Two factors accounted for the Duke of Wellington’s outstanding success as a General: his unceasing care that his men should be well-fed, well-shod and suitably clothed, and the unusual combination in a military commander of the resolution to launch sudden offensives with the utmost vigour but coupled, normally, with almost excessive caution.
It was the latter which had determined him—although his army could now have invaded France almost unopposed—not to cross the frontier while leaving the two great fortresses of Pamplona and San Sebastian still in the hands of the enemy and therefore capable of interfering with the smooth running of his lines of communication.
On learning this, Roger realised at once that it might be several weeks before the British army crossed the Pyrenees, so he must do so on his own; and since it was evident that Charles had been captured somewhere in Germany, he must make his way there as quickly as possible.
A quarter-master secured for him the uniform of a French Colonel of Chasseurs, who had recently died from wounds, and an additional horse to carry his baggage, including a sufficient supply of food and wine to last him several days. A staff officer showed him on a large-scale map the disposition of the French forces in the mountains, as far as they were known, and provided him with a laisser-passer to show any British or Spanish advanced patrols that he might encounter. Then, on the morning of August 2nd, he took leave of the Duke and set out for Paris, the first five-hundred-mile stage of his long journey.
Owing to Napoleon’s heavy withdrawals of troops from Spain for his campaign in Germany, and the almost total destruction of King Joseph’s army six weeks earlier at Vittoria, it was known that the French forces along the Pyrenees were comparatively few in number and still in a state of grave disorder. So Roger decided that, rather than make a long detour round their left flank, he would risk approaching the mountains direct in the neighbourhood of Tolosa, which lay half-way between Pamplona and San Sebastian.
His first day’s ride proved extremely fatiguing, as the heat was torrid, and he gained only temporary relief by resting for two hours in the shade of a wood during the early afternoon; but by evening he was well up into the foothills of the mountains. As the sun was setting he came upon an isolated farmhouse and, on learning that he was an Englishman, the owner willingly gave him a meal and a bed for the night.
By midday the next day, in a much more pleasant climate, he entered a pass high up in the mountains. He was halted there by the most advanced of the numerous Allied patrols that had stopped him, and ordered to show his papers. The troops were Spaniards recently embodied from what had previously been a guerrilla band, and their leader, now an officer, gave him useful information about the situation of the French units on the far side of the pass.
Shortly before reaching the highest point in the pass he came upon a side track leading into an area of large, tumbled rocks. Having made his way along the path for a few hundred yards, he tethered the horses, ate a picnic meal; then, hidden by big boulders, unpacked his valise and changed into the French Colonel’s uniform. As he had no further use for his civilian clothes, he buried them under a pile of shale, and he abandoned his spare horse, since having it would conflict with the story he meant to tell on reaching the French lines. He remounted his own horse, returned to the rough road through the pass and proceeded on his way.
It was not until nearly an hour later, on rounding a corner of the downward slope, that he encountered a French vedette. It consisted only of a sergeant and four men. They were naturally greatly surprised to see a senior French officer alone up there in the mountains; but he told them that he had succeeded by night in getting through the British who were besieging San Sebastian, and was on his way to King Joseph’s headquarters, with an urgent plea that the King should attempt to relieve the city, otherwise it must soon surrender. The sergeant willingly gave him directions on how to reach the nearest main road, and by nightfall he entered Bayonne.
At headquarters there Roger learned that the Emperor, infuriated by his brother’s defeat at Vittoria, had recalled both the King and Marshal Jourdan in disgrace, and, in July sent Soult post-haste back from Germany to resume command of the army now defending the Pyrenees. This could, Roger felt, be bad news for Wellington when he received it, for after Davout and Masséna, Soult was considered to be the most able of the Marshals and, as a strategist, could be counted on to make the Allied invasion of France much more difficult than would one of the braver but less brainy Marshals, such as Ney or Augereau.
The Duc de Dalmatia was not at his H.Q., as he had gone up country with his staff to make a personal reconnaissance before launching a new offensive; but the able General Clausel, whom Roger had met on numerous occasions, was there. Roger told him the story of having been caught in San Sebastian, and his success in having got by night through the British lines, in the hope of securing aid for the beleaguered city. The lie provided yet another episode to support the legend in the French Army which had led to his becoming known as ‘le brave Breuc,’ and Clausel praised his courage, but said there was little hope of relieving San Sebastian unless the Marshal Duke’s projected offensive proved successful.
