Mistress of the Revolution (36 page)

With this he let go of my arm. His rage turned to my dress. Seizing handfuls of the flimsy gauze around my waist, he tore away at it in a frenzy. Shreds of fabric fell to the floor. I ran from him to put the sofa between us.

“This is not true,” I cried. “You know it. No man has ever approached me save my husband and you.”

“You expect me to believe such a lie? To be a fool in addition to a cuckold? Come, little whore, how many lovers have you had?”

Villers was facing me across the sofa, out of breath, his eyes wild, his jaw tighter than I had ever seen it.

“I must ask you again to leave,” I said. “You have now hurt me in every possible manner. I have no reason to tolerate your behaviour.”

“You have far more reason for it than you suspect. You have pushed me to the limit and will regret it before long. Good night to you, Madam.”

He slammed the door.

Shaking, I went to my bedroom. I did not wish to face Manon and removed the shreds of my dress myself. My arm was hurting from the elbow to the shoulder, the flesh red and swollen from Villers’s grip. I lay on my bed in my corset and petticoat, reflecting that I had no choice now but to leave him. I felt dizzy and must have drifted off. Manon awakened me later that evening. She brought me a note from Mélanie, the Duchess’s chambermaid, informing me that her mistress was not expected to survive the night. I rose and dressed in haste, relieved to have something other than the memory of Villers’s madness to occupy my mind.

I asked Manon to put Aimée to bed without waiting for me since I did not expect to return until late. After kissing my daughter and telling her not to worry about her mama, I hailed a hackney and was off to the
Marais
. Even in the aristocratic Rue Saint-Dominique, groups of men were forming in the streets. I crossed the river and arrived at the Duchess’s house, where Mélanie greeted me.

“I certainly didn’t expect to see you tonight, My Lady, with everything that’s happening. Picard, the footman, went out earlier. The volunteers from Marseilles have joined the rabble from the Faubourgs Saint-Antoine and Saint-Marceau. Together they will attack the Palace at daybreak. They will find it well defended, though. Picard says 8,000 National Guards have been called to the rescue.”

I wondered how many of those would desert or even join the insurgents but kept my thoughts to myself. “How is the Duchess?” I asked.

“She received the last rites, My Lady. Father Martinet just left. He was impatient to go home, poor holy man, with being unsworn and all. Those scoundrels on the streets would make short work of him. He doesn’t wear his cassock anymore, but they have a way of knowing.” She shook her head. “It’s a blessing for Her Grace to leave this world now.”

The Duchess, when I reached her bedside, was too weak to speak. I took her hand and she pressed mine back. I asked her whether she wanted me to read to her. She moved her eyelids. I took her prayer book and read for a while. Mélanie brought me a light dinner on a tray and stayed with us. The Duchess was drifting off.

“You look so tired, My Lady,” said Mélanie. “You should lie down on the sofa. I will rouse you if Her Grace awakens.”

I did feel exhausted and went to sleep. I dreamed of my wedding day. Bells were ringing, but the church did not look at all like that of Lavigerie. I was not sure whether I would marry the Baron or Pierre-André. I was begging my mother to tell me. She seized me by the arm, shouting that I had disgraced my family. All the time church bells were ringing.

I woke to see Mélanie bending over me. She was shaking me. “Listen, My Lady, the
tocsin
.” The bells of all of the churches of Paris were indeed ringing in urgent cadences. Drums were beating. The whole city must be awake.

“They’re calling the Sections,” Mélanie added. “They’ll attack the Palace without waiting for the morning.”

The Duchess was now moaning. I resumed my post at her bedside. Soon her breathing became more laboured. She did not regain consciousness. Mélanie and I knelt and together recited the Prayer for the Dying.

After an agony of twenty minutes, the Duchess passed away at two in the morning. To me, she had been closer to a mother than anyone I had met, except perhaps for Mamé Labro. I closed her eyes and tenderly kissed her hand, still warm and soft. Never again would it pat mine. She would no longer be there to smile at me, to listen to me, to comfort me. I sobbed when I tried to imagine life without her. I had lost her love and guidance at a time when I needed both more than ever. Yet I had to tear myself away from her bedside.

