The Rising Storm

by Dennis Wheatley

  Roger had been staring at his friend in astonishment, and he exclaimed: “Knowing as I do your animosity to the Sovereigns, I think the step you took does you great credit.”

  “Mon ami, I do not care a rap for the Sovereigns, but I did and do care a very great deal for the future of my country.”

  “That I have always realised; yet I have always regarded Your Grace as a cautious man, and in this instance you took an extraordinary risk. Were your act to become known your colleagues in the Assembly would tear you to pieces.”

  The Bishop shrugged. “Only one man could prove it—Monsieur d’Artois himself. It may even be that should he ever ascend the throne of France as Charles X he will recall my warning, and in some similar emergency seek my advice with a mind to put it to better account.”

  With extraordinary prescience Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord was at that moment looking into the future; for a quarter of a century later, after the Napoleonic Empire had waxed and waned, Charles d’Artois returned to France to take over the Kingdom for his elder brother. In all those years the two had never met; but the Prince at once sent for Talleyrand, recalled their meeting on the night that the Bastille had fallen, and sought his counsel; and he became in turn Grand Chamberlain to both Louis XVIII and Charles X.

  Roger was still pondering this revelation of the revolutionary Bishop’s true feelings when he was almost startled out of his wits by the subtle prelate adding: “However, I should not have told you of the matter had I been averse to your mentioning it in your next report to Mr. Pitt.”

  “Eh!” Roger exclaimed. Then he laughed. “Why in the world should you imagine_________”

  With a wave of his elegant hand, de Périgord cut him short. “To others you may pass as a rich young man who likes to spend a good part of his time in France; but not to me. I am probably the only person in Paris who knows it, but your family are not of sufficient fortune to keep you in idleness. Someone in Whitehall had the sense to realise that your training here as confidential secretary to Monsieur de Rochambeau fitted you admirably for your present work; and your recent comings and goings this year opened my eyes to it.”

  The wily Bishop paused and quizzed Roger through his glass, obviously much amused by his young friend’s discomfiture. Then, relenting, he went on with a smile: “But you need have no fear that I shall give you away, unless it comes to my knowledge that your operations are in the long run likely to prove harmful to my own country. On the contrary, I have for some time had it in mind to put a proposal to you. If you will be guided by me I believe that we may both serve our countries well, and be of great use to one another. So I suggest to you that we should agree to work together.”

  Roger had to make a quick decision. If he denied de Périgord’s assumption the odds were all against his being believed, and there would then be no guarantee that the prelate would keep his shrewd guess to himself. Moreover, to reject the offer might turn a good friend into a dangerous enemy. On the other hand the Bishop was in the position to give him invaluable information from time to time, so a secret alliance with him might prove extraordinarily valuable.

  “Since Your Grace has faced me with the matter,” he replied after only the briefest hesitation, “I will admit that I am here as an observer. I am as anxious as yourself to see France in a settled and prosperous state again; so I willingly accept your proposition.”

  De Périgord smiled and held out his hand. “Let us shake hands upon it then. For my part I have always believed that France and Britain should forget their old differences and enter on an alliance. If united they could ensure the permanent peace of Europe, and that should be the first aim of all right-thinking men. De Mirabeau, who should be here shortly, believes that, too; otherwise I would not have asked you here this evening. I shall, of course, make no mention to him of our personal pact. To disclose it to a single soul might later jeopardise its usefulness. But we may not now have much time left to talk alone together, so tell me the matter upon which you sought this meeting with a view to pumping me.”

  “ ’Tis the making of the Constitution,” Roger said frankly. “I have followed the deliberations upon it to the best of my ability, but the subject seems of an incredible complexity. Since you sit on the Committee I was in hopes that you would be able to tell me what shape its final form is likely to take.”

  “You ask something that it is beyond my powers to predict,” the Bishop replied with a shake of his head. “Even the declaration of the ‘Rights of Man’, that Lafayette was so anxious we should proclaim in imitation of America, took weeks of work to formulate. Most of my foolish colleagues thought that it could be drafted in a single sitting, but every clause provoked most bitter argument; and now ’tis done ’tis little more than a long hotch-potch of mainly irrelevant aphorisms. As to the Constitution, it would not surprise me in the least if another year or more elapses before the Assembly will accept it. And who can tell to what degree its present draft will have had to be twisted to meet with the approval of the men who may then be the masters in that bear-pit?”

  “How far has it progressed up to the moment?” Roger enquired.

  “To the extent of settling the organisation of the legislature; no more. The first Committee recommended that it should consist of three parts, as with you in England; a Representative Chamber, a Senate, and the King with power to exercise an absolute veto. But the recommendation was rejected. The Assembly would agree neither to the creation of an Upper House nor the King being allowed the right to quash its measures.”

  “So much I gathered from the debates. The last did not surprise me; but I should have thought the whole of the Centre as well as the Right would have supported the project of two Chambers. Is there no hope of its being revived?”

