At twenty-five-past two he crossed the road and walked down the Feuillants Passage. Now that the moment for action had arrived the nervous fear from which he had been suffering all the morning had vanished. His blue eyes were hard and cold; his chin, covered with two days’ stubble, stuck out aggressively. With his seedy, ill-fitting clothes, but determined bearing and bright sash of authority, he looked every inch the earnest young revolutionary.
As he entered the hall of the convent two National Guard officers saluted him, and the senior, a captain, came forward to ask what he required. Halting just inside the door, he replied, “I am waiting for my colleague and the escort.”
“You are here to remove the King, then,” said the Captain.
“Of course.” Roger nodded.
“May I see your authority?”
Roger’s eyebrows went up. “The Assembly has decreed that the Commune should assume responsibility for the safe-keeping of the Royal Family. My presence is authority enough, but if you wish I will sign a receipt for the Party before we leave.”
The tramp of feet was already audible; Dan appeared outside with his squad of National Guards. He and Roger exchanged a formal greeting. The squad formed two lines in accordance with its orders. Dan entered the hall; Roger turned to the officer beside him and said, “Citizen Captain, lead us to the King.”
The Captain looked at his lieutenant and gave the order, “Turn out the guard!”
“Stop!” snapped Roger, holding up his hand. “By the order of the Commune no honours are to be paid to Monsieur and Madame Veto.”
“Very well, Citizen Commissioner,” murmured the Captain. “This way, if you please.”
With Roger and Dan following, he led them to the corridor where the Royal Family had its quarters. Several of the King’s retainers were standing there talking together in low voices. At the sight of the two Commissars they made way, eyeing them gloomily but without hostility. The Captain rapped on the door of one of the cells. A voice from within cried “Entrez!”
Roger pushed the door open and, followed by Dan, stepped into the cell. The King was standing with his head outlined against the square of a small barred window set in the thick stone wall. The Queen was sitting on the hard, narrow, nun’s bed that she had occupied for the last three nights. She had aged greatly in the past week, and her cheeks were furrowed with tears. They were alone there.
Without removing his hat, or even inclining his head, Roger said in a harsh voice: “Monsieur, you have heard the decision of the Assembly. Arrangements will be made for a limited number of your attendants to follow. In the name of the Law, I require you and your immediate family to come with me.”
CHAPTER XII
THE BEGINNING OF THE TERROR
“Mon Dieu!” exclaimed the Queen; “it is Monsieur de Breuc!”
Roger had expected them to recognise him. He knew that the worst risk he ran was that, in the presence of their guards, one of them might make some reference to the past which would arouse suspicion about his present intentions. In the hope of silencing her, he replied insolently:
“Like the Monarchy, Madame, and much else that is useless in France, prefixes have been abolished. When you have cause to address me it should be as Breuc—or, if you prefer it, by my new rank as Citizen Commissioner.”
“Ah!” she cried impulsively, springing to her feet. “Since the trap you laid for us failed you now reveal yourself in your true colours! But your ribbon should be entirely red, Monsieur, for you are indeed a man of blood. When no more than a youth, you slew M. de Caylus. I realised that I must have been mad to pardon you for that, when I heard how you had had the Spanish Envoy strung up to a lantern. And now you are come to murder us!”
Her attitude now was much what Roger had hoped it would be. He shrugged, and retorted with an icy smile, “If the People charged me with your execution, Madame, I would carry it out. As it is, you need have no fear; I am charged only with conveying you safely to the place appointed as your prison.”
“Prison?” repeated the King, who was so literal-minded that for months past he had carried a copy of the Constitution in his pocket in order to be able to show his Ministers that he knew it better than they did. “Nothing was said about prison, Monsieur. And you are incorrect in saying that the Monarchy has been abolished; I have only been suspended from my functions.”
Suddenly Roger felt sorry for that awkward, unlovely, pathetic figure. But he dared not show it, and every moment was precious. “I have no time to split hairs with you,” he said roughly. “Call your sister and the children, and we will set off.”
