'When Bonaparte returned from Egypt, I realised that he was a man who could rescue France and bring order out of chaos. Both you and I helped him to attain power, and our hopes were realised—even to his agreeing to offer peace to England. And peace, peace, lasting peace, is what all Europe needs so desperately. Above all, as we have always agreed, an honest entente between our two countries is the only certain means of ensuring peace and prosperity throughout the whole world. That Pitt, Grenville and your King proved suspicious, intractable and rejected Bonaparte's overture is our great tragedy.
'But I did not despair. As First Consul Bonaparte leaned upon me, giving countless hours to absorbing what I could teach him about diplomacy of which, as a soldier, he knew virtually nothing. Again and again I prevented him from acting rashly where France's foreign relations were concerned. Yet, as time went on, he tended more and more to disregard my advice. During the past few years, there have been innumerable occasions when I have ignored his outbursts of temper and allowed him to abuse me in the language of a guttersnipe. This I have supported for one reason only. Because I believed that, as long as I retained my post as Foreign Minister, I could, better than any other, direct his policies for the good of France.
'All my efforts and the humiliations I have suffered have proved to no avail. His fantastic success has turned his head. Any sound judgment that he ever had has been eroded by his insane ambition to become the master of the world. For the welfare of France he now cares nothing. By his senseless campaigns he is bleeding her white. The flower of our youth for two generations has died upon his battlefields, as the price of his personal glory.
'I intend to continue to pay him lip service; so that, should the opportunity arise, I shall still be in a position to have a say in the future of France. My knowledge of your past activities places your life in my hands. But, even were that not so, I count on you so close a friend with views so entirely in accordance with my own, that I will tell you this. From now on, I mean to work in secret for Napoleon's downfall, because I am first and last a Frenchman and only by destroying this madman's power can France be saved from annihilation.'
Once more a Secret Agent
Next day, when Roger left Warsaw with General Gardane's calvalcade, he had plenty to think about. Talleyrand's view, that no lasting peace could exist in Europe unless France and Britain came to an agreement satisfactory to both, had long been known to him. That was one thing; but the Minister's announcement that, from passive resistance to Napoleon's policies, he was not going to take such action as he could to bring about his downfall, was quite another. With such a powerful personality as Talleyrand, it might result in extraordinary developments.
At the moment, however, Roger was much more concerned with a problem of his own. Not only was it over eighteen months since he had sent any secret information to the British Government, but after Mr. Pitt's death he would have been most averse to doing so, because for it to have been accepted as genuine he would have had to identify himself as its sender. That could have proved highly dangerous, since he had for so long been one of Pitt's most devoted adherents, whereas the men in the 'Ministry of All the Talents' had been his most vicious enemies. In consequence, to entrust the secret of his double life to any of them was a risk Roger would have taken only if he had considered the news he had to send of great importance to his country.
But now that Ministry had fallen, and George Canning was at the Foreign Office, the situation was altogether different. He knew about Roger's past services, they had met on numerous occasions and more than once discussed the progress of the war over the dinner table in Pitt's house out at Wimbledon.
Napoleon's project for forming an alliance with the Turks and Persians to harass the Russians in the south-east could have no directly damaging effect on Britain; but any move that hampered Russia was harmful to the Allied cause and, if Canning was informed of the Emperor's intention, he might possibly be able to exert sufficient pressure on the Sultan and the Shah to keep one, if not both of them, neutral. Therefore, Roger had decided overnight that, somehow, he must get this news to London.
But the problem was, how? Before leaving Finckenstein, the route Gardane's mission was to take had been settled. France being at war with Russia, it could not go by the shortest way: Warsaw, Lvov, Odessa and thence across the Black Sea. So, from Warsaw, they would go south through Cracow to Budapest, thence by water down the Danube to Constanza, and there take ship for Constantinople.
