The Rising Storm

by Dennis Wheatley

  For a moment Mr. Hailes remained silent, but having stuffed the two packets away in his pockets, he remarked with his dry smile: “I think Mr. Pitt does well to employ you. Will a thousand écus be enough? You can have more if you wish.”

  “I thank you,” Roger replied. “But I should be able to manage comfortably on that, as I have no intention of staying in Italy longer than I need; and I have reserve funds of my own which I could use in an emergency.”

  Mr. Hailes nodded. “That is settled then. Where shall I send the money?”

  “Do you know a horse-dealer who is something less of a rogue than most?”

  “His Grace recently bought a pair of greys for his new barouche from a man next the sign of the Three Flagons in the Rue Beauberg, and I thought their price not excessive.”

  “Then send it by one of the Embassy messengers to meet me there at three o’clock this afternoon. I have to buy a mount for my journey and may as well patronise His Grace’s man as any other.”

  After a moment Mr. Hailes said: “I approve your decision to undertake this mission; but all the same ’tis a thousand pities that you should be leaving Paris just at a time when such momentous events are in the offing.”

  “I, too, regret it on that score,” Roger agreed. “But tell me, what was the cause of the riot yesterday? You are the first person to whom I have spoken this morning, and I could obtain naught but obviously spurious accounts of it last night.”

  “ ’Twas by far the most serious disturbance that has yet taken place in Paris, although from what I hear the riots which occurred in Marseilles some weeks back were of an even more extensive nature. Yet this was in all conscience bad enough; for a number of the troops as well as of the mob were killed in the affair, and ’tis said that the wounded who have been accommodated at the Hôtel Dieu total several hundred.”

  Roger looked at his companion in considerable surprise. “ ’Twas then virtually a battle! But whence came the spark that ignited this powder magazine?”

  “It seems that a certain Monsieur Réveillon, who is a manufacturer of paper in quite a large way, had been asked by his workmen for a rise in wages on account of the increased price of bread; and that he refused it to them. The story goes that he declared in public that fifteen sols a day was ample for any workman to live upon, and that incensed by this they met before his house on Monday night to burn his effigy. The appearance of some French and Swiss guards on the scene deterred them from any material outrage at the time, but they gathered again by midday yesterday in a most evil temper.

  “The Faubourg St. Antoine, where Réveillon has his factory and also lives, contains the worst slums in the city; so his workmen were soon joined by riff-raff of all kinds and the mob was further swollen by bands of sympathisers marching from all quarters of it. In view of the disturbance the previous night detachments of troops had been posted at all the approaches to Réveillon’s house, so the mob could not get at the object of their fury, but by early afternoon the streets round about had become blocked by a crowd of several thousand malcontents.”

  Mr. Hailes paused to sip his drink, then went on: “As you will be aware, the road to the Bois de Vincennès passes through that quarter. Yesterday it so happened that His Highness of Orléans was racing his horses against those of Monsieur le Comte d’Artois in the Bois, so many persons of rank and fashion were on their way thither. The sight of their handsome equipages inflamed the mob further; in spite of the efforts of additional bodies of troops that were now being hurried to the scene, many of the carriages were forced to turn back, and serious fighting broke out between the troops and the people.

  “It continued for some hours and the military succeeded in maintaining a cordon round Réveillon’s premises until about five o’clock. Then the Duchess d’Orléans drove up to one of the barriers they had formed, on her way back from the races. She asked permission for her carriage to pass, and apparently the officer did not feel that he could refuse such an important person. Immediately the barrier was opened the mob surged through with the carriage and a general mêlée ensued.

  “Apparently the troops managed to prevent the rabble from getting into Réveillon’s house and he escaped with the aid of his neighbours, but they forced their way into that next door, stripped it of its contents and burnt them in the street. Many of the rioters were shot down, but others got up on to the roofs and tearing the slates from them hurled these missiles at the troops below, severely injuring considerable numbers. Eventually order was restored, but not before the whole garrison of Paris had been placed under arms, so you can judge the magnitude of the disturbance.”

  “What sort of a person is this Réveillon?” Roger asked. “Is he in fact a bad employer?”

  “On the contrary. And that is what makes the affair so mysterious. He is a good, honest man, who started life as a poor workman himself, and has risen to his present affluence solely by hard work and ability. Having known poverty in his early days he looks after the well-being of his workpeople far better than the average employer, and pays none of them less than twenty-four sols a day. Moreover, when trade was so bad last winter he kept them all on out of charity, although for some months his factory was standing idle. ’Tis that which makes it impossible to believe that he ever said that fifteen sols a day was enough for any labourer to live on.”

  “Have you any theory why he should have been singled out for such unwelcome attention?”

  “Possibly it was because he is standing for election to the Tiers-Êtat in opposition to a firebrand; and has brought the hatred of the rabble on himself as a result of his moderate opinions. But I cannot help believing that there is more behind it than that. The probability is that whatever he did say was seized upon and deliberately distorted with the view to provoking a riot.”

  Roger nodded. “Is there the least truth in the rumours running round last night that Réveillon is in some way in the service of the Queen?”

