Delphi Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Illustrated) (489 page)

‘Oh, that is Soult! He is the most obstinate man in the world. He argues with the Emperor. The handsome man beside him is Junot, and Bernadotte is leaning against the tent-pole.’

I looked with interest at the extraordinary face of this adventurer, who, after starting with a musket and a knapsack in the ranks, was not contented with the baton of a marshal, but passed on afterwards to grasp the sceptre of a king. And it might be said of him that, unlike his fellows, he gained his throne in spite of Napoleon rather than by his aid. Any man who looked at his singular pronounced features, the swarthiness of which proclaimed his half Spanish origin, must have read in his flashing black eyes and in that huge aggressive nose that he was reserved for a strange destiny. Of all the fierce and masterful men who surrounded the Emperor there was none with greater gifts, and none, also, whose ambitions he more distrusted, than those of Jules Bernadotte.

And yet, fierce and masterful as these men were, having, as Auguereau boasted, fear neither of God nor of the devil, there was something which thrilled or cowed them in the pale smile or black frown of the little man who ruled them. For, as I watched them, there suddenly came over the assembly a start and hush such as you see in a boys’ school when the master enters unexpectedly, and there near the open doors of his headquarters stood the master himself. Even without that sudden silence, and the scramble to their feet of those upon the benches, I felt that I should have known instantly that he was present. There was a pale luminosity about his ivory face which drew the eye towards it, and though his dress might be the plainest of a hundred, his appearance would be the first which one would notice. There he was, with his little plump, heavy-shouldered figure, his green coat with the red collar and cuffs, his white, well-formed legs, his sword with the gilt hilt and the tortoise-shell scabbard. His head was uncovered, showing his thin hair of a ruddy chestnut colour. Under one arm was the flat cocked hat with the twopenny tricolour rosette, which was already reproduced in his pictures. In his right hand he held a little riding switch with a metal head. He walked slowly forward, his face immutable, his eyes fixed steadily before him, measured, inexorable, the very personification of Destiny.

‘Admiral Bruix!’

I do not know if that voice thrilled through every one as it did through me. Never had I heard anything more harsh, more menacing, more sinister. From under his puckered brows his light-blue eyes glanced swiftly round with a sweep like a sabre.

‘I am here, Sire!’ A dark, grizzled, middle-aged man, in a naval uniform, had advanced from the throng. Napoleon took three quick little steps towards him in so menacing a fashion, that I saw the weather-stained cheeks of the sailor turn a shade paler, and he gave a helpless glance round him, as if for assistance.

‘How comes it, Admiral Bruix,’ cried the Emperor, in the same terrible rasping voice, ‘that you did not obey my commands last night?’

‘I could see that a westerly gale was coming up, Sire. I knew that — ,’ he could hardly speak for his agitation, ‘I knew that if the ships went out with this lee shore—’

‘What right have you to judge, sir?’ cried the Emperor, in a cold fury of indignation. ‘Do you conceive that your judgment is to be placed against mine?’

‘In matters of navigation, Sire.’

‘In no matters whatsoever.’

‘But the tempest, Sire! Did it not prove me to be in the right?’

‘What! You still dare to bandy words with me?’

‘When I have justice on my side.’

There was a hush amidst all the great audience; such a heavy silence as comes only when many are waiting, and all with bated breath. The Emperor’s face was terrible. His cheeks were of a greenish, livid tint, and there was a singular rotary movement of the muscles of his forehead. It was the countenance of an epileptic. He raised the whip to his shoulder, and took a step towards the admiral.

‘You insolent rascal!’ he hissed. It was the Italian word
coglione
which he used, and I observed that as his feelings overcame him his French became more and more that of a foreigner.

For a moment he seemed to be about to slash the sailor across the face with his whip. The latter took a step back, and clapped his hand to his sword.

‘Have a care, Sire,’ said he.

For a few instants the tension was terrible. Then Napoleon brought the whip down with a sharp crack against his own thigh.

‘Vice-Admiral Magon,’ he cried, ‘you will in future receive all orders connected with the fleet. Admiral Bruix, you will leave Boulogne in twenty-four hours and withdraw to Holland. Where is Lieutenant Gerard, of the Hussars of Bercheny?’

My companion’s gauntlet sprang to his busby.

‘I ordered you to bring Monsieur Louis de Laval from the castle of

Grosbois.’

‘He is here, Sire.’

‘Good! You may retire.’

