Текст книги "Memory of Flames"

Автор книги: Armand Cabasson

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

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.

Napoleon fell with such speed on Winzingerode that he was rapidly able to overwhelm him. From 26 March, the French cavalry vigorously fought off the Cossacks. The cannon fire of the mounted artillery, already in place, began to overpower the Russians. Winzingerode was delighted to see that his plan was working, but he was a victim of his own success. There were too many French, too quickly! He wanted to establish a solid position in Saint-Dizier to contain them. It was of the utmost importance that he should hold firm and continue to deceive the Emperor. But the French were already in battle formation – Macdonald, the Imperial Guard

– when Marshal Oudinot’s infantry burst in a torrent from the forest of Val and headed for Saint-Dizier. Winzingerode was rapidly ousted from the town, losing men and artillery, then pushed back again, and battered some more. The dragoons of the Imperial Guard and some Mamelukes galloped after him, charging everything in their way. The French army followed the cavalcade and set upon Winzingerode just as he was gathering his troops back into order; Napoleon thought he had caught the Bohemian army by the scruff of the neck, and so he went at them with all the force he could muster. But he found himself holding nothing but a handful of straw, a scarecrow, a decoy ...

CHAPTER 24

ON 26 March, Margont was again summoned to see Joseph Bonaparte and Talleyrand. As they could no longer meet in the Tuileries, Mathurin Jelent had given him the address of a private house on Tie Saint-Louis.

It was barely ten days since their first meeting, yet the two dignitaries frowned when they saw Margont, wondering if this was really the same man they had sent off on their mission ... Their spy was in old, outdated and not very clean clothes. But he had an affected, haughty air about him. He was holding a riding crop and seemed ready to lash anyone who did not obey his orders speedily enough. He looked like a baron holding a salon in the ruins of his chateau, devastated by the Revolution.

He was so supercilious that Joseph could not help exclaiming, All right, that’s enough of that now!’

Talleyrand, on the other hand, applauded quietly. ‘What a transformation! I would have you work for me any day.’

‘But the question is, would I want to work for you?’ replied Margont.

‘How far have you got, Lieutenant-Colonel?’ demanded Joseph.

The commander of the army and of the National Guard of Paris had spoken in a honeyed tone, but Margont had detected irony. There was poison in the honey. Margont guessed that he would be severely reproached, but he calmly presented a succinct report. When he stated that he was sure the Swords of the King were plotting an armed insurrection, as Charles de Varencourt also claimed, Joseph became agitated. Paradoxically, he seemed much more worried by the few thousand enemies hidden in Paris than the hundreds of thousands of enemies threatening the French army. He was convinced his brother would be able to handle the coalition, whereas the enemy within was his responsibility.

‘But there’s something more worrying,’ added Margont.

Joseph and Talleyrand looked surprised. Margont told them of his suspicion that the Swords of the King were planning something else as well. Talleyrand immediately accepted the hypothesis. Did he know something he was not revealing? Joseph, however, reacted violently, like someone who has had his fill of bad news and only wants to be told reassuring things.

‘What could be worse than a campaign of murders aimed at disrupting the defence of Paris, Lieutenant-Colonel?’

He had pronounced the last word as he might say the word ‘cockroach’.

‘I don’t know, Your Excellency. But believe me, at least two members of the committee, Louis de Leaume and Jean-Baptiste de Cha-tel, will not stop there. They are after something more grandiose, more spectacular.’

Talleyrand seemed lost in thought and was no longer looking at Margont. ‘So we are dealing with a hydra, each of whose heads poses a different threat, with the most prominent heads concealing the most dangerous ... What a diabolical strategy ...’

It was amazing to hear Talleyrand use the word ‘diabolical’, since he himself was nicknamed ‘the limping devil’. Just a coincidence? Or had he said it on purpose, implying that he too was capable of spawning hydras? Margont was reflecting on this possibility when Talleyrand turned to him and smiled, as though he could read his thoughts.

Joseph was in a state. Catastrophes were piling up around him at alarming speed: when would the damned avalanche finally stop? ‘When one is confronted by a hydra, one must cut off all its heads at once,’ he murmured. ‘You have to get them all! Not one must remain! Let’s decapitate the lot and hope that the body, deprived of its heads and paralysed by fear, becomes incapable of action. Lieutenant-Colonel, we’re changing the aim of your mission. For the moment, forget about the murder of Colonel Berle, you—’ ‘Forget about the murder?’ exclaimed Margont.