“I need to go home,” I told Mélanie in the middle of my tears. “My daughter must have awakened. She will be terrified without me.”

“Oh, you can’t leave, My Lady. You won’t find a hackney at this hour. What if a patrol arrests you for being out after dark? And what if those cutthroats find you? I can’t bear to think of what could happen to you.”

Mélanie was probably right. I remained with her to wake the Duchess until the first light of dawn. At half past five, I left and stopped a hackney.

“Are you out of your senses?” the driver asked when I told him my address. “You don’t expect me to cross the river, do you?”

“We could reach the Left Bank through the Island of Saint-Louis. Everything must be quiet there.”

“All right, I’ll take you to the river. But if things aren’t right, I’ll turn back.”

We were able to cross to the Left Bank, although we were stopped from time to time by bands of armed men who asked me why I was out at such an hour. They let us go when I explained that I had been attending a dying friend.

It was broad daylight when I arrived at my lodgings. Junot, hastening to tuck his shirt into his breeches, opened the door with his stockings down around his ankles. Manon was already dressed and looked at me with amazement.

“Why, My Lady,” she said, “I didn’t expect you so early. Mademoiselle Aimée is not with you?”

My heart stopped. “What do you mean, Manon? She is not here?”

“Well, no. My Lord came here last night before going to the Palace.”

“Monsieur de Villers went to the Palace last night?”

“Yes, My Lady, around nine. I was ready to put Mademoiselle Aimée to bed, but he said you wanted her to join you at Her Grace’s house. So I…”

“And he took Aimée with him?”

“Yes, he said he was going to take her to the Duchess’s, and then go to the Palace by himself.”

I had to lean against the wall for support. Villers had gone to the Palace, knowing that it would be stormed in hours. Whether he had done so because he wanted to defend the monarchy, or as an act of despair, because he had lost me, I could not tell. What was sure was that, out of rage, of jealousy, of hate, he had stolen Aimée from me. He had taken an innocent child of seven, who loved him as a father, to a place where she would meet her death.

“Oh, my goodness,” said Manon, covering her mouth with her hand, “what have I done? Where is she now? I should’ve taken her myself to the Duchess’s house, but I was afraid of going out. Forgive me, My Lady.”

I was so angry that I could have slapped her. I breathed deeply and made an effort to remain calm. “I must go to the Palace.”

“Oh no, My Lady, you can’t. Didn’t you hear the
tocsin
ringing, the drums beating? That was the signal. The Palace is going to be stormed. Maybe it’s already started. Then what will…”

“All the more reason to make haste. Perhaps it is not too late.”

I left without paying heed to Manon’s tears and entreaties. I was unable to find another hackney and ran in the direction of the Palace. I stopped a few times, my hand on my chest, to catch my breath, but images of Aimée dead, wounded, far from any help or comfort I could give her, spurred me on.

When I arrived at the Place du Carrousel, in front of the Tuileries, I gave a sigh of relief. Only regiments of the National Guard were stationed there. Everything was quiet and orderly. In spite of the early hour, the heat was already oppressive. I passed the gates and arrived at the Palace, where the Swiss Guards stopped me.

“No one may enter, Madam. We have orders.”

“But I am Madame de Peyre, lady-in-waiting to the Countess de Provence. My little girl is inside. Please let me in.”

“It is useless to insist, Madam.”

I searched my pockets. By some miracle, my entrance card, bearing my name and rank, was there. I showed it to the Swiss Guard. He looked at it, but still refused to let me in.

“Fetch an officer,” I said with tears in my eyes. “I am not leaving.”

The guard went inside with my card while his comrade watched me. An officer arrived shortly, saluted and took me inside the post.

