Reign of Fear: Story of French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars (Cantiniére Tales) (20 page)

News reached us. When Mirabeau was buried in pompous splendor in the Pantheon, the
deceitful royal family made a shoddy run for it on 20
th
of June 1791. Pierre told us about it and while I hated him for spilling my story to Gilbert and pretty much anyone who would listen, it was an exciting story. The royals, unused to travelling incognito amongst the commoners stuck to the eye like a pink thief on a market day. They were caught in Varennes, and brought back to Paris in shame, through the silent and resentful lines of people they had claimed to support in the change of monarchy. Time was ripe, for the people were not harboring any more illusions about their king, hated the arrogant queen, and the threat of terrible war was looming heavily over France. Many a nation, Prussia, Austria where Marie Antoinette came from, were increasingly worried over the fate of the hapless French monarchs, and ultimately their own future. French revolution was not an import they would have on their lands. The Holy Roman Emperor, Leopold II, especially, demanded other monarchs to come to Louis XVI’s aid. The foolish National Assembly, fearing a coup, declared the king inviolable, but it did not help his cause what happened in Champs de Mars.

Pierre told us that Georges, after Mirabeau died, had been clamoring for trouble. He needed it and he smelled success. It was so close, so close he could feel it, taste the advancement in life. One foe remained, Lafayett
e. Pierre, shaking his head told how Danton, amongst others, wanted to put forward a petition to the confused National Assembly, one that would depose of the king, one that would be endorsed and publicly signed by all men and women willing to do so, and there were many. Brave Danton and fanatic Camille, with the Cordeliers, and the more radical parts of the Jacobins hoped it would be refused bloodily and what would follow would be like Bastille. People would listen, demand a change.

They went forward with these plans. In order to make the crowd even angrier, Georges sent Lafayette a
personal letter, Pierre told us, as if he had been there. Rumor or not, it was said Georges insulted Lafayette rudely, and the old proud and dull war hero detested Danton, to his core. When the crowds, rioting their hearts out, loud and dangerous came to sign the petition, Danton saw the National Guard arrayed there in serried ranks. Georges had paid some braver men and some desperate women to pelt the guards with sharp stones, and what followed, was an epic massacre.

At first, s
ome shots were fired over people’s heads, resulting in people screaming murder, then, more, more and more shots to calm what would be impossible to calm, until the guardsmen, wild with fury and shivering with fear killed some hundred civilians at Champs de Mars, and after that Lafayette was a thing of slime in everyone’s eyes, something that was barely tolerated, no matter his denial of responsibility.

By the end of the year, Frederic Will
iam II and Leopold II had issued a declaration that was a final, heavy warning to France. King must stay sacred. On September, the king signed the constitution. National Constitutional Assembly was done, and Legislative Assembly convened. They condemned the émigrés, the self-exiled nobles, ordering them to return. The king, much bolder by the support from the outside, vetoed the ruling. He signed his death warrant at the same time, and Georges used money to buy more and more favor and created more and more chaos.

While these great events were taking place, I was calmly reading
with Adéle, who was getting even thinner and at times, very ill. I fenced, mother made gentle love to Robert, we waited and celebrated Christmas again, unable to comprehend another year had passed. Fear changes your outlook on time, Marie. I was suddenly a woman.
 

CHAPTER 9

Year 1792
began with usual hunger, terrible illness and very real threat of war in France, and now, hunger and illness caught up to us in the prison as well. Our number had doubled in few haphazard weeks, people were held on other levels as well as ours, and men were frantically building new cells. Adéle fell ill with lung disease, and I spent my meager rations of food to make her better, daubing rags in water, wiping bloody froth from her dry lips. Mother helped me.

Then, one day,
Pierre did not show up to duty.

His brother looked grim, worried and did not speak much, and did his duties haphazardly.
In a week, we all noticed Andre would sit silently still in the great central room, looking out of the small window, sometimes gazing at us, then at his wife. ‘Where is Pierre?’ I tried to ask him, but he did not answer, having a sort of a far away look in his eyes, and I cried for I Pierre was likely dead, having succumbed to some of the many diseases of Paris and part of me dreaded Gilbert had found his source of rumors. Something was happening with Andre, though, for Mathilde and Agnés would whisper to him, and Pierre’s widow would gaze at us shrewdly and nod and I thought this was Gilbert’s doing and my piece of mind was gone. I thought back on the threats Gilbert had made and the ones against the siblings were haunting me and I prayed for a change that would be favorable for us.

In June, Adéle died, after a long
, brave struggle. I cried for her, and prayed for her, though God was far from our lives. One day, her books were gone. I saw Agnés smiling to herself, and hated her with a passion.

In August, we woke up to a curious sight. There were
shrill, commanding yells on the rainy courtyard, and the fastest ones managed to secure a view in one of the few windows. There a dozen soldiers in shabby uniforms were encircling a fancy coach. The door was opened swiftly and a family stepped out. ‘That is the king, the bloody king!’ said an old aristocrat nearby.

