The Eight – The Attorney’s Tale, as told by Robespierre

(Page 387) "But you don’t know that the Montglane Service lies at the very center of the storm that’s sweeping away the monarchy throughout Europe – that will cast off the yoke of oppression forever." He reached to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of port, then continued: "Perhaps if I tell you how I came to the Game, you’ll understand. For there is a game going on, my dear David – a dangerous and deadly game that destroys the very power of kings. The Montglane Service must be united under the control of those – like us – who’ll use this powerful tool in support of those innocent virtues espoused by Jean-Jacques Rousseau. For it was Rousseau himself who chose me for the Game." "Rousseau!" David whispered in awe. "He sought the Montglane Service?" "Philidor knew him, and so did I," said Robespierre, extracting a piece of letter paper from his pocketbook and looking about for something to write with. David, fumbling through the litter on the sideboard, handed him a drawing crayon, and Robespierre continued as he began to draw a diagram. "I met him fifteen years ago, when I was a young lawyer attending the States General in Paris. I learned that the revered philosopher Rousseau had fallen gravely ill just outside Paris. Hastily arranging an interview, I journeyed on horseback to visit the man who, in his sixty-six years, had produced a legacy that would soon alter the future of the world. What he told me that day certainly altered my future – perhaps yours will be changed as well." … (Page 388) … "I’ve been expecting you," he [Rousseau] said quietly in greeting. "They tell me, Monsieur Robespierre, that you’re a man who embraces those natural virtues I myself extol. At the threshold of death, it’s comforting to know one’s beliefs are shared by at least one fellow human being!" … "Voltaire died last week," he began. "Our two lives were yoked together like those horses Plato spoke of – one pulling toward the earth, the other up into the heavens. Voltaire pulled for Reason, while I’ve championed Nature. Between us, our philosophies will serve to rip asunder the chariot of Church and State." (Page 389) "I thought you disliked the man," I said, confused. "I hated him and I loved him. I regret never having met him. One thing is certain – I’ll not long outlive him. The tragedy is, Voltaire had the key to a mystery I’ve spent my life trying to unravel. Due to his pigheaded adherence to the Rational, he never knew the value of what he’d discovered. Now it’s too late. He’s dead. And with him died the secret of the Montglane Service." I felt the excitement growing in me as he spoke. The chess service of Charlemagne! Every French schoolboy knew the story – but was it possible it was more than a legend? I held my breath, praying he’d go one. Rousseau had taken a seat on a fallen log and was rummaging through his satchel of yellow Moroccan leather. To my surprise, he extracted a delicate cloth of needlepoint and hand-picked lace and began working over it with a tiny silver needle as he spoke. "When I was young," he began, "I supported myself in Paris by selling my lace and crewelwork, since no one was interested in the operas I wrote. Though I’d hoped to be a great composer, I spent each evening playing chess with Denis Diderot and Andre Philidor, who, like myself, could see the bottom of their pocketbooks. In the nick of time Diderot found me a paying position as secretary to the Comte de Montaigu, French ambassador to Venice. It was the spring of 1743 – I shall never forget. For in Venice that year I was to witness something I can still see as vividly as if it were yesterday. A secret at the very core of the Montglane Service." … "You say you witnessed something?" I pressed. "Something to do with the chess service of Charlemagne?" The old philosopher slowly shook himself back to reality. "Yes… Venice was even then a very old city, filled with mystery," he reminisced dreamily. "Though completely surrounded by water and filled with glittering light, there was something dark and sinister about the place. I could feel this darkness pervading everything, as I wandered through the winding labyrinth of streets, passed over ancient stone bridges, moved in gliding gondolas through the secret canals where only the sound of lapping water broke the silence of my meditation… ." (Page 390) …[Robespierre explains how he meets Casanova in deleted section] "He [Casanova] was interested especially in [the occult] and questioned me closely about the Societies of Freemasons so popular in Paris just then. Though I knew but little of such things, he offered to improve my education the next morning – Easter Sunday. "We met as arranged at dawn, where a large throng had already gathered outside the Porta della Carta – that door separating the famous Cathedral San Marco from the adjoining Ducal Palace. The crowd, sheared of their colorful costumes of the prior week’s carnevale, were all dressed in black – awaiting with hushed voice the beginning of some event.