly who appeared to comprehend what was going on.

He said loudly, “Our new Republic has a leniency and justice denied by your forebears. Capet, you may speak on your own behalf.”

“It is in the form of a letter from my mother.”

“Let it be read.”

André gazed at the gallery, found me. At this distance I couldn't clearly make out his expression, yet the gesture seemed a form of apology.

He drew a sheaf of papers from inside his coat. Carefully uncreasing the folds, he said, “This letter, in relating how I came to be born, also explains why I struggled to bring freedom and equality to the land.”

The aroma of sweaty anticipation was overwhelming. Vendors, ceasing to cry their wares, hunkered in the aisles. Children were still. This was higher drama than any in the Théâtre Française. Royalty explaining his birth and motives. All eyes fixed on André

In the dead silence, his resonant voice compelling attention, he read.

Chapter Ten

“‘To my son. If you are reading this, it means I never again will see you in this world. My name is Jeanine de Tinville. My family has been noble since 1087; however, the de Tinville lands have been divided too often among too many sons. Like most of the nobility in France, we are very poor.

“‘My parents and my brothers and I lived in a fallen-down plastered brick farmhouse shared in winter with our pigs and our cow. To put meat on our table, my father was reduced to occasional poaching. I helped my mother hill leeks and plant lettuce. We wore patched clothes and wooden shoes. Our only inheritance was our gentle blood.

“‘When I was twelve it was universally agreed I was a pretty child, with shining black hair, gray eyes, even teeth, and a fair, translucent skin. Though not yet a woman, my body was graceful and tall. I do not write this boastfully, but to explain what follows.

“‘Quiet, preferring to listen rather than to talk, I was of a religious bent. My family joked that it seemed a shame to waste me, with my looks, on the cloister. To me, though, the idea of serving God in eternal purity was not a joke. I yearned to enter a convent.

“‘One day to our farm came some old friends of my parents'. The couple wore fine satin clothes. Six horses drew their gilded carriage and lackeys swarmed behind it. The Marquis and Marquise d'—I omit their name, my son, in the event you might seek them out to punish them. They exclaimed over my beauty. The Marquise, especially, showed great interest in me. After ascertaining I hadn't yet become a woman, she confided to my mother that her greatest sorrow was being childless, and she desired nothing more from life than to have me as a daughter. She begged permission to take me to Paris with her, promising I would be educated. The Marquis added his promise that I should have a dowry of a thousand gold livres. My parents, having worried about my future, blessed the couple. I, naturally, was not consulted. As our gilt carriage pulled from the courtyard, I began to weep for my parents, my brothers. I wept all the way to Caen. Both the Marquis and Marquise slapped me as an ungrateful wretch. Their kindness disappeared. At night, the Marquise tied me to her bedpost.

“‘We never reached Paris.

“‘We arrived in Versailles by night, entering the gates of a great park that I later learned was the outer edge of the palace gardens. We came to a high brick wall, iron gates were opened for us, and we passed through shadowy trees. At a timbered lodge of the kind that great nobility use for hunting, a serving wench with a flambeau met us, lighting our way into a polished hall. A hugely fat, painted woman glided across the shining floor to greet us. She circled me, staring.

“‘“A dainty morsel,” she said.

“‘“Her name is Jeanine de Tinville,” the Marquis replied, as if I weren't present. “And I have promised her father she'll receive a dowry and an education.”

“‘At this the three of them laughed in the odd, greedy manner of townfolk watching animals mate.

“‘Said the Marquis, “She's of the noblest blood in Normandy.”

“‘“I've never educated a lady,” said the fat painted woman. “Jeanine de Tinville, welcome to Parc aux Cerfs.”

(In the courtroom a few people gasped, and I was one of them. We were those who, being privy to Court gossip, knew the ugly secret of Parc aux Cerfs.)

“‘The hunting lodge was large, luxurious, and I had four other young girls as friends. I, as the fat woman had said, was the only one of gentle blood. There were no lackeys or males about. Elderly maidservants tended us, petted us, giving us any dish we desired, dressing us in lovely, unpatched clothes—we had everything except freedom. Beyond the iron gates we could hear soldiers presenting arms. Around the brick walls we could hear the tread of sentries.

