Roger was so shocked by this slur on British chivalry that only long habit prevented him from making his leanings suspect by entering on an angry defence of his countrymen. That he would have been amply justified was proved some months later, when the Corsican's violet-eyed mistress endeavoured to follow him to France in a blockade-runner. The ship was captured by the English. They delighted in her company, entertained her royally and went out of their way to set her safely ashore in France.
While Roger was inwardly seething, Bonaparte, being in one of his confidential moods, went on,'1 should have liked to have had a child by her; but the little stupid seemed incapable of producing one. She vowed that it was not her fault, and implied that because I have never yet begotten one it must be mine. Yet I'm as virile as other men, so I'll not accept it that I'm incapable of becoming a father.'
Raising a smile with difficulty, Roger replied, ' You are not yet thirty, so have ample time. It may be that one's mental state when making love has an effect on such matters. You are constantly beset by so many urgent problems that it would surprise me if you ever gave your whole thoughts to a woman even for a few moments.'
Bonaparte gave him a swift glance. ' That is an interesting thought. Perhaps you are right. At least it gives me some comfort. But there are more important things in life than women. One's country must come first, and you shall see what I will do in Paris. As I've often said I would, I'll put an end to these fops and puppies who are bringing about our ruin.'
This conversation did not console Roger for the loss of Zanthe; but it did help a little to take his thoughts from her, for Bonaparte had confirmed his belief that exciting imes lay ahead when they reached .the French capital and the various ways in which events might develop gave him much on which to ponder.
However, it was to be many weeks before they reached Paris. After their propitious start the weather became unfavourable. As in the case of the outward journey, Bonaparte allowed their Admiral no say about the course he should take, preferring to trust in his own star rather than let anyone else decide how they should endeavour to evade Nelson's ships.
He ordered Gantheaume to hug the coasts of Tripoli and Tunisia until they came opposite the ruins of ancient Carthage, then head north for Sardinia. His plan was sound, for if they had encountered British warships in the open sea they must either have surrendered or been sunk; whereas, should they be intercepted near the coast, it was his intention to have the frigates run ashore then, accompanied by some eight to nine hundred fighting men, make his way to an African port, from which he might hope to get another ship and again attempt to reach France. But for twenty-one days without intermission the winds were adverse. Laboriously the frigates tacked from side to side, making a few miles each night, only to be blown back towards Alexandria next day.
The gaiety on board soon subsided. For three whole weeks the voyagers suffered the most agonizing frustration and apprehension. Each morning it seemed impossible that dusk should again fall without Sir Sidney Smith's squadron having come upon them. The sighting of even the smallest sail on the horizon made Bonaparte's pale face still paler, from fear that he was about to be captured; for he knew that there could be no escape and that resistance would be futile.
His companions did everything they could to distract him, almost forcing him to play cards and letting him cheat as much as he liked at vingt-et-un; for he could not bear to lose at any game, although he always gave away his winnings.
At last, in mid-September, the wind changed and for long, monotonous days they sailed west along the coast of Africa until they rounded Cape Bon. Soon afterwards they entered on the worst hazard of their journey—the hundred-and-fifty-mile run from the neighbourhood of Bizerta across to the southern tip of Sardinia—for the narrows there were always patrolled by British ships. Fortune favoured them and fair winds continued to carry them up the west side of the big island. But when they had passed it a great storm blew up, driving them with it into the Gulf of Ajaccio, and, failing to beat their way out, the frigates were forced to put into the port.
Far from being pleased at this opportunity to revisit his birthplace and see his relations, Bonaparte was furious at the delay. Moreover, he had long since lost all interest in Corsica and presented a surly face to the innumerable people anxious to claim kinship with him and the scores of mothers who presented their offspring to him vowing that, although the great man's memory might have failed him about such trivialities, he was the godfather of their children.
In Ajaccio they learned that further disasters had befallen the French in northern Italy. On July 22nd the citadel of Alessandria had surrendered and, eight days later, the great fortress of Mantua had fallen. The successful end to these sieges had released many thousands of Austrian troops. In addition, Suvoroff had received reinforcements which brought the strength of the Russians up to twenty-seven thousand men.
