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.’
‘You were wise. They might have killed us. This confirms what has been in my mind for some time.’
‘What is that?’
He looked at me quickly. ‘Don’t tell your mother. It would alarm her. But for some time I have believed that there were subversive forces at work. There are men in the world whose intentions are to overthrow monarchies everywhere and the Church with them. In other words they plan revolution. Where would such men seek to begin their campaign? In the weakest place, of course. France is weak. She has suffered years of inept rule; there has been little justice in the country; the monarchy has been selfishly indulgent; the people have become poorer; some of them are indeed close to starvation. You see, France is offering these men the very ground in which to sow their seeds of revolution.’
‘And you think that man … ’
‘He is one of many. Very soon … perhaps at this moment, those men who were listening to him will be roused to fury. God knows what they will do. They will raid the shops … steal the goods … and they will kill any who try to prevent them.’
‘How glad I am we escaped.’
‘Oh, Lottie, I see evil times ahead for France unless we stop this rot. We have a new King; a good minister in Turgot; there will be others. We have a chance if only the people will let us take it.’
We rode thoughtfully back to the château.
Before the day was out we knew that what we had seen in the town square was the beginning of trouble. Armand came in the late afternoon to tell us that a mob had attacked the boats which were laden with sacks of corn; they had ripped open the sacks and thrown the corn into the river.
My father was furious. ‘This is surely not the work of hungry men,’ he said. ‘I am becoming more and more convinced that this is an attempt at organized revolution.’
Armand wanted to go out and attack the rioters but his father restrained him.
‘There’ll be bloodshed if these people have their way,’ said the Comte. ‘The King and his ministers must deal with the matter.’
It was easier said than done, for that conflict which was to become
Riots broke out in several places simultaneously, which confirmed the fact that they were organized. Shop windows were broken, food stolen, and several people lost their lives.
My mother said I must stay with them until the country was quiet again but I was very worried as to what might be happening at Tourville and the thought of Chariot in danger terrified me. I wanted to leave at once but my father would not hear of it.
