The Rising Storm

by Dennis Wheatley

  Roger shook his head. “I had not. As I told your wife and yourself last night, I have been ill for some weeks; and on my journey north I still felt too poorly to enter into conversation with strangers. Of what did the young prince die?”

  “None of the doctors could put a name to his ailment, Monsieur; although it lasted for fifteen months. ’Tis said that all the poor little fellow’s hair fell out and that his body was covered with pustules. And further, that since his corpse was embalmed it has shrunk to the size of a new-born infant’s. His sufferings were great but I understand that he showed extraordinary fortitude for a child, and spent his last moments comforting his distraught parents.”

  “His loss must have proved a tragic sorrow to the Queen.”

  “Aye,” nodded the stolid Norman dispassionately. “Perhaps it was a judgment on her; but wicked as she is one cannot help feeling sorry for the poor woman in the loss of her eldest son.”

  It was Roger’s business to collect information; so he refrained from the impulse to prejudice his source by entering on a defence of Madame Marie Antoinette. For a moment he remained silent, then, feeling that nothing more was to be gathered from his landlord, he ordered his horse with the intention of riding out to Versailles.

  While it was being saddled he pondered the mystery of the Dauphin’s death. To him, the symptoms—loss of hair, suppurating sores and decayed bones—sounded suspiciously like hereditary syphilis. Yet the Queen came from healthy stock, and the King was said to have refrained from sexual intercourse until eight years after his marriage, owing to a slight malformation which was later rectified by the nick of a surgeon’s knife. Perhaps the boy had been the innocent victim of the immoralities of his great-grandfather, Louis XV. On the other hand it was just possible that one of the lecherous old King’s cronies had, when Louis XVI was only a lad, amused himself by initiating the young prince into vice. If so, such a terrible disease contracted in his youth might easily account for his later horror of women and continued celibacy even after his marriage. It was an interesting speculation.

  When Roger arrived at Versailles he found to his annoyance that the Court was not in residence. On the previous Sunday, following the obsequies of the Dauphin, the King and Queen had retired with the barest minimum of attendants to the privacy of their little château not far distant at Marly. Nevertheless, owing to the sittings of the States General the royal town was a seething mass of people; and the very first of his acquaintances that Roger ran into was the suave and subtle Monsieur de Périgord.

  Limping up to him, the elegant but unworthy Bishop first congratulated him on his return, then expressed concern at his woebegone appearance.

  Again Roger explained his hollow cheeks and sunken eyes as the result of a slow fever, and added that never again would he be tempted to expose himself to the treacherous climate of the Mediterranean. For a few moments they talked of Cannes, where he said he had spent the greater part of his period of exile, owing to its already having become a favourite resort of the English; then he remarked:

  “From what I hear you do not seem to be making much progress with your Revolution.”

  “On the contrary,” replied the Bishop blandly. “The Revolution became an accomplished fact three days ago.”

  Roger cocked an eyebrow. “Are the people then already become bored with politics, that they have accepted their triumph with so little excitement?”

  “Nay, ’tis simply that few, even of the deputies themselves, realised the full implication of the momentous step taken by the Third Estate until this morning.”

  “I pray you read me this riddle.”

  “On Friday the 12th, all efforts of the Third Estate to induce the other two Orders to join them having failed, they decided to proceed with verification on their own. The verification was completed on the 14th. From that point they could not go backwards, or stand still, so willy-nilly they had to go forward and consider themselves as a duly elected parliament with powers to legislate on behalf of the nation. If the taking of such a step without the consent of the King, clergy or nobles does not constitute a Revolution, tell me what does.”

  “You are right. But what has occurred this morning to make people suddenly sensible of this epoch-making development?”

