The Sultan's Daughter

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘Soldiers! I will stand for no more. I have observed the laws, but the Five Hundred is filled with traitors. I went among them to plead for an end to the measures that have brought France to ruin. They insulted and reviled me. They attacked me with daggers. They are about to murder my brother. The peace must be kept. I order you to go in and rescue him.’

  His mind had cleared and had seized upon a feature in the situation by which he might later whitewash himself. He had not ordered the troops to put an end arbitrarily to the session, but simply to rescue his brother.

  Murat took off his feathered hat, waved it and ordered the troops to fix bayonets. A great cheer went up. With Murat at their head, holding high his sabre, they charged into the Orangerie.

  Roger, utterly spent by the mental ordeal he had been through, sank down in the chair from which he had pulled Bonaparte. Later he heard about the final scene in the drama. When Murat burst into the Orangerie, Lucien had again got possession of the rostrum but was spreadeagled and clinging to it. At the sight of the bayonets and busbies the Deputies had scattered. In terror of their lives, most of them jumped out of the windows. Some made their way back to Paris; others, fearing arrest and execution, spent the night wandering miserably about the park and forest.

  In spite of the rough handling he had received Lucien, when escorted outside, mounted a horse, grabbed a sword and, pointing it at the General, who had come down to meet him, cried, ‘Should my brother ever attempt anything against our liberties, I will plunge this into his heart.’ This theatrical gesture brought cheers from even the soldiers of the Legislative Guard, who had previously shown some doubt about where their duty lay.

  Proceeding to the Anciens Lucien reported to them, with tears streaming down his cheeks, how Deputies of the Five Hundred had drawn their daggers on his brother, how, mercifully, he had been spared, and then how, fearful of being called to account for their act, the Deputies had dispersed of their own accord.

  Having expressed their horror at the attacks, the Anciens passed a decree appointing Bonaparte, Sieyès and Ducos Provisional Consuls, formed an interim Legislative Committee from among themselves and adjourned the Councils until February 20th.

  But the decrees of the Anciens still required ratification by the Five Hundred to make them fully legal. By then the majority of its members were lost in the damp mists of the November night: hungry, scared out of their wits and tearing their red robes as they hunted for hiding places among thickets of thorn bushes. But a handful of Bonaparte’s supporters had known flight to be unnecessary, so were still hanging about. The indefatigable Lucien gathered together some twenty-five of them. Then, by the dim light of three candles, they ratified the decrees and also decreed the expulsion of the sixty Jacobin members. At one o’clock in the morning the three Provisional Consuls took the oath before both Chambers and formally assumed office.

  The day was Bonaparte’s, but only owing to the courage and tenacity displayed by his brother Lucien.

  Meanwhile Talleyrand, accompanied by Röederer, de Montrond and Roger, had driven the few miles to Melun. He had had the foresight to arrange with a Madame Simons, a charming ex-actress who had married well and was an ex-mistress of his, to provide them with dinner at her pretty little house there. It had been a long and trying day. While others still argued about formalities in the chilly corridors at St. Cloud or wandered disconsolate in the woods, the arch-conspirators warm and cosy in the soft candlelight, with fine wine, well-chosen dishes and a pretty woman for hostess, proceeded to enjoy themselves.

  • • • • •

  The coup of 18th Brumaire had infinitely more far-reaching results than any of the conspirators intended. Their aim had been to overthrow the Directory and make certain adjustments to the existing Legislature. Not only did it result in the abolition of the Directory but of the two Chambers as well. That fact was not immediately understood but, even had it been, all the best elements of the French nation would have approved. They were utterly weary of being ruled by Assemblies composed mainly of soapbox orators and cunning lawyers, with temperaments that ranged from those of incompetent idealists to tyrannical murderers. They wanted a strong and stable Government, led by a practical man; and now they had it. Even had they known that for the next fifteen years the ‘Will of the People’, to establish which the Revolution had been brought about, was to be ignored by a Dictator, it is probable that the bulk of the nation would still have been prepared to accept that as the price for the restoration of a reasonable degree of freedom and religious toleration, the protection of private property, justice in the Courts and a stable financial situation.

