Memory of Flames (13 page)

Margont shook his head, incredulous.

‘Pius VI, too moderate? You mean that Jean-Baptiste de Chatel was more royalist than the King and more Catholic than the Pope? How is that possible?’

‘Well, here’s an example. He wanted to ban all religions other than Catholicism.’

‘Wonderful! He wanted to ignite religious wars! What else?’

‘He was adamant that atheism should also be banned, and that education could only be provided by priests; he campaigned for renewed crusades to liberate Jerusalem.’

‘Oh, so that’s why the other members refer to him as “the crusader”. He’s a bigot!’

‘In 1791 he was keen to escape revolutionary France and considered the French clergy were too soft, so he went to Spain. He made an impressive start there: he was admitted to the Abbey of

Aljanfe, near Madrid, where he became the heir apparent to the abbot. In fact, many of the Spanish clergy shared his views that the French religious community was too moderate. His intransigent sermons were very appealing.’

‘But I wager he rapidly overtook even the most fanatical Spanish.’ ‘Fie did indeed. In Spain, you don’t take liberties with Catholicism, and in 1797 he was imprisoned by the Inquisition, accused of heresy because some of his interpretations of the Bible diverged from dogma. For example, he stirred up controversy about Christ’s poverty. According to the Bible, Christ had no personal or shared possessions. And it follows from this that the Catholic Church should also take a vow of poverty.’

‘That’s a long-standing debate that worries the Catholic Church a great deal. In the Middle Ages, Franciscans were frequently burnt at the stake merely for raising the question.’

‘His trial lasted three years.’

‘That’s incredible!’

‘It’s because he defended himself so vigorously. He used his

theological knowledge to confound the Inquisitors, he contested every point and argued ceaselessly. He kept going back to what he called the original Bible — that’s to say the most ancient texts in old Hebrew, in Aramaic and Ancient Greek - and referring to what he considered translation errors.’

Margont was astounded. He himself was quite capable of insolence - it was a typically revolutionary characteristic - and so he was always impressed when he heard about someone even more daring than he.

He said, as much to himself as to Lefine, ‘So in fact, he was saying to the Inquisitors - the most fanatical of fanatics - that they had the wrong Bible and he had the correct one, so he was the only man on earth to have access to the word of God.’

‘I would have loved to see that! And because inquisitorial trials are scrupulously recorded, the Inquisitors were obliged to answer him. Besides, Chatel drew attention to the irregularities in his trial. He knew all about inquisitorial proceedings because he believed that the Inquisition should be re-established in all countries.

During his time at the Abbey of Pagemont, he had worked on updating the proceedings - although no one had asked him to. Apparently he was already assuming that he would be the new inquisitor general of France.’

‘But where did he find the time? Monks are busy all day long: praying, listening to sermons in the chapterhouse, working, praying again, reading the Holy Scriptures, listening to the word of God ... They rarely have even short periods of free time.’

‘It doesn’t say in police reports how he found time.’

‘He must have done it at night...’

‘At the end of the trial the Spanish Inquisition condemned him to death. But the sentence was commuted to life imprisonment after an appeal was made to the newly elected pope, Pius VII. Chatel rotted in a Madrid gaol, dying a slow death while reading the Bible the Inquisitors were happy to let him have. It was Napoleon who eventually saved his life in 1808 when he suppressed the Inquisition after he besieged Spain.’

‘Chatel wasn’t very grateful. He thinks the Emperor is the

Antichrist. I thought he was joking when he said that, but now I’m sure that everything he said he meant literally.’

The police lost track of him after he was freed, and I haven’t been able to do much better. He only reappeared in 1813, in Paris, as a member of the Swords of the King. I can’t see any link between him and fire either.’

