Madame Tussaud: A Novel of the French Revolution

Chapter 23

JULY

11, 1789

Fortune does not change men, it unmasks them.

—SUZANNE NECKER,

WIFE OF JACQUES NECKER, MINISTER OF FINANCE

THE MINISTER OF FINANCE HAS BEEN SENT AWAY! NECKER, who is beloved by the Third Estate despite his long-winded speeches, has been taken with his wife to Switzerland. A carriage arrived at his home, and the coachman was given instructions to ride nonstop to the city of Lausanne. A man named Joseph-François Foulon, who agrees with the king’s policies and wishes to abolish the National Assembly, has been named the Finance Minister in his place.

“When this gets out,” Wolfgang says, “there’s going to be chaos.”

We withdraw into an alcove of the Grand Commune. “How do you know this?” I ask him.

“I was at the door when the king told his brother Artois. Word won’t reach the city for another day. But tonight, lock the doors. There are thousands of troops encamped all across Paris.”

“I saw soldiers yesterday at Saint-Denis.”

“They’re also at the Invalides on the Champ-de-Mars. The city is surrounded, and every rabble-rouser is going to take to the streets when they hear this news. And best stay away from the Palais-Royal for the next few nights.”

It’s unbelievable, the idea that Paris should succumb to violence. I don’t wish to think about it. I won’t. “How is Edmund?”

“He hasn’t spoken to me since we visited Maman six weeks ago. Or to Johann.”

“And Abrielle?”

“She wants to give it a little more time.” He sounds uncertain. “She loves her father. Her mother died in childbirth … it’s only her and him.”

I take a deep breath. Now is the time to tell Wolfgang. He should know. “Henri asked me to marry him.”

My brother steps back to study my face, and I’m sure I am blushing deeply. “Marie, that’s wonderful news! Have you told Maman?”

“I can’t tell her. Not until I’m ready to accept, and marriage would ruin my chances at the Académie Royale.”

My brother is surprised. It’s the first he’s heard of this.

“I can’t think of anything worse than raising a family on a few hundred sous a week,” I tell him. “You remember how it was for us. The rags we used to wear and the food we would eat. It was meat once a month. If I am accepted into the Académie—or even if it’s Curtius—our futures will be certain.”

“But we all turned out well enough,” Wolfgang protests. “Things got better. Curtius’s business picked up, and now the Salon is doing well.”

“Even so, the bakers and chandlers are dry. We have to buy our candles on the black market. It’s not a time for starting a family.”

“Well, don’t tell that to Abrielle.” He sighs. “It will only give her more incentive to wait.”