Mistress of the Revolution (31 page)

I opened my mouth to reply.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I know that we agreed never to discuss that question. Please accept my apologies.”

Madame de Gouville wrote me, for she found me a more reliable correspondent than her nephew, that most of Normandy had remained quiet and Dampierre had not been attacked.

“I have always been accommodating with my tenants, especially since the last harvest,” said Villers when I read him her letter. “Moreover, I can hardly be accused of being part of an aristocratic conspiracy. And my aunt has knit enough stockings for little peasants to have gained some measure of goodwill.”

The events of the following August are too well known to be related in detail here: during a late session on the night of the 4th and 5th, some of the Representatives of the nobility in the Assembly, led by the Viscount de Noailles, brother-in-law to Lafayette, proposed the abolition of the privileges of the old feudal society. The lords’ private courts of justice were abolished. Access to the judicial system was to be free. Judges would no longer purchase their functions but would now be appointed on the basis of merit. Commoners would no longer be barred from any profession or place, whether in the army, the civil service or the church.

My friends
, as the Chevalier called them, were all part of that movement. The Representatives of the Clergy likewise renounced its tithes. The members of the National Assembly had embraced in the middle of general rejoicing. When Villers came home after one in the morning and told me what had happened at the Assembly, I threw my arms around his neck and together we cried with joy. Everything seemed possible. A new era of happiness and liberty was opening before the Nation. Those who have not lived through such changes cannot imagine the headiness of those days.

The Assembly proceeded to draft a Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen, which was to inspire two years later the American Bill of Rights. It spelled out the right to resist oppression, the freedom from arbitrary arrest and detention, the presumption of innocence in criminal proceedings, the freedom of religion, the freedom of opinion and the equality of all before the law. I know that it is fashionable, now that France has been, for fifteen years, suffering under the yoke of Bonaparte’s tyranny, to denigrate the legacy of the Revolution and the merits of its first Assembly, but the night of the 4th of August and the adoption of the Declaration of Rights remain unmatched achievements. They still make me, although I have not been allowed to set foot in my country in twenty years, proud to be French.

The Queen, however, made no mystery of her distaste for the new ideas. On the 25th of August was celebrated the holiday of Saint-Louis, the King’s ancestor and patron saint. Upon that occasion, Their Majesties traditionally received the good wishes of the City of Paris, represented by its Provost. Of course, there was no more Provost since the fall of the Bastille six weeks earlier, but it had been decided that the Queen would greet delegations from both the National Guard and the new Municipality of Paris, led by its Mayor.

This ceremony was held in the Salon of the Nobles, the green room where I had been presented. The Queen, covered with diamonds from head to toe, had taken her place on a throne raised on a dais. I, in my best white Court dress, was standing behind the Duchess, who sat on a stool. An usher announced: “The City of Paris!” Bailly, the new Mayor, made his entrance. I was surprised to observe that, instead of kneeling before the throne, as was required by the etiquette, he made a deep bow. Curious to see the Queen’s reaction, I watched her. Her face was frozen, but her entire body was shaking. After introducing the members of the Municipality, who also bowed, Bailly made a short speech in which he assured the Queen of the devotion of her subjects. She did not make any gesture or utter any word in response.

Then it was Lafayette’s turn to introduce the officers of his staff. Again, all bowed to the ground. The Queen’s face was now scarlet and livid welts were visible on her throat under her diamonds. This time she regained enough composure to stutter a few indistinct words and shake her head sideways to dismiss her visitors from her presence. All left promptly, astonishment and anger painted on their faces.

“Well,” asked the Duchess once we left the room a few minutes later, “what did you think of this, Belle? Many of those members of the Municipality had never seen the Queen before. They asked to come to Versailles especially to be introduced to her. Now they have seen her indeed.”

“She did look extremely upset. I was surprised myself by the fact that none of her visitors knelt. Yet, Madam, it was to be expected. Nowadays many consider those antiquated marks of respect humiliating and unworthy of a free country.”

“Those poor fellows from the Municipality probably thought that they were showing enough deference by bowing.” The Duchess shook her head sadly. “Now they will bring back to Paris a fine impression of the Queen. This does not bode too well.”

Villers and I continued to live in Versailles until the autumn of 1789. Late in September, he expressed concerns that the Court had again resorted to its old tricks. The regiment of Flanders, known for its loyalty to the Crown, was called to Versailles.

