The Man who Killed the King

by Dennis Wheatley

  “Such people drive one to distraction! Is there not trouble and poverty enough in the world without whole nations setting about cutting one another’s throats for an ideal? By stupendous exertions I had all Europe pacified at the beginning of the year; yet look how these madmen in France have since destroyed my work. Austria, Prussia and Sardinia are already involved, and now they would draw Spain, Holland and ourselves in against them. But I’ll not have it; this nation is today more prosperous than she has ever been in all her history, and I’ll not see her wealth squandered senselessly while there remains the least possibility of preventing it.”

  “If Dumouriez overruns Belgium we’ll have to fight,” said Roger quietly. “Antwerp in the hands of the French would be a loaded pistol at our heads.”

  “Yes, yes!” muttered the Prime Minister. “I know it. But they are very far from being in Antwerp yet; and even if they get there we may find ways of getting them out again without resorting to war.”

  Roger shrugged. “Perhaps I have failed to make it sufficiently clear to you, sir, that the new leaders of the Revolution are not men, but tigers—and tigers who have already tasted blood. In the south their troops have taken Nice from the Sardinians and are beginning to overrun Savoy. In the north General Custine has already reached the Rhine; Speier and Worms have fallen to him, and when I left Sedan he was advancing on Mainz in response to a call from the German Jacobins there that they were ready to murder their magistrates and hand over their city to him. Who can say now where this will stop? If they get Belgium, what of Holland? It is scarce four years since many of the Dutch cities revolted against their Stadtholder. They will prove fertile ground for agitators, and the zealots in Paris will not need much pressing to order their troops to continue their advance across the Low Countries.”

  “You may be right,” Mr. Pitt sighed. “If that occurred we should be bound to honour our treaty with the Dutch; but time will show, and I think you over-pessimistic.”

  It was quite clear that he hated the thought of war so intensely that he was determined to shut its possibility out of his mind, unless further events positively forced it upon him; so Roger broached another subject.

  “A while back, sir, you expressed great distress at my account of the appalling scenes I witnessed in Paris. In France today there are thousands of unfortunate people who have been forced into hiding from fear of their lives; can nothing be done to help them?”

  Mr. Pitt’s face softened, but he shook his head. “Even if I were willing to reverse my decision to refrain from interference in the internal affairs of France, I cannot think that a note to the French Government would have the least effect; and I am determined to do nothing which will worsen our relations with them.”

  “I was not thinking of any official step, sir; but that as a matter of Christian humanity you might consider authorising certain unorthodox measures by which at least a proportion of these victims of the terror might be saved.”

  “What have you in mind, Mr. Brook?”

  “The establishment of a secret escape route for them. A few resolute Englishmen could do much, if you were prepared to make them a grant from the secret funds and place at their disposal one or more naval sloops laid up from the last war.”

  The Prime Minister smiled. “You are evidently not aware that such an organisation exists already.”

  “Indeed, sir!” Roger’s eyes widened. “No; I have come across no traces of its activities, but I am much pleased to hear that. To undertake rescue work myself would interfere seriously with my activities on your behalf, and would be next to impossible so long as I remained tied to certain duties as a Commissioner of the Commune; but it would be a great comfort to me if I were able to pass on the names of people whom I knew to be in desperate straits to someone who could get them safely away to England. There is, too, the matter of my future despatches to yourself.”

  “Yes. Although we recalled my Lord Gower, to mark our disapproval of the events of the 10th of August, we had hoped to keep Mr. William Lindsay on in Paris as Chargé d’Affaires; but the September massacres were so alarming that they drove nearly every diplomat left there into asking for his passport, and on Mr. Lindsay’s departure our Embassy was closed.”

  Roger nodded. “So I learned just before I set out for General Dumouriez’s headquarters. I can, of course, send reports to you by the hand of my servant; but I am loath to spare him if you consider these people of whom you speak trustworthy, and will put me in touch with them.”

  “Are you perchance acquainted with Sir Percy Blakeney?”

