Evil in a Mask (17 page)

‘I agree. Mayhap another descent on Holland, or, to better purpose, an expedition to aid the Swedes in Stralsund. Could they succeed in defeating Mortier, they would be in a position to outflank the Emperor in the north. Moreover, Hanover, Hesse-Cassel and Western Prussia might rise behind him and cut off his communications with France.'

Roger raised his eyebrows. ‘You think then that the Germans are already contemplating an attempt to throw off the French yoke, should a suitable opportunity offer?'

‘I do. And should they do so, Napoleon will have only himself to blame. I implored him to be lenient with these people and thus make them friends of France. But he would not listen to me. By imposing such harsh terms, he has caused a bitterness in their minds that is now making them think only of revenge. The same applies to Austria. After Ulm, or even Austerlitz, he could have granted terms that would have made Austria his ally against Russia. But, like the Corsican bandit that he is, he insisted in robbing her of the Tyrol and her Venetian and Swabian territories. The result is that the Court of Vienna is now sitting sullenly on the sidelines. I am certain that Count Stadion, who replaced Cobentzel last year as the Emperor Francis' principal Minister, favours resuming the war while we are so fully committed against Russia. Francis is held in check only by the counsel of the Archduke Charles who, although he is their best General, urges restraint until the Army has recovered from its losses in the last campaign; and a bribe I have offered is that, should Napoleon, as he promised, restore independence to the Poles, we will not deprive Austria of her Polish lands.'

‘Think you he really intends to re-create Poland as a Kingdom?'

‘ 'Tis possible. Murat is hoping for it as a promotion from being Grand Duke of Berg-Cleves. Louis, too, although the most vain, stupid and ineffectual of all the Bonaparte brothers, would prefer it to being King of Holland, so has
arrived on the scene with a hundred suits of clothes to stake his claim. But the Poles here are rapidly becoming disillusioned about the goodwill of the Emperor towards them. Believing him to be their saviour, they welcomed him with open arms, but now they are coming to the conclusion that he has only been making use of them.'

‘Then, on all counts, in spite of Napoleon's many victories, the future does not look too bright for him.'

Talleyrand took snuff, flicked the fallen grains of it from his satin lapels with a lace handkerchief, then replied. ‘Far from it. To my mind, he has reached the pinnacle of his power and glory—and his usefulness to France. You know my personal history better than most men. Born a noble, I was one of the leaders of the Liberal Revolution in '89 that sought to deprive that kindly but stupid man Louis XVI of absolute power, and secure for the upper and middle classes a voice in the affairs of the nation—in short, a similar form of democratic government to that which has made England so rich and powerful.

‘The extremists got the better of us, and brought about the Terror. It was to you,
cher ami
, that I owed my escape from France and my life. Hated and despised by the majority of my fellow exiles for having helped to initiate the original Revolution, I could only wait abroad for the Terror to burn itself out. As soon as it was safe to do so I returned to France, and still hoping for better times put my services at the disposal of that despicable junta of self-seekers who ruled for six years as the Directory.

‘When Bonaparte returned from Egypt, I realised that he was a man who could rescue France and bring order out of chaos. Both you and I helped him to attain power, and our hopes were realised—even to his agreeing to offer peace to England. And peace, peace, lasting peace, is what all Europe needs so desperately. Above all, as we have always agreed, an honest
entente
between our two countries is the only certain means of ensuring peace and prosperity throughout the whole world. That Pitt, Grenville and your King proved suspicious,
intractable and rejected Bonaparte's overture is our great tragedy.

‘But I did not despair. As First Consul Bonaparte leaned upon me, giving countless hours to absorbing what I could teach him about diplomacy of which, as a soldier, he knew virtually nothing. Again and again I prevented him from acting rashly where France's foreign relations were concerned. Yet, as time went on, he tended more and more to disregard my advice. During the past few years, there have been innumerable occasions when I have ignored his outbursts of temper and allowed him to abuse me in the language of a guttersnipe. This I have supported for one reason only. Because I believed that, as long as I retained my post as Foreign Minister, I could, better than any other, direct his policies for the good of France.

