As the first snowflake drifted down from the Parisian sky, Robespierre returned once more to the revolutionary holy land of Europe—also his political homeland—bringing with him his brother Augustin and his sister Charlotte.

  Robespierre first went to the Duplay household. With the landlady’s help, he settled the two younger siblings and their luggage; thereafter, he sat quietly in his bedroom to rest for a moment, thinking through certain interlinked questions, and insisting that no one was to disturb him. According to the original plan, he would invite Pétion, Danton, Brissot, and André—four high-ranking Jacobin revolutionary comrades—to meet at a café on Peacock Street, to resolve their (serious) differences on certain issues.

  Yet after sitting in silence for a short while, Robespierre abandoned the idea. He wished to understand the situation in Paris first and prepare accordingly, rather than firing at someone rashly and leaving relations among friends beyond repair. The men he trusted at present, Couthon and Carnot, were both in session at the Legislative Assembly and could not return any time soon.

  Pétion, however, had ample time, because most affairs at the Paris City Hall were handled by Danton. Thus the handsome “King Pétion” had a daily routine: wearing a lavishly decorated broad-brimmed ceremonial hat and a black tailcoat with the tricolour sash slung diagonally across his chest, he would appear—smiling from beginning to end—at every sort of social venue in Paris, including, of course, the Assembly, the ministries, and the palace.

  Though the journey had been tiring, Robespierre, after settling his siblings, resolved to leave his room. On the street near the Tuileries, the stubborn man from Arras easily chanced upon Pétion’s carriage, and gladly accepted the Mayor of Paris’s invitation to dine at his home.

  As the foremost official of the kingdom’s capital, Pétion’s residence lay on the Champs-élysées in the wealthy western quarter of Paris: a typical Parisian mansion, with private gardens in front and behind, a broad carriage court, and an enormous salon that seemed almost exaggerated. The dinner prepared for him was even more sumptuous. Though only two men were dining, and even without counting desserts and wines, the servants presented nearly twenty delicate dishes—among which caviar with foie gras and baked escargots whetted Robespierre’s appetite.

  During the meal, Robespierre’s conversation with Pétion was simple and relaxed; the guest did not take the initiative to discuss the major political events of the day. Robespierre regarded the Mayor of Paris as a crucial role, yet felt that “Pétion’s soul remained as simple and pure as ever”—a man with no guile at all, a typical moderate and agreeable gentleman. The sole notable information he obtained was that Louis XVI, at the Queen’s urging, had chosen the radical Comte de Narbonne to replace Duportail, who did not support a foreign war, as the next Minister of War.

  “As far as I know, General Narbonne is Lafayette’s friend?” Robespierre asked.

  “General Narbonne is also the friend of Brissot and Condorcet,” Pétion explained, and then laughed. “Except André—because he had publish a detective tale that drove the General’s mistress, Madame de Sta?l, out of Paris. She only returned from Geneva a few days ago.”

  Robespierre fell silent. As for Pétion’s latter bit of gossip, he simply filtered it out. He was thinking only of one question: how could an aristocratic General—close to the principal leaders of the Constitutionalists, and a confidant of the Jacobin core—receive the enthusiastic recommendation of Queen Antoinette, whose intentions were anything but benign? Everyone in Paris knew that the Austrian woman hated Lafayette most of all, and loathed republicans just as much.

  “There must be a plot in this,” Robespierre quickly concluded.

  Leaving Pétion’s mansion, Robespierre hurried straight to the Jacobin Club. The moment he entered, the entire membership welcomed him with the warmest applause, escorting him to the front row and seating him in the only chair in the hall—the chair reserved for the Club’s president. In other words, from this moment on, Robespierre would serve, for the next fifteen days, as president of the Jacobin Club.

  Yet in the course of the meeting, Robespierre suddenly discovered that most members were loudly supporting Brissot’s call for a “war of liberation” against Europe, and that those opposed were plainly a tiny minority. This balance of voices left Robespierre deeply disheartened, though he could do nothing about it.

  By the time he returned home from the Club, it was already late at night. Robespierre found Couthon and Carnot still waiting for him in the sitting room on the second floor, and he recounted to his two friends what he had seen and heard.

  At one point, Robespierre even stood up and cried out, “Is war truly about to come? Are Brissot and his friends truly unstoppable? Do all the free people of Paris really agree to cheer for the false party’s untrustworthy promises?”

  He also began to reproach Couthon and Carnot. “Gentlemen, you are Representatives of the People. You must pull France back from the edge of the cliff of war. Now I can be entirely certain that France is surrounded by three hostile forces: foreign enemies, domestic disorder, and religious power. All three threaten the fruits of the Revolution at every hour, and the Constitutionalists’ ministers are no more to be trusted! And in Paris there is yet a most terrible enemy—rebels concealed among the people. Who are they?”

