Memory of Flames

by Isabel Reid (Translator) Armand Cabasson

‘Alas, not right enough, obviously. How did you find all those passages in the Bible? You couldn’t have read it all.’

  ‘I spent part of my nights reading it. But I was able to find the parts I wanted quite easily because I know it well. My years of apprenticeship in the monastery have proved very useful.’

  As far as Lefine was concerned, Margont’s religious training constituted a useless episode from his past, a splinter he had given up trying to remove from Margont’s soul. Margont, on the other hand, drew great strength from it, more than he would have liked to admit.

  ‘I’m sure we haven’t explored the fire connection sufficiently,’ concluded Margont. ‘We’re going to have to find another way of approaching this investigation ...’

  They agreed to meet the next day and Lefine left.

  He had not been gone many minutes when there was a knock at the door. Margont grabbed a pistol and pointed it straight in front of him.

  ‘It’s me again,’ Lefine called.

  Margont opened the door and Lefine crashed into him, pushed from behind by several people. The little room was suddenly overcrowded. There was Louis de Leaume, Jean-Baptiste de Chatel and Honoré de Nolant, as well as two other men whom Margont did not know. They were all armed and Margont’s pistol was immediately seized, much to Vicomte de Leaume’s delight.

  Lefine declared: ‘I brought a few friends ...’

  CHAPTER 20

  LOUIS de Leaume was exultant, as if he and Margont were playing a game of chess and he had just checked his adversary. ‘Who is this man?’ he asked Margont, pointing at Lefine.

  ‘My name is Fernand Lami, Monsieur le Vicomte,’ the latter replied. ‘I know everything and I’m one of you.’

  Jean-Baptiste de Chatel smiled ironically. ‘Oh, but you don’t know everything ...’

  Margont noticed that this comment annoyed Louis de Leaume, and took it as another sign that the group was preparing a third plan, which he had not been told about. Lefine kept his cool.

  ‘I’ve known Monsieur le Chevalier de Langes for many years. We served in the same regiments, the 18th and then the 84th. Facing death together inevitably forges bonds ... You want a return to the monarchy? So do l! Not for the same reasons, but so what?’

  ‘And what are your reasons?’

  ‘I want an end to war so that I can leave the army and work for

  Monsieur de Langes, as he’s promised me. I’m going to look after the forests on his future lands! A well-paid but not too taxing job. Perhaps my ambitions are small, but that is my dream.’

  ‘You hid him from us,’ Louis de Leaume told Margont.

  He seemed unwilling to address someone of the lower classes. That irritated Margont but he knew he had to take it in his stride and pretend to find it normal.

  ‘But Monsieur le Vicomte, you hid those men from me.’ He indicated the two unknown men who had started to search the room. They lifted up the mattress, turned the pages of the books, moved things around, emptied the trunk ...

  ‘They’re other members of our group—’ began Louis de Leaume. ‘We haven’t time for that!’ interrupted Jean-Baptiste de Chatel. Margont felt that Chatel was playing a tactical game. He continually provoked Vicomte de Leaume. If the latter should lose his temper he would discredit himself - who would want a leader incapable of controlling himself? But if he did not react, he would gradually lose his authority because it would look as if he were

  unable to oppose Chatel. The Swords of the King were not a homogenous group, but a fragile coalition, perpetually on the verge of splitting apart.

  Honoré de Nolant searched Lefine. He found a knife and a pistol, which he placed on the floor. As he patted Lefine down, he felt something in a pocket. He pulled out the gold button and looked at it, but put it back without comment. Margont was searched by Chatel, who then said to him, ‘Chevalier, you won’t mind if we go straight away to your print works?’

  They set off, leaving behind the two members Margont did not know, to continue their search. Margont was not worried, though: apart from fleas and cockroaches, there was nothing to find ... But Joseph had been right to forbid him to have the police reports himself. As for Joseph’s letter, they would have to be very clever to flush that out...

