Nicolas watched the two contrary movements growing in volume and increasing in speed like two opposing groundswells. Those who found themselves stuck in the middle of the roadway could neither advance nor retreat, because the street narrowed at this point, forming a kind of tunnel where houses that had not yet been demolished jutted out. As if the unfilled trenches were not bad enough, freestones lying on the ground made the road even more difficult to negotiate. Nicolas now saw bodies sliding into the trenches, immediately covered by others. By the light of lanterns, he could see open mouths crying out in terror. Men, women, children, squeezed and jostled, stumbled and fell and were instantly trampled by those who followed. Some people, crushed standing up, had blood spurting from their nostrils. The trenches were soon as full as communal graves. Like a Moloch, Rue Royale was devouring the people of Paris. The King’s statue in the middle of the square seemed to be sailing on a sea of lava: the still-glowing embers of what was left of the festivities.
‘We have to get help to those people,’ Nicolas said.
Followed by Semacgus, he rushed to the small door that led to the attic. It resisted their efforts. The evidence was incontrovertible: it had been locked from the other side.
‘What are we going to do?’ Semacgus asked. ‘It’s well known that you can climb walls like a cat, but don’t count on me to follow you.’
‘Don’t worry, I don’t think I’d be able to get down the wall except with a rope. But I have other strings to my bow.’
He searched in his pocket and took out a small instrument equipped with several blades. He introduced one into the lock and tried to move the bolt, but it hit an obstacle. He kicked the door frame angrily, then stopped for a moment to think.
‘If that’s how it is, I’ll have to use the chimney – there’s no other way out. But there, too, I’d need a rope. Let’s have a look all the same.’
They went back up onto the roof and Nicolas climbed a castiron ladder to the top of one of the monumental stone chimneys. He struck a light and, with a sheet from his notebook, made a small torch which he dropped into the void. The shaft descended vertically and then seemed to become almost horizontal.
‘There are clamps in the stone; I’m going down. At worst, if I can’t get through, I’ll come back up. Guillaume, you stay here.’
‘What else could I do? My paunch wouldn’t let me get down that thing.’
The noise rising from the square was increasingly punctuated by cries and moans. Nicolas quickly took off his coat and shoes.
‘I don’t want to get snagged. Keep these. It makes me sick to feel so powerless with all that’s happening down there …’
Before giving his coat to Semacgus, he took from the pocket – the surgeon, wondering what on earth would come out next, was greatly amused – a short candle, which he placed between his teeth. The clamps, put there to help the work of the chimney sweeps, made the descent easy enough, but Nicolas thought anxiously of what lay ahead. He was no longer a child, but a man in his thirties, and with quite a full figure. Catherine and Marion’s cooking had left its mark, as had the meals in taverns with his deputy, Bourdeau, who like him loved good, cheap food. He reached the bottom of the shaft. There were two pipes to choose from, the opening of one hidden inside the entrance to the other. He chose to take the less steep of the two, judging that it would take him to one of the fireplaces on the upper floors of the building. Unable to hold the candle in his hand, he lit it and fixed it between one of the clamps and the wall. He would have to plunge blindly into the darkness.
The risk of getting stuck in the narrow passage made him sick with apprehension. It suddenly occurred to him that the folds of his shirt might hinder his progress, and he took it off. From somewhere above his head, Semacgus was dispensing advice in a voice ashen with anxiety, which echoed down to him, distorted. He caught his breath and thrust his legs forward. He felt as though he were sliding into some kind of greasy material, and for a moment he lost all notion of time and space, before making a painful return to reality. Too bulky for the space, he had got stuck and could descend no further. For several minutes he stretched like a cat, lifting first one shoulder then the other. He remembered the grotesque movements of a contortionist he had seen at the last Saint-Germain fair. At last he managed to force his way through and continue his descent. He felt as if he were being sucked down into a vacuum. Almost immediately, he fell onto a pyramid of logs in a huge fireplace. The pyramid collapsed noisily under his weight, and his head hit a bronze plaque which bore the arms of France. He was surprised not to be knocked senseless. He got up carefully and checked the condition of his joints. Apart from a few grazes, he was unharmed. He looked at himself in a huge pier glass crowned with floral decorations in stucco: a stranger, black with soot, face like a scarecrow’s, britches torn and tattered. He walked across an unfinished, undecorated room which looked as if it belonged in a barracks rather than a palace. He opened a door and found that he had come out on the floor where the drawing rooms were. Here, the guests were crowded around the balconies. There was as much bustle as in an overturned hive. Some people had gathered at the windows, where they jostled for a view of the square, others were holding forth. Nicolas had the feeling that he was watching some absurd spectacle, a comedy or ballet in which automata endlessly repeated the same gestures. Nobody paid him any heed, even though his filthy appearance should have attracted notice.
He got back to the staircase leading to the attic. As he climbed it, he heard Semacgus’s solemn tones alternating with the sharper voice of Monsieur de La Briche. They were both coming downstairs so quickly that they almost fell into Nicolas’s arms. With the disaster on the square increasing in scale, Monsieur de La Briche had tried to send for Nicolas, only to find the lock of the door that led to the roof obstructed by a mysterious object in gilded metal, a kind of spindle, which he now gave to the commissioner. The key itself was lying on the ground. Clearly, someone had been playing a practical joke on the spectators on the roof. He would see to it that the culprit was found – probably an insolent footman, or else one of those pages in blue who, in spite of their youth, considered themselves entitled to do anything because they were close to the throne.
‘Commissioner,’ said Monsieur de La Briche, ‘you must help me to restore a little order. The crush is terrible, and we have so many injured we don’t know what to do with them. They’re being brought in all the time. The City Guards are nowhere to be found. When things started to go wrong, their leader, Major Langlumé, went off to give orders to his men, and that’s the last anyone saw of him. On top of that, I keep hearing that there are bandits among the crowd attacking honest citizens.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Many of our guests have been drawing their swords to force their way through the crowd. A lot of people have been killed that way, not to mention those run down by carriages. The envoy from Parma, the Conte di Argental, has had his shoulder dislocated, and the Abbé de Raze, minister to the prince-bishop of Basle, was knocked down and is in a terrible state.’
‘Has Monsieur de Sartine been informed of what is happening?’ Nicolas asked.
‘I dispatched a messenger to him. By now he should be acquainted with the gravity of the situation.’
Two men entered, carrying an unconscious woman in a frilly dress, one of whose legs was hanging at an odd angle. Her bloodstained face had been so flattened that it no longer looked human. Semacgus rushed to her, but after a brief examination he rose and shook his head. Other bodies were arriving, equally devoid of breath. For a while, they helped to receive the injured with the meagre means at their disposal. Nicolas was waiting for the return of the emissary who had been sent to Sartine. When he did not reappear, Nicolas retrieved his coat and went outside in order to get a clearer picture of the disaster. He took Semacgus with him.
After making their way through the crowds of people coming in and out of the