Joubert, a young General of great promise, had been sent to Genoa to supersede the veteran Moreau. Ambitious to win laurels for himself but unaware that Mantua had fallen, and hoping to save it, Joubert had left the shelter of Genoa and advanced to Novi where he had seized the heights above the town. There he was attacked by an Austrian Army, under General Kray, and Suvoroff's Russians. Early in the day the young Joubert's promising career was cut short during an encounter with skirmishers. In spite of having lost their General, the French fought valiantly but were surrounded. In the final phase of the battle they had to retreat down a valley choked with their own baggage wagons. Hungarian troops had moved round to the heights commanding it and poured down a relentless fire upon them. The valley became a shambles. Only a remnant of the French got away and at Novi they had lost twelve thousand men.
Meanwhile, terrible things were happening in the south. Nelson had refused to recognize the capitulation of the garrisons of the castle at Naples that had been agreed with Cardinal Ruffo, so these unfortunates became the victims of a White Terror. Instead of being given a safe-conduct to France, as they had been promised, many hundreds of them were executed. King Ferdinand had arrived from Palermo and made his headquarters in Nelson's flagship. Bewitched out of all sense of reason by his Neapolitan friends, Nelson allowed himself to be made their sword of vengeance. Even one hundred and twenty of the noble Eletti, who had endeavoured to maintain order in the city after the departure of the Sovereigns, were summarily put to death. As chief executioner in this blood bath, Nelson was created Duke of Bronte by His Sicilian Majesty. But when he later returned to England his own Sovereign, King George III, received him with chilling coldness.
On October 7th the two frigates left Ajaccio on their last desperate run for the French coast. Another thing Bonaparte had learned in Ajaccio was that, as far back as the preceding April, Admiral Bruix had brought his Atlantic Fleet round into the Mediterranean. But instead of employing it to convoy reinforcements to Egypt, as Bonaparte had so consistently implored the Directory to do, they had retained it to protect the south coast of France.
Even so, the Corsican was still haunted by the fear that he might yet be captured; so while in Ajaccio he had had a cutter built. It was to be towed behind Murion, with twelve stout rowers in it, so that should the frigate be intercepted by the British, he could at once jump into it and still have a chance of landing in France.
From having to take to it he had the narrowest of escapes. The weather proved fair, but on their second evening out they sighted a British Squadron of fourteen sail. The Squadron recognized the two frigates as Venetian-built and, knowing that the Venetian Fleet had been stolen by the French, at once altered course and came in pursuit. Darkness fell, but they were still in danger of capture. All night, as they heard the reports of the signal guns of the British ships, they sweated in panic. It seemed inevitable that when morning came they would again be sighted, then run down. Their voyage had lasted nearly seven weeks and the thought of being taken prisoner on the very last day drove them frantic with despair. Gantheaume lost his head and urged an attempt to get
back to Ajaccio; but Bonaparte, practically alone among them kept calm. He ordered every sail to be spread and, instead of trying to reach Toulon, decided that a course should be set to the north-west. By morning it brought them to St. Raphael, the harbour village that served the ancient town of Fr£jus.
Intense as was their relief at their safe arrival, there was another matter that had caused Bonaparte grave concern. Having come from the Near East, where plague was endemic, they were subject to three weeks' quarantine. But a sailing boat came out and hailed them. As soon as it was known that Bonaparte was on board, scores of craft, crammed with people, put out from the Mttle harbour. Shouting, cheering, they forced their way on board, determined to give the conqueror of Italy an unforgettable welcome back to France. Crowding round the slim, pale-faced figure on the quarter-deck, they fought to wring him by the hand or even kiss the hem of his coat. Owing to this the quarantine was rendered pointless. If the frigates had brought plague with them, the populace of Fr£jus had been exposed to infection. So by mid-morning it was decided that Bonaparte and his entourage should go ashore.
