A Place of Greater Safety: A Novel

a separate assembly. They don’t accept it. They ask the two other Estates to come back and join them. Nobility and Clergy refuse. Deadlock.

“So whatever I say next, write it down.”

The Genevan slaves sat about with scraps of paper resting on books propped on their knees. The Comte’s papers covered every surface that might have been used as a writing desk. From time to time they exchanged glances, like the knowing veteran revolutionaries they were. The Comte strode about, gesturing with a sheaf of notes. He was wearing his crimson dressing-gown, and the rings on his big hairy hands caught the candlelight and flashed fire into the airless room. It was 1 a.m. Teutch came in.

TEUTCH: Monsieur …

MIRABEAU: Out.

[Teutch draws the door closed behind him.]

MIRABEAU: So, the Nobility don’t wish to join us. They have voted against our proposal—by a clear hundred votes. The Clergy don’t wish to join us, but their voting was, am I right, 133 to 114?

GENEVANS: You are right.

MIRABEAU: So that’s close. That tells us something.

[He begins to pace. The Genevans scribble. It is 2:15 a.m. Teutch comes in.]

TEUTCH: Monsieur, there is a man here with a very hard name who has been waiting to see you since eleven o’clock.

MIRABEAU: What do you mean, a hard name?

TEUTCH: I can’t understand what it is.

MIRABEAU: Well, get him to write it down on a piece of paper and bring it in, can’t you, imbecile?

[Teutch goes out.]

MIRABEAU [digressing]: Necker. What is Necker, in the Lord’s name? What are his qualifications for office? What in the name of God makes him look so good? I’ll tell you what it is—the fellow has no debts, and no mistresses. Can that be what the public wants these days—a Swiss pinch-penny, with no balls? No, Dumont, don’t write that down.

DUMONT: You make yourself sound envious of Necker, Mirabeau. Of his position as minister.

[2:45 a. m. Teutch comes in with a slip of paper. Mirabeau takes it from him in passing and puts it in his pocket.]

MIRABEAU: Forget Necker. Everybody will, anyway. Return to the point. It seems, then, that the Clergy are our best hope. If we can persuade them to join us …

[At 3:15 he takes the slip of paper out of his pocket.]

MIRABEAU: De Robespierre. Yes, it is a peculiar name … . Now, everything depends on those nineteen priests. I must have a speech that will not only invite them to join us, but will inspire them to join us—no commonplace speech, but a great speech. A speech that will set their interest and duty plainly before them.

DUROVERAY: And one that will cover the name of Mirabeau in eternal glory, just by the way.

MIRABEAU: There is that.

[Teutch comes in.]

MIRABEAU: Oh, good heavens, am I to endure you walking in and out and slamming the door every two minutes? Is M. de Robespierre still here?

TEUTCH: Yes, Monsieur.

MIRABEAU: How very patient he must be. I wish I had that kind of patience. Well, make the good deputy a cup of chocolate, Teutch, out of your Christian charity, and tell him I will see him soon.

[4:30 a. m. Mirabeau talks. Occasionally he pauses in front of a mirror to try out the effect of a gesture. M. Dumont has fallen asleep.]

MIRABEAU: M. de Robinpere still here?

[5:00 a. m. The leonine brow clears.]

MIRABEAU: My thanks, my thanks to you all. How can I ever thank you enough? The combination, my dear Duroveray, of your erudition, my dear Dumont, of your—snores—of all your singular talents, welded together by my own genius as an orator—

[Teutch sticks his head around the door.]

TEUTCH: Finished, have you? He’s still here, you know.

MIRABEAU: Our great work is concluded. Bring him in, bring him in.

[Dawn is breaking behind the head of the deputy from Arras as he steps into the stuffy little room. The tobacco smoke stings his eyes. He feels at a disadvantage, because his clothes are creased and his gloves are soiled; he should have gone home to change. Mirabeau, in greater disarray, examines him—young, anemic, tired. De Robespierre has to concentrate to smile, holding out a small hand with bitten nails. Bypassing the hand, Mirabeau touches him lightly on the shoulder.]

MIRABEAU: My dear M. Robispere, take a seat. Oh—is there one?

DE ROBESPIERRE: That’s all right, I’ve been sitting for quite a time.

MIRABEAU: Yes, I’m sorry about that. The pressure of business …

DE ROBESPIERRE: That’s all right.

MIRABEAU: I’m sorry. I try to be available to any deputy who wants me.

DE ROBESPIERRE: I really won’t keep you long.

[Stop apologizing, Mirabeau says to himself. He doesn’t mind; he’s just said he doesn’t mind.]

MIRABEAU: Is there anything in particular, M. de Robertspierre?

[The deputy takes some folded papers from his pocket. He hands them to Mirabeau.]

DE ROBESPIERRE: This is the text of a speech I hope to make tomorrow.

I wondered if you’d look at it, give me your comments? Though it’s rather long, I know, and you probably want to go to bed …?

MIRABEAU: Of course I’ll look at it. It’s really no trouble. The subject of your speech, M. de Robespere?

DE ROBESPIERRE: My speech invites the Clergy to join the Third Estate.

[Mirabeau wheels round. His fist closes on the papers. Duroveray puts his head in his hands and groans unobtrusively. But when the Comte turns again to face de Robespierre, his features are composed and his voice is like satin.]

MIRABEAU: M. de Robinpere, I must congratulate you. You have fixed on the very point which should occupy us tomorrow. We must ensure the success of this proposal, must we not?

DE ROBESPIERRE: Certainly.

MIRABEAU: But does it occur to you that other members of our assembly might have fixed on the same point?

DE ROBESPIERRE: Well, yes, it would be odd if no one had. That’s why I came to see you, I imagined you