Read A Place of Greater Safety Online
Authors: Hilary Mantel
A Place of Greater Safety (89 page)
What is it, Camille thought, does she want me to advise her on her rights? “You will be recognized as his relict,” he said. “No one these days pays much attention to the formalities. It’s all yours now, the printing press and the paper for the next edition. Be careful with it. I should think the state will be paying for the funeral.”
Outside in the street he looked back once, to the windows where the
busy shadows of Deschamps and his assistants moved against the light. Rain began to fall, big warm drops. There was thunder somewhere in the distance—over Versailles perhaps. The crowd stood, patient, shoulder to shoulder, waiting for what would happen next.
busy shadows of Deschamps and his assistants moved against the light. Rain began to fall, big warm drops. There was thunder somewhere in the distance—over Versailles perhaps. The crowd stood, patient, shoulder to shoulder, waiting for what would happen next.
D
avid took charge of arrangements. The body was to be sealed in a coffin of lead, and enclosed in a larger sarcophagus of purple porphyry, taken from the Collection of Antiquities at the Louvre. But for the funeral procession, it was desired to carry the deceased on a bier, swathed in a tricolor (the cloth drenched in spirits). One bare arm, sewn on from a better class of corpse, bore a laurel wreath; young girls dressed in white and bearing cypress branches surrounded the bier.
avid took charge of arrangements. The body was to be sealed in a coffin of lead, and enclosed in a larger sarcophagus of purple porphyry, taken from the Collection of Antiquities at the Louvre. But for the funeral procession, it was desired to carry the deceased on a bier, swathed in a tricolor (the cloth drenched in spirits). One bare arm, sewn on from a better class of corpse, bore a laurel wreath; young girls dressed in white and bearing cypress branches surrounded the bier.
After them the Convention, the Clubs, the People. The procession began at five in the afternoon; it ended at midnight, by the light of torches. He was to be buried as he had preferred to live, underground, the cellar-like tomb overhung with blocks of stone and fenced about by iron.
The heart, embalmed separately, was placed in an urn; the patriots of the Cordeliers Club bore it away, to keep it on their premises forever and ever, till the last day of the world. “Sacred heart of Marat,” the people wailed.
HERE LIES MARAT
THE PEOPLE’S FRIEND
KILLED BY THE PEOPLE’S ENEMIES
13 JULY 1793
THE PEOPLE’S FRIEND
KILLED BY THE PEOPLE’S ENEMIES
13 JULY 1793
T
he demeanor of Robespierre in the funeral procession was remarked upon by one observer. He looked, the witness said, as if he were conducting the corpse to a rubbish tip.
he demeanor of Robespierre in the funeral procession was remarked upon by one observer. He looked, the witness said, as if he were conducting the corpse to a rubbish tip.
East Indians
J
uly 25: Danton threw his weight back in his chair, threw his head back, laughed uproariously. Louise flinched; she was always worrying about the furniture, and he was always assuring her that there was plenty of money for replacing it. “The day I parted company with the Committee,” he said, “I saw something I thought I’d never see—I saw Fabre d’Eglantine deprived of speech.” Danton was slightly tipsy; every so often he would lean across the table to squeeze the hand of his new wife. “So, Fabre, still struck dumb, are you?”
uly 25: Danton threw his weight back in his chair, threw his head back, laughed uproariously. Louise flinched; she was always worrying about the furniture, and he was always assuring her that there was plenty of money for replacing it. “The day I parted company with the Committee,” he said, “I saw something I thought I’d never see—I saw Fabre d’Eglantine deprived of speech.” Danton was slightly tipsy; every so often he would lean across the table to squeeze the hand of his new wife. “So, Fabre, still struck dumb, are you?”
“No, no,” Fabre said uncertainly. “It’s true, I wouldn’t wish it on anybody, sitting on a committee with Saint-Just. And it’s true, as you say, that Robert Lindet’s elected, and he’s a solid patriot who we can trust. And Hérault’s elected, and he’s our friend …”
“You’re not convinced. Look, Fabre, I am Danton, can you get that through your skull? The Committee may need me, but I don’t need the Committee. Now, allow me to propose a toast to myself, since no one else has the grace to do it. To me—the newly elected president of the Convention.” He raised his glass to Lucile. “Now more toasts,” he demanded. “To my friend General Westermann, may he prosper against the rebels in the Vendée.”
