The Man who Killed the King

by Dennis Wheatley

  It was Danton who had been responsible for the appointment of these ci-devant nobles as Generals, in the belief that only officers who had held high command were capable of waging war efficiently; and their failures had contributed considerably to his own loss of prestige. Yet, as far as Roger could judge, he seemed to be holding his own in his deadly subterranean struggle against the Hébertists.

  One evidence of that was the recall of Carrier from Nantes, as Carrier had surpassed every other terrorist in the scale of his atrocities. In spite of the annihilating defeat inflicted on the Royalists of La Vendée in mid-October, they had risen, as though from the dead, and fought on in wild desperation for a further two months. The last of their Generals, the twenty-one-year-old Marquis de le Rochejaquelein, had led them with a sagacity far beyond his years and a bravery that has rarely been equalled, but by the end of December they had been finally overwhelmed. Carrier had already been sent as Citizen Representative to Nantes, and he then proceeded to wreak his vengeance on the prisoners of war and all who had given the Royalists aid while in the field.

  Having recruited a special terrorist brigade of negroes and half-castes from the West Indies shipping in the docks, he let them loose upon the city to pillage and rape, and to cram the prisons to overflowing with every man, woman and child who could not prove themselves to be a sans-culotte. On finding that the guillotine could account for his victims only at the rate of 200 a day, he had conceived the idea of drowning them in batches. As an experiment he had holes bored below the water-line in one of the big Loire barges, plugged the holes with wooden spigots, loaded ninety priests into the barge, had the hatches nailed down and the barge towed out into the river, then knocked the spigots out. To his delight it foundered so slowly that the despairing cries of its human cargo could be heard for half an hour before they were finally stifled by the water swirling across the barge’s deck. From then on these Noyades, as they were called, took place every day.

  Yet even this was not enough to slake his demoniacal lust for slaughter. Soon he was having his victims taken out on the decks of the barges as well, and thrown off with their hands tied behind them, so that he could watch them drown. Then he invented his triumph in iniquity, to which he gave the name of “Republican Marriages”. He had the negroes strip the prisoners naked and bind them in couples, man and woman, face to face. For his Satanic amusement, the men were then beaten until they violated the women to whom they were bound, after which these couples too were thrown into the river. This fiend showed no mercy to white-haired men, the blind, or pregnant women, and babies of a few months old were torn from their mothers’ breasts to be hurled into the water before them. In four months Carrier had murdered 32,000 people.

  His recall to Paris to give an account of his Proconsulship suggested that, through him, a severe blow was to be struck at the Hébertists, although no one could be certain of that, as the Comité’s order for his return had not been couched in terms implying censure of his acts. Moreover, Saint-Just made it clear by a speech in the Convention that the Comité regarded both factions as equally dangerous to the successful prosecution of the Revolution: first the exagérés, who by their atheism and excesses raised up fresh enemies for the Republic within and without; secondly the indulgents, who urged a policy of clemency because they were bribed to do so by foreigners, and were planning to sacrifice the Republic in order to obtain money for their debaucheries.

  It seemed that Robespierre, as usual, was playing a waiting game, to make a final assessment of the strength of the two parties before he decided which to break; but in the Commune the general impression gained strength that if he hesitated much longer he might be broken himself. By the middle of the month, political Paris was in an unprecedented ferment. Carrier was openly stirring up the Cordeliers to insurrection, and they veiled with crêpe the tablet in the Club on which was inscribed the Declaration of the Rights of Man; a sinister step that in previous instances had signified the temporary abolition of Law, while the “People” reimposed their “Will” upon the nation by violent means. Meanwhile Ronsin, the Hébertist General, was known to be planning another massacre in the prisons as an opening move, to rouse the blood-lust of the sans-culottes before leading them in an attack upon the Government. On the other hand, Collot and Billaud had now definitely aligned themselves with Robespierre, and his old stronghold, the Jacobins, continued to declare themselves loyal to the Comité.