“But we cannot leave entirely unattended,” protested the King.
“I have already told you that arrangements will be made for your attendants to follow.”
“You mentioned a limited number. What did you mean by that, Monsieur?”
Feeling certain that the Royal Family would be allowed only a very small establishment at their new abode, Roger had automatically used the word “limited”. Now he mentally cursed his thoughtlessness, and said hurriedly, “I meant only that an extravagant horde of retainers would not be tolerated.”
With maddening slowness the King began to name the most important members of his household, ticking them off on his thick fingers. The Queen joined in and they began to discuss which of these should be regarded as essential.
Having listened for a few minutes, Roger could bear it no longer, and broke in:
“Monsieur! Madame! All this can be settled later. Where are your children?”
“I will fetch them,” said the Queen in a low voice, and Dan made way for her to go out into the corridor. She was absent for over ten minutes—minutes that seemed like hours to Roger. He dared not show too much haste, yet knew that every moment lost decreased their chances of getting away safely. He was about to follow the Queen when the King suddenly reverted to the matter of his attendants by saying:
“Even in my new circumstances it would not be fitting for me to have less than a dozen gentlemen, besides my valets and other servants; and the Queen——”
“Yes, yes, Monsieur!” Roger rudely cut him short, and pointed to the door. “All that will be arranged. Be good enough to precede me.”
At that moment the Queen appeared in the corridor with her children, accompanied by Mesdames Elizabeth, de Tourzel and de Lamballe. It was evident that she expected to take them all with her, so Roger said quickly:
“My colleague and I have to ride with you, Madame. We can take Madame Elizabeth, but your ladies will have to remain behind.”
The Marquise de Tourzel stepped forward, blocking the doorway, and cried in a high, excited voice, “I am the gouvernante to Monseigneur le Dauphin! It is my right to accompany him wherever he goes. I insist upon it!”
“Madame,” snapped Roger, “you have no rights! And we have only one coach: nine persons is too many for it.”
“Then,” said the King, with the stolid common sense that he displayed only in everyday matters, “since you are the master here, give orders for another to be brought.”
Roger was now in an agony of apprehension. By this time the news that the Royal Family were about to be taken away must have run through the convent and reached the Assembly. At any moment someone with more authority than himself might appear on the scene, bringing ruin to his plan and exposing him and his confederates as plotters, liable to the death penalty. His blue eyes ablaze, he stormed at Madame de Tourzel:
“Get out of the way, woman! I will not allow your absurd pretensions to interfere with my duty. My orders are to remove the King and his family, and for that one coach is sufficient.”
The Marquise retreated into the corridor, but Marie Antoinette was not the woman to be intimidated by anybody. Stepping forward, she said haughtily:
“Monsieur, I refuse to leave without my ladies. I understand that M. Pétion is still Mayor of Paris, and is therefore your superior. He has always shown us a reasonable consideration, and I demand that this mat
ter should be referred to him.”
Roger’s impulse was to cry, “Oh God! If only I had some way to make you realise the truth and trust me, instead of talking of appealing to that hypocrite!” But he was not even given time to formulate an answer. Above the noise of footsteps a few yards along the corridor an oily voice came clearly:
“Madame, I heard you mention my name. Be pleased to inform me what is going on here, and in what way I can serve you.” A second later there came into Roger’s view the heavy profile, high, bald forehead and frizzed hair of the treacherous Pétion.
Behind the Mayor were his Procureur, Manuel, and another Commissioner whom Roger did not know. In an instant he realised that they must be the real nominees sent by the Commune to remove the Royal Family. They had arrived earlier than he had expected. Even so, had the King and Queen not held matters up for twenty minutes by attempting to preserve a remnant of their prestige, he might have saved them. It seemed as if there was a curse upon them which made of themselves the instrument to wreck every plan devised for their salvation. Now, there was no alternative but to abandon them to their fate. He could only hope that by swift action he might yet save Dan and his friends, and himself.
