But the fires soon became a serious menace, and it was realised that few of them were the result of accident. Among the people left in the city there was a considerable number of shaggy, bearded men dressed in a sort of uniform that consisted of a dirty, belted sheepskin kaftan. It transpired that they were convicts, who had been released from prison by Count Rostopchin before he left the city. Whether he had given them their freedom on condition that they became incendiaries, or whether they were inspired by a fanatical patriotism, was never satisfactorily determined. But they were setting fire to houses all over the place, and not even bothering to conceal what they were doing from the French.
Mortier, whom the Emperor had made Governor of the city, set about rounding them up. But by then it was too late. By the night of the 15th, three-quarters of Moscow was blazing, and the lurid glare of the flames was such that, three miles outside the city, one could read a book by their light.
Next day fire threatened the Kremlin. Berthier went up one of the towers to assess the danger of the situation, and nearly fell off the battlements which, had he done so, would have caused many of his compatriots to rejoice. His report was so alarming that Napoleon was persuaded to leave and move to the Petrovsky Palace outside the walls. It was too small to accommodate all his staff in comfort, so they suffered much inconvenience. On the fourth day they were able to return to the Kremlin. It had been saved and, by then, most of the fires had been put out; but the greater part of Moscow was a smoking ruin.
The looting and carousing continued. Some fifteen thousand of the poorer people had remained in the city, so there was a considerable number of girls and not too elderly women who, willing or unwilling, were available to the troops, who then settled down to enjoy themselves. But the Emperor’s staff were far from enjoying themselves in the Kremlin, for daily he became more ill-tempered and difficult to please.
No plenipotentiary had arrived from the Czar to beg him to state the terms on which he would go home. Greatly worried, he decided to write to Alexander and point out to him that he was very wrong to inflict such misery on his people when all he had to do was to enter into a mutually satisfactory arrangement, and their sufferings would cease. Two letters were despatched by Russian officers who had been taken prisoner. Whether either of them reached his destination he never knew, but he received no answer.
His next move was to send one of his own officers, General Lauriston, to Kutuzov who by then had moved his main force down to Tula, with the object of attempting to cut the Grand Army’s communications. Lauriston returned to report that all Kutuzov would say was that his master had declared that he ‘would sooner grow a beard and live off potatoes than make peace as long as a single French soldier remained on Russian soil’.
It now seemed that there was no alternative for the Grand Army but to winter in Moscow, call up all the reinforcements possible and launch a new campaign in the spring to take St. Petersburg. Berthier was ordered to produce his ‘Bible’, as the staff called the roster of the strength of every unit in the Army that he kept with such meticulous care. Together they went into the figures. It emerged that if the Emperor called up Macdonald’s corps and the Prussians from the Baltic coast, that of St Cyr, which had been left in the neighbourhood of Vitebsk, and Victor’s from Smolensk, both employed in guarding the army’s line of communications, Schwarzenberg’s thirty thousand Austrians who had so far fired hardly a shot, and drew on the garrisons of the fortresses in Poland, Prussia and Germany, he could again have at his disposal an army of half a million troops. But how was he to feed them?
Murat’s cavalry had already been despatched far and wide to seize every head of cattle, bag of flour and bale of hay they could lay their hands on, but it seemed to the French, who were used to the highly-populated areas of western and southern Europe that Moscow had been set down in a vast, almost uninhabited plain. Still worse, Murat reported that the Cossacks were becoming more daring. Only a few days before they had encountered one of his regiments, killed its Colonel and cut a great part of it to pieces. They appeared to be closing in on every side.
So, all through September and into October the scene darkened for Napoleon.
It was on the morning of the 7th that Roger, as A.D.C. on first duty, reported to him and, after an abrupt nod, the Emperor snapped:
‘Breuc, you are a friend of the Czar?’
