The Short Reign of Pippin IV (22 page)

A Soviet submarine was sighted in San Francisco Bay.

A squadron of Soviet destroyers gave chase to an American submarine in the Gulf of Finland.

Sweden and Switzerland declared their neutrality while putting themselves in a position of defense.

England growled and grumbled with delight and suggested that the royal family could find traditional sanctuary in London.

Paris was shuttered. Students from the Sorbonne swarmed up the Eiffel Tower and ripped down the royal standard and raised the Tricolor among the wind gauges.

At Suze-sous-Cure, the populace, led by the chief of police, burned the town hall, whereupon the police station was burned by the same populace under the leadership of the mayor.

Falaise in Normandy rounded up all strangers and guarded them.

At Le Puy bonfires burned on the pinnacles.

Marseille rioted courteously and looted with discrimination.

The Pope offered arbitration.

In Paris the gendarmes helped the rioters build barricades, using police hurdles.

The warehouses up-Seine were broken open, and wine barrels rumbled over the cobbles.

Partisans howled with enthusiasm and revolt. Right Centrists posted ink-wet bills saying TO THE BASTILLE.

The American ambassador denounced revolution.

The Kremlin, China, the satellites, and Egypt telegraphed congratulations to the heroic People's Republic of France.

In the dark and quiet room at Versailles, Pippin tried to play the “Memphis Blues” and found he had no sharps and flats on his instrument. He moved on to “Home on the Range,” which requires none, and was so intent on his work that he did not hear the soft knocking on the door.

Sister Hyacinthe opened the door, looked in, and saw the king silhouetted against the window. Her low laughter made him stop his playing and peer around at her. She looked like a great black bird against the painted wall.

“It is good to have a second trade,” she said.

The king stood up awkwardly and knocked the moisture from the harmonica against the palm of his hand. “I didn't hear you, Sister.”

“No. You were too busy, Sire.”

He said a little stiffly, “One finds oneself doing silly things.”

“Perhaps not silly, Sire. The mind seeks curious retreats. I did not know you were here. Nearly everyone else has gone.”

“Where have they gone, Sister?”

“Some went to save themselves, but most have simply gone to Paris to see the fireworks. They are drawn to activity as insects are drawn to light. I myself am leaving, Sire. My Superior has ordered me to return. I am afraid, Sire, that your short reign is over. I am told that all France is in revolt.”

“I was not ready to think about it,” said Pippin. “I suppose I have failed.”

“I don't know,” said the nun. “I have read your remarks to the convention. They were bold remarks, Sire. Yes, I imagine that you have failed, you personally, but I wonder whether your words have failed. I remember another who failed—whose words we live by.” She placed a small bundle on the table beside him. “A present for you, Sire, the time-honored disguise.”

“What is it?”

“One of my habits, a nun's dress, the traditional means of escape. I see no reason for either hemlock or cross.”

Pippin said, “Is it that bad? Are they really so furious?”

“I don't know,” said Sister Hyacinthe. “You have caught them in error. It will be very difficult for them to forgive you. Your words will be thorns in every future government. You will haunt them. Perhaps they sense that.”

“I want to find Marie,” he said. “I thought perhaps she would come here.”

“Maybe she will—or maybe she is not able to get back. I understand there is an uproar in Paris. When they have exhausted the fun in Paris the rioters may come here. If you intend to go, I suggest that you go tonight.”

“Without Marie—without Clotilde?”

“I don't think they are in as much danger as you, Sire. If you will put on this habit, you can go with me. My convent will conceal you until it is safe to cross the frontier.”

“I don't want to cross the frontier, Sister. I really don't think I am so important that they will want my life.”

“Your Majesty,” the nun said, “they may well be afraid of each other. Every group may feel that the others might join you.”

“I can't believe it,” said the king.“The kingdom was a myth—it didn't exist. And the king? What is he but a kind of national joke? I don't believe they will dignify the kingship with murder.”

