H.J. Gaudreau - Betrayal in the Louvre Read online

  “Okay, okay, you’ve got a deal,” Jim said as he began putting the various items on the attic floor back in the box.

  “That’s all you’re taking? It’s a forty dollar ticket! We’ve got to take more than just that,” she exclaimed.

  “Well, I’ve got a couple of tools that I could get rid of. And, we could take this lamp,” Jim smiled.

  “The lamp? No, that’s special.” Eve laughed and backed down the ladder.

  Chapter 3

  Louis XVI studied the scene outside the rain-streaked window. The lead lined windowpanes distorted the view of the ornate gardens of the Château de Versailles. He didn’t see the distortion, he didn’t see the gardens. He simply stared in the direction of the Hotel des Menus Plaisiers. The afternoon was cold, gray, wet. It seemed as if a dark cloud simply grew from the horizon, centered on that damned hotel. The cloud expanded up and over him. It closed in around him, through him and squeezed his heart so that it was hard to breath; even harder to think. And now, more than ever he needed to think.

  Things were going badly and he knew it. It was a slow, rumbling avalanche and it was coming right at him. Insults had been shouted. Shouted at him! Things were said in the newspapers and on handbills. Most of France had suffered poor harvests, the Treasury was empty, and his wife was making a mess of things. A raucous group of Parliaments, the councils in each region, had demanded action. That fool, François de Paule de Barentin, had encouraged a general meeting with the nobility, the clergy and the people, an Estates-General. It was a rarely used thing, it would be the first since 1619. And now, there they were, assembled in that damned hotel. Things were not calmer; they were worse. The Estates-General was a disaster. The whole thing was a mockery to his reign.

  He had lost control from the beginning. His advisers had no advice of course, worthless fools. They simply made matters worse. The commoners had not understood their role. They even tried to sit in the front of the theater! These uncultured fools didn’t even recognize the protocol of such a meeting. The rules for the conduct and proceedings were clearly established in L’Etiquette of 1614. The clergy and nobility were to sit in the front, dressed in the formal regalia defined by their station in the nobility. The representatives of the Third Estate; landsmen, tradesmen and minor members of the nobility were to sit at the back; far away from the throne as befit their standing. It was simply the way things were done.

  That had been the first issue, harangued and argued with but finally overcome. It had been, well…uncomfortable.

  Then Barentin began with a procedural process formalizing the rules for the conduct of the assembly. The fool completely misread the crowd. He talked for hours, forgot what he was about and tried to get right to the financial situation of the country and address taxes. It resulted in a near riot. They wanted to talk about procedures. Louie had already agreed to double representation for the commoners. He had made a major concession. Was that not enough? Surely that had no impact on the procedures for votes on issues before the Estates-General. Each estate would vote by orders – thus each estate had an equal voice. That was certainly fair; he did not see an issue. Individual votes would apply only insofar as how the total order voted. To do otherwise, was contrary to the rules. Besides that, well, damn-it, he was the King.

  Last week these fools had formed the Communes. What the hell was that? Worse, they had invited him to participate! Participate! Of course he had refused, what choice did he have? This was an action against God! He was King and a representative of God. It could not stand!

  Finally, his Councilors understood; military force would be necessary. He didn’t want to do that to his own people. Yes, it might work. No, he couldn’t do that. He vacillated. He couldn’t decide. Now even that seemed to be slipping away. What was happening?

  He could sense a growing danger. It was out there, perhaps in this black cloud of mist sweeping up from the river Somme. It pushed down on him and his Palace. It crept in, hidden on the back of that mist. He could not stop it; he didn’t know how to fight it. But he knew, he knew that change, danger and, perhaps death itself was stalking him. He could feel it, sense it and it chilled him. His stomach had tightened; a taste of bile had risen in his throat and was with him day and night. He had waited long enough; he would not be irresolute about this, now was the time. Now he needed to protect the throne and his son.

