The Rising Storm

This question of formulating a Constitution had naturally been one of the first matters with which the Assembly had concerned itself. The King had long been willing to grant one and, if he had had the courage of his convictions, he could have saved himself infinite trouble by doing so in '87 or '88. Then, practically any Charter ensuring the people reasonable liberties would have put an end to all serious agitations for reform. Even after the States General met, had he possessed an ounce of resolution he could still have taken matters out of their hands, and by giving the people a permanent voice in the government of the country retained the whole executive power himself. But his policy of drift had now landed him in a situation where he was not to be allowed any say in the matter at all; and as the year '89 drew to a close a succes­sion of debates in the Assembly showed an ever- increasing tendency to leave the King as nothing but a puppet to be paraded for the amusement of the people on State occasions.

Owing to the innumerable problems that confronted the Assembly, and the impossibility of its hearing all the deputies who wished to speak, it had adopted the wise course of appointing a number of Committees to look into various matters and report upon them. On the very day of the fall of the Bastille a Committee had been set up to draft the Constitution, its members being: the Archbishop of Bordeaux, the Bishop of Autun, Counts Lally-Tollendal and Clermont-Tonnerre; Mounier, Sieyes, Le Chapelier and Bergasse. They had laboured for two months, but by the time they produced their recom­mendations public opinion had so far outstripped them that all the most important clauses in their draft were rejected. Another Committee had then been appointed, this time consisting entirely of members of the Third Estate with the one exception of the Bishop, and, gifted as Monsieur de Talleyrand-Perigord might be, he could hardly be con­sidered as a typical representative of the clergy. He had in fact, two days before Roger left for Naples, actually proposed and carried through the Assembly a motion that all Church property should be confiscated and sold for the benefit of the State.

Roger was greatly interested in this question of the Constitution, because he was shrewd enough to see that, in its final form, it would decree the manner in which all vital decisions were to be taken by the French Government in future. If France was to continue as a monarchy —and that was clearly still the wish of 95 per cent, of her population— the King must be left with some functions, otherwise it was pointless to retain him. But would he be left, for example, with the power to make war or peace without the consent of the Assembly? That was the type of knowledge which, should a sudden international crisis arise, would prove invaluable to Mr. Pitt; and it was Roger's business to obtain it.

In the last days of November and the first half of December Roger dined or supped with a number of interesting people—the Monarchist leader Cazales, the clever anti-Monarchist lawyer Barnave and the fiery young journalist Camille Desmoulins among them—but he had been disappointed in his efforts to secure more than a few words at any one time with his old friend, the now extremely busy Bishop of Autun. As de Perigord was one of the only three men who had served on the Committee of the Constitution since its inception, and therefore in an almost unique position to talk about it with authority, Roger decided that he must somehow get him to give him an evening. So one morning he tackled the lame prelate as he was about to enter the Chamber, and said with a smile:

'Monsieur l’Eveque, I never thought I would have to reproach you on the score of hospitality; yet I feel the time has come when I have some right to do so.'

'Indeed !' exclaimed the Bishop, raising a quizzical eyebrow. 'And why, pray, may I ask?'

'It was June when you promised to arrange for me to meet Monsieur de Mirabeau at dinner, and here we are in December; but you have not done so yet.'

'Well, well!' De Perigord murmured. 'The distractions of a changing world must serve as the excuse for my forgetfulness. But by a lucky chance de Mirabeau is pledged to dine with me on Saturday next. We have some private business we wish to discuss after dinner; but if you would not take it ill of me in asking you to make some excuse to leave us early I should be delighted if you will join us for the meal.'

Roger was enchanted with this opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. He had met the Comte de Mirabeau several times in '87, at the famous breakfasts that de Perigord used to give for talented men of Liberal views; but in the present year he had found the now famous deputy much too occupied to acknowledge their acquaintance when they met by more than a smile and a brief greeting. It had been only as an excuse to secure a good long talk with de Perigord that he had mentioned de Mirabeau's name, but Fortune was now favouring him with the chance to talk on terms of intimacy with both these intellectual giants at the same sitting.