The latest news to be had in this remote little town was still of French disasters. Of all Italy, France now held only Genoa and the narrow lands of the Ligurian Republic of which it was the capital. The Army of the Archduke Charles was besieging Phillipsburg and Mainz. Suvoroff's Russians had crossed the Alps and entered Switzerland, where another Russian Army, under General Korsakoff, reported to be thirty thousand strong, had joined him for an attempt to crush Mass£na. Lastly, the French were being attacked on yet another front. On August 27th a British Army commanded by the Duke of York landed at the Helder and, assisted by Dutch Royalists, had seized the Fleet moored at the Texel. Then, a fortnight later, the British had been joined by a Russian contingent of seventeen thousand men, brought round by sea from the Baltic by General Hermann.
With such enormous forces arrayed against her it was clear that France's situation was now desperate and that before winter set in she might be invaded. Bad as was the news, all Bonaparte's companions knew that it favoured the prospects of their master. His reception at Frejus could not have been more enthusiastic, but Frejus was only one small town. Paris and the greater part of France might give him anything but a warm welcome. He had left his Army to rot in the sands of Egypt and families all over the country had husbands, brothers, sons and lovers among those he had abandoned there. When sending him out, the Directory had given him a somewhat ambiguous permission to return in certain circumstances; but he would have to account for his act to the Minister of War, and that Minister was his enemy Bernadotte. There was, too, the awful possibility that he had brought plague to France. He would, therefore, stand or fall by the country's need of him. Only a great public outcry, that he was the one man who could save France, could safeguard him from his enemies.
Roger's little chateau lay only a few miles away in the direction of St. Maxime, so he naturally offered it for his master's accommodation. But Bonaparte was anxious not to lose a moment in getting to Paris and, as soon as coaches and horses could be collected, he set off with his Generals and personal Staff.
The journey took seven days and proved a triumphal progress. The news of Bonaparte's return had spread like wildfire. People came from miles round to stand along the roadside and cheer him; the streets of the towns and cities through which they passed were choked with crowds hailing him as their deliverer, and from every balcony the women threw down autumn flowers on the little cavalcade. After the first day it was already clear that not one in ten thousand in those seething crowds was giving a thought to Egypt. To them the little, pale-faced General was the heroic conqueror of Italy and the one man who might hold France's enemies at bay.
On October 16th they arrived in Paris. Bonaparte drove straight to his house in the Rue de la Victoire, Roger to his old quarters at La Belle £toile. The good Norman couple were, as ever, delighted to see him and asked him to dine with them. Over the meal Maitre Blanchard gave him the latest news, which confirmed rumours he had heard while on the road, that things had taken a turn for the better.
General Brune's Army in Holland had, on September 19th, inflicted a severe defeat on the Anglo-Russian expeditionary force, so that it was now on the defensive. Better still, from the main theatre of war came the news of a great triumph in Switzerland. One of Massena's lieutenants, General Lecourbe, with troops used to mountain warfare, had taken heavy toll of Suv6roff's Army as it had forced its way through the defiles of the Alps. Korsakoff, meanwhile, had stormed Zurich. Using the divisions of Mortier and Soult to bar his further advance, Mass^na despatched Oudinot's corps of fifteen thousand men to encircle the Russian rear. Korsakoff had then found himself caught in the city with his back to the lake and the river Limmat. A terrific battle had raged for two days until, on September 25th, Korsakoff had formed his infantry into a solid mass and cut his way out through Oudinot's corps. But eight thousand Russian prisoners, a hundred cannon and the whole of Korsakoff's treasure and supplies had been taken. The bastion of Switzerland remained in the hands of France and Massena had earned himself a place among the greatest of her Generals.
For the time being at least France was no longer in danger and Roger wondered how seriously that might detract from the popularity that Bonaparte had enjoyed during the past week with the fickle masses. His thoughts were, however, abruptly diverted by a serving man coming in to say that M. de Beauharnais was outside and asking to see him urgently.
Apologizing to his host and hostess, Roger left the parlour and went out to find Eugene in a state of great agitation and distress. Taking his young friend by the arm Roger led him into a small room nearby that was empty, sat him down and asked him what was the matter.
