Mistress of the Revolution (11 page)

About two months after my wedding, I had reason to suspect that I was with child. I dared not share my thoughts with my husband for fear of angering him by raising futile expectations. He had made no effort to hide his disappointment the month before, once it had become apparent that I had not immediately become pregnant, and for several days I had felt the effects of his displeasure under the guise of a harsher treatment than usual.

“Are you with child?” he asked abruptly one night over dinner.

I twisted my napkin in my hands and kept my eyes fixed on my plate. “I am about two weeks late, Sir. I did not think that you would have noticed anything yet.”

“Do you take me for an imbecile? I can recognize a pregnant woman when I see one. Were you waiting to be six months along to tell me about it?”

“I was afraid of disappointing you if I was mistaken.”

“You are silly, dear child. Come and give me a kiss.”

Amazed, I raised my eyes to him. He was smiling. He made me sit in his lap and pressed me in his arms. “I guess I will have to be a bit more gentle,” he said. “We would not want to hurt my son, would we?”

That night, my husband fell asleep in my bed. Until then, he had always left for his own apartment when he was done with me. I looked at him by the light of the candle as he lay on his side, harmless for once, his eyes and lips half-closed. Strands of silky grey hair were spread across his gently heaving chest. Stretching from the breastbone to the left shoulder was a scar, shiny and pale against his olive-coloured skin. One of his arms was resting on my waist. I barely dared breathe lest I wake him. Until then he had only been the man who had the right to seize my body whenever he pleased and do what he liked with it. Now his seed was growing within me. He was my unborn child’s father.

My husband seemed to grow fonder of my company and more content with our marriage. He would speak with much confidence and anticipation of his son and make numerous schemes for his education. Those filled me with dread, for it was all too easy to imagine how he would react to the birth of a girl. In the meantime, he stopped beating me and granted me permission to stay in bed past seven whenever I felt tired in the mornings. During the evenings, he spoke to me more and taught me to play
piquet
and backgammon, games that could not even be mentioned in Fontfreyde because my mother considered them the works of the Devil. I would let him win, because it had not escaped me that he could be fierce in his displeasure if he lost.

I had noticed a fine harpsichord in the main drawing room. My fingers caressed the keys with some hesitation at first, then with more assurance as I remembered a piece by Couperin, part of the
Leçons de Ténèbres
, the “Lessons of Darkness” written for the services of the Holy Week. I had learned it at the convent and was amazed to feel how easily the tunes came back to me. Never before had I found such solace, peace and comfort in music.

I discovered a library on the second floor of the château. The books had been for the most part purchased by the late Baron, who must have been quite different from his younger brother. My husband, if he had read any book in his life, did not consider it worth mentioning, and it was not a subject on which I felt at liberty to question him. Since I had to occupy the ample time I had to myself, I began to read anything that came my way. The library contained a full edition of the Encyclopedia, as well as works by Montesquieu, Rousseau, Diderot, Voltaire and Pascal, one of the greatest minds Auvergne has ever produced. In addition, many works of a more libertine nature, amply illustrated, were included. I began to understand that my husband’s tastes were shared by other men.

I cherished the constant companionship of my unborn child, especially after I began to feel it moving and kicking inside me. The Baron seemed to find increased satisfaction in the new shape of my body. He told me that, seen from behind, I was still thin as a reed, that my step was as light and graceful as ever. I carried my child forward, which he interpreted as a promise of male offspring. The servants were not slow in noticing the improvement of my standing. They treated me with more respect and paid greater attention to my requests. For the first time since my marriage, I allowed myself to hope that my life might change for the better.

Those thoughts were very much on my mind, when one winter morning, I opened the door to a drawing room. There I found the Baron embracing Thérèse, the youngest of the chambermaids, a year or two older than me. She was trying to push him away, but he was grasping one of her bare buttocks. With the other arm, he held the back of her skirts aloft above her waist. I knew from personal experience the strength of his grip and guessed that poor Thérèse had not much of a chance to escape. Her back was turned to me, but he was facing me. He noticed my presence and became red in the face without letting go of her. Thérèse could not have seen me. I doubt that she even heard me. I had a sudden inspiration. Putting my index finger to my lips to intimate silence, I smiled and closed the door as quietly as I could. I returned to my apartment, my heart beating wildly, wondering how that chance encounter could change the course of my life at Cénac.

A few minutes later, I heard a knock at my door. The Baron came in and took my hands in his, looking rather sheepish.

“Gabrielle, my dear,” he said, “I have a favour to request. I would be very grateful if you could keep quiet about what you just saw. Maryssou, as you know, has rather strict notions. She would dismiss Thérèse if she learned of it.”

I looked at him, my voice even, carefully considering my words. “I am surprised to hear it, Sir. You are the master of this house and its inhabitants, including Maryssou.”

I pointed at the door to a little dressing room, which could only be accessed through my bedroom and was furnished with a bathtub, a little marble table and a couch.

“Maryssou would never go there unannounced,” I continued, “as she does in the servants’ quarters or the rest of the château. Feel free, Sir, to use it at your pleasure, right now if you wish.”