The lieutenant saluted, whisked round upon his heel, and clattered away, whilst the Emperor’s blue eyes were turned upon me. I had often heard the phrase of eyes looking through you, but that piercing gaze did really give one the feeling that it penetrated to one’s inmost thoughts. But the sternness had all melted out of it, and I read a great gentleness and kindness in their expression.

‘You have come to serve me, Monsieur de Laval?’

‘Yes, Sire.’

‘You have been some time in making up your mind.’

‘I was not my own master, Sire.’

‘Your father was an aristocrat?’

‘Yes, Sire.’

‘And a supporter of the Bourbons?’

‘Yes, Sire.’

‘You will find that in France now there are no aristocrats and no Jacobins; but that we are all Frenchmen working for the glory of our country. Have you seen Louis de Bourbon?’

‘I have seen him once, Sire?’

‘An insignificant-looking man, is he not?’

‘No, Sire, I thought him a fine-looking man.’

For a moment I saw a hard gleam of resentment in those changing blue eyes. Then he put out his hand and pinched one of my ears.

‘Monsieur de Laval was not born to be a courtier,’ said he. ‘Well, well, Louis de Bourbon will find that he cannot gain a throne by writing proclamations in London and signing them Louis. For my part, I found the crown of France lying upon the ground, and I lifted it upon my sword-point.’

‘You have lifted France with your sword also, Sire,’ said Talleyrand, who stood at his elbow.

Napoleon looked at his famous minister, and I seemed to read suspicion in his eyes. Then he turned to his secretary.

‘I leave Monsieur de Laval in your hands, de Meneval,’ said he. ‘I desire to see him in the council chamber after the inspection of the artillery.’

CHAPTER X
I

THE SECRETAR
Y

Emperor, generals, and officials all streamed away to the review, leaving me with a gentle-looking, large-eyed man in a black suit with very white cambric ruffles, who introduced himself to me as Monsieur de Meneval, private secretary to His Majesty.

‘We must get some food, Monsieur de Laval,’ said he. ‘It is always well, if you have anything to do with the Emperor, to get your food whenever you have the chance. It may be many hours before he takes a meal, and if you are in his presence you have to fast also. I assure you that I have nearly fainted from hunger and from thirst.’

‘But how does the Emperor manage himself?’ I asked. This Monsieur de Meneval had such a kindly human appearance that I already felt much at my ease with him.

‘Oh, he, he is a man of iron, Monsieur de Laval. We must not set our watches by his. I have known him work for eighteen hours on end and take nothing but a cup or two of coffee. He wears everybody out around him. Even the soldiers cannot keep up with him. I assure you that I look upon it as the very highest honour to have charge of his papers, but there are times when it is very trying all the same. Sometimes it is eleven o’clock at night, Monsieur de Laval, and I am writing to his dictation with my head aching for want of sleep. It is dreadful work, for he dictates as quickly as he can talk, and he never repeats anything. “Now, Meneval,” says he suddenly, “we shall stop here and have a good night’s rest.” And then, just as I am congratulating myself, he adds, “and we shall continue with the dictation at three to-morrow morning.” That is what he means by a good night’s rest.’

‘But has he no hours for his meals, Monsieur de Meneval?’ I asked, as I accompanied the unhappy secretary out of the tent.

‘Oh, yes, he has hours, but he will not observe them. You see that it is already long after dinner time, but he has gone to this review. After the review something else will probably take up his attention, and then something else, until suddenly in the evening it will occur to him that he has had no dinner. “My dinner, Constant, this instant!” he will cry, and poor Constant has to see that it is there.’

‘But it must be unfit to eat by that time,’ said I.

The secretary laughed in the discreet way of a man who has always been obliged to control his emotions.

‘This is the Imperial kitchen,’ said he, indicating a large tent just outside the headquarters. ‘Here is Borel, the second cook, at the door. How many pullets to-day, Borel?’

‘Ah, Monsieur de Meneval, it is heartrending,’ cried the cook. ‘Behold them!’ and, drawing back the flap of the entrance, he showed us seven dishes, each of them containing a cold fowl. ‘The eighth is now on the fire and done to a turn, but I hear that His Majesty has started for the review, so we must put on a ninth.’