“I am sorry, My Lady,” he said, “but no one may enter at this time, and no one should think of it. I would be doing you no favour by letting you in. We are going to be attacked momentarily.” He lowered his voice. “In a few hours, I, with all of my men, may be dead. You have a chance to escape. Take it.”

“I understand, Sir. Thank you for your concern. My little girl was brought to the Palace without my knowledge. Do you want me to let her die far from me, terrified among strangers? What mother would? Please, Sir, I beg you, let me in. What harm can there be in that, except to myself ? You saw my entrance card. Do I look like an insurgent?”

“I did not need to see your card. I know you by sight.” He paused. “I will let you in since you are determined to take that chance. God bless and protect you.”

I barely took time to thank him and went in search of Aimée. Where would Villers have taken her? I ran to the Queen’s Apartments, where I met with the Princess de Tarente, one of the ladies of the Court.

“Ah, here you are, Madam,” she said, frowning, “and not a minute too soon. Your little girl will not stop crying and calling for you, to the point that Madame de Tourzel feared that she would awaken My Lord the Dauphin. Mercifully he slept through this horrible night. No one else, not even Their Majesties or Madame Elisabeth, went to bed. What possessed you to send your daughter here?”

“Thank Heaven. Where is she?”

“I left her with the chambermaids in the little entresol above Her Majesty’s apartment.”

A minute later, I was reunited with Aimée. Her face was swollen with tears. She had briefly gone to sleep on a sofa the night before, but had been awakened by the ringing of the
tocsin
during the night. She had not slept since. I took her in my arms to comfort her. Such is the resilience of childhood that she forgot her sorrows and dozed off in my arms in spite of the commotion.

I could hear orders being shouted and people running in all directions. One of the Queen’s chambermaids told me that three hundred noblemen, most armed with only swords and pistols, had appeared the night before to defend their King. Villers was one of them. All of the men in the Tuileries, Swiss Guards, National Guards, servants and noblemen alike, had been assigned positions within the Palace and were ready to die in its defense. Entire battalions of the National Guard had already deserted, but the remaining ones, numbering a few hundred, seemed trustworthy. I did not see anything of Villers, but the chambermaid told me that he had been entrusted with the defense of one of the staircases.

I put Aimée, still asleep, down on a sofa and looked out the windows to see whether it was safe for us to leave. Everything seemed quiet. We were joined by Monsieur de Paget, Esquire to the King. He was carrying as his sole weapon a pocket pistol, and took his position with us in the entresol. I asked him whether he had any news.

“A delegation from the Municipality and the Department was received by the King,” he said. “They convinced him to take refuge in the Riding Arena with the Assembly. The royal family, with the Princess de Lamballe and Madame de Tourzel, just left the Palace.”

“Then there is nothing more for anyone to do. I am going to wake my daughter and leave the Palace. Will you come with us, Sir?”

“It would be folly, Madam. If you look out the window, you can already see the attackers massed on the other side of the Place du Carrousel. They are well armed with cannons and rifles. Weapon depots all over Paris have been pillaged during the night. The insurgents must be ready to attack by now. Anyone they see fleeing the Palace will be slaughtered.”

“What do you think will happen to us if we stay here? And why did not the King, when he left, order the Swiss and National Guards to surrender? They are going to die here for nothing, to save the furniture.”

“It is not my place, Madam, nor yours, to question the King’s decisions. He ordered us to defend the Palace to our last drop of blood. We shall do so.”

Cannon and musketry fire erupted outside. Aimée awakened shrieking. I heard thousands of voices singing in unison:

I was awed by its accents. Indeed I was listening for the first time to the “War Song for the Volunteers of the Rhine Army,” or “
La Marseillaise
,” as it would be called, because it had been first adopted by Federates from Marseilles.

Bullets shattered the windows and whistled past my ears. Without paying Monsieur de Paget any further heed, I seized Aimée’s hand. Together we crawled across the room, careful not to cut our hands on the broken glass on the floor. We ran down a flight of stairs and found ourselves at the door to the Queen’s Salon. I thought that other women might be gathered there, and that our best chance was to seek refuge with them.