‘He doesn’t get on with Louis de Leaume. He can’t accept anyone’s authority, so he’s uncontrollable. I think even waging a campaign of murders would be too mild for him. What are his real aims, I wonder.’ Margont was lost in thought for a moment. They all have lives that reflect the period we’re living through: turbulent, full of confusion, contradictions and periods of wandering ... And we all believed that after the Revolution, everything would get better ... What do you know about the other members who aren’t on the committee?’

‘Not very much. They are a mixed bunch: monarchists, rabid believers whom Jean-Baptiste de Chatel convinced to join the Swords of the King with his sermons, refugees from other

dismantled royalist groups ... The biggest group are opportunists who’ve become royalists because they can see the tide is turning.’ ‘What did Charles de Varencourt really tell Joseph’s agents?’ There’s a whole police report on the subject. Very little on the committee members, because he claims they all keep their life stories to themselves. He only supplied new information on Vicomte de Leaume, whom he said had spent at least two years in England, living with friends in the Strand, the heart of the French royalist community. Paradoxically, what Varencourt really gave away was himself. The police had managed to identify all the members of the group - except him! Varencourt had believed that they already knew about him before he betrayed himself, but it wasn’t true.’ That was clever of him!’

‘He confirmed what the police already suspected - that the Swords of the King were planning to foment a popular uprising in favour of Louis XVIII.’

‘It’s a fashionable idea. Especially amongst monarchists. A bloodless revolution that would sweep away the republican-inspired

empire and restore the King. A sort of inverted Revolution, which would overturn all that the revolutionaries had put in place. Although that seems to me pie in the sky, just a way of refusing to face reality.’

‘And the group’s emblem. There again the police had their suspicions. The white cockade is deemed too popular by aristocrats, so the secret royalist societies like to develop their own devices of recognition. But Charles de Varencourt gave a detailed description of their emblem. And finally he revealed their proposed campaign of assassinations. But you’ll be furious when I tell you that although Varencourt supplied a list of eleven victims, Natai didn’t give it to me. He told me that his superiors were adamant that you shouldn’t discuss it with Varencourt.’

Margont managed not to lose his temper. ‘What?’

‘Look, it’s not surprising if you think about it. Joseph must judge that it's not necessary for your investigation and he wants to limit the risk of the list of names circulating ... especially if his is on it! Right, that completes my report/

Thanks, Fernand! Your help is invaluable! Try to continue finding out more about our suspects. The first one of us who has something new should get in contact with the other.’

Lefine left. Margont stayed for a while, lying on the grass at the foot of one of the windmills, enjoying the gentle breeze and looking out across Paris.

When he went into his room Margont noticed that it had been searched. He was always careful before he went out to put some of his possessions in designated places. Some of these had been moved. His books were no longer piled up in the same order as he had left them; his mattress was touching the wall, although he had left a small gap. The intruder had been very careful and nothing had been stolen, so without these little indicators Margont would not have noticed anything. And the more he thought about it, the less sure he became ... Had his books and mattress really been moved? He could not ask his landlord, who, even had he noticed anything, would have denied seeing anyone enter. He ran his 
hand over the pile of books, trying to prove to himself that their arrangement felt different since his meeting with Lefine. He often believed he was being followed when he was outside. By one of the Swords of the King? By a policeman who took him for a royalist? Or maybe someone with personal motives? He could not tell if he was imagining it all.

He hurried over to his chest. He had hammered a little nail inside it, right at the bottom, on the left, and had attached a thread to it. Before leaving, he always took the thread out of the chest and attached it to a notch on the lid. Once he was back he would untie it. This time the thread had been broken. So someone really had
 
^r
ummaged through his room. He felt strangely comforted by the knowledge - he was not losing his mind. Not yet anyway ... His grip on reality seemed to be hanging by that thread.
 