“An attack on the Assembly must be imminent,” he said. “The Queen has not abandoned the idea of seeing us hanged or beheaded, I suppose. The Bodyguards are to give a grand dinner to honour the officers of the Flanders regiment on the first of October. You should ask the Chevalier des Huttes for tickets. He cannot refuse since he is such a great friend of yours.”

“I will ask him if you wish, though I will not much enjoy attending a dinner at which I am not to be a guest.”

“Please, Belle. I am curious to hear what happens.”

The event took place in the Opera of the Palace of Versailles. Tables had been set on the stage, with officers from the Bodyguards and Flanders regiment alternating. The National Guards of Versailles, for by then these militias had been instituted in all cities, large and small, had also been invited. I was sitting in one of the boxes. The orchestra played, while one heard cries of
Long live the King
. The spectators comprised both courtiers and members of the Assembly. Acerbic exchanges of opinions took place from one box to another.

I found the atmosphere unpleasant and was ready to withdraw when the royal family entered the stage. The acclamations, joined to the music, became deafening. The Queen took her son Louis-Charles by the hand and walked with him between the tables, smiling graciously as she knew how to do on occasion. Officers were throwing themselves at her feet and she gave them her hand to kiss. In the heat of the moment, some of the National Guards took off the tricolour cockades that decorated their hats and trampled them underfoot in the midst of cheering. I was shocked to see the King and Queen smiling and nodding in approval. I left in disgust.

I told Villers of the incident that night.

“This is a disaster,” he said. “How could the King tolerate, much less encourage, such behaviour after he himself donned the tricolour cockade? News of this will spread to Paris in a matter of hours.”

A few days later, I was teaching Aimée her letters when, some time after five in the afternoon, we were interrupted by shouts and songs coming from the street. I ran to the window. From the direction of Paris, thousands of women on foot, armed with pikes and scythes, their rags stuck to their meager frames by a chilly rain, were marching on the Palace. That display of poverty and anger froze me to the bone.

Around eleven that night, I heard more noise coming from the street and rose to see another cortege file by my house. A crowd, this time composed of men carrying lanterns, was headed in the direction of the Palace. A sullen Lafayette, riding at the head of the National Guards from Paris, closed the procession.

Villers did not return from the Assembly until late the next morning, his face drawn. He collapsed in a chair. Eyes closed, he reached for my hand and kissed it.

“What a night this has been, my dear Belle,” he said. “You must have seen that mob arrive from Paris. The women were there first and set camp in the gardens of the Palace. The men joined them later. They were all clamouring for bread. Lafayette was granted an audience by the King and Queen. He assured them that there was nothing to fear. He himself retired around five in the morning.”

Villers rubbed his face.

“One hour later,” he continued, “a riot started after one of the men who had set camp in the gardens was shot dead by a Bodyguard. The whole mob stormed the Palace. The women in particular forced their way to the Queen’s apartments, shouting that they would
make lace out of her bowels
. Two Bodyguards on duty that night at the door to her bedroom were killed.”

I took a deep breath. “What about the Chevalier des Huttes? Is he safe?” I asked.

Villers shook his head. “I do not know, my dear. I would tell you if I did. What is certain is their sacrifice gave the Queen, barefoot and in her chemise, time to seek refuge in the King’s apartments. Lafayette, awakened at last, arrived in time to save the rest of the Bodyguards from the mob’s wrath.”

“So apart from those two Bodyguards killed on the Queen’s doorstep, all are safe?”

“I believe so. Later in the morning, Lafayette appeared with the Queen at the balcony of the Palace and kissed her hand. He may have saved her life then. He is in the unenviable position of attempting to reconcile the mob and Queen, who loathes him because she sees him as the symbol of the Revolution. The crowd, pacified by his gesture, began crying
To Paris!
The King ostensibly agreed to leave Versailles for Paris. Yet as usual, he tried to do the reverse of what he had promised. He argued that he refused to be separated from the Assembly. How convenient for him to forget that he would have been delighted to have us arrested or executed only hours earlier! We responded that we would follow him to the capital. He has no choice now but to leave for Paris.”

I put my hand on Villers’s shoulder. “Please take some rest, my dear. You look exhausted.”

“I am, my love, but I must return to the Assembly now. The situation may change at any moment.”

Early in the afternoon of that day, Aimée and I saw another parade under my windows, going in the opposite direction from the day before. Parisians on foot, Bodyguards and National Guards on horseback, all mixed together, were marching in the greatest disorder towards Paris. In accordance with the weather, which had turned dry and warm for the season, the mood of the crowd now seemed gleeful. I looked in vain for the handsome figure of the Chevalier des Huttes among the blue and red uniforms of Bodyguards. All I saw at first was the same crowd of bedraggled women as the previous day, this time cheering, straddling cannons or riding behind the soldiers. The carriages of the royal family and the Court followed at a slow pace, accompanied by men holding aloft on pikes two severed heads.

