Madame Tussaud: A Novel of the French Revolution (29 page)

“Lafayette was elected its vice president—he might make a good leader,” Curtius says.

“Can you imagine the bloody coup that will come before installing him as king? He will have to fight every other man who wants it: Orléans, Mirabeau, Camille—”

“Not Camille!” I exclaim.

“Did you hear his speech in the Café de Foy? He’s a man with intentions. Just wait,” Astley promises. “If the king doesn’t crush this rebellion and send Camille to prison, you will see him in the National Assembly.”

There is another knock on the door, and the seven of us freeze. Whoever it is, they will have heard us talking. There’s no point in pretending we aren’t here. “Who is it?” Curtius calls through the door.

“Citizen Armand,” the man identifies himself. “I have come with your wax head.”

Curtius opens the door, and a young man holds out the head of Orléans. “For you, Monsieur.”

I spring from my chair and rush to the door. “What about the bust of Necker?” I demand.

Armand shakes his head. He is a
sans-culotte
, dressed in trousers and a loose-fitting shirt. His long hair has been tied back with twine, and the bones in his face are prominent. I doubt he’s eaten much in several weeks. “I’m sorry, Mademoiselle. It was lost among the crowds. It may still appear—”

“That bust means a great deal to us,” I say sharply.

Armand steps back. He is seventeen, or eighteen, perhaps.

“Yes,” Curtius cuts in. “For there is no greater patriot than Necker.”

The young man smiles. “Of course. I will see what I can do.” He looks over our shoulders and can see the meats on our table.

“Would you like to come in?” Curtius offers. “There is food. And perhaps you can give us some news.”

Armand accepts, and I lock the door behind him. Yachin has already found a stool from the workshop where I laid his bed. He offers it to our guest, and the seven of us watch him eat. He is starving, chewing with his mouth open because he has stuffed too much inside. When he finally swallows, he sees that we are waiting. “What is the last you’ve heard?” he asks.

“That the monastery of Saint-Lazare was ransacked,” Jacques says.

Armand reaches for a sausage. “And all of the monks have been turned out. They can live off the fat of their bellies now.”

“That is a sin,” my mother says.

Armand sees he has offended her and puts down his sausage. “Perhaps it is. But we are starving, Madame. It is all well and good for the National Assembly to proclaim this law and that. But where is the food? Can they force the king to give us food?”

“He doesn’t have enough food to feed a nation,” I reply.

“Then we shall find a government that knows how to conduct trade for grain. The members of the National Assembly are meeting at the Hôtel de Ville,” he says. “If you hear cannon shots tomorrow, it might be battle, or it might be the National Assembly summoning its deputies to a meeting. They are looking to create their own militia. It will be every patriot’s duty to provide this new militia with whatever weapons they have.”

“Including the shops that have been broken into?” Henri asks.

“Yes,” Armand says earnestly.

“Isn’t that thievery?” Jacques wants to know.

“Not if it’s for the greater good. We found a barge at the Port Saint-Nicholas carrying forty casks of powder. That powder would have gone to the king’s army if we hadn’t taken it. Where is it better used?” Armand asks. “By tomorrow, the king will be facing a formidable army,” he promises. “A citizens’ militia.”

Chapter 25

J
ULY
13, 1789

When the government violates the people’s rights, insurrection is … the most indispensable of duties
.

—M
ARQUIS DE
L
AFAYETTE

O
NLY
C
URTIUS AND
I
ARE AWAKE WHEN THE CANNON FIRE
begins. Perhaps it has gone on all night and only now can it be heard on the Boulevard du Temple. But the sound seems to shake our house on its foundations. We look across the table at each other, and my uncle puts down his coffee.

“Battle, or a meeting of the National Assembly?” I ask fearfully.

“It will be the meeting in the Hôtel de Ville. Can’t you hear the tocsin?”

If I strain, I can just make out the ringing of the bells above the cannons. “What if the king’s troops defeat them? What if they throw Lafayette and Robespierre into prison?”

“That’s why we straddle both worlds until it’s clear which side will be the victor. In three days, you’ll go back to Versailles. Meanwhile, whatever good patriots are doing, we’ll do. They want green cockades? We’ll wear them. They need arms for the citizens’ militia? We’ll donate. And as soon as it’s safe to reopen the Salon, the exhibits will change weekly. Daily even, if that’s what events call for.” He stands from his chair and begins to pace. “We’ll want to change our signs from “Monsieur” and “Madame” to “Citizen” and “Citizeness.” That’s what all the papers are using. We don’t want to be behind.”

“Then we should change the Room of Notables to the Room of Great Patriots as well.”

“Yes. And whatever happens—” Curtius stops pacing to look at me. Even at six in the morning, he is wearing a waistcoat and an embroidered vest, just in case the king or the Duc should come calling. “The Salon de Cire must continue. This will be your inheritance, Marie, and you will make it your children’s inheritance someday.”

“Why are you saying this?”

“The Glorious Revolution in England swept away many good families. We don’t know how we’ll be caught up in this. Already, we’ve provided models for Camille’s procession.”

“The mob could have stolen those busts,” I say quickly. “Or they could have forced us to hand them over. Why should the king believe we were part of it?”

“He might not. But men have been sent away for much less. Did you hear that the commander of the Swiss Guards, the Baron de Besenval, has been placed in charge of the king’s troops?”

“Abrielle’s father?”