  “I know him by name, but have never met him. Has he an agent in Paris with whom I could get in touch?”

  “I imagine so. I will take an early opportunity to have a word with him on the matter.”

  For a moment Roger sat silent, then he said, “I would greatly prefer that Sir Percy and his friends should know nothing of myself; therefore I suggest, sir, that we should use Gouverneur Morris, the American Minister in Paris, as a go-between. He is to be entirely trusted.”

  “Very well, then. I will ask Sir Percy to make contact with Mr. Morris, and when you require the help of Sir Percy’s League you can do the same. Is there anything else?”

  “No, sir,” replied Roger, finishing his third glass of port. “I leave tonight. Have you any further instructions for me?”

  “I think not. All good fortune to you.” They shook hands and Roger turned towards the door. As he reached it the Prime Minister’s voice came again. “Oh, there is just one thing: not an instruction but a reminder. Although your two attempts to rescue the Royal Family failed, they did you great credit. I hope, though, that since then other interests have not caused you to forget them—particularly the Dauphin?”

  Roger had certainly not forgotten the Dauphin. He was simply biding his time, and he replied with a laugh, “Gracious me, no, sir! I count on him to make my fortune.”

  CHAPTER XV

  “I VOTE FOR DEATH”

  On the 4th of November Roger and Dan quite unexpectedly found themselves back at Dumouriez’s headquarters. They had crossed on the night of the 30th of October and spent three days carrying out a whirlwind assize in the garrisons of Dunkirk and Lille. Then, on moving to Valenciennes, they learned that, instead of advancing straight into Belgium, the wily little General had carried out an eighty-mile flank march behind the French frontier and established himself there, opposite Brussels. He was, fortunately, far too busy now preparing his offensive to show the least interest in Roger’s activities during the past ten days; and the following morning he launched his army into Austrian territory near Mons.

  The result, on the 6th, was the battle of Jemappes. At Valmy seven future Marshals of France and over twenty future Imperial Generals of Division had been present, but few of them had even drawn their swords; now for the first time they, and scores of young officers like them who were destined to die before reaching high rank, led their men into battle. Made confident by a six weeks’ advance, fired by the new ideals of democracy, and burning with the desire to liberate the people of the Belgian lands, they flung themselves pell-mell upon the slow-moving, cumbersome, parade-ground formations of the Monarchies. The Austrians fought well, but were hopelessly outnumbered; so, although many regiments of fédérés broke and ran at the first exchange of shots, Dumouriez’s regular troops alone were sufficient to outflank and overwhelm the enemy.

  As the French advanced the Belgians threw open the gates of their cities to them, set up Trees of Liberty, sang the ça ira and danced the carmagnole. It was no longer a campaign but a triumphal progress. Flying columns received the surrender of Ypres, Bruges, Tournai, Ghent, Namur and Antwerp; with incredible swiftness the danger to which, barely a fortnight before, Roger had drawn Mr. Pitt’s attention as a possibility that should not be ignored, had become a fait accompli. The Austrian Government fled; their forces evacuated the Netherlands. On the 14th of November Dumouriez entered Brussels to the cheers of the multitude, and, in all but
name, Belgium had already become a French province.

  Roger now felt that he had every excuse to consider his mission at an end and, as he had long wished to do, return to Paris. He and Dan left on the 16th and arrived on the 19th. That night he made his report to the Comité, and could not have chosen a more appropriate moment for his return. For ten days tidings of victory had been preceding him, and he was able to announce the culminating triumph of the campaign. The thanks of the nation were voted to him for his services; Danton embraced him, and even Robespierre, with a pale, cat-like smile, offered him a limp hand to shake.

  It so happened that on that same night a measure which later was to have enormous repercussions was passed by the Convention. A member arose to announce that the citizens of the Duchy of Limburg had adopted the tricolore cockade and wished to become French, and that those of Mayence had asked for the protection of France against despots. With little thought, but much enthusiasm, the Convention voted that the French nation would grant fraternity and assistance to all people who wished to recover their liberty, and would order its Generals to give effect to their decree. Eight days later the declaration that France desired no territorial conquests was rescinded, by the Convention formally incorporating the captured territory of Savoy into the Republic. Then, on the 15th of December, another motion was passed that France would regard as hostile any nation that dared preserve its Sovereign and privileged Orders.

