During the ten days that followed, alarming reports of the state of the country continued to pour in. The news of the revolts that had broken out spontaneously in half a dozen places had acted like dynamite on the whole people. With incredible speed, the long-suffering Spaniards in every city, town and village had loosed their hatred of the French. With fanatical zeal they had taken up arms to destroy their oppressors. Blood-lusting mobs had seized Mayors and other authorities who were puppets of the French administration and hanged them in the squares. Many considerable towns were now in the hands of the insurgents. They gave no quarter, and small bodies of French troops were continually ambushed and murdered.
Then the news arrived that, on July 4th, Canning had entered into an alliance with the Convention representing the people of Spain. Grimly Napoleon had to accept the fact that Spain, for so long his unwilling ally, had gone over to the enemy and was now, officially, at war with France.
With his usual dynamic energy, he issued innumerable orders, concentrating his troops in vital areas. The road from Bayonne via Burgos to Madrid was to be kept open at all costs. Bessières, with eighty thousand men, would hold the north; Dupont, with another army, would suppress the revolts in the south. But on July 20th the most staggering news came in. After early successes, General Dupont, his troops weighed down with plunder, had been forced to retire into Beylen. On the previous day he had surrendered and his twenty thousand men had laid down their arms.
Napoleon’s fury knew no bounds. He was escorted to his apartment, screaming curses. When he had been somewhat calmed down, he sobbed, ‘Could I have expected that from Dupont, a man whom I loved and was rearing to become a Marshal? They say he had no other way to save the lives of his soldiers. Better, far better to have died with arms in their hands. Their death would have been glorious; we should have avenged them. You can always supply the place-of soldiers. Honour alone, when once lost, can never be regained.’
It was a terrible blow, for it shattered the Grand Army’s belief in its invincibility, and the surrender of one of its corps to a rabble of peasants armed with ancient shotguns, scythes and pitchforks was the last ignominy.
On the 22nd, Lisala arrived. She had delayed to collect as much money as she could. With her she also brought her old nurse, Josefa Bilboa. She had a nerve-racking journey as, in spite of the escort of Chasseurs supplied by Junot, her convoy had been fired upon three times. One of the men had been killed and several wounded; but she had escaped unharmed.
Although Lisala was now six months pregnant, her condition was still not obvious at first glance and, when Roger presented her to Josephine, her striking beauty made a great impression on those present. The Empress received her with the greatest kindness and told her at once that only very light duties would be expected of her, as she must rest a lot and take care of her health.
As a married couple, the de Breucs were given a comfortable suite, and Lisala soon made friends with several of Josephine’s ladies. But she was greatly disappointed by the Court. She had heard so much of the magnificent balls and fêtes given by the Emperor whenever his headquarters were in a city, and had expected life in Madrid to be a round of pleasure. Instead, the inmates of the Palace now lived much as they would have done had they been in a well-provisioned fortress.
Since the revolt, all social activities had ceased. The ladies were forbidden to leave the Palace and had to while away the time as best they could with needlework and music. The brilliantly uniformed Staff Officers could give no time to entertaining them. Roger and his companions spent many hours each day writing despatches, sifting intelligence and routeing convoys of food and ammunition to isolated garrisons. They could snatch only hasty meals, and often did not get to bed until the early hours of the morning. Sweating and dust-covered, an unending succession of couriers clattered in and out of the courtyard. The Emperor, stern and gloomy, was rarely to be seen.
In spite of the continued success of the insurgents, Napoleon still refused to recognise the magnitude of the struggle with which he was faced. He stubbornly maintained that, given good leadership, twenty-five thousand French troops could quell the rebellion. Then, early in August, he suddenly decided to return to Paris. Overnight everyone began hastily to pack, scores of coaches and wagons were mustered, and the mile-long cavalcade took the road to France.
It was a far from pleasant journey. The broiling sun on the roofs of the coaches made the interiors like ovens; and, in many places, owing to lack of habitable accommodation, their stifled occupants had to sleep in them. Daily couriers overtook them, with news of further French reverses. The surrender at Baylen had injected into the Spaniards a positive conviction that only courage was needed to drive the French out of Spain.
