Delphi Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Illustrated)

by SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

  The company had now lost all appearance of formality, and even the soldiers seemed to be at their ease. Many had gone into the side rooms, where they had formed tables for whist and for vingt-et-un. For my own part I was quite entertained by watching the people, the beautiful women, the handsome men, the bearers of names which had been heard of in no previous generation, but which now rung round the world. Immediately in front of me were Ney, Lannes, and Murat chatting together and laughing with the freedom of the camp. Of the three, two were destined to be executed in cold blood, and the third to die upon the battle-field, but no coming shadow ever cast a gloom upon their cheery, full-blooded lives.

  A small, silent, middle-aged man, who looked unhappy and ill at ease, had been leaning against the wall beside me. Seeing that he was as great a stranger as myself, I addressed some observation to him, to which he replied with great good-will, but in the most execrable French.

  ‘You don’t happen to understand English?’ he asked. ‘I’ve never met one living soul in this country who did.’

  ‘Oh yes, I understand it very well, for I have lived most of my life over yonder. But surely you are not English, sir? I understood that every Englishman in France was under lock and key ever since the breach of the treaty of Amiens.’

  ‘No, I am not English,’ he answered, ‘I am an American. My name is Robert Fulton, and I have to come to these receptions because it is the only way in which I can keep myself in the memory of the Emperor, who is examining some inventions of mine which will make great changes in naval warfare.’

  Having nothing else to do I asked this curious American what his inventions might be, and his replies very soon convinced me that I had to do with a madman. He had some idea of making a ship go against the wind and against the current by means of coal or wood which was to be burned inside of her. There was some other nonsense about floating barrels full of gunpowder which would blow a ship to pieces if she struck against them. I listened to him at the time with an indulgent smile, but now looking back from the point of vantage of my old age I can see that not all the warriors and statesmen in that room — no, not even the Emperor himself — have had as great an effect upon the history of the world as that silent American who looked so drab and so commonplace among the gold-slashed uniforms and the Oriental dresses.

  But suddenly our conversation was interrupted by a hush in the room — such a cold, uncomfortable hush as comes over a roomful of happy, romping children when a grave-faced elder comes amongst them. The chatting and the laughter died away. The sound of the rustling cards and of the clicking counters had ceased in the other rooms. Everyone, men and women, had risen to their feet with a constrained expectant expression upon their faces. And there in the doorway were the pale face and the green coat with the red cordon across the white waistcoat.

  There was no saying how he might behave upon these occasions. Sometimes he was capable of being the merriest and most talkative of the company, but this was rather in his consular than in his imperial days. On the other hand he might be absolutely ferocious, with an insulting observation for everyone with whom he came in contact. As a rule he was between these two extremes, silent, morose, ill at ease, shooting out curt little remarks which made everyone uncomfortable. There was always a sigh of relief when he would pass from one room into the next.

  On this occasion he seemed to have not wholly recovered from the storm of the afternoon, and he looked about him with a brooding eye and a lowering brow. It chanced that I was not very far from the door, and that his glance fell upon me.

  ‘Come here, Monsieur de Laval,’ said he. He laid his hand upon my shoulder and turned to a big, gaunt man who had accompanied him into the room. ‘Look here, Cambaceres, you simpleton,’ said he. ‘You always said that the old families would never come back, and that they would settle in England as the Huguenots have done. You see that, as usual, you have miscalculated, for here is the heir of the de Lavals come to offer his services. Monsieur de Laval, you are now my aide-de-camp, and I beg you to keep with me wherever I go.’

  This was promotion indeed, and yet I had sense enough to know that it was not for my own sweet sake that the Emperor had done it, but in order to encourage others to follow me. My conscience approved what I had done, for no sordid motive and nothing but the love of my country had prompted me; but now, as I walked round behind Napoleon, I felt humiliated and ashamed, like a prisoner led behind the car of his captor.

