The Launching of Roger Brook (47 page)

On the 20th of June, the King set out with his Ministers of War and Marine, the Marshals de Ségur and de Castries,
to make a personal inspection of the new harbour-works at Cherbourg, and Roger had good cause to remember the date, as it was on that evening that the most unforeseen events occurred to play havoc with the new routine into which he had now settled.

When the Marquis was in residence and working late it was customary for his two secretaries to take it in turn to go down to supper, so that one or the other should always be available to attend upon him. On this particular evening Roger had already supped and, a little before nine, d’Heury had gone downstairs; but, before handing over, he had neglected to tell his junior that some ten minutes earlier he had shown a visitor in to the Marquis. Having some letters for signature Roger was about to take them in as usual through the secret entrance. It was only when he had stepped into the closet and heard voices on the far side of the panel that he realised that M. de Rochambeau was not alone.

It flashed upon him that he would not have been able to get into the closet had not the Marquis overlooked turning the switch which automatically locked it on both sides, and he knew that he ought to withdraw; but just as he was about to do so, the visitor who was with the Marquis said:

‘I do not agree that the conquest of England is an essential to France achieving undisputed first place in the world’s affairs.’

The voice came so clearly that Roger recognised it at once as that of the Abbé de Perigord; and the subject of the conversation immediately caused his curiosity to overcome his scruples about eavesdropping, so he remained where he was.

The Marquis replied: ‘My dear Abbé, whichever way we turn we find the English barring our path. What alternative have we but to build up our strength until in another war we can finally overcome them and make their rich dominions our own? ’Tis that or resigning ourselves to watching France become moribund and bankrupt.’

‘Nay,’ said the Abbé, ‘there are other courses which might yet save us from our present distress. To wage another war with the English would at best be a desperate gamble. Their population is barely the half of ours, yet time and again they have proved terrible antagonists. They have an unreasoning and tenacious courage for which their
national bulldog is an admirable symbol. I’d not tempt fate, but seek, as M. de Vergennes is at present doing, a new and better understanding with them.’

‘But where can that lead us?’ the Marquis asked. ‘Their field of supply is now infinitely more widespread than ours; their industry rests upon a sounder basis; the goods they turn out are of better quality. How can we possibly compete with them? The contemplated treaty for commercial reciprocity which should have been signed over a year ago, would mean virtual free trade between the two nations. For eighteen months I have fought, and succeeded in postponing, this measure, from a most positive conviction that it would prove the final death-blow to French commerce.’

‘It would not be so,’ the Abbé remarked quietly, ‘if it were entered into with a secret understanding that Britain should supply us with all the goods we needed, while leaving us a free hand to market both their wares and ours throughout the rest of Europe.’

‘You talk in riddles, Abbé,’ M. de Rochambeau laughed. ‘’Twould be our salvation, indeed, were we the emporium of Europe; but what possible inducement could we offer Britain to give us a monopoly of her continental trade?’

‘She would have no option if the major portion of the Continent were brought under our control.’

‘What! Would you have us go to war with half a dozen nations rather than with one?’

‘Yes; since the one is strong and united, while the others are weak and divided against themselves. Britain is a sea-power, so I would leave her to develop overseas and made her our friend by becoming her biggest customer. France is a land-power, and she should seek new wealth through the expansion of her frontiers.’

‘Even with England as our ally, ’twould mean a long series of most costly campaigns,’ demurred the Marquis.

‘Not necessarily. Europe is suffering from
fin de siècle
and every country in it now seethes with political unrest, which we could turn to our own ends if we played our cards skilfully. The Catholics of the Austrian Netherlands intensely resent the reforms forced upon them by the Emperor Joseph, and the country is ripe to break away from him. The States-General of Holland is already in open revolt against the Stadtholder and contemplates an attempt to replace his régime with a republic. The King of Prussia is,
as we know, on his death-bed. The Great Frederick will wage no more victorious campaigns and there is a strong party that regards his heir-apparent with considerable aversion. The Princelings who rule the German States can always be played off against one another. The Italian States and the two Sicilies are rotten to the core. Hungary is in a state of acute unrest owing to the Emperor’s passion for uniformity and his attempt to force German administration and the German language upon it. Russia alone presents no weakness and, like England, should be left to develop outwardly; in her case towards Asia and the dominions of the Grand Turk, whose measure she seems already to have taken.’

