The Man with the Lead Stomach (31 page)

The royal supper was about to take place according to
time-honoured
ritual. For the past two months Nicolas had not left Court. Monsieur de Saint-Florentin had kept the young
commissioner
at Versailles, much to the chagrin of the Lieutenant General of Police. Nicolas’s task was to check the security of the palace and prepare the report requested by the minister, still anxious about threats to the King’s life. The revelations
concerning
the outcome of the Ruissec case had only strengthened his fears and he trusted Nicolas implicitly. The commissioner stayed initially with Monsieur de La Borde, thanks to whom he had been able to find lodgings in the palace, in a loft close to the rooms of the First Groom of the Bedchamber.

It was the first Sunday of the year. Three times a week the King took supper in state with the royal family, following a tradition established by Louis XIV, even though he disliked appearing in public. Louis XV’s personal preference would have been to take supper privately with his favourites and the Marquise de Pompadour, but he was bound by his duties as King.

Nicolas, who was now closely involved with Court ceremonial, stood at the door to the first antechamber of the royal apartments, where tables had been set up in a horseshoe-shape. The King and Queen would sit at the top and members of the royal family down the sides. La Borde whispered the details of the protocol in Nicolas’s ear. The first meat course was already on its way from the kitchens in a long procession, preceded by an escort of two guards, carbines at the slope, and followed a few paces behind by the footman carrying the candelabrum and the rod, the Master of the Household with his baton of office, the Superintendent of the Pantry, the Comptroller General, the Comptroller of Provisions and a dozen or so other officers of the Household, each carrying a dish, and finally by two more guards bringing up the rear. The Master of the Household paid obeisance before the silver-gilt
nef
containing the scented napkins. Each officer then tasted the meat to ensure it had not been poisoned. The first course of soups and entrées had been elegantly laid out on the table. The result of all this ceremony was that the King ate his meat cold.

The arrival of the royal procession had been heralded by a clicking of heels and a shouldering of weapons as well as by the murmur of the throng of people crowding the antechamber. Preceded by an usher, lit by his pages and followed by a captain from his Guards, the King reached his chair just as the Queen arrived. They were given napkins to wash their hands. The rest of the royal family, the Dauphin and his sisters, had taken their seats. Nicolas now observed the crowd, kept at some distance, who scrupulously followed the progress of the supper. Nobles were lined up, often squashed against one another, behind the
King’s chair. They were listening attentively, straining to catch a few words or perhaps a sign of acknowledgement from the august presence.

Eventually the King broke the silence and asked the Dauphin, who had just returned from Paris, for the news from town. The Dauphin mentioned the fears sweeping Europe and circulating in the capital about the Tsarina’s state of health. Everyone was anxiously awaiting news from St Petersburg. The winter and the difficulties that the snow and frost created for the mail-coaches cast further doubt on already contradictory or fanciful reports. No one knew what to believe any more. The Dauphin described the fainting fits that were worrying the Tsarina’s doctors, leading them to fear apoplexy. These medical details captured the King’s attention and he turned to his physician for further information. The Dauphin added that according to certain sources there was great dismay in Russia, although not amongst the uncouth, barbaric and heartless populace. It was at the oriental court that everyone was in a ferment, not for love of the reigning monarch but rather for fear of the Tsarina’s successor. This thoughtless remark darkened the King’s mood and he fell into a sullen silence, despite the Queen’s timid attempts to restart the conversation.

As the table was being cleared and the meats were arriving, a clamour arose outside the antechamber where the supper was taking place. At first it was only a rustle, the patter of hurried footsteps, weapons clattering to the floor, voices being raised and people calling out. Unable to reach the heart of the commotion because of the large crowd of people, Nicolas tried to make out the cause, but in vain. An officer from the Guards suddenly
fought his way through the mass of courtiers, managing to reach his captain and whisper something to him.

