At noon he enacted his little comedy with Dan and, in the hearing of Oysé, asked him to dinner the following day; then, as it was a Sunday and therefore a good opportunity for catching a number of the working-class electors in their homes, he set off with his lists to canvass the district. Santerre had told him that for the purpose of bribery ample funds were available, and that he could draw what money he required from Oysé. So, after a general talk on the burning questions of the day with each elector on whom he called, he sounded them carefully on their willingness to put an antireactionary measure through on a snap vote, without disclosing to them what it would concern. Then, if he formed the impression that they were to be trusted, he ticked their names off on his list and promised them five louis apiece, as a strong inducement to turn up when sent for.
For the next four days he followed the same procedure, by which time he had secured about eighty doubtfuls upon whom he felt he could depend, in addition to some fifty dyed-in-the-wool radicals that Oysé and Bichot promised to bring along. The total was only a small fraction of the electorate, but the vast majority had long since wearied of attending political meetings out of which no good seemed to come, and the conspirators counted on a continuance of this apathy unless the plot should be betrayed. Then, on the afternoon of Thursday the 9th, a runner arrived from Santerre with a sealed message to say that the coup was fixed for that night; the measure was to be put to the vote in all Sections between twelve and half-past, and the newly elected Commissioners were to report to the Hôtel de Ville as soon as possible afterwards.
The intervening hours passed swiftly while Roger and Oysé were making a round of visits to give their supporters verbal warning. It was half-past nine before they had finished and met again at the inn for supper. Dan was there, sitting in a quiet corner of the taproom enjoying a noggin of cognac, and Roger went over for a quick word with him. There seemed no point in assembling his loyal squad until there was a definite part for them to play, but after they had greeted one another with their usual heartiness Roger lowered his voice and said:
“It is tonight! Just write that on a slip of paper and take it at once to the person to whom you took my letter.”
Dan nodded, finished his cognac, stood up and, leaning towards his master, asked in a hoarse whisper, “Any order for my lot?”
“No,” Roger whispered back, “but from now on remain at the Étoile till you hear from me.”
Bichot came in at that moment; so Roger went up with him to Oysé, and the three of them supped together. As soon as the meal was finished the others wanted to go round to the hall, but Roger would not let them. He had given orders that none of his people was to arrive there before midnight, foreseeing that directly they started to crowd in the unexpected influx of radicals would alarm the moderates; and the later matters could be left the better, as a larger number of regular attendants would have gone home to bed—with luck Doctor Guilhermy among them.
At last the moment came. Downstairs some forty of their supporters were enjoying free drinks while waiting; Oysé leading, they all trooped out into the hot, sultry night. At the hall there were more people than Roger had expected, but a glance round reassured him. The young Doctor, who had been pointed out to him on his previous visit, was present, but the extra numbers were accounted for by most of Bichot’s men having arrived early. Singly and in couples more radicals were coming in every moment, but the session was still proceeding in a quiet, orderly manner.
An elderly man with steel-rimmed spectacles was speaking about soup kitchens. Roger let him continue for a few minutes, then stood up and said firmly:
“Citizens, we have heard enough on this matter. Let it be put to the vote.”
Suddenly, in the smoky atmosphere and dim light cast by the candles, the peaceful scene changed to one of violent drama. The President rapped on his desk with his gavel, and called him to order. A roar of voices supported his intervention. The moderates, already uneasy at the numbers and appearance of the new arrivals, cried out in alarm, “A plot! A plot!”, and jumping to their feet joined the President in his calls for silence.
As soon as the babble had died down a little, Roger went on in a loud voice, “Citizen President! Citizens Electors! Our Liberties are in danger! I have just been sent word of a new conspiracy by those wretches in the Tuileries! They have planned to instal a powder magazine under the Assembly and blow up the People’s representatives. All other business must be suspended so that———”
“It’s a lie!” shouted Doctor Guilhermy, cutting him short. “I challenge you to prove it.”
He was howled down by the radical claque, and Roger went on: “In concert with the other Sections of Paris, tonight we must take immediate measures to protect our representatives and our rights!”
With “Hurrahs!” and “Bravos!” were mingled cries from the moderates of “Who is this man?”—“He doesn’t belong to the Section”—“Turn him out!”
Oysé sprang up and yelled, “He is a registered elector of des Granvilliers! I have seen his papers! I demand that he be heard!”
Evidence of legality always seemed to have a curiously hypnotic effect on honest men in such assemblies; so Roger was allowed to proceed and, with comparatively few interruptions, he spoke for about five minutes. Broadly, his theme was that the members of the Legislative Assembly and their own representatives in the Municipality of Paris were too naïve and kindhearted to deal effectively with the menace emanating from the Tuileries. Stronger measures must be taken and citizens of proved patriotism must be elected to replace their present representatives in the Commune if the People’s liberties were to be preserved.
Immediately he had finished, the young Doctor heatedly denounced him as an agitator and declared the measures he proposed to be illegal.