The Baron seemed delighted. He kissed my hands and cheeks with great affection and could not express his thanks warmly enough. I felt sorry for Thérèse. She seemed like a good girl, pretty and very shy, but she could not, any more than I, or any other eligible female within the house, escape the Baron’s attentions. That was part of her fate in being a maid at Cénac, just as it was part of mine by virtue of my marriage.

Thérèse was a simple country girl who did not seem to entertain any loftier ambitions than to keep her place. I felt assured that, when I became incapacitated by my confinement, she could take over my conjugal duties without interfering with the Baron’s affections for me as Maryssou would have done. I took pains to know the poor girl better and promoted her, with the Baron’s permission, to the place of lady’s maid, with double wages.

My husband was happy with our new arrangements and manifested his satisfaction by his increased goodwill towards me. His attentions towards Thérèse did not seem to lessen in the least his interest in me. I even received the honours of the couch during the day whenever my enlarging body captured his fancy on the spur of the moment. I measured the success of my scheme by the increased malevolence of the glares Maryssou cast at me. Soon deep vertical lines began to mark the sides of her mouth.

The Baron would now speak to me in a friendly manner after dinner. He had traveled in Germany and America while in the service and had much to say about people he had met and places he had visited.

“Military life can be damned tedious, my dear,” he said, “and its glory is not what one imagines. It was better than taking orders, though.
That
was an idea of my late mother’s. She had the most tiresome notions about religion. How she cried, poor woman, when I told her that it was out of the question! Even my father was angry. He said that I was being too fastidious and that one did not need to believe in God to become a bishop.” He chuckled. “I simply could not picture myself dressed as a priest. I was shipped to the army. A gentleman has to do his duty, of course, but I found nothing as heartrending as the sight of a field strewn with the dead and the dying after a battle.”

“I noticed a scar on your chest. Was it a battle wound?”

“Yes, by a Prussian bayonet at the Battle of Krefeld, during the Seven Years’ War. It was the very first time I saw action. I was a second lieutenant then. It is not a fond memory, my dear, and I would rather not talk about it. Even when the Prussians were not trying to hack us to death, and we were not busy returning the favour, it was a miserable life. I will spare you the petty intrigues among the officers, the rivalries between the noblemen and the commoners, for at that time it was still possible for those to be commissioned. That was bad enough, but I have never seen worse specimens of humanity than the rabble under my command. The one way to keep any discipline was to dole out floggings at the slightest infraction. Scoundrels, all of them, thinking only of deserting at the first opportunity, drinking and chasing after whores of the lowest description.”

I looked up from the baby cap I was embroidering. “You do not like prostitutes?”

“Hell, no! What could have given you such an idea, child? I wonder how anyone can find pleasure in the company of females who have served hundreds, maybe thousands, of men and are infected with every sort of pox and vermin. One would be a fool not to prefer a fresh little thing like you.” He pinched my cheek.

The Baron had been at Court and visited Paris.

I gazed into the fire and sighed wistfully. “I would dearly like to visit those places.”

“Do not count on it, my dear. All husbands are cuckolds there. I would not be kindhearted if I found that I had suffered that common misfortune. So, you see, it will save both of us much trouble to stay quietly here, where we lack nothing.”

I resumed my sewing with alacrity. “I would never do anything so heinous, Sir.”

“Maybe not, but I find that keeping a woman from temptation is the best manner to ensure that she not stray.”

“You are of course the sole judge of it, Sir. Still, since I am not to see anything of Court or city life, I would enjoy hearing you speak of it.”

“The King is a man of great learning and intelligence,” said the Baron, “an excellent horseman and hunter. Unfortunately he is surrounded by a horde of scoundrels, the worst of whom come from his wife’s entourage.”

“What about the Queen? Is she not beautiful?”

The Baron put down his glass of wine. “She has the long face and thick lips of the Habsburgs, for, as you know, she is the daughter of the late Empress Maria-Theresa of Austria. Yet she fancies herself pretty and encourages the most ridiculous fashions, such as those towers of feathers, flowers, bows and pompons, all held together by pounds of
pommade
, she likes to wear on top of her head. I saw her once with an arrangement of radishes in her hair. I asked around whether she had taken leave of her senses. I was told that she was trying to prove that Frenchwomen would follow any new fashion she promoted, no matter how absurd. Of course no lady in her right mind was ever seen with a headdress of vegetables.”

He shook his head in disgust. “But that would be nothing if she did not openly keep lovers, male and female, for she has both tastes. Yes, my dear, she is a
tribade
, she enjoys the intimate company of her own sex. Her favourite used to be the Princess de Lamballe, but now the Duchess de Polignac occupies that place. And there are men too. Nobody knows who sired the Queen’s children, including the little Dauphin, heir to the throne. When I was at Court, she could not keep her eyes off the buttons of the Count de Fersen’s breeches. He is a Swede. She used to have the decency to reserve her favours for French noblemen, like the Duke de Lauzun, but no, not anymore. She hates France. Do you know what she calls the Parisians?
The frogs of the Seine
.” He shrugged. “They do not like her much either. They too have names for her:
Madame Deficit
and
the Austrian Woman
. With her spendthrift ways and her depravity, she will bring nothing but disgrace upon the sacred person of the King. Now she is with child again, probably by that Fersen scoundrel.”