Roger hesitated only a moment. He could not guess what was coming, but knew the Emperor’s fabulous memory too well to lie about such a matter. He could only pray that it had not somehow come to Napoleon’s ears that he had spent a good part of the spring in St. Petersburg. Bowing, he replied:
‘I have the honour to be acquainted with His Imperial Majesty, Sire.’ Then he held his breath.
Napoleon regarded him glumly. ‘Yes, I recall that after you were taken prisoner at Eylau he arranged for you to be exchanged; and one day at Erfurt I noticed in my police report that you had had a private audience with him.’
‘That is so, Sire.’
‘Then you must go to him for me. Either he fails to receive my letters or he ignores them. I am convinced the former is the case. He is eccentric and at times has idiotic dreams of bringing in dangerous reforms which would hamstring his own authority; but he is by no means a fool. He must be made to realise that things cannot continue like this. Our people have already cut a great swathe a hundred miles wide, from Kovno to Moscow, through his country, and brought ruin to Vilna, Vitebsk and Smolensk, not to mention scores of smaller places. And Moscow! Just think what has befallen this once splendid city! Does he want me to winter here, then march on St. Petersburg in the spring and cause it also to be destroyed? Surely not!
‘Tell him that I will not be unreasonable. I will withdraw my support from the Poles, so that he can do what he likes in Poland. He can have eastern Prussia too, as compensation for the damage done to Russia. You can even promise that he can have Constantinople when, together, we have defeated the Turk. Later I can think again about that. But peace we must make, and soon. He cannot know it, but our situation here is becoming desperate. Get us out of it and that will be as great a service to me as winning a major battle. I cannot give you a Marshal’s baton, but I will make you a Duke. You will, of course, go under a flag of truce. Take any escort you require. Go now, Breuc, and for God’s sake persuade him to see reason.’
Using the sort of Gasconerie that Napoleon liked about him Roger, instead of bowing himself out, sprang to attention, threw up his head, cried, ‘To hear is to obey, Sire!’ turned on his heel and strode out of the room.
He could not have been more pleased at being chosen for this mission, as to find a means of communicating with the Czar had been on his conscience for some time. He could, as Alexander had suggested, have let himself be taken prisoner; but in this campaign, that would have entailed a very considerable risk. Few Russians were allowing themselves to be captured. They seemed to prefer fighting to the death, and this disregard for life frequently led them to kill off any prisoners they took. Roger would have liked to honour his bond, but was not prepared to make what might prove a futile attempt, and possibly throw away his life for nothing. As there seemed no other way in which he could convey information about the state to which the Grand Army had been reduced, he had let matters slide. Now he could report to Alexander with little risk; but he decided against taking an escort, as when he did reach St. Petersburg it would have proved a great embarrassment. Three-quarters of an hour later, he was on his way to the northern capital.
For the first twenty miles, while passing through the zone strongly held by Murat’s cavalry, he wore his uniform; then, when he judged himself to be well into no-man’s-land, he rode into a wood, unpacked his valise, and changed into the civilian suit he had been wearing when the French arrived in Vilna. Back on the road again, he kept a sharp look-out for patrols of Cossacks. He felt fairly confident that, if challenged, he could satisfy anyone who questioned him, as three months among the Russians in the spring had enabled
him to become fluent in that language. But junior officers and N.C.O.s could, at times, prove stupid and dangerous, so he was anxious to avoid having to give an account of himself.
In the next two hours he saw three groups of horsemen in the distance, but managed to keep well away from them, and none of them gave chase. That evening he halted at Tver, and at the hostelry there gave himself out to be a Lithuanian timber merchant. The following night he spent at Volochek, then got up very early the next morning to cover the long stretch to Chudova. From there it was not, for him, a hard day’s ride to St. Petersburg, and he entered the capital late on the afternoon of October 10th.
Having handed his horse over to an ostler at the Laughing Tartar, he went into the hostelry to refresh himself, and learned that the Czar was in residence at the Winter Palace. An hour later he was there and had sent up his name. He had to wait until past eight o’clock, then a Chamberlain summoned him to the presence.
