Reign of Fear: Story of French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars (Cantiniére Tales) (12 page)

‘You are a brave child, Jeanette. So stay, and may God forgive me for it,’ she told me
gravely and spoke to the woman, who hesitated, and closed the door. Jean was crying, and so were we. Then, we joined the revolution. For revenge.

CHAPTER 6

It was July, and we saw Georges Danton often. He would visit mother, and what they did, when not talking, was clear. Nevertheless, they also talked
passionately about many things, arguing gently over others, agreeing on most important ones, and he even took her shopping, to café’s, to the solemn countryside once. He spent more time with Henriette than his own neglected wife, who apparently took a practiced demeanor towards the many lovers Georges. Sometimes, he would leave our rooms for his chaotic meetings, thoughtful as the wisest man in the world, and speak with me as if he was addressing Rousseau himself, as I trailed after him. ‘Well, Jeanette. Things are happening. National Assembly is now the one, the only law making body, but they are afraid to use their fine opportunity,’ he mused sadly, holding his massive hand on my shoulder as he guided me to his study. ‘An we do have impossibly strong enemy. Not the king, though, nor the queen, which is laughable state of affairs. But we will look for solutions, we will.’ The door opened, and I saw the fanciful draperies from Colbert’s apartment, some of his silver etched chairs, even the fabulous stone bench from the garden by the window, and Georges plopped down on it. He saw me stare at it as I edged to the room. He grinned. ‘Oh, aye. I did not sell everything. Mostly his useless books. Some coin in those, did you know? I kept some of the better furniture, for a leader has to impress.’

‘Perhaps,’ I said
drily, ‘they would be more impressed by justified poverty of the revolutionary leader than his ill-gotten finery?’

He laughed. ‘Indeed. They might, they might wish to see a
s poor a beggar as they are, but the truth is, Jeanette, that they have to respect me, and fear me like fire as well. And no man fears a beggar.’ He winked shrewdly at me and leaned forward. ‘Also, I wanted to have them. They are pretty, like your mother and you. We will soon take up arms, and see what comes out of that.’

‘Really? I heard soldiers are converging on Paris…’

He scoffed. ‘Soldiers?’ he said, his voice loud and abrasive. ‘No, filthy mercenaries. Many nobles have left the country, have become émigrés, and are whispering the poisonous words of Louis to foreign monarchs, but our Louis is perfectly capable of alienating himself even to a greater degree from the French by massing up foreign troops around the city. French soldiers, you see, are unhappy with him.’

‘If he was wise,’ I said, with trembling voice as I knew nothing of such matters, ‘he would send the troops here, and fillet the lot of us. And the National Assembly in the Versailles.’

Danton laughed raucously. ‘You are right! I am happy he does not have you as an advisor, for you speak like his queen! He should sack Paris; move the troops to deal with all of us clamoring for changes, small or high and stop when none remember these past victories we enjoyed. He should shoot that weak Lafayette, preposterous Mirabeau, and hang the lot of us at the city gates, fitting ornaments to amuse the crows and the crowds. But no, he dibbles and dabbles, making bad locks, sulking at people who advice him to be firm. The queen would spare no ammunition, but he, he is just a weak, little man. However, I am not. Camille is not. So many others are not.’

I grinned at him. ‘You are just a robber, my lord.’

He laughed and pulled me to sit next to him, and bent down over me to kiss my head. ‘Do you know why I robbed your family house?’

I shook my head coyly. ‘You are beggar poor and
need money to dress up in silk?

He looked at me, astonished. He started to say something, but went quiet. Then he smiled. ‘I did so for France. I need money, dear, to make a new
, finer France. And to a lesser degree, dress, to eat and drink well, as you so diplomatically stated.’ He smacked my rear as he pushed me up. I smiled, but he shook his head. ‘Worry not. I robbed your family for a good cause, and your mother helps me. Perhaps it would be her money, in some way, but I have few options and I like her more than food and silks, more than is good for me. Her smile is rare, beautiful, wistful thing that burns my soul. Makes me feel young and unmarried. But I love France as well. I am forever balancing my life between the needs of the nation and those of my own.’

