‘Rebels?’ Talleyrand shook his head. ‘Sire, they are not rebels. They are not traitors. They are simply tired of war. Now that you have given them peace they will be as loyal to you as any man.’
‘He’s right,’ Lucien added. ‘For pity’s sake, sire, let France enjoy the peace.’
‘In good time,’ Napoleon replied.‘After we have dealt with Portugal.’
Talleyrand leaned forward with an earnest expression. ‘But sire, how can you wage war against Portugal? Our fleet was destroyed by the British navy. The warships we have left would not be adequate to protect any convoy carrying an army to the coast of Portugal.’
‘I know.That is why we must invade Portugal by land.’
‘By land?’Talleyrand’s eyes widened. ‘By marching across Spain?’
Napoleon smiled. ‘I am not aware of any other route. In which case, I require you to secure agreement with Spain that our army be given free passage from the Pyrenees across Spain to the border of Portugal.’
‘And if they refuse our request?’
‘Although the King of Spain is our ally, you must make it quite clear to him that I ask for his agreement out of courtesy. If he refuses, my army will march across his territory regardless of his wishes.’
‘If the Spanish oppose our forces it will mean war.’
‘Which is why they will not refuse.’
Talleyrand stared at the Emperor. ‘This is madness, sire. There is no other word for it.’
‘Be careful,Talleyrand.You go too far.’
‘Even if you do not provoke a war with Spain, you will earn their bitter resentment.They are a proud people, sire, and they will be shamed by a French army marching across the breadth of their country. Besides, our men are accustomed to living off the land. If our soldiers do that in Spain they will make us enemies wherever they pass. Sire, you cannot do this. I implore you. I will not have any part in such a scheme.’
‘Then I will have to entrust the task to another man.’
The Emperor and his foreign minister stared at each other for a moment in silence, each waiting for the other to respond. At length Talleyrand shook his head in despair.
‘So be it.’ He pushed his chair back and stood up. For a second there was silence around the table as the others regarded the foreign secretary with surprise. He drew a deep breath and composed himself before he spoke again. ‘Sire, I regret that I can no longer serve you as foreign minister.You ignored my warnings over a treaty with Russia and now this . . . I am compelled to tender my resignation.’
Napoleon forced a smile. ‘My dear Talleyrand! There is no need for such drastic action. If you have no wish to oversee this aspect of our foreign relations, then let another handle the matter for you. I can see you are tired, and no wonder after all the hard service you performed on behalf of your country at Tilsit.’
‘Enough!’ Talleyrand raised his hand to silence the Emperor. ‘Sire, you ignored my advice at Tilsit. I tell you again, no good will come of our treaty with Russia. Now you are intent on dragging France into another conflict. Sire, your wars are bleeding the nation dry.The Grand Army is like a great beast devouring gold and men and leaving nothing but a wasteland where it passes. War is the greatest evil to afflict men, yet it appears to me that you worship at its altar.Where will it end, sire?’ He shook his head and sighed. ‘I am no longer prepared to share the responsibility for your policies. I will not serve you as your foreign secretary.You will have my letter of resignation before the day is out.’
Before Napoleon could respond, Talleyrand turned and stumped across the room, leaving the others staring after him in shocked silence. As the door closed behind him, Napoleon collected himself and sneered. ‘It seems that Talleyrand lacks the stomach for a fight.’
Lucien leaned across the table and fixed his older brother with an intense stare. ‘You cannot let him leave your service.’
‘It is his choice whether he leaves or not.’
‘But Talleyrand has connections in every country in Europe. He is well known in every court. Brother - sire, we need him.’
Napoleon shook his head. ‘No. If he is fool enough to quit his position, then he is of no use to me, or to France. I can do without him. Besides, I doubt the man’s loyalty.’ He turned to Fouché. ‘Have him watched. Closely. If there is the least sign of disloyalty I want to know about it at once.’
Fouché smiled and bowed his head in assent. ‘Of course, sire. I will see to it.’
There were more processions and military reviews in the weeks that followed as the capital continued to celebrate France’s triumph over her enemies and give thanks for the prospect of a profitable and secure peace. Napoleon, and the imperial court, played host to elaborate musical and theatrical entertainments where the highest-ranking officers of the Grand Army wore their best uniforms and glittering decorations, and mixed with the elite of French society. For his part Napoleon was keen to demonstrate to the rest of Europe that the court of the Emperor would rival, and surpass, that of any other sovereign on the continent. All eyes would turn to Paris and marvel at the gorgeous spectacle that he would put on display. Over it all would loom the presence of Napoleon, the master of Europe. He had made it possible and he wanted to ensure that all France was reminded of the fact.
At the same time he quietly gave orders for the formation of a new army, based in Gironde. The first corps of the new force was formed early in August and soldiers began to march to the south of France to join the army as Napoleon instructed the Portuguese ambassador to tell his government that henceforth France would refuse to permit Portuguese shipping to enter any French port.
