CHAPTER 7 - Painful loss


Vadim Kiselev - "Tristesse". "The Autumn Falls: October"


June 1787

We all know the feeling when time seems to run between our fingers and days, weeks, and months slip away in the blink of an eye. Before we know it, a year passes, then another and another. And suddenly there comes a moment when we wonder with amazement where the last ten or twenty years of our lives have disappeared.

And perhaps that's what it would be like with Oscar. Perhaps it would be years, decades, and she would wake up with a wrinkled face, realizing that she was all alone and her life was almost over.

However, a combination of certain events made her story unfold completely different.

In mid-June, little princess Sophie fell ill. Doctors linked this disease with tooth growth, but it was not really known why the princess was so feverish. On June 19, the girl died without even reaching her first birthday.

Marie Antoinette was devastated and in desperation she locked herself completely in Petite Trianon with her children. Unfortunately, even the loss experienced by the Queen did not warm her image in the eyes of her people. Marie Anoinette was seen as extravagant and debauched, acting to the detriment of French citizens. Many of the bolder French have even suggested that her daughter's death was a punishment for her sins. Some whispered that Count Fersen was the child's father, so this punishment was all the more deserved. All these voices somehow reached the Queen, only deepening her mourning.

Oscar stood by the queen like a faithful knight, trying to protect her from these mean words, but it was not easy at all. The humming of voices grew louder and broke even through the closed doors and windows of the Trianon Palace. Marie Antoinette thus cut herself off from the world and her people. She didn't say much. She often cried quietly or sat staring out the window. However, she played with the children more often, trying to prevent their childhood from being marked by their sister's death.

For Oscar, the whole situation was very difficult. The sight of Marie Antoinette with the children was already painful, especially since Prince Charles was a peer of her own son. Oscar had a hard time finding out that the Queen gave birth to her son on March 27, exactly one week after she gave birth to hers*. Watching Charles grow, Oscar could not help but think of her own child and realize painfully that she was not with him. Therefore, she even preferred that the queen lived in Trianon rather than in Versailles, and she could visit her so rarely.

And now it was even harder when she had to watch the queen grieve her loss every day. She also felt a kind of mourning. Of course, her child was alive and well, and the loss was more about motherhood, which she had not experienced, but standing next to a woman mourning her dead child, she thought how unfair and badly arranged all this was. She herself had abandoned her own son and cared little for him. Marie would have given anything to get her daughter back. In those moments, Oscar felt a really bad person. She despised herself.

The fact that Marie Antoinette's older son Joseph simply idolized Oscar did not make things better. On the one hand, he was respectful of her, just as a dolphin should have referred to the commander of the Royal Guard, but on the other hand, he treated her like an aunt. In the past, a child has repeatedly tried to climb onto her lap, or pull out little hands to be lifted and hugged. Now the prince grew older, but that did not diminish his affect for Oscar. Even though Joseph was only less than six years old, he sensed the change in his favorite, which had returned after almost a year of illness. And the more he stuck to her.

- Don't worry - he said with charming naivety - I also get sick a lot. So we have to stick together.

One day, about a week after little Sophie's funeral, Joseph walked over to Oscar, took her hand and sniffed.

- I'm scared - he said

- What happened, Your Grace? - Oscar asked with concern, kneeling down so that her face was level with the child's

- I'm afraid I'll die - said the little boy honestly - And that Therese will die too. And Charles. And mom will be all alone.

Oscar swallowed hard. Talking about death was always difficult, especially when you talked about it with a young child. She was not used to it, nor was she prepared for it.

- We will all die someday, Joseph - she squeezed his tiny hand - Everyone who is born must die. We just have to hope it happens later, when we're old and wrinkled - she tried to joke

- Sophie was not old and wrinkled - the boy looked at her with sad eyes - What if we also die soon? Madame Polignac says.. - he paused, because he suddenly realized that maybe listening to adult conversations was not something he should admit to

- Yes? I'm listening to you, Prince - Oscar tried to encourage him

- I'm afraid.. - started the little boy hesitantly - I'm afraid because Madame Polignac said that children often die.. That many little children die now in Paris every day.

Oscar jerked violently. Then she felt a panic creep into her heart, and her hands began to tremble. She looked into little Joseph's frightened eyes and began to fear too. Because she suddenly realized that she hadn't gone to the little house in Charonne even once since that night of March last year. Soon one and a half years will pass. What if..?

