Voices in a Haunted Room

“What does this mean to us?” he said. “That is what we have to decide. How is the revolution in France going to affect us here in England?”

“It already has,” I answered. “It has killed my grandmother; it has taken my grandfather’s estates; it has ruined the family, for who knows where my Aunt Sophie is? And now it has taken my brother Chariot, Louis Charles and your brother Jonathan.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But that is personal ... our family tragedy. What effect is it having on our country? And that, Claudine, can have every bit as much effect on us in the future as purely personal trials. Have you noticed that no one seems to be certain ... even the politicians. Who are our leading men just now? I’d say Pitt, Fox and Burke, wouldn’t you? Yet they seem to me from what they say and do in Parliament to be at variance with each other. Fox is too trusting; he believes in freedom and that a country should be ruled by its majority which he takes to be the revolutionaries. I think Burke sees it differently. He knows that what the people of France want is equality ... but they do not want liberty. Not for their enemies certainly. How many have gone to the guillotine completely innocent of anything but being born aristocrats? Burke is aware that revolution-and that means anarchy-could erupt all over Europe. And Pitt ... he does not share Fox’s sympathy with the will of the people. He is a great upholder of peace, and I am sure he believes that in due course France will settle down. It is with great reluctance that he goes to war.

With three diverging views, where does that lead us?”

“I don’t know,” I said yawning, “and I do believe you are not sure either. And even if you were ... what could you do to help?”

I held out my arms to him and laughingly he came to me.

But if the subject was dismissed for that night, it reared its head again the very next day. An entertainment was given hi our honour. I had always known that the family had vast interests in London. Whenever I came up with my mother and Dickon, there had been a great deal of social activity from which on account of my youth I had generally been excluded. Now I realized the extent of Dickon’s connections and the desire of certain people to show friendship for Dickon’s son and my mother’s daughter.

I enjoyed meeting these interesting people who seemed so poised and knowledgeable. I liked to listen to their conversation, but I did notice that it revolved round one subject at the moment.

As we sat at table on this occasion, the talk took the usual trend. Someone said something about Charlotte Corday. It was just over three months since she had been executed for stabbing Jean Paul Marat in his bath but it was still talked of as though it had happened yesterday.

“I don’t think,” said the man next to me, “that anyone has much sympathy for Marat.”

“No,” I agreed, “but many have for Charlotte Corday.”

“A brave woman. She knew she was signing her own death warrant. That takes courage.”

I agreed with that too.

Our host said: “I wonder who will be next. Danton perhaps.”

“Do you think it will come to that?” said the lady on his right.

“These people always turn against each other,” replied our host.

David said: “I feel sure that the leaders of the revolution like Danton and Robespierre will in due course be brought to the guillotine. They are all jostling for power; they are envious of each other. That is what it is all about. Better conditions for the people? Of course not! Power for Messieurs Marat, Danton and Robespierre ... and the rest. And each one in his turn will be the downfall of the others.”

There was a murmur of agreement round the table.

Our hostess said: “I trust you will be able to forget these disagreeable men when you listen to Ludwig Blochermund, who is shortly going to entertain us on the piano.”“Blochermund!” cried a fat fair lady. “My dear, how did you manage to get him? I hear he is hi great demand.”

“Yes. He was performing at the Rotunda recently.”

”I did have the pleasure of hearing him there and I look forward greatly to hearing his performance tonight.”

“Wonderful,” murmured several of the guests.

After the meal we went into the drawing room in which was a grand piano and there Herr Blochermund performed to our delight.

I sat in blissful contemplation until the recital was over and just as the pianist had risen from his stool and was receiving the congratulations of his audience, the butler came in and announced that a gentleman had come to see our host, and it appeared that the matter was somewhat urgent.

Our host went out and it was ten minutes later when he returned, looking very disturbed.

He addressed us all in a tone of melancholy and said: “I know you will all be made aware of this sad news soon enough. I am sorry to spoil the evening with it, but you will not wish to be kept in the dark. The Queen of France has followed her husband to the guillotine.”

There was a hushed silence.

“So they have dared ...” whispered someone.