‘Who does this house belong to?’
‘To one of the many French noblemen living in exile, waiting for Napoleon’s fall. They left all their property and possessions in France. Part of it was pillaged or seized during the Revolution and the period after. But there are still places like this. Vicomte de Leaume lived for two years in London. He made several rich contacts there and he’s kept in touch with them. As a result, he has dozens of keys to hovels like this one. The noblemen sit sipping brandy in their London clubs, perfectly happy to fund the Vicomte’s activities, as long as he’s the one who takes all the risks. If Louis XVIII does become king one day, these generous benefactors will be able to impress His Majesty with the important role they played in the restoration. In fact all they’re sacrificing is some gold and some broken-down shacks they inherited or rented or bought in the early years of the Revolution with the idea of hiding in them or salting away their possessions. If we win, they will receive honorary service charges, rents ... But as for the Vicomte, he can only play with what’s in his hand. His only cards are his ideas, but what’s at stake is his life. He’s well aware of it too, don’t you think? That’s why it was so clever of you to have mentioned your desire to be rewarded! He really drank that in! One Vicomte de Leaume is worth fifty Langeses!’
‘And a hundred Varencourts.’
But Varencourt did not rise to the taunt.
‘Now you know why the Vicomte is head of our organisation —
because he created it and, more especially, because he has access to money, which is after all the sinews of war!’
As they moved further away from the building, they were both relaxing a little.
‘In any case, bravo, you made a good impression on them,’ said Charles de Varencourt.
‘Is that meant to be a joke?’
‘Not at all. They all distrust each other. You have to put yourself in their shoes. Jean-Baptiste de Chatel lost ten members of his family in the Vendee, royalists killed in battle or civilians gunned down in reprisals or massacred by the infernal columns of that criminal of a general, Turreau. Vicomte de Leaume also lost everything: parents, lands, fortune ... In addition, in 1793 he was the leader of a little group of royalists called the Loyalists - they were all arrested. Every day, through the tiny window of his cell, he saw the heads of his companions falling under the blade of the guillotine. He made himself watch, convinced that it would help him vanquish his fear and behave with bravado as he mounted the scaffold. He tried to imagine what he might do to make a lasting impression, something that would get him noticed and that would be a public slap in the face of his enemies. You must have worried him when you cited Danton. No doubt he thought about Danton as he sat in his prison cell. He hated him. But he certainly wanted to emulate him on the day of his death. Danton went up to the executioner and said: “Don’t forget to show my head to the people, it’s well worth seeing.” And the executioner did! Everyone had already forgotten the names of the people who had ordered Danton’s death, but his last words would be remembered for ever. Vicomte de Leaume managed to escape a few hours after he appeared in front of the Revolutionary Tribunal - the tribunal that had, it goes without saying, condemned him to the guillotine. Believe me, when he talks about it, it’s as if it happened yesterday. All that is just to explain that when you know what they have lived through, you cease to wonder at how fanatical they have become. Violence breeds repression, repression breeds violence. To put an end to the vicious circle, perhaps we have to try to forgive, or at least to accept
the past. But it’s so difficult...’
‘And what about you, Charles? What have you lived through?’ Varencourt reared back and clenched his teeth as if he had just been hit and was preparing to retaliate. ‘I won’t answer questions like that!’
‘All right ... Well, here’s another type of question. What proof of loyalty did you give that allowed you to be accepted onto the committee?’
Varencourt pretended to calm down and laughed like a child.
‘You must know that I can’t answer that either. You would have to put it in your report to Joseph and he would fall off his chair.’
Paris was ill lit, although it was worse in other European capitals. They walked by the light of the moon, passing under lamps that had been blown out by the wind or had run out of oil. Margont was trying to control himself, but he was very angry.
‘You said nothing during that trumped-up half-trial!’
Varencourt replied jovially, ‘You were wriggling like a snake, hissing and trying to bite!’
That amuses you?’
“‘I am quick to laugh at everything so as not to have to cry,” said Monsieur de Beaumarchais. If only because he said that, I would have liked to meet him.’
They didn’t tell me about any of their plans!’
‘That’s because they’re cunning. They each know part of the picture. Just because they’ve allowed you in at the top doesn’t mean that they’re going to tell you everything about everything. That would be much too dangerous! Logic dictates that all the members of the committee should know each other - and so they do -otherwise it would have been impossible to take coherent decisions and then to apply them. But they don’t call on you until they think you’re going to increase the chances of a particular plan succeeding. So even I probably don’t know some of the projects that have been submitted to Vicomte de Leaume and I know only about ten of the thirty members of our organisation. Maybe there are even more than that, in fact. Or perhaps fewer... Only Louis de Leaume knows everyone. But he will never let your Joseph take
him alive.’
‘How many times have you met the other members of the committee?’
There is barely a meeting a month, except when we are planning a project. Now stop asking questions. I’ve already told everything I know to the police; look at my reports. From now on well see each other only at group meetings. Leaume told you that we are expressly forbidden to see other members of the group outside the meetings that he himself organises. So you and I will not meet on our own any more.’
‘I’ll be the one to decide that!’
‘No! Listen to me: clearly you have been plunged into a world you don’t understand at all. I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. The main thing is that here you are, still alive. Do you know why Louis de Leaume was almost guillotined? It was because the police spotted one of the Loyalist group. And since the Loyalists were in the habit of meeting up just to have a drink because they were friends, when the police saw one of them, they had them all and they were all arrested. Every one of them! So I repeat: we won’t meet alone again!’
‘You’re hiding something from me!’
‘Don’t worry, everything I find out, I’ll sell.’
‘How can you—’
‘Stop! I won’t debate ethics with you. We would be wasting time. Besides, I would greatly appreciate it if you would stop showing your contempt for me.’
As they were less and less able to bear each other’s company, they separated.
The cramped, miserably furnished room plunged Margont further into despair. He flopped onto the bed and extinguished the candle. The darkness was like straw on the fire of his fear, which immediately flared up. He could not stop thinking about the blade he had been threatened with. He could see it, a luminous line coming through the darkness, making straight for his neck. The more he told himself it was over, the more he pictured the blade.
He could actually feel it against his neck, more vividly than when it had really been there. He decided to fight his reaction. To give himself courage, he ran through his real motivations. To defend republican ideals! Liberty! The Constitution! Equality between men! And so the dirty, dark little room with its imaginary dancing knife was filled with the great, inspiring ideas of the Revolution.