Mistress of the Revolution (10 page)

Until then, riding had been the key to all of my moments of freedom. It had not occurred to me that I would be denied that indulgence. Of course, it was possible that a faint echo of my recent adventures had reached the Baron.

“So you wish me to spend all of my time indoors, Sir?”

He sighed. “Of course not, child. You are not listening to me. You may walk in the garden around the château, but do not go beyond that. As for the carriage, you will ask for my permission in advance and tell me where you want to go. I will give the coachman his orders: he receives them from no one but me.”

“Could I go hunting with you? I hear that you are fond of it. I am a good horsewoman, Sir. I could keep you company.”

He threw his knife and fork onto his plate. I started at the noise of the silver hitting the porcelain. “Have you not heard what I said? I told you that I do not want you to ride. I meant
not at all
, neither on your own, nor with me, nor in anyone else’s company. You will pay more attention in the future, Madam.”

I was staring at the veal cutlet on my plate.

“Have you listened this time?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Let us hope so. There is also another matter we need to discuss. It has not escaped you, I am sure, that Maryssou manages the entire household. Leave her alone. She is a very good woman, but a bit jealous of her authority, which is understandable because she has been in charge for a long time. You should know that I have the highest regard for her. In any case, you are too young to handle those things yourself and would only make a mess of them.”

The previous day, I had noticed that Maryssou woman, the upper servant, dark-haired and handsome. I had tried to smile at her. In response, she had looked at me in an insolent and resentful manner. I had already suspected that she enjoyed some intimacy with the Baron. She was probably no stranger to the fact that the maids had failed to wake me up on time that morning.

“There, my dear,” said the Baron. “I thought it better to make things clear from the start. You will find me a liberal and easy master, although I will not be remiss in correcting those wild habits you have been allowed to acquire. If left unchecked, they would do you great harm in my eyes.” He pointed his knife at me. “The late Baroness, bless her soul, was surrounded by comfort and attentions till her last breath. But then she never gave any kind of trouble. It would be wise of you to follow in her footsteps. As of now, you are nothing but a spoiled child, but your youth lets me hope that you will be amenable to reason. You do not look like a half-wit, far from it, and you will know your best interest. Now eat. I cannot abide a woman with a poor appetite, nor those who pretend to be indisposed to make themselves interesting.”

It was clear that I would not be the mistress of my own house and that I would lead the life of a recluse, expected to produce a child every year until I grew so old, sad and tired that I no longer cared about any of it. Those thoughts of escape that had been so close to my heart only a few weeks earlier now seemed very odd. I felt soiled, defeated and broken, body and soul, after my wedding night. I no longer had anywhere to go, or anyone to go to. It would have been unthinkable to meet Pierre-André now, my disgrace written on my face.

After breakfast, I returned to my apartment, where the maids were changing the bed and, much to my mortification, hanging the bloodstained sheet out of the window.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“It’s always been the custom at Cénac, My Lady, to display it on the day after the master’s wedding,” one of them said. “My Lord has given orders to follow the old ways.”

I said nothing and sought comfort in a hot bath. I did not see the Baron at luncheon, for he had business in Aurillac the whole day.

Early in the afternoon, I took a walk in the garden. There the last roses of the season were withering away, despoiled by the early frosts. I thought of the days when I could ride Jewel on mountain trails and enjoy the freedom of going wherever my fancy took me. I missed the kiss of the rain on my lips, the warmth of the sun and the chill of the wind on my cheeks. Lost in my reverie, I barely paid attention to the noise of the gravel crushing under my feet, when I heard the approach of a rider. Looking up, I recognized my brother. As he dismounted, I silently prayed that he would not notice the soiled bedsheet hanging like a flag of surrender from my window. If he did, he did not remark on it. He looked at me with concern and asked how I was.

“Very well, thank you,” I said. “Though I am no longer under lock and key, I have not run away.”

“So it appears, Gabrielle, but I was not worried on that account. I came here to see how you are.”

“It is thoughtful of you.”

He reached for my hand. “Has your husband been kind to you?”

“He is my husband, and it is all that matters now.”

“You are still angry with me, Gabrielle.”

Tears were welling up in my eyes. “It does not matter. There is no going back. Let us not speak of that, because I find it painful to think of what could have been. Please tell me about Fontfreyde instead. I will probably never return there.”