Clausel had no news of the situation in northern Europe. As far as he knew, the armistice agreed at Pläswitz, which had been reinforced by the Treaty of Reichenbach later in June, still continued and, in view of Roger’s reputation, he asked him to remain in a post on his staff. But Roger replied that only circumstances over which he had had no control had compelled him to remain in Spain, and now that he had got out of that miserable country it was his duty, as one of the Emperor’s A.D.C.s, to return to him.
That night, at dinner in the headquarters Mess, he met several old acquaintances, and passed an enjoyable evening. Then he set off again early the next morning, on the road to Paris. He had travelled it several times before, so knew well the cities through which he passed: Bordeaux, Angoulême, Poitiers, Tours and Orleans. There being no urgent necessity for speed, he did not tire himself unduly, and was content to cover an average of something over fifty miles a day. This gave him ample opportunity to observe conditions in the cities and the countryside along the way, and he found them deplorable.
In his youth, before the Revolution, and even after it during the Directory, the Consulate and the early years of the Empire, the towns had been a bustle of healthy people, going eagerly about their business; fat, jolly women behind market stalls heaped high with produce, the narrow streets jammed with carriages, wagons and horsemen; while in the fields and vineyards sturdy men worked and chaffed beside buxom peasant girls; there were herds of fat cattle and goats, big piggeries and many haystacks.
Now the population of the urban areas was old, slow-moving and looked half-starved. The only young males among them were one-legged, hobbling along on crutches, blind and tapping their way along with a stick, or with bodies hideously distorted by war wounds. In the streets there were no carriages, few wagons and no horsemen, while two-thirds of the market stalls were empty. Between the towns things were little better. Only cripples and greybeards now worked in the fields beside the women. The herds were gone, all but a few scraggy cattle and horses had been commandeered, and not more than once in a mile could a haystack be seen.
To this terrible state, by his insatiable lust for power had the Corsican brigand reduced the once fair land of France.
On Thursday, August 14th, Roger reached Paris, and rode straight to Talleyrand’s great mansion in the Rue St. Florentin. He arrived there just before six o’clock in the evening. As that was a favourite hour for gallants to dally with ladies they wished to seduce in their boudoirs, and knowing the brilliant statesman’s insatiable zest for amorous encounters, Roger feared he might be engaged. But that did not prove to be the case. His Exalted Highness Charles Maurice de Périgord, Prince de Benevent, Vice Grand Elector of the Empire, was at home and, on Roger’s name being brought to him, at once ordered the footman to show him ill.
Talleyrand was at this time fifty-nine years of age. As the eldest son of an ancient, princely family, he would normally have gone into the Army, but an accident while still a child had lamed him for life, and led to his being made to go into the Church. Few men could have been less fitted for the priesthood, as he was venal and so licentious that he was reputed to have slept with scores of the loveliest ladies at the Court of Versailles. That had not prevented his becoming Bishop of Autun, and a leading figure among those who brought about the liberal revolution of 1789. He was among the first to defy the Pope and adhere to the new French National Church, but with the coming of the Terror he was forced to go into exile, first in England then in the United States. From that time he threw off even the pretence of being a Churchman, and later married.
Never having been officially listed as an émigré, he was able to return to France soon after the fall of Robespierre and, under the Directory, began his brilliant career as the manipulator of France’s foreign policy. Although Paris was then still dominated by the new ideas brought in by the Revolution, he contemptuously refused to conform, continued to dress in silks and satins, wore his hair powdered and lived again as a great noble.
By ’99 France was bankrupt and the whole country in a hopeless state of disorder. Realising that solvency and law and order could be restored only by government under a strong dictator led to his conspiring with the redoubtable Fouché to bring about the coup d’état of Brumaire, which led to young General Bonaparte being made First Consul on his return from Egypt. For the greater part of the ten years that followed Talleyrand, as Foreign Minister, and Fouché, as Chief of Police, had been, after Napoleon, the most powerful men in France.
To begin with, Napoleon, knowing nothing of foreign policy, had allowed himself to be guided by Talleyrand; but as the years passed, the Emperor had become ever more convinced of his own omnipotence, and had acted contrary to his Minister’s advice. He had, as Talleyrand had believed he would, brought order out of chaos; but, again and again he refused all opportunities to make peace, and Talleyrand saw that, having restored France, he was now destroying her by his ceaseless wars waged for his own aggrandisement. In consequence, in 1807 he had resigned his portfolio and refused to serve the Emperor further.