  When they got outside, five more people surged out of the shadows of the adjacent streets - determined-looking men in the prime of life. Two of them returned to the shadows to keep watch to protect their accomplices inside the inn. The three others fell in behind the group, but at some distance, forming a rearguard, ready to close in, in case of danger.

  Margont watched and memorised everything. He was witnessing a display of force on the part of his adversaries. They were better organised than he had previously thought. They were apparently capable of leading a little troop into combat. Were they aiming for some spectacular show offeree? In October 1812, during the retreat from Russia, while the Grande Armée was in complete disarray, General Malet, a republican officer imprisoned for his hostility to the Emperor, had launched a mad attempt to overthrow him. Wanting to restore the republic, he had escaped from the madhouse where he was being held, and embarked on an audacious series of escapades. He pretended to be General Lamotte and had gone to a barracks and announced that the Emperor had been killed in Russia. His aplomb and assurance had convinced the loth cohort of the National Guard. Then he had liberated two other republican generals and arrested Pasquier, the Prefect of

  Police, and Savary, the Minister of Civilian Police. But the Governor of Paris, General Hulin, had refused to support Malet, who responded by shooting him in the jaw. Eventually Malet had been arrested, then shot after a brief trial, but he had well and truly shaken the imperial throne. If Louis de Leaume were as daring as Malet, he would have a much greater chance of success, since he had more resources and the Emperor’s situation was much worse than in October 1812. It all depended what plans he was pursuing. On the other hand, the fact that the Swords of the King had sought to intimidate Margont was also a good sign. They would not have bothered had they not needed him and perhaps feared him.

  The streets, cold enough to make their teeth chatter, were lit by the moon, which resembled a block of ice floating in black water. But Margont was burning inside, heated by the passion of his thoughts. Varencourt was notable by his absence. Was that proof that the group did not trust him? Or was he off leading another operation?

  The little printing press came into sight. How Margont loved it!

  But he was seized by a sudden fear. What if Joseph had asked his police to keep watch on the place? If a guard spotted them and told his superiors that several of the people they were searching for had just appeared, the place would soon be alive with the sound of gunfire ... Margont was annoyed with himself for dragging Lefine into danger with him.

  In a little lane nearby a man stepped out from under a porch. He nodded to Vicomte de Leaume, who had stopped, but now went on again.

  CHAPTER 21

  THEY swarmed into the room. The cold air intensified the smell of ink. Honoré de Nolant lit as few candles as necessary. The unaccustomed nocturnal activity might attract the attention of the police, especially since printing presses were kept under close watch.

  The faces, lit by the pale trembling light of the candles, looked eerie. To Margont’s amusement, Jean-Baptiste de Chatel resembled a ghost.

  ‘So Monsieur de Langes: where have you hidden the posters you promised us?’

  ‘Where no one can find them.’

  Honoré de Nolant had already begun moving piles of paper about and searching behind the presses.

  ‘Show us where,’ commanded Louis de Leaume.

  ‘Here,’ replied Margont, tapping his forehead.

  ‘Are you pulling my leg?’

  ‘In here, neither the police nor the printer’s employees can stumble across them ... Let me demonstrate/

  Margont launched into a sort of dance. He had to give the impression that he was working quickly, whilst actually moving as slowly as
possible. He prepared the press, installed the paper, started the ink flowing, aligned the lead characters ... The Swords of the King tried to follow what he was doing, but printing was more complicated than it looked. Besides, Margont was making it more complex than necessary. He was like a bee flitting from flower to flower. Honoré de Nolant tried to help him by picking up a line of characters. Inevitably, he was instantly stained with ink. He looked at his hands in consternation. In the gloom, the ink looked like blood. It was as if he had just stabbed someone. Was he thinking of a crime he had committed? His appalled expression said a great deal ... He began to wipe his hands on his coat, his fingers pressing the material so tightly that his knuckles were white.

  Margont seized the crank with both hands and pushed it vigorously. He loved that moment. The words did not yet exist, at least

  not visibly. It was the press that made them appear. He waited longer than was necessary. Finally he freed the sheet and presented it triumphantly to the others. He had printed in enormous characters:

  THE KING, PEACE!