  No steps could have been better calculated to increase the hatred and fear with which all established Governments regarded the new France, and even the most pacific monarchs now felt themselves threatened. Moreover, the decrees had the effect of stirring up serious troubles for them in their own dominions. All over Europe, ever since ’89, secret societies in correspondence with the Jacobins of Paris had been spreading their networks, increasing their membership, and working for the overthrow of the old order. Even democratic England was not exempt; Revolutionary clubs in London and the provinces had distributed many thousands of subversive pamphlets, and one of the leading authors of these, the honest but violent Tom Paine, had recently been elected to the Convention as deputy for Calais. The workers of a dozen British cities had sent addresses of congratulation to the Republic on its victory at Jemappes; the news of it had been received with wild enthusiasm by the weavers of Spitalfields, while in Sheffield 10,000 ironworkers had celebrated it by roasting an ox whole, then parading the streets behind a French tricolore flag.

  Roger expected any day to hear that Britain had declared war on France; particularly after the French had opened Antwerp and the Scheldt to international commerce, as this was both a contravention of guarantees that France had herself repeatedly given to Britain, and a deliberate challenge to the Dutch, whom, in this matter, Britain was under a solemn obligation to support. But it seemed that Mr. Pitt was still turning a blind eye to the “writing on the wall”, and continued to be unwilling to take a realistic view of all that was implied by the aggressions of the young Republic.

  The elected representatives of that Republic were a matter of professional interest to Roger; so as soon as he had settled down again at the Cushion and Keys, and made certain that all was well in his own Section, he paid several visits to the Convention. Of its 782 members, only 183 had sat in the recently dissolved Legislative Assembly, and 75 in the original National Assembly of ’89; so more than two-thirds of the deputies were newcomers to the political arena of Paris.

  It would have been a hopeless task to endeavour to memorise such a multitude of new faces; so Roger contented himself with noting the names of any who showed eagerness to speak, and letting his glance rove over the crowded benches in search of features that promised an unusual personality. After he had been conducting his scrutiny for some time one of the new deputies came in and took his seat among the Moderates. He was a tall, thin, abnormally pale-faced man in the early thirties, and catching sight of him gave Roger a most unpleasant shock. His name was Joseph Fouché: he had been a lay teacher of the Oratorian Order, and occupied himself at times with amateur crime investigation. It was in the last rôle that Roger had crossed his path, and each had good cause to hate the other.

  Fouché had robbed and killed a friend of Roger’s; moreover, he knew both that Roger was the son of a British Admiral and that he had made off with some vitally important French State papers. A reward of 500 louis d’or had been offered for their return; the ex-Oratorian had been to very great trouble to earn that reward, and had been deprived of it only when he thought the money was as good as in his pocket, so on that old score he had strong grounds for resentment.

  They had met only during a night and day in ’83, and again for a few moments in ’87. Since they had last been face to face Roger had grown from youth to manhood and changed considerably in appearance; so he had fair reason to hope that Fouché would not recognise him; but he knew that his mind would never be at rest until he had put the matter to the test, otherwise he would always go in fear of some unexpected meeting placing him in sudden acute danger.

  In consequence, during the next week he took such opportunities as he could to place himself casually in the way of the new deputy on his entering or leaving the chamber. As Fouché had a habit of never looking anyone straight in the face, it was not easy to obtain a reaction from him; but after Roger had passed within a yard of him on several occasions he came to the reassuring conclusion that the passage of years had altered his features too much for his old enemy to recall them.

  In the meantime, the thoughts of nearly everyone in Paris were mainly occupied with the question of bringing the King to trial. As he had already been deposed and imprisoned, even his most violent enemies had no particular desire to try him, and the project had been mooted by the enragés only as a cunning move which might enable them to get the better of their political opponents.

