Indeed, on the day Lafayette and the others departed, André stood alone on the roof of the Louvre, watching from afar as that “hero of two worlds” left Paris aboard a river merchant vessel.

  Fairly speaking, among the many “friends” who had offered André help during his rise in Paris, the proud and aloof Lafayette, even if not the first, was at least among the top three. Without his support, André could not have built the first unit loyal to himself, the Champagne Composite Regiment; without his indulgence, André would have struggled to dominate Reims, and he would never have used the King’s flight as that “special incident” to expand his power rapidly across all of the Marne and the Ardennes.

  And yet, two weeks earlier, André had struck his former benefactor and friend with the deadliest blow, leaving the constitutional monarchists without their last pillar. But André was not ungrateful. Over the past year, he had offered Lafayette several excellent opportunities to strike back, both openly and in secret. Unfortunately, the General of the White Horse, unskilled in politics and blind to human nature, squandered every one of them.

  And this—this was politics: deception, intrigue, mutual exploitation, and mutual betrayal, the filthy business of it all. Ridiculous as it was, politics remained one of humanity’s greatest crystallizations of intelligence (the greatest being science).

  Before long, however, Lafayette and the others would have reason to feel fortunate. André’s policy of exile for suspects was, in truth, protection: it spared them and their families from the guillotine, and it also preserved their private property. Even if an estate would inevitably shrink in value during liquidation, it was still far better than confiscation without compensation.

  In a lifetime, a man is either an actor or a spectator.

  In his former life, André had been a spectator for too long, and in the end he had been ruined by “his own side.” Now he would be the master of his fate. He would stage a great drama of his own writing and direction, and he would win the applause of all France—indeed, all Europe. Therefore, everything and everyone out of step with the hour would have to make way.

  André knew that within the Jacobins, some men hid in dark corners and complained that his treatment of political enemies was too merciful. Some even joked that “allowing surrender means losing half.” In fact, André had long since set the premise of his political game: no one was to cross the red line. If anyone truly sought to destroy him and his people in the flesh, André would do worse in return—sending that man, his comrades, and even his family to meet Rousseau, the “god” the Jacobins claimed to worship.

  After seeing Lafayette off, André went downstairs and unexpectedly found Academician Lavoisier standing at the entrance to the staircase on the second floor, looking as though he had been waiting for him. André halted, and Captain Grisel, understanding at once, stood aside as ears and eyes, keeping watch for his superior.

  Lavoisier spoke at once. “Paulze and Marie have gone to Barcelona. It is sunny there all year and there is no cold, which will be good for my father-in-law’s broken leg. But I wish to remain in France.”

  André noticed the chemist’s final word. It was France—not Paris. He broke into a broad smile, genuinely pleased. Then André reached out with both hands, gripping Lavoisier by the arms, and said with feeling, “Reims Polytechnic Institute welcomes you, respected Academician Lavoisier.”

  In that moment, André felt himself becoming noble, even great—no longer a politician born for scheming and intrigue. If only for the fact that he could protect a “national treasure of France,” his journey through the age of revolution was not in vain. Without question, whether under monarchy or republic, France needed men like Lavoisier. Their research, invention, and creation were the truest proof of human greatness.

  …

  Strasbourg, headquarters of the Army of the Rhine.

  Marshal Luckner, already more than seventy years old, sat alone in a small room at headquarters, his wrinkled face heavy with endless worry. On the table before him lay two letters.

  The first was the one he had written to the Legislative Assembly two weeks earlier. By then, Luckner had learned that his friend Lafayette had been seized by André (publicly described as “detained for review”), and that the Army of Moselle (the central army group) was about to be dissolved. He was shocked. At first, the old Marshal—once a man of the Prussian army—had wanted to resist, and to urge the Army of the Rhine under his command to threaten the Jacobins in Paris.