  “Not an iota! ’Tis just another calumny against that poor woman. No opportunity is ever lost by her enemies to besmirch her with fresh mire.”

  “And what of His Highness of Orléans? Do you regard it as no more than a coincidence that it should have been his wife who enabled the mob to penetrate the barrier the troops had erected?”

  Mr. Hailes’s eyes narrowed. “There is the further coincidence that the riot should have occurred on a day that His Highness was racing his horses at Vincennes; otherwise it would have been remarked upon as strange that his wife should be driving through the poorest quarter of the city. Moreover, the fact that bands of marchers came from so many different parts of it to join the original demonstrators definitely points to the whole affair having been organised beforehand. For a long time past His Highness has gone out of his way to gain popularity for himself at the expense of his Sovereigns, and one can hardly escape the conclusion that he is secretly working for the overthrow of his cousin the King. Yet there is little proof that is so, unless we regard his connection with the Freemasons as such.”

  “He is Grand Master of the Order in France, is he not?”

  “He is.” Mr. Hailes drummed with his finger-tips gently on the table. “That in itself is no treason; for the Masons are an offshoot of the German Rosicrucians and Illuminati, and are supposed to do no more than concern themselves with mystical matters. But I know for a fact that under cover of these activities they pursue political aims. Nearly every leading figure in the troubles that have afflicted France in the past few years has been a Mason; and ’tis my belief that His Highness is using the widespread ramifications of this secret society to bring about a revolution.”

  “I too have gathered that the Masonic clubs are hotbeds of sedition. But is there not a risk that by whistling for the wind His Highness may raise a whirlwind in which he will himself be destroyed?”

  “No doubt he flatters himself that his great popularity with the masses will enable him to ride out the storm; and there are fair grounds for believing that it might be so. All cl
asses are united in their demand for a Constitution, but not one per cent of the nation has yet reached the point at which it would even listen to any suggestion of abolishing the monarchy.”

  For a moment they were silent, then Roger said: “Think you that the present state of Paris is an exception, or indicative of feeling throughout the greater part of the country?”

  “The unrest is very widespread,” replied Mr. Hailes gravely. “And that is hardly to be wondered at. The elections have thrown the whole population into an unnatural fever, and in addition the great scarcity of corn in many parts gives real grounds for anger against the Government. There have been serious bread riots recently at Caen, Orléans, Cette and many other places; and the accounts from Marseilles are still very alarming. The troops were besieged in their barracks there until Monsieur de Mirabeau used his great popularity with the mob to call them off; but street fighting has continued, and hardly a day passes without the loss of some lives.”

  “ ’Tis said by many that the high price of bread is caused by the Government deliberately withholding supplies of grain, in order to make more money. But I can scarce credit that there is any truth in that.”

  “There is none. On the contrary, the King has done everything he can to bring relief to the people, even to buying corn from abroad. Such rumours nearly always become current at times of great shortage, and the present one is mainly due to the exceptionally poor harvest last year. You may not recall hearing mention of it but a storm of the first magnitude swept France and destroyed a great part of the standing crops. The ensuing floods were of such severity that houses and cattle were washed away and many people drowned. Then the situation was further aggravated by the wickedness of the winter. All the great rivers of France were frozen and even the port of Marseilles was covered with ice. In such conditions prices were bound to rise and many localities find themselves actually faced with famine. Unfortunately, apart from the better weather, the poor can hope for little amelioration of their hard lot until the next harvest has been gathered; so I fear we must anticipate a continuance of these outbreaks of violence all through the coming summer.”

  “I note that you qualify your remarks by saying that the corn shortage is ‘mainly due’ to these misfortunes,” Roger commented. “That infers that you have in mind some other cause which has made the situation even worse than it need have been.”

  Mr. Hailes gave him an appraising glance. “You are very quick, young man; and since we are talking in the strictest confidence I will name it. Having no proof of this I would certainly not do so in other circumstances, but I believe you were not far from the mark when you suggested that large quantities of grain are deliberately being withheld from the markets. Not by the King, of course, but by a ring of wealthy private individuals. Moreover, I suspect that their object is not so much gain as to ferment further outcry against the Government.”

  “Then, in view of our conversation a while back, I think I could make a good guess at the name of one of the ring, if not its leader.”

  “And you would be right,” said Mr. Hailes with equal quickness. “His Highness is one of the richest men in France, and it is as certain as such a thing can be that he has been using a part of his millions for this nefarious purpose; for the names of those who made the biggest purchase of grain last spring were those of men I know to be his agents.”

  “Would that of the Marquis de St. Huruge be among them?”

  “No. But I think you right in believing him to be secretly an Orleanist, in spite of his position at Court. And he is by no means the only noble there whom I judge capable of biting the hand that has so far fed him. If my informants know their business the Duc de Laincourt is another; and I suspect that even the Duc de Biron is trimming his sails, so that should the wind from Orléans blow its argosy to a rich port his barque will be among it.”

  “De Biron!” exclaimed Roger. “Surely you are wrong in that. In the days when he was Monsieur de Lazun the Queen showed him so much kindness that he was freely spoken of as her lover.”