IT was 21 March and Napoleon was surveying the Bohemian army under the command of Generalissimo Schwarzenberg, from the heights of the plateau south of Arcis-sur-Aube. The Emperor blinked, incredulous. He had defeated the Allies over and over again, and this was the result! Those massed ranks blanketing the horizon. A hundred thousand men at the very least. Divisions, methodically formed into giant rectangles, made up a spider’s web awaiting the attack of the French army. But the latter comprised only thirty thousand soldiers, since some of the troops had been scattered during manoeuvres and battles ... Napoleon had thought the Austro-Russian force was retreating! They
 
had
 
to be retreating. He continued to scour the hordes for signs of disorder, or for movements backwards ...

Finally he reached the inescapable conclusion. It was the French who would have to retreat. But in which direction?

The most obvious solution was to withdraw to Paris, to protect the 
capital. But what would the Allied armies do then? They would unite into one, having learnt the dangers of operating separately. Schwarzenberg’s Bohemian army would join forces with Marshal Blucher’s Silesian army, and they, reinforced by other diverse troops, would both be joined by the nearest units of Bernadotte’s Army of the North. The French would be ignominiously forced back to Paris ... Several members of the imperial general staff advised retiring to Paris, but only because they could not envisage any other course of action.

Napoleon then took one of the most important decisions of his career. He had been plotting the manoeuvre for several days and had discussed it with his marshals, who, in the main, opposed it. They considered it too complicated and, above all, too risky. But it offered the only possibility of victory, and so that day Napoleon decided to press ahead with it. The French army would not turn back towards Paris; it would go round the Allied army to threaten its rear. The enemy needed vast amounts of supplies to feed and equip such a quantity of troops. And the Emperor was counting on his own prestige. The enemy feared him when he was in front of them, so what general would dare turn his back on him? His tactic would sow panic in the Allied ranks. He wanted to force his enemies to pursue him. He would also be leading them away from Paris, towards the east, where he would rally fresh troops who were stationed in strongholds. But the danger of the tactic was obvious: no one would be defending the road to Paris. It was a gamble, a throw of the dice.
 

MARGONT was radiant, his fingers ink-stained and his hands full of paper. Around him typesetters and printers bustled about, brushing purposefully past him. The print shop was a hive of productivity pouring out ink like honey. They had received several orders that they had to fulfil as quickly as possible. Restaurants were changing their menus. In 1800 on the eve of the Battle of Marengo, Napoleon - then merely Bonaparte - had eaten a delicious dish: chicken with a tomato sauce flavoured with little onions, garlic and crayfish. After the battle, the recipe had been renamed ‘chicken Marengo’ and was to this day very popular. It was as if the flavour of the sauce was enhanced by the glory of the victory. Inevitably today innkeepers were offering ‘beef Olssufiev’, reflecting Napoleon’s resounding defeat of General Olssufiev’s small elite army at the Battle of Champaubert, which had set off an astonishing series of victories. But Margont knew that there were dozens of other Olssufievs waiting in the wings.

Margont had suggested an unusual typeface for a ball invitation and was reading the proofs. He was yet again imagining he was printing his newspaper. His fingers manipulated the lead letters with the ease of a master. As he was checking the phrases, his imagination was creating others, all with the word ‘liberty’ in them. This double personality was mixed with a third, that of a royalist. Margont was trying to find the most convincing posters supporting a restoration. The more he succeeded in that the more he would gain the confidence of the Swords of the King. But it would be a double-edged victory. What if the Swords of the King, in their enthusiasm, teamed up with other royalist groups? What if Paris found itself blanketed with posters? How ironic if Margont’s success in his mission should bring about the thing he most dreaded. Mathurin Jelent knew that Margont was playing a role, but although he passed Margont orders and went through the accounts with him, his face never betrayed what he knew. He was completely at ease.

A street urchin burst into the print shop. He was scrawny, but

arrogant and aggressive, like a cockerel ruling the roost. One of the employees picked up an iron bar, which had been part of a now useless press, and put it over his shoulder. Bands of marauding children were plaguing the capital, terrorising passers-by ... ‘M’sieur de Langes, your friend Fernand wants to see you; he needs money urgently. Otherwise, he’s in danger of being chucked in the Seine ...’