“So, you’ve been reading Danton and Robespierre,” Kellermann replied evenly, his arm still holding his wife close at the waist.
“Send him to La Place,” Murat said, with a dismissive wave of his wrist.
“But surely you listened to the defense, Nicolai?” Kellermann looked at André and then leaned toward his friend. “Raymond Desèze was brilliant in stating the king’s case, and very compelling.”
“Why do you keep calling him ‘king,’ Christophe?” Murat raised a dark eyebrow.
“Call him ‘Citizen Capet,’ if you like. Old habits for an old soldier,” Kellermann said, shrugging. “But my point is that the trial should be more than just a cursory show of legal proceedings. How can we send a man to his death without a fair and honest trial?”
“And so he had one, Christophe. And now, let’s have the verdict. They brought only thirty-three charges against him; they could have easily brought fifty more.”
Kellermann cocked his head to the side, considering the argument. André, too, was absorbed in the debate. Murat continued: “On how many occasions has he ordered his hired mercenaries to fire on the people and shed the blood of our patriots? A sovereign exists to protect the liberties of his people, not crush them.” Murat’s cheeks darkened as he spoke. “We are at war, Christophe.”
“I am aware of that, my friend,” Kellermann replied calmly.
But Murat continued. “And I haven’t even gotten to the fact that he squandered all of our national treasure on dressing and feeding his Austrian wife. All the while, she was holding orgies with half the court and plotting with her brother back in Vienna to seize our kingdom.”
Kellermann cringed at the vulgar accusation, casting a sideways glance toward his wife as if to apologize. When he answered, he looked at his friend with a calm expression. “On that score, I think that the journals have drummed up and printed many accusations that are false. Louis and his wife were profligate spenders, that I will grant you. They squandered the wealth of our land and were utterly blind to the needs of their subjects. But I believe Marie-Antoinette wielded far less influence at Versailles than many would have us believe.”
“I’d be careful if I were you, Christophe.” Murat brought his champagne to his thin lips. “It sounds to me like the—now, what is it that they call you? ‘The Savior of the Revolution’?—shares certain sympathies with the monarchy.”
Kellermann let out a chuckle, making light of the comment. André, for his part, found it less easy to laugh off Murat’s disdain, and he felt as though he were an uninvited spectator at an increasingly dangerous match. What would he say if either man turned to him and asked for his own opinion? Surely they recalled that his own father had been a member of the aristocracy?
But neither man seemed to notice André’s presence as they continued their exchange. “Come now, Nicolai,” Kellermann said. “That’s an absurd charge. I agree wholeheartedly that King Louis—rather, Citizen Capet—has forfeited the right to wear the crown and rule our land. I took the oath to the Republic, just the same as you.”
“No man deserves a crown.”
“On that you have my complete agreement. Our dispute lies not in the virtue of the monarchy, but in the punishment for the fact that he was given the crown to wear. You must keep in mind, Nicolai, that he ascended to the role before the age of twenty and knew no other life than that shown to him inside the gilded walls of Versailles.”
“Poor Prince Louis.” Murat smirked.
“I don’t expect pity for a spoiled prince,” Kellermann answered. “I simply mean to point out that Lou—Citizen Capet—executed the job before him with the abilities and experiences afforded by his own sheltered life. The system must come to an end, but must his life as well?”
“We can argue about whether he executed his duties well, but not over whether he executed his own people. We know he did that.”
“Are we to take the Old Testament view of justice, Nicolai, or the New Testament? We could say that we must correct past sins with fresh sins of our own, or we can show mercy.”
“So you accept the execution of the corrupt nobles, but our spoiled despot should receive preferential treatment?”
Kellermann crossed his arms before his broad chest as he said: “No, in fact I’m not certain that I agree with any of the executions carried out in the name of our Republic.” Kellermann paused and breathed out a sigh, his brow knit in thought. He put a hand once more around his wife’s waist, pulling her closer.