  ‘That’s it?’ queried Jean-Baptiste de Chatel in astonishment.

  ‘Yes. Short and sweet - it’s perfect!’

  ‘What about God? And the legitimacy of the King? And the loyalty of the people to their sovereign?’

  ‘Too long, too heavy, too complicated ... The French want peace.’ Vicomte de Leaume took the little poster. He beamed. One of his plans was coming to life in front of his eyes! ‘It’s magnificent! Anyway, we’re going to have several different types of poster...’

  Then suddenly he took Margont in his arms. It was an unusual gesture for an aristocrat. It was more like the embrace of brothers in arms. ‘Chevalier, excuse us for doubting you! You are an extraordinary man!’

  His face was transformed. His vigour, which had struck Margont the first time he had met him, was more obvious than ever. He seemed capable of overcoming any obstacle. Yes, he had definitely kept the passion that had saved his life. He must have worn the same expression as he clawed his way through the putrefying corpses to drag himself out of the communal grave. How could such a man serve Louis XVIII? He should have been a general for the likes of Alexander the Great, but instead he was under the orders of little Louis ...

  ‘More!’ he exclaimed.

  Margont set to work. Lefine, Honoré de Nolant and Louis de Leaume came to lend a hand. Chatel, meanwhile, strolled slowly around, looking about him scornfully. The idea of covering Paris with posters did not interest him. Margont spent far too long brushing the characters with ink on the pretext of distributing it properly, using several different types of typography to make the same poster, taking care to centre a sheet badly so that he had to

  redo it ... In spite of his efforts, the pile of posters grew little by little. Louis de Leaume picked up a pen and frenetically scribbled a draft. ‘What do you think of this?’

  Parisians!

  Take up arms and overthrow the tyrant!

  Down with Napoleon! Long live Louis XVI11!

  ‘It’s good,’ Margont complimented him.

  Louis de Leaume’s choice of words said plenty about what he was planning. Honoré de Nolant also suggested some wording.

  Throw off the imperial yoke! Spray the Eagle with bullets! Long live the King!

  Even Jean-Baptiste de Chatel eventually took a pen and wrote

  his own poster. He did not need to think about what he wanted to say, it was obvious to him.

  People of France Support the return of your King!

  It is the will of God!

  How hateful, thought Margont. That expression, ‘It is the will of God!’ had been used by Pope Urban II in 1095, during his famous speech calling for a campaign to free the Holy Land. His harangue had played a major part in sparking the First Crusade. And that familiar way of addressing himself directly to the French people -what breathtaking arrogance! As for the words ‘your King’: as if it was obligatory to have a king at all ...

  A piercing whistle sounded from the street. Baron de Nolant and Jean-Baptiste de Chatel blew out the candles, plunging the room into darkness.

  ‘What’s happening?’ whispered Lefine.

  ‘Silence!’

  They heard footsteps coming towards them. Margont waited anxiously for his eyes to become accustomed to the dark. But still he could not see anything. He began to worry. What if someone attacked him here, taking him by surprise? Perhaps one of these men was the murderer they were looking for. Had Margont been unmasked? Was the murderer going to come over and stab him to death? Margont stretched his arms out in front of him, hoping to detect an assailant who might be creeping towards him. He started to move silently forward, but at the same time he was annoyed with himself - he had become prey to his own fears.

  A long moment later, there was another whistle, shorter and sharper. Honoré de Nolant lit a candle again. ‘We’re off now,’ he announced. ‘Chevalier, we’ll need more posters. You can print them when the printing press is open again.’

  ‘No, that would be too risky. Every printer has a police informer on the staff and I don’t know who ours is. Besides, the censors and the police often drop in to check up on us. It’s better if I print

  them on my own. I’ll be able to do a few at a time. I should be able to do hundreds eventually ...’

  ‘Very good,’ Louis de Leaume agreed. ‘In any case, it’s best if we don’t come here again.’

  They left, abandoning Margont and Lefine, who had to put everything back in place so as not to arouse the suspicions of the employees. They would, of course, take the posters with them. Once they were on their own, Lefine said to Margont: ‘I would love to see Joseph’s face when you tell him how you used the print works he put at your disposal ...’