Nevertheless, Napoleon was so bewitched by Talleyrand’s genius for statescraft that, having made him a Prince and one of the six Great Dignitaries of the Empire, he continued to consult him on all important questions.
Talleyrand had known Roger ever since he had first come to Paris as the youthful secretary to the Marquis de Rochambeau. In those pre-revolutionary days the Abbé, as he then was—although he had already taken to wearing the lay clothes of a Court exquisite—lived in a small house in the suburb of Passey. After an attack by footpads, Roger had been carried there unconscious, and his babblings had revealed the fact that he was an Englishman. A friendship had sprung up between them and, several years later, it was Roger who had secured the papers that had enabled Talleyrand to escape the guillotine and get safely out of France.
That was one reason why, still later, even when Roger had re-appeared in Paris as an A.D.C. to Napoleon, Talleyrand had kept it secret that Roger was the son of a British Admiral. But there was also another reason. From the very beginning, the great statesman had held the conviction that there could be no lasting peace in Europe unless France and Britain ceased their long enmity and became allies—a belief that Roger fully shared. To that end Talleyrand had ever worked secretly and consistently, and he had astutely decided that if Roger was a secret agent the damage he could do France was outweighed by his usefulness as an abettor of his own intrigues; as had proved the case at the time of the coup d’état. More recently, when he had secured actual proof that Roger was a spy, he had still refrained from denouncing him because, when at last the Emperor’s downfall could be brought about, Roger would prove a trustworthy go-between to vouch for it to the British Government that he, Talleyrand, had contributed to that fall and was the most suitable man to guide France into an entente cordiale with Britain.
In consequence, on this August evening the two met as old friends, although on Talleyrand’s part with pleased surprise. Limping forward from behind his huge, mahogany desk, he laid a beautifully-manicured, beruffled hand on Roger’s arm and exclaimed:
‘Mon cher ami! How delighted I am to see you. I had believed you long since dead in those accursed Russian snows.’
Roger returned his smile. ‘Nay, Prince. ’Twas a devilish near thing, and by ill chance I became separated from the Emperor, so had to hide while the tide of war swept over me. But after several nightmare weeks, half-frozen and starving, I succeeded in reaching Reval. Thence I took ship to Stockholm, where I was kindly received by Bernadotte.’
‘How fares that Gascon rogue?’
‘I found him in excellent trim. As Crown Prince he has become very popular with his Swedes and, as you must know, has had the good sense to enter into an alliance with both Russia and Britain.’
‘Indeed I do, for they have paid his price—a free hand to oust the Danes from Norway. He offered to remain neutral if the Emperor could give him that, but Napoleon dared not, otherwise he would have lost the Danes as allies.’
‘I had no idea that Bernadotte had been playing with both sides.’
‘Ah, he’s a sly one. But, mark my words. The new Coalition will derive little benefit from the army he has landed in Stralsund. He’ll let the others do the fighting, and just stand by to pull his share of chestnuts out of the fire when all is over.’
‘Think you this autumn’s campaign will at last see an end to the war?’
Talleyrand had told the footman who had shown Roger in to bring champagne. The man now returned with it. While it was being poured and until the man had left the room, the statesman remained silent. Then, raising his glass, he said, ‘Here’s defeat and damnation to the scourge of France. But when it will come no man can say. Everything is still in the melting pot.’
Roger willingly drank the toast, then frowned. ‘I am at a complete loss to understand why, after he had lost his army in Russia, the Prussians did not seize the chance to turn on him at once and, with the Russians, finish him off.’
‘In last winter’s campaign, the Russians suffered nearly as severely as their enemies. After they had driven what remained of the Grande Armée over the frontier into Poland, they were too exhausted and wasted by disease to launch an offensive. Remember, too, that although our field army had been almost annihilated, we still had many thousands of troops in Poland, Prussia, Saxony and other German States, and garrisons in every fortress city of importance. When Murat abandoned the command the Emperor had left with him, and made off to his Kingdom of Naples, Prince Eugéne, who took over, could have held the line of the Oder. That he later fell back to the Elbe was a strategic blunder, but he can hardly be blamed, since he could not know the weakness of the enemy confronting him.
‘As for Prussia, you know as well as I do what a gutless fellow Frederick William is. Even when his own General, von Yorck, took his army corps over to the enemy, the King could not be persuaded by Scharnhorst, Gneisenau and Blücher to declare openly against France. Admittedly he was in Berlin, which was held by us; but even after he had sneaked away by night to Breslau, it was well into Spring before he could be persuaded to enter into an alliance with the Russians.
