The crowd began to jeer, answering Guillaume Lazare’s questions with their approval. André wished Jean-Luc would stand up and cry out his objection again; how did this history lesson in any way relate to Kellermann? But the defense’s lawyer simply sat in his seat, listening politely. The central judge looked on at Lazare, his gaze attentive as the old lawyer continued.
“History shows us a great many tyrants who have slaughtered others to gain their power, but very few who have willingly handed away that same power. When has it ever benefited a ruler to yield to a usurper? Will a tyrant not fight his people, even butcher his people, to maintain his authority?”
Jean-Luc now ran a hand through his hair, wanting an opening, but the crowd listened with rapt attention to Lazare’s soliloquy.
“That is the threat we face, every day, to our new Revolution,” Lazare said. Then he turned toward Jean-Luc. “A young, well-meaning idealist cannot be wholly faulted for his optimism.” The word was laced with condescension. “But, my friends, naïveté will not protect us! At this very hour, foreign tyrants are poised at our borders, seeking a way to invade and crush our young Republic. Our new freedom is fragile—more fragile than we’d even like to believe. All it takes is one man, one of our very own, to betray us and open the floodgates for these foreign mercenaries. One man who’s decided that his aims no longer align with ours, and just like that!” Lazare’s fingers spread around him, mimicking the piercing of a bubble. “The Revolution is over. The tyranny of a king, reimposed. All of us—all of our liberties—dissolved.”
At this point, Jean-Luc stood up. “Your Honor, I’d like to beg your permission that these vague and theoretical soliloquies be put to rest so that the court may proceed to the business at hand, which is to establish the truth through the means of facts and testimony.”
“Granted,” the judge answered. “Citizen Lazare, please be seated.”
The old lawyer bowed low, his lips curling upward in an obliging smile.
“Citizen St. Clair?” the judge continued.
“Your Honor, the defense would like to call its first witness.”
“All right,” the judge agreed.
“Your Honor, I call Captain André Valière.”
André heard his name and rose, feeling the sudden focus of hundreds of eyes on his person. He walked forward, taking the seat offered to him before the judge’s table. His eyes fell for a moment on Kellermann, and he thought: how odd that the general nods at me, giving me a fortifying glance, when it is I who should be bolstering his spirits.
Jean-Luc let André settle into his seat before he approached. “Citizen, please state your full name and rank.”
“André Martin-Laurent Valière, captain in the Army of the French Republic.”
“And how is it that you are acquainted with the defense?”
“I served under General Kellermann at the Battle of Valmy and the campaign of the Rhine in the summer and autumn of 1792. Er, I mean the first year of our Republic.”
With André’s help, Jean-Luc laid out the facts and circumstances of the Battle of Valmy, entirely for the crowd’s benefit. The threat of the Prussians, the clear route for the Habsburg alliance into Paris. General Kellermann’s decision to turn and give battle on that field at Valmy when the outcome of the campaign, and the nation’s very survival, still hung in the balance.
Asking André to deliver his own account of that day, Jean-Luc listened, as did the crowd. The hundreds sat quietly as André reached the climax of his tale, the moment when a barrel-chested Prussian stood over him, wrestling to lodge a bayonet tip in his skull. And Kellermann appearing suddenly to cut down the man who, seconds later, would have taken André’s life.
When André had concluded, Jean-Luc sighed. An audible sigh. An exhale intended to be heard, and felt, by the crowds in the gallery.
“And so, Captain Valière, you would say, unequivocally, that General Kellermann saved your life that day?”
“I would.”
“And you would say that General Kellermann rallied the army that day, leading the decisive charge that finally broke the enemy’s lines and won France her victory?”
“I would.”
“And has he ever, in the time you’ve known him, spoken a false word against the Republic?”
“He has not.”
Murat fidgeted in his chair, whispering something in Lazare’s ear. Lazare nodded.
“And you recognize that, in coming here today to speak on behalf of an accused man, you put your own life at risk, Captain Valière? And yet, you come of your own accord, because your honor as a soldier and a citizen compels you to tell the people of France the truth?”