Authors: Simon Scarrow
THE GENERALS (85 page)
Despite every precaution taken by Napoleon and his followers there was never any doubt that the people would endorse the hero who had swept away the corruption of the Directory and devoted his life to improving the lives of the people of France. In the middle of July long queues formed at the polls across the country as people cast their vote. While the votes were counted Napoleon remained in Paris, hard at work on the plans to regulate the price of grain so that the poorest citizens would never fear hunger again.
Or so the newspapers reported. In truth, Napoleon fretted over the size of the majority he would achieve in the popular vote. If it was not large enough, his enemies would gain heart from the sizeable minority of the people who still opposed Napoleon. Only an overwhelming majority would settle the matter beyond dispute and prove to France, and the rest of Europe, that Napoleon ruled with a moral authority that the Bourbons had never enjoyed in the centuries that they had been kings of France.
On the last day of July, after the final results had been conveyed to the capital, Napoleon attended a picnic with Josephine and her friends in the gardens of the Tuileries. She had intended to hold the party on the banks of the Seine away from the sweltering heat and bustle of the capital but Napoleon could not bear to be away from Paris when the result of the vote was known. So the party sat on spotless sheets amid the clipped precision of the flowerbeds overlooking the river. The fouled water glided by, bearing the shimmering reflection of the crowded slum houses looming over the far bank. A company from the Consular Guard formed a loose cordon around the guests and their presence detracted from the pastoral idyll that Josephine had intended to create.
‘Must they stand there?’ she asked quietly. ‘They’re making us look like prisoners.’
‘Hmmm?’ Napoleon glanced at her, and realised at the same time that he had been holding the same slice of cheese and ham tart for several minutes. He took a bite and answered her as soon as he had finished chewing. ‘They’re here to protect us.’
‘Protect us from whom? I thought everyone loved you.’
‘Just try to ignore them, my dearest, and then I’m sure your guests will as well.’
‘Ignore them?’ Josephine turned her head round to the nearest section, standing stiffly at attention fifty paces away. Each man wore a tall bearskin hat that only emphasised his natural height. ‘Hardly. Besides,’ she continued insistently, ‘who are they protecting us from? I’d love to know.’
‘The usual malcontents, and those hired by foreign agents to stir up trouble.’
‘Now you sound just like one of those toadying newspapers which relish attacking anyone who criticises you.’
‘It’s not that bad. People are still free to say what they like.’
‘As long as they don’t say it too loud, or to too many people.’
Napoleon sighed. ‘Who has been slinging the mud this time? Your friend Barras? Or that jumped-up perfume platform, Madame de Staël?’
Josephine was quiet for a moment before she continued. ‘Did you have to banish her from Paris?’
‘I didn’t. That was the decision of the Minister of Police.’
‘That dog Fouché.’ Josephine sneered. ‘He’s little more than your pet.’
‘He’s a lot more than that. If Fouché exiled de Staël then you can be sure he had a good reason to do so.’
‘Really? Are you sure? There have been quite a few people disappearing from Paris society in recent months, none of whom I’d describe as a dangerous enemy.’
‘They had to go. For the public good.’ Napoleon reached for some grapes and popped one into his mouth. ‘They’ll be allowed back, once they’ve seen reason and can keep their opinions to themselves. Who knows how far they would take their conspiracies if we permitted them to remain in Paris?’
‘Oh, come on. How many of them do you suppose are actually dangerous?’
‘I don’t know. But the men who tried to kill me and you, and injured Hortense, came from somewhere.’
It was a harsh reminder, and Napoleon felt guilty about his words almost as soon as he had uttered them. Josephine turned away from him indignantly, but he saw through the gesture as she quickly wiped a tear away on her sleeve.
‘I’m sorry, my love. I did not mean to upset you.’ He reached out and gently placed his hand across her shoulder. ‘Really I didn’t.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she replied, her voice catching. ‘You are probably right. You usually are.’ She turned back towards him, and forced herself to smile. Then her expression froze as her gaze swept over his shoulder. ‘Here comes your nasty little policeman.’
Napoleon swivelled round and rose to his feet as he saw Fouché striding across the gardens towards the picnic guests. As soon as he saw Napoleon he broke into a smile and quickened his pace.
‘The result?’ Napoleon asked at once. ‘Is it in?’
‘Yes, citizen.’ Fouché laughed lightly. ‘Or should I say, First Consul for life?’
Napoleon grasped his arm. ‘The numbers. Tell me the numbers.’
‘Three and a half million votes in favour . . . eight thousand against.’
‘Good God,’ Napoleon muttered. ‘Is that true?’
‘Trust me, if it had been rigged they wouldn’t even have got eight hundred votes.’
‘That’s it then. France is as good as mine.’
Chapter 65
Despite the Treaty of Amiens, Napoleon kept a wary eye on the activities of the English as the months passed. Although most of the provisions of the treaty were respected by both countries, the remaining differences between them were as deep as an ocean. Even as Napoleon strove to improve the governance of France with all manner of reforms, his mind was always drawn to the confrontation with the oldest enemy of the revolution.There was little doubt in his mind that the war would be renewed, but if there was any chance, however small, of a lasting peace, then he would take it.
That hope was grasped with fervour by Talleyrand, who spent every waking hour striving to find some means of preventing Europe from sliding back into a bloody conflict. The foreign minister was adamant in his opposition to war, and for the first time Napoleon sensed that there would come a time when the man’s principles would outweigh his usefulness. Napoleon did not trust him. His suspicions were confirmed when Fouché showed him the police file that had been kept on Talleyrand.