The question was, where could he make contact with someone who could be relied on to convey a message safely to England? Poland was under French control, Saxony had sided with Prussia in the recent war but caved in and been granted reasonable terms by Napoleon; thus becoming one of his allies. The Austrian Empire was now neutral, but Budapest, as the capital of Hungary, was subsidiary to Vienna; so no diplomats were stationed there. Further cast offered no opportunities and, when he reached Constantinople, even if a British diplomat was accredited to the Sultan, it would take many weeks to get a message sent by him all the way to London.
After some thought, Roger decided that the only possibility lay in Vienna. Before the break-up of the Third Coalition Britain and Austria had been allies. Although the Austrians had been defeated by the French and the Emperor Francis driven from his capital, since peace between them had been restored he, and the diplomats accredited to his Court, would have returned there. There seemed then a good chance that, if Roger could get to Vienna, his problem would be solved.
But Vienna was some one hundred and forty miles from Budapest, and Roger knew diat Gardane had already sent a galloper ahead to arrange that craft should be procured and made ready to take the mission down the Danube; so the odds were that it would not remain in the Hungarian capital more than a couple of days at most.
That night they put up at the only inn in a small, dreary town. The senior officers shared the few rooms, while their juniors occupied adjacent houses and their servants the barns and stabling. Having brought their food and cooks with them, they ate a passable meal. Afterwards Roger said to Gardane:
'Mon General, I am a great lover of travel and have visited most European capitals, but not Budapest. So I should like to spend at least four or five days there. The pace at which your mission can proceed is naturally limited to that of the pack animals, which carry our supplies. I am sure, therefore, that you will have no objection to my setting off ahead of you tomorrow. Then I'll be certain of getting my few days in Budapest.'
Although Roger had been formally attached to Gardane's mission, he had no duties to perform, and the fact that he was a member of Napoleon's personal staff placed him in a privileged position. The General was much too sensible a man to antagonise one of the Emperor's people by refusing a quite reasonable request. So he replied with a smile:
'By all means, Breuc. I only wish I were able to leave the party myself and spend four or five nights in Budapest smacking the bottoms of a few pretty Hungarian girls.'
That first day from Warsaw they had covered a little under forty miles, so Roger reckoned it would take the cavalcade at least another week to reach Budapest; whereas he had often ridden over a hundred miles in a day, so he should be able to do the journey easily in three. This left him a margin of four days, which would be ample for him to accomplish the journey between the Hungarian and Austrian capitals and be back in the former before Gardane reached it.
He had himself called at four o'clock the following morning, left his soldier servant to bring on his baggage and, travelling as light as possible, set off for Cracow, arriving there that evening. The best hostelry in the big town was reasonably comfortable and he enjoyed a good supper. The long ride had taken a lot out of his charger, so he left it with the head ostler, to be collected when the French mission arrived there, and arranged to complete his journey by Post.
The next night he had to spend at a miserable inn, but he reached Budapest at midday on the 19th. Deciding that he could
well afford a badly-needed rest, he went straight to bed and slept for five hours. After waking and dressing, he then made his preparations for the following day.
While at Finckenstein he had procured from the Quartermaster a uniform—one of the many that had belonged to officers who had died from their wounds. It was by no means as elegant as the one he had been wearing on the morning of Eylau, but fairly new, fitted him reasonably well, and was suitable enough. But it was out of the question for him to pay a visit to a British diplomat dressed as a French officer. So, producing some of the gold from his money-belt, he arranged with the landlord of the Turk's Head, where he had put up, to get for him second-hand civilian clothes of good quality.
By the time he had made a leisurely supper off fresh-water ecrevisse, broiled with fennel, a Gulyas of veal and goose livers washed down with a bottle of potent red wine that rejoiced in the name of 'Bulls' Blood of Badescony', the landlord was able to produce numerous articles of clothing for his inspection. He chose a pair of fawn riding breeches, a plum-coloured coat with brass buttons—not because he liked it, but because it fitted him best—a saffron waistcoat sprigged with flowers, a grey cloak and a grey, truncated-steeple hat; then asked to be called at three o'clock, and was in bed and asleep again before ten.