As soon as I recognized the nature of the trophies, I pushed Aimée away from the window, which was on the second floor. I was too horrified by the grisly sight to withdraw myself. I must have looked shocked, for the men holding the pikes paused in front of my house, pushed the heads into my face and, laughing and yelling, invited me to kiss them. I could not keep my eyes away from one of them. Its skin was grey, its hair matted with blood. The blade of the pike, like a steel tongue, was poking out of one of the cheeks. Disfigured as the poor remains were, I recognized the face of the Chevalier des Huttes. My knees buckled and I withdrew from the window, too stunned for tears. From the cries of the crowd I knew that the procession had resumed its march.

I had assumed, without any reason other than a desire to believe the best, that the Chevalier had been among the Bodyguards rescued by Lafayette. He had indeed been massacred by the crowd at the Queen’s doorstep. It comforted me later to think that he had died bravely in the line of duty, as befits a soldier, and that his sacrifice had not been in vain. He had saved the life of Her Majesty, whom he loved so, by giving her time to escape.

As the street quieted, I looked out again, this time with tears for the Chevalier. All I remembered of him was his kindness to me, his fondness for Aimée and his help in bringing me to Paris. I was only beginning to understand that in the course of a revolution one should be prepared to lose one’s friends.

The Assembly, true to its word, followed the King to Paris within days. So did Villers and I. Overnight the Palace of Versailles was deserted by the living and abandoned to the ghosts of kings long dead.

On our return to Paris, I found the same entertainments, balls, concerts, plays, as before. My enjoyment of them was dimmed by the impression the death of the Chevalier des Huttes had left on me. The events of the 5th and 6th of October spurred a second wave, more numerous than the first, of emigration. Many members of the nobility left France, some never to return. So did Madame Lebrun, who hoped to find new patrons for her paintings in Italy. The Marquise de Bastide, the Duchess’s daughter, likewise left for Turin, the capital of the Kingdom of Savoie. Yet Paris society remained as elegant and cheerful as in the past, with the difference that politics was now the main topic of conversation.

The new liberty of speech, following centuries of royal censorship, had spawned hundreds of newspapers, pamphlets and satires. One no longer dreaded the
cabinet noir
, the “black cabinet,” the division of the police that read and copied private letters under the Old Regime. I attended on occasion the sessions of the Assembly, now resettled in the former indoors riding arena of the Tuileries. The debates were rowdier than anything seen in England. The galleries reserved for the public were always full, as was fitting in a young democracy, and one had to arrive early to find room. The Representatives took their seats according to their political opinions: the party of the Court to the right, the Patriots to the left, and those who could not make up their minds in the center. The audience would cheer, jeer, whistle, clap, argue with the orators. Disputes, as is often the case among Frenchmen, could become quite heated. Once in a while a nobleman drew his sword and threatened to run it through a colleague of a different opinion. The “knitters,” women of the lowest classes who would come each day to the Assembly, responded by shouting
String the aristocrats from the lampposts
.

From the galleries of the Assembly, I listened from time to time to the speeches of a carefully dressed young man, slightly built, with delicate features and not much of a voice. What he lacked in oratory skills was more than compensated by his conviction. His argument against the death penalty, which he called a barbaric form of punishment unworthy of a democracy, was particularly forceful. He was also passionate in his denunciation of slavery. He advocated the enfranchisement of all men, regardless of wealth, education or colour, although, to my disappointment, he did not mention female suffrage. His conviction moved me. I asked my neighbours in the galleries about him and was told that he was Robespierre, an attorney and the Representative for the northern town of Arras. Someone said: “Watch this young man, Madam. He will go far. He believes in what he says.”

Villers, after our return to Paris in mid-October, continued to fulfill his duties as a Representative. Although they kept him occupied during the day, his old uneasiness returned. As I resumed my former life, he became incensed over the most insignificant details.

The Count de Maury had by then tired of poor Emilie. He often looked at me in a manner suggesting that he was considering me for the place she had occupied. One night, Villers, his face white, burst upon me while I was playing one of Mozart’s sonatas on my pianoforte. I had forgotten that Maury had once mentioned that he liked the works of that composer. Villers slammed the instrument shut and insisted on receiving a full account of my feelings for Maury.