  But very unfortunately, the old Marshal’s inflammatory remarks inside the army—speeches against the Jacobins—provoked the resentment and resistance of most officers. Some junior officers even called on their companies to rise up in riot and to oppose Marshal Luckner’s “treason” by force. General Kellermann and others, who received the news in time, suppressed the mutiny before it began. Yet the officer who had incited the unrest, and the company he commanded, received no punishment at all—instead, they were treated like heroes by the Strasbourg branch of the Jacobins.

  From that moment on, the soldiers of the Army of the Rhine no longer admired this “Prussian” (the revolutionary troops’ contemptuous nickname for Marshal Luckner). The officers, too, began to ignore their commander’s orders with outward compliance and inward refusal, including rejecting deployments on every excuse. Worst of all was that engineer Captain Rouget openly declared at the Jacobin Club that he would strike out the title of the song he had once composed, “The War Song Dedicated to Marshal Luckner,” leaving only one name: “The War Song of the Army of the Rhine.”

  Luckner was old, but not stupid. Every sign showed that the constitutional monarchists led by Lafayette had lost power completely and had been driven away from the core of the state. On his side, the Army of the Rhine was, openly and in secret, no longer willing to accept direction from Constitutionalists commanders.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Therefore, Luckner wrote a letter of apology to the Legislative Assembly’s Military Committee, adopting a sincere tone. In it, he also offered explanations to Deputy André for his rash conduct, declaring that he had always supported liberty and democracy, and that as a soldier he was now accepting the political program of the Jacobins.

  André, naturally, held this in contempt. The old Prussian was nothing but a timid weathercock, a minor figure who bent with the wind. The loyalty, bravery, and decisiveness forged in the Prussian army had likely been consumed long ago by fine French champagne and the bellies of pretty women.

  As executive secretary of the Military Committee, André sent an official paper straight to the Army of the Rhine, ordering Luckner to follow the example of Marshal de Rochambeau: to resign every military office, including command of the Army of the Rhine, and return to his estate to live out his old age, no longer meddling in military affairs.

  The Prussian, of course, refused. He had fled Prussia for France with difficulty, and had only just obtained the rank of Marshal. He had not even worn the Marshal’s hat for a full year, and now he was to retire to quiet fields. He could not accept it.

  At that moment, the loud singing of “the War Song of the Army of the Rhine” rose again from outside the window, further unsettling him. Luckner sprang up, roared, and tore the Assembly’s document into scraps.

  Outside, General Kellermann, the deputy commander of the army, happened to be leading a group of mid- and senior-level officers, following closely behind the newly appointed Plenipotentiary to the Army of the Rhine, Deputy Gensonne. At the same time, a gendarme—acting on the Plenipotentiary’s signal—rushed forward, raised his fist, and pounded hard on Marshal Luckner’s door.

  …

  When Paris entered August 1792, the whole city became a sanctuary of revolution. Within the Jacobins, whether the moderate Brissot faction, or the more radical Robespierre-Danton faction, or André’s own group that held military power, all believed the day of harvesting the revolution’s richest fruit was close at hand.

  As for the King in the palace, although he had sworn sacred loyalty to the Constitution at the Festival of the Federation, most people understood that Louis XVI “seems decent enough, but he does not have a patriotic heart.” In the streets and alleys, patriots spoke openly and without restraint about the details of an assault on the Tuileries, just as on the night before the fall of the Bastille many had hoped to build a French republic.

  However, such action would have to wait until after August 5. This was the promise the Jacobin leaders had given to the commander responsible for order in Paris. André, trained as a lawyer, also warned the eager fédéré troops who longed to overthrow a tyrant. More than once, he declared publicly that, to ensure the success of the coming uprising, they must not launch an ill-prepared attack on the Tuileries. They had to organize fully, coordinate fully, and make use of the revolutionaries’ entire strength—then strike with the most lethal blow.

  Under Robespierre’s direction, Danton reorganized the French Theatre district, turning what had been a temporary electoral district into a permanent organ of administrative power. Within two weeks, one-third of Paris’s forty-eight districts responded to Danton and the French Theatre district, establishing district councils as local governments.