  With intense interest Roger followed every move in the struggle, expecting civil war to break out at almost any hour; but at the height of the crisis he was compelled, temporarily, to give his attention to another matter. Soon after his return from Boulogne he had offered himself for duty at the Temple, and had learned then that, volunteers having become so few, an alphabetical roster had been instituted; but his name was inserted in it and, it so happened, his turn came quite quickly. He was detailed to report on the 16th, and that evening he entered the gloomy precincts of the prison for the first time for four months.

  He had already heard about a major change that had taken place in the arrangements there. On the 3rd of January a new law had been passed that no official of the Republic might hold two posts simultaneously. For Citizen Simon this meant that he must either resign his “tutorship” of “young Capet”, or give up his Commissionership of the Commune. He had elected to sacrifice the former post; so he was no longer at the Temple. But he had not been replaced; instead, the little King had been confined much more rigorously.

  Roger had not been on duty long before, in casual conversation with various people, he secured details of what had transpired. On the 5th of January Simon had officially resigned. He had stayed on until the 14th, and had then left; but he had returned on the 19th, formally handed his charge over to the four Commissars on duty, then gone for good. Apparently Hébert and Chaumette had been greatly upset by the new decree which prevented their fanatically loyal henchman from continuing as watchdog over their invaluable hostage, and could think of no one with similar qualifications to take his place; so they had decided to substitute a material barrier to the boy’s escape for the departed human one. With almost unbelievable cruelty they had issued an order that he should be walled-up; and this had been done on the 21st of January.

  Later, Roger had ample opportunity to examine the situation for himself. He found it only too true that this wretched child of nine had been shut up in Cléry’s old room and entirely cut off from communication with his fellow human beings. The door to his room had been both nailed and screwed up, and a cunningly-devised revolving iron hatch had been fixed in it, by which food and water could be passed in; but anyone outside was prevented from catching even a glimpse of the prisoner, or speaking to him except by raising the voice to a shout.

  The boy had now been buried alive in this fashion for eight weeks, and one thing which struck Roger as strange about the matter was that, from the very beginning, he had, apparently, made no protest. With his volatile nature one would have expected him periodically to attack the door, cursing, screaming and endeavouring to kick it in, but not once had he been heard even to cry out. Yet there could be no doubt about his being alive, as he took in his food from the revolving hatch quite regularly.

  Another change of which Roger had heard was the reduction in the scale of the meals served to the prisoners. During the autumn Hébert had raised in the Commune the question of their cost to the nation, and had declared that, as many good “patriots” had to make do on a cup of bouillon a day, it was an extravagance to feed the “spawn of the tyrants” better. Now, as Roger stood by, a silent witness, while the evening meal was served to the two Princesses, he saw that the former plenty and amenities of their table had both been entirely abolished; they were given only one course served on iron platters, and leaden forks with which to eat it.

  Next morning, the 17th of March, a buzz of excited rumours ran through the prison. During the previous night the Comité had struck; Hébert, Vincent, Ronsin and seventeen of their asso
ciates had been arrested. When the news was confirmed Roger’s colleagues became grey-faced and anxious. He had little to fear, as he had never been responsible for any excesses, and could count on the protection, probably, of Robespierre and, certainly, of Carnot; but for them the crisis was fraught with frightful possibilities. Never had Louis XVI, his Ministers or any group of deputies dared to cross swords with the Commune; but now that Ark of the Revolution had been attacked and its most sacred “Champions of Liberty” had been dragged off to prison with no more ceremony than if they had been “filthy aristocrats”, what was to prevent a swift and horrid fate overtaking the smaller fry who had fawned upon Hébert and done his bidding for so long? Fervently they prayed that the sans-culottes would rise, demand the release of its protectors and submerge the reactionaries under a wave of murderous fury.

