‘I am advised that General Schérer is no great master of war; but he appears to have several daring and capable corps commanders under him. Their names are Augerau, Serurier, Joubert and Masséna. The latter, with some help from the others, inflicted a severe defeat on our allies at Loano towards the end of November. Fortunately for them, instead of taking advantage of this victory, General Schérer then decided to go into winter quarters. But now that spring approaches the outlook of the Allied cause in Italy is far from good.
‘With regard to the Rhine, you saved us there. On Pichegru’s deliberate failure to take Heidelberg, General Jourdan’s army was compelled to fall back. He recrossed the Rhine and retreated down the Moselle to Traabach. The Austrians followed but the winter has been so severe that by December neither army was in a state to fight further. On about the 19th they agreed an armistice, and Jourdan has established himself in a fortified camp on the heights above the town. Pichegru, meanwhile, had allowed himself to be thrown out of Mannheim. He then retired across the Rhine to his old lines at Weissenburg. There, on December the 31st, he too signed a winter armistice. But there has been a leak, or at least a suspicion, that he is no longer to be trusted. As far as I know he has not yet been arrested; but he has been suspended from his command.’
‘Then we cannot hope to buy further help from him.’
‘No; and when we attempted to bribe Jourdan we failed in it. He hung our agent from the nearest tree.’
‘What of Russia?’ Roger enquired. ‘Has the old Empress Catherine furnished the Austrians with the help she promised?’
‘No. We now have little hope of her doing so, and I greatly doubt the capacity of the Austrians to get the better of General Jourdan in the spring; for now that General Hoche has again pacified La Vendée the bulk of the great army which has been tied up there for so long will probably be transferred to support that on the Rhine’.
‘May I ask, Sir, if you have further considered letting the French know through diplomatic channels that you would be willing to enter into negotiations for a peace?’
‘We have gone so far as to consult with Vienna on possible terms which would be acceptable to the Emperor and to ourselves; but he is adamant on the question of the Austrian Netherlands. As you will recall, last October Belgium was divided into nine Departments and incorporated into France. This measure being so recent, it is highly improbable that the French could be persuaded to give these territories up; yet the Emperor insists that their return should be a fundamental article of any settlement, and Britain could not desert her ally. Therefore no: indication of our willingness to treat has yet been transmitted to Paris.’
Roger nodded gloomily. ‘I asked only to ascertain if any move of the kind had been made. Even if it could be, and the terms were favourable, I’d place little hope on their acceptance. That is, unless there have been radical changes in the composition of the French government.’
‘There have not. The five Directors are the same as when you left Paris; and they appear to be more firmly seated in the saddle than ever. I gather, though, that they are a venal crew; and since they are now virtually all-powerful, I have been wondering if we could not succeed in bribing one or more of them to sway the rest. France needs peace every whit as badly as ourselves. If the bribe were big enough, and they were guaranteed against reprisals for their pasts, they might be tempted to call on the people to support them against their old colleagues in the two Chambers.’
After refilling his glass from the decanter that Mr. Pitt pushed towards him, Roger shook his head. ‘What could you possibly offer them more than they have? Dukedoms, Governorships and Orders would be regarded as poor bait by men who are each one fifth of a King already. As for money, their situation enables them to collect it by the bushelful. Besides, peace in due course must bring a Restoration, and they would place no faith in any guarantee that could be given them. As I pointed out when last we talked of this, in upholding the revolutionary system of government lies their one and only hope of safety.’
‘What think you, then, of reverting to our old plan of attempting to find among the Revolutionary Generals another Monk, who would seize Paris for us. As I have said, our attempt to suborn Jourdan failed; but there are Moreau, Hoche, Kellerman, all men of great reputation, and this new man, Buonaparte, who commands the Army of the Interior.’
For a moment Roger considered the matter, then he said, ‘Buonaparte would suit our purpose best, as he is already in Paris; so could secure it, if he would, without having to march upon it. Moreover, unless he was also privy to the plan, any of the others would find him a hard nut to crack. Unfortunately he is a convinced revolutionary, so his political convictions would prove a nasty hurdle to get over. However, he struck me as a young man of inordinate ambition; so there is just a chance that a Marshal’s baton, the Château of Chambord, and all the other things Pichegru was to get, might tempt him to pull our chestnuts out of the fire for us.’
‘Then, Mr. Brook, the best service you can render me would be to return to Paris and endeavour to come to an arrangement with General Buonaparte.’
Roger now had reason to be thankful that, instead of simply disappearing from Paris without explanation, he had evolved and put into execution a plan to cover his withdrawal. It meant that although there were always unforeseen possibilities in his dangerous work, on this occasion he could readily agree to Mr. Pitt’s request, and reappear in the French capital without any evident risk.
However, the Prime Minister, giving as his reason that all too soon spring would be upon them and fresh campaigns be opening which might prove disastrous for the Allies, did press him to start upon his new mission with the least possible delay. In consequence, he again had to forgo the chance to see Georgina; and, with new blank drafts on secret funds in Paris concealed upon him, he left Rochester in a specially employed Revenue Cutter the following afternoon.
