Revolution - Jennifer Donnelly [58]
If you go back to Paris, you go alone, my mother warned him. Why would we leave this place when here we are sheltered and fed?
Like rabbits meant for the pot, he grumbled.
The criers came as we were finishing our coffee. My father ran to buy a paper, then ran all the way back with it.
Listen! Listen, all of you! he shouted. We are free! All of France is free!
My uncle was nailing together a new marquee for our puppet stage. Free from what? he said.
From tyranny! The Assembly has written a document setting forth the rights of men. They call upon the king to accept it, my father said breathlessly. It says—my God, I almost cannot believe it—it says that all men have the right to liberty, property and security, and that none may be oppressed. It says that all men are equal!
Shhh! Will you have us arrested? Such talk is treason! my grandmother hissed.
Shhh, Mother, listen! my father said. Article One—Men are born and remain free and equal in rights. Is that not astonishing? It means, René, that you and I have the same rights as the king!
What of women? my aunt asked. Have they made any rights for women?
Speak not of women, Lise! Women have nothing to do with it. The—Rights—of—Man, it says, does it not? my father said, pointing to the headline. And this, René, listen to this … Article Three—The principle of any sovereignty resides essentially in the Nation. No body, no individual can exert authority which does not emanate expressly from it.
What does that mean? my aunt asked.
That the king does not rule at God’s behest as we have always been told but by the will of the people. Stop that damned hammering, René! Listen to Article Eleven. It is the most astonishing of all—The free communication of ideas and opinions is one of the most precious of the rights of man. Every citizen may, accordingly, speak, write, and print with freedom.
He was much overcome. He looked at us each in turn with tears in his eyes. Why do you not rejoice? he asked. Why do you not weep with joy? Do you not understand? It means that we may perform without fear of the king’s censors. That we may write and play what we wish.
My uncle was oddly quiet. He had stopped hammering and was looking out of the window. His gaze was faraway and troubled, as if he saw something we could not.
Do you not understand, René? my father said, his voice full of emotion. It is the beginning of something, something extraordinary.
My uncle turned to him. Yes, Theo, it is, he said. It’s the beginning of the end.
* * *
I finish the entry and glance at the line for the archivist’s desk. There are still ten people ahead of me. The woman who was behind me is gone. I guess she gave up. It’s almost four o’clock. It’ll be my turn before too much longer, I hope.
I turn the page, thinking back to my class on the French Revolution, to the time line of events. The fall of the Bastille was just the warm-up act. It’s going to get ugly at Versailles. Really ugly. Really soon. And Alex is there, right in the middle of it.
30
29 April 1795
I’m going to hide, Alex! Louis-Charles shouted. Count to ten and find me!
He dashed out from under the table where we’d been eating chocolates we’d filched from his mother’s plate. I pulled my mask over my face and started to count.
It was midsummer’s eve. The queen and her circle were masquerading in the Obelisk grove with their children. She hoped it would please Louis-Charles. The queen was Titania. Handsome Count Fersen was Oberon. The king, tired from the day’s hunting, was abed. Music played. Lanterns glowed in the trees. There had been a supper, then ices and champagne. Afterward, all played hide-and-seek.
Louis-Charles wore a monkey mask. Mine was a bird, a sparrow. I finished counting and ran after him. I saw him crouched down by a rosebush,