  And that was the purpose of this afternoon’s meeting. Was he being prudent? A coward? Or, realist? He hadn’t decided, and he no longer had time to think of it. The heavy clap of boots on stone echoed behind him. He glanced one more time in the direction of that hateful hotel, noticed the rain had increased. An omen? He turned to face Lieutenant General Nikolaus Luckner.

  Luckner was a German. And, as such he couldn’t rid himself of his German accent. He was one of the few men Louis had ever heard who could make the beautiful French language sound hard and rough. He was tall and weathered having spent his life under saddle. Louis supposed he could be called a good-looking man. Those looks and the size of his purse assured him of a warm bed each night. His military expertise was without question though in a few short years he would, not for the first time, change his loyalties. He was well educated, having studied with the Jesuits of Passau. His military experience was extensive, and to say varied understated it. He had served with the Bavarian, Dutch and Hanoverian armies. He had fought as a commander of Hussars during the Seven Years War against Louis’ father. Now however, he seemed to have found a home in the French army. He was a strange pick for the task at hand the King thought. But, the two had an odd closeness that seemed more a function of nature than of their personalities. Was he a friend? Louis thought not, but he was no enemy. In any case, here he stood, looking directly at the King.

  Luckner hadn’t yet made his obedience; no sign of acknowledgment, he simply stared at the King. It irritated Louis, but he didn’t have time to make a point of it. After a moment’s pause, Louis spoke, “Nikolaus, I have a most delicate task for you.”

  “At your command sire,” Luckner said.

  The king smiled in spite of himself. Luckner never used the honorarium “Sire”, it sounded ironic, fake and contrived coming from him. Yet, perhaps the seriousness of the day had made itself known to him. Who could know? He looked hard at his General. What was in the man’s soul? Could he be trusted? The choice had been made, he continued.

  “I believe there is some danger on the horizon. The communes seem to reject the authority of the King and it will take some time to reassert that understanding.”

  “Have you considered simply putting them to the sword?” Luckner asked fully expecting to be sent out to do just that.

  “I have. Yet the countryside would not bear it. The people would rise up against me. No, it is better to work this out. But, there are some…” He paused, his face grew dark. No, not dark. Something else, Luckner couldn’t put his finger on it. “I think we will have some difficult days,” the king said more to himself than to his General.

  Louis turned to the window. The dusk was deepening into night. The rain had steadied and except for the pattern inlaid in the marble courtyard, the Cour de Marbre, he couldn’t see anything. He thought about that, yes, the scene was blurred outside as well as in. He was quiet for a long moment. Luckner became uncomfortable. What was happening to this King? The man needed to stiffen his spine, put the leaders of this crisis to the block and be done with it. He was about to interrupt the silence when the King turned. He seemed to have found a bit of strength.

  “My son, Louis-Joseph, will die tonight. An announcement will be made at dawn. His death will be attributed to tuberculosis. It will fit well with his illness of last year. You are to take the Dauphin, along with a woman of the Queen’s choosing away from Paris. My suggestion is to Montmedy or Sedan Castle, but you may have better knowledge. He must not be recognized or his very existence known until the Estates-General is successfully closed.”

  General Luckner knew what this meant, but remained
silent. Instead he nodded his head in agreement, but inwardly he wondered if it ever would be “successfully closed.” Nevertheless, this was a prudent decision and a minor ruse that could be explained in due course. “Of course, it shall be done my friend,” he said.

  The King again turned to the window. Over his shoulder he said, “Things will never be the same…” He grew thoughtful. Luckner stood in silence.

  “Sire?” The irony was gone.

  Louis turned, looked directly into Luckner’s eyes and said, “Take my son’s Letters of Royal Patent and funds for a long stay.”

  The King looked past his General. Silence filled the room. Luckner knew this was not the time to interrupt the King, he focused on the man’s eyes. They were heavy; he looked tired. No, not tired…they were, what? Dead?

  “And, Nicklous, I need you to take some other things. Remove “La Joyeuse”, the Coronation Crown, and the Holy Ampulla with my son. Ensure only your most trusted men accompany you…tell no one, save, in good time, the Dauphin.”