She landed him near Calais soon after dawn next morning. For the next two days he suffered cold, misery and boredom, as the diligence conveyed him, or he helped to push it, over rutted muddy roads to Paris; but he arrived there without incident a little before midday on February the 21st.
At La Belle Étoile the Blanchards once more welcomed him and asked no questions. Upstairs he had a most welcome bath, changed into one of the Paris-made suits that he had left in the secret wardrobe he kept there, then came down and enjoyed a meal with his host and hostess.
This time they had little to tell him. The poorer half of the population of Paris was literally starving, but entirely cowed by the Government’s troops and the reconstituted National Guard, which was now loyal to it. Another third, which had either goods, or services superior to manual labour, to sell, was now benefiting from the long-hidden gold that was once more in circulation. The upper sixth crowded the salons, theatres, public ballrooms and cafés, flaunting a luxury unseen since the monarchy and a licentiousness which would never have been tolerated in the days of that most immoral of Kings, Louis XV.
At six o’clock Roger had himself driven in a coach to the Luxembourg, and enquired for Barras. He was told that at eight the Director would be holding an evening soirée; so he spent the intervening time in a café and returned at that hour. As in the old days at the Royal Palaces, anyone who was respectably dressed was allowed to enter, and the long gallery was soon crowded with merveilleuses, incroyables, officers, deputies, and prominent citizens. A number of them were already known to Roger; so he spent an hour exchanging bows, kissing women’s hands, gossiping and repeating over and over again his story that he had that morning returned from a stay of nearly four months in the South of France.
In due course ushers formed a lane through the throng, then Barras, resplendent in satins and’with powdered hair, appeared. Walking slowly down it he paused here and there to chat with friends, had a smile for every pretty woman who caught his eye, passed to M. Bottot, his secretary, who followed him, every petition presented with a promise to read it personally, and liste
ned graciously to a score of requests for a variety of favours.
When he noticed Roger, who, owing to his height, could afford to stand a little, way back in the crowd, he waved a hand and called gaily to him: ‘It is good to see you again! You must join us later in the salon, and tell me what you have been doing with yourself.’
The salon was reserved for the élite and into it, after Barras had walked back up the human lane, some hundred and fifty people followed him, to drink pink Champagne and eat foie-gras sandwiches or pineapple ices. At about half past ten, when the party had thinned a little, Roger saw his chance and got a ten minute tête-à-tête with the Director over a glass of wine.
After reporting that his health was much improved, Roger said that he had bought a pleasant property on the coast near the old Roman town of Fréjus where he intended to spend a good part of each year in future, as it included a number of vineyards, which he felt it would be interesting to have cultivated by the most modern methods.
‘Ah!’ exclaimed Barras, simulating envy. ‘How wise you are, my dear fellow! Nowhere in the world does one find such passionate girls as among the dark-eyed beauties of my native Provence; and in its first season I would sooner drink the rosé which will come from your presses than a good Bordeaux. With wine and women, sunny days and warm nights to make love in, what more could a man want. I am a fool to stay here, wearing myself out among this riff-raff.’
Roger smiled. ‘Even so, your prospects of continuing to derive a certain enjoyment from life appear to be considerably better than they were on the night when I last arrived in Paris. Do you remember—the 12th Vendémiaire?’
‘Do I not!’ laughed Barras. ‘But, with the help of the little Corsican, we soon put things to rights.’
‘How fares your one-time ragamuffin?’
‘You’ll do well not to remind him of his old nickname when you see him. Nowadays he struts about like any turkey-cock, jingling his spurs and ogling the women. But don’t let me lead you-to suppose that he is idle. He is positively bursting with ideas. And since we gave him the task to prepare plans for the invasion of England, I am really coming to believe that we shall have conquered that damned island before the year is out.’
24
The Brigand in Uniform
Not a muscle in Roger’s face moved but his ears felt as though they were standing out from the sides of his head. With Hoche’s army in Brittany now freed, and that dynamic young Corsican charged with the invasion of England, a turn might be given to the war which had hitherto been unthinkable. In a matter of seconds his mission had been changed from a matter of investigation which might produce valuable results, to one demanding that he should stop at nothing to save his country.
That night, after leaving Barras’s reception, he put in some very deep thought. The last invasion of England had been that by William of Orange, just over a hundred years before, but others had been threatened many times since; and, having spent his boyhood on the south coast, he well remembered the drills of the local fencibles, the beacons kept always ready and the occasional false alarms, which had formed a part of every-day life there until the Peace of Paris, in ’83.
