Mistress of the Revolution (19 page)

The weather was still fine when the Duchess, Aimée and I set off for Vaucelles, the Count de Villers’s country house. It was only one mile from the Charenton Gate, which marked the city’s southeastern entrance, but one felt far from Paris. Villers welcomed us to his château, which was a
folie
, a “folly,” of recent construction, graceful and small. What was most striking about it was its location. The beautiful gardens, in the formal French style in the front, had in the back of the house been given the look of a natural meadow. The grounds, dotted with cherry trees, sloped gently down towards the banks of the Seine River, just upstream from Paris. Several boats were moored there to a little pier. The Duchess was soon tired and we all walked back to the château, where she settled with Aimée in the oval summer parlour at the back of the house. Its windows opened to the floor onto a marble terrace that overlooked the perspective of the river.

Villers then took me to the stables, where he introduced me to his mare, Margot, a strawberry roan, much smaller than Jewel but just as sweet. She took in my smell with friendly curiosity and accepted the apple I offered her before showing a taste for my straw hat. I ran my hand against her soft gleaming coat, a grayish pink, and rested my head on her shoulder. The memories of happy times with my brother, of my assignations with Pierre-André rushed back to me. I felt a prickling in my eyes and turned away. Villers remained silent for a few minutes.

“I see that you have found clothes suitable for riding after all,” he said at last. “I expected to see Your Ladyship arrive dressed as a shepherdess or a milkmaid, which seems to be the fashion these days.”

“I grew up in the country and know what peasant women look like. It would feel as if I were mocking them by copying their clothing, which I am sure they would be delighted to exchange for mine.”

“You are right, Madam. This affectation of pastoral simplicity strikes me as silly. I am glad that you do not share it. Many ladies of my acquaintance have chided me for not having a dairy, like the Queen’s at Versailles, built on the grounds of this house.”

“Your house is lovely as it is. You should not change anything under the guise of improving it.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your compliment because I know it to be sincere. It is a pity that you did not come here a few months ago, when the cherry trees were blooming. You were not even in Paris then.” Villers waved his hand towards the château. “I can take no credit for this place, which was built by my late father. I too find it delightful. I have not deemed it necessary to improve it except to add to the library.”

“The library? Would you show it to me?”

“With pleasure, Madam, after luncheon, but please do not expect anything out of the ordinary for a small country house.”

He helped me into the saddle and mounted his own horse. We began at a walk and, as the horses warmed and loosened, quickened our pace to a canter. Villers took me around the park and to country lanes beyond its limits. In the happiness of that moment, I lost all sense of time.

“How do you like Margot?” he asked after we had slowed to a walk.

“She is a dear. So pretty and sweet-tempered.”

“She was bred on my estate. So were many of the horses you have seen at the races at Longchamp.”

“I did not know you were interested in breeding.”

“I am. I visit my estates in Normandy regularly. There is no better country to raise horses. The old local stocks are excellent, and one can obtain amazing results by breeding Normand mares with Arabian stallions. Have you ever been to Normandy, My Lady?”

“I never left my native country of Auvergne before coming to Paris this spring.”

“Then you have never seen the sea. I hope that you will allow me to take you there someday.”

I made no answer and quickened Margot’s pace to a gallop.

“You are a fine horsewoman,” remarked Villers.

“My brother taught me when I was a child. He is an excellent rider himself. He used to be in the Light Cavalry.”

“I cannot recall meeting the Marquis de Castel, though I do remember your late husband very well. When he became Colonel of the Royal Dragoons, that regiment had the reputation of being the most neglected and insubordinate in the entire army. He restored discipline in a matter of weeks. An iron fist in an iron glove.”

“The Baron always made a strong impression on those who met him.”

“True. He was unforgettable in his own way. And your brother, the Marquis de Castel, when did he leave the service?”

“Shortly after I was born. Around ’73. He was less than twenty, I believe.”

“He must be about my age then, or maybe a few years younger. A pity he missed the American War. He would have seen some interesting action against the English. I enjoyed it.”