Many little children die in Paris every day.

My God, how could I not check what was happening with them at least once in a while?! What if something is wrong? What if one of them got sick? What if any of them.. - she didn't finish that last thought out of fear.

- Sophie was still very little, my Prince - Oscar replied, fighting with her heart pounding in her chest - And you're already such a big boy, and so are your siblings. For sure nothing bad will happen, don't worry! - a forced smile appeared on her face - And because you are already so big, you have to look after your mother. She needs you very much now.

The boy returned her smile and nodded. Then he ran to play with his brother, completely relieved. Oscar did not. Immediately after finishing her service, she went to Charonne instead of home.

It was early evening when she got there. Yet the sun still hung in the sky, low on the horizon, warming the earth with its rays. After all, it was the beginning of July, so the days were long and the sun was shining brightly.

Oscar approached cautiously and peered out from behind the same building she had hidden behind last time. She almost jumped in surprise, because on the porch of the little house, in a rocking chair, sat the nanny. Marie was turned sideways and her eyes were closed so she couldn't see Oscar standing in the distance. However, she was awake, only rocking in the chair with a steady motion. A little boy was sleeping in her arms, his face pressed against her chest. Oscar felt tears gathering under her eyelids. She looked tenderly at the child hugging the old woman. Her son was so tiny. He had a small head framed by a mop of hair the same color as Andre's. His skin was pale, almost like Oscar's. Little hands gripped his grandgrandmother's dress. Oscar couldn't see his face unfortunately, but she was sure he was beautiful. Was he similar to Andre? Or maybe to her?

If only she would take courage and come up to them.. Nanny will not scold her for sure. Maybe she would be surprised but wouldn't say a bad word to her.

Oscar took a deep breath and was about to leave her hiding place when she heard footsteps from across the street. She stepped back immediately. From her place, she could see the familiar silhouette of her childhood friend appear on the opposite side. Andre walked briskly, not looking around. He looked elegant and dignified. He was wearing a dark jacket and had a bundle of sheets of paper and some pamphlets pressed under his arm. He resembled a clerk or a lawyer. Oscar only realized now that she didn't even know where Andre was actually working, what he was doing.

The man stopped in front of the front porch and Oscar now could see only his broad back. Marie opened her eyes at the footsteps and smiled.

- You're finally here! - she said, relieved - I was already getting worried that something bad had happened.

- I'm sorry, Grandma - Andre replied softly - We had a bang of work, and Bernard took those few days off now. But I'll be back earlier tomorrow, I promise! - he climbed onto the porch and leaned on the child - Did he fall asleep long ago?

- Yes - nodded Marie - I've been sitting with him like that for an hour. He really wanted to wait for you to come, but he didn't make it - she laughed

- Sorry.. - Andre repeated - But you should have put him to bed a long time ago! Wait, I'll take him!

Oscar saw Andre dropping the papers on the table beside him, then gently picking the boy from Grandma's arms and slowly disappearing through the door of the house. In a moment, no one was on the porch anymore, and there was silence on the street. The woman only realized now that she was holding her breath the whole time. She let the air out of her lungs and leaned back against the rough wall.

Not now, not now - she thought - Next time I'll come over here and talk to them. But not today.

She tried not to wonder how it was possible, that a woman who had never been afraid of anything, now did not have the courage to face one man.

Maybe because this man was the only one to whom she revealed her whole soul and her whole body. And she was ashamed of it.

Or maybe because she threw him out of her life, him and her own son, as if they were nothing. And she was even more ashamed of that.

She was a monster with a heart of stone. And she was ashamed of it.

October 1787

A few months passed and she still didn't find enough courage to show up at that house. As every month, she only dumped the right amount to the bank on Rue Saint Michel, and then she got drunk. This twentieth day of the month was like a clock's hand ticking off its time, like a signpost pointing to the right direction. She had waited a whole month for that one day when she felt that she was again a flesh and blood woman who could feel and love. The next day, she put on a mask and was again an emotionless monster.

One day, however, something changed. On October 20th she went to the bank as usual with the money ready, but when she went to the banker and gave him the Charonne box number and the recipient's name, he scratched his head in embarrassment, then began to fumble through the pile of papers lying nearby. He found a piece of paper, read it, cleared his throat and said:

- There is a problem, Mademoiselle..

