Delphi Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Illustrated) (491 page)

Thus within a few minutes he would pass from a question of milliards to a question of sous, and from the management of a empire to that of a stable. From time to time I could observe that he threw a little oblique glance at me as if to ask what I thought of it all, and at the time I wondered very much why my approval should be of any consequence to him. But now, when I look back and see that my following his fortunes brought over so many others of the young nobility, I understand that he saw very much further than I did.

‘Well, Monsieur de Laval,’ said he suddenly, ‘you have seen something of my methods. Are you prepared to enter my service?’

‘Assuredly, Sire,’ I answered.

‘I can be a very hard master when I like,’ said he smiling. ‘You were there when I spoke to Admiral Bruix. We have all our duty to do, and discipline is as necessary in the highest as in the lowest ranks. But anger with me never rises above here,’ and he drew his hand across his throat. ‘I never permit it to cloud my brain. Dr. Corvisart here would tell you that I have the slowest pulse of all his patients.’

‘And that you are the fastest eater, Sire,’ said a large-faced, benevolent-looking person who had been whispering to Marshal Berthier.

‘Ohe, you rascal, you rake that up against me, do you? The Doctor will not forgive me because I tell him when I am unwell that I had rather die of the disease than of the remedies. If I eat too fast it is the fault of the State, which does not allow me more than a few minutes for my meals. Which reminds me that it must be rather after my dinner hour, Constant?’

‘It is four hours after it, Sire.’

‘Serve it up then at once.’

‘Yes, Sire. Monsieur Isabey is outside, Sire, with his dolls.’

‘Ah, we shall see them at once. Show him in.’

A man entered who had evidently just arrived from a long journey. Under his arm he carried a large flat wickerwork basket.

‘It is two days since I sent for you, Monsieur Isabey.’

‘The courier arrived yesterday, Sire. I have been travelling from Paris ever since.’

‘Have you the models there?’

‘Yes, Sire.’

‘Then you may lay them out on that table.’

I could not at first imagine what it meant when I saw, upon Isabey opening his basket, that it was crammed with little puppets about a foot high, all of them dressed in the most gorgeous silk and velvet costumes, with trimmings of ermine and hangings of gold lace. But presently, as the designer took them out one by one and placed them on the table, I understood that the Emperor, with his extraordinary passion for detail and for directly controlling everything in his Court, had had these dolls dressed in order to judge the effect of the gorgeous costumes which had been ordered for his grand functionaries upon State occasions.

‘What is this?’ he asked, holding up a little lady in hunting costume of amaranth and gold with a toque and plume of white feathers.

‘That is for the Empress’s hunt, Sire.’

‘You should have the waist rather lower,’ said Napoleon, who had very definite opinions about ladies’ dresses. ‘These cursed fashions seem to be the only thing in my dominions which I cannot regulate. My tailor, Duchesne, takes three inches from my coat-tails, and all the armies and fleets of France cannot prevent him. Who is this?’

He had picked up a very gorgeous figure in a green coat.

‘That is the grand master of the hunt, Sire.’

‘Then it is you, Berthier. How do you like your new costume? And this in red?’

‘That is the Arch-Chancellor.’

‘And the violet?’

‘That is the Grand Chamberlain.’

The Emperor was as much amused as a child with a new toy. He formed little groups of the figures upon the table, so that he might have an idea of how the dignitaries would look when they chatted together. Then he threw them all back into the basket.

‘Very good,’ said he. ‘You and David have done your work very well, Isabey. You will submit these designs to the Court outfitters and have an estimate for the expense. You may tell Lenormand that if she ventures to send in such an account as the last which she sent to the Empress she shall see the inside of Vincennes. You would not think it right, Monsieur de Laval, to spend twenty-five thousand francs upon a single dress, even though it were for Mademoiselle Eugenie de Choiseul.’

Was there anything which this wizard of a man did not know? What could my love affairs be to him amidst the clash of armies and the struggles of nations? When I looked at him, half in amazement and half in fear, that pleasant boyish smile lit up his pale face, and his plump little hand rested for an instant upon my shoulder. His eyes were of a bright blue when he was amused, though they would turn dark when he was thoughtful, and steel-grey in moments of excitement.

‘You were surprised when I told you a little while ago about your encounter with the Englishman in the village inn. You are still more surprised now when I tell you about a certain young lady. You must certainly have thought that I was very badly served by my agents in England if I did not know such important details as these.’

‘I cannot conceive, Sire, why such trifles should be reported to you, or why you should for one instant remember them.’

‘You are certainly a very modest young man, and I hope you will not lose that charming quality when you have been for a little time at my Court. So you think that your own private affairs are of no importance to me?’

‘I do not know why they should be, Sire.’

‘What is the name of your great-uncle?’

‘He is the Cardinal de Laval de Montmorency.’

‘Precisely. And where is he?’

‘He is in Germany.’

‘Quite so — in Germany, and not at Notre Dame, where I should have placed him. Who is your first cousin?’

‘The Duke de Rohan.’

‘And where is he?’

‘In London.’

‘Yes, in London, and not at the Tuileries, where he might have had what he liked for the asking. I wonder if I were to fall whether I should have followers as faithful as those of the Bourbons. Would the men that I have made go into exile and refuse all offers until I should return? Come here, Berthier!’ he took his favourite by the ear with the caressing gesture which was peculiar to him. ‘Could I count upon you, you rascal — eh?’

