Children of the Siege

by Diney Costeloe

  ‘Certainly not,’ replied her mother firmly. ‘And I wish to hear no more about it. Your father would be very angry to hear you discussing such a subject.’

  At her mother’s reaction to the news of the Prussian parade, Hélène decided not to ask the other question which intrigued her, so she did not speak of the National Guard, and the ‘Fédérés’ of whom Jeannot had told her. But despite Rosalie’s warning not to listen to the servants’ gossip, she did not forbid the girls to go into the kitchen.

  Next day Hélène was able to talk to Jeannot again and immediately pursued the subject of the coming parade.

  ‘When is it, Jeannot? Will you be going to look?’

  ‘You bet,’ said Jeannot. ‘I’ll be there all right. I got some rotten vegetables saved up ready. We’ve been up the markets and picked up the garbage. Them Prussians may have won, but me and my mates aren’t going to let them march in here without showing what we thinks.’

  Hélène looked at him admiringly. ‘You are brave. Are you really going to throw old rubbish at the Prussians? What will you do if you’re caught? Will they shoot you, or send you to prison?’

  ‘We shan’t get caught,’ said Jeannot confidently. ‘They’ve got to keep marching, see, so even if they wanted to they couldn’t come after us. And if they did we could lose them, no trouble. We know the streets, they wouldn’t get far.’

  ‘When is it?’ asked Hélène again.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ said Jeannot. ‘You come down here tomorrow evening and I’ll tell you all about it.’ He paused and then added generously, ‘’Less you want to come too.’

  Hélène stared at him. ‘Come too?’ she repeated incredulously.

  ‘Why not? I’m s’posed to be working here, but I’ll slip out of the yard in time to meet my mates. You could slip out with me.’

  ‘But how? I’d be seen. Maman would miss me.’

  ‘So she would,’ agreed Jeannot. ‘Of course, if you’re afraid to go…’

  ‘I’m not afraid,’ snapped Hélène.

  ‘No?’ Jeannot was scornful. ‘You daren’t, that’s what! Because your papa will be cross when you get back.’

  ‘I dare,’ cried Hélène, angry that her courage should be called into question, yet afraid it might indeed fail her at the thought of Papa’s fury on her return, for she knew there was no way such an escapade could go undetected. ‘You’ll see,’ she said resolutely, closing her mind to her father’s anger; after all, such an adventure would be worth a day’s bread and water, or even a beating. ‘I’ll come. Now, tell me what to do.’

  Jeannot thought for a minute and then said, ‘You’ll need a dark cloak to cover up them fine clothes,’ he said, ‘and your walking boots, not your indoor pumps.’

  ‘I can put my boots on,’ said Hélène, considering, ‘and probably no one would notice, but I can’t come into the kitchen in my cloak.’

  ‘Tell you what,’ said Jeannot, ‘leave your cloak at the top of the stairs and I’ll fetch it down to the yard. Then you come down early, before breakfast, and off we’ll go.’

  ‘But I’ve got lessons in the morning,’ objected Hélène.

  Jeannot shrugged. ‘Then don’t come,’ he said. ‘If we go later we’ll miss the parade.’

  ‘I’ll come,’ said Hélène. ‘Don’t go without me.’

  ‘I’m not waiting long,’ said Jeannot. ‘If you don’t come straight down first thing, I’m off.’

  ‘All right,’ agreed Hélène, and suddenly afraid of her own daring she turned on her heel and went back into the house.

  It was incredibly easy, for no one had considered the possibility that Hélène might attempt to leave the house to watch the Prussian parade. Emile was still unaware that his children knew anything about it, and apart from mentioning to Rosalie that there appeared to have been some National Guard activity in the Champs Elysées the previous evening, he did not give it much thought. Such gatherings of both soldiers and civilians had become too commonplace to give particular alarm and he had held himself aloof from them. Of course, he would have been a great deal more than alarmed had he realised his younger daughter was contemplating venturing out by herself into the city at any time, let alone on the day of the Prussian triumphal march, but apart from deciding to remain at home himself that day, an intention of which Hélène was unaware and which itself might have made her think again about her escapade, he gave little attention to the parade.