  A strong reaction had now set in against the violence of August and September, and when the Convention met its composition had proved to be very far from what Robespierre and his friends would like to have seen it. By terrorisation they had swept the board in Paris and secured all its 24 seats, yet in the whole of the rest of France their nominees had won less than 30, so they controlled only some 50 votes out of 782. The Girondins mustered some 120, thus leaving a huge nebulous majority of 600 independents owing allegiance to neither Party.

  From these results there could be no doubt whatever that the French nation as a whole considered that the Revolution had gone far enough, and desired only to be given a reasonable security to enjoy the reforms of real value that had been secured in ’89; but the extremists were now so deeply committed that they had to go forward or face impeachment for the crimes they had already instigated, while the Girondins, who had until recently been their allies, were little better situated. So it had become a question of which of these two small parties could either win or terrorise the greater number of independents into giving it their support.

  The extremist group included the most forceful men in the chamber—among the Paris deputies Danton, Robespierre, Marat, Collot d’Herbois, Billaud-Varennes, Camille Desmoulins, Fréron and David; among those from the Provinces Couthon, Saint-Just, Carrier, Carnot, Tallien and Le Bas. As they took their seats high up on the extreme Left, they became known as the Mountain or Montagnards. The Girondins, somewhat reluctantly, occupied the benches on which the Feuillants had once sat; so now, despite themselves, they became associated with the Right—but a Right that had deteriorated into a rabid socialism as opposed to the outright communism of the Mountain. In the body of the hall sat the independents, which caused them to be referred to as the Plain; the majority of them were small traders and professional people who were really much more conservative than the Girondins, but had little experience as legislators and no leaders, while almost all of them were much too scared for their own safety to risk drawing attention to themselves by challenging any measure put forward by the political giants who had brought about the overthrow of the Monarchy.

&nb
sp; The Montagnards were quick to realise that the King’s life was the key to the position. If the Girondins were brave enough to protect him, they could be accused of being reactionaries. If, on the other hand, they could be frightened into contributing to his death, they would, at one stroke, be deprived of their greatest potential asset—the support of the overwhelming majority of the electors, who would still have preferred a constitutional monarchy, but had faith in the Spartan republican ideals that the Girondins so persistently proclaimed as cover for their own unscrupulous ambitions.

  In consequence the Gironde did not dare to oppose the Mountain in its proposals that the King should be dealt with as a criminal; they sought only to give to his trial some semblance of legality. Saint-Just, a pale, handsome young man, who was a newcomer to the ranks of the extremists, argued the case for the Mountain. With icy logic, he maintained that proceedings against Louis XVI could not be legally justified but were redundant, since the King had already been condemned on the 10th of August, and should now be executed without further argument. Roland and his followers lacked the courage either to defend the King or to frankly agree that it would be a good move to kill him simply as a matter of political expediency. Instead, they took refuge in legal chicanery, half-hearted accusations based on papers found in an iron coffer that had been brought to light from a secret cupboard in the Tuileries, and equally half-hearted attempts to have the issue as to whether the King should be tried or not referred to the nation. After more than a month of shifty, ineffective fumbling on their part, the King was brought to the bar of the House and charged with complicity in a number of matters contrary to the interests of his people.

  For Roger the choice of date was unfortunate. Soon after his return to Paris he had volunteered for duty at the Temple, but had been told that the list was full up until the 2nd of December, and that no further names were being taken, as Municipal elections were being held on that day which might disqualify any of the present Commissioners from continuing to hold office. The backing of the Comité secured Roger’s re-election as President of his Sectional Committee without difficulty, but the elections brought many newcomers to the Commune, and most of them were eager for a sight of the Royal prisoners; so in the ballot that ensued Roger drew Monday the 10th, and the normal routine of which he had hoped to take advantage to establish some form of communication with the prisoners was turned topsy-turvy by the crisis in the Royal affairs already decreed for the following day.