Memory of Flames

CHAPTER 6

MARGONT went to Palais-Royal, a district full of restaurants, cafes, sweet shops, gambling houses, moneylenders, theatres and perfumeries. Prostitutes propositioned passers-by under the arcades, trying to drag them up to the lofts above.

In Chez Camille, wine, beer, cider, tea, coffee and waffles were served. You could also ask an errand boy to fetch you a bavaroise from the famous Cafe Corraza; that way you could enjoy it at ease, since it was always packed over there. Margont, ensconced at a table, simultaneously skimmed Le Moniteurand Le Journal de Paris. He hoped to flush out fragments of truth by comparing the two papers. Alas, the first lied because it was the mouthpiece of the Empire, whilst the latter dared not say anything because it was not. Every time irritation gripped Margont, he gulped a mouthful of coffee. How did they dare to print such things? He imagined the progression of the words, which started out revealing the truth, then submitted to the censorship of the editor, the cuts and

rewritings imposed by the owner of the newspaper, and those demanded by the censors and the Ministry of Civilian Police. He imagined lines being crossed out, hands tearing up entire pages, phrases being reworked to produce a text that was a shadow of its original self, with no subtlety, a Manichaean narrative. More passages crossed out. French losses melting away on the paper; Russians and Prussians perishing by the thousand under the pen blows of propaganda. Everything was fine! Better and better, in fact!

‘Yet I’m not allowed to launch my newspaper!’ muttered Margont. But, of course, his determination to tell the truth would never get past the censors, and what sort of paper would that have made?

A man sat down at his table.

‘Monsieur Langes!’ he declared amiably. Since they were in public he had not used Langes’s aristocratic title.

‘Citizen Varencourt!’

Varencourt was enjoying the fake reunion with this friend who was not actually a friend and who was using an assumed name.

Margont, on the other hand, was ill at ease. But the role he was playing, the dungeon in which he was trapped, was also his protection. So he immersed himself in his assumed character and smiled to encourage his new accomplice.

‘It’s a pleasure to see you, Charles!’

Varencourt served himself a glass of wine. He was dressed shabbily in ill-cut, drab clothes. But his self-assurance gave him presence; he seemed to have nothing to fear. He was a few years older than Margont, so about forty, with attentive blue eyes.

Margont took a look around the room. In spite of the fact that the cafe was crowded he had been able to sit a little apart. They would not be overheard so long as they spoke in low voices. He could not see Lefine but he was sure to be somewhere about. Margont never ceased to be amazed at his friend’s talents.

Varencourt examined his glass by the light of the candle. The wine was improbably dark. He sniffed it curiously.

‘I would say they’ve cut it with extract of logwood, bilberries and eau-de-vie. And perhaps even ink ...’

He drank and grimaced as if an unseen hand was strangling him. ‘Dreadful. So, you’re the new investigator. I was worried they would send me another stooge. Monsieur Natai, the person I give my information to, who pays me, is obviously just a second-rate little official, an intermediary. He came to my lodgings this afternoon - which he promised he would never do! - and explained that I was to continue to pass on what I learnt to him, but that I would also have to meet someone else today, Chevalier Langes. To be honest, until now the authorities have not taken the Swords of the King seriously and have been concentrating their efforts on the Knights of the Faith and the mysterious Congregation. How wrong they were. Now that Colonel Berle has been assassinated, they send you. It’s funny - you’re not what I imagined at all. You don’t look like one of those devious investigators from the imperial secret police.’

Margont said nothing.

‘I’ve already given the police a huge amount of information,’ Varencourt went on. ‘So what else do you want to know?’ ‘Why didn’t you warn them that Colonel Berle was about to be murdered?’

‘I didn’t know! It was Monsieur Natai who told me about his death.’

‘Do you take me for an idiot?’

‘If you were an idiot, they wouldn’t have sent you. There are roughly thirty people in our organisation, perhaps more, and it is run by a committee with five members: Louis de Leaume, Honoré de Nolant, Jean-Baptiste de Chatel, Catherine de Saltonges and me. Although we have a leader, Vicomte de Leaume, all plans must be approved by a majority of the committee. Then they’re explained to the other members, who have to carry them out. It was Baron de Nolant who proposed assassinating the people responsible for the defence of Paris. His plan was debated at length, then we voted and it was blackballed.’