  ‘It’s quite mortifying enough that they should have the right to march into Paris with banners flying, without the need for Parisians to turn out to watch,’ he remarked to Rosalie at dinner the evening before. ‘It’s an insult to the honour of the capital!’ Then considering the matter closed, he dismissed it from his mind.

  Hélène had hidden her cloak as arranged and having donned her walking boots in secret she crept down the stairs to the hall, and hearing Arlette, the housemaid, laying the table for breakfast in the dining room, slipped along the passage to the kitchen quarters. Berthe was working at the kitchen stove, but even as Hélène peeped through the crack in the door the cook disappeared into the pantry and the child was able to dart across the kitchen and out through the scullery unobserved. Jeannot was waiting by the yard gate and with one hasty glance behind her Hélène was across the yard and out of the gate into the lane beyond.

  ‘Here’s your cloak,’ he hissed, tossing the dark bundle to her. ‘Put your hood up and keep close to me.’ Hélène did as she was told and the two children emerged from the lane into the street beyond. Turning away from the house so that they would not have to pass under its windows, Jeannot set off at a quick trot along the road and Hélène followed, terrified of losing him in the warren of little streets.

  ‘This isn’t the way to the Champs-Elysées,’ she called to him, catching hold of his jacket as soon as she was able.

  ‘Got to meet my mates first. Come on.’ He plunged down a cobbled alley and emerged into another slightly wider street and after several twists and turns which left Hélène completely confused as to where she was and which way led home, they arrived outside a tall tenement which looked to Hélène exactly like all its neighbours.

  Jeannot went through an archway which turned out to be a covered way between two buildings, and gave a long shrill whistle followed by two more. Out of the gloom a pale face appeared, its cheeks hollow, its eyes staring.

  ‘Jeannot?’

  ‘Yes. Ready to go?’

  ‘Who’s that with you?’ The voice was sullen and suspicious.

  ‘Hélène. She’s all right.’

  ‘From your ’ouse?’ The voice was incredulous. ‘What d’you bring ’er for? You must be crazy!’

  ‘She wanted to see the parade. She’s all right.’

  There was a sniff from the darkness and a second voice spoke, making Hélène jump as it was right beside her.

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I do,’ said Jeannot fiercely. He turned to Hélène. ‘These are my mates, Paul and the Monkey.’

  Hélène peered through the gloom, trying to fix the faces to the names, but the one who Jeannot had pointed out as the Monkey said impatiently, ‘Come on then. Here’s yours.’ He thrust something at Jeannot who nodded at Hélène and said, ‘Give it to her.’ Hélène felt a greasy bag being pushed into her hands and on investigating it she found it filled with rotting vegetables.

  ‘Keep it hidden,’ instructed the Monkey and Hélène tucked it under her cloak.

  ‘Come on,’ hissed Jeannot, and the little quartet left the dark passageway and threaded their way through dingy streets and alleys until they reached broader thoroughfares and at last the Champs-Elysées.

  Amongst the shifting crowds the four street urchins occasioned no comment even though there seemed to be more soldiers of the French National Guard than there were civilian spectators. Hélène followed close behind Jeannot and the other two, who had, on emerging into the dull daylight, been revealed as two more hungry street boys looking as pale and underfed as
Jeannot had on that first day by the gate. They pushed and scrimmaged their way through the lines of people until they had succeeded in reaching the front of the crowd. Even so they were forced to remain behind a cordon of National Guards and were some way from the roadside. Hélène, standing between Jeannot and a tall man, became aware of a strange and unpleasant smell. Cautiously she glanced round her but was horrified to discover that it seemed to come from herself. Then she remembered the bag she had been given and was still clutching under her cloak. Once again she opened its neck and closed it immediately.

  ‘Here,’ she said, giving it to Jeannot. ‘You’ll be a better shot than me.’

  Jeannot grinned. ‘Front line here,’ he said, and with cheerful impatience they awaited the parade, Jeannot whiling away the time by removing the odd handkerchief and pocket book from the surrounding spectators and secreting them in his capacious pockets.

