Agitatedly the General began to walk up and down.
‘I spoke of this to Fauche-Borel, and he at least had the sense to admit that I was right. He said that he would go to Paris and endeavour to arrange with certain Royalists there that the most dangerous of our potential enemies should be either bribed into silence or forcibly muzzled. That is what must be done. To be certain of success it is essential that a coup d’état should be organised to synchronise with my arrival before the gates of Paris. But to bring a few hundred monarchists shouting into the streets is not enough. And how could a nonentity like Fouche-Borel succeed in doing more. What we need is someone who could win over to our designs a few such men as Barras and Dubois-Crancé. They have the power to arrest the ex-Terrorists who would otherwise sabotage our project. That is what we must have. And I’ll make no move till something of the kind has been arranged. But where in the world are we to find a man capable of such an undertaking?’
Roger sighed. ‘I fear, mon General, that he stands before you. Or at least one who might succeed in it if fortune favoured him.’
‘What! You! An Englishman! How could you possibly hope to gain the ear of the most powerful men in France, and persuade them to participate in a monarchist plot?’
‘I told you a while back that I have lived long in France. Throughout the greater part of the Terror I was in Paris. I know well all the men you have named. There was a time when they trusted me completely. But I have been absent from Paris for above a year. Everything hangs on whether I can re-establish myself in their confidence. Either I shall be in prison within twenty-four hours of my return to the capital, or I will stand a fair chance of bringing about the conditions you require.’
Pichegru suddenly took a step forward and, grasping Roger by the hand, exclaimed: ‘You are a brave man! And from the open expression of your countenance, I believe an honest one. I am prepared to trust you. If, on your return, you can give me your word that measures to stifle opposition will be taken at the right moment, I promise you that I will march my army on Paris. Not for my own ends, or for the King, but as the only hope I see of restoring peace and prosperity to my country.’
Pressing the General’s hand firmly, Roger replied: ‘I thank you for the confidence you place in me. That I will do my utmost you may rest assured, for the future happiness of my countrymen is concerned in this as much as the happiness of yours.’
For a moment they stood in silence with hands clasped, then Roger asked: ‘But what of the immediate future? Even should I succeed in keeping my freedom and manage to organise a plot designed to smother opposition by the fanatics of the old Jacobin Club, two or three weeks at least must elapse before I can return and report to you. What, in the meantime, are your intentions towards the Austrians?’
With a shrug, the General replied: ‘The war must go on. My plans are laid and must be put into operation. The Austrians will be defeated, but that is their misfortune, and can have no bearing on this other matter.’
‘Ah, but it may!’ Roger protested. ‘Should you inflict crushing defeats upon both their armies, this might cause them to sue for peace prematurely. If Britain becomes the only Great Power left with the right to make terms, any ‘influence she might exert upon Louis XVIII to grant a Liberal Constitution is bound to be weakened. And in this, as in all other things, it is a good maxim to keep ever in the forefront of one’s mind the ultimate object of the operation.’
Again Pichegru stared at him, then muttered: ‘I would I had you for my Chief-of-Staff. Yet in this matter I have little choice. General Jourdan is expecting me to launch a thrust against Heidelberg, and I’ll confess that I am all impatience for this new stroke to bring additional glory to my army and myself.’
Roger shrugged, but a diabolically subtle note had crept into his voice as he said: ‘Upon glory foolish people have become drunk, mon General. Personally, as a bon viveur, I am inclined to feel sorry for those who wake up with bad heads and empty pockets in the morning. But I have no admiration for them.’
‘There is no question of bad heads, or of pockets being full or empty.’
‘I differ from you there. Should I fail to bring about the conditions you require in Paris, and in the meantime you have launched this new offensive, all hope will be gone, not only of your doing what is best for France, but also of your securing any part of the great fortune that has been promised you. My master would, I know, approve my language in putting it to you that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.’
With a frown the General replied: ‘I fear that I am at a loss to comprehend your meaning.’