“Yes.” My uncle sighs. “Of all the women to fall in love with … Wolfgang might have chosen anyone.” He smiles at me. “At least you have some sense.”

I look down at my coffee. Clearly, Henri has taken Curtius aside and made his intentions known. “You know I cannot marry now.”

“Henri told me. But Marie, you will never be left homeless or poor. That much I swear.”

There is the sound of a horse and carriage outside, and both of us pause. I go to the window and recognize the man with the auburn hair and mahogany walking stick. “I can’t believe it.”

Curtius rises. “Who is it?”

“The Marquis de Lafayette!”

“Go and wake your mother. And make some more coffee.”

I rush to my mother’s chamber. The curtains are drawn against the summer’s light, casting the silk-paneled walls in shadow. From the embroidered settee to the cushioned armchair, everything has been done in robin’s-egg blue. I push the airy bed hangings aside and see that my mother is still asleep. I should let her be, but I know she would be angry to miss Lafayette. I gently shake her shoulder. I’m surprised she doesn’t hear the cannons.

“What? What’s happening?”

“The Marquis de Lafayette has come,” I say.

She struggles to a sitting position. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps he wants to borrow a bust. Or maybe he’s come about the citizens’ militia.”

My mother is on her feet and at her vanity at once, twisting her dark curls into a loose bun and dabbing her petite wrists with perfume. I hand her a gown, and while she ties her fichu, I fetch a lace bonnet from the wooden commode. “The one with the good trim,” she says. “Not that one. The blue.” She brushes her teeth and dabs
eau de lavande
onto her breasts.

“Curtius says to bring coffee,” I tell her.

“Yes. And we’ll want sausages. Isn’t that what the marquis liked the last time he was here?”

I can’t remember these things like my mother. She can recall what she served at every salon, and which foods each of our guests preferred. “I’m not sure,” I admit.

“I’m certain it was sausage. But we’ll bring out the ham, just in case.”

When we enter the salon, the marquis and my uncle are deep in conversation. Neither looks pleased. “Ah.” Curtius stands. “Coffee and sausages.”

Lafayette rises, and his dress is impeccable. His green
culottes
match his long-tailed coat. It’s interesting that he has chosen not to wear a wig. It will be a great deal of work for me if false hair goes out of fashion, since real hair has to be set into the wax heads strand by strand. The marquis kisses my hand. “Citizeness Grosholtz.”

“Is that really how we are to greet each other?” I ask, confirming what Curtius said this morning.

“Yes. From now on I am Citizen Lafayette.”

I hide my shock and step aside so that he can greet my mother. How can there be a world with no titles? What will men be? All equals? My mother and I take seats, and Curtius explains, “Lafayette has come with news.”

“A National Guard has been formed,” Lafayette says, “and I have had the honor of being named its Commander in Chief. We’ve enlisted eight hundred men to patrol every district in France, and they’re to pay for their own weapons and uniforms. This way, we know they are committed to duty. But now we’re searching for good men to act as captains of each district.”

My mother gasps. “And you want Curtius?”

Lafayette nods. “That is my hope.”

I look to my uncle, who trained as a doctor, not a soldier.

“It is a great honor,” he says hesitantly.

“One I am not offering to just anyone,” Lafayette adds. “A country is only as strong as its military, and only as moral as the men who serve in its ranks.”

Curtius takes his pipe from the table. He fills it with tobacco, then offers the wooden box to the marquis, who passes. He lights the bowl, and the three of us wait while Curtius thinks. “You understand I’m not a military man,” he says at last. “I would be useless on the field.”

Lafayette is undisturbed. “This will not be a battle like any soldier has ever known. This will be fought in the city, on the streets, and in the palaces. Good sense, not experience, is what matters now.”

“And it doesn’t disturb you that I am old?”

“General George Washington was forty-six when the Revolution in America began. I don’t think his age held him back.” He leans forward. His eyes are fixed on my uncle, and I know that whatever he is about to say, it will be something complimentary. “We are in the midst of our own revolution. Make no mistake, the events of these next few days will be recorded in history, and the men making those events will be remembered as heroes. Do your patriotic duty. There will be pay, but also rewards that go far beyond money. This nation needs men of upstanding character. It needs a captain like you.”

Curtius is going to say yes. I know because his eyes are wide with the promise of it all. He puts down his pipe. “How many men would I command?”

“Forty. And they’ll all be wearing the blue, white, and red.”

“I thought it was green.”

“That is the color of the king’s brother, the Comte d’Artois. I’ve proposed a tricolor.”

“Like America?”

“Exactly. So shall I send a man to fit you for your uniform?”

The sound of cannon fire has stopped, replaced with the voices of a growing mob. There is no knowing who is in charge anymore. The king? His soldiers? The National Assembly?

“Yes. I will do it,” my uncle replies.

Chapter 26

J
ULY
14, 1789

T
HE CREATION OF THIS NEW
N
ATIONAL
G
UARD HAS ENCOURAGED
the butchers to open their shops and the milliners to begin accepting customers again. If we are lucky, the Salon may reopen tomorrow. We’ve lost six hundred sous over the past two days.

I smile at the tailor who arrived this morning with baskets of fabric. Lafayette sent him to turn my uncle into a captain, and while he’s here, he’s to make a costume for our new figure of Lafayette. We’ll be the first of anyone—painters, sculptors, even engravers—to display Lafayette as Commander in Chief of the National Guard.