Revolution - Jennifer Donnelly [47]
The next day, my mother was smiling. My father, too. The next day we made our last trip to the town.
She was poor. And an actor. She was plain and had a family. And they went to Versailles. Where the king and queen lived. Right before the Revolution. Which is totally amazing. Is that where she met Louis-Charles? It must be. I want to find out more. About Versailles and what she saw there. About her.
An old clock sitting on top of a bookcase chimes. It’s one a.m. I’m tired. I should go to bed. I want to get up early tomorrow and go to the library. I should pack my laptop and a notebook in my bag. Brush my teeth. Charge my phone. Get a good night’s sleep.
I turn the page.
26
24 April 1795
We were playing Punch and Judy when it happened. We had a small crowd, our first. To this day, I do not know why. Perhaps the people sensed what was coming and wished to laugh while they could.
Ha, ha, ha! Take that! shrieked Punch as he whacked Judy with a club, bashing her skull in. The audience roared. The curtain fell. Judy pushed her broken head underneath it, one eye dangling on string, and vowed to have her revenge.
She withdrew and I appeared. It was my job to caper for the crowd between acts. How I hated it—clowning for Sylvie Stinkbreath and Paul Picknose and any other fool with a sou in his pocket. I always wore britches and a waistcoat for this work, despite my uncle’s objections. He wanted me to wear a red dress, cut low and laced tight, but it was not his ass the men grabbed. While I sang and danced, the scenes were changed and the puppets readied. When the curtain rose, I withdrew.
Judy, all smiles and sweet words now, serves Punch a dish of beans. It is badly cooked and gives him gas. His belly inflates. The audience howls as he blows the bean pot off the table and Judy out of the window. Then he blows his neighbor’s dog into a tree. The neighbor complains and the bailiff comes. Punch blows the bailiff up the chimney, the magistrate out of his courtroom, and the hangman off his gallows. My uncle provided the rude sounds with his mouth and hands.
More came to watch us as we played, drawn by the applause. And then a magnificent white carriage rolled into the square and stopped. Its windows were open. I looked at the people inside and my blood froze. I knew them. I had seen pictures of them in the broadsheets. They were the king, the queen, their daughter Marie-Thérèse, and Madame Elizabeth, the king’s sister.
Only a month had passed since the king’s eldest son died. As I gazed upon them, sitting stiff and straight-backed, I thought surely we would be punished for making merry while they were in mourning. We would be thrown in a dungeon and left to rot. I stood perfectly still, barely breathing, waiting to hear the sound of a harsh voice ordering our arrest. But the sound, when it came, was gentle. It was the sound of laughter, a child’s laughter.
And then I heard a voice, sweet and piping, say, Mama, did you see? Punch blew the man’s dog into a tree! How naughty those puppets are!
A little boy, not visible before, stood in the carriage window. He was Louis-Charles, younger brother of the late dauphin, now dauphin himself. He was pretty and clean and as different a boy from my filthy, brawling brothers as a swan from crows.
When the show ended, I was summoned to the carriage. I went, bowing a thousand times. Louis-Charles leaned out of the window and handed me a gold coin. I thanked him and bowed again. Knowing not to show my back to the royal family, I took a step away, still facing them. And as I put my foot down, there came the sound of a great ripping fart. I took another step, there came another fart. It was my greedy uncle, damn him. He’d happily get me hanged if it put a few more coins in his pocket.
The king’s eyes widened. The queen pressed a hand to her chest. The crowd was silent. No one dared laugh.