  Couthon answered: Brissot, Condorcet, and the deputies from the département of Gironde. Robespierre agreed. Ever since the republicans had been slaughtered at the Champ de Mars, Robespierre had not trusted Brissot or Condorcet; he even suspected that Brissot had secretly sold the republicans to Lafayette—this, he believed, was what brought about the tragedy in the square.

  Louis XVI and the Queen did not advocate war in good faith. They meant to invite the wolf into the house: to welcome foreign interventionists, let them defeat the armed forces of the revolutionary party, and then occupy Paris and strangle the republican cause in its cradle. As for Brissot and his supporters, their feverish promotion of the foreign war the Tuileries desired was merely an attempt to seize state power by clever means—yet this criminal method would drive the Revolution into an extremely perilous realm.

  Carnot then mentioned that André and Danton were also among Brissot’s friends. Robespierre demanded that Carnot immediately forget those accusations against André and Danton, because such talk was dangerous and reckless.

  As for André’s provincial power, there was no need to elaborate. At present, half the Paris police served him; it was said that after Lafayette withdrew to the countryside, André had spared no effort to buy and win over several senior officers of the Paris National Guard. As for Danton, the former son of a Champagne peasant had already become the Prosecutor of Paris. In theory, Danton could arrest anyone who was not of the royal household, not a cabinet minister, and not a deputy.

  Robespierre explained, “I know Georges Danton. He will not rashly support a war he does not understand; he merely does not oppose it. He is, through and through, a moderate who plays all sides. I do not much like moderates, but they are not enemies—at least, not yet. As for André, the situation is more complicated; for the moment I will not comment. And Couthon, my friend—do me one thing. Tomorrow, in my name, invite André at the Legislative Assembly. Tell him Maximilien has returned to Paris and will treat him to lunch at the Mediterranean restaurant, at 1 p.m. Heh—I even heard in Arras of André’s bad habit of leaving the chamber early.”

  …

  Long before Robespierre passed through the gates of Paris, André already knew. Out of regard for history, André had always viewed “L’Incorruptible” as the greatest threat of his life—but not an enemy, at least not yet. Thus the Military Intelligence Office dispatched two teams, rotating day and night, to keep close watch on every movement of Robespierre and his friends. To prevent discovery, all team members were replaced every three months. After replacement, the surveillance personnel were invariably assigned abroad for at least three years before they could return to France.

  At times, André grew weary of this political game and thought of eliminating every uncertainty and making himself the supreme leader. Yet it was no more than a thought. André had many friends and substantial influence, but he faced more enemies still—open and hidden—and the foreign interventionists were stronger.

  Once he lost the ability to judge what he would meet in the future, André would feel himself worthless. He knew well that without Brissot, without Robespierre, without Danton, without Marat, without Saint-Just—without those revolutionaries ready to die, to rouse the people, call the people, guide the people, mobilize the people, and within half a year arm 600,000 men against the anti-French coalition—he would never wager on a republican victory.

  In short, André believed he still needed to endure and bide his time for a considerable period, until the second stage of the great plan could be smoothly accomplished.

  Therefore, when he received the luncheon invitation from Robespierre, relayed by Couthon, André accepted gladly. Fortunately, Robespierre chose to dine in the Mediterranean restaurant—elegant in setting and excellent in food—rather than some cheap tavern on filthy Peacock Street with sewage running through it.

  It must be said that Robespierre spent no small sum on this invitation; one needed only look at the dishes to understand: bouillabaisse, pan-seared foie gras, Paris lobster, pheasant in red wine, chicken sautéed in saffron, and calf’s liver steak. The wine was a classic Champagne from 1777, and the desserts were macarons and mousse cake.

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  After eating and drinking his fill, André gave a satisfied belch, dabbed gently at the remnants on his lips with his napkin, and waited in silence for Robespierre to bring the conversation to its true point.

  At this moment, the restaurant’s proprietress quietly set to work. She swiftly hung a sign at the door announcing a temporary closure, and then, without drawing attention, guided the other patrons to seats far away from the two deputies.

  When Robespierre laid his used napkin on the table, the proprietress came over in person to clear away the remains; at the end, she left a pot of hot cocoa for the two distinguished guests.

  “André—you know my character. I have always opposed meaningless war, especially a foreign war of conquest that secretly borrows the pretext of liberating Europe,” Robespierre said slowly, laying out his view.