  Too late, they realised that the Comité, in this instance under the skilful guidance of Saint-Just, had outwitted them. During the early part of the year Robespierre’s pale, fanatical, young colleague had been on a mission to the armies; but when he returned, towards the end of February, he had put through a decree that the property of “suspects” should be confiscated for the benefits of the poor “patriots”. At this the fickle mob had swiftly but imperceptibly turned their backs upon their old patrons of the Commune and gravitated towards the Comité as a new dispenser of easy plunder. Only now did the volte-face of the sans-culottes become apparent. In vain Carrier raved at the Cordeliers, inciting them to insurrection; he could achieve no more than a half-hearted demonstration.

  It was five years, all but four months, since the mob had stormed the Bastille, and in all that time every successive government had proved incapable of standing up to it; but the Comité had performed the remarkable feat of first drugging its body, then cutting off its head. Within a week its power, and that of the Commune, had been broken for good.

  On the 18th Chaumette was arrested, to be dragged with the others before the Revolutionary Tribunal. Strange as it sounded to many people, they were accused of plotting to restore the Monarchy with little Capet as King and themselves as a Council of Regency; but one charge was as good as another once the Committee of Public Safety had decided that for its own safety certain people must be put out of the way. Without dignity or courage these Neroes of the gutter strove to save themselves, but in vain. On the 24th Hébert was carried screaming and kicking to the guillotine; Ronsin alone showed bravery, and the atheist Clootz indifference; Vincent, Momoro and the rest died to the jeers of the mob with abject cowardice. Meanwhile, before the Tribunal had even had time to condemn its leaders, the headless body of the Commune had proceeded in solemn procession to the Convention and humbly thanked the Chamber for having purged it of its undesirable elements. The triumph of the Comité was complete.

  For a few days a wave of infinite relief surged outward from Paris to every extremity of France. The long-suffering nation believed that with the death of these monsters the Terror was over, and that at long last it was to enjoy without further fear of death and despoliation the freedoms that the abolition of the ancien régime had brought about.

  It was soon undeceived. The hands of Robespierre, Couthon, Saint-Just, Collot and Billaud were too deeply steeped in blood for them to dare adopt a policy of mercy, which must in time have led to reaction and their own downfall. The last two had abandoned Hébert only because he had become a menace to their own power, and on condition that the Terror should continue. Moreover, the fanatical purist, Saint-Just, was determined to purge the Revolution of those leaders who had used it to acquire fortunes and had disgraced it by their profligacies. On the 30th of March he struck, tabling a long report on the incivisme of the Dantonists for which the “Incorruptible” had himself provided the notes. That night, Danton and his friends were arrested.

  On the 2nd of April the trial began. Camille Desmoulins, Lacroix, Philippeaux, Hérault de Sechelles, Fabre d’Églantine and Chabot were the most prominent of Danton’s supporters who were brought with him before the Revolutionary Tribunal. The political charges, based on a complete distortion of their careers, were almost entirely false; those connected with their private lives were mainly true. Fabre and Chabot had been financed by the Baron de Batz to rig the money market; Hérault, a distinguished lawyer who had played a prominent part in formulating the Constitution, was living with a ci-devant Countess whom he had saved from the guillotine. He and Desmoulins alone were honest; the others, Danton beyond all, had practised extortion, accepted huge bribes and stolen state funds to live in opulence and indulge their vices.

  For some time past Danton had been conscious of his danger, but had proved too lazy to take any vigorous steps to avert it. Now, instead of answering his accusers, he roused himself in a great effort to win back his former popularity with the people. During the whole of the 3rd of April his mighty voice boomed out in sonorous phrases well calculated to bring the mob to his rescue. In consternation, the Comité saw that popular clamour might easily bring about his acquittal; so, on the 4th, even this travesty of a trial was abruptly terminated, and the furious Danton was dragged away to rave incoherently through the bars of his prison.

  By the following evening he had resigned himself, and when the three scarlet-painted tumbrels came to take him and his associates to the scaffold, he said with a shrug, “What matter if I die? I have well enjoyed myself in the Revolution: I have spent well, caroused well, and caressed many women.”