  Luckner’s face hardened; his grey eyes narrowed. He knew now what was in the King’s mind. “Sire, I’m sure it will not come to that. The crown is safe with the House of Bourbon.”

  “I’m not so sure. In any case, do this for me.”

  Lieutenant General Nikolaus Luckner, for the first time, took his adopted King’s hand and kissed the royal ring. He bowed, walked backward for five paces, turned and with crisp military bearing, walked out of the room.

  Louis the sixteenth slumped. A wave of sadness; the sadness of a parent losing a child, not a King losing a kingdom, swept over him. He turned to the window once more. He knew. He knew deep in his soul that he would never see his son again.

  Chapter 4

  Waco, Texas

  10 August 1917

  The 32nd Infantry Division under Major General James Parker had been assembled from the National Guard units of Wisconsin and Michigan. Some of its elements had deployed with General John “Black Jack” Pershing in his pursuit of the Mexican border raider, Poncho Villa. Thus, the Division was experienced in large troop movements and the issues associated with supplying a large, mobile group of men and machines.

  Commanding General Parker was an experienced and intelligent soldier. Unlike many military men of his generation he paid close attention to world politics and technological innovations in addition to the more traditional study of military history. As early as 1915 he felt certain the United States would be drawn into the conflict just starting in France and spreading across the Western Hemisphere. His estimations proved prophetic. When a German diplomatic message, the ‘Zimmermann note,’ fell into United States hands exposing Germany’s attempted alliance with Mexico against the United States the country quickly abandoned its neutral policies. The United States declared war in April 1917.

  Parker had been certain his division would be one of the first sent into action. He had already set his mind to the issues of moving this huge organization from here to there and keeping it in action once assembled on foreign soil.

  In his youth, Parker had been taught that an Army was dependent on hay and the feed bag. That was nearly true today, only hay and the feed bag had been replaced with gasoline and spare parts. And, now one more item had been added to the list, mechanics.

  Mechanics were few and far between, so General Parker decided to teach his own. And, he knew that moving a Division was difficult and slow. He wanted it fast and easy; so beginning in the summer of 1916 he had his men pack and unpack trucks, tear down and rebuild engines, change tires, overhaul weapons, move, shoot and do it all again. They marched, they exercised, and they attended classes. They could strip and reassemble their new 1903 Springfield rifles blindfolded. They could disassemble their trucks and reassemble them.

  The training in the heat of west Texas was brutal. The men from Wisconsin and Michigan suffered. Most had been struck down with heat exhaustion at least once, several more than once. One man had died of heat stress. But the training never let up.

  Corporal John Turner rolled over in his bunk and looked over the side. “Oushel, I’m telling you, this is the hottest summer I ever been through. I ain’t never been this hot; I swear Hades itself ain’t this hot, nooo, it ain’t.”

  Turner had joined the Army after a fight with his father. “Pup” as his father had called him had accompanied his Uncle on a trip to Chicago when he was thirteen. He had seen the big city and wanted no part of being a dairy farmer after that. By the time he was sixteen he’d quit school and was planning his escape. The next year he announced he was leaving and his father had erupted. Six months later he was in Chicago, penniless and, when he could sneak past the owner, sleeping in a barn. It only took a week of Chicago winter to convince him that he could crawl back to his father and admit he was beaten or join the Army. The Army looked like the better option.

  “I swear if I take apart another truck engine I’ll go crazy. I’m telling you John, I’ve seen the insides of every motor in the division!” Oushel Crenshaw replied.

  Oushel and John had become good friends over the past several months. Oushel admired John; he was older, had been in the Army six months longer and knew how everything worked. John was where someone went to find out the latest news. John was someone who knew about things, he was smart. Oushel was an only child. His mother had died of measles when he was four. His father worked as a lumberjack and they followed the tree line around northern Michigan. It couldn’t last, eventually the trees were all gone and his father went to Detroit hoping to land a job with Mr. Ford. The day Oushel turned seventeen, he told his father that he didn’t want to work in the factory and he was joining the Army. Six weeks later he was on a train for the first time in his life, headed to Waco, Texas.