In the north-east the hardy Catalans had risen and, by sheer audacity, forced the French to retire into the fortresses at Barcelona and Figueras. In Aragon, Saragossa had become the scene of appalling slaughter, with ferocious street fighting, in which the French garrison was driven from house to house.
Joseph, now King of Spain, had arrived in his new capital a few days after Napoleon’s departure. He remained there only a week. Fearing that a great body of insurgents which was marching on Madrid would capture it, he had fled with the army of which he was the titular Commander, north to the far side of the river Ebro. Savary had given up the line of the Upper Douro, and was fighting a rearguard action in an attempt to join up with Bessières. Finally, to crown this tale of woe, when they reached Paris they learned that a British army under the command of Sir Arthur Wellesley, had landed in Portugal and was advancing on Lisbon.
As soon as the Court had settled into its quarters in the Palace of St. Cloud, Roger went to call on Talleyrand. The elegant Prince de Benevento had just finished entertaining some friends to an epicurean breakfast. When they had taken their leave, leaning on Roger’s arm he led him into a small library, and the two old friends settled down to talk.
They had no secrets from each other. After Roger had given an abbreviated account of his doings in Turkey, Persia, Brazil and, finally, of his narrow escape from spending five years in a fortress, the great statesman laughed and said:
‘That so resourceful a man as yourself should have been outwitted and kidnapped by your charmer I find most amusing; but your escape from the Emperor’s wrath shows that your lucky star is still in the ascendant. You are lucky, too, to be out of Spain. From the reports I receive, I gather all hell has been let loose there.’
‘It has, indeed, although our little man refuses to recognise it.’
‘He has become the victim of folie de grandeur, and will no longer listen to anyone. By his treatment of the Spanish royal family at Bayonne, he signed away Spain. That was the match that lit the bonfire. They are, admittedly, the most miserable people; incompetent and cowardly to the last degree. But that does not alter the fact that they are venerated by the Spanish masses.’
‘I am told that you had them for a while at your chateau of Valençay.’
‘Yes, although Napoleon has lost his judgment he retains his cunning. He sent them to me in order to implicate me in his treatment of them; although, from the beginning, I have made it plain to him how strongly I disapprove of his intentions regarding Spain.’
‘What of the rest of Europe?’
Talleyrand shrugged. ‘He has sown the wind and will reap the whirlwind. Austria is again arming against us. The Archduke Charles and Prince Metternich are counselling caution; but others, who have the Emperor Francis’ ear, are impatient for revenge. Prussia is seething with hatred for the humiliations we have put upon her; King Frederick William is a broken reed; his Consort, Queen Louisa, a most gallant lady, but her influence is not strong enough to make her husband defy Napoleon. In Prussia, as in Spain, resistance will not come from the top, but from the people. Stein is busy modernising their Army; student bodies and the intellectuals are already openly urging the people to revolt. To all appearances our little man is now at the summit of his power; but it is
only a matter of time before his ruthless ambition brings about his downfall.’
‘How stand our relations with Russia?’ Roger asked.
‘That is difficult to answer. Outwardly there have been no signs of their deterioration since the pact made at Tilsit. But I have a feeling that, underneath, all is not well. Napoleon senses that, too, and is anxious to consolidate his relations with the Czar by another meeting. That was his reason for returning from Spain. Endeavours are being made to arrange one; but Alexander is averse to coming to Paris, and Napoleon will not go to Moscow. No doubt some neutral city will be chosen for a Conference. There Napoleon will produce his great plan for the aggrandisement of both Empires. It is that they should join forces, attack Turkey and divide the vast territories of the Sultan between them. The Czar is to have the Danubian lands, Bulgaria and all Turkey in Europe; while France takes Egypt and Turkey’s dominions in Asia as a springboard to India.’
Roger smiled. ‘I must congratulate Your Excellency upon your private intelligence service. It keeps you remarkably well informed about matters up to the latest moment.’
‘No, no!’ Talleyrand took a pinch of snuff. ‘Napoleon sent for me last night, and himself told me his intentions.’