Queen Marie-Antoinette’s third pregnancy had just been officially announced. A little prince, Louis-Charles, was born in March of 1785.

Although the Baron expressed little interest in religious matters, we attended High Mass every Sunday.

“We should be seen by the peasants as often as possible,” he said. “I despise those noblemen who live in town or at Court. They leave the management of their estates to bailiffs or such rascals, and are content to collect their rents and feudal duties without ever having anything to do with their vassals. Yet God knows that nothing bores me quite as much as that religious tomfoolery.”

Indeed he spent the divine service with his eyes closed and his chin resting on his chest. Since we sat in the chancel, the entire congregation saw him sleep. Yet he never failed to awaken with a start at the end of Mass. Before we left the church, I would pause to light a candle and kneel before the altar of the Blessed Virgin in a side chapel, to implore her protection against my husband and the favour of presenting him with a son.

His lack of religious fervor did not make him any less popular with the peasants, who were not fond of the priest themselves and resented the tithes they had to pay him. They credited the Baron for being “without pride.” He dressed simply, avoided trampling their crops when hunting and remembered their names and concerns. After Mass, he would stop outside the church to converse with them in the Roman language. Some, bowing and holding their hats with both hands, would then approach him with some plea or other.

Towards the end of my pregnancy, I noticed that Thérèse’s eyes were often red and swollen. One morning, I felt a sudden kick from my child and put my hand to my stomach. She burst into tears.

“Thérèse,” I said, “I think I know what is ailing you.”

Her sobs redoubled.

“How far along are you?”

“About two months, My Lady. I went to a woman in the village, and she gave me some herbs, but nothing’s happened yet. My Lord’ll throw me out, and then my father’ll kill me when he learns of my disgrace.”

“Have you seen a midwife?”

“I can’t. Everybody’d know of my shame if I did.”

I complained of some pain and had the midwife fetched the same afternoon. I asked Thérèse to stay with me during her visit. The girl was indeed with child. When she heard it, she started sobbing again. I took her in my arms and assured her that I would speak to the Baron.

I waited until after he joined me in bed to broach the subject. I had found that it was the time when he was most likely to listen to my requests.

“Thérèse, with child?” he said. “She must be mistaken.”

“I had her examined by the midwife, Sir.”

“And pray what is it to me? Am I to be taken to task whenever a maid misbehaves under my roof ?”

“Certainly not, Sir, but Thérèse is a decent girl. I had the impression that she was a virgin when you took a fancy to her.”

He shrugged. “These things are easy to feign, my dear. Some brothels sell the same whore as a maiden fifty times over.”

“Thérèse is a simple peasant girl. She could not have secured the means to impose on you. Besides,
you
would not be fooled by such tricks.”

“All right, let us admit for the sake of argument that I took her maidenhead. It does not follow that I fathered her child. Any of those rascals I keep as menservants could have impregnated her.”

“She could not have strayed without your being informed of it. You know how Maryssou watches the servants. She would have been delighted to shame Thérèse in your eyes and have her dismissed.”

The Baron raised himself on one elbow. “Well, now Maryssou will dismiss her as soon as she suspects the truth.”

“Please, Sir, do not let it happen. I know your kindness. One of your vassals might, for some monetary consideration, be induced to marry Thérèse. I would consider it the greatest favour to me as well as to her. It would bring me bad luck to throw out a pregnant girl while I am with child.”

“What a notion! I will see what can be done.” He wagged his finger at me. “But be careful, Gabrielle. Do not imagine that I am completely henpecked yet.”

It is, for everyone’s sake, better to conclude this kind of arrangement before the bride begins to show. Thérèse, within days, became engaged to marry Pierre Petit, a young peasant who lived in a cottage a half-league from Cénac. He was a tenant of the Baron’s and had just purchased a small parcel of his own nearby, which made a little additional money very welcome to him. He was respectably known in the parish and there was no reason to doubt that he would make as good a husband as any other man. Thérèse was overcome with gratitude. Not only did she keep her good name, but she could never have married so well without the Baron’s generosity. General opinion pronounced her, just as it had in my case, the most fortunate bride in the world. Of course, some gossip would later attend the premature birth of her child.

In a way I envied her because, unlike me, she had escaped the Baron. I presented her with a sturdy black wedding gown. In those days, peasant women were married in black clothes, since fabric of that colour was more durable than any other, and could be used for a lifetime of funerals, weddings and other formal occasions. I attended the ceremony, congratulated the new spouses and kissed the bride on both cheeks.

Thérèse had to be replaced. My husband entrusted to me, rather than to Maryssou, the choice of my new lady’s maid. I invited him to have a look at the applicants. He seemed to be hesitating between two of them, equally comely.