On the Saturday, feeling that his promise to leave soon after dinner justified his arriving early, he was at the wicket gate of the charming little house at Passy by a quarter to four. The first snow of the year had fallen, but the garden path was neatly swept; and within a few moments of knocking on the door he was standing in front of the bright wood-fire in the sitting-room.

Having greeted his host he remarked: 'Is it not positively fantastic to consider the changes that have occurred in France since I was last in this room; and that less than eight months ago ?'

De Perigord smiled. 'At least there no longer exists a Bastille for the Queen to pop you into, and lettres de cachet are quite gone out of fashion.'

Roger suppressed a start. He had completely forgotten the lie he had told on his last visit there; but fortunately the Bishop failed to notice his guilty flush, as he was fiddling with his snuff-box before offering it. As he did so, he went on: 'Joking apart, though, there have been changes enough, and in my opinion far too many.'

'It surprises me to hear you say so,' Roger replied, accepting a pinch with a little bow. 'I thought you firmly set upon overturning the old order.'

'Rehabilitating rather than overturning,' corrected de Perigord mildly. 'I pride myself somewhat upon being a realist; and it was clear to most of us who used to meet here at my little breakfasts in the old days that the Court were living in a land of make-believe. I wished to bring them down to earth with a full realization of their responsibilities; but it was far from my desire to witness the degradation to which the monarchy has been subject in these past few months.'

'Since we have always spoken frankly,' Roger said a little diffi­dently, 'you will forgive me if I remark that Your Grace's name ranks high among those who have brought the degradation of the Monarch about.'

De Perigord gave him a swift calculating look. 'That is fair com­ment upon my public acts. My only desire is to serve France, and if I am to do so I must continue to swim with the tide. But my private hopes for the outcome of events in this momentous year were very different. As far back as last July, on the day the Bastille fell, so per­turbed was I by the course matters were taking that I went secretly, in the middle of the night, to the Comte d'Artois and woke him in his bed.'

For a moment the Bishop paused, then, with a flutter of his lace handkerchief, he went on: 'For the King I have nothing but con­tempt, and I regard the Comte de Provence as a treacherous and pompous fool; but I am not altogether without respect for the younger of the three brothers. I told His Highness that, in my opinion, owing to the King's mental cowardice, matters had already been allowed to go far beyond the point at which all reasonable reformers aimed, and that the monarchy was in grave danger. I added that the only way to save it was for the King to dissolve the National Assembly—by force if need be—and to march on Paris with his troops. I implored him to tell the King that this was his last chance; and that if he failed to act, in another twenty-four hours it would be too late. His Highness was so impressed with my earnestness that he at once got up, dressed and went to the King. No doubt His Majesty made his usual promise that he would 'think it over’. In any case, he did not take my advice; but it is not my fault that he is where he is now.'

Roger had been staring at his friend in astonishment, and he exclaimed: 'Knowing as I do your animosity to the Sovereigns, I think the step you took does you great credit.'

'Mon ami, I do not care a rap for the Sovereigns, but I did and do care a very great deal for the future of my country.'

'That I have always realized; yet I have always regarded Your Grace as a cautious man, and in this instance you took an extraordinary risk. Were your act to become known your colleagues in the Assembly would tear you to pieces.'

The Bishop shrugged. 'Only one man could prove it—Monsieur d'Artois himself. It may even be that should he ever ascend the throne of France as Charles X he will recall my warning, and in some similar emergency seek my advice with a mind to put it to better account.'

With extraordinary prescience Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-Perigord was at that moment looking into the future; for a quarter of a century later, after the Napoleonic Empire had waxed and waned, Charles d'Artois returned to France to take over the Kingdom for his elder brother. In all those years the two had never met; but the