The Rape Of Venice

Chapter 24

Half an Hour to Live

Roger had known the answer before he asked the question. For a few moments he had tried to persuade himself that he was being transferred to a different prison and had clutched, as at a straw, at the thought that, spies being a matter for the military, he was only being removed from the custody of the civil authorities. But convicted spies were shot. And he had been convicted. There were no convenient walls in the Doge's Palace, or the solid block of the Leads, against which a man might be shot out of sight of the public; whereas, in the many acres covered by the great Arsenal, there were plenty. Instinct had told him what to expect immediately the Provost-​Marshal had given the order for him to be taken there.

In the past ten years he had had a dozen narrow escapes and a wonderful run for his money; but now the game was up. It was the normal end to anyone who plied his trade long enough and he had taken the pitcher to the well once too often. Yet it was a bitter pill that his downfall had been brought about through his private vendetta against Malderini. Death at the hands of a firing squad would at least have been more acceptable as the penalty of failure in some worthwhile coup planned in the service of his country and Mr. Pitt.

It galled him terribly to think that Malderini had outwitted him, and he wondered if he could have played his cards better. Perhaps, after all, the Municipality would have released him after a few weeks, had he had the fortitude to endure misery and uncertainty for a while in the Leads. He might at least have held his hand for a month before taking the step by which he had burnt his boats. But on second thoughts, he felt again that the dice had been loaded against such a hope. Malderini had known that he was in the Leads and would have spared no pains or bribes to have had him kept there.

Again, he might have addressed his letter to General Buonaparte instead of to the French Charge d'Affaires. But, if he had, would it ever have reached that immensely busy, and new great, man? He thought it very unlikely. No, for once the stars had been against him in his knowing no one in Venice who could vouch for him as the Citizen Breuc, and the damnable cunning of Malderini had prevented him being given the benefit of the doubt.

For three-​quarters of an hour he sat on a three-​legged stool in the cell, striving to regard his situation philosophically: then the Sergeant and two soldiers returned for him. One of the soldiers had a length of cord and with it proceeded to tie his arms behind his back, while the Sergeant remarked:

'Don't want you tryin' no tricks on us while we take our little walk along the Plagegio Schiavonio. Lots of people about ter day, an' it wouldn't do us no good with our officer if we was to let you make a bolt for it among that crowd."

When his arms had been tied, there was enough cord over for each of the soldiers to take a long loose end and they attached these to their belts, so that if he did take to his heels he would only drag them after him.

'Here we go,' said the Sergeant. 'Nice day for a stroll, though a bit 'ot out in the sunshine.' Then he led the way from the cell with his men bringing Roger along between them.

It was just on midday and outside the sun was blazing down; but that fact passed unnoticed by Roger as they came out of the great gateway of the palace. The Piazza was packed with people and he was able to advance only because a broad lane was being kept clear from the gateway down to the landing steps on the Grand Canal. Soldiers posted every few feet on both sides were having difficulty in keeping back the solid masses of men, women and children.

'Speshul fer you,' remarked the grimly jovial Sergeant. 'Turned out the guard, they 'ave, an' done yer proper.'

Roger, looking twice his age, his hair a mop, his beard uncombed, his soiled and torn Arab garments flapping about him, was far from presenting the type of spectacle calculated to bring tears to the eyes of onlookers; and from the crowd he received as many jeers as looks of pity. But he walked forward with a firm step, and, on lifting his chin, noticed that flags were flying from every point of vantage. He had naturally not taken the Sergeant seriously, and Villetard’s having said that the delay in his arriving at the court had been owing to arranging 'the festivities', he assumed that one of the new Republican holidays perhaps a Feast to the Goddess of Reason was being celebrated.

Twenty feet from the gateway, the lane through the crowd made a curve, then ran straight on between the two lofty columns, one topped by a figure of St. Mark and the other by the Winged Lion of Venice, to the quay-​side. As Roger rounded the bend, he saw that a little crowd of richly dressed officials was standing at the top of the steps, and that a great gilded barge had just drawn up to them. Everyone was now craning their necks in that direction but at that moment an officer caught sight of Roger's party. Waving his drawn sword, he shouted angrily to the Sergeant to get off the route. Hastily, and greatly to the annoyance of some members of the crowd, Roger was bundled sideways into its front rank; for, instead of thrusting through it the Sergeant said to his men, with a grin:

Timed it nicely, didn't I, boys? Couldn't 'ave a better view, not if we was the Directors themselves awearin' their plumes an' cocked 'ats.'

In spite of the tumultuous agitation that seethed in Roger's mind, instinct impelled him to ask, 'What's happening? What is all the excitement about?'