Meanwhile, as France basked in long days of sunshine, the imperial court left the humid confines of Paris to seek its pleasures in the countryside. Berthier, who had proved his competence in supervising every last detail of the Grand Army’s campaign, was now given the task of organising a series of shooting parties for the imperial court. Late in August, having enjoyed blasting pheasant and quail out of the skies, the Emperor gave orders for another shoot, this time aimed at land-based targets. Accordingly Berthier hurriedly made preparations for a rabbit shooting party.
On the appointed day a large convoy of carriages conveying Napoleon and his guests set off from Fontainebleau into the surrounding countryside. Earlier, at first light, a somewhat larger convoy of carts had set off carrying tents, tables, chairs, crockery, cutlery, silverware and glasses. More wagons groaned under the burden of the finest foods and wines the imperial court could provide for the luncheon. Still other vehicles carried the musicians who were to provide the entertainment while the members of the imperial court dined. At the tail of the convoy came the wagons carrying the hundreds of rabbits destined to be targets. Beside them walked the beaters and those assigned to load guns for the Emperor’s guests. Long before the first of the imperial retinue arrived at the chosen site, everything had been prepared for them.
Napoleon was riding in his carriage with General Junot and Berthier, and had spent most of the short journey swapping memories of the campaigns they had shared. At length there was a lull in the conversation, and then Napoleon suddenly leaned forward and tapped Junot’s knee.
‘You have not asked me why you are travelling in my carriage.’
Junot shrugged. ‘It is not my place to question your decisions, sire.’
‘Of course not.’ Napoleon grinned. ‘But you are curious, eh?’
‘Yes, sire.’
Napoleon leaned back and crossed his arms, enjoying his friend’s suspense for a moment. ‘General Junot, I have the pleasure of offering you the command of the newly formed Army of the Gironde. Do you accept?’
Junot smiled broadly. ‘It would be an honour, sire. I thank you with all my heart.What are my orders?’
‘You will have them in good time. Suffice to say, you will in all probability be enjoying the sights of Lisbon before the year is out.’
‘Lisbon?’ Junot’s eyes widened. ‘You mean to attack Portuga
l, sire?’
Napoleon frowned. ‘Lower your voice! There are foreign diplomats ahead of and behind us, including, I might add, the Portuguese ambassador.’
‘I apologise, sire.’
Napoleon dismissed it with a quick wave of his hand. ‘We will talk more on this later, Junot. I just wished to let you know about your appointment. No doubt you are wondering why I picked you.’
‘It had crossed my mind, sire.’
‘You have proved to be a good soldier, Junot, and a loyal one. We have known each other since you were my sergeant at Toulon, and I was a mere captain of artillery.’ Napoleon glanced out of the carriage window. ‘It seems so long ago now.’
The Emperor fell silent and Junot glanced towards Berthier with a questioning look.The chief of staff shrugged faintly.
Napoleon’s gaze fixed on his hands. It was over twelve years since he and Junot had won their spurs in the siege of Toulon. Much had happened between then and now, and suddenly Napoleon felt older than his years. The strength of will and swiftness of mind that had singled him out from his peers as a young man were starting to fade. His once thin face and slender body had been replaced by rounded, overindulged features and a creeping portliness. He was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of disgust at the changes in his body.Very well, then. If he could stay young in body, he would stay agile in thought. His eyes flashed up towards Berthier.
‘Is everything in hand for the shoot?’
‘Yes, sire. It has all been taken care of. Even the weather.’ Berthier nodded towards the cerulean sky and laughed.
But Napoleon just nodded, absent-mindedly, and muttered, ‘Good. That’s good.’
Once the guests had arrived, and been served with wine and snacks by the imperial footmen, they began to congregate in groups, filling the air with good-humoured conversation, punctuated by laughter. Napoleon, with a small entourage, moved amongst them, greeting his guests, sharing jokes with old comrades and making flirtatious exchanges with the most beautiful of the women. Then he paused as he saw the Portuguese ambassador in earnest conversation with a small group of foreign dignitaries on the periphery of the party.
‘Excuse me,’ Napoleon said tersely to his followers. ‘Wait here.’
He strode across the trampled grass and the Portuguese ambassador fell silent as the Austrian diplomat, Prince Metternich, nudged his arm.
‘A word with you,’ Napoleon called out as he strode up to them and the other men at once stepped back to make space for the French Emperor. Napoleon rounded on the Portuguese ambassador. ‘I am still waiting for your King to respond to my demands. Well? Heard anything?’
The ambassador bowed his head and replied in a subdued tone,‘Alas, no, your majesty.’
‘I see.’ Napoleon frowned. ‘This discourtesy has gone on long enough. I will not endure it, do you hear? If your King does not do what I want, then he and the house of Braganza will no longer rule Portugal a few months from now.You tell him that. And tell him that with Russia as my ally there is nothing that can stand in the way of France now. Nothing!’ Napoleon glared round at the other diplomats and continued in a menacing tone, ‘And if there is any other nation in Europe that chooses to defy me by receiving any British envoys, I will declare war on them too. I will not be defied, gentlemen.’ He stood there a moment, to make sure they could see that he was serious, then wagged a finger at them and turned to stride back towards his entourage.
