When he rejoined Dutoff, the Hetman said, 'Colonel,, to my great regret, I cannot avoid taking you to the mansion in which officer prisoners of war are confined. But I see no reason why I should do so as yet. At least I can first offer you luncheon in my Mess.'
'You are most kind,' Roger replied, 'and I accept with pleasure.'
They then rode on to one of the better houses in the town, handed their horses over to orderlies and went in through a spacious hall to a lobby in which Roger was at least able to have a wash and attempt to comb out his tangled hair. Dutoff then took him along to a room in which a score or so of Cossack officers were drinking and chatting.
Roger's ablutions had done little to improve his appearance. On the morning of Eylau he had been wearing a brilliant uniform, but Znamensk had ripped from it all the gold lace and his A.D.C.'s scarf. One of his field boots had been cut off, so that his broken ankle could be bandaged up, and in its place he had been given only a felt sabot. The Baron had also robbed him of his fur cloak, and that morning nothing better could be found for him to travel in than a tattered bearskin. Working and sleeping for five weeks in his coat and breeches had further added to their dirty and dilapidated state
and, having had no opportunity or means to shave since the battle, he now sported an inch-long beard.
It was little wonder that the officers could not hide their surprise at Dutoff's having brought such a bedraggled and unsightly guest into their Mess. But no sooner had the Hetman introduced him and given a brief version of his misfortunes than they became most friendly.
His gift for readily getting on well with people swiftly enabled Roger to gain the sympathy of his hosts and acceptance of him as an unusual personality. The fact that he was an aide-de-camp of the fabulous Corsican brigand who had made Catherine, and of another night when he and the giant Grand to make them regard him with awe. Most of these Cossack officers came from the distant Steppes and had never visited St. Petersburg. Over luncheon Roger enthralled them with an account of how, when he was scarcely out of his teens,1 he had one night been bidden to dine tete-a-tete with the great Catherine, and of another night when he and the giant Grand Admiral, Alexis Orloff, one of Catherine's many lovers, had got drunk together.
After Eylau, both armies were so weakened that there was no prospect of either taking the offensive for some time; so the Cossacks were acting only as a cavalry screen and made occasional forays to secure supplies. In consequence, they sat over lunch until past five o'clock, and the party broke up only as dusk was approaching.
Roger had been generously plied with a variety of liquors but, having in mind one very important matter that he hoped to arrange before passing out of Dutoff's custody, he had managed to keep sober. As they left the table, he drew the Russian aside, and said:
'Hetman, I have a request to make. You will agree, I am sure, that no soldier wishes to remain a prisoner of war for longer than he is compelled to. I am in the happy position of having known the Emperor Napoleon ever since he won his first laurels as a down-at-heels Artillery officer at the siege of Toulon. If he is informed that I am not dead, but a prisoner, I am confident that he will arrange for my exchange with an officer of equivalent rank. Will you' be good enough to inform General Bagration that I am here at Insterburg, and request him to send that information to French headquarters under the next flag of truce?'
'Indeed I will,' Dutoff replied, 'and most willingly. I sincerely hope that an exchange for you will be arranged.'
Going out into the courtyard, he called for their horses. Having mounted, they rode three-quarters of a mile to a mansion on the far side of the town. It was surrounded by a garden and orchard enclosed by a wall, outside which sentries were lazily patrolling. At the main gate there was a lodge which had been converted into a reception office. There Dutoff handed over his prisoner, full particulars of whom were taken down; then they bade one another a friendly farewell.
Greatly curious to see what his new accommodation would be like, Roger, escorted by a Lieutenant who spoke a little French, crossed the garden and entered the big house. In the inner hall a dozen depressed-looking officers were either drowsing on old sofas, talking without animation or playing cards. They favoured Roger with only an idle glance as the Lieutenant took him straight upstairs and threw open the door of a bedroom furnished with only die bare necessities. Then he said:
'Monsieur, you are fortunate, as at the moment we have not many officer prisoners. In consequence, as you are a Colonel, you have been allotted a room to yourself. One of the soldier-servants will bring you things for your toilette and perhaps be able to find you some better clothes. The evening meal will be served in about an hour. When you feel like it come downstairs and make yourself known to the others.'
