Far Flies the Eagle (21 page)

Alexander studied his hands.

“I hope for your support for King Louis, Sire,” Talleyrand insisted. “Indeed, I have assured him he can rely on you.”

“Your assurance will be honoured, Prince, if it agrees with the wishes of the French people.”

“Of course, Sire.”

Talleyrand smiled his crooked smile and his pale eyes flickered towards Alexander. The spectacle of the most absolute monarch in Europe upholding the rights of the people widened his smile into genuine amusement. It was curious how power affected different men, he thought. Napoleon … power and Napoleon seemed to fuse into an irresistible force, devoid of moral sense, mercy or human fear. Power had transformed the parvenu into an object of terror and personal hatred. Now he was broken and this barbarian might easily take his place; not a parvenu, Talleyrand thought, applying his vicious epithet for Napoleon, but an autocrat with a sense of God-given mission. He had read Alexander's dispatches, noting the increasing religious influence in them; since the Czar arrived in his house, the servants set to spy on him told Talleyrand that he spent hours praying in his room. And he had not availed himself of any of the women who clustered round him wherever he went in Paris.

It was odd, Talleyrand thought. Very odd. And it might be terribly dangerous. Once a man as powerful as Alexander of Russia claimed the Almighty as his ally, he might do anything.…

At that moment the door opened and one of the Prince's household came towards him, bowing low to the Czar.

“What is it? I gave orders we were not to be disturbed!”

“With His Majesty's permission, Monsieur le Prince, I have a message for him. I request his permission to speak,” the man said. He was obviously very agitated.

“You have it,” Alexander said quickly. “What is your message?”

“Sire, three gentlemen have come to the house and they beg you to grant them an audience.”

Talleyrand turned round. “I must ask you to forgive this, Sire. I have no idea who would dare such a thing.… One moment and I will see.”

“Who are these gentlemen?” Alexander asked.

The servant looked at him and mumbled.

“The one who requested the audience is Marshal Ney, Your Majesty.”

Alexander and the most famous of Napoleon's Marshals came face to face a few minutes later. Ney walked towards him and then bowed.

“Your Majesty,” he said. His voice was hoarse with fatigue and emotion. “May I present the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Monsieur Caulaincourt, and Marshal McDonald of the Imperial Army.”

“Monsieur Caulaincourt and I are old friends,” Alexander said, and nodded to the former Ambassador to St. Petersburg. He acknowledged the bow of the second Marshal with the peculiar name. Then he remembered; McDonald had been defeated at Katzbach in the Saxon campaign. He had written to Catherine about it.…

“Please sit down, Gentlemen. We shall not be disturbed. What have you to say to me?”

He had requested Talleyrand to wait in another room during the meeting, and been amused by the expression of dread on his face and the anxious warning not to listen to an emissary from Napoleon, it would only be a trap.…

“I come to you on behalf of the Emperor, Sire,” Ney said. “I bring a message from him.”

“Read it, if you please.”

Ney cleared his throat and unfolded a paper; the eagle seal hung from it on a broad red ribbon.

“‘The Allied Powers having proclaimed that the Emperor Napoleon was the sole obstacle to the re-establishment of peace in Europe, the Emperor Napoleon, faithful to his oaths, declares that he is ready to descend from the throne, to leave France, and even give up his life, for the good of the fatherland, inseparable from the rights of his son, of those of the Regency of the Empress and of the maintenance of the laws of the Empire.'”

Ney lowered the paper and then offered it to Alexander.

“There is his signature, Sire.”

Alexander read it through and looked at the angry sprawling word written at the end of it.

Then he stared straight at Ney.

“Tell me, Prince de la Moscova, do you believe he'll keep to this?”

Ney passed his hand across his face; it was a weary, despairing gesture.

“He has no choice, Sire. We held a conference with him to-day. He wanted to go on fighting, to attack Paris, but none of his Marshals would follow him. We forced his hand, Sire.”

“I think he's gone mad, Your Majesty.” It was Marshal MacDonald who spoke then. “He was ready to fight the whole allied armies with a force of less than 50,000 men. He has the Guards with him at Fontainebleau; they are as crazy as he is. It was our duty to save France while we could.”