‘Camille said similar things,’ I said, making his scowl.

‘About her or the nation? Her? Both? Camille,’ he spat, ‘should just stick to his insecure writing, and not fight me over everything, even my lover.’

‘Your wife, lord?’ I asked him acidly. ‘She knows about your taste for rare smiles?’

‘She knows,’ he grinned. ‘As I said, not your fault, this situation. Not your mother’s. Patience. For all of us. We need it by bucket full. Just a while longer. Smile more, Jeanette.’

‘If father knows about the money, will you let us go?’ I said bluntly.

He stopped, and turned, surprised, apparently upgrading his opinion of me. He shrugged. ‘Ah, you know I did not find the whole damned fortune then. You know about that, do you? After I do rob it? Perhaps Henriette does not like to go? You know, many things will change. We will plunge the feeble nobles and the greedy church down, and give people reason. Perhaps I will have reason and then a divorce, and marry your mother. Then you will obey me.’

‘I would like that, perhaps,’ I said, unsure if I meant it. But the promise was there, and it gave me strange hope. We might be safe again, one day soon.

He shook his finger at me. ‘I won’t let you anywhere near guns, though, if you happen to get mad as a badger at me. I think I would be in morbid danger after punishing you for mischief!’ he said happily. He poked me gently. ‘We will find your father, one day. About the gunpowder? I think Camille was right about us using the masses. Mirabeau does not wish to work with us. Masses will need guns, and powder, and I will, perhaps, get the needed, splendid coin to further our rightful causes. I think I will need coin to hire men who are willing to kill and dig up shit on those who would stop us. I will do this for a fine cause. And do not say my causes, or I will have you scrub the floors.’ He pushed me out of his office, locked it up, left, and smiled, and I loved him then.

July
flew forward with wings of worry and heavy rains that were ongoing for days and the talk was of another bad harvest, and even the roads were in such a bad repair, that flour would have hard time reaching the city. I thought much of poor Gilbert, and what had happened. I ventured once to the terrible death hole and looked down the chute. There was only a musty, old smell wafting from the below. It was not a corpse stink, and it made me happy, for the thought of his bloated corpse bothered me. Yet, he could be anywhere, in the bottom of a deep well, or the rats might have consumed him entirely. I tried to forget him, but could not, our long past weighing me down.

I also risked checking our past home.
A merchant family already inhabited our old house, apparently selling furniture. I did not see Marie-Louise, though I looked, but I saw Florian pulling a heavy cart full of flour, and wanted to go to him, but that might have put him in jeopardy, should people tell the police he had seen us. I felt like a dangerous criminal, and missed my dear friend.

Thanks to Georges, mother slowly regained her full health. She would sit by the
dark window, but her eyes were no longer listless. She smiled at the birds, enjoyed the brilliant sun and some days, she would venture to the nearby streets to shop for our needs. Once, she took part in a bloody riot over prizes that were going up again and came back invigorated, cursing the greed of the bakers. She bought me a fine new skirt, and a faded blouse. To herself, she chose a jacket, red and white skirt, and we waited, for what, I was not sure. Patience, Danton had said. We missed Jean, and Julie, even if we both slept better.

On
e day I spied a letter under Henriette’s plush pillow, and saw it was from Georges. I opened it in secret, terrified mother would enter, and in the lovely letter, he said he was in love with Henriette. Later I saw her look at it, and fold it away, then take it out. She did this many times. Her face was thoughtful, scared, and hopeful.

I spent much time with Camille. He
took me often to Palais Royal, the abode of Duke of Orleans, king’s rebellious relative, the wastrel who flirted with the radical ordinary men to become the king one day, as we all thought. Palais Royal was the hotbed of the vilest of revolutionary thoughts. It was full of simple café’s, mediocre restaurants, bad artists and performers of many kinds, and people held angry speeches. I had been there with Camille, who had made a weak speech to a large group of drunken men and their wives. His speech was a mix of good points and unexpected twists, leaving the people wanting to agree with him. He harangued the king for the fear his terrible soldiers brought to the good people of Paris. The soldiers were stopping flour from reaching the baker shops, and the prices were getting totally out of hand. People were starving, and the churches were not able to keep up with the distribution of food. This he told them, but when they asked him for a solution, the speech became a weak failure. He hesitated, backed down, stammered, and became angry. He was heckled as he pulled me towards an old woman selling roasted meat and coffee. We looked at a nasty dogfight, men gambling, people singing, beggars begging, and he sulked. I put my hand on his and he smiled. ‘I am sick. I just do not know what to say, what to do, what they should do,’ he told me, wiping cold sweat off his forehead. ‘Well, I do know what they should do, but I hate such volatile situations. I should join the army and take lessons in brute force.’