As Roger had no luggage to unpack, he sat down on the edge of the bed and, thinking things over, decided that, had the room not been so cold, it seemed that he would not have much to complain about.
Some ten minutes later, the soldier-servant arrived, bringing with him soap, a razor and a very small towel. Having deposited them on a wooden table, he conveyed by signs that the wash-room was at the end of the corridor.
To his surprise Roger thanked him in Russian and raised the question of his securing for him some extra blankets and a pair of comfortable boots.
The man responded pleasantly. He thought he could find a bearskin rug to go on the bed and tomorrow would go to the hospital. Now and then French officers who had been badly wounded when captured, died there, then their clothes were at the disposal of others who might need them.
Alone once more, Roger regarded himself in a small mirror that, with the exception of a crucifix, was the only thing on the bare walls. He was shocked by his reflection. Due to malnutrition his cheeks had fallen in; his hair, despite the combing he had given it before lunch, looked like a bird's nest, and the lower part of his face was covered with an inch-long stubble of brown hair.
Picking up the shaving things, he was about to go to the wash-room and remove his beard. But, on second thoughts, he decided against it. There had been times when he had worn a beard and, given certain circumstances, to have one now might stand him in good stead. At such times he had posed under a second alias that he used on a few occasions.
He happened to have, on his mother's side, a cousin of nearly the same age as himself, who later became the Earl of Kildonan. His mother's people had been Jacobites and had been furious when she ran away to marry his father, the Admiral, a staunch supporter of the Hanoverian line. They had disowned her and, after Prince Charles Edward's abortive attempt to regain the throne for his father in 1745, they had gone into exile, attending the Court of the Stuart Pretender in Rome. In consequence, Roger's cousin being so remote from France and England, Roger had now and then used his identity.
Having done his best to tidy his hair, he went downstairs. Again the depressed-looking scattering of officers in the big, echoing hall took scant notice of him, apart from a few of them nodding a greeting; as they imagined him to be of no particular interest and fust another unfortunate condemned to share their dreary existence. But one young man stood up, smiled and said:
'Monsieur, there are few grounds for welcoming you here, but at least it is pleasant to see a new face in our unhappy company. I am Captain Pierre d'Esperbes of the Hussars of Conflans, at your service.'
Roger returned his smile. 'Indeed, then you must be a brave fellow, since you hold that rank under such a dashing commander as Brigadier Gerard. I am happy to make your acquaintance. My name is Breuc, and I have the honour to be a member of His Imperial Majesty's personal staff.'
There was a sudden tension perceptible among the other officers. Those who were napping sat up. The four at the card table ceased playing and one of them exclaimed, 'Not "le brave Breuc", the hero of a hundred exploits and the man who saved the Emperor from assassination when we were in Venice?'
'I am called that, although quite unworthy of the soubri
quet,' Roger replied modestly. 'I am sure that I have done nothing that any of you might not have done had you been in my place at the time.'
They all came to their feet and crowded round him, plying him with questions. 'How long have you been a prisoner?' 'How did you come to be captured?' 'Your limp implies that you were wounded in the leg; have you just come from the hospital?' 'Have you any news of how the campaign is going?' 'How comes it that your uniform has been so stripped of all signs of your rank so that we took you for a junior officer of little account?'
For the next twenty minutes, Roger gave his new companions an account of what had befallen him. Then they were summoned to their evening meal. In a long, dimly-lit room they partook of it. The food was plentiful, but uninteresting. There was no wine which, being a life-long accompaniment of every meal, these Frenchmen bitterly resented; but each of them was provided with a good ration of vodka.
During the meal and after, when they had adjourned to the hall, Roger was plied with questions about the Emperor. In the now huge French Army, very few junior officers had ever been spoken to by him or met any member of the Bonaparte family; and they were eager to hear what the great man and his horde of relatives were really like.