  CHAPTER 22

  ON 24 March 1814, the Allies held a military council not far from Vitry. Confusion reigned once more. What should they do? No one could agree, but they had to stick together because Napoleon would certainly exploit any disunity. The day before, some Cossacks had captured a cavalryman on his way to deliver a letter to the Emperor. The note was from Savary, the Minister of Civilian Police, and was full of anguish.

  We are at the very end of our resources, the population is restive and wants peace at any price. The enemies of the Imperial Government are everywhere, fomenting unrest, which is still only latent, but which will be impossible to repress if the Emperor does not succeed in keeping the Allies well away from Paris by drawing them after him away from the gates of the capital ...

  That was all very well, but what if it was a trap? What if the Allies turned their back on Napoleon to march on Paris, and then found their communications threatened or cut off. They would have to be sure they could seize the capital quickly.

  The Tsar was hesitating. He had been foolhardy at Austerlitz, and that had precipitated the Austro-Russian army into a Napoleonic trap, with catastrophic results. But on the other hand, during the Russian campaign, most of his soldiers felt he had been too cautious. Even now, many people considered that the French could have been beaten at the Battle of Borodino had Alexander and the chiefs of staff had more faith in their soldiers. That was an absurd point of view, of course, but everything always seemed simpler when you looked back. So, as much as he told himself that he would be prudent and not repeat the errors of Austerlitz, when he thought of how his beloved Moscow had been destroyed, he longed to set his army charging against Paris. Or against Napoleon. There again, thinking about Austerlitz ... Astonishingly, that day, his advisers were unanimous. It would be Paris!

  The Tsar had long dreamt of taking Paris in revenge for Moscow. So, Paris!

  Schwarzenberg, the generalissimo, showed himself to be modest that day, which was unusual for someone of his rank. He had just been beaten by Napoleon’s little army; many other generals would have been in a hurry to try to take their revenge. But Schwarzenberg judged that the Emperor was a better tactician than he, and that he would be better off avoiding fighting him. So it was Paris
. Frederick William III, King of Prussia, was of the same opinion.

  The decision was almost taken. It was heads Napoleon, tails Paris, but the coin was still spinning, although leaning heavily towards Paris. General Winzingerode, a German in the service of the Tsar, who had the reputation for being the best Allied sabre-fighter, had an idea that made the Paris plan even more appealing. He suggested marching on the capital, but making Napoleon think that they had decided to go after him. He proposed that he himself would head towards Napoleon with ten thousand cavalry, mounted artillery and infantry, and behave exactly as if he were commanding the advance guard of the Allied army. His idea was greeted with enthusiasm.

  So it was definitely Paris.

  CHAPTER 23

  ON 25 March, Napoleon found himself near Wassy and wondered what his adversaries were planning to do. He had sent detachments of cavalry on reconnaissance trips in all directions - to Bar-sur-Aube, Brienne-le-Chateau, Joinville, Montier-en-Der, Saint-Dizier.

  Finally he spotted the enemy. Near Saint-Dizier. The Emperor was triumphant, believing that the Allies were starting to turn back to protect their communications. Keen to keep up the pressure on them, he immediately launched his army in their direction, believing he had the advance Allied guard in his sights, when in fact all he had was the very back of the rearguard.

  At the same time, several leagues away, Marshals Marmont and Mortier, who had been separated from Napoleon by the encounters and manoeuvres of the previous days and who were trying to rejoin him, noticed that the Bohemian and the Silesian armies -two hundred thousand soldiers altogether - had come to station

  themselves between them and the Emperor. They withdrew immediately, pursued by the Allies. In less than forty-eight hours, they were attacked from all sides, and lost eight thousand men. But, unexpectedly, the National Guard, whom the enemy did not take seriously, fought with determination and to good effect, allowing Marmont and Mortier to continue their heroic retreat. They were left with only one option — to retire to Paris. This they did, bringing with them an unexpected escort.