“Why do you say this? I am sure your husband will allow you to visit us.”

“He may never permit it. He has forbidden me to ride and I will have to ask for the carriage.”

“It must seem harsh to you because of your past habits, but now that you are a married woman, his request does not seem unreasonable.”

“He does not make requests; he gives orders.”

“Come, Gabrielle, little sister, you sound so bitter and unhappy that you will break my heart. The Baron may be gruff, but he will not ask for anything more than another husband. I knew it would be difficult for you, with your independence of spirit, to be married to any man.”

“That is a point on which you and I disagree. But let us talk about more cheerful things.”

So he did tell me about Fontfreyde as if I had not seen the old place in years. It lifted my spirits.

After my brother’s departure, the day felt empty. The afternoon wore on slowly, evening drew near, until that time just before nightfall, when the sky turns a darker shade of blue and inside candles are lit, shutters closed and curtains drawn. That hour, full of sweet sadness, had been my favourite in Fontfreyde. It became a moment of anguish in my new home. The prospect of the Baron joining me in bed again that night, and every night of our joint lives thereafter, which had been but a distant cloud in the bright light of the morning, began to loom on my mind until it drove away any other thought.

I was careful not to repeat my mistake of the morning by being exactly on time for dinner. I was already shaking when I faced my husband. He took one look at me and hit the table with the palm of his hand. The crystal glasses shook. Both of his hounds rose from their crouching position by his chair and yelped in terror.

“Where, Madam, did you find these rags?” he shouted. “I already saw them at breakfast, but I excused you then because I thought that you had no time to find anything else. Now you have had all day to dress. Do you think that I want my wife to show herself at my table attired like a beggar? Return to your apartment this minute and put on something proper. And throw away these horrors, or give them to the poor if you prefer. Now you will make me wait for my dinner after being late for breakfast. So this is how you thank me for my leniency this morning! Have it your way, my lovely. I will attend to you tonight. I may have to peel all the skin off your back, but I will teach you to mind what I say.”

My first movement had been to bolt from the dining parlour, but I knew that I had nothing to gain by it except an immediate beating. I had noticed the night before that, although my husband was far heavier than I, he could outrun me. I fell to my knees.

“Please, Sir,” I said, “forgive me. These are my only clothes, except for my wedding gown. I will go put it on immediately if you prefer. I will be only a minute. I am very sorry to have offended you and assure you that it was innocently done.”

I omitted to mention that the rest of my wardrobe consisted of another black dress, which I had left at Fontfreyde. I had worn it during my stay in the cellar, where it had acquired a musty smell, not to mention an association with the memories of my captivity.

The Baron swore again and muttered something about marrying into a family of paupers.

“I should have known,” he said, “when your old miser of a mother asked whether I wanted to delay our marriage to wait for your
trousseau
to be ready. The damned bitch felt no shame in sending you to me with only the shirt on your back after I had agreed to take you without a
sol
.”

It struck me for the first time that I had not been given any
trousseau
, the set of clothes, undergarments and toiletries a bride received from her family as part of her dowry. During the past weeks, such futilities had not entered my mind. Now their omission seemed to entail new troubles for me.

“I became suspicious yesterday,” continued the Baron, “when I saw you in the dress you already wore in Thiézac instead of a proper wedding gown. Your mother had it made especially for the pilgrimage, had she not? I have to give her credit for something, though: she knows what catches the eye of a man.”

I burst into tears.

“Now, do not be upset, child,” he added. “I am not angry with
you
. And you do look lovely in that pink dress.”

He raised me to my feet, took me in his arms and patted me on the back in a fatherly manner. “Dry your tears. I will have the carriage ready tomorrow. You will go to Aurillac with Maryssou to order a set of proper clothes. She knows the best shops. You can have 2,000 francs, but tell them, for God’s sake, to make haste. Now let us sit to dinner.”

I was amazed at the change in his mood and his generosity. I had not had new clothes in years, with the exception of the pink dress.