  Owing to the coup having been spaced over forty-eight hours it had been within an ace of failure, but once accomplished it was accounted a triumph. No blood had been spilt and all the actions taken had at least a semblance of legality, By the adjournment of the Chambers until February 20th, which was followed by the arrest of fifty-seven prominent Jacobin Deputies, all opposition had been crushed and the rejoicing throughout Paris was almost universal.

  On the day following the coup the three Provisional Consuls occupied the apartments at the Luxembourg vacated by the Directors. For the time being they enjoyed equal powers; but it was soon agreed that Bonaparte should handle all administrative matters, with the assistance of two Committees each of twenty-five members elected from the two Chambers, while Sieyès drafted the new Constitution. Fouché was, of course, retained as Minister of Police. Berthier took over the War Office and Gaudin, a Deputy who had spent most of his life in the Treasury and was a highly competent man, was made Minister of Finance. For the time being, Talleyrand remained in the background but was in constant touch with Bonaparte.

  During the remainder of November and the first three weeks of December Bonaparte and Sieyès met daily to discuss the many articles in the proposed Constitution. Fundamentally their ideas on the subject had little in common; but the General was clever enough to continue to flatter the ex-Abbé, and so succeeded in getting included the clauses he considered essential. The most important of these was that, instead of appointing a Grand Elector as the Head of State, as Siéyés’s wished, one of the three Consuls should act in that capacity with very extensive powers, while the other two would be little more than his advisers.

  Meanwhile, they added considerably to their popularity by annulling the terrible Law of Hostages; sending General Hedouville, who had assisted Hoche to pacify the Vendée, back there to pacify it again; authorising the return to France of every proscribed person who had been condemned to transportation without trial, and repealing laws which imposed crippling burdens of taxation.

  Throughout these weeks Roger continued his duties as one of Bonaparte’s aides-de-camp with as much patience as he could muster. For better or for worse, he had made his contribution to the present state of things; but as yet there was no point in his slipping off to London and confessing to Mr. Pitt that he had flagrantly disobeyed his orders. The fact that the Directory had been overthrown would have reached the Prime Minister within a few days of its happening. What he would want to know was what changes in French foreign policy, if any, were likely to result from it, and whether the new Constitution was likely to restore France to stability. Roger could make no assessment of that until it was known who was to wield almost dictatorial powers by being appointed First Consul, and that still hung in the balance.

  It was not until December 22nd that the notables assembled in the Luxembourg to vote on this momentous issue. Puffed up with vanity, Sieyès had all along visualised himself in the role of First Consul, and it was that which had caused him to agree that the other two should have no power of veto and be virtual nonentities.

  Feeling quite sure of himself Sieyès opened the meeting with an address in which he dwelt on the evils of military Dictatorships and how dangerous it would be to appoint a soldier as First Consul. But Bonaparte had devised a clever trick to outwit him. Before the meeting the wily Corsican had told his supporters not to
form a group, but to scatter themselves about the hall. Then, when he took Sieyés’s hand, they were to give a loud cry of ‘Bonaparte!’

  As Sieyès brought his address to an end, Bonaparte stepped up to him with a smile and said, ‘Let us have no difference of opinion, my friend. ‘I vote for you. For whom do you vote?’

  Sieyès, thinking that Bonaparte’s vote put his own election beyond all question, replied, out of politeness, ‘I vote for you.’

  Bonaparte put out his hand, Sieyès took it. Instantly, from all parts of the hall, there were loud cries of ‘Bonaparte! Bonaparte!’ The General’s scattered supporters infected their neighbours and in another minute everyone was crying ‘Vive Bonaparte!’ Thus the wretched Sieyès was discomfited and the Corsican elected First Consul by acclamation.