Much refreshed by his two five-hour sleeps, long before dawn, riding Post again, he was on his way to Vienna. On this journey it would be his longest day yet, for the Austrian capital lay a hundred and forty miles to the west. At ten o'clock he spent an hour having breakfast at one of the posting houses where he changed horses. At four in the afternoon he dined at another, and afterwards dozed for a while in an armchair. On the last stage he was very saddle-sore and weary, but kept himself going by occasional pulls at a flask of Beratsch—a potent dry Hungarian spirit made from a distillation of apricots—and he entered Vienna shortly after eight o'clock in the evening.
Sliding from his horse in the yard of the Double Eagle, he threw the reins to an ostler, waited only for the man to unstrap and hand to him the small valise he had brought with him, then limped into the commodious inn. Too tired to bother about food, he ordered a quart of Gluwein and had himself shown straight up to a bedroom. The hot-spiced brew arrived soon after he had pulled off his clothes and flopped into bed. When he had drunk only half of it, he snuffed his candle and, within a few minutes, was sound asleep.
Next morning he awoke stiff and sore, but had no necessity to hurry out; so he had a hip-bath and a dozen cans of hot water brought up to his room. The warmth of the bath relaxed his muscles and, after lingering there for a quarter of an hour, he felt in much better condition to face the day ahead of him. He also felt ravenously hungry and ate a hearty breakfast. Then he asked for writing materials, and sat down to write a letter to Mr. Canning.
Having congratulated the Minister upon his recent appointment, he went on to express his confidence that, with him at the Foreign Office, Britain would pursue a more vigorous policy than had been the case under the late, supine Government.
He then reported on the poor state to which the Grande Armee had been reduced since Eylau, and gave concise particulars about Gardane's mission, its object and probable consequences should it prove successful.
Instead of signing the letter, he wrote as a last paragraph:
This comes from he who teas accompanying you back to London after dining out at Wimbledon on the night that one of the wheels of your coach came off, and on your being thrown violently sideways, you badly bruised your cheek.
He felt certain that Canning could not have forgotten the episode; but no one else into whose hands the letter happened to fall could possibly know that Canning's companion that night, after dining with Mr. Pitt, had been Roger Brook.
Having sanded and scaled his letter, he asked the way to the Hofberg and went out into the town.
The capital of a great empire, Vienna had long rivalled Paris as the finest city in Europe; so Roger was not surprised at the sight of its many fine buildings, the handsome equipages with liveried coachmen and footmen, and throng of well-clad people in the streets. Making his way to the Hofberg, he asked one of the porters there to direct him to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. As he had thought probable, it was housed in one of the wings of the vast Palace. After crossing two courtyards, he located it and enquired from a clerk at a desk in a lofty vestibule the whereabouts of the British Embassy. Learning that it was no great distance away, on the far side of the Maria Theresa Platz, he decided to walk; and, on his way, enjoyed the sight of the fine gardens surrounded by a number of other imposing buildings.
On arriving at the Embassy, he learned that no British Ambassador was at present accredited to the Court of Vienna, but that for the past ten months, a Mr. Robert Adair had been en paste there as Minister Plenipotentiary. Giving his name as John Hickson, Roger said that he was a British subject, and would be grateful if the Minister would grant him a very brief interview on a very urgent matter.
After a wait of some ten minutes, Roger was piloted by a portly major-domo up a flight of broad, marble stairs and into a lofty, square room with much gilt decoration. Behind a large desk a middle-aged man with bushy side-whiskers was sitting. As Roger entered, he stood up. They exchanged bows, then he asked:
'What can I do for you, Mr. Hickson?'
Roger produced his letter and replied, T have only a simple request to make, Sir; that you will despatch this missive by safe hand at the earliest possible opportunity to Mr. Canning.'