‘No, it cannot be!’ said
 an astonished woman, but it was for I knew the queen’s face. I still had her handkerchief and I fingered it as the family was ushered to the tower. The ones in power were making a strong statement and France was doing something that nobody had actually believed possible. I imagined Georges was very happy, for France was making an end of the kingdom. It would not stop with the royals, thought most of our cellmates and praying became more common after that day, but most of the nobles prayed for their sovereign.

Week later, this was made abundantly clear as a huge
irascible mob circled the Temple. With them, they carried the mutilated head of Princess Marie Louis of Savoy, the Queens favorite, raped and crudely butchered on the streets after refusing in her trial to curse the monarchy. In our prison, nobles sat quietly, and I wondered if this was indeed what Georges had had in mind, when he wanted equality and justice.

In September, France became a Republic, and the royal family became the Capets.

In 1793, more prisoners were coming in, many of them commoners or merchants. A general feeling of anxiety was on the rise amongst the old timers of our cellblock, and we felt things were changing for the worse. I was sitting on the hall, when on the 22
nd
January; Pierre’s widow came in. There had been a commotion on the yard that morning, but we had made little sense of the many men running or the coaches coming and going. Agnés said nothing, as she came to take buckets full of urine away. I gathered myself and stopped her by putting a hand on hers. She stopped, astonished.

She shrugged, lifting her shoulders in a comic, pouting manner. ‘I have no wish to speak with you.’

‘I wanted to ask you to return the books to me,’ I said, reasoning with her, using a steady voice as if talking to a dog.

She hesitated, licking her lips. Then she sat down. ‘No.’

‘I kissed him,’ I said, trying not to get angry. ‘But it was nothing.’

She giggled, evidently a bit mad. ‘
Learn, girl, that kissing a man belonging to another, is something. Oh, They have gone to see a man called Gilbert.’

‘Who?’
I blurted out.

Her eyes were rather glazed as she was nodding her head. ‘Mathilde and Andre.’

I paled, I am sure, if one can pale after being locked up for such a long time. Henriette stirred from a table, where she was sewing her old skirt. She stared at her, in confusion. ‘Who is this Gilbert…’

Agnés waved her hand, rolling her eyes at Henriette
and nodded at me. ‘Please. She told Pierre things she should not have. I know, we know. Gilbert knows.’

Cold claws of desperation raked across my back. ‘Where is Pierre?’

She lowered her voice. ‘He is gone. He disappeared. He talked too much. But I don’t mind. I know he was taken by some sans-culottes, and your cousin made him squeal. Now he is dead.’

‘You beast, does that not bother you at all?’ Henriette said, scared and obviously angry with me, as her eyes flashed my way. I did not look at her, but down on my lap.

‘No. He looked at her, too often, too long. But I do miss him, sometimes,’ she whispered, looking at her shaking hands. We sat there, unable to speak, wondering what was coming. She was singing softly to herself, looking at her fingers, apparently not entirely present. Henriette grunted and moved next to her and placed a hand on hers.

‘What was happening down there this morning, Agnés?’

She smiled widely. ‘The king.’

‘
The king is a prisoner, we know,’ Henriette coaxed patiently.

She looked at her
, staring incredulously, her legs swinging wildly. ‘You know nothing of last year? The sans-culottes drove the royals out of Tuiliers in August, after the Prussian general Brusnwick threatened violence if the king was hurt! Everything changed!’

‘We know he is here, Agnés. The king. Is Camille still alive?
Georges?’ Henriette asked, a hint of mad desperation on her voice. We would need Georges to help us, if Gilbert knew where we were.

Agnés
rubbed her temples, trying to concentrate. ‘Desmoulins? He is, but he is… annoying to the wrong people. He writes, Andre says, trying to stem the violent mood.’ Mother and I looked at each other, wondering and she continued. ‘Danton is a Minister of Justice you see, and…’

Henriette scoffed. ‘Money well spent! Justice, God, is laughing at that, surely!’

Agnés shrugged. ‘He is, anyways. He was trying to make the radicals, especially the Jacobins and that Robespierre fellow shake hands with the conservative Girdonists in the National Convention.’

‘Is it not the National Assembly?’ I asked, but shook my head dismissively. ‘Never mind. I never understood these things.’

She continued, happy to fill in our many blanks, though she seemed to have plenty of them herself. ‘Other things changed too. There is war on all the flaming frontiers, but we beat them bloodily at Valmy, so we are safe. Not so safe from counter-revolution though, in Lyons, Venéé, and Daupiné the fucking nobles have the dull-minded peasants under their charm, but it will come to nothing. Georges Danton, amongst others, is making a difference by visiting the dispirited troops. Did you know we are making a Revolutionary Calendar?’

We
nodded at her, we had heard of terrible, desperate war, the confusing civil war and unexplainable changes in days and months. ‘So, if it is not January, what is it then?´ Henriette asked, humoring her.

‘It will be winter month, Pluviôse…’

‘Never mind,’ Henriette said, twitching her head angrily. ‘January is good enough for me. They replaced the fool of a God too?’

‘They will, I think, with Reason,’ Agnés said dreamily. ‘And today that Louis Capet will die. He left the Temple this morning. Andre and Mathilde went to see it happen. After that, they will see the bloody Revenant.’ There was a mischievous smile on her lips, as if she suddenly remembered she disliked us.
She moved away from mother as she glowered at us.