He was lucky, Lucile thought, to get Westermann his command back, after that last defeat; Westermann is lucky to be at large. “To the Sacred Heart of Marat,” Danton said. Louise gave him a sharp look. “I’m sorry, my love, I don’t mean to blaspheme, I’m just repeating what is said by the poor deluded rabble on the streets. Why did the Gironde go after Marat? He was half-dead anyway. Then again, if the bitch was acting on her own initiative, as she claimed, doesn’t it just prove what I’ve
always said, that women have no political sense? She should have gone for Robespierre, or me.”
always said, that women have no political sense? She should have gone for Robespierre, or me.”
Oh, don’t say that, Louise begged him; at the same time she found it difficult to imagine a kitchen knife slicing through those solid layers of muscle and fat. Danton looked down the table. “Camille,” he said, “one drop of ink disposed by you is worth all the blood in Marat’s body.”
He refilled glasses. He will drink another bottle, Louise thought, and then perhaps he will fall asleep right away. “And to Liberty,” he said. “Raise your glass, General.”
“To Liberty,” said General Dillon, feelingly. “Long may we, if you know what I mean, be at liberty to enjoy it.”
J
uly 26: Robespierre sat with his head bowed, his hands knotted together between his knees; he was the picture of misery. “Do you see?” he asked. “I have always resisted such involvement, I have always refused office.”
uly 26: Robespierre sat with his head bowed, his hands knotted together between his knees; he was the picture of misery. “Do you see?” he asked. “I have always resisted such involvement, I have always refused office.”
“Yes,” Camille said. He had a headache, from last night. “The situation changes.”
“Now, you see—” Robespierre had developed a minute facial tic, distressing to him; every so often he would break off what he was saying and press his hand against his cheek. “It’s clear that a firm central authority … with the enemy advancing on every front … You know I have always defended the Committee, always seen the need for it … .
“Yes. Stop apologizing. You’ve won an election, not committed a crime.”
“And there are factions—shall I say Hébert, shall I say Jacques Roux—who wish France to have no strong government. They take advantage of the natural discontents of the man in the street, exploit them and make all the trouble they can. They put forward measures that can only be called ultra-revolutionary, measures that seem disgusting and threatening to decent people. They bring the Revolution into disrepute. They try to kill it by excess. That is why I call them agents of the enemy.” He put his hand to his face again. “If only,” he said, “Danton were not so chronically careless.”
“Clearly he doesn’t think the Committee as important as you do.”
“Put it on record,” Robespierre said, “that I didn’t seek the office. Citizen Gasparin fell ill, it was thrust upon me. I do hope they won’t start calling it the Robespierre Committee. I shall be just one among many …”
One best friend off the Committee. The other best friend on. Camille is used to being the experimental audience for speeches Robespierre is rehearsing; it has been like this since ‘89. Ever since that charged, emotional moment at the Duplays’ house—“you were always in my heart”—he has felt that more is expected of him. Robespierre is becoming one of those people in whose company it is impossible to relax for a moment.
Two days later the Committee of Public Safety is given the power to issue warrants for arrest.
J
acques Roux, whose following grows, announced that the new author of his news sheet was “the ghost of Marat.” Hébert advised the Jacobins that if Marat needed a successor—and the aristocrats another victim—he was ready. “That talentless little man,” Robespierre said. “How dare he?”
acques Roux, whose following grows, announced that the new author of his news sheet was “the ghost of Marat.” Hébert advised the Jacobins that if Marat needed a successor—and the aristocrats another victim—he was ready. “That talentless little man,” Robespierre said. “How dare he?”
On August 8, Simone Evrard appeared at the Bar of the Convention, and made an impassioned denunciation of certain persons who were leading the sansculottes to perdition. All her views, she said, were those expressed by the martyr, her husband, in his last hours. It was a fluent, confident tirade; just occasionally she paused to peer more closely at her notes, to puzzle out Citizen Robespierre’s tiny, uneven handwriting.
A
week later there is another addition to the Committee of Public Safety: Lazare Camot, the military engineer whom Robespierre had first met at the Academy of Arras. “I don’t particularly get on with military men,” Robespierre said. “They seem to be full of personal ambition, and to have a strange set of priorities. But they are a necessary evil. Camot always,” he added distantly, “seemed to know what he was talking about.”
week later there is another addition to the Committee of Public Safety: Lazare Camot, the military engineer whom Robespierre had first met at the Academy of Arras. “I don’t particularly get on with military men,” Robespierre said. “They seem to be full of personal ambition, and to have a strange set of priorities. But they are a necessary evil. Camot always,” he added distantly, “seemed to know what he was talking about.”