‘What does that mean, “blackballed”?’

Varencourt was astonished at that.

‘You’re not very up to date, are you? Did they not pass on all the

information I gave Monsieur Natai? Louis de Leaume fled to London during the revolutionary years. Over there it’s common practice for gentlemen to belong to several clubs. What kind of clubs? Well, they all have their own themes: philosophy, astronomy, insects, tobacco, the exploration of Africa, or the Indies ... Actually, a nobleman has to be a member of a club to avoid ridicule. Because if you don’t belong to a club, you become the laughing stock of the London nobility. So you put forward your application and the members vote on it. Each member puts a ball in a bag. If there is a majority of white balls: welcome to the club; if there are more black, you’re blackballed,bye-bye. It’s the last word in chic for a French aristocrat to blackball. It signifies that you are pure, an ultra, that you would rather flee to England than accept revolutionary France. So when our committee takes decisions we use the English voting system. It has the advantage of being secret. According to Vicomte de Leaume, that reduces tensions within the group. And the plan to launch a series of assassinations was blackballed - two white balls, three black.’ ‘And who voted in favour of the plan?’

‘Honoré de Nolant, since he was the one who proposed it. I don’t know who the other one was.’

‘Apart from you five, did any of the other members know about the plan?’

‘Not as far as I am aware, no. That’s not how we work. The committee does not inform the ordinary members of the projects it’s discussing, to limit the risk of leaks. Our leader is a cautious man. I’ve already explained all this to Monsieur Natai ...’

‘Tell me about your emblem, the lily and the sword.’

‘It’s the heraldic interpretation of the name of our organisation. Initially, our emblem was the traditional fleur-de-lis. Then Vicomte de Leaume decided to replace it with a fleur-de-lis in the shape of a spear. More warlike ...’

‘I’ve seen one. A cockade with a medallion and crossed arms.’

‘You have? Where did you see it?’

Varencourt seemed surprised. But on the other hand, he was a gambler. He must be used to dissembling. As Margont did not

reply, he explained, ‘Vicomte de Leaume had some copies made and distributed them to the members of the committee.’

‘I want you to give me one.’

‘I don’t have any. I didn’t accept them. At the time, I was not acting as a police informer and I didn’t want to have anything like that about me.'

Was Varencourt telling the truth? Margont hid his irritation. He was finding it very hard to find any chink in Varencourt’s armour. He would be able to begin to check what the man was telling him once he had been admitted to the group. Perhaps then he would find some hold over him.

Meanwhile Varencourt was saying suavely, ‘At the moment, for reasons of security, the symbol is known only to the members of the committee. And to the people I have passed it on to, namely the personal police of Joseph Bonaparte, I mean, Joseph I of Spain. And I have also explained that to Monsieur Natai ...’

‘I haven’t had time yet to study all the information you’ve passed

Varencourt was worried.

‘I see ...Then why are we seeing each other now? What was the hurry for the meeting?’

‘Well ... because you have to get me admitted to the Swords of the King ...’

Varencourt’s eyes widened and he almost choked. The news was as hard to swallow as the doctored wine.

‘You’re joking!’

‘No! Don’t tell me you weren’t informed?’

‘Informed ofwhat?’

They both mentally cursed Joseph and Talleyrand.

‘You’re not serious, are you?’ demanded Varencourt. ‘I refuse to lead you into the lion’s mouth! You will be unmasked and we will both be killed.’

‘My dear Charles, you refuse to take me and I refuse to go. The problem is that, in spite of that, it will happen. I have no choice and neither do you. These are the orders of our two friends, to whom we owe the pleasure of this enjoyable meeting.’

‘We have to change their minds! They have no idea. Why do they need you to ... when they already have me ...? Oh, I see, they don’t trust me. It’s just that, you see, it’s virtually impossible to become a member...’

‘You’re going to have to get me in right at the top, on the committee.’