  Noticing André adding sugar cubes into the cocoa pot, he paused, then continued. “War not only brings food shortages; the supply of cocoa and sugar would likewise be guaranteed by nothing. Half a year ago, you warned me that France must not be drawn into war within the next two years without preparation—because weapons take time to manufacture, and soldiers require regular training… We are not Don Quixote, charging an enemy armed to the teeth with nothing but a spear. Yet today you support Brissot’s European war doctrine in the Legislative Assembly. Is that not a contradiction? Or has something in your thinking undergone a major change?”

  André bore Robespierre’s angry reproach without answering at once. He leaned back in his chair, calm and patient, waiting for the other man to finish.

  “…And now—to whom are you handing the responsibility for directing the war? To the King’s cabinet, which holds executive power? That is nothing but entrusting the safety of the state to those intent on your failure. From this we know that the event we fear most is war… The Tuileries mean to force you into a situation by which they may enlarge the court’s power. Louis XVI and his circle hope for defeat in war, so that we will have no choice but surrender. Wake up, André! Make Brissot and his people put away their lies of war—do not fall into the Tuileries’ trap!”

  “We are quite awake, Maximilien. This one is yours,” André said, sliding his cup of cocoa toward Robespierre, urging him to drink it while it was hot, lest it cool and be wasted.

  From beginning to end, André showed neither resentment nor shame; he remained composed. This pleased the president of the Jacobin Club. In his heart, Robespierre did not wish to break completely with this left-wing ally—not only because he was wary of the man’s power, but more because for more than two years André’s judgments and predictions of political developments had never been off by the slightest degree.

  Though in every public setting Robespierre did not much believe the rumours concerning the God-Favoured, in the depths of his heart he remained a concealed mystic, attributing all inexplicable phenomena to God, to Heaven, or to the God of Nature (Rousseau’s term for God) working a hidden hand.

  André, in a soothing tone, continued. “You have stated it very clearly: half a year ago I opposed a European war—but plans never keep pace with change. Do you remember that afternoon in November 1789, when we first formally met in the Assembly hall, and you asked me how I viewed the protests of the unemployed workers in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine?”

  Robespierre nodded; he remembered it well. “Yes. You said it was because the aristocrats, fearing for their safety, fled Paris, causing the consumer base for luxury goods to keep shrinking. I agreed with that, but I did not accept your conclusion—economic foundations determine political direction!”

  André smiled. He knew Robespierre’s stubbornness, and had never expected to persuade him from the outset. He was merely easing the tension by recalling their past dealings, and did not wish to make the conflict public.

  “Whether economics governs politics or politics governs economics is not the point. The point is how to resolve the social turmoil that erupts when the two fall out of alignment. You returned to Arras and learned the reality beyond Paris: urban aristocrats fleeing abroad; country priests inciting the people against the Constitution; the urban economy in depression, with many unemployed at home and mouths to feed; and the agricultural harvest also poor, with bread riots everywhere.”

  Robespierre admitted that what André said was fact; indeed, what he himself had seen might well have been even more severe. After all, the economic condition of the Channel departments was far worse than that of the Marne, which had the United Investment Company.

  André set his empty cocoa cup aside and went on. “You know that I have extensive cooperation with the Academy of Sciences. And this cooperation is not limited to industry, agriculture, and technological innovation; it also includes the humanities and the field of political economy. Between May and October of this year, Academician Condorcet took the lead and had men conduct an economic statistical survey across eighty-three départements, and they reached an extremely discouraging result.

  “If things continue to run by inertia as they are, the economy of all France will collapse entirely before June 1792. In Paris alone, 120,000 to 150,000 people will lose their jobs; at least 300,000 will have no money to buy bread, and will be unable to pay rent and fuel. As for what consequences that will bring, you and I both know very well.

  “I grant that in peacetime, if the French people, from top to bottom, unite to change this economic disaster, it would not be too difficult. But the problem now is that around our borders there stands a group of countries not at all friendly—plus a Britain whose attitude is ambiguous. Once the economy wavers and relapses, domestic and foreign reactionary forces will intervene together by force, and everything will descend into chaos. To avoid that, Brissot proposed an offensive foreign war, and I supported him—because war can divert the fiercest domestic contradictions.

  “First, it can ease mutual resentment among all classes at home, shifting attention to the war, and temporarily weakening the people’s focus on internal contradictions. By stirring fervent nationalism, we can create a common hatred of the enemy, and strike every evil force that seeks to strangle the Revolution’s achievements.

  “Second, war can readjust and promote the redistribution of social resources. War consumes on a large scale—not only surplus manpower, but every kind of productive resource. Consumption creates demand for manufacturing, and manufacturing can pull the economy; moreover, victory in a foreign war also means we can seize the large sums of money we urgently need (war indemnities) and various resources (grain, means of production, and so forth), to serve 25,000,000 excellent citizens.”

