He found, too, that since he had last been in the precincts of the Temple the confinement of the prisoners had become much more rigorous, and that the Commune had instituted many additional measures to guard against their escape. They had then been living in the small tower and had taken their meals in the Prior’s Palace; but Palloy, the contractor who pulled down the Bastille, had made the great tower habitable by the 25th of October, since when the prisoners had been entirely confined there, except for daily visits to a small part of the garden now enclosed by a high board fence.
The number of Commissioners on duty had been increased to eight, doing forty-eight-hour shifts, four of whom were relieved daily. No other Commissioners were now even allowed to see the prisoners except by special authority, and an elaborate system of iron doors and turnkeys had been organised. In addition, since the 29th of September, Simon, the ex-shoemaker, and another Commissioner named Charbonnier, had been installed as permanent custodians.
Formerly the Commissioners had their headquarters in the Council chamber of the Palace; now they occupied the huge ground-floor room of the tower. Its first floor was a permanent guardroom for forty-eight National Guards, who slept there on camp beds. The second floor had been partitioned off into four rooms—a big ante-room in which two of the Commissioners were always on duty; a dining-room separated from it only by a glass screen; the King’s bedroom, in which the Dauphin also slept; and a room for Cléry, who had formerly been the Dauphin’s valet and was now the only attendant the Royal Family had been allowed to retain. The third floor was similarly partitioned off—into an ante-room, occupied day and night by two Commissioners; the Queen’s bedroom, which she shared with her daughter; a room for Madame Elizabeth; and another in which lived a surly couple named Tison, who had been appointed by the Commune to do the rough work of the household.
The great square tower had a small round tower, surmounted by a pepper-pot turret, at each of its corners, and the interior of these formed small additional rooms. On the two upper floors those on the south were water-closets, those on the east were used to store wood for the stoves, and those on the west were the King’s Oratory and the Queen’s toilet-room. The fourth tower contained a spiral staircase which was the only means of access to the prisoners’ apartments, on which no fewer than eight doors had to be unlocked when going up to the Queen’s floor.
The four new Commissioners came on duty about eight o’clock, dined with the officers of the National Guard, then drew lots to decide which of them should occupy the King’s ante-room and which the Queen’s for the night, going to their posts about midnight. During the following day they shared duties with their four colleagues. The instructions of all were never to lose sight of the prisoners for an instant, to speak to them only when answering questions, to give them no information of any kind, to address them only as Monsieur and Madame, and always to keep hats on in their presence.
Over dinner Roger learned the usual routine of the day. The King rose between six and seven, the ladies an hour later. At nine o’clock he and the Dauphin went down to breakfast in the Queen’s apartment; then they separated again, and the King gave his son lessons until midday, after which came recreation and a walk in the boarded-off piece of garden, if the weather permitted. At two o’clock they dined on the King’s floor, and when the meal was finished played games till four. The King then rested, while the Queen continued the education of both her children until supper-time, at nine o’clock. After the meal the Dauphin was put to bed, and the rest of the family retired at eleven o’clock.
The prisoners were treated with an extraordinary mixture of meanness and generosity. They were made to talk all the time in raised voices, so that the Commissioners with them could hear every word they said; and they had been deprived of pens, ink, pencils, paper, and all cutting implements, even to the Queen’s embroidery scissors. On the other hand, they were allowed to have any clothes made that they wished, to order any games they liked for the children, and to feed almost luxuriously. A chef, scullions and three waiters from the old staff of the Tuileries had been installed in the kitchen of the Prior’s Palace, and the King, who alone among them drank with his meals, was offered four kinds of wine every day. However, this excellent table was not provided solely for their benefit; the Commissars shared the dishes, and at night often made heavy inroads on the cellar.
It was after the lights had been put out in the Commissars’ room, and a flaming bowl of brandy-punch put on the table, that Roger was able to glean from loosened tongues the real attitude of his companions to their charges. In such circles it was the fashion to speak of the “Capets”, as the Royal Family were beginning to be called, with austere disapproval, if not actual abuse; but as the evening advanced it became clear that most of those who had been in contact with them found it difficult to hide the pity and respect they felt at the dignified bearing of the prisoners. They were, apparently, not only always good-tempered and polite to their guards, but often showed thought for them by suggesting that they bring their chairs nearer the fire or the lamp, while they rarely allowed the great anxieties from which they must be suffering to prevent them entering into noisy games to amuse the children. Their simple manners evidently never ceased to astonish the semi-educated artisans and small shopkeepers who made up the larger part of the Commune, and the Dauphin won the hearts of all by the gay, talkative way in which he made friends with even the most frightening-looking of the Commissars.
When lots were drawn it fell to Roger to doss down on a truckle bed drawn across the doorway of the King’s bedroom, while a Commissar named Verdier occupied another across the doorway of Cléry’s room. At six-thirty the following morning they moved their beds, and Cléry led them into the King’s room. Louis XVI pulled aside the curtains of his bed and, recognising both Verdier and Roger, wished them good morning by name. Having been helped into his chamber-robe and shoes, the King shaved himself while Cléry lit the fires. The valet then assisted his master to finish dressing in the pale maroon-coloured suit with gilded buttons that he always wore whilst a prisoner. Next the Dauphin was awakened, said his prayers at his father’s knee, and was dressed by Cléry while the King went into his Oratory to read his breviary.