But this was nothing compared to the jealousy Lauzun inspired. He had once mentioned that blue was his favourite colour. I met him again at a dinner given by the Duchess, when I happened to wear a blue gauze dress. Also blue were the elegant heron feather in my hair and the ribbons that trimmed my long white gloves. Villers glowered at me across the table during the whole dinner. At the end of it, he seized me roughly by the arm and shoved me rather than handed me into his carriage. Once at my lodgings, he accused me of having some sort of secret understanding with Lauzun, of wearing blue that night to show him that I loved him, and of many other things.

In our intimate relations, Villers made increased demands, sometimes of a novel nature. Any reluctance, any hesitation in submitting to his summons were interpreted as a sign that I no longer cared for him or enjoyed his embraces. One night after a dinner he had given at his house, he told me in front of his guests: “I wish to show Your Ladyship a rather interesting book I just received from London. Please, Madam, be kind enough to follow me to my study.”

I flushed with anger at the thought that he was flaunting our liaison and his power over me, when he had only half an hour to wait to be alone with me.

“You are very kind, Sir,” I said, “but I feel a little tired. Some other time maybe.”

Villers was ready to respond when Lauzun, who was among the guests, rose. “I must say that I am exhausted too,” he said. “You will allow me to retire, Villers.”

I expressed my gratitude by raising my eyes to Lauzun. He looked back at me in a rather sad manner. The other guests took their cues from him and left shortly. Another scene ensued, worse than usual because Villers had noticed the looks exchanged between Lauzun and me.

I tried to reason with Villers but came to realize the futility of my efforts. I would look away and wait in silence for the outbursts to subside. Before long he would acknowledge the irrationality of his suspicions and beg my forgiveness in the most contrite manner. I nevertheless learned to mind the most trivial details of my life and dread the results of an instant of carelessness.

Even my lady friends did not find grace in Villers’s eyes. He believed them to induce me to betray him. The only one to escape his censure was the Duchess. I had missed her company in Versailles and called on her almost daily upon my return to Paris. After the emigration of her daughter, I was all the more sensible of the many obligations I had to my elderly friend.

It was during one of these visits that the Duchess told me, her eyes shining like those of a child: “I have a surprise for you, dear Belle. You are to be offered the place of lady-in-waiting to the Countess de Provence, with a stipend of 6,000 francs a year.”

I remained silent for a minute. “I cannot express my gratitude warmly enough, Madam. I have no connections at Court that could explain such a favour. It is such an honour to belong to the household of the King’s sister-in-law.”

“Well, my dear, in truth these places are less in demand than they used to be. All I had to do was to suggest your name to some of my friends. When the Countess de Provence heard of it, she herself requested that you join her household as a replacement for my daughter.”

“Why does Madame want me as a lady-in-waiting?”

“She has always been delighted with your beauty. Also of course, there is the fact that the Queen has never treated you well and hates Villers with a passion. That can only act as a recommendation in the eyes of Her Highness, who seems to have been infected by the revolutionary spirit. Finally, as you know, Madame de Gourbillon has been exiled to Lille since last February. The Countess de Provence misses her and thinks that she is owed some compensation for the loss of her dear friend’s company.”

I stiffened. “Does Her Highness expect me to provide the same services as Madame de Gourbillon?”

“Of course not, dear. It will be incumbent upon you to make things completely clear from the beginning. I am sure that Madame, who is far from an imbecile, has enough sense to respect your inclination.”

“Are you sure?”

“I would not propose this otherwise,” said the Duchess, smiling.

I trusted her judgment and gratefully accepted the place. True, I was taking a risk by becoming part of the Court at a time when the situation remained unsettled. Yet I still believed that the royal family’s move to Paris, in spite of the violence that had attended it, would seal the reconciliation between the city and the monarchy. I saw more to admire in the Revolution than to fear.

Villers glowered at me when he heard my news.

“Have you taken leave of your senses, Belle?” he asked. “Why would you accept any position with such a woman as Madame?”

“It is worth 6,000 a year. That means a great deal to me.”

“Do I not already give you an allowance in the same amount? Perhaps I should have increased it. Why did you not ask for more?”

“What you give me, my dear, is more than enough to satisfy my every need and whim, but I intend to save all of the money I will earn for Aimée’s dowry. Her father, as you know, left her next to nothing. In ten years, when she is old enough to think of those things, she will have 60,000 francs, which may be enough to induce someone she likes to marry her. I want her to have better choices than I when I came to Paris.”

He frowned. “You sound as if you had to bed Blue Beard. Was it really so disgusting for you to yield to me?”