‘Damn it, listen to yourself! It’s impossible. You would have had to be a member for at least two months. They would have had to investigate you and you would have had to prove your loyalty.’

‘I don’t doubt it. I’ve already thought of a way round that. If I were indispensable, they would accept me immediately, and at the highest level, what’s more.’

‘I have to admit, I like your thinking. Do you play cards?’

‘No! And now’s not the time to talk about that sort of thing.’

‘It’s always time for gaming! Life’s a game. At least that’s the way I take it - it’s easier to bear like that. But I am not interested in raising the stakes, and I must make clear to you that I refuse to play the game you propose.’ ‘Our two powerful friends will not accept that. If you refuse, they will put the police onto you. And they’ve already told me they’ll feed me to the Cossacks ...’

Varencourt was furious. But he continued to act like a chessboard king, proud and immobile as the opposing queen slipped forward to checkmate him.

‘Right. I understand. But it will be very expensive,’ he warned. ‘I’m listening. What’s your plan?’

‘I’ve looked through some of the information you’ve provided, although only very quickly, and I see that another idea of the Swords of the King is to stir up the Parisians to support them, or at least to incite them not to take up arms if Paris is threatened. I suppose those cockades sporting your emblem are meant to act as a sign of recognition among your soldiers. But how do you plan to reach thousands of people? And how can you do that without the risk of being shot? You’ll have to have bulletins and posters, but all the printing presses are under surveillance. That’s how I can make myself indispensable. You can pass me off as a printer! I print

theatre programmes, and posters for shows. Officially that’s how I earn my living. But actually I’m only interested in printing because I’ve always had the idea of supporting the royalist cause using the most effective weapon in the world: words!’

That’s too perfect to be true ...’

That’s why it will work! Because it’s so perfect your friends will want to believe it!’

‘You really should play cards.’

‘I do have some notion of the printing profession. I’ve always dreamt of launching a newspaper ... a real one,’ he added, casting a rueful glance at the papers he had put on the table. ‘How does admission to the heart of this group work?’

‘Good question! That depends if they trust you or not. They will ask you questions: “Why do you want to join us?” “Who can vouch for you?” When I joined, they made me wait for two months while they investigated me. The investigation was satisfactory so my admission was only a formality. But the risk with trying to rush things is that they will be more suspicious.’ ‘Stop trying to make me change my mind; you won’t succeed. You’re the one who’s going to recommend me. When someone wants to join, they must ask the person who is to nominate them questions about the group — who else is a member? What action has been taken?’

‘We’re not allowed to say anything, except that we’re a royalist group who advocates action! We are the Swords of the King. Our leader is very strict about it: we’re not to say anything else. Because if we had revealed more than that to those trying to join us, our group would have been crushed long ago. The imperial police are very efficient.’

‘Are there any other ways you want to put me off?’

Varencourt shook his head. He wore a strange expression, halfway between anger and interest. He seemed to consider their situation like a roll of the dice from which he could either gain an enormous amount or lose everything.

‘Our fates are linked but I know nothing about you, Monsieur Langes. Are you a policeman? No, you don’t look like one.

Policemen love order and discipline, which is not generally what journalists want. Are you a soldier?’

These days, everyone is a soldier.’

‘Are you an officer?’

‘Ah ... you’ll have to find out.’

‘At least tell me your real Christian name.’

‘Quentin. Quentin de Langes.’

‘You still don’t trust me and yet your life depends now on my talents as a liar.’

Margont was nervous. ‘And vice versa, Charles. Concentrate on convincing the Swords of the King to agree to meet me.’

He nodded towards the copy of Le Journal de Paris. ‘Keep it. I’ve hidden the address where I can be contacted and a few details about me. You’re supposed to know me, so learn the notes by heart and then destroy them. You’ll see that we’ve met several times at various gaming tables in Palais-Royal. I’ve lost against you, owe you money and have signed an acknowledgement of debt. We have a meeting to discuss this and that’s how we discover our common interest - the royalist cause. Happy reading I’ll wait for you to contact me so that you can introduce me to you friends. But don’t leave it too long ...’