Cadoville (unfinished)

Chapter XII

Spring 1793

Paris - Théâtre du peuple

Lucie handed me a newspaper from Lyon and pointed to a column on the first page. I took it over to a lantern behind the curtains, keeping the stage, and the noisy mob simmering away in front of it, within my view....

We are a self-inflicted, international laughingstock. The People would rather attack the truth-tellers than those who sold them the Republic. War and famine are already tearing our Revolution apart at the seams, less than four years since we stormed the Bastille. Those who preach phantom freedom and virtue are synonymous with those who have manipulated the People into a xenophobic, anti-patriotic flock, while all the time insisting that they were the polar opposite of all these things. The People are not culpable, but the responsibility lies at the feet of those who sold them the Republic, and I will carry on saying so until they drag me kicking and screaming to the guillotine.

The mob howled and cheered their beloved Angélique on stage, facing with the very journalist who had penned the article I held in my hands - the rather sharp-eyed Nicolas Daumont. With her infectious voice, Angélique had the audience eating out of the palm of her hand, lapping up every word like starving hounds. An enormous roar came from the auditorium, swallowing up Angélique's voice. It was Nicolas' turn to speak, his voice far more brittle than Madame Legrand's....

"...Citizeness, it's not scaremongering to admit our army is overstretched and has a fraction of the gunpowder it needs. Bread queues are as long as ever, our colonies are in open revolt, prisons are packed with people held on flimsy charges of treason and, if I may -," his voice drowned in a growing wave of booing and jeering. "- This so-called 'People's Government,' is nothing more than a cabal of radicals, zealots and extremists, isn't it? Give me, and thousands of other citizens across France, reasons to be cheerful...."

Waiting for the mob to cool down, Angélique turned her body slightly toward her audience, leaned back and planted her palms on both arms of the chair.

"I had no idea it was extreme for people to take the reins of their destiny...," she said. The audience guffawed, of course. "If you look across the border, people serve their governments.... Here, the government serves the People, and is committed to delivering the Will of the People - freedom, equality, unity, opportunity...," each one counted off on her fingers and the rest lost in a barrage of cheering, "...while others seek to frustrate it!"

Lucie was smiling, an enormous grin stretched across her face while Nicolas, glancing sourly into the fiery crowd, had a sip of wine and moved to his next question.

"Do you see yourself as one of the People?"

"I bleed no differently to anyone else in the room, Citizen - just one among France's many children."

"I'm glad we agree, Citizeness...." Nicolas paused, chewing on the arm of his spectacles. "So what then entitles you to so much 'luck'? Would you acknowledge that you've benefited more than most from the Revolution? Enough to have become one of France's richest women, I dare say...."

Angélique smiled and cleared her throat with a swig of wine.

"There's no denying I've had one or two twists of fortune, but wealth is no reflection of personal character. Unless, of course, you're measuring personal character by how much I've invested in the Revolution, which is rather a lot...." She took another swig of wine and scowled at Nicolas, her eyes glinting in the maroon lantern light. "Do you see yourself as one of the People, Citizen?"

"Of course," Nicolas scoffed. "I fought for the Revolution in Lyon...."

Angélique held up a piece of paper, high for the audience to see.