As Roger walked back through the dimly-lit streets he knew that Fouché might be already running to the nearest police office to betray him, give a description of his new appearance, and have him hunted down. The ex-terrorist was entirely capable of having played a part from the start to the finish of their long interview. On the other hand he had been led to believe that by holding his tongue a wonderful prize was to be gained; so if he really had kept what he knew of Roger to himself so far, he now had the best possible reason for continuing to do so.
That he had, in the main, been telling the truth seemed to Roger more than likely and, if so, no set of circumstances could have been more favourable to himself; for, if the explanations given about his disappearance were to be believed, it meant that he had very nearly a clean bill for reappearing in Paris as Citizen Commissioner Breuc.
One fence, and a stiff one, still had to be got over. He had to explain his long disappearance to Barras, and give him some plausible account of what had happened to the little Capet. If he could succeed in that he would be free to set about forming a secret camarilla pledged to collaborate with Pichegru in bringing about a Restoration.
But Barras was one of the men who would have no truck with that, and to even hint at it to him would mean immediate arrest. Yet, unless he could lie his way back into Barras’s confidence, his apparent success with Fouché would be completely worthless. Barras, too, was too rich to bribe and too courageous to bully. Moreover, unlike Fouché, he was still one of the most powerful men in France; so to set about tackling him was an undertaking bristling with even greater dangers.
After recrossing the Seine, in spite of the lateness of the hour, Roger found the central Sections of the city still restless. By dropping into conversation with a group on a street corner he learned that the electors of the Section Lepelletier, which was in the forefront of the agitation, had held a meeting in the Théâtre Français, and that all the evening the Place de l’Odeon outside it had been packed with sympathisers from other Sections. In alarm, the Convention had passed an emergency decree declaring the meeting to be illegal, then despatched police and dragoons to disperse it; but the mob in the Place had driven them off, and the meeting had passed a resolution declaring that the Convention no longer represented the Sovereign People.
Next morning Roger had a horse saddled for him in the stable of La Belle Étoile and rode out from the city to the pleasant village of Passy. He was technically the owner of a charming little house there, as his friend M. de Talleyrand-Périgord, the wily Bishop of Autun, had made it and its contents over to him when he had had to fly from Paris in order to protect his property from being sold by the revolutionaries as that of an émigré. Roger had used it on numerous occasions since as a safe hide-out, and when last there had left with a couple named Velot, who had been de Talleyrand’s butler and cook, a considerable sum for their support until either he or their real master could come to the house again.
He found old Antoine Velot working in the garden, and was both relieved and delighted because he was genuinely fond of the dear old man. Marie Velot returned soon afterwards from shopping in the village, and the couple could not have done more to make Roger welcome. All through the months, knowing that he never announced his coming, they had kept the best bedroom ready for him, and they both expressed the hope that he had come for a long stay.
He told them that he might return late that night, or the next, and lie low there for a while, but as yet could not be certain; so, in case his return should be prevented, he made them a further liberal payment which would keep them in comfort for at least another year. They gave him an excellent early dinner, then he rode back to Paris, approaching the centre of the city late in the afternoon.
As he did so he could hear the roll of drums from several directions, which could be taken as an indication that the National Guards were being summoned to their respective Section headquarters. All work had ceased, and processions were marching through the streets carrying banners and shouting such slogans as ‘Down with the Two-Thirds’ and ‘End the Tyranny of the Convention.’ Among the marchers there was a high proportion of respectably dressed men. Many of them wore grey great-coats with black collars and green cravats, thus openly displaying the colours which had been adopted by the Royalists, while others in woollen caps with bobbles were obviously Breton Chouans, who had been brought into Paris to aid in a rising.
On arriving at the Belle Étoile, Roger got hold of Maître Blanchard, who was always a good source of news owing to his many customers, and from him learned the latest rumours.
