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

by Longward, Alaric

  I sulked, but shrugged, giving up too easily. ‘Just remember,’ I told him, ‘that citizens have rights. Do not mistreat mother.’

  He looked thoughtful, but nodded in full agreement. ‘I will keep an eye on her. She is unique, brave, and beautiful. I will never hurt her.’ He cleared his throat.

  ‘I will ask her of her reason of staying, but can you not tell me what you need, other than her company. Why can’t you?’ I asked him.

  ‘Your father is in Bastille?’ he asked back, carefully.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, nonplussed by his apparently random and sudden change of topic. ‘Though I do not know much about it.’

  He smiled happily. ‘About Bastille? You want to know its dark history? I read much of it in Collegé Louis-le-Grand, and with Maximillien, I wrote an essay on it. It was built in the medieval times…’

  ‘No,’ I said, fluttering my hands at him. ‘I do not need its bleeding history. I don’t know exact reasons why he is there. Theft? Forgery? Why did you ask about my father?’

  He looked embarrassed. ‘Oh! Well, today we use Bastille as a symbol of hate, the king’s prison.’ He leaned closer to me, and Julie shrieked as he imitated a menacing scowl. ‘Did you know that there are king’s unhappy enemies locked up in those cold, desolate rooms? There they die, of disease, hunger and cold snot.’

  ‘Like the ordinary man in the streets, no?’ I asked, and his countenance broke for just a second, and he took time to scribble that one up. It made me swell with pride.

  While writing, his tongue out of his mouth, he continued, concentrating on both, just barely managing it. ‘No. This is worse. Torture, sadistic animals tearing man and woman limb by limb, girl.’ I shivered, and he was happy with that, though I had faked the shiver, and he knew it. He tousled my hair, appreciating my act. ‘No, I think there are just some lunatics and minor crooks locked in there, to be honest. Few fat, invalided soldiers guard it, and it is anything but the horrible place we all paint it.’

  ‘And why did you wish to…’ I started patiently, and he gave up.

  He sighed, put his hand on his head, and without looking at me, told me what their agenda was all about. ‘Your father. He is in there, right? He might know where Colbert hid his money. You do not, apparently, do you? And neither does your mother.’

  I stood there, anger playing on my face. ‘I don’t. I know there is a cache, and he had a whorehouse. You didn’t find it? You just want Colbert’s money?’

  He mimicked my voice insipidly. ‘Just his money. Money is all. We got his books, draperies, many things we can sell, and others we cannot. We dug up the floors in the cellar, tapped the walls, tore out suspicious bulges and did the same with the nasty whorehouse. Your damnable Colbert was no fool with the coin, and kept it near, but how near? Perhaps he owned another house nearby? It is a small fortune we scraped from his property, but small fortunes, Jeanette, disappear when you try to foment changes to nations. His fortune was vast, we know this, and we cannot find it. He has hidden it, but it matters not. Not sure how we would get your father out of Bastille, anyway. We try to bribe someone, perhaps, but we will see.’

  ‘Surely forts can be taken,’ I said, thinking about the stories Gilbert had read to us, full of such tales of terrible sieges. ‘Are there soldiers there?’

  ‘I told you. Some invalids. It has few prisoners and is mainly a store of gunpowder, nothing more,’ he shrugged, despondent. I pouted, Jean tried to escape, and while I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, I got an idea.

  ‘Do you think this will come to shots, one day? This whole mess?’ I asked him, hopeful it might.

  ‘Shots? Hope not! We have no weapons and powder!’ he grinned, and then his face went still.

  ‘Indeed. But Bastille, guarded by invalids has plenty, no? And it is the king’s horrible dungeon, and detested, hated by any free, common man?’ I asked sibilantly.

  He nodded. ‘You are not a child, my child, but a devious imp, that is what you are,’ he muttered, hesitated and started to scribble, as he walked briskly off.

  I went home, happy to be a devious imp and the twins ran to mother. She was sitting happily, and smiled at us, giving the little ones a hug. ‘Mother,’ I said, critically, and she waved her hand.

  She smiled. ‘He gives us protection. He is a scoundrel, Jeanette, but I accept his protection, for now. Yesterday, I spoke with him as his guest, today, we are more, and it’s not all evil, no. He is married, but otherwise, he is a perfect gentleman. I will be most careful child. Do not judge me.’

  ‘You mean us to leave? Not you, but the rest of the family?’ I asked her, even more critical, putting emphasis on the word “family.”

