Madame Tussaud's Apprentice (17 page)

“Where is Algernon?” I ask l’Oncle.

L’Oncle scowls. “Joined the rebels. However, I will say that he has also been keeping us safe because of his connections.”

Safe from what, I wonder?

Just then, Manon’s mother comes into the hallway.

“Maman, you are wearing those flowers, too?” Manon asks.

“It is a sign that you are a patriot. The colors red, white, and blue are meant to mimic the colors the Americans fly these days,” Tante Anne-Marie says, setting down some firewood she has brought from outside and giving her daughter a hug. “You must never venture out without it, not unless you want to risk being harassed by the patriots. I am glad you are back and safe, Manon.”

“We have had to change all the exhibits to keep from being badgered and shut down,” l’Oncle tells Manon. “Our exhibits are no longer of the royal family, but of anyone who is considered a true patriot. I have renamed the museum. We are now the People’s Museum.”

“It has gone that far?” Manon asks.

“
Oui
,” Tante Anne-Marie says. “I’m afraid so.”

From outside, the sound of raised voices can suddenly be heard. Tante Marthe comes into the hallway. “There is a crowd coming this way, and it seems to be headed toward our doorstep.” She gives Manon a quick hug and looks curiously at Jean-Louis.

“We will not answer,” l’Oncle tells us. “Perhaps they will think us gone.”

I cannot believe what they are doing. Why would they be so fearful of a little crowd, of people who just want to be heard?

There is a loud knocking on the door. “Open up. Open up now.”

L’Oncle shakes his head and puts his finger to his lips. Jean-Louis moves closer to me and slips his hand into mine.

“Open up,” the voice yells once again. “Open up in the name of the revolution.”

Revolution? Why are they talking about revolution? Revolution is for the Americans, not us. We just want to be heard, not to overthrow our government or begin a revolution.

With these words, l’Oncle sighs. “It seems we
will
have to greet them.”

Manon goes to the door. I peek around the side of Tante Anne-Marie, who has stepped in front of me as if I am in danger.

But I am determined to see exactly what is happening. The people of Paris are protesting at last, and I want to watch it happen.

They carry torches in their hands, and are dressed in torn and ratty clothing. Their eyes shine with a light of excitement.

I come out from behind Tante Anne-Marie. These are my people, the people of the streets of Paris, the ones I have shared alleys with, the ones I have lost loved ones with, the ones who only want a roof over their heads and food in their bellies, the ones who want the king simply to listen to them and help them.

“We are marching for freedom today,” one man says, stepping forward. “As head of the People’s Museum, surely you will join us?”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” l’Oncle says. “We are currently in the midst of setting up a new display.”

“But don’t you want to support the cause?” a woman shouts.

The crowd presses closer. A voice here and there calls out, “Don’t you?”

“Come now,
monsieur
,” the man says, his voice low and menacing. “You wouldn’t want us thinking you really aren’t for the people?”

Just then the crowd separates, and there is Algernon. He is dressed in a uniform and looks more handsome than I can ever remember.

I am shocked to see him outfitted as a soldier. I know now how he must have felt seeing me dressed in lace and satins on the day I left for
Versailles
. He is no longer Algernon, boy of the streets. He is Algernon, a leader of the people of Paris. I stand frozen, for it is suddenly as if a stranger stands before me.

He gives me a mocking bow, his green eyes dancing. “No greeting for your brother,
ma soeur
?”

Slowly, I go to him. He reaches out and draws me close. His hands circle my waist, and I feel the warmth of his touch. My tongue is heavy, but I know I must say something to break the unnatural way I am feeling near him.

“Oh, Algernon, you are all right,” I manage to say into the wool of his uniform.

“Did you miss me, Celie?” Algernon whispers, his breath hot on my ear. “For I have missed you.”

I feel as if I will faint with his words.

I back away from him. “L’Oncle said you had gone to join the rebels.”

Algernon gives me a wicked grin. “I am now a part of the people’s new National Guard, which the National Assembly has established. I will help to maintain order as we face the king. The time of the people has come. It has come at last.”