  And soon there was something else to make me ashamed, and that was the conduct of him whose servant I had become. His manners were outrageous. As he had himself said, it was his nature to be always first, and this being so he resented those courtesies and gallantries by which men are accustomed to disguise from women the fact that they are the weaker sex. The Emperor, unlike Louis XIV., felt that even a temporary and conventional attitude of humility towards a woman was too great a condescension from his own absolute supremacy. Chivalry was among those conditions of society which he refused to accept.

  To the soldiers he was amiable enough, with a nod and a joke for each of them. To his sisters also he said a few words, though rather in the tone of a drill sergeant to a pair of recruits. It was only when the Empress had joined him that his ill-humour came to a head.

  ‘I wish you would not wear those wisps of pink about your head, Josephine,’ said he, pettishly. ‘All that women have to think about is how to dress themselves, and yet they cannot even do that with moderation or taste. If I see you again in such a thing I will thrust it in the fire as I did your shawl the other day.’

  ‘You are so hard to please, Napoleon. You like one day what you cannot abide the next. But I will certainly change it if it offends you,’ said Josephine, with admirable patience.

  The Emperor took a few steps between the people, who had formed a lane for us to pass through. Then he stopped and looked over his shoulder at the Empress.

  ‘How often have I told you, Josephine, that I cannot tolerate fat women.’

  ‘I always bear it in mind, Napoleon.’

  ‘Then why is Madame de Chevreux present?’

  ‘But surely, Napoleon, madame is not very fat.’

  ‘She is fatter than she should be. I should prefer not to see her. Who is this?’ He had paused before a young lady in a blue dress, whose knees seemed to be giving way under her as the terrible Emperor transfixed her with his searching eyes.

  ‘This is Mademoiselle de Bergerot.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-three, sire.’

  ‘It is time that you were married. Every woman should be married at twenty-three. How is it that you are not married?’

  The poor girl appeared to be incapable of answering, so the Empress gently remarked that it was to the young men that that question should be addressed.

  ‘Oh, that is the difficulty, is it?’ said the Emperor. ‘We must look about and find a husband for you.’ He turned, and to my horror I found his eyes fixed with a questioning gaze upon my face.

  ‘We have to find you a wife also, Monsieur de Laval,’ said he. ‘Well, well, we shall see — we shall see. What is your name?’ to a quiet refined man in black.

  ‘I am Gretry, the musician.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I remember you. I have seen you a hundred times, but I can never recall your name. Who are you?’

  ‘I am Joseph de Chenier.’

  ‘Of course. I have seen your tragedy. I have forgotten the name of it, but it was not good. You have written some other poetry, have you not?’

  ‘Yes, sire. I had your permission to dedicate my last volume to you.’

  ‘Very likely, but I have not had time to read it. It is a pity that we have no poets now in France, for the deeds of the last few years would have given a subject for a Homer or a Virgil. It seems that I can create kingdoms but not poets. Whom do you consider to be the greatest French writer?’

  ‘Racine, sire.’

  ‘Then you are a blockhead, for Corneille was infinitely greater. I ha
ve no ear for metre or trivialities of the kind, but I can sympathise with the spirit of poetry, and I am conscious that Corneille is far the greatest of poets. I would have made him my prime minister had he had the good fortune to live in my epoch. It is his intellect which I admire, his knowledge of the human heart, and his profound feeling. Are you writing anything at present?’

  ‘I am writing a tragedy upon Henry IV., sire.’

  ‘It will not do, sir. It is too near the present day, and I will not have politics upon the stage. Write a play about Alexander. What is your name?’

  He had pitched upon the same person whom he had already addressed.

  ‘I am still Gretry, the musician,’ said he meekly.

  The Emperor flushed for an instant at the implied rebuke. He said nothing, however, but passed on to where several ladies were standing together near the door of the card-room.

  ‘Well, madame,’ said he to the nearest of them, ‘I hope you are behaving rather better. When last I heard from Paris your doings were furnishing the Quartier St. Germain with a good deal of amusement and gossip.’

  ‘I beg that your Majesty will explain what you mean,’ said she with spirit.