“I don't know,” she said uncertainly. “I really don't know.”

He said, “If I escape or try to, I will be making myself important enough to kill. I've often wondered what would have happened if Louis the Sixteenth had not tried to escape—if he had walked alone and unguarded to the Jeu de Paume.”

“You are brave, Sire.”

“No, Sister, I am not brave. Perhaps I am stupid, but I am not brave. I do not want to be a sacrifice. I want my little house, my wife, and my telescope—nothing more. If they had not forced me to be king I would not have been forced to be kingly. It was a series of psychological accidents.”

“I wish I could be sure that you were safe. But I must go, M'sieur. Do you know that so-and-so has cured my feet? I may not forgive him for that. You will not come with me?”

“No, Sister.”

“Give me your hand!”

Sister Hyacinthe bowed over his hand and kissed it. “Good-by—Your Majesty.”

When he looked up she had gone, so silently that not even the parquetry had protested.

Pippin put the still warm harmonica against his lips and played very slowly,
do-re-mi-fa-sol-la
—He missed on the
ti,
went back and corrected it, and completed with
do.

He went down the circular staircase to the garden. His foot-steps sounded loud on the gravel. He strolled around to the great entrance and for a time he could not see that any guard was posted. Then a match was lighted and he saw a single guardsman seated on the ground, his back against the kiosk, his rifle leaning against the wall. The king approached.

“Are you all alone?”

“They all went to Paris,” the guard complained. “It isn't fair. Why should I be picked to stay—and told—and ordered to stay? My service record will show that I have been a good soldier.”

“Would you like a Lucky Strike?”

“Do you have one?”

“You may have the whole package.”

The guard stood up suspiciously. “Who are you?”

“I am the king.”

“Pardon, Sire. I didn't recognize you. I beg pardon.”

“What is going on in Paris?”

“That's just it. I don't know. Great doings. They say riots and all such like—maybe even looting—and here I have to sit and miss it all.”

“It doesn't seem fair,” said Pippin. “Why don't you go?”

“Oh, I couldn't do that. I would be court-martialed, and I have a family. I have to think of them. The captain ordered—”

Pippin said, “Do you believe that I outrank the captain?”

“Certainly, Sire.”

“Then I relieve you of your duty.”

“It can't be just word of mouth. What proof do I have?”

“Do you have a flashlight?”

“Of course, Sire.”

“Lend it to me.” Pippin went into the kiosk to the little shelf with its pad and pencil. “What is your name?” he asked.

“Vautin, Sergeant Vautin, Sire.”

Pippin wrote on the pad, “Sergeant Vautin is hereby relieved of duty and authorized to begin furlough of two weeks beginning at—” “What time is it?”

“Twelve and twenty minutes, Sire.”

Pippin continued: “at 12:20 A.M.” He filled in the date and signed it “Pippin IV, King of France, Commander-in-Chief of All Armed Forces.” He handed the order and the flashlight to the soldier.

Sergeant Vautin put the light on the paper and read it carefully.

“I can't see who could find fault with that, Sire. But who is to guard the gate?”

“I'll keep an eye on it.”

“Don't you want to go to the riots, Sire?”

“Not particularly,” said Pippin.

He watched the soldier ride happily away on his bicycle and then he sat down with his back against the kiosk.

The night was chilly but brilliant with stars, and it was very quiet. No automobiles moved on the highways. Far away the lights of Paris were reflected in a glow against the sky. The great palace was dark behind him. He thought to himself that no night had been so still here for fifty years at least.

And then he heard the distant hum of a motor, then saw the lights of a speeding car. It screeched to a stop at the gates—a Buick convertible. The headlights blinded Pippin sitting against the kiosk.

Tod Johnson leaped out of the car and left the motor running. “Hurry up, sir. Get in.”

Clotilde called from the car, “Hurry, Father!”

