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Authors: Michelle Moran
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Madame Élisabeth in the art of wax modeling for twenty livres a day!” That is more than the Salon takes in.
Immediately, Curtius is at my side. “When?” he asks.
“Beginning the second of April!” I can hardly believe my luck. An invitation from the royal family and witnesses to spread the news that I shall be going to Versailles! I could not have planned it better if I had paid Yachin to shout the news in the streets. Think of all the figures I’ll be able to make! A new model of the Princesse de Lamballe. And certainly one of the king’s sister, who has never been done. I pass around the letter.
“We will send our answer shortly,” Curtius says and tips the man handsomely, as well he should. I may see that man again in the halls of Versailles.
My mother has returned with a tray of warm drinks. When she hears the news, she lowers it onto my worktable and sinks into a chair. “Such a tremendous honor,” she says in German. “But … what of the scandals?”
Only my uncle and I can understand, but we both look instinctively toward Robespierre.
“It is something to consider,” Curtius replies, then asks Robespierre in French, “What would you do?”
“What does it matter what he would do?” Madame Sainte-Amaranthe exclaims. “It is an invitation from Madame Élisabeth herself, signed by the king.”
Robespierre stiffens at the rebuke. “I would turn it down,” he says at once.
“An offer from Versailles?” Émilie asks. “That is insane.”
A flush creeps up Robespierre’s neck.
“I would not be going for the queen,” I say quickly. “It is the king’s sister.”
“And Marie can tell us the mood of the palace,” Curtius placates Robespierre. “When you and Camille are made deputies, you will be glad to have someone who knows Versailles.”
“You are to be a deputy?” Émilie asks.
“Only if I am elected,” Robespierre replies, “by a fair and undisputed vote.”
“Why shouldn’t it be fair?” Émilie inquires.
“Because very little is fair in this country of ours. Which is what the Third Estate has every intention of changing come the fifth of May!” He raises his hat. “I came to tell you that I am giving a speech at the Palais-Royal at noon. But I can see that you are busy. Enjoy the rest of your morning.”
When Robespierre is well gone, Émilie wrinkles her nose. “An unpleasant man.”
T HAT EVENING, WHEN the wax mold is cooling and I am sweeping the steps of the Salon, I see Henri leaning against a lamppost. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his dark hair has been pulled back with a leather band. He looks as though he has been waiting for me, and immediately my pulse quickens, despite the fact that I see him daily. “How long have you been standing there?” I ask.
He smiles. “Since you first began humming Gluck.”
“Was it in tune?”
“Not particularly.”
“I took singing lessons, you know.”
“From whom? Astley and Sons?” Philip Astley runs a circus of prancing horses and performing bears. “I hear an invitation has arrived.”
“This will be the making of us.”
“Versailles is not …” Henri looks troubled. “They are ruthless there. The ladies will never permit you to get close to the queen. There are rules for everything. Sitting, standing, eating, sleeping. You are used to freedom. You are used to coming and going as you please. The women of the court won’t abide this.”
“Then I will adapt. But everyone in Paris will know of our exhibition. Everyone in France.”
Chapter 7
M ARCH 28, 1789
It was a masterpiece of etiquette. Everything was regulated .
—M ADAME C AMPAN ,
FIRST LADY-IN-WAITING TO M ARIE A NTOINETTE
M Y BROTHERS HAVE COME FROM V ERSAILLES TO HELP ME prepare. Since the news arrived nearly two months ago, it seems that all I have done is get ready. There have been fittings in a dozen different shops to be sure that I am properly attired, and lessons with a master of dance who has taught me the
Immediately, Curtius is at my side. “When?” he asks.
“Beginning the second of April!” I can hardly believe my luck. An invitation from the royal family and witnesses to spread the news that I shall be going to Versailles! I could not have planned it better if I had paid Yachin to shout the news in the streets. Think of all the figures I’ll be able to make! A new model of the Princesse de Lamballe. And certainly one of the king’s sister, who has never been done. I pass around the letter.
“We will send our answer shortly,” Curtius says and tips the man handsomely, as well he should. I may see that man again in the halls of Versailles.
My mother has returned with a tray of warm drinks. When she hears the news, she lowers it onto my worktable and sinks into a chair. “Such a tremendous honor,” she says in German. “But … what of the scandals?”
Only my uncle and I can understand, but we both look instinctively toward Robespierre.
“It is something to consider,” Curtius replies, then asks Robespierre in French, “What would you do?”
“What does it matter what he would do?” Madame Sainte-Amaranthe exclaims. “It is an invitation from Madame Élisabeth herself, signed by the king.”
Robespierre stiffens at the rebuke. “I would turn it down,” he says at once.
“An offer from Versailles?” Émilie asks. “That is insane.”
A flush creeps up Robespierre’s neck.
“I would not be going for the queen,” I say quickly. “It is the king’s sister.”
“And Marie can tell us the mood of the palace,” Curtius placates Robespierre. “When you and Camille are made deputies, you will be glad to have someone who knows Versailles.”
“You are to be a deputy?” Émilie asks.
“Only if I am elected,” Robespierre replies, “by a fair and undisputed vote.”
“Why shouldn’t it be fair?” Émilie inquires.
“Because very little is fair in this country of ours. Which is what the Third Estate has every intention of changing come the fifth of May!” He raises his hat. “I came to tell you that I am giving a speech at the Palais-Royal at noon. But I can see that you are busy. Enjoy the rest of your morning.”
When Robespierre is well gone, Émilie wrinkles her nose. “An unpleasant man.”
T HAT EVENING, WHEN the wax mold is cooling and I am sweeping the steps of the Salon, I see Henri leaning against a lamppost. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his dark hair has been pulled back with a leather band. He looks as though he has been waiting for me, and immediately my pulse quickens, despite the fact that I see him daily. “How long have you been standing there?” I ask.
He smiles. “Since you first began humming Gluck.”
“Was it in tune?”
“Not particularly.”
“I took singing lessons, you know.”
“From whom? Astley and Sons?” Philip Astley runs a circus of prancing horses and performing bears. “I hear an invitation has arrived.”
“This will be the making of us.”
“Versailles is not …” Henri looks troubled. “They are ruthless there. The ladies will never permit you to get close to the queen. There are rules for everything. Sitting, standing, eating, sleeping. You are used to freedom. You are used to coming and going as you please. The women of the court won’t abide this.”
“Then I will adapt. But everyone in Paris will know of our exhibition. Everyone in France.”
Chapter 7
M ARCH 28, 1789
It was a masterpiece of etiquette. Everything was regulated .
—M ADAME C AMPAN ,
FIRST LADY-IN-WAITING TO M ARIE A NTOINETTE
M Y BROTHERS HAVE COME FROM V ERSAILLES TO HELP ME prepare. Since the news arrived nearly two months ago, it seems that all I have done is get ready. There have been fittings in a dozen different shops to be sure that I am properly attired, and lessons with a master of dance who has taught me the
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