Joseph replied sharply, ‘Be quiet! Just obey orders.’

‘I can’t—’

‘Imbecile! You tell us the worst is to come? It’s already happened! Count Kevlokine has been assassinated. In Paris, by a member of the Swords of the King. We don’t know exactly when or why. And you, who’re supposed to have infiltrated them, noticed nothing!

We needed that man, do you hear? We could have tried to negotiate with the Tsar! Now that hope is gone!’

Margont’s confusion made Joseph even angrier and he was almost shouting. The Tsar’s agent, you halfwit! He was murdered by the group you were supposed to be keeping an eye on. We found the symbol of the Swords of the King on his body. And he was burnt, just like Colonel Berle! So it’s the same murderer, the one you were meant to unmask. The one who has succeeded in wiping out the only moderate amongst our enemies, the man we hoped to negotiate with! How is it possible that you didn’t know that Count Kevlokine was in touch with the Swords of the King?’ They don’t trust me ...’

‘You’ll have to find a way round that! So, let’s sum up: the only two things you have succeeded in doing are, one, to have some theories about a mysterious and hypothetical third plan, and two, to allow them to print a hundred posters calling on Parisians to revolt against the Emperor.’

Margont wondered if he was about to be carted off to the Temple

prison, or to the one at Vincennes ...

‘I couldn’t do any more! I—’

Joseph silenced him with a gesture. ‘Redeem yourself by allowing us to arrest all the leaders of the group. We waited, thinking you would identify other members and that you would soon discover who the murderer or murderers are. We had also hoped you would have had the opportunity to help us lay our hands on Count Kevlokine. You’ve failed us in all three ways, whilst the war has continued to go against us. We’re going to have to adapt to the new situation—’

He broke off before continuing more calmly, ‘We’re not going to arrest Mademoiselle Catherine de Saltonges at the moment, because her accomplices would soon know about it. So I’ve had your printing press put under surveillance. We haven’t done that so far to minimise the risk of your identity being discovered. But from now on we can’t afford to be so careful. We’ll still take precautions but if the royalists notice our presence, you’re going to have to act as if you didn’t know about it, make something up

That was easy for Joseph to say. He made it sound like child’s play!

‘You will inform us of the time and place of your next meeting,’ he went on.

‘But I never know when they’ll be! One or several members simply turn up at my lodgings—’

Joseph brushed that aside with a sweeping gesture.

‘Don’t bother me with details. Improvise! When the Emperor is in battle, he says to one of his generals, “Take that hill and hold it firmly to protect our right flank.” And the general does it; he doesn’t spend the day saying, “All right, Your Majesty, but with how many soldiers? Who should be in command? What battle formation should I use? Must I just use my infantry or can I use cavalry? When exactly should I take the hill? How long will I need? And why me?” Show some initiative! With all those posters you’ve allowed them to print, they must be starting to take you for a royalist, because, frankly, I’m beginning to wonder myself!’

Margont was furious. Don’t reply, don’t reply, the man’s an idiot, no point in replying to an idiot, he repeated to himself.

‘Either they’ll come and fetch you at the printer’s, in which case you’ll have to warn Jelent. At any rate, I’ve told you that my agents will be keeping watch on the place and will follow you while others will go and alert my soldiers. Or they’ll come to your lodgings, which I will also put a watch on. Rest assured, my police know what to do!’

Margont was becoming more and more uneasy. And he was forced to admit that he had not spotted that he was under surveillance. Joseph concluded, with a forced assurance that made him sound more confident than he was, ‘And Catherine de Saltonges and Monsieur de Varencourt are now both being spied on day and night. Ah, Varencourt! The most sensible thing you’ve said so far is that you don’t trust him – we don’t either! He's never told us about a third plan; he demands money all the time ... He does not know that we’ve decided to arrest everyone. Nor does he know that we’re watching his house. Only his house, because he’s impossible to follow! So that he doesn’t suspect anything, we’ve led him to believe that we want more information about the group and we’ve promised him an extra sum of money – twenty thousand francs. Monsieur Natai reported that when Charles de Varencourt heard about that, he was overjoyed. How grasping! The operation will be supervised by Natai’s superior, Monsieur Palenier, who has been kept fully informed.’

