Paris 1814
This August, Lady Chance, a Regency romance set in Paris, 1814 comes out. It’s
the follow-up book to Lady Scandal,
which was set in France of 1803. Both years are times represent short breaks in
the Napoleonic wars—the peace of 1803 was a fragile thing that barely lasted,
and the surrender of Paris to the allied armies in 1814 didn’t last. But Paris
in 1814 was the place to be for excitement and to watch history being made.
On March 30 to 31, 1814, the battle for Paris was fought. Napoleon was advancing to Paris to reinforce his troops, but with Russian in control of the Montmartre Heights and Prussian troops ready to take the fight into the streets of Paris, Marshall Marmont contacted the Coalition and reached a secret agreement with them to spare Paris.
On April 2, the French Senate passed an act to declare Napoleon deposed. Napoleon had advanced as far as Fontainebleau and heard that Paris had surrendered. His marshals would not fight with him and urged surrender. On April 4, Napoleon abdicated in favor of his son, the King of Rome, but this was not to be allowed. Napoleon had to abdicate unconditionally, and he did so on April 6, and was exiled to Elba. On April 11, the war was officially over when the Treaty of Fontainebleau was signed—Napoleon took a poison that had been mixed for him and that he carried with him in case of capture. But the mix of belladonna and opium had lost its potency, and doctors revived him. He recovered and left for Elba on April 20. However, it is thought that he never regained full heath for stomach problems plagued him the rest of his life.
Napoleon was allowed to take with
him one thousand of his Imperial Guards, which would pave his return the
following year—and there is every indication that plans for his return were
already being made in 1814.
In Lady Chance, the
heroine—Diana—and her cousin come to Paris in mid April, with treaties still
being drafted and signed. Only English diplomats, such as Diana’s cousins, were
in Paris, but a few brave souls also traveled to Paris in April. Letters from a Lady (Miss Anne Carter)
to her Sister during a tour to Paris in the months of April and May 1814 offers
up terrific, colorful details of events including the return of the Bourbons.
On May 3, Louis XVIII arrived in
Paris with a grand procession through the city. Parisians turned out to throw
lilies—the flower of the kings—to cheer and shout, and only a little grumbling
was heard. The comte d'Artois—Louis’ younger brother who would later become Charles X
after Louis XVIII’s death—had ruled as Lieutenant-General until his brother's
arrival, and would continue on as part of his brother’s council. Louis’ niece—married
to the comte d'Artois son, the duc d’Angoulême—sat next to Louis XVIII. The only
surviving child of Louis XVI, the duchesse was described as “very fair, and has
rather large eyes, which still bear the marks of the Revolution…” She was seen
to be nervous of the crowds, and rightly so, given that many of these same
people had cheered when her parents were beheaded.
Napoleon's senate called Louis XVIII
to the throne, but they set down the condition that he must accept a
constitution that included recognition of the Republic, an elected parliament,
and the tricolore of the Revolution. Louis XVIII opposed most of those ideas,
disbanded the senate and made his appeal to the French people—who were split in
their loyalties. Royalists wanted their king back, but some hid their tricolor
flags and bided their time; the army was sullen, but the marshals of France
swore their loyalty to the king. Anyone who had power was working hard to keep
it, and anyone wanting power was plotting to take it.
Paris was a city split—as was
France. Louis XVIII needed to keep the country functioning and stable, which
meant he must retain those who had held power under the empire. But Louis also had
to reward those who had stayed loyal to the crown, with a return of their lands
and titles. The comte d’Artois, the ducs d’Angoulême and d’Berry sat on the
king's council and it was headed by Talleyrand, who’d been made a prince by
Napoleon. Louis wanted to be king in the old style, but he faced an empty
treasury, and he had an occupying army who were trying to make a lasting peace.
The leaders of the occupying armies demanded
a constitutional monarchy—they wanted France to remain stable. To pacify them, Louis
drew up the Charter of 1814, which was very progressive for that era. It kept
intact many of the reforms of the Revolution, along with the Napoleonic Code,
which guaranteed legal equality and civil liberties. However, the preamble
declared it a ‘concession and grant’, given ‘by the free exercise of our royal
authority’—meaning Louis wanted the ability to reverse everything if he chose.
Louis also signed the Treaty of
Paris on May 30, in which Paris gave up the territories Napoleon had conquered.
That was the main reason the allies were supporting Louis—they got their lands
back. In exchange, France would not have to pay war penalties, and the foreign armies
would withdraw from Pairs. This left many unhappy—many Frenchmen thought the
Empire had been a natural extension of France’s borders.