‘That is how it is managed,’ said my companion, as we turned from the tent. ‘I have known twenty-three fowls got ready for him before he asked for his meal. That day he called for his dinner at eleven at night. He cares little what he eats or drinks, but he will not be kept waiting. Half a bottle of Chambertin, a red mullet, or a pullet a la Marengo satisfy every need, but it is unwise to put pastry or cream upon the table, because he is as likely as not to eat it before the fowl. Ah, that is a curious sight, is it not?’

I had halted with an exclamation of astonishment. A groom was cantering a very beautiful Arab horse down one of the lanes between the tents. As it passed, a grenadier who was standing with a small pig under his arm hurled it down under the feet of the horse. The pig squealed vigorously and scuttled away, but the horse cantered on without changing its step.

‘What does that mean?’ I asked.

‘That is Jardin, the head groom, breaking in a charger for the Emperor’s use. They are first trained by having a cannon fired in their ears, then they are struck suddenly by heavy objects, and finally they have the test of the pig being thrown under their feet. The Emperor has not a very firm seat, and he very often loses himself in a reverie when be is riding, so it might not be very safe if the horse were not well trained. Do you see that young man asleep at the door of a tent?’

‘Yes, I see him.’

‘You would not think that he is at the present moment serving the

Emperor?’

‘It seems a very easy service.’

‘I wish all our services were as easy, Monsieur de Laval. That is Joseph Linden, whose foot is the exact size of the Emperor’s. He wears his new boots and shoes for three days before they are given to his master. You can see by the gold buckles that he has a pair on at the present moment. Ah, Monsieur de Caulaincourt, will you not join us at dinner in my tent?’

A tall, handsome man, very elegantly dressed, came across and greeted us. ‘It is rare to find you at rest, Monsieur de Meneval. I have no very light task myself as head of the household, but I think I have more leisure than you. Have we time for dinner before the Emperor returns?’

‘Yes, yes; here is the tent, and everything ready. We can see when the Emperor returns, and be in the room before he can reach it. This is camp fare, Monsieur de Laval, but no doubt you will excuse it.’

For my own part I had an excellent appetite for the cutlets and the salad, but what I relished above all was to hear the talk of my companions, for I was full of curiosity as to everything which concerned this singular man, whose genius had elevated him so rapidly to the highest position in the world. The head of his household discussed him with an extraordinary frankness.

‘What do they say of him in England, Monsieur de Laval?’ he asked.

‘Nothing very good.’

‘So I have gathered from their papers. They drive the Emperor frantic, and yet he will insist upon reading them. I am willing to lay a wager that the very first thing which he does when he enters London will be to send cavalry detachments to the various newspaper offices, and to endeavour to seize the editors.’

‘And the next?’

‘The next,’ said he, laughing, ‘will be to issue a long proclamation to prove that we have conquered England entirely for the good of the English, and very much against our own inclinations. And then, perhaps, the Emperor will allow the English to understand that, if they absolutely demand a Protestant for a ruler, it is possible that there are a few little points in which he differs from Holy Church.’

‘Too bad! Too bad!’ cried de Meneval, looking amused and yet rather frightened at his companion’s audacity. ‘No doubt for state reasons the Emperor had to tamper a little with Mahomedanism, and I daresay he would attend this Church of St. Paul’s as readily as he did the Mosque at Cairo; but it would not do for a ruler to be a bigot. After all, the Emperor has to think for all.’

‘He thinks too much,’ said Caulaincourt, gravely. ‘He thinks so much that other people in France are getting out of the way of thinking at all. You know what I mean, de Meneval, for you have seen it as much as I have.’

‘Yes, yes,’ answered the secretary. ‘He certainly does not encourage originality among those who surround him. I have heard him say many a time that he desired nothing but mediocrity, which was a poor compliment, it must be confessed, to us who have the honour of serving him.’

‘A clever man at his Court shows his cleverness best by pretending to be dull,’ said Caulaincourt, with some bitterness.

‘And yet there are many famous characters there,’ I remarked.

