Revolution - Jennifer Donnelly [99]
But still the blade rises and falls. Still heads roll into the basket. Still an innocent suffers, locked away in a tower. Do you know why, sparrow? No? Then I shall tell you.
Because after all the shattered hopes, after all the blood and death, we woke as if from a nightmare only to find that the ugly still are not beautiful and the dull still do not sparkle. That this one sings better than that one. And he got the position I wanted. And her cow gives more milk. And they have a bigger house. And he married the girl I loved. And no writ, no bill, no law, nor declaration will ever change it.
He crosses his arms over his chest and says, There! That is my chronicle. What do you think of it?
The same as I think of you, sir—little.
Tosh! Where is the error in my account?
I picture the Tower, dark and cold. And the dying child walled up inside it. And suddenly grief is everywhere inside me. It’s as if I’ve fallen into a deep well, and sorrow, like black water, fills my mouth, my eyes, my ears. I cannot see or hear or taste anything but despair.
Speak up! Orléans barks. Where is the error?
In the beginning, I say. The part about my soul.
That is no error. That is the truth.
I raise my eyes, blind with tears, to his.
It is not, sir. It was my soul I thought to barter, yes, and gladly I’d have given it, for it is a small thing and of no value to me. But it was not my soul that was taken, no.
It was my heart.
23 May 1795
They were caught at Varennes and dragged back to Paris.
They made mistakes. How could it be otherwise? They, who had never so much as filled an inkpot, how were they to suddenly plot an escape? The queen got lost on her way to the carriage and delayed them. A wheel broke. A waiting escort was not where it was supposed to be.
They were only fifteen miles from Montmédy when they were caught. How can it be that one lost hour, a few miles, a broken wheel can topple a king, start a war, change a country forever?
A postmaster saw them at Ste-Menehould and recognized them. It was in all the broadsheets. He rode after them, overtook them at Varennes, and sounded the alarm. Soldiers were called out. The king was detained. Members of the Assembly rode to Varennes, demanding that he return to Paris. A force of six thousand—some soldiers, some citizens—saw to it that he did.
Thousands of people lined the road back to Paris to gaze upon their king. I stood among them, hoping for a glance of Louis-Charles, but did not get one. I thought the people would jeer at him as he went by, but when his carriage entered the city, all were quiet. The people stood in silence. None took off his hat. None bowed his head. All pretense was over. They knew their king wished to abandon them and their revolution and they got the idea they could abandon him, too.
In Paris, riots had broken out when it was found out that the king had escaped. People battered statues of him. They smashed signs hanging over inns and shops that showed his emblem. Their anger did not abate when he returned. There were calls for him to abdicate. Tens of thousands marched on the Assembly to demand a republic. Orléans told me to march with them, so I did, the tricolor pinned to my jacket.
But the king did not abdicate. Danton, furious, accused the Assembly of ignoring the will of the people by not forcing him to, then drew up a petition to dethrone him. He and his followers asked citizens to join them on the Champs du Mars to sign it. Thousands came. It was an orderly gathering at first but fighting soon broke out. The guard was called to quell it and they fired upon the crowd, killing fifty. Arrests were made. Martial law was declared. Newspapers were banned. It went on thus through fall into winter. Snow fell, the cold winds blew, but even they could not cool Paris’s heat or her fury.
The kings of Europe, unhappy at how France had treated her own