‘Yes. Incredible, isn’t it?’
Major Lyzki finally reappeared and gave Varencourt back the letter signed by Joseph. He said respectfully, ‘Your letter is authentic, we’ve compared it with other documents we have from Joseph Bonaparte. Now, normally any imperial spokesman would have to be received by representatives of all the Allied countries—’
‘There isn’t time for that!’ exclaimed Varencourt. ‘My mission is extremely urgent!’
Lyzki raised his hand to interrupt. ‘But in this particular case, we are dealing with a matter personal to the Tsar because he was a close friend of Count Kevlokine. Our Imperial Majesty has therefore agreed to receive you on his own. If you would just follow me »
‘You’re so right when you say this is personal to the Tsar.’
Margont’s heart leapt: Talleyrand was on his way! But when the Prince de Benevent saw Margont, his face fell. The Russian officer had been most insistent that Talleyrand should go to Rue de Castiglione about ‘an extremely grave matter’ ... ‘the Tsar’ ... ‘a
lieutenant-colonel in civilian clothes’ wanted to see him ‘in person’. As the officer was merely passing on a message from another officer who had received it from an intermediary, Margont’s name and other snippets of information had been lost along the way. Talleyrand had not grasped who wanted to see him or why. He assumed it was some kind of misunderstanding or a madman come to make trouble at the guard post. But since the Russians had insisted that he come, he had agreed, since he felt it was important to maintain good relations with the Tsar’s guards.
The Prince de Benevent had accepted it as another little humiliation inflicted on him by the victors. There were many such indignities. Some of the Allied officers treated him with icy scorn; soldiers stared at him mockingly, as if he were a fairground monkey performing a clever trick; certain of the Tsar’s advisers had suggested that he drive Talleyrand from the house — his house! Oh, he had seen it all before. When you operated at his exalted level, it came with the territory. Napoleon had referred to him as ‘shit in silk stockings’, he had been nicknamed the ‘limping devil’, the great writer Chateaubriand had said, The only time Talleyrand is not conspiring is when he’s wheeling and dealing.’ It had not occurred to him that the lieutenant-colonel would be Margont. He was completely absorbed in trying to consolidate his highly precarious position and manoeuvring the Allies into reinstating the French monarchy with Louis XVIII as king instead of Bernadotte. He had managed to convince some of the Allies that he spoke for France, and had promised Alexander that tomorrow he would ensure that the Senate confirmed him as president of the Provisional French Government. The Tsar was now closeted in one of Talleyrand’s finest salons at the head of a new council of war and Talleyrand was anxious to use every spare moment to win over as many senators as possible to his cause. But now that damned Margont had appeared like a ghost from the past... Talleyrand wore the expression of a prostitute who sees her republican lover of the day before pop up just as she is about to marry the Tsar with great pomp and ceremony.
‘Monsieur de Talleyrand, it’s not Napoleon Charles de Varencourt
is planning to assassinate, it’s the Tsar! He wants—’
But the Prince de Benevent had turned towards the captain in charge of the guard post. ‘I’ve never seen this man before.’
The officer had really wanted to believe that Margont knew Talleyrand, even if he hadn’t believed the rest of his story. But Margont had dared to make a fool of him, and he would pay dearly for that! Talleyrand was already leaving.
‘You’re signing my death warrant!’ Margont shouted at him.
Two chasseurs grabbed him roughly and Lefine found himself similarly restrained.
‘The Tsar’s about to be assassinated!’ yelled Margont. ‘And he’ll be assassinated in your house! The Russians will think you’re an accomplice!’
Talleyrand turned round. ‘Wait a minute! Perhaps I will listen to this man. You never know ...’
Varencourt followed Major Lyzki across a corridor, through a little sitting room, down another corridor ... Two soldiers of the Guard came to attention as the major passed. Four infantrymen brought up the rear of the little convoy.
They came to a small room decorated in the imperial style, with many Greco-Roman touches that were more or less authentic. Two grenadiers of the Pavlovski regiment, in mitred caps, guarded double doors at the back of the room. Varencourt calculated his chances. If Talleyrand were with the Tsar, he would fling himself on Alexander, relying on speed and the element of surprise. If Talleyrand were not in the room, he would take time to get as near as possible before making his attack. And he was sure that Talleyrand would not be there! The Tsar believed he was Napoleon’s emissary so he would take care to receive him without Talleyrand.
The doors opened. Lyzki let him pass and withdrew.
Varencourt advanced into the room, bowed, then advanced further until a general indicated that he should stop. No sign of Talleyrand!
The Tsar was ensconced in the great hall, the hall of the Eagle, in the company of about twenty men. There was Barclay de Tolly, the
commander-in-chief of the Russian army, and generals of the infantry of the line and of the Guard, including the much-decorated Langeron and Raevski. Also present was General Prince Repnine-Volkonski, the Tsar’s chief of general staff, who had led the charge of the Chevalier Guard at the Battle of Austerlitz — a charge that even Napoleon had admired. The illustrious company was completed by two Cossack officers of the Guard in scarlet coats, a colonel of the dragoons and one from the cuirassiers, and a few aides-de-camp, one of whom was Colonel Prince Orlov who had negotiated the surrender of Paris.
Varencourt considered all these exalted Russians who were staring at him, and some of whom he knew by reputation. Certainly a tsar of all the Russias could not know each of his subjects individually. What did a tsar care about a certain Ksenia de Varencourt, who had died in September 1812, just before she should have given birth? No! Tsars spoke of colonising Siberia, of wanting to absorb Poland, of Norway, which the Allies had taken from the pro-French Danes to give to the Swedes in order to encourage them to cede
Finland to the Russians, of the problem posed by the Austrian Empire ... Just as astronomers observe planets and galaxies and don’t waste their time counting specks of dust ... And yet a speck of dust could kill a tsar and annihilate Paris and its six hundred thousand inhabitants. All these ‘great men’ were as straw for his joyous blaze! Yes, he was going to offer his darling wife the most gigantic funeral pyre!
In an armchair a mere ten feet away sat the Tsar, magnificent in his white Chevalier Guard uniform, his chest glittering with medals and decorated with the blue ribbon of the order of Saint-Andre. He had dressed up for his moment of triumph. In fifty years no one would remember his three predecessors, nor probably his three successors. But everyone would remember Alexander I, the Tsar who had vanquished Napoleon. Varencourt reflected that the most glorious day of the Tsar’s life would also be his last.
He began to speak. The Tsar frowned.
An aide-de-camp, who stood beside Alexander, declared: ‘Speak
up, Lieutenant-Colonel. We can hardly hear you!’
Varencourt took a step forward like someone doing his best to make himself understood. The four soldiers behind him similarly moved forward. He went on with what he was saying, deliberately obfuscating and embellishing his story. But much of what he said was nevertheless true, and his audience, although they were suspicious, did try to untangle the threads of his complicated account involving Joseph, Napoleon, Talleyrand, the Swords of the King, fire ...