He was cheered by his friends but was booed and hissed by the majority, until a friend of Oyse’s rose to speak in Roger’s support. While he was speaking, Roger saw Guilhermy scribble a note, pass it up to the President, then push through the crowd, evidently meaning to leave the hall.
Guessing his intention, Roger whispered to Oysé to keep things going, then slipped out after Guilhermy. He knew that no decision could be taken legally until the President had put the matter to the vote. The young Doctor had evidently” asked that a vote should not be taken until he had had time to rouse his friends in the neighbourhood and bring them running to the rescue.
Just inside the door Roger caught up with Guilhermy and tapped him on the shoulder. They were of about the same age, and for a moment stood eyeing one another coldly. Then Roger said:
“I do not wish to force a quarrel upon you, Citizen Doctor, but I should like you to know that I am a fencing-master. If you leave this hall I shall have no alternative but to call you out.”
It was an old way of dealing with troublesome political opponents, and on many occasions had been carried to its logical conclusion. The nobles had started it in the early days of the National Assembly and, being the better swordsmen, had, in this manner, rid themselves of a number of the most revolutionary deputies. The Left had retaliated by hiring professional fencing-masters to challenge the most dangerous nobles; and, much as Roger secretly hated having to do so, he felt that by posing as one of these he might intimidate Guilhermy into abandoning his intention.
Guilhermy was a mentally courageous man of forceful character, but he knew only the barest rudiments of swordplay, and his flesh shrank at the almost certain prospect of having six inches of cold steel thrust into it on the following morning. His face went white with anger, but he fought down the suicidal impulse to strike Roger and, with a muttered curse, turned back into the hall.
After that the conspirators met with little resistance. In vain the President protested that the proposed measure was illegal, and endeavoured to postpone the issue. He was howled down by Bichot’s sans-culottes and by the men whom Roger had bribed. On the President being forced to put the matter to the vote, Roger, Oysé and Bichot were elected
as Commissioners for the des Granvilliers Section to the Commune of Paris with a mandate to replace those previously elected. At twenty-five minutes to one they left the hall, to the ringing cheers of their supporters, on their way to the Hôtel de Ville.
Within ten minutes of their leaving, the bells of Paris suddenly began to clang out, sounding the louder for the silence of the night. The Committee of Insurrection had ordered the tocsin to be rung at 12.45 in order to rouse the mobs of the Faubourgs and the fédérés to action while the bulk of the National Guard was still separated and in bed at home, as the plan was to attempt to take the Tuileries by storm before dawn. Lights began to appear in the upstairs windows, and heads were thrust out of them as the three new Commissars marched down the hill, but few people came out into the street.
Soon after one o’clock they reached the Hôtel de Ville. In its public Council Chamber the legally elected Commune was sitting en permanence, but only a handful of its members were present. Outside in the main hall stood a little group of newcomers. Roger and his companions joined them; the group gradually increased, but it took no action as no prominent leader had yet appeared to issue any orders.
After a while Huguenin, the brothel-keeper, suggested that they ought to constitute themselves, so they took possession of a side hall that was furnished with a dais and benches. Huguenin was elected chairman and a printer-journalist, named Tallien, secretary. There being nothing further they could do, they sat about wondering uneasily what was delaying matters, and why more than half the expected number of Commissioners had so far failed to arrive at the rendezvous.
As they waited, a trickle of late-comers began to bring in news that all was not going well with the insurrection. Many Sections had refused to elect new Commissioners. In other cases, where revolutionaries of the first rank like Robespierre, Chaumette, Farbe d’Églantine and Billaud-Varennes had been elected, they had made some excuse to go home, after promising their followers that they would take their seats in the new Commune next day; and the caution of these experienced politicians seemed to indicate a grave lack of confidence in the whole venture. Then it was learned that the Faubourgs, now become blasé about insurrections, had refused to rise. A young apache named Rossignol, whom Roger had come to know well as one of Santerre’s principal lieutenants, arrived as a Commissioner for their old Section, and told him gloomily that their chief had succeeded in getting together only some few score trusties.
At three o’clock in the morning, Danton—big, burly, and brutal-faced, looked in and checked the new Commissars. It was found that only nineteen out of the forty-eight Sections were represented. Blustering and cursing he hurried away, but, as Roger learned afterwards, only to hide himself in his own cellar.
Now acutely nervous, the conspirators began to talk among themselves of abandoning the attempt and going into hiding before they could be arrested. Only the persuasion of Tallien and Hébert, a theatre cloakroom attendant who had been discharged for stealing, and now edited a scurrilous rag called le Père Duchesne succeeded in keeping them together.
Shortly after four, Santerre arrived. He was in a furious rage, and declared that they had been betrayed. Sixteen battalions of National Guards had been called out to defend the Palace, and strong bodies of troops had been posted on the bridges over the Seine to prevent the fédérés quartered on the south bank from joining up with his contingent from the Faubourg St. Antoine.