The Convention had declared itself in perpetual session and, it was said, had sent for General Menou, who commanded the Army of the Interior, to bring troops from his camp at Sablons. In the meantime it had only the fifteen-hundred men of its own special guard at its disposal; so, for its further protection, an emergency measure had been passed permitting the re-arming of the ‘patriots’, as the sans-culottes were termed; and the weapons which had been taken from them after the quelling of the riots in the previous May had been reissued to many hundreds of them that morning.
On the other hand this official arming of the mob had been seized upon by the Sections as an excuse to call out the National Guard, which was mainly composed of middle-class citizens and was overwhelmingly anti-Convention in sentiment. Nine Sections had already declared themselves in open rebellion, and called upon the others to join them in maintaining the public safety which, they alleged, was now menaced by the Terrorists.
Late in the evening General Menou arrived in the capital, but with only a limited number of troops; and that, together with the fact that had he obeyed the Convention’s order promptly he could have reached it by midday, seemed to Roger a clear indication of his luke-warmness.
Menou was the General who had put down the rising of the sans-culottes in May, and he had done so with considerable vigour; but he was now called on to do the very opposite. It was whispered that he had monarchist sympathies, and it was certain that he had many friends among the leaders of the Sections; so he could not be expected to use force, except in the last extremity, and his tardy arrival now made it seem possible that he was even in league with the Sections, and might go over to them.
The rapid development of the crisis gave Roger furiously to think how it might affect his own affairs; He had hoped that it would be delayed for a few days, in order that he might first have an opportunity of seeing Barras privately in his own house. Now it seemed very unlikely that he would be able to do so for, the Convention being in perpetual session, and also the Committee of Public Safety, it was as good as certain that Earras would be at one or other of them.
Yet, that he should see Barras before the clash occurred was imperative. During the last rising the mob had broken into the Chamber, slain a Deputy named Féraud, cut off his head, stuck it on a pole, and held it up face to face with Boissy d’Anglas, who had been occupying the rostrum. A similar fate to Féraud’s might overtake Barras that very night. If it did Roger would be debarred from proceeding with his plans owing to the extreme danger of resuming his old identity while still uncertain how many people knew the real reason for his flight from France. Only through Barras could he learn if Fouché had told the truth, or deceived him so that he should disclose himself and be promptly arrested.
At nine o’clock he decided to take the plunge involved by going to the Convention. The risk was a high one as, should Barras prove an enemy, from his own house it might have been possible to escape, but there would be little chance of doing so from a crowded hall, or a Committee room, with soldiers within easy call. All Roger could do was to take the precautions he had already planned, by going in the émigré uniform under his long coat, and on horse-back; so that if he had to make a bolt for it and could reach his mount, he would stand some chance of outdistancing his pursuers.
Soon after ten o’clock he dismounted outside the Tuileries, tied his horse to a hitching post and went inside. In the lobby leading to
the Assembly Hall there was more than the usual crush of people, and they were now exchanging agitated rumours. It was known that General Menou’s troops had surrounded the Convent of the Filles de St. Thomas, which was the headquarters of the Lepelletier Section; but he was said to be parleying with the enemy.
On enquiring for Barras, Roger learned, with almost stupefying thankfulness, that, having spent all day in the Convention, he had gone home to supper. Securing the address of his house, Roger ran outside, jumped on his horse and rode away, praying frantically that he might catch Barras there before he returned to resume his duties.
The house was a large one in the Rue de Grenelle. When Roger reached it he saw that a coach was waiting outside; and as he tied his horse to the railings the front door opened. A man and a woman stood for a moment in the lighted doorway. The broad shouldered, soldierly figure Roger instantly recognised as that of Barras; the woman was fashionably dressed, and had a willowy figure.
As Barras led her down the steps Roger saw that she was about thirty, olive complexioned, brown-haired and beautiful. He waited until Barras had seen her into the coach, then as his quarry turned to re-enter the house he nerved himself to move forward. If a visit to Fouché’s dwelling could be likened to entering a snake-pit, one to Barras’s house was certainly equivalent to walking into a lion’s den. Ready to spring back and run on the instant, he stepped forward and said in a loud, cheerful voice:
‘Good evening Citizen Commissioner. I am happy to see that you have not lost your good taste where the fair sex is concerned.’