“‘The fat painted woman was our teacher. My son, I flush as I write this, but you must learn everything. Our education came from pictures of couplings and lewd tales told to us by the woman. I was the only one who could read. It became my task to read from bawdy books. With my inclination toward the spiritual life, you can imagine how this task repelled me.

“‘The painted woman made no secret of the purpose of her lascivious teachings. There had been many at Parc aux Cerfs before us, she said, doubtless many would follow, girls not yet women and therefore guaranteed free of the English disease, girls trained to give pleasure.

“‘The man we must please was the King.

“‘After each girl had her first woman's time, the King would enjoy her a few nights, and then she would be released with a thousand gold livres. So that's my dowry, I thought, shedding bitter tears. I must confess, however, that the others were delighted.

“‘I tried to escape. A maid caught me climbing a tree near the high wall. I was locked in my room, where the fat procuress had me read yet more obscene tales. The more my outraged modesty caused me to blush, the more delighted she became. “A morsel fit for a King,” she kept repeating.

“‘My first woman's time came. I was frantic. I decided to kill myself. The procuress, though, kept me with her all the time. I was taken to a part of the lodge I'd never been. When my time ended, they bathed me in milk, perfumed me from my head to my toes, then led me to a huge bed on a dais. Silk swathed the steps. They tied me with satin scarves to the bed posts. Overhead, a mirror reflected my naked body's struggles.

“‘“Jeanine,” the fat procuress said, her lacquered face annoyed, “I regret having to tie you. There are those who would give all they possess to have one night with the King.”

“‘She left me to a pair of maids. They teased my body with soft ostrich plumes. Hours and hours those plumes touched my breasts, my nipples, my thighs. I writhed, moaning in an excess of—I didn't understand what it was that I craved. My body shook and trembled.

“‘I heard the gate, doors opening. The maids disappeared and both doors were flung open. King Louis entered. He was older and more wrinkled than his printed portraits; his nose was larger, that of a Roman emperor. Undeniably, though, he was handsome.

“‘“But why have they tied you?” he asked.

“‘“I don't want you!” I cried.

“‘He looked at me, startled. Had the others all been willing? Afraid to speak to him? He untied me.

“‘I wish I could say I defended my honor. But now, finally, I understood what sensations those interminable moving feathers had roused. My pleasure with the King shamed me to the depth of my soul.

“‘He stayed for three nights and days.

“‘He didn't dismiss me, as he had the others. He visited often, wanting no other girl in his mirrored bed. He begged to know my wishes. I said, “To be free of this sin.” “That, my little beloved, I will not grant. I want you too much.” In the end the only favor I could think of was to be rid of my lewd governess.

“‘I never saw her again.

“‘It was the King's pleasure to sit talking to me in the gardens of Parc aux Cerfs. He said I had a deep way of listening that he'd never before encountered. He said with me he was happy.

“‘And one warm afternoon he said, “I want you in Court with me.”

“‘Not only was I shamed by my life, but the thought of a palace peopled with men and women like the Marquis and Marquise repelled me. I told him this.

“‘“They aren't all venal,” he replied. “But you're right, my quiet little nun. The real world would surely tarnish you.”

“‘He gave me a gold ring with our initials.

“‘I was with child. My pregnancy delighted the King, for recently his only son, the Dauphin, had died. Yet at the same time he feared for me. The chances are not good for a safe delivery with a young girl.

“‘You were born ten days ago, and since then I have been ill with the childbed fever. The King comes often to visit us. He dandles you on his knee, and yesterday promised to make you legitimate. I doubt if he will remember his promise, for he says it to please me, knowing I am mortally ill.

“‘The priest will be here soon. In the meantime I must write this down.

“‘I am not afraid of dying. I seek no vengeance, for your father has been kind to me. Yet in these long hours of fever I have lain awake wondering about the deep wrongs in a land where such a place as the Parc aux Cerfs can exist. It seems to me that each man and woman, born in the same manner, should have an equal chance at earthly grace. No man, woman, or little child should be debased to give pleasure or gain to another, no matter how high his rank.