'It's the Little Corporal's Missus,' the Sergeant told him. “E”s sent 'er 'ere on a visit.'

That meant nothing to Roger, and he remained silent for a minute; then, a vague interest aroused again, he enquired, 'Who is the Little Corporal?'

'Well; of all the ignorance!' exclaimed the Sergeant. 'You must 'ave been dead six months already not ter know that. It's our name for 'op-​o'-me-​thumb-​the little General. We give 'im "is stripes fer the way he led us to all our victories.'

Instantly Roger became as stiff as a ramrod. Next moment he saw her. The group of officials forty yards away had parted Carrying a great bouquet of flowers, La belle Creole, as she was called-​Josephine, widow of the Vicomte de Beauharnais and now Madame Buonaparte was still nodding to right and left, acknowledging their homage. Then she began to walk forward, and the crowd burst into cheers.

Like a cannonball with a double charge of powder behind it. Roger launched himself towards her. Taken completely by surprise, the two soldiers were dragged after him. At the top of his lungs, he yelled:

'Madame Buonaparte! It is I Citizen Breuc. Help! Help! They are going to shoot me! Help!'

The cheers ceased abruptly. Every face was turned towards him. He had already covered half the distance that separated him from Josephine before the soldiers, tugging on the cords that bound his arms, brought him to a halt. She, too, had halted. She gave him a look of compassion, but shook her head. She was the kindest of women and spent half her life interceding with her normally ruthless husband to secure mercy for enemies upon whom he was about to vent his wrath; and more often than not saving them from imprisonment or death. But this was Venice, and the matter evidently one in which she felt she had no right to interfere.

Roger's guards were handicapped by their muskets, but several of the soldiers who had been lining the route came to their assistance. One of them hit him a savage blow on the side of the head. It temporarily silenced and half stunned him, and he was hauled back through the crowd into its fringes. Bowing to right and left, Josephine walked on. The people began to cheer again. Somewhere in the distance a salute of guns was still booming out. A band in the Piazza struck up the Marseillaise.

The Sergeant, furious at the thought that he would be called to account for this untimely scene, smacked Roger's face hard several times with the flat of his hand. The blows had the effect of bringing him out of his temporary stupor. Josephine was then passing within fifteen feet of him. As he glimpsed the standards that were being carried aloft behind her, he let out a last despairing shout:

'Fouche! Your diary! William deKay! Help!'

Josephine's footsteps faltered. She had gone suddenly pale under her rouge. She halted and gave a loud cry: 'That man! Who is he? Please… bring him here.'

Anxious to earn merit in her eyes, half a dozen officers sprang forward. The crowd melted before them. Roger was torn from his captors, turned about and shoved by them to within a yard of her.

Half fainting, he fell on his knees, but turned his face up and managed to gasp out, 'Madame, I am the Citizen Breuc. You remember me! You must! I implore you to save me!'

She stared down at his grimy face, with its tangled hair and beard. 'No, no! You cannot be. You bear no resemblance.'

'I swear I am.' He staggered to his feet, so that he was facing her. 'I was here on a secret mission; that's why I am disguised. But look in my eyes, Madame. Look in my eyes, and you will know me.'

For a moment her soft brown eyes looked into his deep blue ones, then she whispered, 'It is! It is!'

'You are right, Madame,' said a deep voice behind her. 'It is indeed the Citizen Breuc. I, too, now recognise him.'

Shifting his glance for a second, Roger saw that the speaker was Andoche Junot, an old friend of his, and General Buonaparte's first aide-​de-​camp.

Josephine had turned to the Mayor of the new Municipality of Venice, who was doing the honours of the city for her. In Italian, which she could speak a little, she said, 'Citizen Mayor, this man is well known to me and in the past rendered me a service which I shall never forget. I do not know of what crime he is accused, but whatever it may be I beg his pardon of you, and that you will give him to me.'

The Mayor bowed so low that the big old-​fashioned wig he was wearing came down almost to the level of Josephine's waist. As he lifted his fat face he replied with a servile smile, 'Madame, your illustrious husband has bestowed liberty on Venice, and liberty is worth more than life; so the lives of everyone in this city are yours to dispose of.'

Without even waiting for the Mayor's reply, General Baraguay d'Hilliers, the Commander of the French troops in Venice, who was standing beside him, cried, 'Free this man! And be quick about it.'

Roger's escort hastened to obey. As his arms were being untied, the Sergeant grinned at him. 'Your lucky day, chum. But I were right, weren't I? Didn't I say they'd turned out the guard speshul f er you?'

