The day after the premiere, Armand and the Dragon and Rose Troupe received quite a few new invitations to perform. Among them, one stood out as especially unusual. It hadn't come from a theater, but from Monsieur Robespierre, a member of the National Constituent Assembly.
If Joseph had been the one to see the invitation, he might have been startled. Robespierre would later become known as a "bloodthirsty maniac." According to some accounts, during the time he ruled France, a towering guillotine stood in the center of every square in Paris, and every lamppost bore the body of an "enemy of the people" who had been executed. People in later generations even invented this epitaph for him: "I, Robespierre, lie here in eternal rest. Passerby, do not mourn me; if I were alive, none of you would be!"
Joseph believed that after Robespierre's downfall, almost no one liked this "Incorruptible, defender of the people, creator of the national motto 'Liberty, Equality, Fraternity'" (the words on Robespierre's actual tombstone)—not the Thermidorians, not the later Emperor Napoleon, and not Louis XVIII, restored to the throne. So it was practically inevitable that people would smear his name. It was much like the way, during the Bourbon Restoration, they concocted all sorts of entertaining tales about Napoleon, turning him into a bizarre combination of "Tartuffe" (the protagonist of Moliere's comedy Tartuffe) and "Don Juan" (a name synonymous with womanizers throughout Europe). So the stories about Robespierre being mercurial and taking pleasure in killing were probably unreliable. But even so, one thing was certain: this "Incorruptible, defender of the people" had indeed killed quite a few people, many of whom had once fought in the same trenches as him. Saying that Robespierre took pleasure in killing might have been slander; saying that he was in the habit of solving problems by "getting rid of the people who caused them" was probably true. In short, becoming Robespierre's enemy was extremely dangerous, but becoming his friend wasn't exactly safe, either.
Armand knew none of this, of course. At the time, Robespierre's reputation was at its height. During the Estates-General and the Constituent Assembly, he had spoken more than two hundred times, ranking twentieth among the deputies. In his speeches, he supported universal suffrage for male citizens, opposed the king's veto, advocated civil rights for Jews, called for the abolition of slavery and the death penalty, and opposed press censorship. (Yes, you read that right: the "bloodthirsty maniac" Robespierre was an abolitionist at the time. Surprising? Not really. It was simply another example of the way your position determined your point of view. When Robespierre was still an abolitionist, the death penalty was a tool in the hands of King Louis XVI, and it threatened "rabble" like Robespierre. So naturally, Robespierre, as one of the "rabble," opposed it. But when that tool fell into his hands, things were naturally different. Speaking of which, Louis XVI had just completed the only technical invention of his life: improving the design of the guillotine to make it more efficient. In a bitter twist of irony, the first user of the improved guillotine was Louis XVI himself. As Master Lu's poem went: "A wider coat, a changed face; more heads fell beneath his blade. Then he was cast from power—Namo Amitabha." It might as well have been written about these men.)
Most of Robespierre's proposals hadn't passed, but they had earned him the reputation of "the Incorruptible." So Armand was naturally overjoyed to receive his invitation. The venue Robespierre proposed was also quite unusual: the Palais-Royal.
The Palais-Royal had originally been built for Louis XIII's chief minister, Richelieu, and was once called the Palais-Cardinal, since Richelieu was a cardinal of France. It later became the residence of the Duke of Orleans. In 1780, hoping to win over the people of Paris, the Orleans Family opened it to the public. From then on, this private palace and garden gradually became a public gathering place for Parisians. Of course, the Duke of Orleans had his own reasons for doing so. His political ambitions were now plain for all to see.
During the French Revolution of 1789, Paris had two centers of political power. One was Versailles, outside Paris, where the Estates-General was meeting to decide France's fate. The other was the Palais-Royal in the heart of Paris. At the time, it was a thermometer measuring the political fervor of the people of Paris. These were the two seats of political authority, but if one had to compare them, after July 14, 1789, it was the Palais-Royal, not Versailles, that led France. Versailles could not influence the Palais-Royal; the Palais-Royal, by contrast, could dictate to Versailles.
The Palais-Royal was a vast palace that could hold tens of thousands of people. It teemed with political pamphlets and orators, and, of course, with audiences and listeners of every sort. Since the Estates-General had convened, people had exchanged all kinds of information there, including news from Versailles, and then sent all sorts of rumors flying. If Armand's play could be staged there, even just once, it would undoubtedly make him famous.