Tod said, “You can put on some of my clothes in the car. We'll get to the Channel by daylight.”

Pippin got slowly to his feet. “What is it you intend to do?”

“We're going to try to get across the Channel.”

“Is it so bad, then?”

“You don't know, sir. Paris is a mess. You've been deposed, sir. They're yelling for the Republic. If I didn't have an American car we wouldn't have gotten through.”

Pippin asked, “Where is Madame?”

“I don't know, sir. She was supposed to go with Uncle Charlie, but she disappeared.”

“And where is Uncle Charlie?”

“He went south. He's going to try to cross into Portugal. Come on, sir! Hurry!!”

“You aren't in any danger,” Pippin said. “What happened?”

“You didn't listen to what I told you,” said Tod. “You didn't have the money and the proxies. You didn't even have the stockholders.”

Pippin walked to the car. “Are you all right, Clotilde?”

“I guess so.”

“Where will you go?”

“To Hollywood,” she said. “Don't forget, I'm an artiste.”

“I had forgotten,” he said. And to Tod, “You will take care of her?”

“Sure, but come on—get in! Don't worry about anything. Maybe you'd like to learn the chicken business. And you can write articles. They all do. You've got to get away, now, sir. Here, I've got a bottle of brandy. Have a drink.”

Pippin took a swallow from the bottle. And suddenly he laughed.

“Don't be upset,” said Tod. “We'll get you through.”

“I'm not upset,” said Pippin Héristal. “I was just thinking about Julius Caesar. He did it once. With five legions he surrounded Vercingetorix at Alesia and he pacified Gaul.”

“Maybe Gaul doesn't want to be pacified,” said Tod.

The king was silent for a moment and then he said, “That seems to be the truth. And so perhaps even Caesar didn't do it. Maybe Gaul can only be pacified by Gaul.”

“Do hurry, Father,” said the subdued Clotilde. “You don't know what it's like.”

The king said, “Take care of her—as much as anyone can take care of anyone.”

“Come along, sir.”

“No,” said Pippin. “I am not going. I think in a very little while they will forget me.”

“They'll kill you, sir.”

“I don't think so,” said the king. “I really don't think so. And besides, I can't leave Marie. I wonder where she could have gone? You're sure she isn't with Uncle Charlie?”

“No. The last we saw her was in Sancerre. She went shopping with a basket on her arm. Won't you get in?”

Pippin said, “This is probably my last act as king. These are my orders. You will proceed to a Channel port. You will do your best to find a boat to take you and Clotilde to England. These are your orders, Tod. See that you carry them out.”

“But—”

“You have your orders,” said the king. “Grant me the final courtesy of obeying them.”

He watched the Buick move away and then he strolled back to the palace to find his corduroy jacket and his crash helmet.

 

 

It was during that night that the delegates constituted themselves a National Assembly. They proclaimed the Republic. The Tricolor rose on public buildings.

The gendarmerie moved to put a stop to looting. The banks were declared closed for the time being.

M. Sonnet, to great applause, asked M. Magot to form a coalition government. The king was declared deposed and outlawed.

M. Magot was able to form a government in a few hours. It will be remembered that the coalition government lasted until February third of the following year.

 

 

The motor scooter ran out of gasoline in the Bois de Boulogne, and Pippin left it leaning against a tree and continued on foot. It was dawn when he turned off the Champs Elysées into the Avenue de Marigny.

From out of the shadows a gendarme moved to intercept him. “You have your card of identity, M'sieur?”

Pippin brought out his wallet and handed over his card. The gendarme studied it and said, “Pippin Héristal. Why, I remember you, M'sieur. You live at Number One.”

“That is correct,” said Pippin.

“There's been looting,” the gendarme observed. “I didn't recognize you in the helmet. Have you been on a trip, M'sieur?”

“Yes,” said Pippin, “quite a long trip.”

The gendarme saluted. “Everything seems quiet now,” he said.