Meanwhile, on the floor above, there was considerably more activity. The woman Tison, cunning and suspicious, was pottering about while the Queen and the two princesses dressed; her husband was laying the breakfast in the ante-room under the eye of the two Commissars who had spent the night there; two men employed for the purpose were refuelling the wood stoves; a water-carrier was refilling the jugs and filters, and a fourth man trimming the lamps. But by nine o’clock the hubbub had subsided, and the family met for breakfast.
The meal was brought from the distant kitchen by three waiters, under the supervision of the four Commissars who had been on duty the previous day. Their responsibility included the examination of every utensil used and all the food served to ensure that no message was smuggled by these means to any of the prisoners. Normally, now, Roger and his team would have been free to spend the morning downstairs; but, after having breakfasted there, knowing that the King was to be taken before the Convention, curiosity drove them upstairs again.
They found the King, with admirable unconcern, giving the Dauphin his usual reading lesson; but at eleven o’clock two Special Commissioners arrived from the Commune with an order that Louis XVI was now to be separated from his son. The King, greatly distressed, embraced the boy for a long time, then reluctantly allowed him to be taken up to his mother.
A depressing interval of two hours ensued, during which Roger was given a good opportunity to realise the exceptional gloominess of the prisoners’ quarters. On the pretext of preventing them from communicating by signals with anyone outside, all the windows had been fitted with a type of shutter called a soufflet, which consisted of wooden boards fixed at an outward sloping angle from the window-sills, so that nothing but a patch of sky was visible beyond their tops. No sun could penetrate
the rooms, even in the summer months, and on this grey December morning they were still semi-dark at midday. Even so, normally at this hour the children would have been romping in the rooms above while their elders enjoyed games of piquet, draughts or backgammon; but today all was silent while they prayed that the father of the family might be strengthened for his coming ordeal, and afterwards brought safely back to them.
At length, at one o’clock, Ghambon, the new Mayor of Paris, Santerre, Chaumette and other officials of the Commune arrived and took charge of the King. Below, a coach was waiting to convey him through the wind and rain to the Convention, and in the chilly drizzle thousands of troops lined the streets to guard against any attempt to rescue him. After his departure Roger and his companions went down to dine, and spent the afternoon speculating on the outcome of the session.
The King was absent for five and a half hours; then, on his return, the poor man was informed that arrangements had been made for his son to sleep in the Queen’s room, and that in future he was not to be permitted to see any members of his family. This new affliction plunged all those concerned into such depths of grief that during that evening and the next day they did little but weep and pray in their bedrooms.
The Queen was so absorbed by her distress that Roger felt certain she did not even recognise him during his attendance at mealtimes; and Princess Elizabeth, who was reported to be much the more talkative of the two, did not address a single word to anybody. On completion of his tour of duty, at 8 p.m. on the 12th, he left the Temple without having made a useful contact of any kind, and fully convinced that as long as the present arrangements for guarding the Royal Family continued, their rescue would be rendered next to impossible.
In discussions with his acquaintances he learned that the King’s appearance at the bar of the Convention had confounded his enemies. Although he had had no warning whatsoever of the questions which would be put to him, he had answered them all promptly and convincingly. The fact was that he was entirely innocent, and that not a single piece of evidence could be produced to show that he had ever acted tyrannically, opposed reforms, violated the Constitution or encouraged foreign invasion. Nevertheless, his accusers were determined to proceed with the trial, and for its further stages agreed to his employing counsel for his defence.
He chose two lawyers named Target and Tronchet. The former refused to defend him, but the latter accepted. There then occurred an extraordinary manifestation of the feelings of the common people; the fishwives of Paris proceeded to chase Target with a bundle of birchrods because of his cowardice, whereas to Tronchet they carried flowers and a laurel wreath. Roman Desèze took Target’s place, and the King’s old Minister, Malesherbes, came forward begging to be allowed to assist in co-ordinating the defence.
As Roger could see no prospect of getting any members of the Royal Family out of the Temple, he now began to develop his plans for other rescue work.
The guillotine was no new instrument of death, as in various forms it had been used in Italy, Scotland and Germany from the thirteenth century; but Doctor Guillotin had, as a deputy of the National Assembly, proposed its official adoption in France, and, after satisfactory trials on dead bodies, one had been set up in the Place de Grève in the previous April. It was simply a device for eliminating the degree of human error which sometimes made two or more strokes of an axe necessary in beheading; as the sharp, sloping blade of the instrument was heavily weighted, and, when released by the pull of a cord, fell between the grooves in two posts with a force no human neck could resist; in addition the victim, instead of kneeling, was strapped to an upright board, which had a waist-high axle on its far side for tipping him face downwards horizontally beneath the blade, thus preventing him from flinching at the last moment. The first person to die by the new machine had been a highwayman named Pelletier, and since April it had been in fairly constant use; but the great majority of the condemned had, so far, been common criminals, as the time had not yet come when people were sentenced to death merely for their political opinions. In consequence, Roger was not so much concerned with getting people rescued from the prisons as in aiding others who might be arrested at any time to escape being thrown into them.