It didn’t help that Louis XVIII soon
went back on promises. Unpopular taxes were left in place. Louis chose the
traditional white flag of the kings of France. Returning aristocrats were given
back their lands, while those who had been ennobled by Napoleon saw their lands
taken away with the return to France’s old borders. Expenditures on the army
were slashed, leaving them grumbling, and Louis’ devotion to the Catholic Church
left non-Catholics unhappy. A post-war slump in the economy hit everyone, and
Paris began to resent the English who came in droves and had money to spend.
But the bitter unhappiness that was
to hit in the fall and winter of 1814 was months away in spring. April and May
of that year was one of entertainments and celebration. Paris glittered with
illuminations and the campfires of the armies. Diana and her cousin had balls to
attend—and plots to uncover.
For an undercurrent of waiting wove
through the city to see what the Emperor would do. There was still a belief in
Napoleon’s magic—that he wasn’t just an ordinary man. There were still doubts
that Louis—old and ridden by gout—would be a just king. There were plots and
schemes, and all of that is what makes for rich ground to set a novel.
AN EXCERPT FROM LADY CHANCE
Taliaris waited in the alley two streets down from the Palais
Royal. Away from the boulevards, the cafés and the restaurants, this street
seemed dingy and dark. A single reverbères hung from a rope stretched
across the street, its light dim though the dirty glass.
He could smell filth
from the gutter than ran down the center of the lane.
He settled his shoulders against the wall and kept his
hands loose and ready. It was a narrow, mean street, its square cobblestones
worn by the centuries. Typical Paris, he thought, wishing for open countryside
and the smell of things that grew—not piss in the street and god knew what
else.
The small shops that lined the way had closed hours ago.
Only a thin slice of moon and a scattering of stars lit the unshuttered windows.
Distant voices floated to him. He could make out a drunken song in some
language. It wasn’t French. Rough Cossacks, he guessed and hunched a shoulder
against the dragging, sad melody.
This was a spot for melancholy and ill remembrances.
Perhaps the late queen’s tumbrel had creaked down this
street, weaving its path from her final prison at La Conciergerie to the Place
de la Concorde. That had been rechristened yet again back to the Place Louis XV
and the guillotine no longer stood in the elegant square, but that was about
all he knew of Paris. He had been gone long years from France, and Paris was
not his city. He was a man from Bordeaux, from a small village where the grapes
grew fat and every man knew his neighbor. He could wish himself there now.
However, he still had a duty to France. And to his
family. And then at last he would have time to look to his own future. He could
think of a wife at last. A woman who would not mind the hard work of a
vineyard. A woman who could give him strong sons. A woman who could cook and
clean. The image of his family’s old stone house rose to mind—but a picture flashed
of a pretty girl with golden hair at the door of what was now his home. Ah, but
no. Lady Chauncey had soft hands. She wore fine silks. A lady such as her would
have nothing to do with life in a village such as his.
Still, the image teased at him.
What would have happened if ten years ago he had kept
hold of his English girl? He could not say. And how could he have left her
alone in his village, knowing no one, while he returned to war?
Footsteps echoed, and Giles put away such thoughts. A
large man strode down the alley toward Giles.
Tall and heavily built, the giant trod light upon the
cobblestones for one so hulking. But then Andre Dufour had always been one to
surprise. Dufour still wore his uniform and the brass buttons from his white
waistcoat gleamed in the faint light, but Giles knew Dufour had to be on leave.
Andre stopped before him and tucked his right hand into
the pocket of an open greatcoat that had seen much service. “A cold spring, eh,
but not so much chill as the Pyrenees gave us.”
“Careful, my friend. It is not fashionable these days to
speak too much of La Grande Armée’s past.”
“Fashion? I am not one for that. Not like your brother. I
hear young Françoise has taken up with an actress who rivals the diamond of the
Comédie Française, Mad’moiselle Mars. And so it is now the rage to haunt l’Odeon
for a glimpse of this girl. Seems a stupid thing to do with a woman—to only
watch for her. But who am I to judge since I have no woman?”
Regret tugged at Giles, an old and familiar one that
settled in his chest like a weight. He ought to have…
Ah, but he had done what he must. His wants did not enter
into this. Still, it had been unsettling to have his past come back to him
tonight. His cheek tingled and he rubbed it with his thumb. An even greater
shock had sizzled over his skin to see his English girl and hear her voice
again. He allowed himself to pull out the memory one last time—salt air damp on
his face, a girl in his arms, her hair spilling long and golden in the pale
light of early morning, her lips soft and parting. The ache lifted in his
chest.
With a shake of his head, he pulled the flask from the
inside pocket of his coat. He opened it and the aroma of brandy stung the
night. Giles offered the flask to Dufour, who took a long swallow.
A skittering from the dark end of the alley froze Giles.
Andre slipped his hand from his pocket and half turned. Moonlight flashed on
the steel of a small pistol. Giles slapped Andre’s upper arm, took back his
flask and tucked it away again. “Walk with me. Let us find a place with noise
and something better to drink.”
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