Inferno

Chapter 26

Memel, East Prussia

The British ambassador to Russia, Lord Granville Leveson Gower, had not been invited and, even as representative of a principal ally, hadn’t expected to be. He’d heard of the theatrical meeting on the raft and knew that events beside the Neman were rushing to a climax that threatened Britain as nothing else had done, but he was helpless to do anything about it.

Alone in his study that night, there were dispatches to write up. They could contain little of substance for he was not a spectator but a helpless pawn, holding a travesty of a diplomatic presence there, going through the motions of one disinterested in anything the French were doing.

Then Meyen arrived.

‘Good heavens, man! You’re looking dreadful – come in, come in. A restorative?’ Gower fetched a glass and the brandy decanter from the sideboard. Drawn and pale, the man was restless, driven, not the controlled and smooth cosmopolitan he had last seen. ‘You’ve news?’

‘Of course. I came as soon as I could. Sir, what do you know of the meeting of emperors?’

‘I’ve heard nothing beyond that they met in a pavilion on a raft. There’ve been rumours but-’

‘Then prepare yourself. There is an agreement. Europe is to be divided between the two. Alexander has been duped by the tyrant and is in his power. Sir, we are lost!’

The news was devastating. The two emperors had achieved their agreement, a treaty of friendship that was stark and clear in its implications. Russia was out of the war and now in a state of amity and concord with France. The alliance with Britain was dead, leaving her quite alone, with not a single friend of consequence on the continent.

Prussia was spared – but at a cost. Half of its territories would go to the newly created Kingdom of Westphalia to be ruled by Bonaparte’s brother Jerome. Its lands from the partition of Poland would be handed over to the equally new Duchy of Warsaw. And the two emperors would assist each other to bring peace to the world: France would proffer its best offices in treating with the Ottomans, and Russia would offer to mediate in a peace treaty with Great Britain.

The ambassador slumped back, appalled. Meyen was right: it could not possibly be worse.

Since the beginning of the wars British strategy had been to deploy the wealth from its industrial might in subsidies and arms to any nation that stood against Bonaparte. It had been remarkably successful so far – but it had relied on two factors that now no longer existed.

No nations of consequence continued to resist. And with the entire continent in Bonaparte’s power, the industrial products that generated Britain’s wealth could not be sold into a continental market that the Emperor controlled absolutely.

Meyen’s overheard information was priceless and revealing – yet it did not change the essence of what had happened on the raft. But Gower now had an idea of the cynical scrabbling and manoeuvring among the lesser powers to readjust to the reality of the situation. He knew that they no longer saw Britain as a player in the big game.

The man was paid and Gower left to his thoughts. They were bitter and helpless. It was not Britain’s fault, she had lost no battle – but Bonaparte had won the war.

He got out pen and paper and set about preparing his dispatch, which he knew would shock his countrymen to the core. He had barely started when an expressionless under-secretary handed him a note. It was in bad French but to the point. A friend of England had secret and powerful information for his ears alone. Well placed in the Tsar’s court, he was privy to secrets that would bear grievously on his conscience should he fail to disclose them. If Gower wished to hear them, he must allow himself to be conducted, unattended, to a private room where the writer, not wishing to be identified, would speak to him through a curtain.

‘The one who brought this, is he …?’

‘He waits below, my lord.’

The private room was not far away, evidently chosen hastily for the occasion. Inside there was a dividing makeshift chintz screen and Gower was ushered to a solitary chair next to it.

‘You have information for me, I believe.’

‘I haf, lord.’ The voice on the other side was muffled but Gower thought he knew who it was. It didn’t matter: he could establish authentication in other ways.

‘Then in order for me to assess your standing, you will tell me the appearance in court of the lady of Count Speransky.’

‘Ha! He is a vidow.’

‘Very good. In the Tsar’s throne room, do you enter from right or left?’

‘None. From ze centre, bowing much.’

‘Yes, that is so. May I then hear your information, sir?’

What he heard sent him into a chill of despair for it multiplied the danger England faced to a near intolerable pitch.

It seemed the Treaty of Tilsit had two faces, public and secret, both equally binding. The public one he knew of, but there had been agreed secret covenants far too dangerous in their implications to be let known, even to the respective governments. The canny Bonaparte had dangled the promise of ‘common cause’ before the callow Alexander. In the matter of the Ottomans, Russia would at last achieve the cherished dream of Catherine the Great: the conquest of Constantinople and its reverting to Orthodox Christianity. In the event of difficulties, France would show common cause with Russia in the contest. On the other hand Alexander would mediate in the imposing of severe peace terms on England, which, if refused, would result in his showing common cause with France.

To Gower it was a nightmare. In one stroke a land route for the invasion of India had been created, and by the same, Russia would be free to enter the Mediterranean as a great power. Yet the greater significance was that Russia was not only out of the war but had changed sides. From now, with all its millions, it would be an active enemy.

While he tried to grapple with the reality, the Russian behind the curtain spluttered with helpless indignation at how Alexander had been taken in. The Tsar had held out for the preservation of Prussia, true, thinking it to be a buffer between him and the French, but he’d been outsmarted by Bonaparte, who had delayed the evacuation of his troops from the rump of Prussia until reparations had been paid. He had demanded an impossible sum and therefore the country would remain under French occupation.

There was now little doubt as to the shape of this new world. The only question left: where would Napoleon turn next?

With a heavy heart Gower returned to his study and his dispatch. It was essential to get it to London as fast as possible, but with as much material evidence at this crucial time as he could muster. It was hard going, his phrases coming across even to him as plaintive and defensive.

Starting with his exclusion from the fateful stage he went on to detail how, as ambassador to Russia, he saw developments:

‘Bonaparte has obtained complete possession of the mind of the Emperor Alexander … who has become a dupe of his insidious flattery …’ He pictured the ambitious and impatient Canning reading his words and stiffened them. ‘I see nothing other than that unless you make peace England will be engaged in war with the whole of Europe at intolerable cost … The most deadly blows are aiming at the very existence of the country: for be assured that the dangers which threaten England at this moment infinitely exceed what we ever before apprehended …’

There was nothing more he could do.