‘I pray you pardon me if my words have seemed obscure.’ Roger’s blue eyes bored into the General’s brown ones. ‘But I have told you that I am the emissary of Mr. Pitt, and you have yourself remarked on the great wealth of Britain. Do you agree to leave the Austrians more or less unmolested until the greater issue has been decided, here and now, as an earnest of our good intentions, I will make you a payment of a million francs.’
‘A million francs!’ Pichegru gasped; ‘but how could you?’
Smiling, Roger fished a paper from his inner pocket and said: ‘Here is a blank order on Mayer Anselm Bauer, banker of Frankfurt-on-Main, I am prepared to fill it in for a million francs, payable to you, if you can see your way to deal gently with the Austrians.’
‘A million,’ the General repeated with awe in his voice. ‘Is it true then that the streets of London are paved with gold?’
‘Not quite, But many of our hunting nobility, whom you had supposed to devour game raw, are served with it cooked, and in considerable state, off gold plate, in their mansions. What say you to my proposition?’
‘The money bags of these German Jews are said to be bursting: but a million in gold is an enormous sum to pay out on demand. I greatly doubt if this man Bauer could meet the order.’
‘Since he is an agent of the British Treasury, he should be able to do so at comparatively short notice.’
For a moment Pichegru remained thoughtful, then he said: ‘Time is of importance if 1 am to enter into this transaction. Should I delay my offensive for more than a few days, and it afterwards transpires that the Jew is unable to pay, I shall have lost my chance of joining forces with General Jourdan yet be no better off.’
‘How long can you give me?’ Roger asked.
‘For what?’
‘Why, to go to Frankfurt and get the gold for you; or at least a written promise that in the course of a week or so it will be paid over to anyone you choose to nominate.’
The General nodded. ‘That would certainly settle the question definitely. Frankfurt is near a hundred miles from here, but a light coach would get you there by tomorrow morning. The collection of the gold would require special arrangements; so for that I am willing to wait. But the day after tomorrow, at latest, I must have an assurance that it will be forthcoming.’
‘Barring accidents, I should be able easily to get back by then.’
That is unnecessary. One of my A.D.C’s, a Captain Gusiot, is fully in my confidence. I will send him with you. He can bring me back the answer. If it is satisfactory I will send only two divisions against Heidelberg. That will be sufficient to prevent General Jourdan from suspecting that I have departed from our agreed plan, but insufficient to take the place. Unless the Austrians are bigger fools than I take them for, they will then be able to prevent our joining up, and a stalemate result which must last at least a month.’
Roger knew then that, providing the money was forthcoming, he would have achieved the equivalent of a great allied victory; but he knew too that the final act yet remained to be played and that to play it he must now once more risk his head in Paris.
20
The Aftermath of the Revolution
Pichegru had spoken gloomily and it was evident that he was much troubled, by this contemplated betrayal of his army’s prospects of achieving another great victory; so Roger was careful to conceal the elation he felt at having won h
im over. Refraining from comment, he said quietly:
‘As time is of importance, the sooner Captain Gusiot and I set off, the better.’
‘I agree; but it would be preferable that you should not be seen together in this headquarters.’
‘There is no reason why we should be seen together at all until we are well out of the city. I have taken a room at the Drei Könige under the name of Bertrand, and Captain Gusiot can pick me up there. It is already dark and there will be no necessity for him to leave the coach; he can simply send in for me.’
The General smiled. ‘I see you are well practised in discretion.’ Then, after glancing at his watch, he added: ‘It is now a quarter to eight. Two hours should be enough for me to give Gusiot his instructions and for him to make his preparations. Be ready to join him in a coach at ten o’clock.’
For a short time they discussed various political leaders in Paris, and the chances of getting them to combine in a coup d’état; then they shook hands on their bargain, and Pichegru told his club-footed soldier servant to see Roger safely out of the Rathaus.