‘Who the devil are you?’ growled Barras.
Roger laughed. ‘It’s not to be wondered at that you don’t recognise me; but I am your old adherent, Citizen Breuc’
The die was cast. In an agony of apprehension Roger waited for Barras’s reply. It seemed an age in coming, yet actually it was only a few seconds. Having stared at him for a moment in the uncertain light, Barras exclaimed:
‘Ventre du Pape! So it is!. Where on earth have you been all this time?’
Roger breathed again. There was no trace of the hostility he had feared in Barras’s voice, but a warm note of pleasure.
‘’Tis a long story,’ he replied. ‘But if I may accompany you inside I’ll tell it to you as briefly as I can.’
‘Come in, my dear fellow. Come in and welcome.’ Barras threw a friendly arm about his shoulders and side by side they went up the steps.
In the lighted hall Roger was able to get a better look at him. He was, in his southern, Provençal way, as flamboyantly handsome as ever. His big nose and pugnacious chin proclaimed the forcefulness of his character: his full, sensual mouth and bright eyes his boundless zest for good living. As a ci-devant Comte and an officer of the old Royal Army he had the easy manners and striking bearing of the born aristocrat who has long been a soldier.
‘You have not changed much,’ Roger remarked with a smile, ‘either in appearance or, it seems, in your devotion to the ladies. That was a rare charmer that you saw to her coach just now.’
Barras grinned back. ‘Oh, she is a little protegee of mine, and a friend of Madame Tallien. Her name is Josephine de Beauharnais. No doubt you will remember her husband the General, whose head some of our old friends had cut off. She is still a widow, and a deucedly attractive one.’
Roger almost exclaimed, ‘Why! I met several of her relatives in Martinique’, but just stopped himself in time. His heart lurched within him at his narrow escape, and when he recovered, he said instead:
‘From what I see of the condition of the streets, it surprises me somewhat to find you philandering at such a time.’
Barras shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I had made an appointment some days ago for her to sup with me tonight à deux; and she is too excellent a morsel for me to put off. As for the riots that are in progress it would need more than noise to divert me from my pleasures, and if I am fated to die before morning I’d as lief do so here in my own house after a good meal shared with a beauty as on the dirty floor of the Convention. But tell me about yourself, and the little Capet?’
‘Fouché must have told you of our stupid quarrel in the Temple,’ Roger opened boldly, ‘and how I set off to secure the boy after we had stumbled on a clue to his whereabouts. Some Royalists had him hidden in a farmhouse in the Jura, but they proved too many for me and got away with him. I followed across the Swiss border but once out of France I no longer had the power to seize him openly; so could only keep track of them in secret, hoping that some chance might arise to abduct him. After a short stay in Geneva they took him to England. Still imbued with the thought of how necessary it was for us to get hold of him, I followed them, and traced him to a country house in Hampshire. There he fell ill with diphtheria, and before I could make further plans died of it.’
‘Did he indeed! Well, that has saved us one worry. Although he could have caused us no great trouble after the death of the other boy enabled us to proclaim him officially dead. But why did you not then return?’
Now well launched on the story he had prepared, Roger replied promptly. ‘I stowed away in a smuggler’s yawl, but had the misfortune to be caught. Since my name is known in England as a so-called terrorist, and I could give no proper account of myself, judging that I would receive better treatment as a soldier than as a civilian, I gave a false name and said that I was an escaped prisoner-of-war; so they sent me to a prison on the Isle of Wight. Three times I attempted to escape, and each time failed. But last summer I saw a chance to get back to France. They asked for volunteers willing to renounce the Republic and serve as privates in the Royalist Army.