‘And what do you deduce from all this?’ the Marquis inquired.

‘Why, that France should use the discontented elements in all these countries as her stalking-horses. We should fan the flames of revolt in each until civil war breaks out; then on the pretext that we intend to “protect” their inhabitants from oppression we should send troops to their assistance. Once in they would not find it easy to turn us out and we could ensure in them the establishment of new governments favourable to our own designs. They would keep their independence, nominally, but, henceforth, they would actually be protectorates, with rulers dependent on the good will of France. By this means, in a dozen years, we could gain control of the greater part of Europe. It would be necessary to support the discontented minorities financially and to supply them in secret with arms; but we should regard each of them as though they were French armies already established in the heart of the countries we mean to dominate. They would, in fact, be the secret columns of France.’

There was a moment’s silence, then the Marquis said: ‘What a subtle brain you have, my dear Abbé. You should have been a diplomat instead of a churchman and I wonder that you do not seek office with a view to becoming a minister of the Crown.’

The Abbé de Talleyrand-Périgord’s voice came again and it was bitter. ‘I thank you, M. le Marquis, but I have no wish to serve a Court that has already treated me so scurvily.’

‘To what do you refer?’

‘Surely you must have heard of the manner in which I was deprived of my promised Cardinal’s Hat. Madame de Brionne obtained the interest of the King of Sweden on my behalf. Gustave III used his influence with the Pope and His Holiness agreed that the vacant Hat should be bestowed upon me. Then the Queen learned of the affair. She instructed the Comte de Mercy to press her brother that he should insist ’twas Austria’s turn to receive the dignity; and Pius VI, weakling that he is, gave way to the Emperor. Queens who behave so to their subjects cannot expect their loyal service.’

‘You must remember,’ said the Marquis coldly, ‘that her Majesty is a model wife and mother; and that to maintain a high moral tone at her Court is a thing very near her heart. Your private life, Abbé, is no recommendation to a Cardinal’s Hat, and no doubt the Queen quashed it on that account.’

‘Nay; my life is no worse than that of many another whom family considerations forced into the Church against their will. ’Twas the Queen’s vindictiveness, and this accursed affair of the Diamond Necklace. She is not content to have banished de Rohan to an Abbey in Auvergue, although he was declared innocent by his judges; she pursues all who stood by him with her hate. Madame de Brionne is a Rohan by birth, so even I, as her protégé, must suffer for the folly of the King in ever making the matter public. I repeat, I have no further mind to serve a halfwitted man and a capricious woman.’

When the Marquis next spoke the listening Roger could tell that he was very angry but striving hard to control his temper, as he said:

‘A Cardinal’s Hat is no small thing to lose, and I sympathise with your disappointment. But, Monsieur l’Abbé, I wish that you would reconsider your decision. We live in most troubled times and ’tis of great importance that, whatever our personal feelings may be about the Sovereigns, we noblemen should give them our fullest support. Otherwise the whole régime may be brought into jeopardy.’

‘And what if it is?’ The Abbé’s voice was tinged with a mocking cynicism. ‘You, Monsieur le Marquis, are now, I fear, too old to adjust yourself to new conditions. But that does not apply to me. Whatever changes may occur I shall find my level at a place for which my abilities fit me; and
it may well be that under new masters I shall find the scope to serve France far more effectively.’

‘So be it then,’ replied the Marquis in a frigid tone. ‘Let us revert to the business that brought you here. You persuaded M. de Calonne to send the Comte de Mirabeau to Berlin, on a special mission to report on how long King Frederick can be expected to live, and how Prussian policy may be affected by his death. You arranged that M. de Mirabeau should send you his despatches for transmission to M. de Calonne, and agreed with me that, for a certain price, you would provide me with copies of those despatches before the Minister has sight of them. Are you prepared to carry out our bargain?’

