Where the Light Falls(58)
As Marie would have told him, had she been here: this was his life’s passion. He straightened his spine against the back of his chair, meeting the older man’s gaze as he answered. “I am familiar with the writings of Monsieur Jefferson, yes. As well as the writings of John Adams, Thomas Paine, and our friend Monsieur Franklin.”
“Ah.” Lazare lifted his fingers. “Some of the greatest disciples of the Enlightenment.”
“I was but a young student at the time, but I took great heart in following the events in the former British colonies. The revolution there.”
“I think that the rebels in America are falsely venerated,” Lazare said, his tone suddenly expressionless. “They began with such promise. But they fell short.”
“Short of what?” Jean-Luc asked, noticing with no small shock that he and Lazare were alone in speaking. The remaining men simply watched the exchange, sipping their wine and staring so intently that Jean-Luc felt as if he were speaking before a jury panel.
“Of victory, citizen,” Lazare answered.
Jean-Luc couldn’t help but furrow his brow, confused at this morsel of vague philosophy. Hadn’t the American rebels won freedom for themselves and their nation?
Lazare held his rapidly disappearing apple in his fingers, licking his lips before he spoke. “I think that, had the Americans been burdened by a noble, despotic class of their own, and had they been gifted with the tools of Dr. Ignace Guillotin, they would not have failed to put his device to good work.”
“Ah,” Jean-Luc said, his mind alive now with the stimulation of this debate. “But the wonder of the American Revolution—the fact at which we all must marvel—is that, even at the moment of their unforeseen victory, their foremost champion left the arena of government and politics to retire to his farm.”
“George Washington,” Lazare said, his pale lips letting loose a sigh. “The ever exalted George Washington.”
“They replaced the tyranny of a king with a true republic,” Jean-Luc added, surprised that the older man didn’t share his own enthusiasm. “Do you not think it wise to draw at least some lessons from their extraordinary success?”
Lazare shrugged. “The saving grace for the revolution in America”—Lazare paused, taking a final bite of his apple—“was that they did not have foreign kings menacing their borders from every direction, threatening their very survival. Quite the contrary—our late ‘King Louis’ did half the work for them. For which we paid dearly, of course.”
Jean-Luc thought about this. “Well, they had one foreign king crossing their borders and threatening their revolution—King George. Surely you think that the might of imperial Britain posed a sufficient threat?”
“King George, very well. I count the armies of Prussia, Austria, Spain, and the accursed English among the growing list of those clamoring to invade us and end our Revolution. With such enemies outside our door, the most important thing we can do is make certain to eliminate the threat of the enemies already inside our home, hidden within our midst.” Leaning forward, Lazare spoke so quietly that his voice was little more than a thin whisper. In another context he might have been breathing some comforting bedtime tale to a group of rapt children. “The wolf prowling outside your door ought to be considered much less dangerous than the one who sleeps beneath your bed.”
The room was silent for several moments before Lazare continued. “For that reason, this country must be cleansed of all traitors—noble or otherwise. Now that we have been enlightened, we cannot allow any of their kind to linger on, willing and eager as they are to pull us all back into the darkness. That was why we had to kill Louis and Antoinette—you know that, yes? So long as they lived, they were a symbol to inspire our enemies, both within the nation and outside of it. They incited those dark figures who would seek to put a tyrant and his Austrian spy back on the throne.” Lazare lifted his thin fingers, as if shooing a fly. “Be rid of them. Kill them all. Only their blood can wipe clean the sins of all of those centuries of robbery, abuse, and debasement—only their blood can provide for the harvest of the modern age. The era of reason over idolatry, of progress over primogeniture, of enlightenment over feudal darkness.”
Several men around the table rapped their knuckles on its wooden surface in support. Meanwhile, Jean-Luc prepared his response, forcing his voice to remain steady. “You are a man of the law, Citizen Lazare.” He was impassioned now, the magnitude of this discussion quickening his pulse. “Surely you would assert that, prior to capital punishment being meted, a fair and impartial trial must be pursued?”