  By late July, after the news of Lafayette’s confinement reached Paris, the Paris departmental commune committee yielded and declared that the long-term existence of the district councils was legitimate, and that they should hold part of the city’s administrative authority. A few days later, the district delegates of the forty-eight districts formed a central executive committee. Danton called it an insurrectionary commune, while Robespierre bestowed upon it a more sacred name: the Paris Commune.

  On the other side, the number of National Guardsmen aligning themselves with the Jacobins grew steadily. The number of provincial fédéré troops who chose to remain in Paris, ready at any moment to take vengeance upon a tyrant, grew as well. André simply gathered these restless commanders together and reshaped them into a joint military action committee, sharing power with the Brissot faction.

  “I have already proposed the final date for the uprising to the commanders,” André said to Brissot after a meeting of the action committee. “The initial choice is August 9 or 10, and at the latest it will not be later than the twelfth.”

  “Why choose that date?” Guadet, impatient, asked before Brissot could speak.

  André smiled and explained, “We need several days to coordinate with the Paris Commune led by Danton and the others. Only when our revolutionary pace is aligned can we launch the attack. In a certain sense, I hope as you do that Louis XVI will wisely remove the crown from his head and allow Louis XVII to take the throne, so that unfortunate bloodshed can be avoided.”

  At this, Vergniaud and Guadet glanced toward Brissot, who gave a slight nod. Therefore, on the following night, Vergniaud and Guadet, under arrangements made by General Menou, entered the interior of the Tuileries disguised as National Guard officers on rotation duty, and met the King, the Queen, and the young heir with ease.

  The meeting lasted only fifteen minutes, and it ended with everyone displeased. The King and Queen, hard in their attitude, refused the final effort of the Brissot faction. During the exchange, Louis XVI even swore that he would rather sit upon the throne and watch himself be killed by the mob than yield in humiliation.

  Almost at the same time, Danton, carrying a secret mission, also failed to make progress in his conversation with a court valet. Louis XVI not only refused to give up the throne, but also opposed adding a regent beside him—a scheme watched over greedily by Duc d'Orleans.

  Just as everyone wondered why a timid royal house, facing an imminent crisis, had suddenly grown so stubborn, a public declaration arrived from the northeast frontier in late July. From the Duchy of Luxembourg (present-day Luxembourg), the commander-in-chief of the anti-French coalition—mainly the forces of Prussia and the Austrian Empire—sent Paris a declaration, and on August 3 it was delivered to Paris by a diplomatic courier who was in no hurry.

  To call it a public declaration was too generous. It was a letter of intimidation to the revolutionary people. It had been drafted on behalf of the emigre corps by an exiled Comte, intended to threaten the French who dared to oppose the Bourbon royal house. The coarse Prussian prince presented himself like a victor, and, in the joint name of the Emperor of Austria and the King of Prussia, swore that Paris would pay the price it deserved for humiliating the King.

  Prince Brunswick declared: “…If the Tuileries is subjected to any infringement or threat by force; if the King, the Queen, the heir, or any other member of the royal family suffers the slightest harm, then Paris shall receive a punishment and vengeance that the ages will never forget… even to the point of razing rebellious Paris to the ground, and hanging all rebels without exception.”

  Plainly, the Tuileries had fallen into its old habit. The two sovereigns, refusing to step beyond their gates, staked their lives and all their hopes on foreign intervention armies some 400 kilometers away, while deliberately—whether knowingly or not—ignoring the danger at their doorstep.

  Prince Brunswick’s intimidation did not frighten Paris. It provoked fury. On the day after the Brunswick Declaration reached the city, Mayor Petion—who had hesitated again and again about a renewed revolution—agreed to a request from delegates of the Paris Commune. He ordered two thousand firearms from the City Hall stores to be issued to the volunteers, and he also decided that three days later each rifle would be supplied with twenty to thirty rounds.