Thus Carnot, later to be known as the Organizer of Victory; Robespierre, the Organizer of Carnot.
When the president of the Revolutionary Tribunal was arrested (suspected of mishandling the trial of Marat’s assassin) his replacement was Citizen Hermann, late of the Arras Bar. Hadn’t he, all those years ago, been the only one to recognize that Robespierre was talking sense? “I knew him,” he said to Mme. Duplay, “when I was a young man.”
“What do you think you are now?” she asked him.
The outgoing president was taken away by gendarmes while the Tribunal was actually in session. Fouquier-Tinville liked a drama; his cousin had no monopoly.
W
hen the Minister of the Interior resigned, the two rivals for the post were Hébert and Jules Pare, now a lawyer of note. The latter was appointed. “We all know why, of course,” said Hébert. “He was once Danton’s managing clerk. We get so big for our boots that we don’t actually do any work ourselves, we just let our minions exercise power on our behalf. He has his other clerk, Desforgues, at the Foreign Office. Pare and Danton are as thick as thieves. Just as,” he added, “Danton was with Dumouriez.”
hen the Minister of the Interior resigned, the two rivals for the post were Hébert and Jules Pare, now a lawyer of note. The latter was appointed. “We all know why, of course,” said Hébert. “He was once Danton’s managing clerk. We get so big for our boots that we don’t actually do any work ourselves, we just let our minions exercise power on our behalf. He has his other clerk, Desforgues, at the Foreign Office. Pare and Danton are as thick as thieves. Just as,” he added, “Danton was with Dumouriez.”
“Odious runt,” Danton said. “Isn’t it enough for him to have his creatures all over the War Office, and his so-called newspaper distributed to the troops?”
He asserted himself at the Jacobin Club; won some applause. As he quit the rostrum, Robespierre rose to speak. “No one,” he told the club, “has the right to voice the least breath of criticism against Danton. Anyone who seeks to discredit him must first prove a match for him in energy, forcefulness and patriotic zeal.”
More applause; some members rose to their feet. Danton was cheered; sprawled on the bench,
sans
cravat and badly shaven, he inclined his head. Robespierre was cheered; patting his cuffs into place—a gesture like some ersatz Sign of the Cross—he bobbed his head to his admirers and gave the club his diffident smile. Then—presumably for simply existing—Citizen Camille was applauded. This is what he likes, isn’t it? He was back center stage, the sweetheart of the Revolution, the
enfant terrible
whose whims will always be indulged. Presumably somewhere on the benches skulked Renaudin the violin maker, with his memorable right hook; but for the moment the only danger was the enthusiasm of the patriots, ambushing him with bear hugs. For the second time, he found himself crushed against Maurice Duplay’s shoulder. He thought of the first time, when he had his precarious escape from Babette.
sans
cravat and badly shaven, he inclined his head. Robespierre was cheered; patting his cuffs into place—a gesture like some ersatz Sign of the Cross—he bobbed his head to his admirers and gave the club his diffident smile. Then—presumably for simply existing—Citizen Camille was applauded. This is what he likes, isn’t it? He was back center stage, the sweetheart of the Revolution, the
enfant terrible
whose whims will always be indulged. Presumably somewhere on the benches skulked Renaudin the violin maker, with his memorable right hook; but for the moment the only danger was the enthusiasm of the patriots, ambushing him with bear hugs. For the second time, he found himself crushed against Maurice Duplay’s shoulder. He thought of the first time, when he had his precarious escape from Babette.
“What are you looking so worried for?” Danton asked him.
“I’m worried about preserving this accord between you.” He made a small gesture, to show how he was preserving it; it seemed to be the size of a hen’s egg, and as fragile.
