City of Darkness, City of Light

by Marge Piercy

  In the meantime he was the liaison between the new Commune and the new cabinet. The Commune demanded the King and the royal family be handed over to them. The Assembly would not risk their own necks to protect the King. The royal prisoners were taken to the Temple—once the stronghold of the Knights Templar in Paris. It was not what Georges would call a pleasant hotel, grim, with a grim history. It looked medieval, high crenelated turrets with slits of window.

  Georges held court in his new office in the Tuileries. “Camille, you and Fabre will both be my secretaries. Good pay.” He put the printer Robert in charge of his staff. He appointed other Cordeliers, including his old law clerk Paré and Billaud-Varenne, to the Council of Justice. He offered a place on the Council to Robespierre, who declined: he would not be compromised by entering a government controlled by Girondins. Fine, thought Georges, I get credit for asking, and somebody else will owe me. I spread the favors around.

  The patronage was considerable. Within a week, Camille got a letter from a cousin who wanted a job. “Why not?” Camille said. “It will drive my father crazy.” So Fouquier-Tinville was appointed to the special court trying those the Commune accused. Camille knew little about him, but it was amusing to give largesse to a cousin. Fouquier-Tinville’s politics seemed properly militant. Why not?

  Dozens of emissaries were sent out to the provinces to present the new government’s official story about August tenth. Georges managed to send several Cordeliers on the road. They all had political careers to make.

  Ten days later they had a party, Camille, Lucile, Robert and his wife Louise, Fabre, everybody. They ate and sang and danced till two in the morning. Gabrielle had outdone herself with a goose and a ham, a huge tricolor cake. The next day he got up early. He would not slack at his new job. He would set the ministry staff on fire. They would learn that someone with a strong hand was in charge. He was making a handsome salary and he controlled a great deal of ministry money. He finally paid off his old mistress for the position he had bought years ago. He was clear and free of debts. The future was coming up brisk and sunny. He felt his blood surging in his veins. He felt strong enough to wrestle a bull again.

  “Camille!” He clapped his friend on the back. “We’re young, we have good wives to fuck, we have a great life before us. Now we’re in the saddle. This is a horse we’re riding to victory. What could be better? This is what I was born to do. This is what I’m made for.”

  “How can you be so loud at this hour of the morning? I was born to sleep late. You drag me to work and I’m still hung over.”

  “I think I can bring the factions back together. I’ll start working on the Rolands. She’s the key.”

  “Oh, the virtuous Manon, the aging almost virgin.”

  “She has a gorgeous bosom. Nice arms. Nice eyes. Her husband doesn’t fuck her, I can tell. I’ll get her on our side. She used to have a crush on Robespierre. Now it’s my turn. Then I’ll use her to turn the Girondins around. We’ll show the Austrians and the Prussians a solid front. It can be done, Camille, and I can do it. You’ll see.”

  FIFTY-THREE

  Nicolas

  (August 10, 1792)

  AT times during the past two years, Nicolas had thought the people a rabble who did not have enough education to govern themselves; at times, he had felt humbled before their courage as they had seemed ready to decide their own destinies. Since he had swung over to a republic, he had tended to cling to the latter position, the power and dignity of the people.

  He still belonged to the loose assortment of friends, colleagues, political men and women who thought if not alike, then somehow reasoning from the same premises—a collection others purported to see as a faction, a party. Robespierre even referred to them in the ludicrous terms of a conspiracy. Some called them Brissotins, as if they all followed Brissot’s lead. Brissot was an able politician, as he had been a competent journalist, but there was no sense in which he was their leader. Others called them Girondins, because some came from the department of the Gironde. Nicolas voted his conscience. Nor did the so-called Girondins always support him. He had spent a great deal of time on a program of universal education. But when he had brought it to the floor of the Assembly, it had been pushed aside in war hysteria, led by his allies.