The irrepressible humour of the old soldier released the tension of Roger's overstrained emotions. He found himself laughing, and saying, 'If you hadn't delayed to see the procession, I'd be dead by now. Find me later through Colonel Junot and I'll make you a handsome present to drink my health.'

As the procession moved on Roger fell in behind Junot, an incongruous figure among this splendid array of gorgeously clad officials and the bevy of beautiful women who were in attendance on Josephine. A moment later, at a touch of his shoulder, he turned to find that the clever-​looking Citizen

Villetard had sidled up to him. In an anxious voice the Charge d'Affaires said:

'Citizen Breuc, I am desolated at the thought of the part I played in Court this morning. At any other time I should have gone into such a matter more fully. I should have sent for you and questioned you myself. But for the past few days I have been overwhelmed with the work of preparing for Madame Buonaparte's reception. And the Signor Malderini had already denounced you as a British spy before your letter was received. He seemed so positive of his facts. I can hardly hope for your immediate forgiveness; but if there is any way in which I can be of service to you, you have only to command me.'

Roger was much too shrewd to show malice to a man who might prove useful to him, so he replied at once, 'Even the most conscientious of us makes mistakes at times, Citizen; and my narrow escape this morning was one of the risks inseparable from my work. In that I may later accept your offer of assistance. For the present, I require only a certificate of civicism, as a protection against any further mistakes of the same kind, and decent quarters where I can exchange this now useless Arab disguise for more suitable garments.'

Villetard gave a sigh of relief. 'Nothing could be simpler, Citizen. When our Ambassador was withdrawn in April, I took over the Embassy, and in it there is ample accommodation. I beg that you will allow me to become your host, and everything you may require shall be furnished you.'

The invitation suited Roger admirably; so he graciously accepted and they walked on side by side, across the great courtyard of the Palace, up the broad stairway, now flanked by Venetian halberdiers, and through to the enormous hall in which the Grand Council had elected the Doges. It had a frieze of their portraits going right back to the year 810 and, at one end, forming a twenty-​foot high background for the seventy-​foot-​long dais, Tintoretto's vast painting the largest in the world.

It was from the dais, three months earlier, that Junot had read to the cringing Senate Buonaparte's threatening message, which had led to the fall of the thousand-​year-​old Republic, Now he stood behind Josephine, a resplendent figure, square chinned, curly haired, smiling amiably, while the Mayor made a long speech of servile adulation about the benefits the conqueror had bestowed upon the city, and Josephine replied in her halting Italian that only urgent affairs had caused him to send her, instead of coming himself, to say how greatly he valued their friendship.

Afterwards she was conducted to the Doge's private apartments, which had been made ready for her, so that she might rest through the heat of the afternoon. Roger then accompanied Villetard to the French Embassy, where his host installed him in a comfortable room, provided him with a valet and sent for a barber and clothiers. As a further gesture of amends the long nosed diplomat then begged his acceptance of a silver-​hilted sword and a purse of five hundred sequins for present expenses. Roger saw no reason to refuse them and, to the delight of Citizen Villetard, promised to speak well of him to Madame Buonaparte.

Four hours later, bathed, rested, his beard shaved off, and dressed in ready-​made, but not too ill-​fitting, clothes, he returned with Villetard to the Palace for the banquet which was being given in Josephine's honour. When he kissed her hand at the reception and thanked her for his life, she said:

'People may reproach me for laziness and love of pleasure, Monsieur, but not for forgetting my friends; and I shall ever count you one of them. But I am all agog to learn what brought you to so sorry a pass. Please come here tomorrow morning and tell me all about yourself.'

Junot, too, was eager to hear his story and, later in the evening, after the first formal quadrille had been danced, the two men sat down together over glasses of wine. Roger had always found it good policy to tell as much of the truth as possible about his doings and, since he had to account for his long absence from France, he had decided to make no secret of his voyage to India.

When last in Paris, he had succeeded in blending various roles he had played in the past into one coherent story which was now generally accepted in the salons of the French capital. By then there were plenty of people who had once graced the halls of Versailles, but having liberal principles had stretched them far enough to the Left to survive the Terror and, after the fall of Robespierre, they had emerged, either from prison or a caution-​dictated obscurity, to form with the new masters of France a revived upper-​class of wealth and fashion; so to them there was nothing at all strange in the ci-​devant Chevalier de Breuc having kept his life and liberty by fooling the sans culottes into believing him to be a dyed-​in-​the-​wool revolutionary. He had, too, so skilfully dovetailed his French and English identities that the Buonaparte’s, Barras, Junot and everyone else with whom he was well acquainted as Citizen Breuc thought him only half French by birth and brought up in England, but entirely French in sympathies, and a patriot who had rendered France many useful services.