  Camille Desmoulins, by contrast, displayed pitiable weakness. In his despair he had so torn his clothes that the upper part of his body was half naked. He was with Danton in the leading tumbrel, and as it passed down the Rue St. Honoré he vainly appealed to the mob to rescue him, screaming out, “People, it is your servants who are being sacrificed! It was I who in 1789 called you to arms! It was I who uttered the first cry of liberty!”

  The crowd only mocked him, and Danton, now too near death to bother any longer to disguise what he really thought of the “Sacred People”, said with a derisive smile, “Be quiet, Camille! Do not demean yourself by pleading with that vile scum.”

  So perished what might be termed the Left Wing Socialists of the Revolution; the Right Wing Socialists had preceded them with the fall of the Gironde; the Liberals had either, like Talleyrand, fled abroad, or, like Barnave, been dragged from retirement to execution; the leading Anarchists had been despatched with Hébert and his murderous crew twelve days earlier. There remained only a crowd of powerless, terrified, sheep-like politicians and 24,000,000 French people, all of whom were now completely at the mercy of the six Communists who dominated the Comité.

  Yet the killing did not stop. On the contrary, the great witchhunt continued with increased fury. Anybody who at any time had expressed sympathy with the King, the Queen, the Constitutionalists, the Girondins, the Dantonists or the Hébertists was liable to be seized, imprisoned and executed; in consequence the entire nation was under suspicion, and it needed only a word from an enemy to send anyone to the scaffold. The number of victims sent to the guillotine in February was nearly doubled in March; the March figure was more than doubled in April; the April figure was increased by nearly fifty per cent in May, and the May figure more than doubled in June.

  Day after day, week after week, the number of tumbrels in the dread procession increased; they were no longer a spectacle of interest, but rather an awful reminder to all who saw them that they too might soon be taking that free ride with their hands bound behind them. Rarely now was an aristocrat to be seen among the victims; they were minor politicians who really believed in liberty and at one time or another had been rash enough to say so, officials who had not passed on to their superiors a big enough proportion of the bribes they had taken; milliners, jewellers, lacemakers and tailors who lamented the ruin of their businesses owing to the passing of the ancien régime; officers who had shown mercy to prisoners in La Vendée; speculators in assignats; shopkeepers who had charged more than the maximum, and even housewives who had been
heard to grumble at the meat ration having recently been reduced to half a pound per family for five days.

  The agents of the Comité de Sûreté Générale, second only in power to the great Comité, were everywhere; and reinforced still further by the Comités de Surveillance in each Section. Hundreds of domiciliary visits were paid each night, and in the cafés no one any longer dared to talk above a whisper. The rump of the Convention, now reduced to a bare 200 attendants, slavishly agreed to every measure placed before it; the once powerful Commune dared debate politics no more.

  In all Paris laughter was now heard regularly only in one place, and that was the fiendish laughter of the depraved harpies who gathered each morning at the foot of the guillotine. These tricoteuses, as they were called, prided themselves on having become veteran critics of the grim sport provided by the executioner. Every day they took their knitting and sat in rows on the chairs round the scaffold which, provided by a thoughtful Government, could be hired for a small sum. There they taunted the victims, exchanged bawdy jests with the executioners’ assistants, booed, mocked, chuckled and drooled like wild beasts at the sight of the blood spurting from the necks of the still-twitching bodies.

  Roger and Athénaïs continued their strange unnatural existence. As it became more and more difficult for members of the League to penetrate Paris, she found less to do, and spent much of her time in their room reading, or simply brooding over the horrors which she could not stop and to which she could see no end. He now trod more warily than ever among his colleagues, hardly daring to utter an opinion lest it should land him in trouble—and trouble these days meant death within a week. By night they took one another fiercely, ever conscious that each time might be the last, and striving to forget in a fury of passion that one slip next day, a chance meeting with someone they had known in the past, an unguarded impulse towards pity or a sudden giving way to anger, and never again would they lie embraced mingling happy sighs with breathless kisses.