  He lacked the enthusiasm for this war that Brissot and Roland showed, but he recognized the difference between a war of defense and a war of offense. Austrian and Prussian armies had invaded France and were advancing on Paris. In Brunswick’s manifesto he heard not ponderous Germanic threats, but the sly and nasty hand of court émigrés, congregating in towns across the Rhine and dreaming of getting all their old riches and entitlements back. It was the émigrés who wanted to hang all reformers and revolutionaries, including himself. It was the émigrés who wanted to burn Paris to the ground to punish the city for refusing them their ancient privileges. He suspected that Marie-Antoinette had encouraged those threats. She had never grasped the anger or the resolve of the ordinary people of Paris.

  On August ninth, he spent the night at the Assembly. Delegates were slipping out. By morning, there were less than two hundred left. They were afraid. He had been present during the tumult on June twentieth; he did not see why this should be different, except that his friends and colleagues had very much wanted that demonstration, and they very much did not want this one. Brissot had moved toward supporting the King, whom a few months ago he had wanted to topple. Nicolas did not agree that they needed a King—an anachronism without purpose.

  The delegates milling around in the Assembly had little idea what was happening outside. Nobody wanted to go see, but the doors swung open occasionally and people came to tell them. A battle was being fought for the Tuileries. They heard gunfire. Twice cannonballs shook the walls. Nicolas was not a military man. He had no desire to stick his nose into the fray. But neither would he leave. Perhaps it was pride, not to show fear. He had a sense that, having been elected, he had a duty here. The Assembly had failed to remove the King. Finally the sections had asked the Assembly to dissolve itself so that a National Convention could be elected by true popular vote. He did not disagree.

  The sounds of musketry grew more intense. Smoke floated into the former riding school. The acrid stench of gunpowder, a sour smell of something rotting lay on the fetid heat. They were all sweating. The room was close and smoky. He sat fanning himself with a distributed speech no one bothered to look at.

  Then the doors burst open. “The King’s coming!”

  Several delegates rushed to greet the royal party. Nicolas stayed near the door. The King stumbled in. He wore a silk suit of violet, the royal color of mourning, rumpled as if he had slept in it. His hair was untidy and only half-powdered and his visage, drawn and pale. Nicolas was struck by how furious the Queen looked, among the others who seemed terrified. She had aged in the months since their unsuccessful flight. Her hair had turned grey. Her features were sharper. She looked more than ever a Hapsburg.

  Roederer, who had been thrust into charge of defending the Tuileries after Mandat was called away, seized upon Nicolas and poured out his troubles. “I tried to talk the King into going to the Assembly at once, but he wouldn’t budge. He gave the order to resist force with force. Then he sat down in a chair and wouldn’t talk. He just sulked for hours.

  “I kept begging him to avoid bloodshed. The Queen insisted she’d rather be nailed to the palace wall than retreat. He kept wringing his hands. The mob was attacking and we were all waiting on him. The more we insisted, the angrier the Queen got. She said, ‘Don’t you dare raise your voice with me!’ We could hear shooting. Finally he said, ‘Let’s go.’ We went across the gardens to the Riding School. The King took off his plumed hat and handed it to a Guard. ‘Put it on,’ the King ordered. The Guard thought he was crazy, then he realized why the King didn’t want to be visible and snatched the hat off his head.

  “We crossed the gardens. It’s been so hot and dry this summer, there were already leaves over the paths a
nd they hadn’t been raked. The Dauphin was playing in the leaves and kicking them up. The King turned and said solemnly, ‘The leaves are falling early this year. We shall have an early autumn.’ It seemed so sad.” Roederer held Nicolas’ hand in his, his eyes moist. “What will happen now?”

  Delegates fussed about what to do with the King, since it was against the Constitution for the King to be in the Assembly while it was in session. Some objected. Others insisted they must protect him. Finally they led the royal party to the logographie, a box behind the rostrum where the legislative reporters took down speeches. It was separated from the Assembly by an iron grill, which the deputies, the Guards and the King himself helped to remove. The space was tight. The royal party was crammed shoulder to shoulder. The children began to fret and cry.

  So now they had a king on their hands. It was proposed he be moved to the abandoned Luxembourg palace. Others objected that the Luxembourg, like the Tuileries, had extensive underground passages. What was to keep the King from taking off as he had to Varennes?