  “For the past three days the deputies of the Third Estate have been debating their next move. They sat all through last night until near dawn. After a few hours’ sleep they met again and formally announced their decisions. They have assumed the title of National Assembly, promised an immediate enquiry into the reasons for the scarcity of bread, pledged the credit of the nation to honour the public debt and, last but not least, deprived the King of all power to levy future taxes. They have decreed that all existing taxes, although unlawful, not having been sanctioned by the people, should continue to be paid until the day on which the National Assembly separates; after which no taxes not authorised by them should be paid by anybody.”

  “Strap me!” exclaimed Roger. “This is indeed a revolution. Should the King now force their dissolution he will be left high and dry without a penny. Who were the men that initiated such defiance?”

  “Their new title was suggested by Legrand of Berry; Sieyès drafted many of the minutes; Target and La Chapelier proposed the measures, but the dynamic force of Mirabeau lies behind everything they do. I think him loyal to the Crown but he is determined to humble his own Order.”

  “I should much like to meet him.”

  “You shall. Come and sup with me one evening at Passy. I can linger no longer now, as I am on my way to a session of my own chamber. Three curés of Poitou went over to the Third Estate on the 12th, and six other clergy joined them the next day. More will follow, without a doubt, so I am watching developments with considerable interest.”

  Roger accepted the invitation with alacrity and, having said adieu to the cynical Churchman, spent an hour or two in casual gossip with various other people. He then returned to Paris, stabled his horse and walked round to the Palais Royal.

  The palace had been built by the millionaire minister Cardinal Mazarin, during the minority of Louis XIV. It was a vast edifice enclosing a huge quadrangle in which flourished a number of chestnut trees. The Duc d’Orléans’ household occupied only the main block and the upper parts of its three other sides. An arcade ran round the latter, beneath which their ground floors had been converted into shops and cafés. The open space under the trees was now what the corner of Hyde Park inside Marble Arch was later to become—the stamping-ground of every crank and soap-box orator who thought he could impart a certain remedy for the public ills. In recent months, under the protection of M. d’Orléans it had become the central breeding-ground of all sedition, and from morning to night agitators were to be seen there openly inciting the mob to resist the edicts of the Government.

  At the Café de Foix Roger had a drink, then strolled across to join the largest group of idlers, who were listening to an attractive-looking man of about thirty. He had wild, flowing hair and, despite an impediment in his speech, drove his points home with the utmost violence, An enquiry of a bystander elicited the fact that he was a lawyer from Picardy, named Camille Desmoulins, who held extreme views and was one of the crowd’s favourite orators.

  Having listened to his diatribes for a while Roger picked ten chestnut leaves and a twig from a low branch of one of the trees, put them in an envelope he had brought for the purpose, and took it along to Monsieur Aubert’s. He then returned to his inn and spent the evening writing a report for Mr. Pitt upon the political situation as he had found it in Tuscany, and the personality of its ruler.

  Next morning at ten o’clock he met Mr. Daniel Hailes at a small café just round the corner from the Palais Royal, in the Rue Richelieu. After handing over his despatch he gave a bare account of his journey to Italy, omitting all mention of his love affair with Isabella, then asked the diplomat what he thought of the present situation.

  “This week,” Mr. Hailes replied a trifle ponderously
, “we shall witness the crisis in the affairs of France to which events have steadily been leading ever since Louis XVI dismissed Turgot, in ’76. Had the King had the courage to maintain that wise Minister in office a steady series of Liberal reforms, each initiated before it was demanded, might by now have regenerated the nation and even further increased the stability of the monarchy. But thirteen years of vacillation and futile announcements that reforms were being considered have ended by bringing the monarchy to the brink. If the King accepts the declaration of the self-constituted National Assembly, he will be laying his crown at their feet. But he may not do so. At the moment troops from all parts of the country are being concentrated in the neighbourhood of Paris. Having ample forces at his disposal His Majesty may decide to face the people’s wrath and send his loyal commons’ packing.”

  “One thing is certain,” remarked Roger. “He will do nothing into which he is not forced by some stronger personality.”

  Mr. Hailes nodded. “Yes, he is now doubtless tossing like a shuttlecock between Messieurs Necker, Montmorin and St. Priest on the one hand, and the Queen, the Comte d’Artois, Barentin and d’Espréménil on the other.”