“I had not heard that you had fought for American independence.”

“That is how I met Lauzun, Lafayette, Rochambeau, d’Estaing and even Fersen.”

“The Count de Fersen?”

“Himself, Madam, the Queen’s favourite Swede. I must say, though, that he is the only one of the comrades from America who has not remained my friend. But to return to your brother, how is it that he sent you to Paris to fend for yourself ? Does he, unlike you, trust the likes of me?”

I blushed. “That is a question better put directly to him, Sir.”

“My apologies. I was not trying to pry. No, to be entirely candid, I was indeed trying to pry, but it was an unsuccessful attempt.”

It was just after one in the afternoon, time to rejoin the Duchess and Aimée over a luncheon of cold meats, cake, strawberries and ice cream.

“My dear,” said the Duchess, “the exercise makes you still lovelier than usual. Do you not agree, Villers?”

“I would not have dared say so, Madam, because Madame de Peyre already has a dismal opinion of my morals. My paying her such a compliment, however deserved, would only have increased her misgivings. But now that you mention it, yes, I feel free to concur with Your Grace.”

“Why do you not strive to improve her opinion of you?”

“That is precisely what I intend to do this very afternoon. I promised to show the Baroness my library. Will Your Grace accompany us?”

“I will keep Aimée company. She is a bit young for books. Go, the two of you.”

The library was a room of moderate size, facing north, paneled in various shades of grey. I looked around and noticed that most of the books had been published over the past ten years and were unknown to me. English novels and plays were well represented, both in the original language and in French translation. Villers pulled from the shelves a little volume, bound in pink and gold leather. He handed it to me.

“Please take this one.”

“I cannot accept any presents from you.”

“I would not have the presumption to offer you any. It is a loan, Madam, and a selfish one. I would like to know your opinion of this work. It was written a few years ago by Laclos, whom you may have met at some of the parties given by the Duke d’Orléans.”

It was
Les Liaisons Dangereuses
, “Dangerous Liaisons.” I had heard much about it. As I leafed through the pages, some of the illustrations made me blush.

“As you must have noticed already, I am a prude. You should respect my feelings.”

“You are no prude. You are shy and modest. I can assure you, My Lady, that, while the illustrations are silly, the text is clever. You must forget that it comes from my library and give me your candid opinion of it. Of course, you should feel free to borrow any other works you like.”

I chose a French translation of Shakespeare’s tragedies.

When Villers handed us into our carriage later that afternoon, he invited us to come back the following Saturday to join a party of his friends. The Duchess, without taking the trouble to look in my direction, accepted. Aimée fell asleep promptly against my shoulder.

“Do you not think, Madam,” I asked during our ride back to Paris, “that it puts us in his debt? And I am afraid of being seen too much with him.”

“This does not matter as long as it is clear that you are not his mistress. Besides, if you shun him, people will think that you are resolved to have Lauzun as your lover. It would be far more harmful to your reputation.”

“I had not considered this.” I looked out the window. “Candidly, Madam, what do you think will happen to me?”

“I wish I could read the future, dear, but it is a gift I have been denied. Or a curse I have been spared.”

“Do you think that Monsieur de Villers would marry me?”

“It is unlikely, from what I know of him, but not impossible. He does seem very attracted to you. Would you have him if he proposed?”

“He is pleasant, of suitable rank and younger than my late husband.”

“You have not answered my question, dear Belle. Are you in love with him?”

I hesitated. “That would be fairly ridiculous, Madam, would it not?
He
is not in love with me.”

“Are you sure? But you are right, my dear, not to commit your feelings until you know more about his. This does not mean that you should discourage his attentions. I will not live forever.”