‘All my efforts and the humiliations I have suffered have proved to no avail. His fantastic success has turned his head. Any sound judgment that he ever had has been eroded by his insane ambition to become the master of the world. For the welfare of France he now cares nothing. By his senseless campaigns he is bleeding her white. The flower of our youth for two generations has died upon his battlefields, as the price of his personal glory.

‘I intend to continue to pay him lip service; so that, should the opportunity arise, I shall still be in a position to have a say in the future of France. My knowledge of your past activities places your life in my hands. But, even were that not so, I count on you so close a friend with views so entirely in accordance with my own, that I will tell you this. From now on, I mean to work in secret for Napoleon's downfall, because I am first and last a Frenchman and only by destroying this madman's power can France be saved from annihilation.'

Next day, when Roger left Warsaw with General Gardane's calvalcade, he had plenty to think about. Talleyrand's view, that no lasting peace could exist in Europe unless France and Britain came to an agreement satisfactory to both, had long been known to him. That was one thing; but the Minister's announcement that, from passive resistance to Napoleon's policies, he was not going to take such action as he could to bring about his downfall, was quite another. With such a powerful personality as Talleyrand, it might result in extraordinary developments.

At the moment, however, Roger was much more concerned with a problem of his own. Not only was it over eighteen months since he had sent any secret information to the British Government, but after Mr. Pitt's death he would have been most averse to doing so, because for it to have been accepted as genuine he would have had to identify himself as its sender. That could have proved highly dangerous, since he had for so long been one of Pitt's most devoted adherents, whereas the men in the ‘Ministry of All the Talents' had been his most vicious enemies. In consequence, to entrust the secret of his double life to any of them was a risk Roger would have taken only if he had considered the news he had to send of great importance to his country.

But now that Ministry had fallen, and George Canning was at the Foreign Office, the situation was altogether different. He knew about Roger's past services, they had met on numerous occasions and more than once discussed the progress of the war over the dinner table in Pitt's house out at Wimbledon.

Napoleon's project for forming an alliance with the Turks
and Persians to harass the Russians in the south-east could have no directly damaging effect on Britain; but any move that hampered Russia was harmful to the Allied cause and, if Canning was informed of the Emperor's intention, he might possibly be able to exert sufficient pressure on the Sultan and the Shah to keep one, if not both of them, neutral. Therefore, Roger had decided overnight that, somehow, he must get this news to London.

But the problem was, how? Before leaving Finckenstein, the route Gardane's mission was to take had been settled. France being at war with Russia, it could not go by the shortest way: Warsaw, Lvov, Odessa and thence across the Black Sea. So, from Warsaw, they would go south through Cracow to Budapest, thence by water down the Danube to Constanza, and there take ship for Constantinople.

The question was, where could he make contact with someone who could be relied on to convey a message safely to England? Poland was under French control, Saxony had sided with Prussia in the recent war but caved in and been granted reasonable terms by Napoleon; thus becoming one of his allies. The Austrian Empire was now neutral, but Budapest, as the capital of Hungary, was subsidiary to Vienna; so no diplomats were stationed there. Further east offered no opportunities and, when he reached Constantinople, even if a British diplomat was accredited to the Sultan, it would take many weeks to get a message sent by him all the way to London.

After some thought, Roger decided that the only possibility lay in Vienna. Before the break-up of the Third Coalition Britain and Austria had been allies. Although the Austrians had been defeated by the French and the Emperor Francis driven from his capital, since peace between them had been restored he, and the diplomats accredited to his Court, would have returned there. There seemed then a good chance that, if Roger could get to Vienna, his problem would be solved.

But Vienna was some one hundred and forty miles from Budapest, and Roger knew that Gardane had already sent a galloper ahead to arrange that craft should be procured and made ready to take the mission down the Danube; so the
odds were that it would not remain in the Hungarian capital more than a couple of days at most.