His position was now very different from what it had been when he had last seen Gouverneur Morris. It might then have proved very dangerous to his newly-established reputation as a revolutionary for him to associate openly with the rich and aristocratic American Minister; but since that time he had climbed high in the nefarious company that now had France at its mercy. Gradually, it had become almost like belonging to an exclusive Order to be known as “one of the men of the 10th of August”, who had formed the original Commune. He had served the Comité well as Citizen Representative en mission, and had received much favourable publicity from being present with Dumouriez at the great victory of Jemappes. He still lived at the Cushion and Keys, and had resumed control of the des Grandvilliers Section; so he was firmly established as the political dictator of a forty-eighth part of Paris. In addition, as a member of the Cordeliers as well as of the Jacobins, he was now personally known to all the leading men of the Left. All this combined to make him one of the privileged few who, like Robespierre, could afford to dress well without fear of criticism, and be seen talking to anyone without arousing suspicion.
He therefore went openly one morning to the American Legation and spent over an hour closeted with his old acquaintance. Mr. Morris had already received an intimation from London regarding the business on which he called, and said that, while his own official position debarred him from personal participation in the work of Sir Percy Blakeney’s rescue League, in the interests of humanity he was willing to allow the Legation to be used as a secret clearing-house for information.
That was all Roger required. Dan was again living at La Belle Étoile, but keeping in close touch with him; so now, whenever he learned that some unfortunate Royalist was to be arrested on a trumped-up charge, he could send Dan to the Legation with particulars for transmission to Sir Percy’s agent. If the number of cases warranted it, Dan could later make direct contact with the agent and arrange a series of regular rendezvous; and it was with this possibility in mind that Roger had decided to employ his henchman in the matter, for thus he could continue to protect the all-important secret of his own double identity.
When he had explained about Dan and his intention to use him as a go-between, they began to talk of the war; and after a while the American said, “I fear it is bound to spread, particularly if they kill the King; and most of these crazy demagogues don’t seem to give a damn if they have to fight all Europe.”
“I know,” Roger agreed. “If England comes in it will be only because they have forced her to. Mr. Pitt is most anxious to avoid war, and I am sure he would do practically anything consistent with honour to keep Britain out.”
“That’s just what Maret was telling me the other day,” nodded Morris. “Do you know him? I don’t mean that leprous spawn of hell, Jean Paul Marat, but Hugues Bernard Maret. He is an advocate who took up journalism, started the Bulletin de l’Assemblée in ’89, then became editor of the Moniteur; but he has since been employed in the Foreign Office.”
“Yes, I know him slightly. Dumouriez has great faith in him. It was he who put him into the Foreign Office; and, as a matter of fact, it was when he was visiting the General at his headquarters in November that I met him.”
“Did you know that he has since been on a secret mission to London, and has had several important conversations with Mr. Pitt?”
Roger raised his eyebrows. “Are the French then endeavouring to negotiate behind their Ambassador’s back?”
“That’s what it amounts to. All the intelligent people here favour peace, and they’ve no faith in M. de Chauvelin; he is too young and inexperienced, and every time he remembers that he is a ci-devant marquis the thought sends cold shivers down his back. From fear that they’ll bring him home and chop off his head he now spends all his time hobno
bbing with people like Home Tooke, and encouraging the English revolutionaries to make trouble for their Government. That is no way for a diplomat to behave; still . . .” Gouverneur Morris broke off to smile, “I will say he held his own with that stiff-necked Foreign Secretary of yours.”
“Pray tell me about it,” Roger smiled back. “My Lord Grenville is no fool, and is an indefatigable worker, yet so prim and unsympathetic a man that I’d pay a guinea any day to hear how he had been scored off.”
“’Twas on one of the few interviews granted to Chauvelin at the Foreign Office. My lord received his visitor with the most frigid air, then motioned to the hardest-bottomed and stiffest-backed chair in the room for him to sit upon; the Frenchman merely bowed, walked a few paces away and settled himself comfortably in a large armchair on the far side of the apartment. But reverting to Maret; I think it might prove worth your while to develop his acquaintance. Since most of my friends have been driven from Paris I endeavour to amuse myself by entertaining the more civilized and interesting of these new history-makers. Maret and some others are coming to dine with me on Tuesday. If it would not compromise you to do so, I should be delighted if you would join us.”
Roger accepted, and, when Tuesday came, enjoyed his evening most thoroughly. After six months, broken only by his few days in England, of exclusion from all social amenities, it was a great joy to dine again in really civilized surroundings; and he found Maret both likeable and highly intelligent—which was by no means surprising, as the diplomat was later to become one of Napoleon’s most trusted Foreign Ministers and to be created by him Duc de Bassano.
The Man who Killed the King Page 29