Mr. Adair raised a pair of thick, arched eyebrows and said, 'It is not usual practice for us to transmit private correspondence; but as your letter is to the Minister of Foreign Affairs . . . May I enquire if you are aquainted with him?'
'No, Sir,' Roger lied glibly. 'But its contents will, I am sure, be of considerable interest to him.'
The Minister waved Roger to a chair. 'Perhaps you would be good enough to tell me why you think so.'
As Roger sat down, he smiled and said, 'I did not wish to take your valuable time and bore you, Sir, with particulars about myself. But, since you wish, this is my situation. I am the head of one of the concerns that have their quarters in a large compound termed "The English Factory" in St. Petersburg. Our principal trade is in furs, and one of our best markets is Budapest. Recently I had occasion to go thither. I am fluent in several languages, so while travelling through the area occupied by the French Army, I passed myself off as a German. One evening, while dining at an inn in East Prussia, there were three French officers, obviously of high rank, dining at an adjacent table. As I had been talking to the waiter in German, they must have assumed that I was unacquainted with their language, so they talked quite freely. They were discussing a plan of the Emperor Napoleon's which could cause considerable harm to the Allied cause. So I thought it my duty to send word of it to our Foreign Secretary.'
'Indeed!' Mr. Adair's interest had visibly increased. 'But is there any reason why you should not disclose it to me?'
'None, Sir. But as it concerns the Near East, there is naught that you can do to thwart this project here in Vienna, so I thought it more practical to send the information direct to Mr. Canning.'
The Minister remained thoughtful for a moment, then he said:
'Since you take that view, I will not press you. But it is evident, Mr. Hickson, that you are a superior person, capable of forming judgments on international affairs—and very conscious of your duty to your country. I should like to talk further with you, so I should be happy if you would remain to luncheon.'
Roger stood up, laid his letter on the desk, smiled and bowed. 'I am honoured by your invitation, Sir, and would be delighted to accept it. Yet I must reluctantly decline, because
I have come a hundred and forty miles out of my way in order to get this letter sent to London; and, for business reasons, I must return as speedily as possible to Budapest. I plan to set out this afternoon.'
They parted cordially, and Roger felt there was a g
ood possibility of his having achieved his object. No one would ever know that Mr. Roger Brook, or Colonel le Chevalier de Breuc, had visited Vienna. He had been averse to disclosing the contents of his letter to Mr. Adair, in case, through him or his staff, it got out prematurely that the English were aware of Napoleon's schemes regarding Turkey and Persia. Even should Adair have the letter steamed open, or it fall into wrong hands on its way to London, at least he had protected himself from becoming known as its author.
On leaving the Embassy he spent an hour and a half wandering round the older part of the city, paid an all-too-brief visit to the magnificent Stefans Kirk, then went into the shop of a goldsmith in the Kohlmarkt.
While on his way from Warsaw he had spent a considerable amount of time debating with himself how he should proceed when he reached Constantinople. Having sent his letter to Canning, he had small hopes of doing anything further to thwart Napoleon's plans; but he was anxious to have a source of information about how negotiations were proceeding, independent of what Gardane might tell him and, if possible, leam what view the Turks really took of the General's proposals. This could differ considerably from that Gardane might optimistically assume, owing to the traditional duplicity of Orientals.
Given luck, Roger thought he might achieve direct communication with the Sultan's advisers; but, as an opening move, he would have to produce a handsome present. So, at the goldsmith's, he bought a pair of not very tall, but charmingly-designed gold candlesticks.
Soon after midday he lunched at the Double Eagle and, reluctant as he was to leave Vienna without seeing more of that fine city, immediately afterwards paid his reckoning and started on his return journey. By evening he reached Prcssburg, where he had had a meal and dozed for a while the previous afternoon; dined and slept there. That left him only a hundred miles to cover the next day. On the evening of the 22nd, he was back in Budapest.
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