Alexander gave him a smiling greeting, extended his hand to be kissed and said, ‘Mr. Brook, we congratulate you; and upon two counts. Firstly on having survived the appalling slaughter of the past five months. Secondly, on having succeeded in returning to us. We hoped you would, but feared you might find it too dangerous an enterprise.’
Roger returned the smile. ‘Sire, I have been awaiting a favourable opportunity; for there would have been no sense in my setting out with a good prospect of being killed. But fortune has been most kind to me, I come to Your Imperial Majesty now as the envoy of the Emperor.’
‘Well, well!’ The Czar gave a hearty laugh. ‘You are the cleverest fellow that ever we did meet.’
Roger did not deny it, but said, ‘I think, Sire, the Emperor was influenced in his choice of me because he knows that Your Imperial Majesty has done me the honour to receive me on previous occasions.’
‘And in what way can we be of service to your … er … master?’
With equal irony, Roger replied, ‘Merely by acknowledging that he has fought a victorious campaign, and again entering into an alliance with him; but this time agreeing to accept him as your overlord.’
They both laughed, then Alexander’s blue eyes grew serious and he said firmly, ‘We stand by the declaration we made to our people. We would sooner grow a beard and live on potatoes than make peace as long as a single French soldier remains on Russian soil. Now tell us how things are in Moscow.’
For the next quarter of an hour Roger described the state of the city and gave the approximate strength of the enemy forces based on it. He concluded by saying:
‘During the past weeks the supply trains that were intended to support the Grand Army during its advance have come up. There were also considerable stores left behind in the city. These have restored to health both men and horses. But they cannot last indefinitely. Within a few weeks now the Emperor will be driven into taking a decision. His army has been so reduced that he could not order another advance with any hope of success. Therefore he must do one of two things: either winter in Moscow and risk his army starving until it is so weak that it could easily be overwhelmed, or endeavour to fight his way back to Poland.’
The Czar nodded. ‘Yes, we have him. Whichever course he adopts his defeat is now certain. How right the Prince Royal of Sweden was in advising us to adopt the scorched-earth policy. He is also convinced that, should Napoleon decide to abandon Moscow, we shall have him at our mercy. We will harass him every step of the way, and ice and snow will do the rest.’
Roger agreed, then said, ‘It is, Sire, now several months since I have heard any news out of England. Would Your Imperial Majesty be gracious enough to inform me if any events of importance have taken place?’
‘Indeed, yes. There has been a change of government. In May Mr. Perceval had the misfortune to be assassinated. We have no details, but gather that it was by the hand of a madman who had some private grudge against him. He has been succeeded as Prime Minister by Lord Liverpool, who has retained Lord Castlereagh as Foreign Secretary.’
Giving a slight shrug, Roger commented, ‘A sad business, Sire. But the change should be all to the good. Mr. Perceval was an upright and kindly man, but not very forceful. I think that Lord Liverpool, particularly with Castlereagh to aid him, will press the war more vigorously. How stands the prospect of Your Imperial Majesty entering into an alliance with England?’
‘We signed a peace in July, so are now allies.’
‘That is good news indeed, Sire.’
Getting up from his desk, the Czar walked over to a buhl cabinet, unlocked it and took from it a ribbon to which was attached an enamel star set with small brilliants. Turning, he said:
‘We would not have you think us ungrateful, Mr. Brook, for bringing us such good tidings. This is the Order of St. Anne and we make you a Chevalier of it.’ He then passed the ribbon over Roger’s head and round his neck.
Greatly delighted, Roger went down on one knee, kissed the Czar’s hand and expressed his gratitude. Receiving such a decoration could hardly be compared to being made a Duke, but he had not even considered attempting to earn the reward offered by Napoleon. Next moment his happiness was abruptly doused, as Alexander spoke again:
‘And now, Mr. Brook, return as speedily as you can to Moscow. Give Napoleon our reply to his request that we should enter into negotiations, then endeavour to find out the line of retreat that he intends his army to take should he decide to evacuate Moscow. This could be of great importance to us. We do not ask you to risk yourself by endeavouring to come again to St. Petersburg. But you could easily hide yourself when the French leave Moscow, then give such information as you have obtained to the first of our Generals to enter the city.’