- A problem? - Oscar was surprised - What problem? For a long time I have been depositing money, which is going to this address and so far there have been no problems. What happened?

- I'm sorry, Mademoiselle - the banker began politely - The point is that.. At the beginning of the month, we got this document from our branch in Charonne, saying that the recipient with this name - he pointed to the appropriate place on the paper - does not retrieve from them any money for a long time. More specifically, the money you paid in July and all the money thereafter have not been collected. I knew I must not contact you about this, Mademoiselle, otherwise I would have informed you sooner.

Oscar was stunned. This had never happened before, although more than two years passed since she had started transferring money. What was wrong?

Oscar thanked the banker and rode immediately to Charonne. On the way, she stopped by the bank and confirmed what her own banker had said. The money had been untouched in the vault for three months. Oscar took them back, confirming their identity with her own signature (although the identity was not real, as it would be too dangerous). Then she went straight to Andre's house. As soon as she rode up and jumped off her horse by the porch, she noticed something was wrong. The rocking chair where Nanny was sitting then was lying on its side, right next to the table on which stood a vase of withered flowers. The door to the house was wide open.

- Nanny? - Oscar exclaimed in a slightly hesitant voice - Andre? Are you there?

With a slight hesitation, she entered this house for the first time in her life. She entered and froze. The interior looked like after a hurricane. The furniture was scattered on the floor, with pieces of broken porcelain, papers and books scattered between them. She mechanically picked up overturned chair and several books from the aisle. She walked around the room, then looked into the kitchen, which looked tidy. Next to the kitchen there was a staircase leading upstairs. There were three bedrooms there, all cleaned and the beds had no sheets, and no personal belongings anywhere.

A small layer of dust had already settled on the furniture, and the whole house looked completely deserted. Oscar stood for a long time in the room she suspected was occupied by her son. In the corner of the room there was a rather unused cradle, and against one wall there was a small bed with a decorated frame. Next to it were two chests of drawers that were probably normally full of clothes and toys and were now empty.

Oscar noticed the horses made of paper attached to the curtains by the window. She came over and touched the carefully cut and folded animals. Andre's hand was visible in the ornaments. When they were children, they often cut out such ornaments and glued them with not very skilled hands. Andre's horses and butterflies always looked much better than hers because she never had the patience for it. She remembered Andre exchanging these ornaments with her many times so that her father wouldn't be angry that she had made them so carelessly. Andre always thought about her first, then about himself..

The thought hurt. Oscar stuck her hand into the window frame and squeezed for a moment to calm herself. She needed a clear mind now to find out what had actually happened here.

Before she left the room, she had picked up a small wooden horse from the floor, which was lying in the corner, abandoned and forgotten. She promised herself that when she found them, she would give the toy back to her son.

She went downstairs and began collecting papers, scattered all over the floor. There were house documents, receipts, but most of them were drafts of articles written in Andre's hand. Did he work for a newspaper? She looked at the notes and grimaced. The articles closely resembled those of the newspapers written by liberals, leftists, and anti-monarchists. Was Andre their author? Is that why he disappeared? Oscar began folding these papers in one place. Better if she gets rid of them, lest Andre run into even more trouble. Of course, the activity of such newspapers was not completely illegal, but times were uncertain and it was better not to make enemies among the nobility and monarchists. Oscar didn't understand how Andre could get involved in something so dangerous. After all, he had a son to care for!

You are the last person to judge him, one part of her consciousness said, and the other part fell silent.

She started collecting abandoned books. Rousseau, Voltaire and Montesquieu were there. Why didn't Andre take these with him? She put these books on the table next to the papers.

When the floor appeared from under the mess after a few minutes of cleaning, Oscar sat down in her chair tiredly and thought. There was nothing in the papers that might be useful, no hint of where to look for them, no address. She looked around once more, then went over to the bookcase, now almost empty. Suddenly she stopped. Right next to the bookcase, clearly visible on the light wooden floor, there was a large stain of blood. Oscar, as a trained soldier, recognized that it was blood almost immediately. The stain was not old, it could have been a few months at most. Exactly the time that could have passed since the disappearance of the family who lived here. Oscar felt her legs tremble and fell to her knees without strength. She stared at the bloodstain in horror, and her head rumbled.

What happened here?


* What a coincidence, isn't it? ;)