‘I do not understand you, Sire.’ Our conversation had been carried on in a voice which had made it inaudible to the other people in the room, but now they were all listening to what Berthier had to say.

‘If I were driven out, would you go into exile also?’

‘No, Sire.’

‘Diable! At least you are frank.’

‘I could not go into exile, Sire.’

‘And why?’

‘Because I should be dead, Sire.’

Napoleon began to laugh.

‘And there are some who say that our Berthier is dull-witted,’ said he. ‘Well, I think I am pretty sure of you, Berthier, for although I am fond of you for reasons of my own I do not think that you would be of much value to anyone else. Now I could not say that of you, Monsieur Talleyrand. You would change very quickly to a new master as you have changed from an old one. You have a genius, you know, for adapting yourself.’

There was nothing which the Emperor loved more than to suddenly produce little scenes of this sort which made everybody very uncomfortable, for no one could tell what awkward or compromising question he was going to put to them next. At present, however, they all forgot their own fears of what might come in their interest at the reply which the famous diplomatist might make to a suggestion which everybody knew to be so true. He stood, leaning upon his black ebony stick, with his bulky shoulders stooping forward, and an amused smile upon his face, as if the most innocent of compliments had been addressed to him. One of his few titles to respect is that he always met Napoleon upon equal terms, and never condescended to fawn upon him or to flatter him.

‘You think I should desert you, Sire, if your enemies offered me more than you have given me?’

‘I am perfectly sure that you would.’

‘Well, really I cannot answer for myself, Sire, until the offer has been made. But it will have to be a very large one. You see, apart from my very nice hotel in the Rue St. Florentin, and the two hundred thousand or so which you are pleased to allow me, there is my position as the first minister in Europe. Really, Sire, unless they put me on the throne I cannot see how I can better my position.’

‘No, I think I have you pretty safe,’ said Napoleon, looking hard at him

with thoughtful eyes. ‘By the way, Talleyrand, you must either marry

Madame Grand or get rid of her, for I cannot have a scandal about the

Court.’

I was astounded to hear so delicate and personal a matter discussed in this public way, but this also was characteristic of the rule of this extraordinary man, who proclaimed that he looked upon delicacy and good taste as two of the fetters with which mediocrity attempted to cripple genius. There was no question of private life, from the choosing of a wife to the discarding of a mistress, that this young conqueror of thirty-six did not claim the right of discussing and of finally settling. Talleyrand broke once more into his benevolent but inscrutable smile.

‘I suppose that it is from early association, Sire,’ said he, ‘but my instincts are to avoid marriage.’

Napoleon began to laugh.

‘I forget sometimes that it is really the Bishop of Autun to whom I am speaking,’ said he. ‘I think that perhaps I have interest enough with the Pope to ask him, in return for any little attention which we gave him at the Coronation, to show you some leniency in this matter. She is a clever woman, this Madame Grand. I have observed that she listens with attention.’

Talleyrand shrugged his rounded shoulders. ‘Intellect in a woman is not always an advantage, Sire. A clever woman compromises her husband. A stupid woman only compromises herself.’

‘The cleverest woman,’ said Napoleon, ‘is the woman who is clever enough to conceal her cleverness. The women in France have always been a danger, for they are cleverer than the men. They cannot understand that it is their hearts and not their heads that we want. When they have had influence upon a monarch, they have invariably ruined his career. Look at Henry the Fourth and Louis the Fourteenth. They are all ideologists, dreamers, sentimentalists, full of emotion and energy, but without logic or foresight. Look at that accursed Madame de Stael! Look at the Salons of the Quartier St. Germain! Their eternal clack, clack, clack give me more trouble than the fleet of England. Why cannot they look after their babies and their needlework? I suppose you think that these are very dreadful opinions, Monsieur de Laval?’

It was not an easy question to answer, so I was silent.

‘You have not at your age become a practical man,’ said the Emperor. ‘You will understand then. I dare say that I thought as you do at the time when the stupid Parisians were saying what a misalliance the widow of the famous General de Beauharnais was making by marrying the unknown Buonaparte. It was a beautiful dream! There are nine inns in a single day’s journey between Milan and Mantua, and I wrote a letter to my wife from each of them. Nine letters in a day — but one becomes disillusioned, monsieur. One learns to accept things as they are.’

I could not but think what a beautiful young man he must have been before he had learned to accept things as they are. The glamour, the romance — what a bald dead thing is life without it! His own face had clouded over as if that old life had perhaps had a charm which the Emperor’s crown had never given. It may be that those nine letters written in one day at wayside inns had brought him more true joy than all the treaties by which he had torn provinces from his neighbours. But the sentiment passed from his face, and he came back in his sudden concise fashion to my own affairs.

‘Eugenie de Choiseul is the niece of the Duc de Choiseul, is she not?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Sire.’

‘You are affianced!’

‘Yes, Sire.’

He shook his head impatiently.

‘If you wish to advance yourself in my Court, Monsieur de Laval,’ said he,’ you must commit such matters to my care. Is it likely that I can look with indifference upon a marriage between emigres — an alliance between my enemies?’

‘But she shares my opinions, Sire.’

‘Ta, ta, ta, at her age one has no opinions. She has the emigre blood in her veins, and it will come out. Your marriage shall be my care, Monsieur de Laval. And I wish you to come to the Pont de Briques that you may be presented to the Empress. What is it, Constant?’