  In the main, Paris had stayed away from the triumphal entry, preferring to ignore the ignominy imposed on them by the Prussians. The most common attitude was the one Emile St Clair had adopted, a haughty disdain about the whole affair, but amongst those who had suffered most in the siege, fury at the humiliation of Paris seethed and all round Hélène could see gaunt, angry faces ready to jeer the parading army. She felt a knot of fear inside her as she saw them waiting there and felt herself caught among them. Supposing there was a riot like there had been the other day in the Place de la Bastille? Jeannot had told her all about that and it had sounded exciting and patriotic until now, when she was trapped in the middle of it all and was afraid. She looked anxiously about her, wondering if she could creep away before the riot began, but she was afraid of getting lost or crushed in the crowd. Perhaps she would be safer staying with Jeannot. She clutched hold of his jacket so as not to lose him and he turned, irritated by her action.

  ‘Won’t be long now. Can you hear the band?’

  And suddenly she could, loud martial music, and despite her fear, Hélène felt excitement rise within her. She, Hélène St Clair, had dared to come out to show her displeasure at the Prussian invasion of Paris.

  They came, music blaring with trumpets and drums led by a young officer and six mounted troopers, their horses high-stepping as they passed along the Champs-Elysées followed by the rest of the parade. Hélène stared round-eyed as column upon column of soldiers passed by; some were mounted, carrying spears from the top of which flew blue and white pennons, fluttering in the wind. These were followed by others in light blue coats, and yet more in ceremonial white jackets and plumed hats, marching riflemen and yet more cavalry, horses prancing with excitement.

  Hélène was amazed at the variety and splendour of all the uniforms, none of which conveyed anything to her, but all filling her with wonder at their dazzling array. The steady flow of noise and colour continued as the columns of men came by in an apparently endless stream: marching feet, clattering hooves, clinking harness enough to bemuse the hostile crowd which lined the road.

  There were few cheers to greet them – they were an invading army – but there was an angry rumble in the crowd as the people watched them swagger towards L’Etoile and actually march through the Arc de Triomphe. Those lining the street felt themselves betrayed by their own government, a government not yet even returned from exile to govern from Paris. The mood of the crowd was ominous and there were shouts of anger and abuse, but these were submerged in the general roar of disapproval and the din of the parading men. Hélène caught the mood and shouted her disgust too, her voice high-pitched, using a new vocabulary she had learned from those around her, but her insults were drowned by the rumble of the artillery being drawn past her.

  Suddenly there was a scuffle near Hélène as one of her companions hurled a stinking cabbage and an egg in the direction of the passing soldiers. It was a signal and, as one, all three boys, careless of the consequences, attacked the hated Prussians, pelting them with the garbage they had brought. Jeannot, grinning wolfishly, held out the bag to Hélène. She delved into it, pulling out two rotten apples which she hurled with all her strength at the passing soldiers. Several people nearby cheered the children on, encouraging them to greater deeds until it became clear that it was not the Prussians who were taking the brunt of the attack, but the National Guardsmen standing on sullen duty between the crowds and the conquerors. Even then the cheers did not diminish, for some of the National Guard had been making themselves fairly unpopular of late. Full of excitement now, Hélène snatched more apples from the bag and continued her onslaught. One lucky throw hit a guardsman on the back of his head and giving an angry roar, he spun round and advanced angrily towards them. One glance at his red glowering face was enough for Jeannot.

  ‘Run for it,’ he bellowed and grabbed Hélène who, unaware that in her frenzied throwing she had actually managed to hit anybody, was hurling yet another apple in the direction of the parade. Jeannot dragged her into the crowd, which parted and swallowed them, separating them from the irate guard. The tall man who had been standing beside Hélène closed ranks and the guardsman found himself facing an angry crowd ranged against him instead of the vagabond children who had thrown the refuse. He turned back, defeated, to watch the rumbling Prussian artillery drawn by heavy horses trundling by in the wake of the procession, a fearful reminder of the power of this German army.