All the guests had fallen silent at the sound of his raised voice, and now there was a pause before conversation resumed, a low, nervous muttering which only gradually built up to the former light-hearted hubbub.
After lunch, the male guests strolled down to the shooting line on a raised bank and took up their weapons. Before them lay a vast cropped meadow, and beyond that a small forest.The cages containing the rabbits had been set up a short distance in front of the shooters with the beaters standing ready to drive them forward, in front of the guns of the imperial party. When all the guests had loaded guns held ready and stood in tense expectation, Bethier gave the signal to the senior huntsman, who cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed,‘Loose the rabbits!’
The pegs were pulled free and the doors swung open as the beaters whacked the rear of the cages with their sticks. At once scores of rabbits bounded free, their tails bobbing up and down like balls of cotton.They hopped a short distance and then began to stop and turn, glancing round curiously.
Napoleon hissed impatiently, waiting for the rabbits to move beyond the beaters so that he could get a clear shot. But the rabbits, as if of one will, had turned round and were already hopping back, darting between the cages and the legs of the beaters as they made for the bank where the shooters stood watching in growing astonishment.
‘What the hell?’ Napoleon growled. He glanced towards Berthier. ‘What is going on? Why don’t they run away?’
Berthier shook his head in bewilderment as the rabbits surged up the bank. He called out to the senior huntsman. ‘What is the meaning of this?’
The huntsman ran over and bowed his head. ‘Sir?’
‘What are the rabbits doing?’ asked Berthier anxiously as he watched Napoleon lower his gun and kick out at a small crowd of rabbits clustered at his feet.
The huntsman bit his lip. ‘These rabbits, sir. Can I ask if you bought ’em wild, or tame?’
‘They’re from a breeder.Why?’
‘So they’re tame.’ The huntsman nodded. ‘That’s it then. They must think the shooters have come to feed them.’
The blood drained from Berthier’s face. ‘Oh, no . . .’
He looked round and saw the line of shooters besieged by the wave of hungry rabbits. Already some of the Emperor’s guests were in a retreat, some angered and some amused as the little beasts followed them. Then, as a fluke waft of breeze brought the scent of the banquet down the slope, the rabbits rose on their haunches, tiny noses quivering, and then surged up the slope. Berthier’s heart sank at the sight.
‘Berthier!’ Napoleon called out furiously. ‘You fool! You dunderhead! ’
Throwing down his weapon in disgust, the Emperor stalked back up the hill towards his carriage. The first of the rabbits had reached the tables and the more hysterical of the female guests were rushing for the shelter of the carriages, some screaming. Berthier looked round, mouth agape, as picnic tables were upset and men and rabbits ran hither and thither in the chaos.
Reaching his carriage, Napoleon climbed the steps and threw himself down on the seat, slamming the door behind him. And then froze. Sitting on the opposite seat was a small rabbit, watching him warily.
‘Bastard,’ Napoleon muttered, launching himself across the gap and grasping a handful of writhing fur and kicking feet. Holding it at arm’s length, he thrust the rabbit towards the carriage window and dropped it on the ground. ‘Driver!’
‘Sir?’
‘Take me back.’
‘To Fontainebleau, sir?’
‘Where else, you idiot?’
The driver cracked his whip and the carriage lurched forward. Ignoring the scene outside, Napoleon slumped down, arms crossed, the darkest of expressions on his face.
He did not move until the carriage stopped in front of the entrance to his country house, and then he climbed down from the coach as swiftly as possible and strode up the stairs to the door being held open for him by a footman. Inside, the hall seemed dark and cold after the dazzling light and warmth of the summer day, and Napoleon paused to let his eyes adjust. Halfway down the hall a figure abruptly rose from one of the padded benches outside the Emperor’s suite of offices.
‘Who’s that?’ Napoleon called out as the figure marched towards him.
‘Courier from Paris, sire.’ The figure halted and dimly Napoleon made out the features of a young dragoon officer. The officer saluted crisply and held out a despatch. ‘From the War Office.’
Napoleon tore open the seal and opened the document out. He moved back into the light beaming from the entrance
and read the contents through quickly, then the main points once more, before he folded it up again and thrust it towards the courier.
‘Take this. Do you know the estate at Cerbière?’
‘Y-yes, sire. I think so.’
‘Well, do you or don’t you?’
‘I do, sir.’
‘Then ride there as fast as you can. Ask for the shooting party, and then find Marshal Berthier.Tell him I want him back here immediately. Tell him the British have landed an army in Denmark. Got that?’
‘Yes, sire.’ The officer nodded. ‘Denmark.’
Denmark, Napoleon mused. Why Denmark? The Danes were not allied to France; they were neutral. So why invade them? He frowned, and muttered, ‘What are they thinking? What are the British devils up to now?’
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