Roger spoke with great admiration of his master as an administrator as well as a general. Then when he came to the family, he was careful that his criticisms should not sound too malicious.
Napoleon's mother, Letizia, he said, was a woman of immense determination, but narrow mind. Left a widow, she had overcome every sort of difficulty to bring her large family up to be honest and God-fearing. A typical Corsican, she had once remarked that, if faced with a vendetta, she could count on two hundred kinsmen to take up their weapons on her behalf. Her native language was an Italian patois, and she could still talk French only with difficulty. She had flatly refused to play any part in Napoleon's self-aggrandisement so, perforce, he had had to content himself with styling her simply as 'Madame Mere'. When her other children were in trouble, she always took the side of the weakest. She strongly disapproved of the splendour with which Napoleon, as Emperor, now surrounded himself; could not be convinced that his incredible rise to power would be lasting and hoarded the greater part of the huge income he insisted on giving her, so that, in the event of disaster overwhelming him and the Kings, Princes and Princesses into which he had made her other children, she would have enough money to support them all. She was religious, austere and, on occasion, could even browbeat her greatest son into giving way to her wishes.
The only person from whom Madame Mere would take advice was her half-brother, Joseph Fesch, a little abbe who, during Napoleon's first glorious campaign in Italy, had temporarily abandoned the Church to become an army contractor, and made a small fortune out of selling his 'nephew' equipment of dubious quality. He had then returned to his religious duties and, when Napoleon had made his Concordat with the Pope, included in the deal had been the elevation of 'Uncle' Fesch to Cardinal Archbishop of Lyons. Still able and avaricious where money was concerned, he now owned vast properties and was extremely rich.
Joseph, the eldest of Letizia's sons, had been trained as a lawyer, and was a very able man. Fat, good-natured and honest, he gave Napoleon less trouble than his younger brothers. But he was no diplomat, a worse soldier and a poor administrator. The Emperor had, a few months earlier, actually had to push him into becoming King of Naples, as he would have much preferred a quiet life without responsibilities.
Luden, a tall, awkward fellow with gangling limbs, was the enfant terrible of the family. From his teens, he had been a red-hot Revolutionary; even changing his name to Brutus. A Deputy of the Convention, chance had elevated him to be its President during the month of the coup d'etat and he had made a major contribution to Napoleon's becoming First Consul. But he had done everything possible to obstruct his brother's ambitious measures to make himself a dictator. Although he declared himself to be a true representative of the people, he had not scrupled, as Minister of the Interior, to divert millions of francs from the Treasury into his own pocket, and to use his power to advance the fortunes of a score of ambitious men as the price of their wives becoming temporarily his mistresses; for he was a born lecher. At length, glutted with enough gold to make him independent of his brother for life, he had quarrelled violently with him, and had taken himself off as a private citizen to Italy. Roger declared roundly that he despised and loathed him.
Napoleon, when a poor student at the Ecole de la Guerre, had sent for his brother, Louis, to Paris to share his cheap lodging, and had, himself, educated the boy. For years the Emperor had been under the delusion that Louis had the makings of a military genius. But Louis detested soldiering, and proved a great disappointment. Josephine, in the hope of getting a foot into the camp of her husband's family, who loathed her, had pushed her daughter, Hortense dc Beauharnais, into marrying Louis. As they disliked each other intensely, the marriage was far from being a success. Louis had become a neurotic, jealous, hypochondriac. Adamantly determined on the aggrandisement of his family, Napoleon had made him King of Holland; but he was disliked by all who came in contact with him and, with gross ingratitude, did everything he could to cause trouble for his illustrious brother.
Jerome, the youngest son, had proved equally troublesome. He had been put into the Navy. In 1803, during a courtesy visit by his ship to the United States, he had gone ashore at Baltimore, and there had been so feted as 'the brother of the already legendary First Consul, General Bonaparte, that he had stayed on without leave, fallen in love with a Miss Elizabeth Paterson, the daughter of a merchant, and married her. Napoleon, having already conceived the ambition of marrying off his brothers and sisters to Princesses and Princes, was furious. In vain he had endeavoured to persuade the Pope to annul the marriage; then, not to be thwarted, when he became Emperor, he had dissolved it by an Imperial decree. Greatly disgruntled, Jerome had returned to France and, in the previous autumn, had sullenly obeyed his all-powerful brother's order to marry the Princess Catherine of Wurttemberg.