‘Yes; since I gave my word upon it and need the money. But ’tis the last thing I’ll do which may benefit the Queen.’

‘Have you the despatches with you?’

‘No. They are at my house in Passy. I am come from the Palais Royale and learnt of their arrival only from a servant who came to find me there upon another matter. But I am told that the packet is a bulky one, so someone may have to give several hours to copying its contents tonight—if the copy is to be of any value—since I must lodge it with M. de Calonne not later than midday tomorrow. I have to return to the Palais to sup with His Royal Highness; and, in any case, I have no mind to copy lengthy documents. My coach is below and I came here to suggest that you should send one of your secretaries back with me to Passy, to do the copying.’

‘That, I can easily arrange,’ agreed the Marquis, and he rang a bell on his desk.

Treading gingerly, Roger stepped out of the closet, closed the door of the press and hurried round into the Marquis’s room by its main door.

‘Where is d’Heury?’ the Marquis asked with a frown.

‘He is still at supper, Monseigneur,’ Roger replied. ‘Shall I fetch him for you?’

‘Yes—no! Wait one moment. L’Abbé de Périgord requires some copying to be done at his house in Passy. ’Tis thought it may take several hours and I am anxious to receive the copy as soon as possible. ’Twould halve the time if you and d’Heury both go, and divide the work between you. Tell d’Heury my wishes when you get downstairs.’

‘Your servant, Monseigneur.’ Roger laid the letters he
was still carrying on the Marquis’s desk as the two noblemen took leave of one another; then, adjusting his pace to that of the lame Abbé, he followed him from the room.

Having collected d’Heury they entered the Abbé de Péri-gord’s coach and set out for Passy. It was now about a quarter to ten and, although near the longest day in the year, a bluish dusk obscured the streets except where corner lanterns were already lit. The two Abbés were occupying the rear seat of the coach with Roger seated opposite them, his back to the horses. He knew that they had a drive of between two and three miles before them and while the other two talked in low voices he settled down to think about the long conversation he had just overheard.

It was more than a year since he had sent intelligence of M. de la Pérouse’s project of colonising New Zealand to Mr. Gilbert Maxwell, and since doing so he had not encountered anything that he felt might be likely to interest that mysterious gentleman. Then, for an exciting few moments tonight, he had thought that chance was about to reveal to him the inner secrets of France’s policy towards Britain. Yet, on consideration, he realised that he had actually learnt nothing. He had already gathered that the Marquis was a rabid imperialist, but he held no official position and represented only the opinion of a small clique of nobles at Court; while the Abbé de Périgord was even further removed from being a Government spokesman, and the full potentialities of his extraordinary scheme for developing ‘secret columns’ devoted to France’s interest in other countries had not, as yet, impinged on Roger’s mind.

Whatever the Queen’s motive for preventing the Abbé from receiving his Cardinal’s Hat, Roger could not help feeling that he was no fit candidate for it. Rumour had it that he had recently been caught out using Government funds for improper purposes and that only his great influence with many highly placed ladies had saved him from being consigned to the Bastille. And Roger now knew for certain that he was flagrantly betraying M. de Calonne’s confidence by selling copies of secret documents which were intended for the Minister’s private eye. Yet, all the same, Roger could not help feeling attracted to the lame Abbé; he was so kind, so gay, so witty, and altogether such a fascinating personality.

At a fast trot the horses drew the well-sprung coach
along the north bank of the Seine and right round the great bend of the river to the west of the city, until the streets gave place to tree-lined avenues and big houses set in private gardens. Across the river the lights of the Invalides and the Ecole Militaire could be seen, then, as they came opposite the Isle of Swans, they turned west entering the semi-open country that lay about the little village of Passy.

They were within a few moments of their destination and passing a dark belt of trees when they heard a shout, the horses reared and the coach was brought to a sudden halt.

‘
Mort dieu
!, We are beset by footpads!’ exclaimed de Périgord.