The Phantom of Rue Royale Read Free Page A

what’s necessary. What were they thinking of, at their age, running around the streets like youngsters , with all this upheaval going on? I’ve seen some pretty dubious-looking characters here, and my watch nearly ended up in someone else’s hands.’
    ‘I’d have got it back for you!’ Nicolas said. ‘The day before yesterday, at a grand supper given by the Emperor’s ambassador at Petit Luxembourg, I unmasked a criminal who had somehow wormed his way into the party and was trying to steal a watch from the Graf von Starhenberg, Maria Theresa’s former ambassador in Paris. The Graf was kind enough to write to Monsieur de Sartine and compliment him on the excellence of his police force, “the finest in Europe”, as you called it just now. I’ve also seen some doubtful behaviour here. It makes me worry about what’s going to happen next. What a coincidence – the person responsible for security at the festivities is that same jumped-up individual who was just now trying to pick a quarrel with me.’
    ‘Bah! Those people aren’t professionals. They’re a bourgeois guard who can buy their way in.’
    ‘And there’s a great deal of competition between them and the men of the watch. One day we’ll have to do something about it. The divisions between these various forces have rendered them powerless, and they’re more interested in scoring points off each other than in serving the public. But I’m wandering from the point. Think of it – the man in charge isn’t even in position yet to keep order in this great throng of people!’
    Nicolas sank back into his thoughts. Their carriage finally managed to get onto Pont Royal, where a motley mixture of pedestrians and a tangle of vehicles gave the impression of an army in flight. The Quai des Tuileries was no easier to negotiate than the rest of the route. Two turbulent streams – one coming from the left bank and another, just as large and just as disorderly, emerging from the Quai des Galeries du Louvre – came together and tried, with a great deal of pushing and shoving, to share the roadway.
    ‘The road seems to be blocked at Pont Saint-Nicolas.’
    That was enough to set Semacgus off again. ‘There’s not even a vessel of the line to delight the Parisians. When I was a child – the Duc d’Orléans was still regent – my father took me to see a Dutch ship with eight cannon moored there.’
    Nicolas was becoming impatient, tapping with his fingers on the window. It was almost completely dark by now, and the coachmen were stopping to light lanterns, which merely added to the chaos and slowness of the convoy. When they reached Terrasse des Feuillants, Nicolas gestured to his friend that they should abandon their carriage. He ordered the coachman to go back to the Châtelet: they would find their own way back after the festivities, and, besides, they were supposed to be having supper at the Dauphin Couronné in Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré, the house run by their old acquaintance La Paulet. Their progress through the crowd, which was getting denser all the time, was something of a miracle. Several times, Semacgus drew Nicolas’s attention to a number of threatening-looking characters mingling with the throng in little groups. Nicolas shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of powerlessness. They found themselves sucked intoan eddy of people. Jostled, crushed, half-carried, they somehow managed to reach Place Louis XV. Here, too, two swollen streams of people and carriages met, one coming from the Quai des Tuileries and the other from the Cours-la-Reine promenade. Standing on tiptoe, Nicolas noticed that more and more carriages had parked on the quai , unchecked by any representative of authority.
    Pushed as they were in opposing directions, they found it a real struggle to get to the ambassadors’ mansion. What made Nicolas especially anxious was the realisation that there were no guards to be seen anywhere. Fortunately, he thought, no member of the royal