On the other hand, to be seen by scores of people at Barras’s side, fighting the forces of reaction, might land him in still graver difficulties. For, should the insurrection succeed, its leaders, amongst whom must obviously be the men most likely to lend a favourable ear to the proposals he wished to make, would put no trust in him. Worse still, unless he could escape, he would probably be arrested with Barras, and share his fate. Either way it now looked as if he stood a good chance of being sentenced to the ‘dry guillotine’ and transported to Cayenne.
Faced with this most distressing dilemma he decided, after only a moment’s hesitation, that to sacrifice Barras’s confidence immediately after having so fully regained it would be both rash and foolish. He must at least pretend to stand by his old colleague for the moment, and trust that as the situation developed some means would offer by which he might safeguard his future. Grasping the sword more firmly, he hurried after Barras down the steps into the street.
The two officers had come in a coach. Barras entered it with them, while Roger mounted his horse in readiness to accompany the vehicle. The evening had been dark and blustery, but now the wind had dropped and rain was sheeting down. That was all to the good, as it had already driven numerous bands of malcontents off the streets who might have held up the coach and on finding Barras in it attempted to lynch him. Even as it was the coach was three times challenged by pickets of National Guards, but on shouting that they were ‘Sectionists on their way to a meeting’ it was allowed to pass. Soon after midnight, much relieved, they arrived at the Ministry of War in the Boulevard des Capucines.
Barras showed his commission as Commander-in-Chief to a duty officer down the hall; then they all went up to a big room on the first floor. In it a dozen officers with gloomy faces were sitting and standing about. Only one of them appeared to be doing any work; a thin, dark-haired young man in the stained and worn uniform of a Brigadier “General. He was seated at a table, poring over a big map, a pair of dividers in his hand, with which he was measuring distances upon it.
General Carteaux, the senior officer present, came forward to greet Barras, and at once expressed his willingness to serve under him. Then Barras said: ‘Be good enough, Citizen General, to show me the dispositions of your troops and those of the insurgents.’
Carteaux led him over to the table. The officer seated at it glanced up and nodded. Roger recognised him then as a little Corsican Captain of Artillery who had got the better of him in a heated argument during the siege of Toulon. At the siege, partly because he was an enthusiastic follower of Robespierre and partly because he was one of the very few officers there who understood anything about the positioning of batteries, he had been given brevet rank as a Lieutenant Colonel, and the command of all the Republican artillery. Having witnessed both his competence and pushfulness, Roger was not surprised to see that, in these days of rapid promotion, he had so soon risen to Brigadier, and decided that he might be worth keeping an eye on.
Meanwhile, Barras had asked: ‘What are you measuring there, Citizen Brigadier Buonaparte?’
‘Ranges,’ came the prompt reply. ‘So as to decide where I would position our forces were it my responsibility to put a swift end to this insurrection.’
‘Let us suppose it is then,’ said Barras. ‘How would you set about it?’
The young Corsican stood up. He was below middle height and so thin that, although only nineteen months younger than Roger, he appeared a stripling beside him. His complexion was sallow, the yellowish skin being drawn taut across gaunt cheeks but becoming whiter towards the top of his fine forehead, the width of which was concealed by lank black hair, parted in the middle and falling over his ears nearly down to his shoulders. In profile his sharply defined features might, for a moment, had been taken for an ascetic; until one noticed the unusually powerful development of the muscles at the base of his lower jaw, and the expression—determined, contemptuous and ruthless, by turns—that animated the direct glance of his dark eyes.
Turning towards Barras, he showed not trace of the diffidence usual in a junior officer submitting his views to his senior; but, speaking the chronically ungrammatical French of one brought up to use Italian, he gave in short staccato sentences an appreciation of the situation as if he were an instructor teaching a cadet a lesson.