  ‘They had coupled your name with that of Colonel Lasalle.’

  ‘It is a foul calumny, sire.’

  ‘Very possibly, but it is awkward when so many calumnies cluster round one person. You are certainly a most unfortunate lady in that respect. You had a scandal once before with General Rapp’s aide-de-camp. This must come to an end. What is your name?’ he continued, turning to another.

  ‘Mademoiselle de Perigord.’

  ‘Your age?’

  ‘Twenty.’

  ‘You are very thin and your elbows are red. My God, Madame Boismaison, are we never to see anything but this same grey gown and the red turban with the diamond crescent?’

  ‘I have never worn it before, sire?’

  ‘Then you had another the same, for I am weary of the sight of it. Let me never see you in it again. Monsieur de Remusat, I make you a good allowance. Why do you not spend it?’

  ‘I do, sire.’

  ‘I hear that you have been putting down your carriage. I do not give you money to hoard in a bank, but I give it to you that you may keep up a fitting appearance with it. Let me hear that your carriage is back in the coach-house when I return to Paris. Junot, you rascal, I hear that you have been gambling and losing.’

  ‘The most infernal run of luck, sire,’ said the soldier, ‘I give you my word that the ace fell four times running.’

  ‘Ta, ta, you are a child, with no sense of the value of money. How much do you owe?’

  ‘Forty thousand, sire.’

  ‘Well, well, go to Lebrun and see what he can do for you. After all, we were together at Toulon.’

  ‘A thousand thanks, sire.’

  ‘Tut! You and Rapp and Lasalle are the spoiled children of the army. But no more cards, you rascal! I do not like low dresses, Madame Picard. They spoil even pretty women, but in you they are inexcusable. Now, Josephine, I am going to my room, and you can come in half an hour and read me to sleep. I am tired to-night, but I came to your salon, since you desired that I should help you in welcoming and entertaining your guests. You can remain here, Monsieur de Laval, for your presence will not be necessary until I send you my orders.’

  And so the door closed behind him, and with a long sigh of relief from everyone, from the Empress to the waiter with the negus, the friendly chatter began once more, with the click of the counters and the rustle of the cards just as they had been before he came to help in the entertainment.

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE LIBRARY OF GROSBOIS

  And now, my friends, I am coming to the end of those singular adventures which I encountered upon my arrival in France, adventures which might have been of some interest in themselves had I not introduced the figure of the Emperor, who has eclipsed them all as completely as the sun eclipses the stars. Even now, you see, after all these years, in an old man’s memoirs, the Emperor is still true to his traditions, and will not brook any opposition. As I draw his words and his deeds I feel that my own poor story withers before them. And yet if it had not been for that story I should not have had an excuse for describing to you my first and most vivid impressions of him, and so it has served a purpose after all. You must bear with me now while I tell you of our expedition to the Red Mill and of what befell in the library of Grosbois.

  Two days had passed away since the reception of the Empress Josephine, and only one remained of the time which had been allowed to my cousin Sibylle in which she might save her lover, and capture the terrible Toussac. For my own part I was not so very anxious that she should save this craven lover of hers, whose handsome face belied the poor spirit within him. And yet this lonely beautiful woman, with the strong will and the loyal heart, had touched my feelings, and I felt that I would help her to anything — even against my own better judgment, if she should desire it. It was then with a mixture of feelings that late in the afternoon I saw her and General Savary enter the little room in which I lodged at Boulogne. One glance at her flushed cheeks and triumphant eyes told me that she was confident in her own success.

  ‘I told you that I would find him, Cousin Louis!’ she cried; ‘I have come straight to you, because you said that you would help in the taking of him.’

  ‘Mademoiselle insists upon it that I should not use soldiers,’ said

  Savary, shrugging his shoulders.

  ‘No, no, no,’ she cried with vehemence. ‘It has to be done with discretion, and at the sight of a soldier he would fly to some hiding-place, where you would never be able to follow him. I cannot afford to run a risk. There is too much already at stake.’