  She took the hint and looked a bit angry, yet determined. ‘Yes. You will leave Paris. I will not discuss it, Jeanette, and I have gone through hell- I showed how much I love my family, so trust me on this decision as well,’ she said and left to fix us dinner before I could say anything more. I saw tears in her eyes.

  In the evening, mother took us to the overgrown gate of the convent, and there waited a covered carriage. She went inside the rickety thing, where a fat peasant woman was fussing, a woman who took the twins. Mother was crying bitterly, speaking soft words, telling them they will be well loved by her sister, her brother and his family, and that they shall meet again. In the background, I could hear the crowd roar at Danton’s words at a meeting, and I shivered. Eventually, she came out of the carriage, smiled at me, and held out her hand. I took it and she pulled at me.

  ‘Come,’ she said, as I resisted.

  ‘Is this about Colbert’s money they did not find? You will help them, and help them find father who might know?’

  She let go of my hand, astonished. ‘Yes. Georges gave us some money for the items he liberated from Colbert’s opulent apartment. He kept most, but it was not nearly as much as he hoped. Colbert’s gold and silver could not be found, and I know he had plenty of it. Georges freely admitted he saw an opportunity, he, and Camille are ever at need of coin. However, he was generous enough. The twins and you will live well. I will stay, and help him. You will take care of them, until France is different. I now owe him, and trust me, Jeanette, I rather have you three away from here, where blood will flow.’

  I looked at the confused twins, and took a step towards the carriage, but I stopped before reaching it. ‘They said you had your own reason too. You asked to stay here. Therefore, I will stay to help you. I won’t get in the way.’

  ‘No, it is dangerous, Jeanette. You can die here. I will not allow it,’ she told me, scowling.

  ‘I said that I will stay. I have a stake in this too. Twins will be loved and taken care of. I am tired of ponderous adults and especially arrogant men pushing us around, and want to see if…’ She grabbed me and guided me towards the carriage. I tore free savagely. ‘I will stay, mother. You owe me. I shot the man who raped you.’

  ‘I put myself in such a position, Jeanette,’ she said angrily, ‘because of you, the children. Therefore, I do not owe you anything. I don’t wish to be horribly reminded of what has passed and every time I see you. I am. I am reminded of what they did to me.’ I cried, and she finally raised my chin up. ‘I will help Georges with the money and perhaps, if he is honest, try to give him a chance at my heart. But I am not happy, not whole. I have to make myself full again. What could I do to forget my shame, other than shoot your shit faced father, Jeanette, tell me?’

  I understood her. She wanted to stay to kill Guillemin, to remove the debts between them. Georges might get his money; she would get her vengeance and bitter answers, perhaps. ‘I can help you,’ I told her, full of hope. ‘I have experience in shooting men in our family. Your reasons for staying are no different from mine.’

  She looked at me incredulously, and then she giggled hysterically, until she rubbed her face, tired. ‘He,’ she said, miserable to the core, ‘is your father, Marie. It is an ungodly act what I plan for, and I will burn in hell for it. I do not want to see you there, w
hen I do find him. Besides, I will let Georges down, maybe. He will be angry. If Guillemin knows the secret whereabouts of Colbert’s vast collection of coin, he will not share it as he is meeting the devil in his new accommodations. If I give him to Georges, monsieur Danton might very well cut a deal with Guillemin, and forget he has feelings for me.’ She said it with a sad smile, and continued. ‘You are strong, dear. Nevertheless, I do not want you to suffer for the things I wish to do. Georges Danton will do great deeds, and maybe he will help me reach Guillemin. I stay, dear, to get close to him, and I need to be strong when I see him. I am not as strong as you are, dear. I cannot kill a man, I thought, but now perhaps I can, but I might fail, especially if you are there to stop me.’

  I took her hand. ‘I am not strong, mother. I fear, every night I fear, and I wish to be there as well.’ I sobbed in her gentle arms. ‘I will not stop you mother, and God? Church? Surely, they would not mind having him in hell? Father is God’s creation, and did he ever fail with him. If not, I will do without God, and go to hell myself. There will be justice. And what father did to us, demands justice.’ I said the words with a passion, yet I remembered him from when I was younger, he was gentler, and that I had loved him. What our family had suffered could not change that. I wanted to see him. I wanted to know if he was truly evil, or just astray.

  ‘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 as 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 m
e. 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.

  One 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.’