‘At our disposal we have some five thousand troops of the line, a battalion of approximately fifteen hundred patriots armed yesterday, and the armed police. Total: eight thousand. Opposed to us we have over thirty-five thousand trained National Guards; the “golden youth”, numbering perhaps two thousand; the returned émigrés, at least another thousand; and a considerable number of Chouans known to have been secretly drafted by the Royalists from Brittany to Paris. Total: approximately forty thousand. Were we in open country, vigorous and skilful direction, coupled with the better training and discipline of our troops, might serve to outweigh the heavy odds against us. But street fighting entails scores of localised conflicts over which simultaneous control by one General is impossible; and for storming a barricade courage is a greater asset than training. Therefore to take the offensive against the insurgents must inevitably result in our defeat.’
‘What, then, do you suggest?’Barras asked.
Buonaparte’s hands, which were of unusual beauty, began to move swiftly about the map. ‘We must regard the Convention as the keep of a fortress that is besieged. There, in the Tuileries, it could not be better situated. From the south it can be approached only across the river by three bridges, Pont Neuf, Pont Royal, and Pont Louis XVI. They are easily held. To the west lie the gardens, giving us excellent fields of fire. To the east is the Palais du Louvre, by manning the windows of which we can deny the streets to columns advancing from that direction. One thousand of our men should be sufficient to hold each of those three sides. That leaves us five thousand for the north, and no greater number can be brought against us through the streets there opening on to the Rue St. Honoré. Naturally, I should give additional protection to our most vulnerable side by establishing strong advance positions in the Place Vendôme, the Cul-de-sac Dauphin, and other places north of the St. Honoré and I should hold a reserve against emergencies, including all our cavalry, in the Place du Carousel. With such dispositions I consider we could render the area that should be held, impregnable.’
‘All that is well enough,’ Barras commented. ‘But what if it develops into a regular siege? Within forty-eight hours our men would be out of ammunition, and starving.’
‘Citizen General! do you take me for a fool?’ the little Corsican snapped. ‘Were I in command here a strong detachment would already be on its way to secure the heights of Meudon and the Arsenal there. By morning sufficient munitions could be brought in to keep us supplied for a month. The same applies to food. Troops should be sent at once to commandeer the main stocks in the depots, and bring them to the Tuileries. I would, too, send arms to the Section Quinze-Vingts, which alone has supported the Convention. A rising of the patriots there could draw off considerable numbers of the insurgents, and make our break-out the easier.’
‘You visualise a break-out then?’
‘Sacre nom! Yes. What sort of General would contemplate sitting down to be shot at indefinitely? To entrench ourselves is only a temporary expedient forced on us by the superior numbers of the enemy. Our object is not to protect the Convention: it is to crush the insurrection. But for that we need cannon. Our one piece of good fortune is that the Sections were made to give up their cannon after the risings in the spring. They have none; and if we can bring in the batteries from the camp at Sablons we shall have the enemy at our mercy.’
‘No, no!’ General Carteaux shook his head. ‘We could not use cannon on the people. God knows, during the past three years there has been enough fighting in the streets of Paris, but cannon has never been used by either side.’
‘Where lies the difference between killing your fellow citizens with a pike or grape-shot?’ asked Buonaparte acidly. �
��Personally I am against spilling any blood at all, if it can be avoided. In any case, whatever provocation may be given to the Convention’s troops, they should be ordered to hold their fire until they have been fired upon. But if fight we must, let us be sensible about it. The more potent the weapons we use, the sooner it will be over and the fewer people will be killed. Without cannon I would wash my hands of this. But if given leave to make such dispositions as I wish, and to call in the batteries of artillery from the camp, I’d pledge my head to crush all opposition against the Convention before the week is out.’
With a laugh, Barras brought a heavy hand down on the little man’s shoulder. ‘That is the kind of language it pleases me to hear. Go to it, then, Citizen Brigadier! Under me you shall handle this thing; for I am convinced you will do it well. Give any orders you wish with my authority. I ask only that you should acquaint me with them.’
Instantly the young Brigadier’s face lit up. His threadbare jacket, ill-cleaned boots and slovenly appearance, which had earned him the nickname of the ‘little ragamuffin’, were forgotten at the sight of his flashing eyes, and the ringing tones of his heavily accented voice.
