mobilize themselves against subversion and imminent attack. When Camille predicted that the monarchy would fall within days, Danton folded his arms, exchanged glances with his nearest colleagues and affected surprise.
“Thank you,” said Pierre Chaumette. “That was what we wanted to hear.”
Rene Hebert nodded to him. He rubbed his fat white hands together, expressing satisfaction with the way things were going.
Outside City Hall there was a big crowd. It cheered deafeningly when Camille came out. Danton dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder, believing that such popularity should be shared around. “This is different from a year ago,” Camille said, “when we were on the run.” He waved to his well-wishers and blew them a kiss. The crowd laughed and jostled and pushed forward to touch him, as if he were lucky, a lucky charm. They threw up their red caps and began to sing the “Ca Ira” in one of its bloodier versions. Then they sang this new song, the “Marseillaise.”
“Strange beasts,” Danton said mildly. “Let’s hope they perform in a week or two.”
The Duke of Brunswick, the commander-in-chief of the allies, issued a document, a manifesto, a statement of intent. He called upon the French people to lay down their arms and offer no resistance to the invading forces, which came to restore proper authority. Any city that resisted would be laid waste. Every deputy, every National Guardsman and every public official in Paris should consider themselves personally responsible for the safety of the King and Queen. If any violence were offered to the royal family, all such persons would be court-martialed as soon as the allies entered Paris—and they need not hope for pardon. If June’s attack on the Tuileries were repeated, the city of Paris would be utterly destroyed, and its inhabitants exterminated by firing squads.
Danton stood with Caroline Remy at an upper window at the Palais-Royal. Below, Camille was reading the allies’ declaration to the crowd. “Isn’t he good?” Caroline said. “I must say, Fabre has done a marvelous job there.”
“Brunswick has given us what we needed,” Danton said. “Tell people that they’re to be shot in mass executions, tell people that the Germans are going to pitch them into mass graves—then what have they got to lose?”
He slipped a hand around Caroline’s waist, and she stroked the back of it with her fingers. Below, the people began to shout, chanting their decision at Europe, wave after wave of hilarity and defiance and rage.
(Zoppi’s, on the rue des Fosses-Saint-Germain. One day in the long history of coffeehouse conspiracy.)
DANTON: I think you all know each other.
LEGENDRE: Get on with it. ’Tisn’t a dinner party.
DANTON: If anyone was in doubt, this is Legendre. This large gentleman’s name is Westermann. He comes from Alsace originally, and we have been acquainted for some time. He is a former army officer.
FABRE [
CAMILLE: Just our sort.
DANTON: This is Antoine Fouquier-Tinville.
LEGENDRE: You remind me of somebody.
DANTON: Fouquier-Tinville is Camille’s cousin.
LEGENDRE: Maybe a very slight resemblance.
FABRE: I don’t see it myself.
HERAULT: Perhaps they’re very distant cousins.
FABRE: You don’t have to look like your relations.
HERAULT: Perhaps he can speak.
FABRE: Perhaps you have an opinion to offer, Camille’s cousin?
FOUQUIER: Fouquier.
HERAULT: Good heavens, you don’t expect us to learn your name? We shall always call you “Camille’s cousin.” It will be easy for us, and humiliating for you.
FRERON [
FABRE: He’s a mass murderer.
FRERON: He’s a satanist.
FABRE: He’s learning poisoning.
HERAULT: And Hebrew.
FRERON: He commits adultery.
HERAULT: He’s a bloody disgrace.
[
FABRE: See? He hasn’t a spark of cousinly feeling.
FRERON: Where’s your family pride?
FOUQUIER [
FRERON: Some of it is true. The adultery, and the Hebrew.
FABRE: He might be a satanist. I saw him talking to de Sade once.