“Of course not, but it was difficult to accept the idea of becoming your mistress.”

“And pray whose fault is it that we are not married now? We need to seriously discuss these matters, Belle. You should know that I have amended my will to leave you Vaucelles and the Cantepie estate in Normandy, which brings 50,000 a year. I would make these gifts irrevocable by marriage contract. Moreover, I understand your concerns about Aimée, and I am ready to settle 60,000 on her as a dowry. So all you have to do is to marry me, thank Madame and tell her that you are, much to your regret, unable to accept her offer.”

“You are very generous, as usual, but you have convinced me that matrimony would not suit you at all.”

“That was years ago. I have changed, Belle.”

“I am aware of it. Of late you have become jealous. Yet I have done everything in my power to please you, to the point of agreeing to be buried alive in Versailles for months.”

“I know, Belle.” He reached for my hand. “I have plagued you with my idiotic suspicions. Please forgive me. The truth is that I am afraid of losing you again. If you married me, I would feel assured of you.”

“Can we not continue as we are? Are you not happy with me?”

“I am, but I want more. I need your promise that you will be mine and mine only, that you will love me, obey me and honour me.”

“Do I not already do all of these things?”

“You do, but I want you to trust me enough to give me the power to enforce that promise. Is my proposal not generous enough?”

“It is, more so than I could ever expect or deserve. I thank you for it, but I do not wish to be so entirely dependent upon your kindness. I want to earn this money for Aimée. She is nothing to you. You should not be burdened with the expense of her dowry.”

“She would be my stepdaughter if we married. That would be enough for me to want to see her decently settled. What I cannot fathom is why you will not accept this money from me, but are ready to throw yourself at the mercy of a woman who is a drunkard and a pervert to
earn
it, as you say. Have you any idea of what it entails?”

“Madame knows that I would never agree to anything of the kind.”

“How would she? She has never met with much resistance from other ladies she has fancied. You are hopelessly naive, Belle, if you think that she does not expect you to be compliant, and much mistaken if you believe that I will tolerate such a ridiculous situation. I will not let you make a fool of me while you prostitute yourself.”

“How can you speak to me in such a manner?” I could feel my anger rising. “Why cannot you trust my judgment?”

“Because you have none. Let me be clear, Belle. If you accept Madame’s offer, your allowance will stop. You would not be a
sol
richer than if you had declined the place.”

I looked straight into Villers’s eyes. I remembered my feelings of desperate powerlessness when my brother had forced his will upon me, when I had been compelled to obey the Baron. That would never happen again.

“Fine,” I said. “I will take the place. You may turn me out of here if you wish. I will find less expensive lodgings and pay for them out of my own pocket.”

Villers rubbed his hands on his face. “So be it, Madam. I will put an end to Your Ladyship’s allowance, which will be reinstated, with a substantial increase, should you reconsider your decision. There is no need for you to move. I will still pay for your rent and servants.”

I held out my hand to him. “I am sorry to have angered you. Such was not my purpose.”

“Maybe not, but you did not hesitate to do so. You are refusing, out of sheer stupidity and obstinacy, to grant a perfectly reasonable request I made of you. Do not ever suggest again that you honour and obey me like a husband. Good night to you.”

Villers’s jaw was tight as he left.

Yielding would have been giving up any pretense of independence. I hoped for a visit from him the next morning. He did not call. I have noted earlier in these memoirs, I believe, that I have no false pride. I wrote him a note stating that I begged his forgiveness for having offended him, that I was grieved to have done so, that I thanked him for his concern and that I hoped to have the pleasure of his company that night. He returned before dinner.

“Thank you for allowing me to save face,” he said, smiling sadly. “I would have returned in any event. I cannot stay away from you for so long. You did not say in your note whether you had reconsidered your decision.”

“I have not, my dear, but you need not worry. Rest assured that if anything inappropriate happens, I will resign my place with Madame immediately.”

“I guess I will have to be content with this.” He shook his head. “What a fool I have been not to marry you when you still wanted me.”

The Court had moved to the Palace of the Tuileries, in the heart of Paris. It had remained uninhabited for decades, except for an apartment set up for the Queen to spend the night when she attended the balls and plays of Paris. Even that part of the Palace had been unused for years because she had long quit attending public entertainments for fear of being insulted and heckled. She barely set foot out of the Palace. The King gave up hunting, which was, along with food and locksmithing, the great passion of his life. He became famous for his ability to keep his appetite, or “eat like a swine,” as people would soon say, in the face of mortal danger. His stoutness turned to obesity.