In consequence he led Junot to believe that, since he could pass with ease as an Englishman, he had been sent to India by the French Government to assess the possibilities of the French regaining a hold on the territories they had lost there, and of the wealth they might hope to gain if they could succeed in ousting the British from Bengal. He then showed equal eagerness to hear from the young Colonel an account of General Buonaparte's remarkable campaign.

Junot had the heart of a lion, but no great brain, and it had been his conspicuous bravery while a Sergeant at the siege of Toulon that had led the little Corsican to promote him to Lieutenant and make him his A.D.C. Afterwards, he had accompanied his new master to Paris where, during Buonaparte's dark days, when he was out of employment, they had shared a room in a back street hotel, and, by various shifts, Junot had managed to support them both. When the coup d'etat of 13th Vendemiaire had brought Buonaparte with one bound from obscurity to Military Governor of Paris, he had not been slow to show his gratitude, and Junot, who regarded him as little short of God, was delighted to plunge into a panegyric about his triumphs.

'When we arrived in Nice towards the end of March '96,' he said, 'I will confess that I was just a shade anxious about the sort of reception our General would have when he took over the command. He had brought with him from Paris Berthier, to be his Chief-​of-​Staff, Marmont, Murat and myself. Naturally, we all had absolute faith in him, but he had never before commanded even as much as a Brigade in the field; so we couldn't help wondering how the old hands would like his appointment.

'Serurier was one Divisional Commander. He is a ci-​devant Count, you know. He spent years in the old army and only joined the revolution because he had been treated so shabbily; a conscientious man and good at looking after his men, but stuck fast in all the old traditions about set-​piece wars. Augereau was another; a sans-​culotte if ever there was one, and vain as a peacock, but a skilful tactician and a tremendous fighter. Massena was the third; a dour silent fellow, but by far the ablest of the lot. All of them had victories to their credit, and a much better claim to be appointed General-​in-​Chief than our little man; but in no time at all they were eating out of his hand.

'You know his immense energy. He gave them no time to talk or grumble. The Army was short of everything but, all the same, within a fortnight of his taking over, we were up in the Ligurian Alps firing our first shots at the village of Montenotte.'

With uncheckable enthusiasm. Junot talked on for over an hour, describing victory after victory fought in the summer heats across the rivers Adda, Po, Mincio and Adige, then during the desperate winter campaign up through the snow-​clad Alps into Austria.

Then he spoke of the new army that Buonaparte had forged. 'You'll find it very different from that with which we served at Toulon. It hadn't altered much when the little man took it over. The troops were still just ill disciplined cut-​throats who thought themselves as good as their officers. They got no pay and had few clothes; many of them had rags wrapped round their feet because there were no boots. Only a flaming belief that they were fighting to save the revolution kept them going. But the General has altered all that. Money and paintings aren't the only things we've had out of Italy. Every tailor, cobbler and saddler in the country has been made to sweat blood. You'll have seen some of our smart new uniforms in Venice, though.

Another thing: from the beginning he abandoned the practice of calling them “Citizens” and instead always addresses them as “Soldiers”. Among the officers, too, the word “Monsieur” has come back, and woe betide the rough-​neck who dares any longer to question an order. All that old business of soldiers' committees, that had to have the situation explained to them and be argued round before they would agree to attack, has long since gone by the board.

'Buonaparte has changed too. Even his closest friends no longer dare “thee” and “thou” him. He keeps himself very much aloof, and rightly so. He is no longer interested in Corsica, either. You'll remember how passionately he used to discourse on the island's right to independence. Now, for him, it has become just one of the Departments of France, and he looks upon himself as a Frenchman. He has even changed the spelling of his name so that it now sounds more French, and signs everything “Bonepart”.'

Roger listened, fascinated, to all this, but he was desperately tired; so, when Junot went off again to dance, he left the Palace, had himself taken back to the French Embassy and there flopped into bed.

Next morning, his face still lined and his eyes deeply shadowed from his recent ordeal, but in excellent heart, he went to his old lodging near the church of the Spirito Sancto. The landlord, naturally, did not at first recognise him, but he told him that he had been living there in disguise, spoke of Captain Battista and the previous day's trial, of which the man had heard, and soon convinced him of his identity. Up in the room he had occupied he retrieved, from under the floorboards, his Bills of Exchange on London, the equivalent of fifty guineas in gold, a small silk bag containing the jewels that the Rai-​ul-​daula had given him, and the letter from Mr. Pitt.