  ‘In such an affair three men are as useful as thirty,’ said Savary. ‘I should not in any case have employed more. You say that you have another friend, Lieutenant — ?’

  ‘Lieutenant Gerard of the Hussars of Bercheny.’

  ‘Quite so. There is not a more gallant officer in the Grand Army than Etienne Gerard. The three of us, Monsieur de Laval, should be equal to any adventure.’

  ‘I am at your disposal.’

  ‘Tell us then, mademoiselle, where Toussac is hiding.’

  ‘He is hiding at the Red Mill.’

  ‘But we have searched it, I assure you that he is not there.’

  ‘When did you search it?’

  ‘Two days ago.’

  ‘Then he has come there since. I knew that Jeanne Portal loved him. I have watched her for six days. Last night she stole down to the Red Mill with a basket of wine and fruit. All the morning I have seen her eyes sweeping the country side, and I have read the terror in them whenever she has seen the twinkle of a bayonet. I am as sure that Toussac is in the mill as if I had seen him with my own eyes.’

  ‘In that case there is not an instant to be lost,’ cried Savary. ‘If he knows of a boat upon the coast he is as likely as not to slip away after dark and make his escape for England. From the Red Mill one can see all the surrounding country, and Mademoiselle is right in thinking that a large body of soldiers would only warn him to escape.’

  ‘What do you propose then?’ I asked.

  ‘That you meet us at the south gate of the camp in an hour’s time dressed as you are. You might be any gentleman travelling upon the high road. I shall see Gerard, and we shall adopt some suitable disguise. Bring your pistols, for it is with the most desperate man in France we have to do. We shall have a horse at your disposal.’

  The setting sun lay dull and red upon the western horizon, and the white chalk cliffs of the French coast had all flushed into pink when I found myself once more at the gate of the Boulogne Camp. There was no sign of my companions, but a tall man, dressed in a blue coat with brass buttons like a small country farmer, was tightening the girth of a magnificent black horse, whilst a little further on a slim young ostler was waiting by the roadside, holding the bridles of two others. It was only when I recognised o
ne of the pair as the horse which I had ridden on my first coming to camp that I answered the smile upon the keen handsome face of the ostler, and saw the swarthy features of Savary under the broad-brimmed hat of the farmer.

  ‘I think that we may travel without fearing to excite suspicion,’ said he. ‘Crook that straight back of yours a little, Gerard! And now we shall push upon our way, or we may find that we are too late.’

  My life has had its share of adventures, and yet, somehow, this ride stands out above the others.

  There over the waters I could dimly see the loom of the English coast, with its suggestions of dreamy villages, humming bees, and the pealing of Sunday bells. I thought of the long, white High Street of Ashford, with its red brick houses, and the inn with the great swinging sign. All my life had been spent in these peaceful surroundings, and now, here I was with a spirited horse between my knees, two pistols peeping out of my holsters, and a commission upon which my whole future might depend, to arrest the most redoubtable conspirator in France. No wonder that, looking back over many dangers and many vicissitudes, it is still that evening ride over the short crisp turf of the downs which stands out most clearly in my memory. One becomes blase to adventure, as one becomes blase to all else which the world can give, save only the simple joys of home, and to taste the full relish of such an expedition one must approach it with the hot blood of youth still throbbing in one’s veins.

  Our route, when we had left the uplands of Boulogne behind us, lay along the skirts of that desolate marsh in which I had wandered, and so inland, through plains of fern and bramble, until the familiar black keep of the Castle of Grosbois rose upon the left. Then, under the guidance of Savary, we struck to the right down a sunken road, and so over the shoulder of a hill until, on a further slope beyond, we saw the old windmill black against the evening sky. Its upper window burned red like a spot of blood in the last rays of the setting sun. Close by the door stood a cart full of grain sacks, with the shafts pointing downwards and the horse grazing at some distance. As we gazed, a woman appeared upon the downs and stared round, with her hand over her eyes.