Seizing Barras’s hand, he wrung it; then, without a moment’s hesitation, he began to, allocate duties to the officers round him. His first order was to a Major Murat: a tall, dark, grossly handsome cavalryman who, with the liberty about uniform usual in those days, had a large ostrich feather fixed in his busby. He was despatched with his squadron to fetch the forty cannon post haste from the camp at Sablons. A Captain Marmont was sent with another squadron to sieze the Arsenal at Meudon, and a Colonel Brune to follow him with a battalion of infantry and wagons to bring in ammunition.
The three future Marshals of France had scarcely hurried from the room before other officers were dashing after them to secure supplies of food and to establish strong points round the perimeter of the area that Buonaparte had decided to hold.
The command of the fifteen hundred sans-culottes had been given to a brave old General named Berruyer. To him Buonaparte gave the task of having barricades thrown up in the streets to the north of the Rue St. Honoré then he turned to the senior of them all, General Carteaux, who was looking far from happy at seeing himself supplanted by a junior who till then had been reckoned of little importance, and said tactfully:
‘For you, mon père, I have reserved the place of the greatest danger and the greatest glory. It is certain that the insurgents will endeavour to reach the Tuileries by the shortest route, across tile Pont Neuf. Take four hundred men and hold the bridge for us, if need hs to the death.’
The older man’s expression changed instantly. Raising his hand in salute, he cried: ‘Rely upon me! They shall not pass!’ And, snatching up his hat, he ran from the room.
It was now empty except for Barras, Roger, Buonaparte and his two young A.D.C.’s, Junot and Muiron. Barras waved a hand towards Roger and said:
‘Do you know Citizen Breuc? He was with me on the night of 9th Thermidor, but was later made a prisoner by the English, and has only tonight got back to Paris after making his escape.’
Buonaparte’s sudden smile flashed out and he shook hands warmly with Roger. Of course, I thought I knew your face, but could not for the moment place you, owing to the whiskers and moustache that you have grown You were the Citizen Représentant who led the charge against the Spanish redoubt at Toulon, Its early capture greatly facilitated our assualt on Fort Mulgrave later that night; so yours was a valuable as well as gallant act.’
Roger bowed. ‘I thank you, Citizen General. I see that since last we met your rapid promotion has continued. Allow me to congratulate you.’
Making a wry face, Buonaparte replied: ‘All is not gold that glitters. I was given my present rank shortly after Toulon, and as Commander of the Artillery in General Masséna’s campaign into Italy proved that I knew my business; but for all the use it; has been to me these past thirteen months I might as well have remained a Captain.’
‘You surprise me. I should have thought that many employments could be found for a man of your obvious abilities.’
‘They could have been; but after Thermidor my friendship with the younger Robespierre was held against me. On my return from a diplomatic mission to the Republic of Genoa my countryman, the deputy Salicetti, from having been my patron turned against me, and as one means of whitewashing himself had me arrested.’
‘You were not confined for long,’ Barras put in with a shrug. ‘And whereas, after 1st Prairial, Salicetti was forced to fly the country, you are still here; so it is foolish to continue to chew upon this; year-old grievance.’
‘Ah, but I was deprived of my command, and have been given no other since,’ the young Corsican retorted bitterly. For months, so that they might the more easily spy upon my comings and goings, they kept me here at a desk in the Topographical Office. What sort of work is that, for a soldier?’
‘You were offered a command in La Vendée.’
‘Yes, as a means of testing my patriotism! But I prefer to kill Austrians, Sardinians and Englishmen to Frenchmen, whatever their political convictions. In any case, at the time, I was too ill to accept it.’
‘You have had the appearance of being ill ever since I first met you,’ Barras remarked shrewdly; ‘so it is not to be wondered at that certain people suspected the validity of your excuse.’