Before the Queen had a chance to answer, Roger forestalled her by himself appealing to Pétion. “Citizen Mayor,” he cried, “my colleague and I are here to remove the Veto Family to the Temple. They want to take a score of intriguers with them. Why should they be allowed to keep their parasites at the expense of the People?”
Pétion gave him a surprised look. “But how do you come to be mixed up in this matter? It is I, and those with me, who have been charged by the Commune to undertake it.”
Like all good commanders Roger had provided himself with a line of retreat. It was far from being a certain bridge to safety, but he now put it to the test. “I discussed this business with General Santerre last night, and he agreed with me that whatever view the Assembly might take it must be done.”
At Santerre’s name Pétion’s shifty glance faltered a trifle, then he frowned. “To anticipate the Assembly’s decision was a bold step, Citizen, and you may find yourself in trouble for displaying this excess of zeal.”
“With the Commune?” asked Roger sharply.
“No, no!” replied Pétion hastily. “And I have no wish to criticise any orders General Santerre may have given you.”
Seizing on this admission, Roger boldly followed it up. “I am glad to hear it, Citizen Mayor. I felt certain you could not really mean that it is a bad thing to show zeal in the cause of the Revolution.”
Experience had already shown him that discipline was almost unknown in the ranks of the revolutionaries. The crowds in the galleries at every meeting-place where government business was carried on bullied their own representatives; the privates in the National Guard often dictated to their officers; and under the new régime every “patriot” considered that he had a right to poke his nose into other people’s business. So, having momentarily averted suspicion from his real intent, he felt that his best chance of killing it altogether lay in maintaining the rôle of a self-important busybody; and he added aggressively, “Your presence now relieves me of any responsibility, but I shall remain to assist you in the duty we both came upon.”
Pétion, obviously anxious not to make a gratuitous enemy of such a fiery young Commissar, replied in an unctuous voice, “We shall be pleased to associate you with us, Citizen. We brought two coaches and it will be just as well to have two or more Commissioners riding in each, as the news of the move has spread abroad and there is now a mob collecting outside.”
“Then if you have ample coach room we can dispose of ours,” said Roger promptly. It was the very opportunity he had been praying for, and with a swift glance at Dan, he said:
“Do you wish to accompany us, Citizen Commissioner?”
Dan looked as big a pirate as any of the Marseillais, yet cleaner than many of the Commissars who had been sent to the Commune by the slum Sections. He shrugged his broad shoulders, tilted his beard with a slight toss of the head, and muttered:
“Too many cooks spoil the broth, Citizen. I’ll dismiss our escort and get back to the Hôtel de Ville.”
As he shouldered his way out, Manuel looked at Roger with a frown and asked, “Who is that Commissioner? I don’t recall his face.”
The Procureur was a thin, dark, middle-aged man. Before the Revolution he had earned his living as a tutor; so he was well educated, and possessed a quick intelligence. Roger, now greatly relieved that all his fellow conspirators would soon be out of danger, met Manuel’s glance squarely, and shook his head:
“I think his name is Durand, but I am not certain. I know nothing more of him than that he was elected by one of the south bank Sections. He was with several of us last night when we were discussing this business, and later volunteered to accompany me.”
Again Roger was aware that he was treading on terribly thin ice; but the explanation was plausible. No member of the new Commune had yet had time to get to know all his colleagues, even by sight. At least a third of them were hitherto unknown outside their own localities—workers like Bichot, who had been pushed in to make certain of the sans-culottes’ vote. Some of them had already been withdrawn by their Sections, in order that more able men might be substituted. During the crisis everything had remained in a state of flux; no official list of the members of the Commune had yet been compiled and Roger had chosen Durand for Dan as one of the commonest names in France. If Dan never appeared again it would be difficult to prove that he had never been elected; but if any enquiry were set on foot about this little conspiracy that Santerre was supposed to have fathered the previous night, things might become very awkward.
Suddenly the Queen spoke: “Messieurs, when you have settled your own affairs, perhaps you would be good enough to attend to ours.”
