Maurice Tiernay, Soldier of Fortune

by Charles James Lever

  CHAPTER XLV. THE CABINET OF A CHEF DE POLICE

  Whatever opinion may be formed of the character of the celebratedconspiracy of Georges and Pichegru, the mode of its discovery, andthe secret rules by which its plans were detected, are among the greattriumphs of police skill. From the hour when the conspirators first mettogether in London, to that last fatal moment when they expired in theTemple, the agents of Fouche never ceased to track them.

  Their individual tastes and ambitions were studied; their habitscarefully investigated; everything that could give a clue to their turnof thought or mind well weighed; so that the Consular Government was notonly in possession of all their names and rank, but knew thoroughlythe exact amount of complicity attaching to each, and could distinguishbetween the reckless violence of Georges and the more tempered, buthigher ambition of Moreau. It was a long while doubtful whether thegreat general would be implicated in the scheme. His habitual reserve--ahabit less of caution than of constitutional delicacy--had led him tofew intimacies, and nothing like even one close friendship; he movedlittle in society; he corresponded with none, save on the duties of theservice. Fouche's well-known boast of, 'Give me, two words of a man'swriting and I'll hang him,' were then scarcely applicable here.

  To attack such a man unsuccessfully, to arraign him on a weakindictment, would have been ruin; and yet Bonaparte's jealousy of hisgreat rival pushed him even to this peril, rather than risk the growingpopularity of his name with the army.

  Fouche, and, it is said also, Talleyrand, did all they could to dissuadethe First Consul from this attempt, but he was fixed and immutable inhis resolve, and the Police Minister at once addressed himself to histask with all his accustomed cleverness.

  High play was one of the great vices of the day. It was a time of wildand varied excitement, and men sought even in their dissipations, thewhirlwind passions that stirred them in active life. Moreau, however,was no gambler; it was said that he never could succeed in learning agame. He, whose mind could comprehend the most complicated question ofstrategy, was obliged to confess himself conquered by ecarte! So muchfor the vaunted intellectuality of the play-table! Neither was headdicted to wine. All his habits were temperate, even to the extent ofunsociality.

  A man who spoke little, and wrote less, who indulged in no dissipations,nor seemed to have taste for any, was a difficult subject to treat; andso Fouche found, as, day after day, his spies reported to him the utterfailure of all their schemes to entrap him. Lajolais, the friend ofPichegru, and the man who betrayed him, was the chief instrument thePolice Minister used to obtain secret information. Being well born, andpossessed of singularly pleasing manners, he had the entree of the bestsociety of Paris, where his gay, easy humour made him a great favourite.Lajolais, however, could never penetrate into the quiet domesticityof Moreau's life, nor make any greater inroad on his intimacy than acourteous salutation as they passed each other in the garden of theLuxembourg. At the humble restaurant where he dined each day for twofrancs, the 'General,' as he was distinctively called, never spoke toany one. Unobtrusive and quiet, he occupied a little table in a recessof the window, and arose the moment he finished his humble meal Afterthis he was to be seen in the garden of the Luxembourg, with a cigar anda book, or sometimes without either, seated pensively under a tree forhours together.

  If he had been conscious of the espionage established over allhis actions, he could scarcely have adopted a more guarded or moretantalising policy. To the verbal communications of Pichegru and ArmandPolignac, he returned vague replies; their letters he never answeredat all; and Lajolais had to confess that, after two months of closepursuit, the game was as far from him as ever!

  'You have come to repeat the old song to me, Monsieur Lajolais,' saidFouche one evening, as his wily subordinate entered the room; 'you havenothing to tell me, eh?'

  'Very little, Monsieur le Ministre, but still something. I have at lastfound out where Moreau spends all his evenings. I told you that abouthalf-past nine o'clock every night all lights were extinguished in hisquarters, and, from the unbroken stillness, it was conjectured thathe had retired to bed. Now it seems that about an hour later, he isaccustomed to leave his house, and, crossing the Place de l'Odeon, toenter the little street called the "Allee du Caire," where, in asmall house next but one to the corner, resides a certain officer, _enretraite_--a Colonel Mahon of the Cuirassiers.'

  'A Royalist?'

  'This is suspected, but not known. His polities, however, are not inquestion here; the attraction is of a different order.'

  'Ha! I perceive; he has a wife or a daughter.'

  'Better still, a mistress. You may have heard of the famous Caroline deStassart, that married a Dutchman named D'Aersohot.'

  'Madame Laure, as they called her.' said Fouche, laughing.

  'The same. She has lived as Mahon's wife for some years, and was assuch introduced into society; in fact, there is no reason, seeing whatsociety is in these days, that she should not participate in all itspleasures.'

  'No matter for that,' broke in Fouche; 'Bonaparte will not have it so.He wishes that matters should go back to the old footing, and wiselyremarks, that it is only in savage life that people or vices go withoutclothing.'

  'Be it so, monsieur. In the present case no such step is necessary. Iknow her maid, and from her I have heard that her mistress is heartilytired of her protector. It was originally a sudden fancy, taken when sheknew nothing of life--had neither seen anything, nor been herself seen.By the most wasteful habits she has dissipated all, or nearly all, herown large fortune, and involved Mahon heavily in debt; and they are thusreduced to a life of obscurity and poverty--the very things the leastendurable to all her notions.'

  'Well, does she care for Moreau?' asked Fouche quickly; for all storiesto his ear only resolved themselves into some question of utility orgain.

  'No, but he does for her. About a year back she did take a liking tohim. He was returning from his great German campaign, covered withhonours and rich in fame; but as her imagination is captivated bysplendour, while her heart remains perfectly cold and intact, Moreau'ssimple, unpretending habits quickly effaced the memory of his hard-wonglory, and now she is quite indifferent to him.'