‘Indeed!’ Roger raised an eyebrow. ‘But when on my travels, I heard it said that you were no longer Foreign Minister.’
‘True, dear friend; quite true. After Tilsit I decided to resign. I had become weary of giving advice that was not accepted, and drawing up treaties of which I strongly disapproved—treaties which, in my view, must ultimately lead to the ruin of France. Napoleon was much annoyed, but could scarce ignore the many services I have rendered. As you must be aware, there were a very limited number of High Dignitaries created when our little man crowned himself Emperor. Joseph was made Grand Elector, and Louis High Constable. On my retirement, I was made Vice-Grand Elector, with equal status to the others, and an additional half-million francs a year reveaue; so I did not do too badly. Our old enemy, Fouché, put about a rather delightful mot concerning my elevation. He said, “It is the only Vice that Talleyrand had not got”.’
Roger roared with laughter. Then he said, ‘Although you no longer hold the Foreign Office portfolio, apparently Napoleon continues to consult you.’
‘Yes. He gave the portfolio to Caulaincourt, a pleasant and quite able man. Yet, hate me though Napoleon now does, it seems that I have a strange fascination for him. He takes no step of importance without informing me of it, and asking my opinion, even though he frequently rejects it.’
‘You will, then, be attending this forthcoming conference?’
‘Almost certainly.’ After a moment Talleyrand gave a cynical smile and added, ‘There I may find an opportunity to send Alexander away more dissatisfied than ever at having entered into an alliance with us. As long as Napoleon can count on Russia to menace Austria, his position remains comparatively strong; but, should the Czar break with him, that could bring about his fall. And you and I agreed at Warsaw that that has become necessary as the only means of restoring peace and prosperity to Europe.’
Roger nodded. ‘Somehow it must be done. But I have not yet congratulated your Exalted Highness on having been made Vice-Grand Elector. I do so on two counts. Firstly, in that this honour places you on an equal footing with the Bonaparte Princes. Secondly, on having resigned your office when you did. Now, when the Empire does collapse, and others scuttle from the sinking ship, no-one will be able to accuse you of having waited to leave it with the rats.’
Early in September still worse news came in from the Peninsula, which was now the focus of all eyes. Wellesley had driven the French vanguard from Rolica; then, on the 24th August, he had met Junot’s main force at Vimiero and inflicted a crushing defeat upon it. Junot’s whole army would have been cut off from Torres Vedras, but for the fact that an officer senior to Wellesley, General Sir Harry Burrard, arrived just at that moment, took over command and, most idiotically, called off the pursuit.
Shortly afterwards the hopeless idiocy of Britain’s old-fashioned senior Generals was further manifested. Burrard was superseded by Sir Hew Dalrymple. Instead of demanding the surrender of Junot’s defeated army, he entered into a pact with Junot at Cintra. By it Junot and all his troops were to be sent back to France in British ships.
Napoleon, angry as he was at Junot’s defeat, got back many thousands of troops who would otherwise have remained prisoners in Portugal. With a sour laugh he declared, ‘How fortunate I am in having British generals fighting my wars for me.’
The unfortunate Dupont and his principal commanders had also been released by the Spaniards and returned to France. Upon them, for their surrender at Baylen, the Emperor vented his wrath, consigning all of them to prison.
Meanwhile, it had been agreed that Alexander and Napoleon should meet at Erfurt, a town in Thuringia some sixty-five miles south-west of Leipzig.
By mid-September, when the Court was about to set out, Lisala was expecting her baby in from six to eight weeks. For some rime past, Roger had been treating her with the utmost tenderness; and waiting anxiously for her delivery, hoping that she would bear him a son. As Erfurt meant a journey of three hundred and sixty miles, he was most averse to her undertaking it. But she had been greatly enjoying herself in Paris, and was most loath both to being left alone while the Court was in Germany, and missing the many splendid entertainments which would take place at the conference. It was unlikely that the conference would last more than a fortnight; so she argued that they should be back in Paris at the latest within five weeks. In consequence, Roger reluctantly agreed to her setting out with the Empress and the Court officials who were to make the journey in moderately easy stages.