I saw little of the Baron during the day since he was busy riding, hunting, inspecting his estates, or otherwise occupied in the outdoors pursuits now forbidden to me. After dinner, he would read the papers for a couple of hours without saying more than a few words to me. I took a seat with my sewing on the opposite side of the fireplace, too afraid of him to address him uninvited. He paid less attention to me than to his hounds. Without interrupting his reading, he would once in a while put down his glass of wine to scratch the animals on the back of the head. They closed their eyes with contentment before returning to their position at his feet, their giant muzzles resting between their front paws. Only the noise of the newspaper being folded and the crackling of the logs in the fireplace broke the silence.

When the time came to retire, I never knew whether I would be treated with a sort of rough benevolence or whether he would have thought of some new idea for his enjoyment and my torment. Even in the course of a single night, his mood could become violent, sometimes at the slightest provocation, and often without any apparent reason.

Divorce did not exist then. One could only request an annulment before a religious court for lack of consummation of the marriage, grounds which were not applicable in my case. True, a cottager’s wife from Vic had requested a few years earlier from the
Baillage
court a legal separation. Whenever I saw her in town, she always had a black eye or two. Joséphine had told me that her husband had come home one night with half a dozen companions, all drunk. He had dragged her out of bed, lifted her chemise and invited his friends to confirm that she was, as he put it,
a handsome bitch
. That circumstance, deemed offensive to the sanctity of marriage, had prompted the court to allow the poor woman to live separately. Once alone she had sunk into poverty, and had been seen begging for her bread on the streets of Vic. She had soon returned to her husband of her own accord.

In the case of my own marriage, nothing disgraceful ever came to light. Only the servants, who as a rule know every secret in a house, could have known what was happening. The Baron was careful not to leave any clues to his brutality on my face or on those parts of my body exposed to public view, except for bruises on my wrists. I was ashamed of them and, whenever I wore short sleeves, hid them with velvet ribbons, which I tied with a pair of fine diamond clasps he had given me.

Often, without any particular reason, I wept by myself in my bedroom. I was swept by waves of rage. During these episodes, all I could see was a grey blur before my eyes. I felt the urge to howl at the top of my lungs. To calm myself, I would bite my arms so hard that the pain brought me to my senses. During these moments, I felt briefly that I could have spat in my husband’s face. Yet I cowered at the very sight of him.

A full month elapsed before I mustered enough courage to ask for the carriage to call on Mamé Labro. Her cottage, which had been my home for many years, now looked as if it belonged to another time and country. I threw myself in her arms.

“Oh, Mamé,” I asked, “do you think I have changed?”

She took a step backwards and smiled.

“You look beautiful,” she said, “maybe a little paler than before. You’re far better dressed, for sure. You’ve become a fine lady now.”

I was indeed wearing an elegant gown of red velvet trimmed with lace, with a white satin underskirt and matching shoes and bonnet. Mamé asked many questions about my new life, which I answered as cheerfully as I could.

As we spoke, my thoughts drifted towards the river. Autumn leaves were twirling in the eddies like flecks of gold. They would be carried down its current, light and buoyant at first, then soggy and brown, until they sank to the bottom and slowly rotted away between the stones of its bed. By the following spring there would be nothing left of them. At last, I asked Mamé Labro without meeting her eye:

“Have you heard any news of the younger Dr. Coffinhal?”

“Yes, he left for Paris to study law. Around the time of your wedding, I believe. He’s to be apprenticed to his elder brother, Maître Joseph Coffinhal. From what I’ve heard, he’s given up any idea of practicing medicine.” She sighed. “There’s no accounting for young people’s changes of heart these days.”

I was relieved to hear that Pierre-André was free and safe. But we would not meet again. For him too, the short time when our paths had crossed was gone, closed like a book no one ever wanted to read a second time. He would have a new life, new studies, a new profession, maybe soon a new love, in a busy place, far from me and what had briefly brought us together. At the thought of his forgetting me, I was pierced by sorrow. The pain was so sharp that it took my breath away. I closed my eyes to hide my tears.

Indeed I had lost the belief that it was in my power to decide my fate. I now inhabited a place where no joy, no hope, no light, no love could reach. I came to understand that we do not change gradually, peacefully, over time, but that we undergo sudden upheavals that overthrow our best-laid plans, change our character and redesign the shape of our life, all in a matter of moments. I had been robbed of some part of myself, of my youth, my innocence, my cheerfulness, never to recover them.