  There was one sentence André did not say—and could not possibly say aloud: that war could also be used to consume or diminish domestic opposition, sending scheming aristocrats, uncooperative priests, ignorant peasants and their families to the front as cannon fodder, and thus eliminating dissenters “legally.”

  Precisely because of André’s support for Brissot’s foreign war, Brissot and his friends kept silent on the question of the colony of Saint-Domingue. Thereupon, the Legislative Assembly swiftly approved an emergency military aid plan jointly submitted by the cabinet—by the Minister of War, the Minister of the Navy, and the Minister of the Interior:

  Before mid-January 1792, France would dispatch a massive fleet of more than thirty ships—ships of the line, cruisers, supply vessels, and transports—also carrying 6,000 infantry and cavalry and fifty guns, preparing to enter Cap-Fran?ais and Port-au-Prince in March and crush every rebel element in the colony.

  At the proposal of André and others, General Dumouriez, a man born in the overseas colonies, became the expedition’s supreme commander. Since Marquis de Bouillé, burdened with past crimes, had been jointly pardoned by the King and the Assembly in September of this year, the Tuileries instructed the Minister of the Interior to appoint the loyal and courageous Marquis de Bouillé as Governor of Saint-Domingue, and also as deputy commander of the expedition.

  Robespierre had no interest in the ugly matters of the overseas colony; it was not what concerned him. But once André openly revealed the substance beneath the “liberation war” in Europe, Robespierre became deeply displeased. He angrily denounced André and cursed, filled with righteous indignation: “Bastard—this is criminal! That glorious slogan of ‘liberating Europe’ is the most naked slaughter and plunder in human history!”

  André replied with a bland expression, “In human history, every foreign war has been like this—without exception. Rather than starve, we might as well strike outward with all we have. And if we wage a victorious war in the name of the state, in the name of law, in the name of the Revolution, then we are not criminals—we are heroes of the nation.” As he spoke, André discreetly gestured to several bodyguards not far away, signaling them not to come over and interfere.

  “You are certain France can win?” Robespierre countered. He touched and adjusted his wig. In his tone, he had already shifted from “you” to “France,” a sign that his attitude had changed, if only a little, and that he was no longer pressing the attack as harshly.

  André laughed, leaned forward, and lowered his voice. “Heh—let me speak plainly: I have no confidence at all. If we win, all France’s contradictions can be resolved, and we are the great heroes who expand the realm; if we lose, we will all be hanged in the square. Then everything ends, and we need not trouble ourselves with worldly affairs.”

  Silence—silence—and continued silence.

  After roughly ten minutes, Robespierre rose to take his leave. Looking at André, he said, word by word, “I will still oppose Brissot’s foreign war—certainly I will. And you should take care of yourself.”

  André only smiled, saying nothing. He remained seated, watching Robespierre’s figure vanish into the surging crowd on Place Louis XV. Fortunately, the restraint on both sides meant they had not yet torn their relationship apart.

  Robespierre’s final sentence made clear that his firepower remained aimed at Brissot and his circle; he did not wish—or did not yet wish—to drag André into the category of mortal enemy. As for their friendship, it was likely gone from this day forward. At most they might cooperate politically; they could not possibly be intimate revolutionary comrades.

  That night, after Couthon and Carnot finished their work early at the Legislative Assembly, they went to the president’s office at the Jacobin Club to see Robespierre. They also brought with them a new friend: Deputy Tourneur, a representative of the Legislative Assembly and a member of the Interior Affairs Committee.

  As usual, Robespierre embraced two old friends and one new friend in the receiving room, and then briefed all three on the course and substance of his meeting with André.

  Robespierre asked, “What do you think?”

  All three expressed support for Robespierre’s decision. Carnot, in particular, hoped that André could be guarded against in advance. This retired engineer captain explained, “If possible, I would like to plant a piece beside him, so that we can learn André’s true intentions—his timing, his locations, and so on.”

  At this, Robespierre, Couthon, and Carnot all turned their eyes to Tourneur, for the latter belonged to the Interior Affairs Committee, while André was the committee’s executive secretary (its head).

  Tourneur shook his head in distress. “I am sorry, friends. It is not that I am unwilling; it is that the suspicious André does not trust me at all. Major decisions in the Interior Affairs Committee are made by him alone. If you ask me where his confidant is, I would say: in the Diplomatic Committee—the deputy Thuriot from the Marne… Without doubt, that professor from the University of Reims is deeply jealous of his former student’s many achievements.”