Having got safely away from the Grand Army, Roger was most averse to returning to it. He had left England the previous December, expecting to be away in Sweden for only a few weeks; but between them Bernadotte and the Czar had already prevented him from going home for ten months. He would have protested and pleaded to be spared this new task; but by decorating him Alexander had skilfully entrapped him and made him feel that he could not decently refuse to be of further service. Stifling his annoyance as best he could, he again kissed the Czar’s hand and bowed himself backward out of the room.
Roger would have liked to remain in St. Petersburg for a few days. But he knew that all his younger friends would have gone to the war, and that if he called on the older ones it would soon get to the ears of the Czar that he had disobeyed the Imperial injunction to return to Moscow as speedily as possible; so he reluctantly decided to take the road again the following morning.
He had no means of knowing whether Napoleon would elect to submit his army to semi-starvation by remaining in Moscow throughout the winter, or if he would decide on a withdrawal, at least to Smolensk; but he thought the latter more probable, as it would greatly shorten the distance supply trains from Poland would have to cover.
In either case food was going to be extremely short, and even the Emperor’s entourage would have to make do on meagre rations. Concerned as ever about his own material well-being—which more than once had saved his life—Roger debated with himself what foodstuff he could buy in St. Petersburg that was easily portable and had a high quality for sustaining vigour. Eventually he decided on marzipan, as it was composed solely of sugar and almonds, a compound hardly to be bettered for stimulating energy.
Leaving his hostelry he walked to the great, covered bazaar. Under the scores of small domes, an incredible variety of things could be bought there: food of all kinds, weapons, clothes, furs, jewels and a multitude of other items. Easing his way through the crowds of haggling people, he found a sweet-seller who had a number of large slabs of marzipan from which he cut off pieces according to the quantity required.
Having tasted a sample and judged the quality to be satisfactory, Roger asked the vendor to weigh his whole stock. Much surprised, the man complied. It came to eleven and a quarter kilos. Being of the opinion that during the coming months such a reserve
of food might be of more value than pistols, Roger had it in mind to store the marzipan in his pistol holsters, even if he had to sacrifice one pistol and stick the other through his sash; so he enquired the price of the marzipan. The man did a quick calculation on his abacus and gave it him. After several minutes of bargaining, Roger got it reduced by a third, produced the money and had the sweetmeat packed up.
As it was being handed to him he distinctly heard Georgina’s voice. That had happened on a few previous occasions when he had been in great danger. Although she was unconscious of it, the strange psychic link between them had enabled her to warn him and inspire him as to how best to escape the peril he was in. Now she was saying:
‘Look to your right! Roger, be quick! Look to your right!’
Amazed as he was that in his present harmless occupation any danger should be threatening him, his hand nevertheless flew to his sword hilt, and he swivelled round as she had directed him.
No villainous figure was about to come at him with a knife, or was aiming a pistol at him. The only person at the next stall was a short woman, wearing the clothes of a Russian bourgeoise and a scarf that partially hid her brown hair. She had just completed the purchase of a pair of soft leather boots. As she handed the money across the stall to pay for them she was only ten feet away from him. He gave a gasp. It seemed incredible, but he could not possibly be mistaken. She was the girl who, before her marriage, had been Lady Mary Ware.
21
A New Problem
Next moment, the girl had taken her parcel and turned away. Roger sprang after her, grabbed her by the arm and cried:
‘Mary! What in heaven’s name are you doing here?’
Swinging round she stared at him. Her green eyes opened wide and she dropped her parcel. Both of them stooped to pick it up and bumped their heads together. Laughing, they drew back, and Mary exclaimed:
The Ravishing of Lady Mary Ware Page 31