In his attic at the Drei Könige, he changed from the émigré uniform back into his own clothes, repacked his valise and went down stairs for a meal. He had not long finished it when the coach arrived for him. Darkness prevented him seeing the man in it except as a vague figure, and as soon as he had taken his place with a muttered greeting, the vehicle drove out of the inn yard.
A reluctant but instinctive caution kept both men from speaking until they were clear of the town, and even then, they made no mention of the business they were bent upon. For a while they discussed the war, then they settled down in their corners to doze as well as they could while the coach jolted its way through the night, averaging some eight miles an hour.
For well over half the journey; they travelled by the road along the right bank of the Rhine, which was in the hands of the French; and as they had an escort of hussars they were nowhere challenged. But at about five in the morning they reached the fork road, the right arm of which ran north-east through Darmstadt to Frankfurt; and, as the territory they were about to enter was in a state of dubious neutrality, they decided that it would be best to dispense with their escort.
In the grey pre-dawn light Roger now saw his companion properly for the first time. He was a well set up man of about thirty with flashing black eyes and a fine upturned moustache; and Roger was relieved to see he had taken the precaution, against falling in with the Austrians, of obtaining for himself a suit of ill-fitting but adequate civilian clothes. However, they encountered no Austrian troops, breakfasted heartily in Darmstadt and, soon after ten o’clock, crossed the bridge over the Main into Frankfurt.
Without difficulty they found the Judengasse, and the dwelling in it of the banker Bauer. It proved to be sizeable mansion and above its door, as a sign, there hung a red shield. Roger and Gusiot went inside. The ground floor was in use as a counting house, and when Roger told one of the young men there that he wished to see the banker in person, they were obsequiously bowed through to a private section partitioned off from the main office.
A Jew of about fifty, clad in the traditional cap and gown rose to meet them. Keeping his hands tucked inside the sleeves of his robe, he begged them to be seated and enquired their business. Roger produced the order and enquired if, when filled in for a million francs, it could be met.
Bauer asked a moment’s grace, went to a cabinet and compared the signature on the order with one he had there, then he said: ‘Nobleborn, no one could doubt that the British Treasury is good for a mere fifty thousand pounds; but in these troublesome times one does not keep such a sum in one’s cellar. How soon do you require it?’
‘How soon can you produce it?’ Roger asked.
‘Permit me, nobleborn, to consult my son,’ Bauer replied; and, on Roger’s nodding, he rang a handbell four times. In response three young Jews, the eldest of whom appeared to be only in his early twenties, came in. For a few minutes their father talked with them in the tongue of their race, then he turned to Roger and said:
‘Nobleman; if you will accept mainly marks and thaler, in four days’ time we shall be prepared to meet your order with the equivalent of one million francs in gold.’
Roger glanced at Guisot and the Frenchman nodded. The formalities were soon completed, then the banker and his three sons accompanied them to the front door. The youngest, a stripling of eighteen, went out to the coach with them and said to Roger:
‘Pardon me, nobleborn; but it is evident that you are a trusted agent of the English. Do you think there might be a future in England for a young man like myself?’
With the habitual kindness that was second nature to Roger, providing due respect was paid to him, he smiled, and replied: ‘Why not? We have Lloyds’ House where more shipping is insured than anywhere else in the world, the India Company and the Hudson Bay. With the coming of the mechanical age Britain’s own industries are booming, and loans for their expansion are always in good demand. On London’s ‘Change in these days many a fortune is being made by shrewd men within a few years.’
‘I thank you, nobleborn.’ The young Jew bowed low. ‘I have hopes of coming there to settle one day.’ Pointing to the red shield above their heads he added: ‘There are so many of us in the German States named Bauer that my branch of the family has decided to be known in future as the Rothschilds. Would you be gracious enough to remember that, and should I come to England put in a good word for me where you can, because our house, although not a very rich one yet, has done its utmost to meet your heavy demand upon it promptly.’