“And to save him,” Ney said slowly. “He charged us to come to you, Sire. He doesn't trust anyone else's word.”

“I am his bitterest enemy,” Alexander said. “Why didn't he send you to the Austrians. His wife is an Arch-duchess.”

“Because you have the final word, Sire.” MacDonald answered him. “You've treated Paris honourably when the Prussians would have razed it to the ground. You've promised the people of France a free choice in their government.”

“I beg of you, don't restore the Bourbons!” Ney burst out. “France doesn't want them. Appoint Marie-Louise Regent for the King of Rome. That's all Napoleon asks of you.”

Alexander said nothing, and for several minutes the four men sat in silence. Ney wiped his face with a handkerchief, he looked old and exhausted; the other Marshal stared gloomily at his polished boots and Caulaincourt watched the Czar, his thoughts returning to the days of his embassy in Petersburg, the long talks with Alexander, his admiration for him, his trust, even to the last moment. And now these five words; ‘I am his bitterest enemy'. It was probably the only time he had ever heard Alexander speak the truth. He looked away and frowned. Their mission was a waste of time.

At last Alexander spoke to Ney; a curious sympathy had sprung up between the two men from the first words exchanged. There was something simple in the bravest of all the great Marshals that appealed to his conqueror, and there was something immovably strong about the Russian Czar that aroused the soldier's trust.

“I can grant nothing to Napoleon Bonaparte,” he said. “But I respect the wishes of the French people and of men like yourself, Prince. I am Bonaparte's enemy, but I am the friend of France. I will do what I can to help you. Leave me the document of abdication.”

He stood and Caulaincourt looked at him bitterly and said, “The army is still behind Napoleon, Sire. Even without us, he may march. The miracles he accomplished with boys of fifteen who had never used a rifle until a few weeks ago, he may repeat. The Guards will fight to the last man to defend him.”

It was an act of defiance and hatred made many years too late by the man he had duped while he was planning war with France. Alexander acknowledged it and saw that there were tears of rage in the diplomat's eyes.

“I will bear that in mind, Monsieur Caulaincourt,” he said gently. “If you will come to me to-morrow morning, I may have an answer for you.”

When the door closed behind them Alexander walked to the fireplace and leant against it, looking down into the embers of the fire. The room was very large with a lofty ceiling; even in April it was cold.

He thought how much he liked Ney; he had made a friend there, and lost a friend. Poor Caulaincourt would never forgive him for the deception of those early years in Petersburg or for the humiliation of that interview, where the second greatest soldier in France was forced to beg the aid of a foreigner for his own Emperor.

He noticed that Talleyrand had not come near him. He was trying to seduce Napoleon's emissaries no doubt. Alexander re-read Napoleon's act of abdication and imagined the turmoil of that arrogant spirit in signing such a document. He was at Fontainebleau, deserted by his Marshals, his wife and his family, still trying with threats and cajolery to maintain the dynasty of Bonaparte on the throne of France, longing to lunge against his enemies like a mad tiger in a last effort to destroy them before he was destroyed himself. It was ironical and outrageous and pathetic that he should have appealed to Alexander. Yawning, he rang for his valet and went upstairs to bed.

Early next morning, Talleyrand asked to see him. He greeted his guest with a triumphant smile and the news that Marshal Marmont's force of 12,000 men had been tricked into the allied camp where they had to surrender. The Marshal and his generals had betrayed Napoleon at the last moment and ruined his last chance of negotiations. There was only one answer the Czar could give Marshal Ney and the others when they came. Unconditional surrender.

They returned to Fontainebleau with that answer, and on the 6th of April, Napoleon signed the act of unconditional abdication and delivered himself into the hand of his enemies.

On the 26th of April King Louis XVIII landed at Calais and proceeded to Paris to claim his throne. Between them, Alexander and Talleyrand had outwitted Metternich and broken Austrian influence in France. It was to prove a very costly triumph.