  'And who is her idol now, for, of course, she has one?' asked Fouche.

  'You would scarcely guess,' said Lajolais. '_Parbleu!_ I hope it is notmyself,' said Fouche, laughing.

  'No, Monsieur le Ministre, her admiration is not so well placed. Theman who has captivated her present fancy is neither good-looking norwell-mannered; he is short and abrupt of speech, careless in dress,utterly indifferent to woman's society, and almost rude to them.'

  'You have drawn the very picture of a man to be adored by them,' saidFouche, with a dry laugh.

  'I suppose so,' said the other, with a sigh; 'or General Ney would nothave made this conquest.'

  'Ah! it is Ney, then. And he, what of him?'

  'It is hard to say. As long as she lived in a grand house of the Rue St.Georges, where he could dine four days a week, and, in his dirty bootsand unbrushed frock, mix with all the fashion and elegance of thecapital; while he could stretch full length on a Persian ottoman, andbrush the cinders from his cigar against a statuette by Canova, or agold embroidered hanging; while in the midst of the most voluptuousdecorations he alone could be dirty and uncared for, I really believethat he did care for her, at least, so far as ministering to his ownenjoyments; but in a miserable lodging of the "Allee du Caire," withoutequipage, lackeys, liveried footmen----'

  'To be sure,' interrupted Fouche, 'one might as well pretend to befascinated by the beauty of a landscape the day after it has beendesolated by an earthquake. Ney is right! Well, now, Monsieur Lajolais,where does all this bring us to?'

  'Very near to the end of our journey, Monsieur le Ministre. Madame, ormademoiselle, is most anxious to regain her former position; she longsfor all the luxurious splendour she used to live in. Let us but show herthis rich reward, and she will be our own!'

  'In my t
rade, Monsieur Lajolais, generalities are worth nothing. Give medetails; let me know how you would proceed.'

  'Easily enough, sir: Mahon must first of all be disposed of, and perhapsthe best way will be to have him arrested for debt. This will not bedifficult, for his bills are everywhere. Once in the Temple, she willnever think more of him. It must then be her task to obtain the mostcomplete influence over Moreau. She must affect the deepest interestin the Royalist cause--I'll furnish her with all the watchwords of theparty--and Moreau, who never trusts a man, will open all his confidenceto a woman.'

  'Very good; go on!' cried Fouche, gathering fresh interest as the plotbegan to reveal itself before him.

  He hates writing; she will be his secretary, embodying all his thoughtsand suggestions, and, now and then, for her own guidance, obtaininglittle scraps in his hand. If he be too cautious here, I will advise herto remove to Geneva for change of air; he likes Switzerland, and willfollow her immediately.

  'This will do; at least it looks practicable,' said Fouche thoughtfully.'Is she equal to the part you would assign her?'

  'Ay, sir, and to a higher one, too! She has considerable ability, andgreat ambition. Her present narrow fortune has irritated and disgustedher; the moment is most favourable for us.'

  'If she should play us false,' said Fouche, half aloud.

  'From all I can learn, there is no risk of this; there is a headlongdetermination in her, when once she has conceived a plan, from whichnothing turns her; overlooking all but her object, she will braveanything, do anything, to attain it.'

  'Bonaparte was right in what he said of Necker's daughter,' said Fouchemusingly, 'and there is no doubt it adds wonderfully to a woman's headthat she has no heart. And now, the price, Monsieur Lajolais? Rememberthat our treasury received some deadly wounds lately--what is to be theprice?'

  'It may be a smart one; she is not likely to be a cheap purchase.'

  'In the event of success--I mean of such proof as may enable us toarrest Moreau, and commit him to prison----'

  He stopped as he got thus far, and paused for some seconds--' Bethinkyou, then, Lajolais,' said he, 'what a grand step this would be, and howterrible the consequences if undertaken on rash or insufficient grounds.Moreau's popularity with the army is only second to one man's! Hisunambitious character has made him many friends; he has few, very few,enemies.'

  'But you need not push matters to the last--an implied, but not a provenguilt, would be enough; and you can pardon him!'

  'Ay, Lajolais, but who would pardon us?' cried Fouche, carried beyondall the bounds of his prudence by the thought of a danger so imminent.'Well, well, let us come back; the price--will that do?' And taking up apen he scratched some figures on a piece of paper.

  Lajolais smiled dubiously, and added a unit to the left of the sum.

  'What! a hundred and fifty thousand francs!' cried Fouche.

  'And a cheap bargain, too,' said the other; 'for, after all, it isonly the price of a ticket in the lottery, of which the great prize isGeneral Ney!'

  'You say truly,' said the Minister; 'be it so.'

  'Write your name there, then,' said Lajolais, 'beneath those figures;that will be warranty sufficient for my negotiation, and leave the restto me.'

  'Nature evidently meant you for a _chef de police_, Master Lajolais.'

  'Or a cardinal, Monsieur le Ministre,' said the other, as he folded upthe paper--a little insignificant slip, scrawled over with a few figuresand an almost illegible word, and yet pregnant with infamy to one,banishment to another, ruin and insanity to a third.

  This sad record need not be carried further. It is far from a pleasanttask to tell of baseness unredeemed by one trait of virtue--oftreachery, unrepented even by regret. History records Moreau'sunhappy destiny; the pages of private memoir tell of Ney's disastrousconnection; our own humble reminiscences speak of poor Mahon's fate,the least known of all, but the most sorrowful victim of a woman'streachery!