Manfully choking back his sobs, Eugene poured out his story. His step-father had thrown his mother out of the house and intended to divorce her.
The former statement was not strictly accurate, but as near the truth as made no difference. Eugene had learned from the servants that, on the previous day, his mother had dined with Louis Jerome Gohier, who in June had been made a member of the Directory. As, by rota, he was that month its President, a despatch announcing that Bonaparte had landed in France was brought to him. It arrived in the middle of the meal and he informed Josephine of its contents. She had at once gone home, packed her prettiest clothes, ordered her fastest horses and set out to meet her husband. But she had guessed wrongly the road by which he would come, so had missed him.
When Bonaparte arrived in the Rue de la Victoire, instead of finding his wife he was met by his mother. Soon afterwards they were joined by the rest of the Bonaparte clan. One after the other, and at several of them together, they poured into his ears the tale of Josephine's infamies. She had always been hopeless about money and during his absence had piled up a mountain of debt. Before leaving for Egypt, he had said that he would like to have a small house in the country; so Josephine had bought, for four hundred thousand francs, the Chateau of Malmaison and had furnished it as. though it were a palace. But, infinitely worse, they accused her of having hopped into bed with practically every man who had asked her. They then nailed her infidelity beyond question by stating that his servants would confirm that, for weeks at a stretch, she had lived openly and at Malmaison with M. Hippolyte Charles.
Roger knew all about M. Hippolyte Charles. He was just the sort of handsome, amusing blackguard that women adored, and an old flame of Josephine's. When, in the first year of their marriage, she had at last given way to Bonaparte's passionate appeals to join him in Italy, two of the officers who had escorted her had been Junot and Charles. The former had earned her displeasure by making love during the journey to her pretty maid-companion, Louise Compoint, and Roger was inclined to wonder now if it had not been, at least in part, a desire to pay her out that had prompted Junot to show Bonaparte in Egypt the letter reporting her infidelity.
However that might be, dashing Lieutenant Charles had been the life and soul of the party; so much so
that soon after its arrival in Italy Bonaparte had found a pretext for forcing him to resign his commission.
That had not worried Hippolyte in the least. He was already performing profitable services for Army contractors, so he became one himself and was said to have since made a fortune.
Eug&ne maintained that his mother had been indiscreet in seeking distraction during her husband's long absence, but certainly no more. Roger did not contradict him but, knowing Josephine's congenital inability to say ' No' to any request and the warmth of her Creole temperament, he had no doubt at all that out at Malmaison she had given Hippolyte the fullest proofs of her affection. She must, of course, have been scared almost out of her wits by the news of Bonaparte's unexpected return and by the thought that his family were certain to tell him about the sort of life she had been leading. Her only hope had been to reach him before they did and do her utmost to re-arouse his old desire for her; but she had missed him and they had got hold of him first.
When Bonaparte, foaming at the mouth with grief and rage at his worst suspicions having been so fully confirmed, had at last got rid of his puritanical mother, his grave-faced brothers and his screaming sisters, he had gone upstairs, rammed all Josephine's belongings into several trunks, had them carried down into the hall for her to collect, then locked himself in his bedroom and refused to see anyone.
When Eugene had finished his woeful tale Roger considered the situation, both from the personal angle and as it might affect his duty as a secret agent of Mr. Pitt. He had had a considerable hand in the intrigue that had led to Bonaparte marrying Josephine. In fact, but for a great service he had rendered her, the marriage would probably never have taken place. She had more than repaid that by unfailing kindness to him and by saving his life in Venice. These ties constituted a bond between them that would prove invaluable should Bonaparte's star continue in the ascendant and he succeed in his ambition to secure a dominant voice in the future direction of affairs in France. On the other hand, if he rid himself of Josephine he would soon, his temperament being what it was, find himself another woman to fill her place. To establish the same sort of relations with a newcomer would at best mean an immense amount of work, or might even prove impossible. It took Roger less than a minute to decide that friendship and duty marched hand in hand. Clearly he must help in any way he could to prevent Bonaparte from divorcing Josephine; so he said to Eugene:
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