‘No-one can at least accuse our little man of dragging his feet. By mid-December he was back here working twenty hours out of every twenty-four, recalling troops from Spain and Italy and pouring into new regiments every male between sixteen and sixty who could be laid hands on. Ah, even the deaf, the one-eyed and men who were still partially disabled from old wounds. By April the reinforcements he had despatched to the army of the north made it superior in numbers to those of Russia and Prussia combined, and several of his best Marshals; Ney, Marmont, Macdonald and Oudinot all commanding corps. Early in May he arrived to take command in person. There followed the battles of Lützen and Bautzen.’
Roger nodded. ‘Yes, I have heard accounts of them, and I gather that at both he gave the Allies a tremendous pasting.’
‘He did indeed. They were most bloody encounters, with heavy losses on both sides, and from both he emerged victorious. But in neither case did he follow up his success. Had he done so after either, as he would have done in the old days, he might well have inflicted a final defeat on the Allies and forced them to sue for peace. But he is no longer the man he was.’
‘For that at least we can thank God. What thinks Your Highness of the armistice which he agreed early in June? Will he benefit from it when the conflict is renewed, or the reverse?’
Talleyrand smiled. ‘With luck, it will prove his undoing, and I was largely responsible for it. As you know, I have long been in secret correspondence with Metternich and, in addition, had the ear of Prince Schwarzenberg while he was Austria’s Ambassador here during the winter. I persuaded them to build up their army to the maximum possible extent, then use the threat of it to coerce our mass-murderer into agreeing terms which would lead to a permanent pacification of Europe.’
‘I heard something of this just before I left England in July, and more talk of it at the Duke of Wellington’s headquarters, from whence I have just come. According to these rumours, the Austrian terms are so harsh that I judged it unlikely that the Emperor would accept them.’
‘I think them not unreasonable. They are that the Grand Duchy of Warsaw and the Confederation of the Rhine should be abolished, that the Illyrian provinces should be restored to Austria, that the Hanse towns and other territories of northern Germany which were annexed in 1810 should be restored, and that Prussia should be re-established in as favourable a situation as she was in 1805. This would leave France considerably greater in area than she was under the Bourbons, and with the natural frontiers that she has always desired. But you were right, cher ami. Our egomaniac ruler cannot be persuaded to give up his dreams of world conquest, so Austria will join the Coalition against him.’
‘God be praised for that!’ Roger exclaimed. ‘I was given to understand that the armistice ended on July 20th, and although it is now August 14th, there is still no news of its cessation, so I feared the Austrians had after all become afraid to take the plunge.’
‘Nay.’ Talleyrand took a pinch of snuff, then carefully brushed off the grains that had fallen on his lace cravat and the lapels of his black satin coat. ‘Metternich would have preferred a settlement, because with France defeated and greatly weakened, that would leave Russia far stronger than he wishes to see her. For that reason he has given the Emperor a further three weeks, hoping to the last that he would see sense. Yet Austria dare not stand by and risk Prussia and Russia being forced to make a separate peace, lest next year, for the third time, the conqueror decides to march on Vienna. Metternich realises now that there is nothing for it but to fight, and even as we sit here the die is cast. I had secret intelligence of his decision three days ago. But you said a moment since that you are just come from Spain. Tell me now how go things there, and what brings you again to Paris.’
After describing the situation in the Pyrenees, Roger went on to relate how he had returned to the Continent in order to find the young Earl of St. Ermins and secure his release.
When he had done, Talleyrand nodded. ‘The Ministry of War should have lists of all the officers in prisoner-of-war camps, but it may take some while to locate your young friend. In the meantime, I shall be most happy if you will be my guest here. There are many matters upon which we can discourse with mutual interest and you have not yet told me what you have been up to since you left Stockholm. But you must forgive me if I leave you now, as I have an appointment with the Duc de Bassano, who succeeded me as Minister of Foreign Affairs, and still holds that post.’
Standing up, Roger replied, ‘I am most grateful to Your Highness for your generous offer of hospitality; but from my youth, whenever in Paris, I have always stayed at La Belle Étoile, hard by the Louvre. The owner is a treasured friend of mine, who has often given me valuable information on the trends of popular opinion in Paris. Moreover he stores there for me a trunk containing a variety of clothes, weapons and other things which I am anxious to go through. I trust you will excuse me if I take up my old quarters there; but I shall be most happy to wait upon Your Highness daily and learn at what hours it would be convenient for you to receive me.’