They were still all crowded together; the King and Roger in the cell, Péxtion, Manuel, the other Commissioner and Madame de Tourzel in the corridor, the Queen and her children in the doorway. Naturally, now that a move was about to take place, she was anxious to get away to more spacious and comfortable quarters as soon as possible. Her impatient outburst distracted the attention of Manuel and Pétion from Roger, for which he was profoundly grateful. From that point on he put in a truculent word only now and again.
Over an hour elapsed before a start was made. The Royal Family had arrived there only with the things in which they stood, and had since received only some clothes for the Dauphin from Lady Gower, who had a small boy of his age, and some linen for the Queen sent by the Duchess de Grammont; so it was no business of packing that caused the delay. But Roger had been right in his supposition that they would be allowed to take only a limited retinue. The Commune had ordered that the King was to be deprived of his gentlemen, and it took him quite a long time to persuade Pétion to agree that the two valets, Chamilly and Hue, were not included in this order; then there was further argument about: who should be allowed to accompany the Queen. At length it was agreed that she might take three of her women, as well as Mesdames de Lamballe and de Tourzel and the latter’s daughter, Pauline, who happened to be with them.
Soon after four o’clock they set out; the Royal Party with Pétion and Manuel in the first big coach, the waiting women and valets with Roger and the other Commissar in the second. The latter seemed such a nonentity that Roger could not imagine why he should have been chosen as a representative of the Commune on an important occasion like this. His name was Simon; he was a shoemaker by trade, a scruffy little man who reeked of garlic. His nose was large and flat, his eyes small and squinting, and above them his eyebrows formed two circumflex accents. He was wearing a felt pudding-basin hat, the battered brim of which was turned up all round; and below it, on either side, protruded tufts of straight, shaggy hair about five inches in length.
The journey gave Roger a very good idea of what the last stages of the Royal Family’s compulsory return from Varennes must have been
like. Into each of the great coaches were crowded eight or more people and each was drawn by only two horses; so the pace was a slow walk, and there had to be frequent halts. The crowd that had collected in the Rue St. Honoré accompanied them the whole way, booing and shouting; and there were moments when it looked as if their hatred of the Queen would no longer be satisfied by thrusting their heads through the coach windows to cry obscene abuse in her face, but that they would overturn the vehicle and tear her limb from limb.
Before the coaches had proceeded a quarter of a mile they were held up by a mob in the Place Vendôme, which insisted that the Sovereigns should be given ample leisure to contemplate “the People’s honourable activities” there. They had overthrown the great equestrian statue of Louis XIV and were smashing it to pieces while crying again and again in chorus, “Thus are tyrants treated! Thus are tyrants treated!”
Roger wondered grimly if, had he arrived there with the prisoners an hour and a quarter earlier, he would have been able to get them safely through the Place; but such speculation was now futile. The sight of a mob attacking a statue was no new one to him, as for several days past the rabble had been amusing itself by eliminating all symbols of royalty from Paris, and even by attacking shops whose owners had not had the sense to take down from over their doorways coats of arms with the once-prized announcement that they had the honour to supply some Prince of the Blood. At last the coaches were allowed to proceed, but, with other hold-ups and halts to rest the horses, it took them over three hours to cover the two miles to their destination.
The Temple was a relic of mediaeval Paris. It had been the headquarters of the Knights Templars until the suppression of the Order by Philippe le Bel, and the property consisted of a big walled garden, in which were set the Palace of the Grand Prior and a tall donjon tower some distance from it. The King and Queen were misled into believing that they were to be lodged in the Palace, by finding that the Commune had prepared an official reception for them there; but, as Roger soon learned, this hastily-planned party was really only to give the Commissars an opportunity of celebrating their triumph and of gloating over their royal prisoners. Instead of being allowed to retire, the Sovereigns and their unhappy children were compelled to stand about from seven-thirty till ten, then endure a public banquet that went on until one in the morning.
The Man who Killed the King Page 22