Outside the scene was one of increasing confusion. The officers of the Household and the members of the King’s family looked at one another in disbelief. The sovereign remained unperturbed, even though he looked impatient at the disruption to the ceremony. Rumours were spreading through the gathering. Everyone was talking loudly to their neighbour. Nicolas heard the words ‘horrifying assassination attempt’ and saw Monsieur de Saint-Florentin give Sartine an interrogatory, flustered look, though the minister stopped pulling faces when the captain of the Guards informed him what was happening. Many people now seemed aware of what had taken place and wore suitably grave expressions. Annoyed by the dull, ever-increasing disturbance around him, the King pursed his lips and looked questioningly at his entourage. He finally displayed his displeasure.

‘Where is this commotion coming from? What is the meaning of it?’

No one dared reply but the look on people’s faces said it all.

‘What is it? Why is everyone looking so embarrassed? What could possibly have this effect? Is my life under threat again?’

The princes and the King’s family all started to talk at once so that the King could not understand what was being said. Their replies were so evasive and confused that, far from reassuring the King as intended, they alarmed him further.

‘What have I done?’ he said suddenly, rising from the table and flinging his napkin to the floor. ‘What have I done to deserve these enemies?’

A murmur of consternation and dread ran through the
assembly. The royal procession hurriedly formed up again and the King withdrew to his private apartments. Swept along by La Borde, Monsieur de Saint-Florentin, Sartine and Nicolas followed behind the procession. The King, turned round momentarily, noticed his minister and pointed a threatening finger at him.

‘Tell me exactly what happened. Don’t try to deceive me, just explain.’

‘Sire, Your Majesty may rest reassured, the matter is under control and there is no danger now.’

The fateful word had been spoken and the King immediately seized on it.

‘So there was indeed a danger! Sir, enlighten me forthwith.’

‘Sire, here is what happened: Truche de La Chaux, one of your Life Guards, was stabbed on the staircase by two villains with a grievance against you. The two evil-doers fled but your guard is at his last gasp.’

The King leant on the captain of the Guards’ arm. He looked pale and Nicolas noticed sweat pouring from his forehead and red patches appearing on his face.

‘Monsieur de Saint-Florentin, take good care of my poor guard. If he survives I shall reward his zeal.’

The procession formed up again and the King left. Monsieur de Saint-Florentin gathered his men, all except La Borde, who had followed his master. They went off to the minister’s office and there everyone turned to Nicolas, the only one to know Truche de La Chaux. He was bombarded with questions. Could someone whose deceit was well known be trusted? Was it possible that the dishonest gambler, thief and double agent had
transformed himself overnight into a heroic defender of the throne? Nicolas responded that it was impossible to tell without knowing all the details of the assassination attempt on the Life Guard. The first reports were coming in but they were either incomplete or made little sense. In exasperation, Monsieur de Sartine ordered Nicolas to go himself to find out what had happened, providing the minister did not object.

The Life Guard had been taken to the lower part of the palace, near the kitchens. He was lying on a mattress on the floor of a gallery dimly lit by torches, waiting for a surgeon to arrive to dress his wounds. A police officer whom Nicolas knew told him what he knew of the assassination attempt.

‘Monsieur Truche de La Chaux was apparently on guard in the palace. As the King was beginning supper in state, between nine and ten o’clock, he is thought to have left his post in the guardroom to go to buy some tobacco.’

‘Which way did he go?’

‘From the guardroom he went to “the Louvre”. After going through the Princes’ Gallery he then went down a very long corridor leading from the offices of the Comptroller General of Finances, which allows you to go out more or less opposite the Grand Lodgings. It was in the extremely badly lit passageway that he was discovered, lying unconscious on the ground.’

‘Who discovered him?’

‘One of the servants. He found him covered in blood with his sword broken, so he immediately called for help. I believe Monsieur de Saint-Florentin and the Grand Provost of the palace, his deputy, were informed. The Provost made the initial enquiries and drew up a report in the presence of two Life Guards.’

Nicolas noted inwardly that the Grand Provost could have made all this known to the minister earlier.

‘So the man had regained consciousness, had he?’