After giving it some thought, Armand accepted the invitation. That evening, he took his leading actor, Louis, to visit Robespierre.
Robespierre was staying at an inn near City Hall. In fact, he could have found better lodgings—many deputies to the Constituent Assembly, concerned for their safety, had accepted the hospitality of the Duke of Orleans or the Marquis de Lafayette and moved into their properties. But the "Incorruptible" continued to pay his own way and stay in an ordinary inn. However, Robespierre had won quite a few cases when he was a lawyer, so he was well off, and his inn was fairly comfortable. In addition to a bedroom, he had a small sitting room with a sofa.
Armand and Louis followed a servant up to the third floor. It was the top floor of the inn, and quieter than the first and second. That might have been one reason Robespierre had chosen to stay there.
The servant led Armand and Louis to a door and knocked softly.
"The door's open. Come in," called a hearty voice from inside.
The servant opened the door and said, "Monsieur Robespierre, Monsieur Lavoisier and Monsieur Saint-Just are here as agreed."
Yes, Louis's surname was Saint-Just. If Joseph had known his surname when he met him the last time, he would surely have looked at this quiet, handsome young man in a different light. Though Joseph, an engineering student in his previous life, hadn't known the history of the French Revolution particularly well, he had at least read Victor Hugo's Ninety-Three. The novel's notes had taught him about Robespierre's most devoted follower, Saint-Just, known as the "Archangel of the Revolution" or the "Archangel of Terror."
But even if Armand hadn't mentioned Saint-Just's surname when introducing him to Joseph, Joseph should have guessed that this peerlessly handsome young man was the "Archangel of Terror."
"Please come in, gentlemen," said a voice from inside, though no one was in the sitting room.
"Sorry, I'm writing a document, and I'm nearly finished. Please wait on the sofa for a little while. Henri, would you entertain them and pour them some tea? Thank you." The voice came from the study beyond the sitting room.
The servant led the two men into the sitting room, showed them to the sofa, and poured them tea. It was Indian black tea, but of rather poor quality. If it had been Joseph, he probably wouldn't have drunk it. He knew that low-grade tea leaves of this era were often adulterated with verdigris to disguise mold. Drinking the stuff was certainly no good for one's health.
Armand and Saint-Just had no such concerns, however. They sat on the sofa and began drinking their tea.
Two minutes later, a voice came from the study. "At last, I'm finished! Sorry to have kept you waiting so long."
As he spoke, a young man came out. Perhaps from staying up night after night, his face was pale, but his expression was stern. His lips were thin, and his gaze calm. His cheek twitched nervously, making his smile seem a little unnatural. In keeping with lawyers' habits, he wore face powder and gloves. His clothes were brushed until they were immaculate, his buttons fastened neatly, and there wasn't a single wrinkle in his pale blue coat. He wore yellowish-brown breeches, white stockings, shoes with silver buckles, a high collar, and a decorative flap on the front of his coat.
"I'm sorry. I didn't expect you to arrive so soon." Robespierre held out his hand to greet them. "After watching your premiere yesterday, I was so excited that I couldn't sleep all night. Your battle song kept ringing in my ears, along with those stirring speeches from our Spartacus. I even forgot about my work, until not long ago, when I remembered that I have to give a speech at the Assembly tomorrow. I checked the time and figured you wouldn't arrive for another hour or two, so I started drafting it. I have a bad habit: once I begin writing, I can't stop halfway through. I had no choice but to leave you waiting. I hope you don't think I meant to slight you."
"I understand," Saint-Just said. "I don't like interrupting my work halfway through, either."
"Do you know why I invited you to perform at the Palais-Royal?" Robespierre sat down on the sofa and asked without preamble.
"You hope to use the play to put pressure on the king," Saint-Just answered almost without hesitation.
The young Saint-Just's swift response clearly took Robespierre by surprise. He paused for a moment, then said, "You're quite right. That is indeed one of our aims. It's clear that this invitation has political motives behind it. If you accept, you may also expose yourselves to political risks. I don't want to drag you into the political maelstrom without your knowing what you're getting into. Well, you know the current situation is extremely tense and dangerous."
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