  In early November John announced that they were “on the list.” Oushel wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but didn’t want his friend to think him stupid so he didn’t ask. A day and two trips through the chow line later he had it figured out, they were going to France. Everyone wanted one last leave.

  “Think the General will let us take leave before we go? I’d like to see my Dad,” Oushel asked John that evening. He was a little embarrassed about asking, but he did want to see his father. They’d been close for his entire life. Now he was afraid he’d never see him again.

  “Ain’t no way. He can’t have us trying to git home and back. Suppose orders come down for us to move right now. No, I seen this before, we ain’t gettin’ no leave.” Turner rolled a cigarette, licked the paper and twisted the ends.

  “Well, I’m asking the Captain anyway.”

  “Ask all you want, he ain’t gonna let you go.”

  Oushel thought about that. John was probably right; at least what he said made sense.

  “I could take the train. It would only be a week, maybe ten days.”

  “Oush, it ain’t possible. The Captain got his orders and they say no leave for nobody. You ain’t goin.”

  A day later Oushel tried anyway. John was right, no leave was granted. The 32nd Infantry Division began to move to Europe in December. In January they suffered their first casualties when a German U-boat sank a troop ship carrying elements of the transportation section. By February the Division was scattered across the ports and bases of England and southern France. It took three weeks for the Division to reform. Several of the more junior officers complained the war would be over before they saw action.

  The Germans launched a major offensive, with a hundred thousand men in March. In April the Division went into action. The majority of the officers didn’t live to see the summer.

  Chapter 5

  I

  Most would believe the items that marked and inferred royalty would be kept in a throne room or a vault somewhere in the Palace. They would be wrong. The Regalia of the French crown were kept in the newest and largest of the chapels of the Château de Versailles. Begun in 1689 and consecrated in 1710 the fifth chapel was an engineering and artistic masterpiece. It was here where
Louis had married Marie Antoinette. It’s architecture, inlaid floors and bas-relief sculpture of Louis XIV Crossing the Rhine, made it a favorite of the Chateau’s residents.

  Luckner left the protection of the palace and stepped into the night. His adjutant quickly took up position on his left. Luckner gave him his instructions as they walked. The man-child answered “Oui, mon Général,” gave Luckner his knapsack and was off. It was still chilly; summer hadn’t yet taken hold of the continent. The General crossed the Cour de Marbre and descended the steps to the Royal Courtyard. As he walked, he pulled his collar up. His felt hat, not dried from this afternoon’s ride was becoming even heavier from the rain.

  Crossing the yard he turned to his left, rounded the building and continued to the Chapel. Its exterior was truly a remarkable, beautiful structure. Sadly, some complained its roofline, thrusting high above the rest of the Palace, clashed with the architectural beauty of the building. Had it occurred to Luckner to think of these things his classical training would have prohibited him from agreeing.

  He ascended the steps, pushed open the doors and entered the narthex. Here, he paused to gain his bearings. Examining the walls in the flickering candlelight, he quickly found what he was looking for. A pair of ancient and ornate swords were crossed over a large cross, the insignia of the L’Ordre des Chevaliers du Saint-Esprit. He removed one, tested its heft and continued. Entering the nave he crossed himself as he marched its length. At the far end stood the altar, its golden carvings of angels standing out against the white marble behind. Having reached the altar steps, not glancing at the masterwork of Coypel, he crossed himself once more and ascended the high altar. Here, he opened the ambry and removed the Bishops crown and a small bottle of Holy Water. These were quickly wrapped in a cloth and placed gently in the knapsack.

  He paused to regain his bearings as he retreated to the narthex. Unlike most cathedrals of Europe, this one had a Tribune Royale, a sort of second story, from which the royal family could view the holy altar, be seen by those in attendance in the apse and still maintain the proper distance from their subjects. The Tribune Royale also contained a small altar; it was there that he needed to be.