  “None; and it was not killed by the moderates but by the reactionaries. The grand seigneurs are so stupidly jealous that they feared the Senatorial dignity, if conferred on men of lesser birth, might create a new nobility with a prestige greater than their own; so they combined with the Left and cut off their noses to spite their faces.”

  “What incredible folly to sacrifice the safeguard of an Upper House to such a paltry consideration!”

  “It was indeed. And that made it infinitely more important that the right of exercising an absolute veto should be conferred upon the King; for it then became the only safeguard left against the people’s representatives running amok, as they did on the famous ‘Night of Sacrifices’. Mirabeau, with his usual sound common sense, saw that, and declared that he would rather live in Constantinople than in France if the legislature were to dispense with the royal sanction. Mounier, Malouet, Lally, Cazalès, Maury, all the soundest leaders worked desperately hard to get it through, and we had the backing of every prudent man in the Assembly.”

  “What, then, caused your failure to do so?”

  De Périgord sighed. “Again, ’twas not the bitter opposition of that monarchy-hater Sieyès, and other champions of the mob. ’Twas a combination of ill-applied idealism and timidity, in men who should have known better. That honest fool Lafayette is so imbued with the perfection of all American institutions that he can scarce abide the thought of our having a King at all, and feels impelled to use all the influence he has to reduce the monarchy to a cypher. Apparently, quite forgetting that the United States has a Senate to put a check on any rashness in its Lower House, he wrote to Necker urging him to advise the King to win popularity by voluntarily forgoing an absolute veto and asking only for a suspensive one. Necker, whose one object in life now is to regain his own failing popularity, naturally jumped at the chance to get the credit for a further abasement of the Court, so he advised the Council and the King in that sense. I need hardly add that the royal weakling ran true to form; so the very ground was cut from beneath our feet, and France is today in all but name a republic.”

  “Should a sudden international crisis arise, and the country be threatened from without, what is the King’s position? Could he still declare war
upon his own authority?”

  “At present he could; for his right to do so has never yet been called in question. But I greatly doubt if he will be allowed to retain that power without certain restrictions. It is one of the many problems involved in the Constitution that the Committee has so far not had time to consider.”

  Through the window Roger saw a richly gilt coach drive up, and he said quickly: “About Monsieur de Mirabeau. From his speeches in the Assembly I have never yet been able to decide to which party he belongs. A word of guidance on that would at the moment be most helpful.”

  “He belongs to no party,” de Périgord smiled. “Whatever he may be in other things he is at least honest in his politics. Being a very clearsighted man he is quick to see the weakness in the policies of others, so he will tie himself to none. Only so can he retain his liberty to criticise every measure that he feels to be unsound. Like myself, although he frequently supports the Left, he is a convinced Monarchist; and in the Assembly there are many men of a similar disposition. It is that great floating vote that makes Mirabeau such a power in debate. Upon whatever subject he may speak his common sense attaches to him all those who are not committed to a course of action in advance; and men of the most diverse opinions will rub shoulders in order to follow him into the lobby.”

  “Think you, in view of the reduction of the Monarch to near a cypher, that he is likely to emerge as virtually the new ruler of France?”

  The Bishop sadly shook his head. “I fear that things have now gone too far for anyone of such moderate views to long remain master of the situation. Do not be deceived by the present comparative quiet of Paris. Terrible forces have now been set in motion, and no man can gauge the destructive power with which they may yet sweep not only France but the whole world. This year, for the first time in history, the proletariat has become conscious of its power. The fall of the French monarchy is a threat to all others, and a new kind of war may result. Instead of Kings fighting Kings there may be a bloody clash of ideologies in which class will fight class, throughout the length and breadth of Europe. In such a war no true democracy could survive, and the proletarian leaders will inevitably be men of utter ruthlessness; dictators, driving their peoples on with a tyranny and ferocity greater than they have ever suffered under any King. It is my belief that this year of ’89 will be termed by historians that of the rising storm.”

  Chapter XX

  The Queen’s Friends

  As de Talleyrand-Périgord ceased speaking the most talked-of man in France at that period was shown into the room.

  The Comte de Mirabeau was then forty, but years of overwork, anxiety and dissipation had made him look considerably older. He was a giant of a man; tall, broad-shouldered, deep-chested; though his huge hands, wide forehead, and the great mane of coarse black hair that swept back from it made him appear even larger than he was in fact. The scars left by the smallpox, which he had contracted at the age of three, made him quite incredibly ugly; but he radiated vitality and good humour.

  Most of his adult life had been spent—owing in part at least to his own folly and extravagance—in abject poverty; but now that France had a free Press, and he was the man of the hour, his pamphlets and journals were bringing him in a huge income. In consequence, he was at last able to give free rein to his flamboyant tastes. At a time when most of the noblemen who had remained in Paris were going about the capital as unostentatiously as possible in hired hackneys, Mirabeau, for the first time in his life, had a coach of his own—and it was a vast gilded affair with the arms of his family emblazoned on its panels. His dress, too, was now always of an almost Eastern splendour—although the rich fabrics sat ill on his unwieldy person—and from his hands and the lace at his neck there flashed diamonds, sapphires and rubies.