‘As you will.’ The Prince nodded. ‘In any case, join me for dinner tomorrow. I have a number of people coming, most of whom will be known to you.’
The reason that, on reaching Paris, Roger had gone straight to Talleyrand’s mansion, was because he knew that the Prince was the one person in the city from whom he could learn if Austria had backed down or if there was still a possibility of her joining the Allies against Napoleon; and that decision was of immense importance to all Europe, not least to Britain whose people, after twenty years of conflict, were now so utterly war-weary. He would otherwise have gone first to La Belle Étoile.
Now, greatly cheered by the possibility that within a few months the slaughter might at last cease, having taken leave of the statesman he made his way to the ancient hostelry where many times he had known fear and joy. But on his arrival his elation was soon changed to grievous sorrow.
The grey-haired ostler in the stable yard greeted him with the news that the old landlord, Maître Blanchard, had died of a burst stomach ulcer the previous winter, and his widow had soon afterwards sold the property and returned to her native Normandy to live with her sister.
On the first evening after arriving in Paris Roger had always supped with the good couple in their private parlour off his favourite mushroom omelette, and duck cooked in the Normandy fashion, which was Madame Blanchard’s speciality. He had been looking forward to that excellent meal, washed down with a couple of bottles of the Mâitre’s best Burgundy, while the three of them gossiped cheerfully over old times and new. Now, never again would he enjoy that good cheer, and the companionship of the honest, big-hearted couple.
The new landlord was a much younger man and, when he learned that Roger was Colonel Comte de Breuc, well known as one of the Emperor’s paladins, became unattractively servile. Bowing and scraping, he led Roger up to his old room, which happened to be free, and had his big, round-lidded trunk brought down from the attic. In it, among other clothes, he had a spare uniform, medals and an A.D.C.’s sash, so he was able to change into his proper military attire.
While doing so, he was prey to many disturbing memories. It was there he had lived, posing as a terrorist during the darkest days of the Revolution, while the good Blanchards had kept the secret that a few years earlier, in his true rôle as an exquisite, he had frequented the Court of Versailles. There, too, he had for a while concealed the beautiful Athénais de Rochambeau, later enjoyed the clandestine visits of Napoleon’s lovely, lecherous sister, the Princess Pauline, and still later also made love to his divine Georgina when she had been secretly in Paris.
Next morning, he went to the Ministry of War and sent his name up to the Minister, General d’Hanebourg Clarke, Duc de Feltre, who was an old acquaintance. After a wait of ten minutes or so, Clarke received him and, knowing that he had been with the Emperor in the retreat from Moscow, heartily congratulated him on his re-appearance alive and well.
Roger told him of his escape to Sweden and that from Stockholm he had gone to England. The General expressed surprise and wonder that, as a French officer, he had not been kept there as a prisoner-of-war.
Raising his eyebrows, Roger replied, ‘I thought you were aware, as most of my friends are, that although I was born in Strasbourg, my mother was Scottish and that when she died I was sent to England to live with her sister. I was educated there, and returned to my own country at the time of the Revolution, as a young journalist inspired by the new doctrine of Liberty, Equality and Fraternity. I have numerous relatives in England who believe that I’ve spent the greater part of my life travelling in distant lands while, in fact, I have been serving as an A.D.C. to the Emperor.’
It was the story he had told for many years, and it was believed by everyone in the French Army who knew him well. After a moment, he added, ‘The Emperor, of course, has long been aware of this and, on more than one occasion, I have gone back to England in order to report to him upon conditions there. That is why, on escaping from Russia, I took the opportunity to do so again, which brings me to the matter upon which I have come to see you.’
When he had told the General of his anxiety to trace Charles St. Ermins, whom he stated was his nephew, Clarke replied, ‘Certainly I will do what I can to help you and, as you are so close to our master, I’ve no doubt he will grant your request to have this young milord exchanged as soon as possible. But we have many thousands of prisoners in camps here in France, in Saxony and also in Holland and the Rhineland, so it may take several days before I can let you know in which he is.’
Having thanked him, Roger enquired about the prospects of the present campaign.
The General shrugged. ‘As you must be aware, much depends on whether Austria comes in against us. But, even should she do so, I think our chances of defeating this new Coalition far from bad. According to my latest intelligence, the Russian field army is some one hundred and eighty thousand strong, the Prussians about one hundred and sixty thousand, the Swedes and Mecklenburgers about thirty-nine thousand. That totals approximately three hundred and eighty thousand men, and between them they have some one thousand one hundred guns. Should Austria join our enemies that would bring the Allied strength up to roughly six hundred thousand men and one thousand four hundred guns. Against that, we and our allies have over eight hundred and sixty thousand men under arms. They are not, of course, all with the Emperor but, including reinforcements now on the way to him, he should have well over six hundred thousand in the German lands.’