Several days later, Napoleon, who always travelled at great speed, followed, accompanied by his staff. To salvoes of cannon they entered Erfurt on September 26th. The Empress had arrived there that morning. From the Quartermaster, who had taken over the Town Hall, Roger learned that he and Lisala had been billeted not far from the centre of the town, at the house of a notary named Gunther. Eager to see Lisala, he went there at once.
No sooner had he made himself known to the notary’s wife than she exclaimed, ‘Colonel, we are in a great taking here. The long journey had most unfortunate results on your lady. When she arrived this morning, she was already in labour. I understand that her accouchement was not due for some weeks yet. But an hour ago she gave premature birth to your child.’
‘My wife?’ he asked swiftly. ‘Is she all right?’
‘Yes, yes!’ the woman assured him. ‘We called our doctor. A good man. Her delivery was quite normal.’
Brushing past her, Roger ran up the stairs three at a time. Behind a slightly-opened door on the landing he heard a faint mewling. Thrusting the door wide open, he strode into the room.
Lisala’s nurse, old Josefa Bilboa, was sitting there in an easy chair, gently rocking a bundle on her lap. As she saw Roger, her dark eyes widened with fear.
‘Is it a boy?’ Roger asked eagerly.
The old woman nodded. ‘Yes, Senhor, but …’
Advancing on her, Roger smiled and said, ‘Let me see him. Let me see my son.’
Josefa shrank back, pressing the bundle to her flaccid bosom as she whispered, ‘Senhor, be merciful. This … this will be a shock to you.’
Roger frowned. ‘Do you mean that the child is malformed?’
‘No, Senhor, no! But … but …’
Stretching out a hand, Roger pulled the swaddling clothes aside and gazed, horror-struck, at the infant.
It had curly red hair; its nose was flattened and its lips were thick; its skin was brown; beyond all doubt, it was the child of a Negro.
24
Surprise at Erfurt
Utterly aghast, Roger stared down at the small, dark, wizened creature. Never before in his life had his mind been so paralysed by shock. Momentarily his numbed brain suggested to him that he was the victim of a nightmare. He was brought back to awful real
ity by the sound of footsteps behind him. Swinging round, he saw that Frau Gunther had followed him into the room.
Wildly he sought some explanation that he could give of this scandalous event, which could not be concealed and must soon become the talk of the town, bringing disgrace upon Lisala and making him the laughing stock of everyone he knew. His normally swift reaction to unexpected situations suddenly returned to him. White-faced, he confronted the woman and said:
‘Meine Frau, I beg your indulgence in that my wife’s delivery should have occurred in your house, causing you much inconvenience. Aware of the terrible experience that befell her before she left Brazil, I had intended to take her to some secluded house, where she could have her unwanted child. But her giving birth prematurely has defeated my intentions. While in Rio de Janeiro, my wife was raped by a Negro slave.’
The portly Frau Gunther nodded sympathetically. ‘I felt sure, Herr Oberst, that there must be some such explanation. It makes me shudder to think of what the poor lady must have suffered. But please be assured that my husband and I will do everything possible for her comfort and yours.’ Pointing to a door behind him, she added, ‘Would you now like to go in and see your wife?’
Feeling that he must have time to think before deciding what to do about Lisala, Roger replied, ‘No. Her delivery having been so recent, it is essential that she should remain undisturbed. I feel, too, that for some nights at least it would be detrimental to my wife if I shared her bed; and my servant will shortly arrive with my baggage. Could you provide me with another room?’
‘I can if the Herr Oberst would not mind a small one on the top floor of the house.’
Roger raised a smile. ‘As a soldier, I consider myself lucky when I have a roof over my head. You will forgive me if I leave you now. I have urgent work to do at headquarters.’
With a bow to Frau Gunther, he stepped past her and stumped down the stairs. Turning into a high-walled alley that ran alongside the house, he paced up and down for half an hour, thinking furiously. He did not believe for one moment that Lisala had been raped; but his story that she had would at least protect him from the degradation of being secretly mocked as a cuckold, and should gain sympathy for her rather than opprobrium.
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