Roger knew that in a conspiracy necessitating concerted action in every quarter of the city there must have been many leakages, but he felt a glow of satisfaction from the knowledge that the warnings he had sent must have played some part in initiating these strong measures to render the insurrection abortive. But his satisfaction was swiftly tempered by the thought that he might soon be called upon to pay the penalty of all unsuccessful revolutionaries and, within a few hours, find himself in prison.
CHAPTER X
THE GREAT BETRAYAL
The news that Santerre brought threw the meeting into a panic, but Marat arrived close on his heels. Diseased in mind and body, the erstwhile Doctor had, for over two years, never ceased to incite the mob to violence. His paper, L’ Ami du Peuple, was the most inflammatory of all revolutionary journals, and even his fellow extremists feared to cross him lest he should charge them with half-heartedness in one of his venomous articles. Hunchbacked and stooping, the festering sores on his head only partially covered by a dirty cloth, he clambered on to the dais and began to castigate the would-be deserters for their lack of courage.
Their terror of him being greater than that of being called to account for their illegal action, they began a noisy wrangle as to how best they could save the situation. Someone suggested that Pétion, as Mayor, had the power to order the National Guards back to their homes, and that he should be sent for. He was fetched from the Council Chamber, and some of the ringleaders cornered him.
White-faced and trembling, the hypocritical Girondin protested that he was entirely on their side and had done what he could to aid them. He had prevented the Swiss Guard from receiving more than thirty rounds of ammunition per man, and had limited the issue for the National Guards to three rounds each, while on the other hand he had caused five thousand rounds to be distributed among the Marseillais. His official duty required his presence at the Palace, but so that he should not be called on to order resistance to an attack he had sent himself a message saying that he was urgently required at the Hôtel de Ville. He now begged them to arrest him, so that he could not be accused later by the Assembly of having failed in the duty entrusted to him.
They insisted that he should return to the Palace and dismiss the National Guards. He protested that they would not obey him, and that the root of the trouble lay in the fact that the ci-devant Marquis de Mandat had chanced to be top of the roster, so had automatically become Commandant General of the National Guard for that month. Mandat, he said, was popular with the men as well as being able and determined. It was he who had secured the bridges and called out the extra battalions of Guards; only about a quarter of their number had obeyed the summons, but those who had were loyal, and Mandat had made his dispositions of them for the defence of the Palace very skilfully.
It was then decided that Mandat must be sent for and either intimidated or disposed of. There was another anxious wait while Pétion sent some of his Municipals to fetch the Commandant. At length they returned to report that he refused to leave the Palace.
Dawn had now come, and by its pale light Roger saw new fear in the haggard faces about him. Santerre declared that he intended to disband his contingent, but Westermann called him a traitor and swore he would kill him if he did. The Alsatian then made Pétion sign an order that the troops on the bridges should allow the fédérés to pass, and Santerre reluctantly set off with it; but as long as the Marquis de Mandat remained in command it seemed unlikely that his men would obey the order. Now, more than ever, the insurrection looked like being a failure. No one could offer any new suggestion. Again there were murmurs of “The game is up! Let us disperse and save ourselves!” Again they were kept together only through fear of being branded as traitors in L’ Ami du Peuple, while, as a forlorn hope, a second attempt was made to secure Mandat.
This time the affair was managed with more cunning. A message was sent to Pétion’s colleague, the Attorney-General Roederer, who was known to be at the Palace, asking him to persuade Mandat that as he commanded citizen troops he was legally bound to obey the summons of the Commune. The plan worked and, at seven o’clock, the Commandant reported himself to the rump of the old Municipality, which was still sitting in the Council Chamber. Like Pétion, they had no idea how matters would end and were desperately anxious not to compromise themselves; so they asked him only a few questions, then let him go; but on leaving the Chamber he was seized and dragged into the room where the new Commissioners had established themselves.
There, his examination was very different. Crowding about him with weapons in their hands, they
thrust their brutal faces into his and demanded that he should give them particulars of the garrison of the Tuileries. In the hope of preventing an attack, he gave it as far stronger than it was. They then required him to sign an order directing one half of it to withdraw; heroically he declined.
Huguenin, as President, ordered his arrest; then, as the Marquis was led away, he made a significant horizontal gesture with the flat of his hand across his throat. Rossignol drew a pistol from his belt and followed Mandat out. A few minutes later there came the sound of a shot. There was a moment’s silence, then a white-faced doorkeeper ran in to say that, as the prisoner was being taken down the steps to the street, the young sans-culotte had put a bullet through the back of his head.
This foul deed produced an instant reaction among Roger’s companions. Without a shadow of real authority they had seized the principal officer of the “People’s Army”—the man who had been legally appointed, not by the King, but by their own Municipality, to be responsible for the maintenance of law and order in Paris. Their President had, in their name, ordered his detention and had indicated that as a defender of royalty he ought to be liquidated. Now, he was dead—and one of their number had murdered him. From that moment onwards there could be no drawing back.
The Man who Killed the King Page 18