When Roger left the Ministry, he was considerably perturbed by the figures that had been given him. A large percentage of Napoleon’s troops must, he knew, be raw recruits, and also he was short of cavalry. But, although Austria was coming in, he would still have superiority in numbers; and, while it was certain that the councils of the Allies would be divided, the Emperor alone would control the dispositions of his great army. Moreover, he was unquestionably a greater strategist than any of the Generals opposed to him.
Among those of the twenty-four people known to Roger who sat down to dinner at Talleyrand’s that afternoon were Goudin, Duc de Gaëte, once a junior official at the Treasury, whom Napoleon, on becoming First Consul, had made Minister of Finance and who had by his brilliant measures rescued France from bankruptcy, and Cardinal Fesch. The latter was the half-brother of Napoleon’s mother. As an Abbé, at the time of the Revolution, he had fled with the Bonapartes from Corsica to the South of France, but there renounced the Church to become a supplier of army stores, and in that capacity accompanied Napoleon on his first victorious campaign in Italy, returning to Paris with an ill-gotten fortune. Later, feeling that it could prove useful to have a prelate in the family, Napoleon had made him Bishop of Lyons then, on the rapprochement with the Papacy, a Cardinal and Grand Almoner. ‘Uncle’ Fesch, as he was known, was a sly fellow and insatiably avaricious. Like all the other Bonapartes, he showed little gratitude for his elevation and, as Ambassador to Rome, had proved an expensive failure; but he had great influence with his half sister Madame Mère, and was not a man of whom to make an enemy.
Later that evening Roger told Talleyrand that La Belle Étoile had changed hands, and he did not at all care for the new landlord, so the Prince renewed his invitation which Roger now gladly accepted, and the following morning he moved into the mansion.
That day he attended the levée of the plump, stupid young Austrian Arch-Duchess Marie Louise, who was now Empress of the French, and made his bow to her son, the King of Rome, a charming little boy who was old enough to stand beside her, dressed in a miniature uniform.
From the Tuileries, Roger went on to pay his respects to Madame Mère, the only other Bonaparte then in Paris. The gaunt old lady had a forbidding presence and could be very tart at times; but she liked Roger because he had never shown any fear of her, and talked to him in her atrocious French for over half an hour about Napoleon and her other children, whose well-being was the one concern of her life.
Having made his duty calls, Roger rode out on the Sunday to Malmaison, to see the ex-Empress Josephine. They had been friends for many years. She received him with delight, took him round the hothouses, in which she grew a remarkable collection of tropical plants, and insisted that he stayed on to dine with a number of other friends she had coming out to visit her.
In her youth and the early years of her marriage to Napoleon, while he was absent on his campaigns she had given free play to her amorous inclinations; but, belatedly, she had fallen in love with her husband and became furiously jealous about his affairs with other women. At the time of the divorce, losing him had been a more severe blow to her than losing her position as Empress. But Roger was glad to find that she had become resigned to living in retirement at Malmaison which, with her boundless extravagance—paid for willingly by the Emperor—she had made one of the most beautiful homes in France and where, owing to her intelligence and charm, she never lacked for company.
During the days that followed Roger found plenty to occupy him. When it became generally known that Austria had declared war on the 14th, distinguished visitors to Talleyrand’s mansion, who wished to discuss the new situation, became more numerous than ever. Old acquaintances of Roger’s invited him to their houses, and on two further occasions he rode out to Malmaison and spent several hours with Josephine. Having heard nothing from Clarke by the Friday, he called again at the Ministry of War, but the General told him that there were still a whole series of files to be gone through. Impatiently he waited until the following Monday. That evening a note was brought to him, which read:
‘My dear de Breuc,
‘I much regret to have to tell you that we have drawn a blank. My people tell me that after the Brunswickers were shipped by the English from Spain they were landed in north-west Germany and employed there against the forces of the Marshal Prince d’Eckmühl in Hanover; so your relative is probably in a prisoner-of-war camp in the Prince’s command; and of the occupants of these we have no records.
‘With my most distinguished sentiments, etc.’
Giving a sigh, Roger laid the letter down. Obviously the mission on which he had set out was not yet anywhere near accomplishment.