  Sieyès, almost speechless and half out of his mind with rage, refused the honourable post of Second Consul: so the Committees elected Cambacérès in this capacity and Lebrun as Third Consul. On the following day Bonaparte, whose word had now become, for all practical purposes, law, sent Reinhard as Ambassador to the Helvetic Republic and handed the portfolio of Foreign Minister back to Talleyrand.

  Had Sieyès become First Consul, Bonaparte might well have decided, rather than remain as little more than a cipher in Paris, to take supreme command in the war against Austria. Sieyès would gladly have got rid of him at that price. Then the Jacobins would have striven again to impose their rule of Terror and the Royalists plotted again to bring about a Restoration. Once more the future would have been in the melting pot; but with Bonaparte as Head of State, firmly supported by Talleyrand and Fouché, Roger could go back to England and report that the Revolution was over.

  Now that the situation had clarified, his longing to get home became almost unbearable, and he saw no reason why he should not set out almost immediately. He had only to tell Bonaparte that the winter weather was again affecting his, mythically, weak chest to be given leave to go to his little chateau in the south of France. He could then set out in that direction, make a detour that would bring him to one of the Normandy ports and pay a smuggler well to run him across the Channel. As it was already the 23rd he could not get home for Christmas, but he should be able to do so well before the New Year.

  That night he went to the Luxembourg, intending to ask his master for leave. There was a crowd of people there, but Bonaparte was busy in his cabinet with Bourrienne. After a while Josephine caught sight of Roger and beckoned him over. As he made a smiling bow to her, she said:

  ‘Cher ami. Have you heard the wonderful news? The General and I are to move to the Tuileries. After living in our little house for so long, I’ll feel like a pea in a box. But just think of the splendour of it, and the parties I’ll be able to give there.’

  Roger bowed again. ‘Our Lady of Victories will shine there more brightly than ever did any Queen of France.’

  Her big eyes sparkled and she tapped him with her fan. ‘Cher, cher Colonel. You have always stood out among our soldiers as a courtier, and there will be the warmest welcome for you always, at any time, at the Palace. Our first great reception is to be on Christmas Day and, of course, we shall count on you.’

  Christmas had long since been abolished by the revolutionaries. Not only did it hold no place in the calendar as a Revolutionary Festival, but for years past no one had dared to treat it as other than an ordinary working day. Much surprised, Roger raised an eyebrow a fraction.

  Josephine laughed, flicked open her fan and behind it whispered to him, ‘The choice of day is deliberate. The preparations for us to occupy the Palace are being hurried forward on that account. The General wishes to show the people that he is without prejudices and will permit religious persecution no longer.’

  ‘Madame, that is excellent news,’ Roger said quickly, ‘and a truly wise measure. No ruler, however strong, can have too much support and, by granting religious toleration, our General will win the love of countless thousands of, yes … why should we not say it … his subjects—and yours.’

  ‘No, no,’ she chided him. ‘You must not say such things. He insists that he is no more than an ordinary citizen charged with the duty of giving expression to the wishes of his fellows. But I had almost forgotten. There is a special reason why you must not fail to be in attendance at the Tuileries on Christmas night. There is someone who by then will be in Paris and whom I shall invite: someone who is eagerly seeking news of you. I received the letter only yesterday from M. Ouvrard, who corresponds with a Greek banker named Sarodopulous. This lady is the daughter of one of my girlhood friends, who in the most romantic way has become the favourite wife of the Great Turk.’

  • • • • •

  For a moment, Roger was struck dumb. It could not possibly be anyone other than Zanthé to whom Josephine referred. Clearly Sarodopulous had made arrangements for her to travel to France, and she had arrived safely. Her only possible reason for undertaking the hazardous journey must be to rejoin and marry him. At the thought Rogert felt panic rising in him. Only long practice at concealing his emotions enabled him to prevent Josephine from realising the shock he had received.

  She was going gaily on with an account of Aimée Dubucq de Rivery’s capture by Corsairs and how, by her entrancing beauty, she had captivated the Sultan. Roger listened with a fixed grin, hardly taking in a word she said. As soon as he decently could he turned the conversation, drew two other visitors into it, then bowed himself away and left the apartment.