‘Yes, he regained consciousness almost immediately. He spoke to the guards and gave them the story of his mishap.’

‘Can you try to tell me what he said, in exactly the same words?’

‘I’ll do my best. I’d just arrived, so I heard everything. He spoke in a weak, faint voice as if he were about to die and said that he had been the victim of an assassination attempt. His very words were, “Make sure the King is safe. I was stabbed by two wretches who wanted to kill him. One was dressed as a priest and the other in a green coat. They promised me a considerable sum of money if I would let them into the royal supper or into the King’s apartments.”’

The man looked at the notes he had written on a small piece of paper.

‘He went on: “I was not tempted by that offer and refused to let them in. Whereupon they rushed at me and stabbed me. They declared it was their mission to deliver the people from oppression and to strengthen a religion that has almost been destroyed.”’

These phrases had a familiar ring to Nicolas. The text of the tract found in Madame de Pompadour’s apartments reflected the same philosophy. But then all these tracts sounded more or less the same.

‘Is that all?’

‘He didn’t say anything else. He was taken away and brought here.’

The surgeon called to tend to the wounded man had just arrived. He was tall, wiry and stern-looking, with delicate, astonishingly long hands. As Nicolas looked on, he leant over Truche de La Chaux and pulled back his clothes in order to study the wounds. The man was struggling and shouting, screaming with pain. After a few moments the surgeon searched in his bag for a revulsive and some lint. Annoyed by the wounded man’s
protestations
, he held him down firmly so that he could do his work.

‘Sir,’ he said disdainfully, ‘you are making a lot of fuss about very little. You are screaming as if you were in great pain but you are not badly wounded; all I can find are scratches.’

The surgeon asked who Nicolas was and why he was there, and then asked him to be his witness. He thought the incident was a ruse and was determined get to the bottom of it since there were such serious implications.

‘Look, Commissioner, at the wounded man’s coat and jacket. No one would seriously believe this was an assault.’

He leant over and shook the coat of Truche de la Chaux, who moaned faintly.

‘You think, sir, that there has been an attempt at deception?’ said Nicolas

‘I do, and I can prove it! He must have wounded himself. Look, the holes in his coat do not at all match the superficial grazes he has.’

Defenceless and bewildered, the man was like an animal caught in a trap, desperately searching for a way out. In the end he went into nervous convulsions and began to weep like a child.

Nicolas went up to him. ‘I think it would be best for you if you were to tell us the truth.’ 

Truche looked up and recognised him. He grasped his hand as if he had found a saviour.

‘Sir, please help me. I shall tell you everything. I did not want to harm anyone. I withdrew between nine and ten in the evening to one of the staircases and there I broke my sword and took off my coat and jacket. I slashed them in several places and stabbed myself in various parts of my body.’

Nicolas was surprised that the man confessed so readily to a capital offence.

‘Did no one see you?’

‘I put out the lights so that nobody saw my preparations.’

The man now seemed perfectly calm, as if he had accepted the idea of being found guilty of an imposture.

‘Then what?’

‘Then I put my coat and jacket back on, lay down on the floor and plaintively called for help.’

‘Why did you do it?’

‘Sir, one has to make a living. I wanted to obtain a pension from the King, at whatever cost.’

Nicolas left the Life Guard in the hands of the magistrates. He rushed off to report to Monsieur de Saint-Florentin, who instructed him to keep a close eye on the case. It was very late by the time Nicolas saw Monsieur de La Borde, who had stayed with the King. The sovereign was preparing to spend a restless night. Some people had concluded that because one of the aggressors was said to have been dressed as a priest, it had been a Jesuit plot, and recommended that the members of the Society should be immediately driven out of the kingdom. Nicolas informed his friend how far the investigation had progressed. The Jesuits
could still sleep peacefully: they were in no way involved in the insignificant impostor’s pathetic charade. The King’s favourite on the other hand, Nicolas thought, was likely to be racked with anxiety when she learnt of the potentially serious incident that compromised one of her clandestine servants.