After Napoleon had sailed to exile on the Island of Elba, Alexander attended a Ball given by the Empress Josephine at Malmaison. When she came forward to receive him he was astonished at her beauty; she curtsied to him with the grace of a young woman, and he bent over her hand and kissed it gallantly.

“Welcome to my house, Your Majesty.”

She smiled, and the illusion of youth disappeared. Close to, he saw the fine lines under the make-up, the streaks of silver in the short curled hair.

Her large brown eyes smiled up at him in admiration, the old coquetry of her youth creeping into their expression.

How handsome, they said gaily, how tall and attractive.

She allowed her fingers to linger in his for a moment and then took his arm. “This is a great honour, Sire. I admit I have been dying to be presented to you.”

“Madame, you overwhelm me. In Paris I saw everything and met everyone, and then they told me, ‘If you wish to see France's most beautiful woman, you must go to Malmaison.'”

He smiled down at her. “I couldn't wait to come here, and I find I've been deceived. They should have said the most beautiful woman in Europe. It's unfair to confine you to France alone, Madame.”

She laughed her pretty laugh. “You have an unfortunate effect upon me, Sire. You make me feel quite young again! Alas, I shall have to disillusion you. Come and let me present my daughter, Queen Hortense.”

Napoleon's stepdaughter had married his brother Louis Bonaparte and been made Queen of Holland. She was waiting in the elegant salon, and Alexander's impression was of a young and not unattractive woman who carried herself well. He spoke to her with deliberate charm and she responded immediately; she was obviously in a state of emotional tension, because the few words brought tears to her eyes.

He escorted Josephine into dinner, and enjoyed himself in a woman's company for the first time in eighteen months. The Empress was a born coquette; she talked amusing nonsense and made him laugh; the members of his entourage were flirting with several of her ladies. The conquest of France and the deposition of Napoleon might never have happened. He noticed how exquisitely she was dressed; her shoulders and arms were still smooth and beautiful. She was years older than he was, but he found himself laughing and paying her compliments for the pleasure of seeing her brown eyes shine up at him. After dinner they opened the Ball. It was a brilliant scene, and the Empress Josephine assured him he waltzed better than any man she knew.

Later she suggested a walk in the gardens.

“They're rather beautiful, Sire. My roses are quite famous.” He sensed that she wanted to talk to him alone; they walked out on to the terrace and down to the lawns. A large moon hung overhead.

She slipped her hand through his arm and they walked in silence for some moments, he measuring his long steps to hers.

“How curious life is,” she said suddenly. “I remember the first time he talked about you, when he'd come back from Tilsit. I was so bored, you know. Politics never interested me and he would discuss them with me. I suppose it was natural with one's wife, but I didn't think of it like that at the time. I remember distinctly what he said about you, Sire. He said, ‘You would have liked him, my dear.' And in spite of everything, I do. Isn't that curious?”

She was not smiling when she looked up at him. She suddenly looked extremely tired and rather sad.

“I'm glad, Madame,” he said gently. “I would be distressed if you disliked me. For myself, may I say one thing?”

“Of course. Shall we walk down here, you can see quite clearly the arrangement of the flower beds.”

“I shall never be able to understand how he could part from you.”

She shrugged and her gauze scarf slipped from her shoulders.

“I shall never be able to understand why he stayed with me for so long,” she answered. “Is it true that wretched woman has run to her father and won't go to Elba with him?”

“I'm afraid so, Madame.”

She said harshly, “That's curious too. A Hapsburg should have more sense of duty than to desert like Murat and Ney and all the others. She never loved him, I knew that, but she knows what the King of Rome means to him. He deserved better.”

“Don't blame Ney and the Marshals, Madame,” Alexander urged. “They had to make peace; France would have been laid in ruins if they had listened to Napoleon.”

“Perhaps. You must forgive me, Sire; being only a woman I can't visualize such things, and being what was once termed a ci-devant aristo, I have that foolish, old-fashioned penchant for honour.… Public honour, I mean. One's private affairs are different. I wonder how he will manage at Elba?”

“It's a pleasant place,” he comforted. “He's been allowed to keep the title of Emperor; we've given him the island to rule. He should find some happiness.”