‘If so, it is only by concealing their characters that they remain there. His ministers are clerks, his generals are superior aides-de-camp. They are all agents. You have this wonderful man in the middle, and all around you have so many mirrors which reflect different sides of him. In one you see him as a financier, and you call it Lebrun. In another you have him as a
gendarme
, and you name it Savary or Fouche. In yet another he figures as a diplomatist, and is called Talleyrand. You see different figures, but it is really the same man. There is a Monsieur de Caulaincourt, for example, who arranges the household; but he cannot dismiss a servant without permission. It is still always the Emperor. And he plays upon us. We must confess, de Meneval, that he plays upon us. In nothing else do I see so clearly his wonderful cleverness. He will not let us be too friendly lest we combine. He has set his Marshals against each other until there are hardly two of them on speaking terms. Look how Davoust hates Bernadotte, or Lannes and Bessieres, or Ney and Massena. It is all they can do to keep their sabres in they sheaths when they meet. And then he knows our weak points. Savary’s thirst for money, Cambaceres’s vanity, Duroc’s bluntness, Berthier’s foolishness, Maret’s insipidity, Talleyrand’s mania for speculation, they are all so many tools in his hand. I do not know what my own greatest weakness may be, but I am sure that he does, and that he uses his knowledge.’

‘But how he must work!’ I exclaimed.

‘Ah, you may say so,’ said de Meneval. ‘What energy! Eighteen hours out of twenty-four for weeks on end. He has presided over the Legislative Council until they were fainting at their desks. As to me, he will be the death of me, just as he wore out de Bourrienne; but I will die at my post without a murmur, for if he is hard upon us he is hard upon himself also.’

‘He was the man for France,’ said de Caulaincourt. ‘He is the very genius of system and of order, and of discipline. When one renumbers the chaos in which our poor country found itself after the Revolution, when no one would be governed and everyone wanted to govern someone else, you will understand that only Napoleon could have saved us. We were all longing for something fixed to secure ourselves to, and then we came upon this iron pillar of a man. And what a man he was in those days, Monsieur de Laval! You see him now when he has got all that he can want. He is good-humoured and easy. But at that time he had got nothing, but coveted everything. His glance frightened women. He walked the streets like a wolf. People looked after him as he passed. His face was quite different — it was craggy, hollow-cheeked, with an oblique menacing gaze, and the jaws of a pike. Oh, yes, this little Lieutenant Buonaparte from the Military School of Brienne was a singular figure. “There is a man,” said I, when I saw him, “who will sit upon a throne or kneel upon a scaffold.” And now look at him!’

‘And that is ten years ago,’ I exclaimed.

‘Only ten years, and they have brought him from a barrack-room to the Tuileries. But he was born for it. You could not keep him down. De Bourrienne told me that when he was a little fellow at Brienne he had the grand Imperial manner, and would praise or blame, glare or smile, exactly as he does now. Have you seen his mother, Monsieur de Laval? She is a tragedy queen, tall, stern, reserved, silent. There is the spring from which he flowed.’

I could see in the gentle, spaniel-eyes of the secretary that he was disturbed by the frankness of de Caulaincourt’s remarks.

‘You can tell that we do not live under a very terrible tyranny, Monsieur de Laval,’ said he, ‘or we should hardly venture to discuss our ruler so frankly. The fact is that we have said nothing which he would not have listened to with pleasure and perhaps with approval. He has his little frailties, or he would not be human, but take his qualities as a ruler and I would ask you if there has ever been a man who has justified the choice of a nation so completely. He works harder than any of his subjects. He is a general beloved by his soldiers. He is a master beloved by his servants. He never has a holiday, and he is always ready for his work. There is not under the roof of the Tuileries a more abstemious eater or drinker. He educated his brothers at his own expense when he was a very poor man, and he has caused even his most distant relatives to share in his prosperity. In a word, he is economical, hard-working, and temperate. We read in the London papers about this Prince of Wales, Monsieur de Laval, and I do not think that he comes very well out of the comparison.’

I thought of the long record of Brighton scandals, London scandals,

Newmarket scandals, and I had to leave George undefended.

‘As I understand it,’ said I, ‘it is not the Emperor’s private life, but his public ambition, that the English attack.’

‘The fact is,’ said de Caulaincourt, ‘that the Emperor knows, and we all know, that there is not room enough in the world for both France and England. One or other must be supreme. If England were once crushed we could then lay the foundations of a permanent peace. Italy is ours. Austria we can crush again as we have crushed her before. Germany is divided. Russia can expand to the south and east. America we can take at our leisure, finding our pretext in Louisiana or in Canada. There is a world empire waiting for us, and there is the only thing that stops us.’ He pointed out through the opening of the tent at the broad blue Channel.

Far away, like snow-white gulls in the distance, were the sails of the blockading fleet. I thought again of what I had seen the night before — the lights of the ships upon the sea and the glow of the camp upon the shore. The powers of the land and of the ocean were face to face whilst a waiting world stood round to see what would come of it.