  Back at La Belle Etoile he went up to his room, flung himself into an elbow chair and gave himself furiously to think. He could still return to the Luxembourg in the morning and ask Bonaparte for leave; but now it was unlikely that the General would grant it until after Christmas Day. At his first reception as First Consul he would naturally wish to have all his paladins around him, ‘le brave Breuc’ among them.

  It occurred to Roger that he could cut loose. If he did not put in an appearance next day no one would start a hue-and-cry after him. By taking horse that night he could reach the coast before anyone even started enquiring about him. But he was very loath to do that.

  While in Egypt he would have given anything to free himself from the double life he was leading, but since his return to Paris the excitement of being in the vortex of the political cyclone had again got hold of him. He had with pain and grief overcome the two great threats to his career as a secret agent. Talleyrand was now convinced of his loyalty and Fouché had forgone the chance to question his past, in return for a collaboration which would now make it impossible for him to do so and be believed. Added to which Roger enjoyed the friendship and confidence of the new master of France.

  If Georgina were still free and willing to become his wife, he would have been happy to leave Mr. Pitt’s service and settle down with her. But it was close on two years since he had seen her and, even if she were still free, he doubted if he could persuade her to marry him. Failing that, what did the future hold? A few happy, carefree months in England then, as he so well knew, the itch to be at the centre of great events would get him again. To set off without explanation would be to become a deserter, and to throw away the extraordinary position he had achieved might later cause him the most bitter regrets.

  There was then the personal problem. As Zanthé had risked shipwreck and capture to follow him to France, how could he possibly requite such love and courage by ignoring his obligation to her; still worse, leave her stranded in Paris? As he thought of her, his heart began to glow again with memories of her beauty, the intensity of her passion and the wonderful nights they had spent together.

  It was still his inescapable duty to return to England and report to Mr. Pitt as soon as possible. That he must do. But at least he must remain in Paris over Christmas to welcome Zanthé. Then, on some pretext of duty, he would slip away and secretly cross the Channel. Yet not for the long, carefree months to which he had so greatly looked forward. Every decent instinct he had cried aloud that he must get back to France as soon as
he could and take Zanthé for his wife.

  In this frame of mind, wearing a new and brilliant uniform, he went to the Tuileries on the evening of Christmas Day. It was the first of scores of receptions that Bonaparte and Josephine were to hold there. In due course Kings, Princes, Grand Dukes and Eastern Potentates would be ceremoniously announced and bow before them, but this was just a large, jolly party drawn from every strata of society.

  There were a handful of aristocrats who, like Talleyrand, had survived the Revolution and a number of the Members of the Institute who came from well-to-do families; but the majority of the guests had once been poor and were still ill-educated. There were the soldiers, clinking about in their spurred top-boots, as yet innocent of sonorous titles and glittering Orders. They used the language of the camp. Lannes and Augereau were incapable of opening their mouths without using some obscene expression and most of the others were little better. With them they brought their wives, nearly all looking awkward in their hastily assembled finery. They had no idea how to adjust feathers in their hair or make a curtsey in response to the bow of a gentleman. Many of them were ex-prostitutes who talked the argot of the gutter and Lefebvre’s wife had, when Bonaparte was a seedy young Lieutenant, been his washerwoman. The remainder of the guests were mostly sharp-featured or florid-faced politicians in ill-fitting cloth suits and their women were no worse, but no better, than those of the soldiers.

  Among this motley throng Roger took his place in a queue that was moving slowly up the grand staircase. At the top Josephine and Bonaparte were receiving. Grouped on either side of them was already a score of attendant men and women. Having made his bow Roger, as an aide-de-camp, was about to take his place among them; but Josephine turned her head and signed to one of the women near her to come forward. She was Zanthé, but dressed in European clothes, which accounted for Roger’s not at once catching sight of her.