Tante Berthe in black bombazine, very plain but most elegantly cut and very severe, was a most dignified lady. She made tea for me, which showed how conscious she was of the ways of society, for tea-drinking was becoming quite a fashion in France. It was called Le Thé anglais. In fact, my father had told me, it was now the mode to look English. The Parisian shops were full of cloth from England and long coats with triple capes were being worn with stock hats. The shop windows displayed signs: ‘English spoken here.’ Lemonade-sellers were now offering le punch, which was said to be exactly as drunk in England.
I expressed my surprise to my father, for there had never been great friendship between our countries.
‘It is not a matter of friendship,’ said my father. ‘Most Frenchmen hate the English now as much as they did after Crecy and Agincourt. It is simply a fashion to turn people’s minds away from the trials of the country.’
In any case Tante Berthe had her tea.
‘Just as the English drink it,’ she said. ‘You would know, being partly one of them.’
I declared it was delicious and she asked how I was getting on and how the baby was.
I answered these questions but very quickly came to the subject of Lisette.
‘I rarely hear from her,’ said Tante Berthe. ‘She is kept so busy.’
‘I should love to see her.’
That was greeted with silence.
‘Does she seem happy?’
‘She has a little one now.’
‘A little one? A baby?’
‘Yes. A little boy.’
‘Oh, I would love to see her. Do tell me how I can get into touch with her. I will ask her to come and visit us.’
‘I don’t think that would be wise, Mademoiselle Lottie.’
‘Not wise? But we were always such friends.’
‘Oh, she has her life now. It is not the life of the château but she is beginning to grow content.’
‘Please tell me where I can find her.’
‘She wouldn’t want that.’
‘I am sure she would want to see me as much as I want to see her’.’
‘It was hard for her to get accustomed to farm life after living as she did. It was above her station. She’s settling in now. Leave well alone. She is happy now. You must not remind her of the life she once had.’
‘It was strange that she should marry a farmer. She always used to say that she would marry into nobility.’
‘Real life is different from dreams and it is real life that has to be lived.’
I begged once more for knowledge of Lisette’s whereabouts but Tante Berthe was adamant and refused to tell me.
‘You have your life here; she has hers. She is happy now. Don’t try to spoil it and make her discontented again.’
‘What is the name of her little boy?’
‘I don’t think you should bother yourself with such matters. It is better not.’
‘I really cannot see what harm knowing a name can do.’
Tante Berthe sat back in her chair, her lips tight. Then she drained her dish of English tea and set it down so emphatically that I knew it was time for me to go.
I went riding with my father. I was gratified to see how he enjoyed being with me. There had been a strong rapport between us from the day of our first meeting but he treated me now with respect as well as affection and was so grateful to me for giving him a grandson.
He talked to me more seriously than he ever did to my mother. She was easily alarmed and I knew that she used to fret every time he was out of her sight. He told me that he was uneasy about the state of the country. Conditions had grown bad during the last reign. There was too much poverty in France; bread was too costly and in some places people were starving. Moreover the last King had lived in the utmost extravagance. ‘Think what it must have cost to maintain Le Parc aux Cerfs and purely for the purpose of satisfying the King’s jaded appetites. Madame du Barry lived in the utmost luxury. The King never stinted himself at all although he must have seen disaster coming. He hated the mob. That was why he rarely went to Paris and built the road from Versailles to Compiegne to bypass the capital. Such a state of affairs cannot last forever. There comes retribution. It is unjust that this should seem to be approaching now that we have a new king who appears to be ready to listen to reason.’
‘What are you afraid of?’
‘Of the people.’
‘But surely there are laws to keep order.’
‘Sometimes such order breaks down. I happen to know that at the Palace of Versailles the King is in long and anxious conferences with his ministers—chiefly Turgot. They both see the dangers and Turgot has set up ateliers de charité in Limoges where bread is distributed to the poor.’
‘It may be that next year there will be a good harvest. Wouldn’t that make everything all right?’
‘It would help.’
‘Then let us pray for a good winter.’
We rode on and came to the town. That there was something unusual going on was obvious from the moment we came into it. Little knots of people were standing about. They looked at us as we rode past in a way which I thought had a certain hostility in it.
‘What’s happening?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know,’ replied my father. ‘Keep close.’
We came into the market square. Someone had set up a platform and a man was standing on it. He was very tall with a lean cadaverous face, somewhat tanned by the weather. He had flashing eyes which were of a vivid shade of blue and he wore his hair unpowdered and cut short as some peasants wore it; his clothes were ragged and ill fitting yet he wore them with a certain distinction.
He was speaking in a deep voice which could be heard all over the square.
‘Citizens,’ he cried, ‘will you let them starve us? Will you stand aside and touch your caps when the gentry pass by? Will you say, “God bless you, my lord. ’Tis right and fitting you should sup from a laden table while I go hungry? This is the law. God put me where I am and you where you are. I am content to starve and see my children starve that you may eat to the full, my lord, and spend good money on fine clothes and drink and women. Oh yes, my masters, you are you and therefore the land of France belongs to you. We are here to serve you, to grovel for the few sous you throw at us. We are here to eat the filthy stuff you call bread—if we can get it … ”’
My father had turned white and I could see that he was growing very angry. I was very conscious of those sullen people surrounding us. I turned away, believing that if I went he would follow me.
‘Comrades,’ the man was saying, ‘are you going to stand aside? Are you going to let them treat you worse than cattle? Or are you going to stand up and fight for your rights? Stand up and fight, comrades. Fight for your bread. They are taking the grain along the river now. It is for the King’s granaries … for he must have plenty, must he not? It is only you, my friends, who must starve.’
‘Come away,’ I said quickly. ‘Come with me. I am going now.’
I knew it was the only way. I turned my horse and started to move through the crowd. I was relieved that my father was close behind me and that the people moved—albeit sullenly—to let us pass through.
We came to the edge of the town before I turned my head to look at my father.
‘That rogue,’ he said, ‘is inciting the people. He is trying to raise a riot.’
‘And by the look of some of them it seems that he might succeed.’
‘He was no peasant.’
‘No … I don’t think he was.’
‘He’s an agitator. There are many about. I should have liked to take him by the scruff of his neck and expose him.’
‘That was what I was afraid you were going to do so I moved off to prevent you.’