  “I thought the latter was the member of the Parliament of Paris who led its violent opposition to the King two years ago.”

  “He is, but times have changed. The Parliament now realises that in having weakened the King’s authority it has also weakened its own. Since he was forced to call the States General, the Parliament has become practically an anachronism. All too late it is now trying to get back its prestige by clinging to the coat-tails of the Sovereign. D’Espréménil is one of the few Nobles of the Robe who have secured a seat in the Second Estate, and he has emerged as an ardent champion of the monarchy.”

  Leaning forward, Mr. Hailes went on in a lower tone: “I have much to do, so I must leave you now. But this is for your ear alone, as it is still a closely guarded secret. I have it on good authority that on Monday next, the 22nd, the King intends to hold a Royal Session. At it he will address the Three Estates in person. He is in a corner now and can vacillate no longer. When he has spoken the fate of France will be known.”

  The Royal Session did not take place on the 22nd; it was postponed till the 23rd; but the preparations for it brought about an event of the first importance. The Court not only kept the secret well but committed the stupid blunder of not even communicating the King’s intention to Monsieur Bailly, the much-respected scientist whom the National Assembly had appointed as its President.

  In consequence, on the morning of Saturday the 20th, the members of the Third Estate arrived at their usual meeting-place to find its doors closed against them. Actually this was in order that workmen could once more erect the throne-dais and stands in the hall necessary for a royal appearance there; but the deputies, not unnaturally, jumped to the conclusion that an attempt was being made to prevent their holding further meetings.

  Thereupon, they adjourned in an angry crowd to the palace tennis court and, in the presence of numerous members of the public, gave vent to their indignation. Mounier proposed that they should take an oath not to separate until Constitutional Government had been established, and the oath was taken amid scenes of wild enthusiasm, only one solitary member dissenting.

  On the Monday the situation was further aggravated by the Comte d’Artois taking possession of the tennis court to play a game there; but the Assembly resumed its sittings in the Church of St. Louis and the day proved one of triumph for it. Already, on the 19th, the clergy, their long indecision resolved by the momentous events of the proceeding days, had voted by 149 against 115 for joint verification; and now, headed by the Archbishops of Vienne and Bordeaux, and accompanied by two nobles, the bulk of the First Estate came to sit with the Third in its new temporary quarters.

  Roger, meanwhile, had found his plans frustrated by the death of the Dauphin. Normally he would have sought access to the Queen as soon as possible, reported the delivery of her letter, and requested permission to remain at her disposal, as that would have placed him in a good position to find out the intentions of the Court. But he did not feel that he had sufficient excuse to disturb her at Marly, so he remained gloomily in Paris, occupying his mind as well as he could by renewing his acquaintance with various people.

  However, on Sunday evening he learned that the Court had returned to Versailles; so on the Monday morning he rode out there again, and, after some difficulty, ran de Vaudreuil to earth. His ex-jailor greeted him as an old friend but advised against any attempt to see the Queen for the moment. He said that far from the Sovereigns having been left to their grief while at Marly they had been disturbed almost hourly with fresh advice as to how to deal with the crisis, and were still fully occupied by it. The Royal Council had joined them there, with the addition of the King’s two brothers, and the most frightful wrangles had ensued. Monsieur Necker had prepared a speech for the King which Barentin, the Keeper of the Seals, had violently opposed as a complete surrender to the Third Estate. Necker had retired in a dudgeon and the others had altered his speech till it was unrecognisable; but no one yet knew for certain what the unstable Monarch really would say at the Royal Session.

  Roger said that he would greatly like to be present at it, so de Vaudreuil obligingly secured him a card of admission to the stand reserved for distinguished foreigners.