‘I took that course and for some weeks had to submit to training under strict supervision. I was, though, buoyed up by the rumour that the Quiberon expedition was preparing and hoped to be sent upon it; for once in Brittany it would have been easy for me to desert. But my battalion was not sent with the first invading force, and when the news came that the landings had been a failure, our embarkation orders were cancelled. I had then, to remain on there with such patience as I could until six weeks ago, when we were despatched via Hanover to join de Condé’s army on the Rhine. As you can imagine, once there I lost not a night, but stole a horse and rode for Paris. I entered the city no more than two hours ago, and without even taking time to get a meal came straight to you.’
As Roger ended this dramatic account of his fictitious adventures, he flung open his coat and cried: ‘Look. Have you ever before seen the uniform of an émigré? The poor devils have only the cast-offs of the Austrians, upon which are sewn special facings. But I possessed no other clothes to come in.’
‘Well, I’ll be damned.’ Barras’s hearty laugh rang out. ‘What a time you have had, my poor friend, through your zeal to serve the Republic. But you must be starving. Come into the dining-room, and my people shall bring you food and wine upon the instant.’
At last, Roger could breathe freely. Fouché had not lied, and the jovial Barras had swallowed his story hook, line and sinker. But as they turned away from the door a violent banging sounded upon it.
With the courage that was one of Barras’s greatest assets, although it might have been a mob coming to kill him, he did not call for a servant to open it, or even pull the pistol from his sash. Without a second’s hesitation, he opened it himself. On the door-step stood two officers of the Convention Guard. One of them gasped out:
‘Citizen Commissioner! General Menou has betrayed us! He has jammed his men into a few streets adjacent to the Filles de St. Thomas. The houses in them are packed with National Guards, who man all the upstairs windows. Our troops have been led into a trap, for should they now raise a finger they will be butchered.’
Thrusting a despatch into Barras’s hand, he hurried on: ‘This is from the Convention. They beg you to take charge in this terrible emergency and save them. By it they appoint you Commandant General of Paris.’
The other officer nodded and burst out: ‘You are our only hope! We are five battali
ons at the most, with only a rabble of undisciplined patriots to stand by us. Thirty-nine out of the forty Sections of Paris have declared for the insurgents. They can now muster near forty thousand National Guards; so we are hopelessly outnumbered. As Commandant General on 9th Thermidor you saved the Republic. You are the only man whom we can hope may save it again.’
With a laugh Barras thrust the commission into his sash, and cried: ‘So be it then! I’ll teach these miserable plotters a lesson, or die for it’.
Then he turned and slapped Roger on the shoulder. ‘Old friend, you could not have arrived at a more opportune moment. You were as good as another right hand to me on 9th Thermidor, and you shall be so again. Get yourself a sword! There are a dozen in the rack. And follow me!’
It was the sort of courageous cry that went straight to Roger’s heart. Turning swiftly he stretched out a hand to take a weapon from the hall sword rack. He had barely: grasped it when he was seized with sudden dismay. Like a bolt from the blue a paralysing thought struck him. He had landed himself on the wrong side of the barricades.
22
The Unforeseen Factor
There was no way in which Roger could get out of his most unhappy predicament. Barras had already acclaimed him in front of the two officers as a long lost comrade returned to the fold. Nothing could possibly have suited him better had it occurred a few days earlier. Then, he would have had the opportunity he had taken such risks to gain of re-establishing on a safe footing his connection with a score of other political leaders. That would have committed him to nothing. When the insurrection developed he could have pretended illness, so as not to have become involved on either side, awaited its outcome, then entered into secret negotiation with the most promising men of the party that emerged triumphant.
But now he was committed, and committed irrevocably, to serve the party whose downfall it was his object to bring about. If he refused to accept the rôle that Barras had thrust upon him he would instantly lose his regained status as a good Republican. Should the Convention succeed in suppressing the insurrection, that would deprive him of all credit with many, of his old associates and, at worst, possibly lead to his arrest as a traitor.
The Dark Secret of Josephine Page 40