  “I know it; and he has never forgiven her for not being quite kind enough,” replied Hailes, cynically. “God forbid that I should appear to criticise Her Majesty’s rectitude, or that of King Louis either; but the present troubles of these two are in part, at least, the outcome of their own integrity. Neither have great brains and he is cursed more than any man I ever knew with the incapacity to make up his mind. But both are reasonably intelligent and absolutely honest. Their tragedy is that they are too honest for this degenerate era, and refuse to pander to the greed and lusts of the frailer beings with whom they are constantly brought into contact. That is why, in their hour of need, I fear that they will find themselves entirely isolated.”

  Mr. Hailes gave a sigh, then slapped the table with his hand and stood up. “I fear I must leave you now, Chevalier. I have a despatch for London on the Réveillon affair that I must complete, so that His Grace can sign it on his arising. The money shall be sent by a safe hand as you have directed. It remains only for me to wish you good fortune.”

  Roger thanked him, and watched the portly but unobtrusive figure move away. Then he ordered himself another drink and spent an hour scanning the news-sheets. None, other than Government publications, were then issued in France; but there were scores of pamphlets produced by private people holding every variety of opinion. Some were obviously inspired by the Court, but most of these struck Roger as weak and lacking in conviction. The great majority were anti-Government and many of them were both so treasonable and so scurrilous that even a year earlier they would have landed their authors behind bars. In one the Dauphin’s illness was asserted to have been caused by the Queen habitually making him drunk for her amusement; in another she was accused of unnatural vice with her favourite, the Duchess de Polignac.

  It seemed extraordinary to Roger that the police permitted such filth to be left lying about openly in the public cafés; and he could only suppose that the output was now so great that it had become beyond their powers to deal with it; or that they too were in league with the Queen’s enemies. One thing was certain: it was a clear indication that the forces of law and order had already lost all power of initiative.

  Feeling slightly sick from what he had read he left the café and employed himself for the next hour or so buying various things he might need on his journey. At two o’clock he sat down to a belated dinner—as the French then termed their midday meal—and by three o’clock he was at the horse-dealer’s in the Rue Beauberg.

  Mr. Hailes’s man was there with the money; and after trying out several mounts in the riding school that formed part of the premises, Roger chose a well-set-up black mare. He then went in search of suitable saddlery, and having found what he wanted had it carried back to the horse-dealer’s. The mare was saddled up, and he rode her across Paris to his inn. As it was now too late to start that day he spent a quiet evening and went to bed early; but he was up by six and soon after seven o’clock on the 29th of April he set out for Italy.

  As he passed through the open fields surrounding the little town of Montgeron, just outside Paris, he noticed again, as he had the week before when riding post to Fontainebleau, the extraordinary number of partridges. He estimated that there must be a covey to every two acres, and in some places more. Never when at home in England with a gun had he had the luck to see such a sight. But he knew that in France not only was the game most strictly preserved for the nobles, but many of them never bothered to shoot it, and the depredations of the young birds on the corn was one of the major aggravations of the peasantry.

  Soon afterwards he entered the royal oak forest of Senár from which much of the timber was cut to build France’s fleets; then he came out of it at Melun, halting there to have a meal and give his mare a good rest.

  As he knew the Queen’s letter to be a general résumé of the situation, requiring no immediate answer, he did not feel called on to force his pace. Had he done so he would have travelled post, changing hors
es every five miles; but he knew from experience that such frequent changes were extremely tiring, so a means of travelling to be avoided unless one’s journey was of considerable urgency. Nevertheless, having ridden through the forest of Fontainebleau most of the afternoon, by early evening he reached Nemours, which was some sixty miles from Paris, so he felt that he had had an uneventful but satisfactory day.

  At that date, owing to the fact that all the wealthiest people in France lived in the shadow of the Court, and rarely visited their estates, there was far less travel than in England. In consequence except in the cities the inns were far inferior. Like most of the farmhouses, they lacked glass in their windows; they had no coffee-room, earthen floors, and could offer only the most primitive accommodation.

  The Ecu de France, where Roger lay that night, was no exception; so when, in the morning, he was presented with a bill for close on ten livres, he naturally found it a matter for angry amazement. As he had supped very simply off soup, a roast partridge, fricassée of chicken, cauliflower, celery, biscuits and dessert, washed down by a single bottle of wine, he considered the sum—which was equivalent to eight shillings and sevenpence—positively exorbitant, and told the landlord so in no uncertain terms.

  To his further surprise the landlord refused to reduce the account, except to the extent of knocking off the odd sous, and on being threatened with a beating he called up his stable hands, declaring that it was Roger who would get the beating if he did not pay in full.

  Rather than enter on an undignified scrimmage against odds, in which he might easily have got the worst of it, Roger threw the money on the ground and, mounting his mare, rode out of Nemours. His disgust at being so flagrantly cheated was forgotten in his humiliation at having to ride off with his tail between his legs. But when the fresh morning air had soothed his pride a little, he realised that the episode was simply one more example of the rapidly changing state of France. When he had lived there two years earlier no innkeeper would have dared to cheat and threaten to have his ostlers lay hands on a gentleman; yet now, it seemed, the dishonest sort could do so with impunity.