Since then the deterioration of the French fleet, owing to revolution and a long series of defeats, had in the present war so far made any chance of invasion seem most unlikely. But the British Fleet was now dispersed between the Gulf of Genoa and the West Indies in many squadrons; a break-out from the French Ports was always a possibility; the enemy might succeed in landing a considerable army before their communications could be interrupted; and, as Britain had been almost denuded of troops for foreign service, that might prove positively calamitous—especially if the invading force were led by a man like Buonaparte:
Unlike Jourdan, Moreau, Hoche and several others, the young General had little military prestige to support his sudden elevation. He had rendered good service as an Artillery Commander at Toulon and afterwards for a few months on the Italian Riviera, but in the field he had not yet commanded even a Division. His. present appointment was a political one, and solely due to his having saved the Convention on 13th Vendémiaire. If he was to maintain his status in the High Command, he must direct a victorious campaign, or before very long he would find himself supplanted by officers of greater experience.
For the laurels he needed what could offer better prospects than a descent on England? But it would be all or nothing. There could be rib question of joining up with other French armies, going into winter quarters with hopes of better fortune the following spring, or strategic withdrawals. Cut off by the British Navy, he would have to conquer or fail utterly; and, if defeated, even if he got away himself, having lost an army he would never be given another. Therefore, he would fight with utter ruthlessness, burning, slaying and laying waste the fair English countryside in a desperate attempt to reach London before he could be stopped.
Roger recalled hearing a revealing episode concerning his mentality. In ’93, when the structure of the old French army was falling to pieces owing to the Revolution, he had virtually deserted, retiring to his native Corsica because he believed he could get himself made a Colonel in the National Guard of Ajaccio. There he had become one of the most violent members of the local Jacobin Club. Several of his friends among the lesser nobility, from which his own family came, endeavoured to dissuade him from inciting the roughs of the port to make trouble. Instead of agreeing he at once made another inflammatory speech, in which he: declared that in such times there could be only friends and enemies, that all moderates must be classed by true patriots as enemies, and that, like Solon in ancient Greece, he advocated punishing with death every man who remained neutral during civil discord.
If he had really meant that, it suggested that he would show no mercy to man, woman or child should he command an army that succeeded in landing in England. In any case he promised to prove a most formidable opponent, and Roger decided that any approach to him must be made with the utmost wanness; so that before even hinting at his purpose to the Corsican, he would do well to get to know much more about him than he had learned during their short acquaintance.
The following day, as a first step, he called on the Permons; because their apartment in the Chaussée d’Antin was the only place in which he had seen Buonaparte relaxed and natural. Madame Permon, with her son and little daughter, was at home, and received him kindly; but he soon learned that his hope of meeting Buonaparte there again, through cultivating the family, was doomed to disappointment, for not long since he and Madame Permon had had a serious quarrel.
Apparently she had asked him to secure for her cousin a commission in the Guards, and he had promised to do so; but, although reminded several times, had failed to bring it to her. In consequence, when next he had called she had upbraided him as though he were still a schoolboy, and snatched her hand from him as he was about to kiss it. As this had occurred in front of several of the young General’s staff officers, he had been deeply mortified, and had ceased to visit her. However, as the exprotégé of the unpretentious family had now become such a luminary, they were willing enough, when encouraged by Roger, to talk about him.
Monsieur Permon had been a French official of some standing, and while the family were living in Toulouse it had transpired that one of three Corsicans lying ill and in money difficulties at a local inn was the husband of Letitia Buonaparte, Madame Permon’s girlhood friend. They had at once taken him into their house where, after a long illness through which Madame Permon had nursed him, he had died. This had naturally strengthened the ties between the two families and when the Permons had moved to Paris they had taken a special interest in the orphaned Napoleon.
His father, being without fortune but able to prove that his family had been noble for four generations, had secured his admission as a King’s charity pupil to the Military School at Brienne, at the age of nine. It was his poverty in contrast with the wealth of his noble school-fellows there which had formed a bitter streak in his character and, la
ter, led to his becoming such a fervid revolutionary.
Of this bitterness the Permons had had plenty of evidence after he had graduated to the Military School in Paris in ’84. He was too proud to accept money, until M. Permon forced upon him a small sum on the pretext that it had been left by his father to be given to him in an emergency; and at times his. outbursts against his rich brother cadets had been quite terrifying. He had, too, in his early years been fanatically devoted to the cause of Corsican independence, and had never forgiven his father for deserting Paoli, the Corsican patriot leader. On this score too he had been given to launching the most violent diatribes, and while at Brienne had been severely punished for shaking his fist and screaming imprecations at a portrait of the Duc de Choiseul, Louis XV’s minister, who had urged on the conquest of Corsica by France.
His nickname there had been ‘the Spartan’ but, on the rare occasions when he could afford it, he loved personal display. Little Laura related how, when he had at last obtained his commission, he had come in his new uniform to see them. Having been made by an inexpensive tailor it was of poor material and ill-cut, and his legs were so lean that, in his big high boots, they looked like broom sticks; but he had strutted up and down as though he were already a Field Marshal. Laurette had been so amused that she had christened him Puss-in-Boots; but he had taken her childish raillery well, and, although he could ill afford to buy expensive toys, had, next day, brought her a walking Puss-in-Boots carved from wood.
The Dark Secret of Josephine Page 46