His handsome face glows. “Are you not happy, as we are, Celie?”

There are cheers from behind him.

“March with us, Celie, for I know you to be a true and loyal patriot, a supporter of the revolution,” he urges.

Revolution. Why has Algernon, too, used that word?

“Oh
non
, Celie is staying right here,” Manon says, suddenly stepping between us. “Those streets are no place for a young girl.”

Algernon’s eyes snap with anger. “She is no innocent,
mademoiselle
, not when it comes to knowing hunger or need. Or have you corrupted her so that she no longer understands what I have fought for, what we are all fighting for?”

Algernon swings his eyes to meet mine. “Have those fancy clothes you wear muddied your thoughts, Celie? Or are you still clearheaded enough to remember our time on the streets?”

I hesitate, looking from Manon, who perhaps cares about me, to Algernon, who has rescued me, and whom I love. What am I to do? I have waited years for this day, have suppressed the anger I have felt, have scrapped and stolen. Surely, Manon will understand this.

“I want to march,” I say.

Algernon laughs with delight. “Ah, see how my sister has chosen me? Besides, dear lady, you cannot tell her
oui
or
non
. I am her brother, and I want her there. Come along then, Celie.”

He holds out his hand, and I take it, feeling his fingers curl around mine, sure and strong. But I risk looking back once at Manon and am surprised to see that she is biting her lip, as if she is worried.

• • •

We march through the streets of Paris, drums beating with our every step. Our footsteps ring loud on the cobblestones. As we march, more and more people join us until I can look back and see nothing but a sea of people, their faces burning with an inner fire. My spirits lift, and I join in the songs everyone has begun singing, patriotic songs, songs of freedom. Our voices rise as one into the smoky air of the city. Faces caked with grime and sweat, the common folk of Paris, smile at me. I join hands with Algernon on my left and a blacksmith on my other side.

I was right to come. This is where I belong, here with the people of Paris, here with those who cry for change, here with Algernon.

Down the Rue Saint-Martin and the Rue Greneta and the Rue Saint-Denis, we march, singing loudly, then onward down the Rue de la Ferronnerie and over to the Rue Saint-Honoré, until at last we reach the large square of the
Place Vendôme
, where we come to a sudden halt and the merriment ceases.

“Algernon, why have we stopped?” I ask, straining to see ahead.

“Soldiers of the king,” Algernon tells me. “They are blocking our way.”

“People of Paris!” A loud voice rings out across the sea of humanity. “Return to your homes. By order of your sovereign, the good King Louis the Sixteenth.”

The crowd lets out shouts of derision. They boo the soldiers.

“We’ll not turn back,” someone yells.

“We march for freedom,” someone else shouts.

The crowd cheers loudly.

“This is your last warning.” The deep voice sounds again.

No one moves.

Suddenly, the sound of musket fire rings out.

Pandemonium ensues. People scatter, running everywhere, screaming. The crowd in front of me parts like a wave, and the soldiers are there, guns at their shoulders, bayonets pointed toward the fleeing crowds. On the ground, several people lie prone. One man is holding his stomach and crying as blood trickles through his fingers.

I am unable to move, shaken by the sudden violence and blood. What is happening? We have done nothing wrong. We have simply been marching, protesting the king’s treatment of his subjects.

The soldiers begin advancing toward the remaining crowd, their guns at the ready. I stare in horror as a woman screams and falls, a soldier ripping his bayonet from her belly and running down an alley after the retreating protestors. I feel as if I will throw up. Will no one help these people?

I turn and see a soldier running at me, his bayonet aimed directly at my chest.

Before I can move, Algernon sweeps me up into his arms. He throws me over his shoulder. My head bounces crazily as Algernon runs down street after street, trying to escape the soldier who is in hot pursuit. But this time, there is no joy as we try to elude the law. This soldier is intent on killing.

“
Arrêtez! Arrêtez!
” the soldier calls after us.

I brace my hands on Algernon’s back and look up. The soldier is getting closer. I can almost see his face.

“Hurry, Algernon,” I shout.

A shot rings out, and I feel a slight breeze as the bullet passes in the air beside us.