Talleyrand leant towards Margont and whispered: ‘At our first meeting, we promised you five thousand francs. Of course, it’s not the money that motivates you ... And the imperial finances are unfortunately not what they were. But on the other hand, it would be quite unfair to offer twenty thousand francs to a traitor and only five to a loyal man. So we would like to ask you: do you also want twenty thousand francs if you succeed in your mission? You only have to ask.’

The tortuous experiment was typical of Talleyrand. It was designed to show that an idealist was as corruptible as the next man, it’s just that his price was higher.

‘Your Excellency,’ replied Margont, ‘I will be quite happy with Imperial Press and the authorisation to launch a newspaper. I propose to use the money to buy—’

‘You’re still harping on that? That’s not just an obsession, it’s an illness!’ raged Joseph. ‘But it’s agreed, help us throw them all in prison and you can have them both – your newspaper and your machine to make it with!’

Margont hid his pleasure, which was immediately replaced by a new worry. ‘What will happen to the prisoners?’

Talleyrand narrowed his eyes. ‘Ah ... scruples. Well, they won’t be executed and they won’t be tortured. Our enemies have captured as many of our men as we have of theirs, so everyone treats their prisoners well.’

That was a highly partisan view, and might be true for the upper echelons, but simple soldiers, NCOs and subaltern officers had endured appalling conditions in Spain, on English pontoons, in damp Edinburgh gaols, in Russia ... Yet neither Joseph nor Talleyrand would take the risk of condemning these royalists to death. Not while there was a chance that the Allies might win. Because to hang those men would be to hang themselves with the same noose ...

‘There’s already been enough bloodshed,’ Joseph assented. ‘Only the man or men responsible for the murders of Colonel Berle and Count Kevlokine will be punished with the death penalty, and then only after a fair trial.’

‘How will you make sure that everyone is arrested?’ asked Margont. ‘Even when the committee meets, you never know how many are present and how many are keeping watch outside. And there’s a lot of them – thirty, perhaps more ...’

‘Well, we’ll send more than a hundred! There will be a company of the National Guard standing by day and night, ready to intervene, as well as my agents. Wherever your meeting takes place, it will be well surrounded – very well! We will be able to arrest everyone quickly.’

Margont could already picture himself caught right in the middle of generalised shooting.

‘But, Your Excellency, you’re going to set off exactly the kind of insurrection you’re trying to avoid!’

That will never happen! Faced with superior manpower, they will give themselves up without resisting.’

‘That’s exactly what they won’t do!’

‘Our decision is taken! At the critical moment, if one of the fanatics wants to open fire, it’s up to you to make them see reason. You should let yourself be arrested along with the others. You’ll all be taken to different prisons. Each prisoner will be alone in his cell. Well lock you up too, so as not to arouse their suspicions about you. But of course, you will be freed immediately afterwards.’

‘And Charles de Varencourt?’

‘He will also be freed. But a little later, after we’ve established that he really is on our side. If we discover that he failed to pass on any information, he’ll find the key to his cell at the bottom of the Seine.’

‘I’m going to have to examine Count Kevlokine’s body.’

‘We knew you were going to ask that. This time the civilian police got there first. Unfortunately they discovered the symbol of the Swords of the King. I’ve personally made sure that they won’t broadcast the fact. There’s a policeman waiting for you in the next room. He will take you to where the count’s remains were found. Everything has been left as it was found. You will find Inspector Sausson there – he’s also from the civilian police so he does not know that my secret police are on the trail of the royalists. He only deals with criminal investigations. He will receive you alone and tell you everything he knows. I have expressly forbidden him to question you and he does not know who you are or why you are involved ... He has understood that, as far as he is concerned, you don’t exist.’

‘But that might not be true! The civilian police also sell information about royalists. I run the risk that someone sees me at the scene of the crime, and describes me physically—’

‘You have nothing to fear, because with your help we’ll be able to annihilate the Swords of the King very soon. You may leave now.’ Margont reached the door, but then turned back.

‘Your Excellency, may I know whether Paris is threatened?’

Joseph was stupefied by his insolence; Talleyrand was amused. The lieutenant-general wanted to reprimand Margont and tell him that there was no risk to Paris, but he was so tangled up in his anger and his lies that it was the truth that emerged from his mouth.

They’re coming

He then added firmly: ‘So make sure that we’re not stabbed in the back while confronting the Allies.’