A Place of Greater Safety: A Novel

“Well yes, I think it is really.”

“Despite his abilities?”

“People do not respect writers, do they? They think it is one of those things they can do without. Like money.”

“I don’t think political journalists are expected to sacrifice much for their art. Except veracity. Still, this is trivial.”

“I don’t think so. We have never had a discussion before.”

“Well, perhaps it is not trivial, but I have not time for it.” The Revolution, he thought, is suddenly full of disputatious women. Here is this white-skinned beauty, who has equipped herself with a whole repertoire of her husband’s mannerisms; and one hears tales of that gawk Eleonore Duplay; one hears of Danton’s child bride. Fools to themselves, he thinks; the way to save your neck is to keep out of it, and as women they have an excuse for doing so. “However it comes about,” he said, “it seems that your husband could not let Barnave go to his death without speaking with him. He came to the Conciergerie just as Barnave was about to step into the tumbrel. I was out of earshot, and I took care to remain so. Yet I could not help but notice that your husband showed the liveliest distress and regret at the proper punishment of this traitor.”

“Citizen Fouquier, may one not show distress and regret at the death of a man one has known in happier times? Is there a law to forbid it?”

Fouquier looked at her appraisingly. “I saw them embrace,” he said. “I could not stop myself from seeing it. Of course, I did not put any construction on it. I shall remind them to tie people’s hands, I cannot think how it was omitted. It is really not a matter of what is permitted. It is a matter of how things appear. Many people would not be able to help putting a construction on such a display of friendship towards a traitor.”

“Have you a heart?” she asked in a low voice.

“I do my job, my dear,” he said swiftly. “Now you tell my little cousin from me that his attitude is very dangerous. Whatever he is misguided enough to feel, he cannot afford these extravagant displays of sentimentality.”

“Why should he hide his pity?”

“Because he is compromising his friends. If those friends wish to change their policies, no doubt they would like to say so for themselves.”

“I think you may hear them say so, before long.” I should not have said that, she thought; but he makes me angry, his long face, his hypocrisy. He only worries that he may be out of a job.

Fouquier smiled bleakly. “If they speak in concert, I shall be surprised. Any relaxation of Terror will split the Committee. It is only the Committee that is holding things together—the revenue, the armies, the food supplies.”

“The composition of the Committee could be changed.”

“Indeed? Is that Danton’s plan.”

“Are you spying for someone?”

Fouquier shook his head. “I am no one’s agent. I am the agent of the law. All the conspiracies pass through my hands. The Committee, you know, draws its present unity from being conspired against. I do not know what would happen if the policy of believing in conspiracies were changed. Also, some of the members are by now quite naturally attached to it as an institution. The war, of course, is the major reason for the Committee’s existence. And they say Danton wants peace.”

“So does Robespierre. He’s always wanted it.”

“Ah, but can they work together? Robespierre would demand the sacrifice of Lacroix and Fabre. Danton would not agree to work with Saint-Just. So it goes. Praising each other is all very well. Let us see how they manage when they get to the stage beyond praise.”

“It is a grim outlook then, cousin,” she said lightly.

“All my outlooks are grim,” Fouquier said. “Perhaps it’s the nature of my work.”

“What would you advise my husband to do? I mean, supposing he were inclined to take your advice?”

They both smiled; seeing, separately, the unlikelihood of this. Fouquier considered for a moment. “I think I would advise him to do exactly as Robespierre says—nothing less, and certainly nothing more.

There was a pause. Lucile was disturbed; he had put, for the first time, certain possibilities into her head. Surprising herself, she asked, “Do you think Robespierre can survive?”

“Do you mean, do I think he is too good to live?” Fouquier stood up. “I don’t make predictions. It’s enough to make a person suspect.” He kissed her cheek, in the manner of an uncle with a little girl. “Concentrate on surviving yourself, my love. I do.”

DANTON [in the National Convention]: We must punish traitors, but we must distinguish between error and crime. The will of the people is that Terror should be the order of the day, but it must be directed against the real enemies of the Republic and against them alone. A man whose only fault is lack of revolutionary vigor should not be treated as a criminal.

DEPUTY FAYAU: Danton has, unintentionally I’m sure, employed certain expressions that I find offensive. At a time when the people need to harden their hearts, Danton has asked them to show mercy.

MONTAGNARDS: He didn’t! He didn’t!

PRESIDENT: Order!

DANTON: I did not use that word. I did not suggest showing leniency to criminals. I ask for vigorous action against them. I denounce conspirators!

In the Luxembourg, the ex-Capuchin Chabot declined to let the state of the nation weigh on his spirits. He missed his little bride, it was true—but one must sleep, drink, eat. On November 17 he had bread, soup, four cutlets, a chicken, a pear and some grapes. On the 18th, bread and soup, boiled beef and six larks. On the 19th he omitted the larks and instead ordered a partridge. On December 7, another partridge; next day, a chicken cooked with truffles.