Algernon whips us around a corner, and suddenly I am engulfed in darkness, swung in a half circle. And a door slams shut behind us.

Algernon sets me down and claps a hand over my mouth to silence me. But this time there is no tenderness in his touch. He is breathing hard, and sweat runs down his face.

My ears ring with the sound of shots and screams outside. The soldier who was chasing us pauses just outside our door. Algernon’s eyes meet mine, and I feel as if even our hearts beating will alert the man outside to our presence.

But at last we hear him cough, and his footsteps move away.

“Why did they shoot at us, Algernon?” I whisper when the sounds of chaos finally fade and there is silence outside. “We were just marching. We weren’t doing anything bad.”

“They shot at us because they know we are right,” Algernon says, his words broken up between the deep breaths he is now taking. “They are scared, for the time of the people has come, and the king is worried that his lavish lifestyle may be ending soon.”

I have a sudden memory of the small, unhappy man who had been stared at by his own people as he ate, closeted in his own little world of
Versailles
. I want to tell Algernon that the king’s world is hardly perfect, but now is not the time.

Looking exhausted, Algernon leans against the wall and slides down it until he is sitting on the floor in a heap. “
Merde!
We’re lucky we escaped. Now we’re stuck here until it grows dark, and I can sneak you back to Dr. Curtius’s.”

“You mean sneak us both back, don’t you?” I ask, shuddering again at the thought of the violence I have just witnessed.

“
Non
, I have work to do,” Algernon tells me, “important work. I will need to round up some patriots to keep peace in the city as these confrontations occur.”

“There will be more?” I ask.

Algernon looks up at me as if I am daft. “Of course there will be more. This is what we have been waiting for, Celie.”

I blink in surprise at his words. Is it? Is this what Algernon had envisioned when he spoke of rebellion? Hadn’t he simply been talking about eliminating taxes and getting bread to the people? I know that is what I wanted.

Had he meant this? This violence and chaos?

Surely, this is an isolated incident in the path toward equality. Surely there will be no more violence, for what purpose does it serve? The king’s men cannot kill all those who want freedom in France.

“We will all have to do our part,” Algernon continues. “It would be wise for Dr. Curtius to join our National Guard, as I have.”

“How can he?” I ask. “He has worked for the king.”

“L’Oncle, as you call him, is a smart man,” Algernon says. “He knows the winds of change when he feels them coming. You and the lady will not be going back to Versailles anytime soon.”

The events of the day, the ride from Versailles, the march, the shooting, all combine to finally overwhelm me. I slide down the wall next to Algernon and lean my head against his shoulder. I can no longer think straight.

“Algernon,” I ask, my voice sounding small and frightened even to me, “what will the
people
do now?”

Algernon shrugs. “Hopefully this incident will enrage them, make them stand up for their liberties,” he responds.

“How?” I ask.

“By taking up arms.”

“Against their own king?” I cry, sitting up.

“Against anyone who will not listen to their demands,” Algernon snaps. “I think they will keep trying to make themselves heard, even if they have to march all the way to
Versailles
.”

“Will there be fighting between them?” I ask.

Algernon looks at me with exasperation. “Did you lose your mind at
Versailles
, Celie? What did you expect? Our king has done nothing while his people wither away in poverty? Have you forgotten your
maman
and
papa
?”

Of course I have not forgotten, but I am confused. I had not thought that freedom for the people might mean death and killing. I had thought it meant talking to the king, getting him to see reason. I don’t want to think about this anymore. I sit silent, and eventually, I feel Algernon’s frustration with me has passed.

“Where are we?” I ask, looking around at the small room in which we are ensconced. There is a single bed against one wall, on which lies a tattered blanket and a chamber pot that is half full, with mold around its edges.

“It’s one of many hiding spots used by the revolutionaries,” Algernon says. “
Mon Dieu
. I was lucky to remember it just now. Otherwise, we’d be lying out in those streets bleeding to death, too.”

My mind flits back again to the grand rooms of
Versailles
with their silk curtains and gilded oil paintings. I look once more around the sparse room and shiver.