That night they put up at the only inn in a small, dreary town. The senior officers shared the few rooms, while their juniors occupied adjacent houses and their servants the barns and stabling, Having brought their food and cooks with them, they ate a passable meal. Afterwards Roger said to Gardane:

‘
Mon Général
, I am a great lover of travel and have visited most European capitals, but not Budapest. So I should like to spend at least four or five days there. The pace at which your mission can proceed is naturally limited to that of the pack animals, which carry our supplies. I am sure, therefore, that you will have no objection to my setting off ahead of you tomorrow. Then I‘ll be certain of getting my few days in Budapest.'

Although Roger had been formally attached to Gardane's mission, he had no duties to perform, and the fact that he was a member of Napoleon's personal staff placed him in a privileged position. The General was much too sensible a man to antagonise one of the Emperor's people by refusing a quite reasonable request. So he replied with a smile:

‘By all means, Breuc. I only wish I were able to leave the party myself and spend four or five nights in Budapest smacking the bottoms of a few pretty Hungarian girls.'

That first day from Warsaw they had covered a little under forty miles, so Roger reckoned it would take the cavalcade at least another week to reach Budapest; whereas he had often ridden over a hundred miles in a day, so he should be able to do the journey easily in three. This left him a margin of four days, which would be ample for him to accomplish the journey between the Hungarian and Austrian capitals and be back in the former before Gardane reached it.

He had himself called at four o'clock the following morning, left his soldier servant to bring on his baggage and, travelling as light as possible, set off for Cracow, arriving there that evening. The best hostelry in the big town was reasonably comfortable and he enjoyed a good supper. The long ride had taken a lot out of his charger, so he left it with the head
ostler, to be collected when the French mission arrived there, and arranged to complete his joureny by Post.

The next night he had to spend at a miserable inn, but he reached Budapest at midday on the 19th. Deciding that he could well afford a badly-needed rest, he went straight to bed and slept for five hours. After waking and dressing, he then made his preparations for the following day.

While at Finckenstein he had procured from the Quartermaster a uniform—one of the many that had belonged to officers who had died from their wounds. It was by no means as elegant as the one he had been wearing on the morning of Eylau, but fairly new, fitted him reasonably well, and was suitable enough. But it was out of the question for him to pay a visit to a British diplomat dressed as a French officer. So, producing some of the gold from his money-belt, he arranged with the landlord of the Turk's Head, where he had put up, to get for him second-hand civilian clothes of good quality.

By the time he had made a leisurely supper off fresh-water
ecrevisse
, broiled with fennel, a
Gulyás
of veal and goose livers washed down with a bottle of potent red wine that rejoiced in the name of ‘Bulls' Blood of Badescony', the landlord was able to produce numerous articles of clothing for his inspection. He chose a pair of fawn riding breeches, a plum-coloured coat with brass buttons—not because he liked it, but because it fitted him best—a saffron waistcoat sprigged with flowers, a grey cloak and a grey, truncated-steeple hat; then asked to be called at three o'clock, and was in bed and asleep again before ten.

Much refreshed by his two five-hour sleeps, long before dawn, riding Post again, he was on his way to Vienna. On this journey it would be his longest day yet, for the Austrian capital lay a hundred and forty miles to the west. At ten o'clock he spent an hour having breakfast at one of the posting houses where he changed horses. At four in the afternoon he dined at another, and afterwards dozed for a while in an armchair. On the last stage he was very saddle-sore and weary, but kept himself going by occasional pulls at a flask of
Baratsch
—a
potent dry Hungarian spirit made from a distillation of apricots—and he entered Vienna shortly after eight o'clock in the evening.

Sliding from his horse in the yard of the Double Eagle, he threw the reins to an ostler, waited only for the man to unstrap and hand to him the small valise he had brought with him, then limped into the commodious inn. Too tired to bother about food, he ordered a quart of
Glüwein
and had himself shown straight up to a bedroom. The hot-spiced brew arrived soon after he had pulled off his clothes and flopped into bed. When he had drunk only half of it, he snuffed his candle and, within a few minutes, was sound asleep.