‘I liked your speech. Just
lead and do it yourself first,’ I encouraged him, squeezing his arm.

‘Ah yes, the girl who shoots her way out of trouble. I suppose I must tell them to start shooting too,’ he said, his eyes glassy. ‘And shoot the first shots, maybe.
But it’s hard for there is no coming back when a gun fires. You know this.’

I thought of the
terrible night I had decided to push Gilbert down to the catacombs, and the next night, when I had shot Adam. ‘Yes. You must do it. Do not hesitate. The men in the crowd are usually drunk as sailors, angry beyond reason and would follow you to the mouth of a cannon, if you go first. But I agree there is no coming back. Perhaps the trick is to make them believe you will go first, and then have them do it.’

He snickered and then roared in laughter, and guided me away as I
shrilly joined him mirth. ‘That is the trick indeed. I will think about it, and talk with Georges, but it will be risky, no matter who goes first,’ he said happily.

‘It will be, yes,’ I said, shivering, as I
thought about things I had done, thinking there was something terribly wrong with me, as I could still laugh heartily. I sobered as I thought about it, and decided life was full of contradictions. I should be miserable and unhappy, yet I could, apparently, still be happy, at least occasionally. I was ashamed for it, and also happy it was so.

Few days went past, and Camille entered our room, half wary of mother, who came over and hugged him
to put him at ease. Henriette sat him down, and sat next to him. He was excited as a child, but the poor man eyed Henriette with admiration not lost on her. ‘The National Assembly, dear friends, is going to be the National Constituent Assembly. They will create a constitution, and not rest before it is done!’

Henriette s
coffed. ‘They will make it much as it is now, I bet. No justice and the republic you so wish for.’

‘We will fight to get it, to make this our time, Henriette,’ he told her, pulling at his neckerchief. She smiled at him coyly. ‘I could use you, Jeanette, for an idea I have.’

‘Is it dangerous?’ Henriette asked sternly, but Camille had no time to answer as Danton came in, surprised at Camille there, and half ordered him out. Camille obeyed, stiffly, though he flashed a smile at Henriette, who smiled back, a bit reluctantly. Georges eyed them both angrily, but I pushed him.

´Why are you so rude to him?’ I demanded.

Georges plopped down on our bed. ‘He should be concerned about our messages, not her.’ He grinned at Henriette. ‘It is now more crucial than ever, that we make sure Mirabeau’s bastards do not make the king a puppet for the few. No, we will act, and Camille will be doing his part.’

‘Don’t get him into trouble,’ I sulked at him and he laughed raucously. ‘He was about to tell what he is going to do. Will he die doing it?’ I asked him angrily.

‘We will all hang poor or rich, Jeanette. The king sacked Necker, the financial minister, the favorite of the common man! Can you believe it!’

We shrugged. Necker, yes, was popular, anti-noble minister we all liked for his care of the
bloody country and its entire sad people, but Georges saw more. He threw his meaty hand around, got up, and danced a jig with me. ‘The queen is making the king crazy. Mirabeau, Lafayette and others are making him a king that has to share his power with the National Assembly, dears, but the queen wishes him to be as he was; a fool. Therefore, she is pushing the king to show muscle. They are fighting amongst themselves, but do not see there is a power beyond the ones they know. There is a mass of angry people tired of being brushed aside like shit on street. They think they decide on the future. Instead, we will. Tomorrow, we will take action. Be there, with us. Stay with me. It is time to find our voice, and perhaps your elusive father! You, Jeanette, will help us. You are pretty, clever and we trust you. It is a simple thing we ask for, and not dangerous. Perhaps.’