  The half-dozen or so very able secretaries whom he employed no doubt paid for their keep; as, after touching up their work with a few strokes of genius, he published all their writings under his own name. But the establishment he ran, the money he gave away and his personal adornment, ate up such sums that it was hardly to be wondered at that, however big the income he made, he was still always hopelessly in debt.

  De Périgord had no need to introduce his two guests; and immediately Mirabeau set eyes on Roger he said jovially: “When last we met here, Monsieur Breuc, I recall that it was between two of my visits to Berlin. I was very grateful then for the chance our friend the Bishop secured me to earn a few hundred livres acting as his correspondent from Frederick the Great’s deathbed.”

  “And I was grateful to be invited here to drink His Grace’s chocolate,” replied Roger, not to be outdone, “for I had few friends in Paris in those days; and ’twas a great privilege for a youth like myself to meet men like you, Monsieur le Comte, who have since made history.”

  The Bishop’s man-servant had been waiting only for de Mirabeau’s arrival to announce dinner; and while they went into the next room, settled themselves at table and tucked their napkins under their chins, Roger thought his fellow guest deserved full credit for his frank, unabashed mention of his visits to Berlin.

  Everyone now knew the story, as de Mirabeau had recently published the reports he had sent back to France of his activities and observations while in the Prussian capital. Their publication had created a furore, since the documents were not his to publish but belonged to the French Government, as he had written them while a secret agent in its employ. He had endeavoured to exculpate himself by declaring, first that the papers had been published without his authority, then that they had been stolen from him; but it was universally believed that he had connived at the business in order to make some quick money. It was now, in any case, common knowledge that de Périgord, having recognised de Mirabeau’s genius from the beginning, had begged the Government to employ him; and that, failing to get him anything better, he had induced Monsieur de Calonne to send him on this secret mission to Berlin.

  The thing Roger knew about the original transaction that de Mirabeau did not—and Roger’s knowledge was in all probability shared only by his old master, Monsieur de Rochambeau—was that de Périgord, having been instructed to act as a post-office for de Mirabeau’s secret reports, had, being hard up himself at the time, sold copies of them before passing the originals on to Monsieur de Calonne.

  Glancing from one side of the table to the other, Roger wondered which of his two companions was the greater rogue; and decided that there was really little to choose between them. Both were honest according to their lights, and both would not hesitate to cheat if their own well-being or that of their country depended upon it. But if a capacity for unscrupulousness was to be judged in proportion to the strength of character of the two men, Roger had no doubt at all that the Bishop would win at a canter. Mirabeau could dominate the Assembly; he could quell a riot and make a murderous mob whose hands were still dripping blood hang upon his words, but with effortless ease de Périgord dominated him. Beside the slender, elegant Bishop, the bear-like Mirabeau was common clay.

  Over dinner the talk covered many subjects, and Roger was pleasantly surprised to see his host shine in a new light. He had always found de Périgord a most charming and stimulating companion, but had thought of him as a selfish hedonist whose main aim in life was his own pleasure and advancement; now, he was given a glimpse of the great humanitarian that the “unworthy priest” usually concealed beneath the cynical aristocrat. One after another he spoke of the reforms he wished to have passed by the Assembly, and pressed de Mirabeau for his support.

  He wanted the royal lotteries abolished, because they beggared far more people than they enriched; he wanted the Jews emancipated and given equal rights of citizenship; he wanted a Franco-British conference arranged to agree on a uniform system of weights and measures; he wanted pressure to be exerted on the Pope to allow the wives of fishermen to presume the death of husbands who had been reported lost at sea, after three years, so that they might marry again; he wanted to revolutionise and co-ordinate in one nati
onal system all the schools and colleges in the country, so that every child in France should receive the benefit of an education.

  De Mirabeau was wholeheartedly with him, but said at last: “All these things should be done, and many more. I am impatiently awaiting an opportunity, myself, to introduce a bill for the abolition of slavery in our West Indian islands. The trouble is, as you know well enough, that nine-tenths of the Assembly’s time is wasted by the windy verbiage of our colleagues. Hardly a man among them can make the simplest statement without employing twice as long in telling us all what mighty fine fellows we ‘restorers of French liberty’ are, and urging us to fresh efforts, instead of sitting down and letting us get to practical reforms such as you suggest. Could he but know it Jean-Jacques Rousseau served the cause he had so much at heart ill, instead of well, by his writings; for not a day goes past but an hour or more that should be devoted to business is frittered away by nonentities declaiming long passages from his Contrat Social”

  “How right you are!” exclaimed de Périgord. “And, heretical as it may sound, I would to God that Saint of the Revolution had never been born. ’Tis positively tragic that the Assembly should have taken his sentimental, impractical nonsense for their Bible. At the moment it threatens to force upon us the worst possible solution for some of the most important clauses in the Constitution.”

  “You refer to the status of Ministers of the Crown?” said de Mirabeau.