  In consequence, he was up before dawn the following day and early at Versailles to secure his place in the Salle des Menus Plaisirs. It was raining quite hard and when he arrived he found that although the great hall was already a quarter filled with clergy and nobles, standing about talking in little groups, the Third Estate had been locked outside to wait in the wet until the Two senior Orders had taken their seats. Since the hall was so vast that it would hold 2,000 people there seemed no possible excuse for such invidious and flagrant discourtesy.

  As an Englishman, he appreciated the great virtues of his own country’s political system, by which King, Lords and Commons each enjoyed a degree of power that acted as a protection against a dictatorship by either of the other two; so he sympathised with the Court and nobles of France in their endeavour to retain powers which would act as a brake upon any attempt by the representatives of the masses to overturn the whole established order. But the way they were going about it filled him with angry amazement, and the idea of keeping even a deputation of peasants out in the rain unnecessarily showed both their stupidity and heartless lack of concern for anything other than their own interests.

  Eventually the Third Estate was let in and in due course the royal party arrived, so Roger was able to let his eye rove over the sea of faces behind which lay the thoughts that would prove the making or marring of the France that was to be. Many of the senior prelates looked fat, self-satisfied and dull. The nobles held themselves arrogantly, but they were mainly narrow-headed and rather vacuous-looking. The faces of the Third Estate were, on average, much sharper-featured than those of the other two, their eyes were keener and many of them possessed fine broad foreheads. Roger decided that in them were concentrated four-fifths of the brains, ability and initiative of the whole assembly.

  On the King’s appearance many of the nobles and clergy had received him with shouts of “Vive le Roi!” but the whole of the Third Estate had maintained a hostile silence. A young Bavarian diplomat, who was next to Roger, remarked to him that the gathering had a sadly different atmosphere from that at the opening of the States on the 5th of May, as then everyone had been hopeful and enthusiastic, whereas now, not only good feeling, but the splendid pageantry of the first meeting, was lacking.

  From the throne the King made his will known. As he proceeded to reprimand the Third Estate for its recent assumption of powers without his authority, he spoke awkwardly and without conviction. His uneasiness became even more apparent when two secretaries read on his behalf the decisions arrived at, as these were mainly contrary to his own sentiments and obviously those of the more reactionary members of his Counc
il.

  The statements decreed that the Three Orders should remain separate as an essential part of the Constitution, but could meet together when they thought it convenient. Revision of taxes was promised, but all feudal rights and privileges were to be maintained. Provincial Estates were to be established throughout the kingdom, but no promise was given that another States General would be summoned on the dissolution of the present one. The creation of the National Assembly and the measures passed by it the preceding week were declared illegal and thereby cancelled.

  Finally the King spoke again, bidding the Three Orders to meet again in their respective chambers the next day, and in the meantime to separate.

  When the Monarch had retired the majority of the clergy and nobles followed him, but the Third Estate remained where they were. The Marquis de Brézé, who was Grand Master of the Ceremonies, then came forward and said in a loud voice:

  “Gentlemen, you have heard His Majesty’s commands.”

  All eyes turned to the Comte de Mirabeau. Springing to his feet, the great champion of liberty cried:

  “If you have been ordered to make us quit this place, you must ask for orders to use force, for we will not stir from our places save at the point of the bayonet.”

  The declaration was a bold one, as the town was full of troops, and a company of guards had even been stationed in and about the chamber. But Mirabeau had voiced the feelings of his colleagues, and his words were greeted with a thunder of applause.

  De Brézé refused to take an answer from a private member, so Bailly, as President of his Order, announced firmly that he had no power to break up the assembly until it had deliberated upon His Majesty’s speech.

  On De Brézé withdrawing an angry tumult ensued. The Abbé Sieyès at length got a hearing and with his usual penetrating brevity reminded the deputies that they were today no less than what they were yesterday. Camus followed him with a resolution that the Assembly persisted in its former decrees, which was passed unanimously. Then Mirabeau mounted the tribune and proposed that “This Assembly immediately declare each of its members inviolable, and proclaim that anyone who offers them violence is a traitor, infamous and guilty of a capital crime.”