L
ate August, conscription came in, and General Custine
(ci-devant
Comte de Custine) lost his head; it encouraged the others. On the 26th Elisabeth Duplay married Deputy Philippe Lebas: a young man who was decidedly not handsome, but who was a good republican, and who had a pleasant, loyal, steadfast nature. “At last!” Camille said. “What a
relief!” Robespierre was surprised. He approved of the match, true; but she’s only seventeen, he said.
ate August, conscription came in, and General Custine
(ci-devant
Comte de Custine) lost his head; it encouraged the others. On the 26th Elisabeth Duplay married Deputy Philippe Lebas: a young man who was decidedly not handsome, but who was a good republican, and who had a pleasant, loyal, steadfast nature. “At last!” Camille said. “What a
relief!” Robespierre was surprised. He approved of the match, true; but she’s only seventeen, he said.
The queues outside the bakers’ shops grew restive. Bread was cheap, but there wasn’t much of it, and it was poor stuff. The Montagnard deputy Chabot took issue with Robespierre about the new constitution; he waved documents in his face. “It fails to abolish beggary from the Republic. It fails to assure bread to those who have none.”
Robespierre was stopped in his tracks. This was the dearest wish of his heart: to ensure bread to those who had none. Every aim apart from this could be picked to pieces, hacked apart, assassinated. Surely this aim was simple, achievable? Yet he could not address the larger problem, because of all the petty problems that got in the way. He said, “I wish I could do that. I wish the poor would be no longer with us. But we are working within the bounds of possibility.”
“You mean that the Committee, with all the powers we have given It—
“You have given the Committee some powers and many more problems, you have charged us with questions we can’t possibly answer. You have given us—for instance—a conscript army to provision. You expect everything from the Committee, and yet you’re jealous of its powers. If I could produce a miracle of loaves and fishes, I suppose you’d say we’d exceeded our mandate.” He raised his voice, for those around to hear. “If there’s no bread, blame the English blockade. Blame the conspirators.”
He walked away. He had never liked Chabot. He tried not to be prejudiced by the fact that Chabot looked, as everyone said, like a turkey: red, mottled, swelling. He had once been a Capuchin friar. It was hard to imagine him obedient to his vows: poverty, chastity. He and Deputy Julien were members of a committee formed to stamp out illegal speculation. Put there, Robespierre supposed, on the principle of setting a thief to … Julien was a friend of Danton, unfortunately. He thought of that egg cradled between Camille’s narrow palms. They said that Chabot was thinking of marrying. She was a Jewess, sister of two bankers called Frei; at least, they claimed that was their name, and that they were refugees from the Hapsburgs. After the marriage, Chabot would be a rich man.
“You dislike foreigners on principle,” Camille said to him.
“It doesn’t seem a bad principle to have, when we are at war with the rest of Europe. What do they want in Paris, all these Englishmen and Austrians and Spaniards? They must have loyalties elsewhere. Just businessmen, people say. What sort of business, I ask myself. Why should
they stay here, to be paid in worthless paper and to be at the dictates of the sansculottes? In this city the women who do laundry fix the price of soap.”
they stay here, to be paid in worthless paper and to be at the dictates of the sansculottes? In this city the women who do laundry fix the price of soap.”
“Well, why do you think?”
“Because they’re spies, saboteurs.”
“You don’t understand finance, do you?”
“No. I can’t understand everything.”
“There is often a lot of money to be made out of deteriorating situations.”
“Cambon is our government’s financial expert. He should explain things to me. I will remind him.”
“But you’ve already formed your conclusions. And I suppose you will agree to imprisoning these people on suspicion.”
“Enemy aliens.”
“Yes, you say that now—but will it stop there? Every internment law perverts justice.”
“You must see—”
“I know,” Camille said. “National Emergency, extraordinary measures. You can’t say I’ve been soft on our opponents. I’ve never flinched—and incidentally, why are you delaying the trial of Brissot’s people—but what is the point of combating the tyrants of Europe if we behave like tyrants ourselves? What is the point of any of it?”
“Camille, this isn’t tyranny—these powers we are taking, we may never need to use them, or not for more than a few months. It’s for our self-preservation, our survival as a nation. You say you have never flinched, but I’ve flinched—I flinch all the time. Do you think I’m bloodthirsty? I thought you would have trusted me to do the right thing.”
“I do—yes, I think I do. But do you control the Committee, or are you just their public front?”
“How could I control them?” He threw his hands out. “I’m not a dictator.”
“You affect surprise,” Camille observed. “If you are not in control, is Saint-Just leading you by the nose? I ask you this to remind you not to let your grasp on events slip. And if I do think it is tyranny, I shall tell you. I have the right.”
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