As Napoleon scanned through the documents the Minister of Police sat so still and silent on the other side of the desk that Napoleon was almost unaware of his presence. As he flipped the last page over he drew a deep breath and leaned back in his chair.
‘Most interesting . . .’ Napoleon pushed the file back across the desk and smiled. ‘But I’m not sure it amounts to treason.’
Fouché raised his eyebrows momentarily.‘Perhaps not. But the names of his associates, and lovers, are suggestive, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘They’re simply the flotsam of the Paris salon circuit.’ Napoleon waved his hand dismissively. ‘They present no danger to us.’
‘That’s possible.’ Fouché paused and looked straight at the First Consul. ‘But we should not ignore the risk to you . . . and your family. After that infernal device that nearly killed you on the way to the Opéra, who can say what treachery exists out there? You must be on your guard, citizen.’
Napoleon frowned at the memory as Fouché paused to let his words sink in before continuing. ‘With your permission I will have Talleyrand watched day and night so that we can have a full list of his contacts.’
‘With my permission?’ Napoleon mused. ‘And if I don’t give it, then I assume you’ll have him watched anyway.’
‘Of course not, citizen,’ Fouché replied in a pained voice.‘I am your loyal servant. I would never deceive you.’
‘I wonder.’
‘It is my duty to make sure that any threat to the government, and to the people of France, is identified and dealt with before it can do any harm.’
‘And you think Talleyrand is a threat?’
‘I doubt it, sir. Not at the moment. My worry is that he is not sufficiently discreet in terms of the company he keeps, nor in what he might say at an unguarded moment.’
Napoleon could not help laughing.‘Talleyrand is the most discreet man I have ever met! Besides, he would never betray France.’
‘No. Not France. But given that he’s a noble, it is possible that he favours the old order over the new. It is possible that his vision of France is not the same as ours, citizen.’ Fouché shrugged. ‘It’s understandable enough, given his past.’
Napoleon thought it over. It was true that Talleyrand was an aristocrat. Yet his beliefs, as he voiced them, demonstrated a radical frame of mind. Even though he had been abroad during the revolution,Talleyrand had served his country loyally since his return. It was mainly due to his deft touch that the Treaty of Amiens had worked out so well in France’s favour, and it was thanks to him that France was at last enjoying peace with the rest of Europe. And yet . . . What if Talleyrand was plotting to undermine Napoleon, in favour of the royalists? What if there was more to his social circle than there seemed? Certainly some of those named in the report numbered amongst Napoleon’s severest critics and political opponents. As Fouché had said, Napoleon should be on his guard.
‘Very well. Have him watched. But make sure that he knows nothing about it. I would not want Talleyrand to think I had lost faith in him. Just in case there is no proof of disloyalty.’
‘I understand, citizen.’ Fouché leaned forward and retrieved the folder. ‘I’ll see to it at once.’
There was something in his tone that made Napleon look sharply at his Minister of Police. There was a note of triumph there and Napoleon suddenly wondered if Fouché was genuinely concerned about Talleyrand’s loyalty, or whether he was playing a deeper game of position, undermining a potential rival in his play for greater power and influence at the heart of government. The lean face stretched over the skull and the hooded, knowing eyes did not engender trust, and Napoleon realised that Fouché - lacking public affection - was obliged to plot and scheme to secure his advancement. In the same way, Talleyrand was obliged to use his charm and wit to achieve his aims. Two sides of the same coin then, Napoleon concluded wearily. Was this how it would be from now on - a constant war of position amongst his subordinates as they plotted against each other?
‘Fouché,’ he said quietly.
‘Yes, citizen?’
‘I appreciate the conscientious, not to say zealous, manner in which you have carried out your duties. However, perhaps it might not be necessary to arrest so many of our people now that the popular vote has been taken to empower me for life.’
‘You still have enemies, citizen.’
‘And I’d prefer it if you did not provide me with any more. Understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘So tread very carefully around Talleyrand. He has powerful friends.’
‘Maybe, but that won’t save him if he commits treason.’
‘No,’ Napoleon conceded. ‘It won’t. Just make sure you have enough evidence if the moment comes.’
In the following months Napoleon regarded his chief ministers warily. Fouché continued his campaign against the rebels of the Vendée as vigorously as ever, but operated in a more restrained manner in Paris, relaxing some of the restrictions on popular entertainments and imprisoning newspaper editors less frequently. For his part, Talleyrand continued to work hard to persuade the foreign ambassadors that France was sincere in its desire for peace. His task was not made easier by the intransigence of the English and the opportunism of the First Consul. Although the British had undertaken to return Malta to the Knights of St John within three months of the treaty, the island remained in their hands. As summer ended and the British garrison remained in place, Napoleon summoned his foreign minister and the English ambassador to the château at St-Cloud that had been refurbished to act as a diplomatic residence away from the noise and grime of the capital.
In order to lend the meeting a less tense ambience Talleyrand had suggested that a buffet of regional delicacies should be laid out in the drawing room overlooking the ornate gardens. A small party of dignitaries had also been invited, and while Josephine hosted the main party the three men slipped away to a small arbour at the end of the main lawn and sat in the dappled shade of trellised vines as they talked. Lord Whitworth was tall, over six feet in height, and stiff-necked with the casual bluntness, bordering on rudeness, that seemed to characterise so many of his high-born countrymen. At least he had a decent command of French, Napoleon admitted as they swiftly moved from polite informalities to the real business of the day.
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