‘Indeed I will. Only my return to England I will tell Mr. Rose, who decides all things at the Treasury, of the great assistance your family has been to us.’ Roger gave, the promise willingly; the future being a closed book to him, he could not know that he was pledging his support to a man whose financial genius and unshakable faith in Britain would make him second only to Wellington in bringing about the final downfall of Napoleon.
Gusiot and Roger then adjourned to a good inn for a meal. After it, with Bauer’s written promise to pay, the Captain set out on his return journey, Roger, now aching in every limb from his many hours in jolting coaches, took a room and went straight to bed.
Next morning, September the 28th, he caught the diligence into Mainz, which was in the hands of a French garrison. There, he hired another travelling coach, and after some trouble, two French speaking coachmen to drive it. Late in the afternoon he crossed the Rhine, now heading west. On the night of the 30th, the cumulative effect of the jolting forced him to sleep in a bed for the night at Verdun. But without any further break of more than a couple of hours in his journey, he reached the outskirts of Paris soon after midday on October the 2nd.
As the coach drew level with a big rambling building in the Faubourg St. Martin, Roger halted it. Before the Revolution the place had been a convent, but a board attached to its tall wall announced that it was now a depot for army clothing. Having settled up with his two coachmen, Roger picked up his little valise and walked through one of the tall gates, thus giving the men the impression that the depot was his destination. Of its janitor he enquired for an imaginary Citizen Rollo, and the man obligingly sent his son to ask the heads of various departments if they had anyone of that name working under them; with, of course, negative results. Twenty minutes having been occupied in this way Roger walked out to find, as he expected, that he had again freed himself from the possibility of hired drivers gossiping about where he had come from at the inn at which he meant to stay.
Half a mile down the road stood the Porte St. Martin. During the Terror, this gate, and all the others of Paris, had been manned as barriers at which passes had to be shown; but he found that it was now open again to both inward and outward traffic between dawn and sunset. Another mile’s walk brought him to La Belle Étoile in the Rue de l’Arbe Sec, not far from the Louvre. Going in he found the landlord in his little office, and asked for a room.<
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To Roger’s amusement and satisfaction Mître Blanchard did not recognise him, and if anyone in Paris was likely to have done so it should have been he; for he had known Roger first as the impecunious secretary of the Marquis de Rochambeau, seen him mysteriously blossom into a young nobleman who had the entrée at Versailles, and later proved a most stalwart friend to him, with the knowledge that he was a secret agent, during the dark days of the Terror.
As they were alone together, and it was during the quiet of the afternoon, Roger laughingly declared himself. The good Norman was overjoyed at seeing him again, and ran to fetch his wife from the kitchen. Both of them fussed over him, Mère Blanchard declared that she would cook him his favourite dish of duck casseroled in red wine for dinner, and her husband promised to produce his best Burgundy and oldest Calvados.
When they escorted him upstairs, most poignant memories flooded back to him, as when last he had lived there he had loved and lost his beautiful Athénaïs; but, knowing that, they tactfully refrained from giving him his old room.
Two hours later he dined with them in their private parlour, and, during the meal, they gave him the latest news. Paris was once more in a ferment—this time on account of the final decisions taken by the old Convention on the form of the new Constitution. The clauses had been argued with great violence ever since June, when Boissy d’Anglas, a Liberal Deputy who had recently come much to the fore, had put forward the recommendations of a Committee which had been debating the question all through the spring.
The salient points of the Committee’s findings were that the executive power must once more be divorced from the legislative, that there should be two chambers instead of one, that the members of both must be owners of property, that universal suffrage should be abolished and that only those who paid taxes should be entitled to a vote.
While these proposals did not deprive the people of any of the real liberties they had won by the Revolution, they were clearly aimed at destroying once and for all the dictatorship of the proletariat and concentrating power in the hands of the middle-classes. In consequence, all the old catch phrases of the Revolution had been revived by the mob orators, and the surviving Jacobins, who still formed a formidable bloc in the Chamber, had fought them tooth and nail.
The Dark Secret of Josephine Page 37
