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Marquise de Marais, you have been identified as being of
the nobility and of having royalist connections. It is our duty to the Republic
to condemn you to death by the guillotine. Is there anyone in this courtroom
who wishes to speak?’ The onlookers laughed and jeered.
    ‘I will speak,’ cried the tall man who rose from his seat and addressed
the judges. It was Bernard Sarrette, who in fear for his life had attended
court proceedings as an impartial observer, specializing in cases of suspect
artists.
    ‘I am Bernard Sarrette, Director of the new Conservatoire Nationale
de Musique . In my hand is an official letter from the most august Committee
of State Education and Finance, requesting that the accused standing before
you, the Marquise de Marais, be released to teach the harpsichord and
fortepiano at the new Conservatoire .
     She has already been hired to begin her teaching term in 1795.
The school will be the best in Europe and will give service to the Republic and
the entire country. This very woman, as you all know, is perhaps the finest
pianist in France. It is the wish of the committee that she be spared to
undertake these duties.’
    The judge sneered as he said, ‘If she is truly so talented then let us
hear her play. Send the guards outside to carry in the harpsichord from the end
of the hallway, so our musician can prove herself to us.’
    The instrument was placed in the centre of the courtroom as Laneve
slowly made her way to the bench and sat trembling before the keyboard. Silence
settled over the room.
    For one brief moment she was reminded of that day when she played her
first recital at the Chateau de Laungier. She was only thirteen years old then,
at the beginning of her public musical life.
    That same joy strengthened her now as she slowly lifted her hands to
the keyboard. Laneve began by playing a familiar fragment of melody, one that
she skilfully hid within an intricate accompaniment.
    ‘What is that? It sounds familiar, but I can’t place it,’ someone spoke
aloud.
    Next, she added more phrases to the melody, building and enhancing it
with technical feats of arpeggios, repeated notes, trills and double octaves.
    One by one the faces of the crowd lit up in recognition until Laneve
coupled all of the keyboards together, playing this music in mighty block
chords.
    ‘It is the Marseillaise ,’ they cried as one by one their voices
began to sing, joining with the music. ‘Allons enfants de la Patrie,’ rang through the room as many shouted, ‘Again, play it again!’ On the last
chorus of this triumphal march, several men removed their wooden clogs beating
a drum rhythm on the benches to add to the excitement of this wonderful moment.
    When the music had finished, all in the room rose to their feet
shouting, ‘ Bravo , and Vive la Republique!’
    As the excitement passed and the judges conferred, Laneve was summoned
again to the centre of the room.
    ‘Citizen Marais, your musical talent has saved you this day. You may
now return to your family home, to practice and study in preparation for your
work with the new Conservatoire . We admonish you to become a good
republican. Your trial is over now – you may leave.’
    Bernard Sarrette approached Laneve as she kissed his hands in grateful
appreciation.
     ‘How can I ever thank you enough for risking your life to save
mine,’ she cried out to him.
    ‘Laneve de Marais, I have a coach ready to take you straight to your
home in Montmorency. We all look forward to welcoming you to the new school in
1795. Go now in safety and in peace.’
    He assisted her gently into the coach as she clung to his arm, shaking
and in a state of shock. Could this be true – that she was free at last?
Bernard Sarrette firmly closed the door, signalled to the driver, and watched
her move safely away.  
    As the streets of Paris began to recede behind her, Laneve collapsed
into a sleep of total exhaustion.  Slowly through the night she was borne onward
- to Malande,