‘Excuse or no excuse, after my services at Toulon, Ventimiglia, Oneglia and at the Col di Tenda, they have treated me shamefully. Because of my refusal to go to Brittany, I was struck off the list of Generals. I have no post, no pay, and am allowed a table in this office only on sufference, because I have a gift for writing despatches, which others find a tiresome busines.’
‘No matter,’ Barras said with a laugh. ‘Do you but handle this present crisis aright, and the Convention will let bygones be bygones. In a few hours the dawn of 13th Vendémiaire will break and the day may even prove the making of your fortune.’
Those few hours seemed to go very swiftly, as staff officers and orderlies hurried in and out bringing Buonaparte confirmation that his orders had been executed, or asking for further instructions where, hitches had occurred. The Poisonnière Section stopped the consignment of arms that had been despatched to the ‘patriots’ of Quinze-Vingts, and that of Mont Blanc seized a convoy of provisions destined for the Tuileries; but otherwise everything went smoothly.
Roger had been in Paris during many of the major outbreaks of the Revolution, so knew well the pattern that they followed. First, for a few days, there were deputations to the Chamber, while street-corner agitators harangued anyone who would listen to them. Then processions paraded the streets demanding bread, and declaring that the Revolution had been betrayed. Finally several ill-coordinated mobs clashed with the equally ill-directed forces of a hesitant and jittery Authority. As brains and resolution played little part in the eventual clashes the side with the greater numbers emerged victorious. Therefore, according to precedent, the Convention was about to be overthrown.
But, as a witness of the night’s skilful, systematic planning and its results, long before dawn Roger made up his mind that precedent could no longer be taken as a guide for this occasion. That ‘unknown factor’ of which Fouché had made passing mention had been produced by Barras in this seedy-looking little Corsican soldier who for the past year had remained unemployed and discredited.
By six o’clock his chances of succeeding in suppressing the insurrection were enormously strengthened. Murat, drenched to the skin and leaving pools of water behind him with every footstep, came stamping into the room. His thick lips parting in a grin, he told them that he had reached Les Sablons simultaneously with a battalion of National Guards from the Section Le pelletier, also sent to fetch the cannon. In the open plain the infantry had not dared to face a charge by his dragoons; so, after furious but useless protests, they had given way to him, and he now had forty cannon, with gunners and a good supply of ammunition, drawn up in the gardens of t
he Tuileries.
Buonaparte put on a shabby grey overcoat, stuck a round crowned black hat, which had an upturned brim in front, on the extreme back of his head, and declared his intention of making a round of the troops.
Barras, Roger was secretly amused to see, though happy to make use of the Corsican’s abilities, had no intention of letting him get the lion’s share of the credit for the arrangements he had made. Clapping his three-plumed hat on his hair that, to conceal its premature greyish, he had, in contemptuous defiance of the sans-culottes, kept powdered all through the Revolution, he said:
‘As Commander-in-Chief, I will inspect our forces. Be good enough, Citizen Brigadier and the rest of you, to attend me.’
During the next two hours, in the teeming rain, they rode from post to post. At each Barras spoke a few words of encouragement to the soldiers; and, depressed as they were from having stood about all night in the cold and wet, his resolute mode of address never failed to raise a cheer for the Convention.
The weather, apparently, had had an even more damping effect on the spirits of the insurgents; for, although their pickets continued to occupy buildings within musket shot of the Convention’s troops, no major force of National Guards had as yet made its appearance. This delay gave Buonaparte still further time to strengthen his dispositions, and as the morning wore on without event it looked as if the day might pass without any major clash occurring.
By midday, the weather eased and strong columns of the insurgents began to surround the whole of the defended area. General Danican, who had been given the principal command of them, feeling certain of victory owing to his greatly superior numbers, but anxious to avoid bloodshed if possible, then sent an A.D.C. under a flag of truce to offer terms to the Convention. The officer was blindfolded and taken by Barras and Buonaparte into the Assembly Hail, where, after threatening the Deputies, he offered them peace if they would disarm the ‘patriots’ and rescind the decrees of Fructidor.
The Dark Secret of Josephine Page 41