H.J. Gaudreau - Betrayal in the Louvre (3 page)

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. 

Finding the proper staircase, he ascended.  As he approached the top steps he was forced to look at the ceiling.  It was painted with Jean Jouvenet’s “The Descent of the Holy Ghost upon the Virgin and the Apostles”, truly a masterpiece and, another time he would have spent considerable time examining its many nuances.  Now, though he was forced to look at it, he didn’t see it.

His intended destination was behind the traditional seating area for the royal family and guests.  It served as a private altar and was not visible from the nave.  Two guards stood in front of the communion table.

“Leave”, he said. 

“Mon General, we cannot leave, we are representatives of the King.  It is our duty, I must ask you your business.”  The Sergeant stood at attention; fear streaked across the man’s face. 

Luckner sympathized with the man.  The Sergeant was in an awkward position.  But he didn’t have the time.  Raising the sword he had taken from the shrine to the Knights of the Holy Spirit he placed the point at the man’s throat.  The Sergeant’s eyes met his.  “In the name of the King remove yourselves from this place,” Luckner said.  His eyes locked on those of the Sergeant; this was a good man Luckner thought, there were too few like him.  Few would have questioned a General, orders or no.  He could see a fire in the man’s eyes.  Luckner sensed the man’s confusion.  The Sergeant decided there was no doubt a sword would be driven through his neck if he objected further.  He lowered his eyes, glanced at his man and acquiesced.

“Oui, Mon General, I intended no offense,” said the Sergeant.  He and the Private hurried off. 

The small altar was made of marble, with a simple gold cross standing in the middle of the communion table.  Behind it, recessed into the wall was an ambry.  To this storage area General Luckner proceeded.  In front of, and level with the lower edge of the ambry was another communion table, this one also made of white marble.  The ambry itself was made up of five wooden doors forming the shape of a U; one central door nearly four feet long and hinged at the bottom and, on each side two square doors of similar construction, one over the other.  In the center of the U was a painting of King Solomon holding a sword and a baby, one woman crying, another simply watching.  He did not know the artist.  The structure was of a beautiful dark Lebanon cedar, with a carved scene of the Archangel Gabriel slaying a demon.  The sword of Christ poised above the demon’s heart as its central motif.  The four smaller doors had similar scenes of holy triumph over evil.

He opened the small door on the bottom right.  This compartment held the Patents of the extended family of the House of Bourbon.  Inside was a stack of wooden cylinders, butt ends facing outward.  A Patent was actually a vellum document, in this case made of calf’s leather, attesting to the family tree of a royal.  Each of the individual’s ancestors and blood relatives were identified.  Their portraits painted onto the leather in painstaking detail.  It documented the how and why of the bearer’s claim to royalty.  He closed that door and opened the one above it.  Inside this door were only six cylinders; these were the Patents of the King, his Queen, and their three surviving children and one dead child.  The cylinders, twenty inches long, were actually hollow elephant tusks.  Each end was covered with a gold cap.  Engraved into each cylinder was a name.  He quickly examined one, then the next, until he finally found the one labeled “Louis-Joseph”.  Withdrawing the cylinder he secured it in the small knapsack he carried. 

Luckner went to the other end of the ambry and opened the top door.  Inside was a square box, of Lebanon cedar, a fleur-de-lis inlaid in ivory and the words “The House of Bourbon” inlaid in gold and mother of pearl decorating the top.  He removed the box and put it on the altar.  Carefully he felt for the small clasp hidden in a relief carved on the front.  Finding it, he opened the box.  There, cushioned in a purple pillow was a Crown.  Certain he had the correct crown Luckner stood to his full height, and listened intently.  All the while carefully studying the walls, nooks and shadows of his surroundings.  Convinced he was alone, he removed the crown and placed it on the altar.  Next, he removed the Holy Ampule from its bed below and carefully sat it next to the crown.

Retrieving the knapsack he removed the crown and bottle of holy water he had taken from the altar below and placed them in the box.  The deception complete he replaced the box in the ambry. 

Opening the lower door he removed a similar box.  Inside he found a purple pillow with a crown sparkling of diamonds, rubies and jewels.  He quickly estimated its worth.  It was more than enough for his purposes.  This was a personal crown, worn at state functions after the coronation.  He removed this crown and stuffed it into his knapsack.  This he could use to pay for the Dauphin’s expenses…and maybe a small reward for his services.

Next, he examined the central door.  Quickly finding the latch he released it and lowered the door.  Inside, a shelf, covered with purple velvet, held a box, also of Lebanon cedar and more or less fitting the dimensions of the shelf holding it.  He removed the box.  Its cover also had the fleur-de-lis inlaid in ivory.  The words “The House of Bourbon” were inlaid in gold and mother of pearl above the seal.  Below the seal were the words “The Final Argument Of The King”. 