The first, if his luck turned again, and was found upon him, he would be able to account for, but the last he certainly could not. The letter had served him well, and he was loath to part with it, but to keep it was a risk that he felt he could not afford to take; so, using his tinder box, he burnt it to ashes.

From among the jewels, he selected a star sapphire as big as a hazel nut which, set in a surround of small diamonds, had been used as a hair ornament but could be made into a very unusual brooch, and slipped it into his waistcoat pocket. The other items he disposed of about his person; then he paid the landlord what was due to him and crossed the Grand Canal to wait upon Madame Boneparte in the Doge's Palace.

She received him as an old friend, in negligee, lying on a gilt day-​bed while her hair was being dressed and coiled with ribbons high on her head, a la Grecque. With the abandonment fashionable under the Directory, she was wearing only the most flimsy garments, through which he could see a good part of her well-​rounded limbs. Her retrousse nose deprived her of real beauty, but her brown eyes were large and luminous, and there was a voluptuousness about her that drew many men to her like a lodestone.

After he had kissed her hand, he went down on one knee and offered her the jewel. Never having seen one like it before, she examined it with delight, but then refused to take it, saying that she was still his debtor rather than he hers.

But, knowing her love of pretty things, he insisted that she should, telling the glib lie that he had brought it all the way from India for her.

At that she exclaimed with astonishment and begged him to tell her about that distant land. For half an hour he entertained her with accounts of Rajahs' palaces, snake-​charmers, hunting tigers from the back of an elephant, and other true travellers' tales, then she said:

'The General-​in-​Chief will be enthralled to have an eyewitness account of such matters. Monsieur, He has always been intrigued by the East and, as you may know, once contemplated leaving the French service for that of the Grand Turk. No doubt, now that you are returned, he will offer you suitable employment. He always prefers to have familiar faces about him, and in recent months he has displayed a special preference for those whose breeding distinguishes them by their good manners. You fulfil both of those requirements so I am sure he will give you a warm welcome. Meanwhile, I should be most happy if you would accept a post as one of my equerries.'

Roger's hesitation was hardly perceptible. Willy-​nilly, he had been pitched back into the tortuous maze of international intrigue, and the offer of the appointment led right to the heart of it. Smiling, he expressed his thanks and the pleasure he would derive from becoming one of her personal entourage.

Having kissed her plump hand again, he left her and returned to the Embassy. Villetard was out, but an hour later he came in and Roger asked him for a quarter of an hour's private conversation. He readily assented and they went into his office.

Since his rescue the previous morning. Roger had had no opportunity to take any steps against Malderini, but he had found time to consider how best to deal with him. His own position as the friend of Madame Boneparte was now unassailable, and his identity as a Frenchman having been proved beyond dispute automatically convicted Malderini of deliberate perjury with intent to secure the death of a French citizen. He might, in the past twenty-​four hours, Roger realised, have fled the city; but, if he had, he could not have got far, and with all Northern Italy now virtually a French province, it should not be difficult to have him hunted down.

Roger's first thought had been to get Villetard to have him arrested, and clapped in the Leads, and have strict orders given that he should receive no money; as, for a man of his age and poor physique on short rations, that would almost inevitably mean a lingering death in the darkness. But it might be many months, or even several years, before he finally gave up the ghost; and, whereas he could have seen to it that Roger was kept there indefinitely, the reverse did not apply, as Roger would be leaving Venice and, if the city was to be restored to independence, soon after peace was signed the French would leave it too.

On consideration, he decided that the best way of making certain of his object was to get Villetard to have Malderini brought to the Embassy and confined in one of its cellars on the pretext that he was withholding valuable information. He could then go down at night to 'question him', and he would be found dead in the morning. Even if it was suspected that Roger had put an end to him, no action would be taken. Plenty of people had met their deaths in similar ways in Venice these past few months. His body would be thrown into the canal the following night, and that would be the end of the matter.

In consequence, as soon as they were seated in Villetard's room, he confirmed what he had hinted in his letter that his reason for getting into the Malderini Palace had been not a romantic one, but in connection with secret work for the Republic about which he was not at liberty to speak and asked that Malderini should be arrested, brought to the Embassy as soon as possible, and locked up in a cellar.

As Villetard listened to this request, he began to look uncomfortable and, when Roger had done, he said, 'Citizen, you know how eager I am to be of service to you, but I greatly fear this is a matter in which I cannot do as you wish. Quite apart from your desire to question Malderini in connection with this work you speak of, you must naturally be feeling an intense resentment against him for having so nearly brought about your death, and it would be no more than a mild revenge to keep him here or, better still, in the Leads, for some months on bread and water. But, unfortunately, I could not agree to either, because he is one of my most valuable agents.'