‘You mean the king is getting killed?’ I asked, incredulous.

‘Why, the former king,’ Agnés corrected me.

‘The king is to die?’ Henriette insisted.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Beheaded by Sanson, the butcher of Paris, the executioner. They say someone will try to free him, but he is going to lose his head. They said he is very brave, in the court he was, but we will kill him, and others.’

We looked at our hands, and I felt fear seep into my heart. Killing kings is no small thing, and we suddenly heard church bells ring, all through the town
, as if it was a fabulous coronation day, but it was, actually, exactly the reverse. ‘I am sorry, Agnés. If Georges is such a great man, why is Andre talking to Gilbert?’

‘Gilbert,’ she whispered. ‘Is stronger still.’

‘He is but a boy,’ Henriette said.

‘Her age?’ she gestured at me. ‘
Fifteen? Not so young anymore,’ Agnés tittered. Henriette looked at me and I glanced down at myself. Indeed, I was no longer a child. My bosom was growing, so were my hips. I was tall, much taller I had been last year. I also noticed I was turning from pretty into beautiful. Agnés saw this. ‘Yes. Much prettier than I am. No wonder Pierre liked you.’

Henriette grunted. ‘A child, she is still that when it comes to men. But why is Gilbert such a powerful
 man?’

‘He is Robespierre’s man, covertly
. The Revenant. He came back from the dead, you see, and many want his nasty services and favor him with fine promises. He is technically a man for Georges, but Andre thinks things will change. While Georges is in the very center of power, Gilbert, Andre says, is like a wolf that likes to pad around a carcass, biding his time, not committing to any other wolf. He knows a lot, he will know more. There is something about this Gilbert, that men fear. Something he has done, perhaps? And Pierre told him you are here.‘

‘Perhaps he did not?’ I asked desperately.

‘He did. Gilbert told me. He found me after and told me what he did to Pierre. He told me you are a rancid whore. That I should help him. And I did. Now Andre is thinking, so is Mathilde and we will make a deal, eventually. I will see you suffer for causing Pierre to die, and we will have money. I will have my own business.’

She stood up, clutching her apron. What Gilbert had done to Pierre had driven her mad. It was my fault, I thought. It was. I looked down to the dusty floor as mother came to console me, angry still, but concerned for me. Agnés apparently envied me the comfort mother was trying to give me, and stomped away, leaving the full piss-pots where they stood.

‘Try not to think about it, love,’ Henriette said, and there was nothing else to do, but try.

I spent much of my fear in the art of fencing,
letting loose the throttling fear in savage attacks and Robert approved. He knew, apparently, of what had passed and who we truly were, and looked morbidly afraid for us, but kept up brace appearances. Finally, after year in training, he let his guard down enough for me to hit him lightly in the chest. It made me happy briefly. A smallest of success can turn the darkest night into tolerable state of affairs.

So, we waited most of 1793.
What had passed between Andre and Gilbert remained a mystery, as Andre said nothing and we rarely saw Agnés and Mathilde. We were seething, wondering what to do, but could not do anything but rot and wait. Yet, while we had been receiving more fellow inmates, the rate increased dramatically.

That year, many people would come to the pr
ison, making most all sick. Tuberculosis was rife, so was malaria. Our prison turned into a coughing, feverish hell, but now, soldiers would also come with a creaking wagon, punctual as the sun, climb up the stairs with their heels clanking ominously and call out names, and these people were not seen again. The names called belonged to unlucky or failed officers, shivering merchants, and sulking peasants from all over France. Thousands of counter revolutionaries in Lyons and Vendéé were rumored butchered and lost, many others sent to Paris prisons like the Temple and la Force. Madness was enveloping the land like a coat of bitterly cold snow. The famous Marat was murdered, and Georges joined the Jacobins in routing the conservative Girdonists in May, many of whom met Madame Guillotine. People arriving into the cells whispered about Revolutionary Tribune and Committee of Public Safety. Georges was party to the creation of both. Whenever you hear the word “committee,” run Marie. Get far. It will do no one any good.

We also found out about the Law of Suspects
from disbelieving commoners, sitting on our dirty hay, while the day before, they had enjoyed their meals happily on their own tables. The law meant anyone could be hauled to prison, then trial and finally the place where they would lie down under the blade, Place de la Revolution. Indeed, some said later that across France, nearly eighty thousand men and women did make the list, most executed, even very young ones and only a tiny portion were of the reviled nobles. I knew a man who had put his neighbor on the list, lying expertly, congratulating himself for his clever ploy, only to find the same sneaky neighbor had done the same, and they died, they say, on the same hour. Revolution was eating it is own children and those of others, like a hungry beast with no master to look after it.  Plodding, never ending war, ever present famine, and crude executions by the suddenly all-powerful Committee of Public safety, were the norm. We also heard it was Maximillien Robespierre, who ran the Committee, and if Gilbert truly had the man’s ear, we would die soon. On the other hand, we had hope, for had not Georges assured he would free us, when he was in power? There must have been a reason, why Andre had not called out our names and handed us to Gilbert in the deep night.