He lifted the box out of the compartment and also placed it on the table-altar.  He then placed the sword he’d removed from the wall in its place and closed the door.  Preparing to open the box he paused, knowing exactly what was inside.  He sucked a breath between clenched teeth and opened the box.  Held in place by simple leather straps over a purple pillow lay the sword “La Joyeuse’.  Luckner was a man not easily impressed; this weapon impressed him.  The blade was clearly made for its work.  It shown brightly; the edge sparkled in the candlelight.  The pommel was large, gold and intricately carved.  The handle was wrapped in sweat and blood stained leather. The hilt had more than a few nicks, this sword had been used in battle and had done its work well.  The sword had instilled fear across the entirety of Europe.  It was said to possess powers that made its holder unbeatable in battle.  That had certainly been the case as it had slashed its way across all of Europe and Italy.  This sword had been sung about since the eleventh century.  The song of Roland exclaimed that it changed colour thirty times a day.  It had been forged to contain the Spear of Destiny within its pommel; and forged from the same unearthly metal as Roland’s Durendal and Ogier’s Curtana.  Before him lay the sword of the King of the Franks, the King of the Lombards, and the Emperor of the Romans.  This was the Sword of Charlemagne.

Spending only a moment to honor the sword, he slung the small knapsack over his shoulder, stuffed the box containing La Joyeuse under his arm and left the chapel.

II

The Chateau de Versailles contains over 700 rooms and 67 staircases.  Only a small portion of the palace is devoted to the living quarters of royalty.  The remainder of the rooms are devoted to official functions, offices, museums, apartments for members of the court, servants’ quarters, kitchens, canning rooms, slaughter rooms, wine cellars, guards’ quarters, armories, store rooms and similar rooms devoted to the support of the king and his palace.

Wishing to avoid this maze of hallways and rooms, Luckner again elected to walk outside.  He left the chapel by the way he had entered, descending the stairs, turning to his right and rounding the corner of the building.  The rain was no more than a drizzle.  Unfortunately, the box was awkward and difficult to carry.  He needed assistance from his men.  Fortunately, they were now here.  He entered the Cour Royale.  There, fifty of his best men sat patiently upon their horses, the rain not bothering them in the least. 

“Colonel DeAubry” Luckner called.

“Oui, Mon General” a voice from the dark edge of the group sang out.

“Colonel, take this box and knapsack, secure them in a coach.”  He paused then added, “A traveler’s coach, not a royal coach.  Do you understand?” 

“Oui.”

“Good, have the turn-out ready in fifteen minutes.  I’ll meet you at the stables.  Keep the coach out of sight as much as possible.”  With that he turned and walked toward the Cour de Marbre.
Stopping briefly, he pointed at a Sergeant and a Private then said, “You and you, come with me, hurry.”

The men dismounted, handed the reins of their respective mounts to their comrades and hurried after the General.

Luckner marched across the Cour de Marbre and entered the Dauphin’s guardroom.  From there he moved to the anteroom.  As he entered the anteroom a woman wearing a green dress with purple trim was surprised as she relaxed on a chaise, she immediately stood.  Luchner examined her.  Not a woman, in fact, she was a mere child.  She must be one of the Dauphin’s governesses.  She hadn’t said a word; fear streaked her face.

“Where is he?” he asked.  The girl began to stammer. 
             

“Do not delay me young lady,” Luckner said in his commanding, harsh French.

The girl simply pointed at the bedchamber door.

Luckner and the two men crossed the room and entered the Dauphin’s bedchamber.  Marie Antoinette, Queen of France, looked up from a couch in the center of the room.  A young boy sat next to her.  A picture book lay across their legs.  Her eye’s met Luckner’s. 

“Madame, I am sent by the King to take the boy.  We must leave at once.”  Luckner tried to sound warm and understanding.  In his German accented French he did not succeed. 

Marie Antoinette looked at the General.  She thought how unfair life had been for her.  Selected to marry the future King of France at the age of 13, it had taken painful dental surgery to correct her crooked teeth before the Dauphin had agreed to the wedding.  They had married the next year and she had left her home in Austria, never to see it again.  Her husband, sexually inept, did not come to her bed for seven years.  When he did it was rare, and his sole purpose was to ensure an heir.  There was little love in the act.  Now that four children had come of the union, his visits were even more rare.  In fact, it had been nearly two years since he had last bedded her.  Marie, feeling very lonely, had taken to a small set of cottages on the grounds, the hameau de la reine, filling her days with gardening, gambling and shopping. 

The latter two vices drew unwanted attention from the treasury and eventually her King.  It fed the already not insignificant distrust of her at court.  She was called “the Austrian” and, it seemed these little vices had cost her early popularity with the people of France.  Eventually, she found love in the arms of another woman.  Her first consort being the Princesse de Lambelle.  That affair did not last long, ended amiably and the Queen moved on.  Soon, a new lover entered her life, the duchesse de Polignac; Yolande de Polastron.  This woman became her constant companion, at her side as she shopped, played the horses, gambled and gardened.  Yolande filled the void an even half-attentive husband should have filled.  She also grew to love the children as much as Marie.