As time went on, and the revolution took an anti-Christian turn, their political opinions began to divide them as well. Maryse thought it an act of barbarism that the Notre Dame Cathedral should be co-opted in the name of Reason: “For the love of God, Portelance! Where will this end? Now we’re supposed to worship at the feet of the great Goddess Reason? What a disgrace!” she would lament. But more than anything, she was growing to detest the guillotine, and not only because the number of victims was constantly increasing, but also because she was convinced that the spectacle of public executions was irreparably corrupting people’s emotions.
“We’re becoming animals. How can you support this bloodbath?” She would demand.
To which Portelance would reply: “The road to hell is paved with good intentions. We’re at war and in the midst of a revolution, my love. Think of the guillotine as a necessary evil. It’s true that they’re taking extreme measures, but they’re also creating justice. Scarcely two years ago, despite my wealth and my education, I had no rights whatsoever. And today I do.”
And as their arguments went on with neither of them budging an inch, Maryse would feign a headache and leave Portelance’s house in a sour mood. Other times it was he who, taking his hat and cane, would brush Maryse’s lips with his own and take his leave, suddenly remembering that he had a dinner that evening with an influential member of the Convention. And it’s not that Portelance wasn’t repulsed by the continual rolling of heads, it was just that, a politician to the end, he believed that if the Convention were to abolish slavery once and for all—which had become his most cherished dream—it would do so impelled by its most radical faction. When the day finally arrived for that longed-for decree to be made public, Maryse, brimming with joy and immediate plans, ran to Portelance’s house to celebrate the occasion.
“You must be so pleased, my love. No one knows better than I how much time and effort you’ve dedicated to the toppling of that horrible institution. A toast to your success,” she said, raising the glass Portelance had just filled.
“A toast to the fraternity of races,” he said, raising his own glass. “It doesn’t seem possible. Can you imagine it? No more slaves. The French plantations will be worked by free people. The black man will be master of his own body again. Oh, if only ships could sail as swiftly as lightning! While we’re here celebrating the triumph of social justice, weeks will go by before those poor souls in the colonies will receive the good news.”
“Don’t spoil this happy moment with your impatience, my dear. The news will arrive in due course. Tonight we should think of us,” she said, setting her glass aside to caress Portelance’s hand. “After all, our moment of happiness has also arrived. You’ve finished your work and your affairs are in good order: your son is in school in Boston, your brother is in Philadelphia, managing your ever-increasing fortune, your wife leaves you alone, and I love you madly. The time has come for you to enjoy what you have, Portelance! In fact, just a few minutes ago, I was thinking that it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to leave Paris for a while.”
“Leave Paris? Good heavens, I’d have wagered that you wouldn’t leave Paris for all the gold in the world!” exclaimed Portelance. “And your career? Your friends?”
“Things have changed, my love,” said Maryse, deciding to reveal her most recent preoccupations. “Perhaps you aren’t aware that theater folks are falling out of favor with the Convention, or at least with Robespierre. Not even Talma the Great is exempt from suspicion. It’s rumored that he’s going to be denounced as a conspirator. It’s not exactly that I’m afraid, but you know well the opinion I hold of the Jacobins and you also know how I am. Sometimes I express my ideas a touch liberally and . . . who knows what could happen? But above all, I’m thinking of Justine.”
“Come now, Maryse. If you were under suspicion, someone would have let me know. I can assure you that you’re not in any danger, my love,” said Portelance in a soothing tone. “And yet, it’s true what you say: my work here is done. There can be no doubt about that.”
“Do you mean that you wouldn’t object to leaving Paris?”
“No, I would not object. In fact, I’d planned to tell you this evening that, eventually, I’d be going on a trip. I had been putting off telling you because I’d never imagined that you’d be of a mind to accompany me. Paris has always been your home.”
“Oh, my love, how happy you make me!” said Maryse, standing suddenly and moving to Portelance’s lap. “Do you know where I’d like to go? To Spain. According to Monsieur de Olavide, it’s quite easy to cross the border. There are theaters there . . . Madrid, Barcelona, Seville. How happy we’ll be! We’ll live apart from politics, isn’t that so? Promise me? And we’ll live together, like a family. Now that Justine has been asking me questions about her father, I see that my decision to keep her from you was a mistake. She’ll come to understand. . . . Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to Don Pablo de Olavide, a celebrated political exile. He’ll tell you all about Spain.”
“But, my dear, what would I do in Spain?” he said, smiling. “It wasn’t Spain I was thinking of.”
“Where, then?” asked Maryse, intrigued.
“To Saint-Domingue, of course.”
“But you yourself have told me that there are violent uprisings going on there, that the colony has been invaded by foreign troops,” protested Maryse.
“Precisely. They have named Chambon to implement the abolition of slavery decree. Any anarchy will disappear once they have the news. The black insurgents will unite with the French. The English will have no choice but to evacuate their forces. As for the Spanish, they’ll be relegated to their part of the island.”
Maryse disentangled herself from Portelance’s embrace, stood up, and, looking at him disconsolately, said: “And you’ll be going with Chambon, is that it?”
“Not exactly. I’m waiting to receive a large sum of money from my brother. We shall depart in a few weeks.” Portelance removed a habano from a case on the table, held a straw to the candle flame, used it to light the cigar, and watched the smoke rise. Finally, he said: “I won’t hide anything from you. I’ve been charged with a secret mission. I am to observe what happens in the country until the Convention sends a group of officials with legal powers.”
“I see. Back to blood and politics,” lamented Maryse. “As if nothing else existed in the world. Oh, Portelance, I’d had such hope!”
“I’m sorry to upset you, my love,” he said, trying in vain to draw her near. Without getting up, he watched her fix her hair and take her overcoat from the coat rack. “Don’t be silly, stay a bit longer. We should talk.”
“I’m all in a muddle, Portelance. I need to think,” said Maryse before closing the door.
That very night, on her way home, Maryse decided to break with her lover. She would go to Spain with Justine. It was a sudden decision, made from one moment to the next, without deliberation. When the carriage stopped at her street she told the driver to take her to Talma’s house. She knew she’d find Olavide there, fond as he was of rubbing elbows with musicians and theater types. She would ask him to write letters of introduction on her behalf to his friends in Madrid and Seville. But when she arrived at Talma’s house, Maryse saw two guards at front of the door. Fearing the worst, she instructed the driver to take her to Gervaise Duclos’ house, her closest friend and frequent castmate. When she arrived, a man dressed in a footman’s livery, whom she’d never seen before, said to her in a mocking tone: “The citoyenne Duclos was arrested this afternoon.” Guessing that he was actually a police officer, Maryse, enraged, shouted in his face: “This is what happens nowadays to decent people! I assume others of my friends have met with the same fate.”
The man, looking her lasciviously up and down, replied: “Correct, citoyenne