  Unaware of the crowd’s protection, Jeannot scuttled through the crush of people dragging Hélène behind him, Paul and the Monkey having disappeared in different directions. But as they wriggled free of the immediate area, others grabbed at them, taking them for pickpockets or snatch-purses, and one man succeeded in holding on to Hélène who was less used to escaping through crowds than Jeannot.

  ‘Now, now, young lady. What’s all the hurry, eh? Somebody after you, are they? Got their wallet, I’ll be bound.’ He kept her firmly by the wrist while holding her at arm’s length to see more clearly what he had caught.

  ‘Bite!’ bellowed Jeannot from the shelter of a doorway. ‘Hélène! Bite his hand.’ In the uproar she heard his voice and needed no second bidding. She bent her head and sank her sharp white teeth into the back of her captor’s hand and closed them as hard as she could. She tasted blood on her lips as with an outraged cry of pain the man let her go and for a moment she was free. Instinctively she spat, hating the taste of his blood in her mouth. The man grabbed at her again and clutched her cloak, but twisting sharply once, she left him with the cloak in his hand and ducked away without it to get lost in the throng. Jeannot was at her side and again they were running until they left the crowds and disappeared into the comforting anonymity of the myriad of alleyways beyond.

  Once she slipped on some rubbish and fell into the ooze in the gutter, but Jeannot dragged her to her feet and hurried her on before she could complain. And she did not complain; somehow she knew that in accepting his challenge to go out into the city she had also accepted his codes and standards. Mud and slime meant nothing, not being caught, everything. As she stumbled along behind him, Jeannot glanced back with new respect in his eyes at her brave determination, and at last ducking through a gate, stopped in a tiny courtyard where they found Paul and the Monkey waiting for them.

  ‘Took your time,’ growled the Monkey. ‘Thought they’d snaffled you.’

  ‘Not likely,’ laughed Jeannot, but Hélène shuddered at how nearly they had been caught.

  ‘Have any luck?’ asked Paul. ‘I got two—’

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ interrupted Jeannot with a frown in Hélène’s direction. ‘I did all right. See you later.’

  Hélène, still entirely unaware that her companions had had any purpose for being in the crowds other than showing the Prussians how they felt, watched the Monkey and Paul melt into the shadows and then said wearily to Jeannot, ‘I want to go home. Will you take me home now?’

  Jeannot nodded, saying, ‘Yeah, all right. Come on.’

  Hélène felt her heart still pounding and her legs weak beneath her as she followed Jean
not at a quick trot along streets very similar to those they had travelled on their first day back in Paris. Then they had been stared at, now they were given no second glances, just two more scruffy street urchins, probably up to no good, but occasioning no interest. As they reached the better quarter, however, Hélène began to prepare herself for the reception she knew would await her; Maman’s tears and recriminations, and when he returned from the office, Papa’s anger and possibly a beating. But on their approach to the house it was not a tearful Maman who greeted them as they stole in through the courtyard gate, but a white-faced Marie-Jeanne and an angry Pierre who had just that minute returned from scouring the streets of the city in the vain hope of finding them. Marie-Jeanne let out a cry as she saw Hélène, cloakless with her dress covered in mud, her hair loose, tangled and dirty and her face smudged with dirt where she had brushed the hair out of her eyes.

  Leaving Pierre to deal with Jeannot, Marie-Jeanne grasped Hélène by the arm and without a word propelled her none too gently into the house and up the stairs to her father’s study where her parents were waiting.

  4

  Hélène looked across at her parents and the force of their anger made her shrink away, her hands trembling with fear. She had thought she was ready to face them and the punishment they would undoubtedly inflict. She had seen her father angry before but it was nothing compared with the tight-lipped, white-faced, closely controlled fury that she faced now. And her mother was not weeping, though her face showed traces of earlier tears; she too was angry beyond anything Hélène had seen in her before. When her father spoke, it was in a low, tight voice far more frightening than any angry shout.

  ‘How dare you?’ he said. ‘How dare you disobey my orders and cause your mother such distress?’ Rosalie did not speak, she just stared stonily at her daughter, and if Hélène had hoped for clemency from her, she was unlucky.

  ‘I wanted…’ she began, but knowing no explanation would be of any use, she stopped.