Napoleon had, too, been unlucky in the matter of an alliance for his eldest sister, Eliza. In 1797, while he was in Italy, behind his back his mother had married her off to a Corsican landowner named Bacciocchi, a moron of a fellow who had taken sixteen years to rise from Second Lieutenant to Captain in the Army. Realising that no possible use could be made of him, Napoleon had given Bacciocchi a profitable administrative sinecure in Corsica, and sent them back there. Dumpy and plain, although physically less highly sexed than others of her family, Eliza's mind seized avidly upon everything to do with eroticism. A born blue-stocking, her great ambition was to become a famous patroness of the arts and letters. Having badgered Napoleon to allow her to return to Paris, she had started a salon. It failed to attract any but second-rate men of talent, and she made herself a laughing stock by designing an absurd uniform to be worn by all the members of a literary society she had formed. In due course, as Emperor and King of Italy Napoleon, much as he disliked her, had given her the Principalities of Piombino and Lucca; but she ruled them with such ability that he later said of her that she was his best Minister.
About Pauline, by far the loveliest of the sisters, and considered to be the most beautiful woman in Paris, Roger was somewhat reticent, refraining from disclosing that her beauty was equalled only by her lechery. In her teens, Napoleon had approved her marriage to General Leclerc, because he was an aristocrat. But Leclerc had died of yellow fever in Dominica. She had then become Roger's mistress but, during his enforced absence from Paris, married again, this time Prince Borghese—not because she loved him, but so that she might wear his fabulous family emeralds, and on account of his vast wealth. Borghese had proved a poor bed companion but, even had he not been, that could not have prevented pretty Pauline from enjoying her favourite pastime with a score of handsome young men, both before and after her second marriage. Napoleon had given her the Principality of Guestalla in her own
right, but she was fated to derive little pleasure from it, as she loathed having to give up the magnificent palace in Paris on which she had spent a fortune in decorating with admirable taste; and she had since become the victim of chronic ill health.
The youngest sister, Caroline, had, apart from Napoleon, a better brain than any other Bonaparte. She also shared his ruthlessness and inordinate ambition, but not his generosity and loyalty to friends. When very young she had fallen in love with the flamboyant Murat, doggedly resisted all Napoleon's efforts to persuade her to accept other suitors that would have better served his own plans and, on leaving school, married the great cavalry leader.
On becoming Emperor, Napoleon had created Joseph's wife, Julie, and Louis' wife, Hortense, Imperial Highness; but he had not bestowed that rank on his three sisters. At a family celebration dinner at which he had announced these honours, Pauline was absent in Italy. The other two had been hardly able to contain their rage at his neglect of them, so had gone to the Tuileries next day. All the Bonapartes had extremely violent tempers and habitually threw the most appalling scenes whenever they suffered a disappointment. The two women had screamed abuse at their brother until he had agreed to make them, and Pauline, also Imperial Highnesses.
During 1806, the Emperor had entirely remade the map of Germany; first welding numerous small Principalities into the Confederation of the Rhine. He had then deprived various states of portions of their territories, to create the Grand Duchy of Berg-Cleves, and made the Murats its sovereigns. Caroline had since been busily dissipating its revenues but, her ambitions still unsatisfied, had packed her stupid, gallant husband off to Poland, in the hope that the Emperor would make him king of that country.
There remained the Emperor's stepson, Eugene de Beauharnais. Napoleon had always had a great fondness for him and, while still a boy, had taken him on his campaigns as an A.D.C. Eugene, although not brilliant, was honest, capable and devoted to his stepfather. In 1805, Napoleon had made him Viceroy of Italy and, in the following year, -formed another valuable alliance by marrying him off to the Princess Augusta of Bavaria.
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