The Duchess, tired by our excursion to Vaucelles, retired early that night. I followed suit after kissing Aimée good night. She now slept in her own bedroom next to mine. I began reading
Dangerous Liaisons
in my bedroom. The web of intrigues woven by the characters fascinated me by its complexity and disgusted me by its malice. I remembered Villers’s insistence that I borrow the book. Had he any particular purpose in lending it to me? Was he trying to tell me anything? I put aside the volume and rang for a cup of hot chocolate. As I was sipping it, lying on a sofa by the fireplace, I thought about the Duchess’s questions. Would I have Villers if he proposed?

From the standpoint of worldly wisdom, he was an excellent match. His nobility, unlike mine, could not be traced beyond the time of the Crusades, but that disparity was more than compensated by the considerable difference in our respective fortunes. He did not seem brutal like my late husband.

My thoughts took another turn. What would become of me if the Duchess passed away? That question at least was easy to answer: Aimée and I would be without a roof on our heads. My expenses in Paris, modest as they were, had already made a dent in the 3,000 francs the Baron had left me. How long would the remainder last if I had to pay for our own lodgings? Probably no more than a few months. I could picture Aimée and myself retrenching on our expenses until we slowly sank into poverty. I shuddered.

I would be a simpleton to refuse a man such as Villers. Was I in love with him? I had to admit that I enjoyed his company. His conversation entertained me, even when it made me uneasy. If given a choice, I would rather see him than not.

We returned to Vaucelles with Aimée on the appointed day. Lauzun was among the guests, as well as Lafayette, whom I had never met before, and Madame de Bastide, the Duchess’s daughter. The conversation turned to politics. The Marquis de Lafayette, a slender man with a long, grave face and a strangely pale complexion, was discussing the recently dismissed
Assemblée des Notables
, to which he had been appointed by the King. During his brief tenure, he had raised the necessity of calling the
Etats-Généraux
, the Estates General, a meeting of representatives of the Clergy, the Nobility and the
Tiers-Etat
, the “Third Estate,” meaning the rest of the nation. Those were the three Orders composing all of the French population.

“The Estates General,” I said, “have not been called in almost two hundred years. Is not the institution too antiquated to do any good?”

“Have you any better idea, Madam?” he responded in a rather haughty tone. “What matters is not the antiquity or modernity of any institution, but what it may accomplish.”

“What could it accomplish that the Assembly of the Notables could not?”

Lafayette sighed. “The Assembly of the Notables, Madam, failed because it lacked the authority to levy new taxes. The Estates General have that power. I can think of no other way out of the current budget crisis. Also, since the Notables had been chosen by the King among the Clergy and the Nobility, they had no incentive to repeal the tax exemptions enjoyed by the privileged classes. What is wrong with the present system, Madam, is that the poorest of citizens are the most heavily taxed, while the wealthiest pay next to nothing in proportion to their fortune.”

“You are right, Sir, but would not the problem be the same with the Estates General, where the Third Estate, although it would be represented, would have a minority position?”

“It would certainly be so, My Lady, if the votes were to be counted by Order, as in the past. But the old system could be reformed to give the Third Estate a larger role in the vote, for instance by giving it more members and by allowing each Representative, instead of each Order, a vote.”

“Indeed, Sir, but that in itself would be a revolution. The assembly you contemplate would not be the Estates General. What matters is not what one calls an institution, but the manner in which it is designed.”

Lafayette’s complexion lost its paleness. “Pardon me, Madam. I suppose I should defer to your opinion in these matters.”

I smiled with all the grace I could muster. “I would never have the presumption to suggest such a thing, Sir. You know infinitely more than I about representative assemblies. You have seen them at work in America and were a member of the Assembly of the Notables in this country. It is why I took the liberty of soliciting your opinion.”

Lafayette seemed to recover some of his composure.

“What do you think,” I added, “are the chances of the King calling the Estates General and accepting the changes you suggest?”

“The King has no choice, Madam. After the failure of the Notables, the financial crisis is worse than ever. No one can resolve it without raising taxes.”

I walked away and was soon joined by Villers.

“I followed your conversation with Lafayette,” he said. “A lively exchange, more so than he must have expected from one so young as you, Madam. I did not know that you were interested in politics.”