  Brissot appeared at Nicolas’ elbow. “We have to talk. This bunch is just chasing their tails. We need to set up a new government. The Commune is already running Paris. They’ll take over the country if we don’t act at once. Do you want the foreign ministry?”

  “I’d rather stay in the legislature,” Nicolas said. He would support the war, but he had no intention of waging it. “You’re going to have to bring in some of those who planned this. You have to give them something.”

  “I won’t have Robespierre in my cabinet,” Brissot said.

  “I dislike the man too,” Nicolas said honestly. “A small fierce mind, like a ferret. Besides, he’s not at the crest of his popularity any longer. How about Danton? He can be reasoned with, and he has the popular touch.”

  Brissot hesitated. “Do you think we can work with him?”

  “His rhetoric is bloody, but his mind isn’t. He’s a pragmatist, not a fanatic. He might serve as a link between us and the Commune.”

  “I’ll check with the Rolands, but time is running out. I want to put a government together today. I’ll stay in the Assembly too. I want Servan at War again and Roland back in the Interior. What would we give Danton?”

  “Justice. Wasn’t he a public prosecutor?”

  “Fine. If the Rolands don’t object. By tomorrow, I want a new government in place. This is wartime, and we can’t risk anarchy and indecision.”

  “I’ll go with you to see them.”

  At seven P.M., they walked in the direction of the Tuileries. The smoke still hung in the air, but they heard only an occasional shot. As they passed the courtyard, women were kneeling and stripping the bodies of the Swiss Guards.

  “What are you doing?” Brissot called, shocked.

  “Getting clothes, what do you think I’m doing?”

  “They’re mutilating the bodies! Dear God.” Nicolas could not bring himself to say, castrating. He felt sick to his stomach. He put out a hand to the iron grating, but it came away sticky with blood. There were gobbets of something impaled there. Gorge rose in his throat, burning and acid.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Brissot shuddered and began to walk very fast. Nicolas noticed that they both were walking with their hands down around their groins.

  “I suppose when you’re dead, it doesn’t matter what’s done to your corpse,” Nicolas said, trying to find a philosophically detached position. Brissot did not answer, walking with his head bowed. Everywhere were naked bodies, many decapitated. On the iron spikes of the fence, heads and penises were impaled. Finally Nicolas was sick in the gutter. As soon as he began to heave, so did Brissot.

  “Look at the gentlemen losing their dinners!” a woman yelled. “Gets you right there, don’t it, gents?”

  They trotted along the street. Nicolas was soon short of breath, his side stabbing him, but he did not dare slow down. Out of what dregs did such women arise? Were they women? Vultures? He was seriously shaken. Were these the people he was championing? They must be criminals who came out as darkness fell, like rats. “You go on to the Rolands’ alone. Sophie will be frantic with worry. I should go directly home and make peace with her.”

  “I wish I could go home,” Brissot said fervently. “These people terrify me. We must take over and keep order. Look what’s waiting to rise up from the gutters!”

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Manon

  (August-November 1792)

  MANON was pleased to be back in the quarters allotted to the Minister of the Interior. She had never really unpacked into the small flat. The city felt out of control, cooking around them. They had not wanted this uprising. Although her friends had been responsible for bringing the fédérés from Marseille, Robespierre had appropriated them. He had befriended the men and Danton put them up at the Cordeliers Club. They had been indoctrinated with the violent fanaticism of that faction centered on the Cordeliers, the Jacobins and the new Paris Commune.

  She did not like Danton in the Ministry. He began inviting himself to her dinners. He would show up with Fabre d’Églantine and take over the room, holding forth. She was upset when she saw how good men seemed seduced by him. They hung on his loud words. Even if she knew they disliked him and talked against him, in his presence they acted like hens around a cock.

  She could hardly bear to look at him. His face was exactly the mirror of his character: sensual, arrogant, deformed, powerful in every dangerous way. Several times he put his huge hot hands on her shoulder, her arm. Once he dared touch her posterior, giving her a pat as if she were a pack animal. She almost slapped him, but political considerations and her need to avoid an open scandal prevented her. Instead she glared and he withdrew at once, looking, she would swear, slightly puzzled.

  Other women seemed to swoon in front of him, sunflowers to his torrid sun. It was depressing. He did not even pretend to principles. He said often enough, Whatever works. Men of deep convictions, like Brissot and her husband, had come into prominence, but she was beginning to understand that a revolution, in stirring up society, also brought to the surface villains and thugs. Danton was such a man in whose face she could see vices and reckless sensuality writ large.

  He enjoyed shocking her. He would grin and say he did not understand why anyone would hesitate to take a bribe—after all, it wasn’t a contract, and only a dolt thought he had bought a man just because he had given him a present. It was like buying a woman supper and thinking you had bought her sexual favors. She might or might not think so too, and if she didn’t consider it a bargain, you were proved a fool. She heard rumors that he had taken bribes. She found him deeply disturbing. He dominated gatherings as if everyone should be enamored with his words. He also listened; she had to give him that. He was truly interested in each man’s position and how they had come to it. With him in the government and forming their liaison with the unruly and dangerous Commune, she could scarcely ask him to leave. She had to endure him and his lackey Fabre whenever he felt like inviting himself.

  The Commune had demanded a special tribunal to punish those they held responsible for the ambush they believed the Swiss Guards had laid. The man in the street seemed convinced aristocrats were plotting against him and that the armies were being defeated because of right-wing conspiracy. More aristocrats were fleeing. Their carriage horses had been confiscated for the army, and that proved the last blow. They were not about to walk or hail a cab. Manon was not sorry to see them decamp, but she did not like the reason they were leaving: fear of the violence of the little people, as they called them, who hated them and wanted them dead.

  She admitted to herself that she was reasonably happy. Jean had a position of importance in the government, befitting his talents. They had filled the ministries with people who thought as they did. Except for Danton, they gave not an inch to the left. She was surrounded by intelligent high-minded men who believed firmly and thoroughly in the Revolution but were not scoundrels or opportunists. They were men of principle. They we
re friends.

  The Assembly had agreed to capitulate to the common people of Paris by dissolving itself and letting a National Convention be elected. Campaigning was under way. The Convention would be different from the Assembly: it would rule. It would draw up a new Constitution for a republic, and it would act as the government until a Constitution was accepted. Condorcet was excited about the Convention, imagining it on the American model. He wanted to write the new Constitution for France. He was indefatigable. She saw him as a large sheep pulling a plow. She could never take him wholly seriously.

  Still, for the Social Circle Press, he was irreplaceable. Jean controlled a great deal of money as Minister of the Interior, some earmarked for popular education and propaganda. They had been shifting that money over to their Social Circle Press. The press churned out periodicals for audiences with different degrees of sophistication, works on government and the economy, mar riage and divorce, education and primogeniture. Divorce had just become legal. The common people had demanded it, along with a civil registry of births, deaths and marriages. She was startled how many more women than men were asking for divorces. She would have expected it to be the other way round. The most common complaint was wife beating.

  Her group must retain power and steer the Revolution on a sane and responsible course. Would-be tyrants of the left like Robespierre and Marat kept sniping at them. Marat particularly reviled her. He made up sexual libels, as if she had done anything shameful ever. They hated her partly because she was a woman, hence all the filthy innuendo; they hated her partly because she was effective politically and she was now in power. Marat dared to write that she had seduced all the men who came to her salon and that she used her sexual favors to control the Girondins.

  In the meantime, just when her friends thought that the populace had finally quieted down, news came that the Austrians and the Prussians were advancing into France, winning victory after victory and aiming for Paris. Longwy and Verdun had fallen. Lafayette had deserted and gone over to the Austrians, who promptly arrested him. Danton was making speeches to get the common people to enlist, which fortunately they were doing in large numbers. Then the people went crazy and broke into the prisons to massacre refractory priests and aristocrats and common criminals alike. It was a bloodbath, for which she personally held the Commune, Marat, Robespierre and Danton responsible. The violence was incredible. When Lanthénas and Bosc started to tell her, she made them stop. It was a scene of animalistic slaughter, men and women hacked limb from limb.