CHAPTER I

UNCLE BERNAC

A MEMORY OF THE EMPIRE

CONTENTS

Chapter

I. THE COAST OF FRANCE

II. THE SALT-MARSH

III. THE RUINED COTTAGE

IV. MEN OF THE NIGHT

V. THE LAW

VI. THE SECRET PASSAGE

VII. THE OWNER OF GROSBOIS

VIII. COUSIN SYBYLLE

IX. THE CAMP OF BOULOGNE

X. THE ANTE-ROOM

XI. THE SECRETARY

XII. THE MAN OF ACTION

XIII. THE MAN OF DREAMS

XIV. JOSEPHINE

XV. THE RECEPTION OF THE EMPRESS

XVI. THE LIBRARY OF GROSBOIS

XVII. THE END

CHAPTER I

THE COAST OF FRANCE

I dare say that I had already read my uncle's letter a hundred times,

and I am sure that I knew it by heart. None the less I took it out of

my pocket, and, sitting on the side of the lugger, I went over it again

with as much attention as if it were for the first time. It was written

in a prim, angular hand, such as one might expect from a man who had

begun life as a village attorney, and it was addressed to Louis de

Laval, to the care of William Hargreaves, of the Green Man in Ashford,

Kent. The landlord had many a hogshead of untaxed French brandy from

the Normandy coast, and the letter had found its way by the same hands.

'My dear nephew Louis,' said the letter, 'now that your father is dead,

and that you are alone in the world, I am sure that you will not wish to

carry on the feud which has existed between the two halves of the

family. At the time of the troubles your father was drawn towards the

side of the King, and I towards that of the people, and it ended, as you

know, by his having to fly from the country, and by my becoming the

possessor of the estates of Grosbois. No doubt it is very hard that you

should find yourself in a different position to your ancestors, but I am

sure that you would rather that the land should be held by a Bernac than

by a stranger. From the brother of your mother you will at least always

meet with sympathy and consideration.

'And now I have some advice for you. You know that I have always been

a Republican, but it has become evident to me that there is no use in

fighting against fate, and that Napoleon's power is far too great to be

shaken. This being so, I have tried to serve him, for it is well to

howl when you are among wolves. I have been able to do so much for

him that he has become my very good friend, so that I may ask him what

I like in return. He is now, as you are probably aware, with the army

at Boulogne, within a few miles of Grosbois. If you will come over at

once he will certainly forget the hostility of your father in

consideration of the services of your uncle. It is true that your name

is still proscribed, but my influence with the Emperor will set that

matter right. Come to me, then, come at once, and come with confidence.

'Your uncle,

'C. BERNAC.'

So much for the letter, but it was the outside which had puzzled me

most. A seal of red wax had been affixed at either end, and my uncle

had apparently used his thumb as a signet. One could see the little

rippling edges of a coarse skin imprinted upon the wax. And then above

one of the seals there was written in English the two words, 'Don't

come.' It was hastily scrawled, and whether by a man or a woman it was

impossible to say; but there it stared me in the face, that sinister

addition to an invitation.

'Don't come!' Had it been added by this unknown uncle of mine on

account of some sudden change in his plans? Surely that was

inconceivable, for why in that case should he send the invitation at

all? Or was it placed there by some one else who wished to warn me from

accepting this offer of hospitality? The letter was in French. The

warning was in English. Could it have been added in England? But the

seals were unbroken, and how could any one in England know what were the

contents of the letter?

And then, as I sat there with the big sail humming like a shell above my

head and the green water hissing beside me, I thought over all that I

had heard of this uncle of mine. My father, the descendant of one of

the proudest and oldest families in France, had chosen beauty and virtue

rather than rank in his wife. Never for an hour had she given him cause

to regret it; but this lawyer brother of hers had, as I understood,

offended my father by his slavish obsequiousness in days of prosperity

and his venomous enmity in the days of trouble. He had hounded on the

peasants until my family had been compelled to fly from the country, and

had afterwards aided Robespierre in his worst excesses, receiving as a

reward the castle and estate of Grosbois, which was our own. At the

fall of Robespierre he had succeeded in conciliating Barras, and through

every successive change he still managed to gain a fresh tenure of the

property. Now it appeared from his letter that the new Emperor of

France had also taken his part, though why he should befriend a man with

such a history, and what service my Republican uncle could possibly

render to him, were matters upon which I could form no opinion.

And now you will ask me, no doubt, why I should accept the invitation

of such a man--a man whom my father had always stigmatised as a usurper

and a traitor. It is easier to speak of it now than then, but the fact

was that we of the new generation felt it very irksome and difficult to

carry on the bitter quarrels of the last. To the older _emigres_ the

clock of time seemed to have stopped in the year 1792, and they remained

for ever with the loves and the hatreds of that era fixed indelibly upon

their souls. They had been burned into them by the fiery furnace

through which they had passed. But we, who had grown up upon a strange

soil, understood that the world had moved, and that new issues had

arisen. We were inclined to forget these feuds of the last generation.

France to us was no longer the murderous land of the _sans-culotte_ and

the guillotine basket; it was rather the glorious queen of war, attacked

by all and conquering all, but still so hard pressed that her scattered

sons could hear her call to arms for ever sounding in their ears. It

was that call more than my uncle's letter which was taking me over the

waters of the Channel.

For long my heart had been with my country in her struggle, and yet

while my father lived I had never dared to say so; for to him, who had

served under Conde and fought at Quiberon, it would have seemed the

blackest treason. But after his death there was no reason why I should

not return to the land of my birth, and my desire was the stronger

because Eugenie--the same Eugenie who has been thirty years my wife--was

of the same way of thinking as myself. Her parents were a branch of the

de Choiseuls, and their prejudices were even stronger than those of my

father. Little did they think what was passing in the minds of their

children. Many a time when they were mourning a French victory in the

parlour we were both capering with joy in the garden. There was a

little window, all choked round with laurel bushes, in the corner of the

bare brick house, and there we used to meet at night, the dearer to each

other from our difference with all who surrounded us. I would tell her

my ambitions; she would strengthen them by her enthusiasm. And so all

was ready when the time came.

But there was another reason besides the death of my father and the

receipt of this letter from my uncle. Ashford was becoming too hot to

hold me. I will say this for the English, that they were very generous

hosts to the French emigrants. There was not one of us who did not

carry away a kindly remembrance of the land and its people. But in

every country there are overbearing, swaggering folk, and even in quiet,

sleepy Ashford we were plagued by them. There was one young Kentish

squire, Farley was his name, who had earned a reputation in the town as

a bully and a roisterer. He could not meet one of us without uttering

insults not merely against the present French Government, which might

have been excusable in an English patriot, but against France itself and

all Frenchmen. Often we were forced to be deaf in his presence, but at

last his conduct became so intolerable that I determined to teach him a

lesson. There were several of us in the coffee-room at the Green Man

one evening, and he, full of wine and malice, was heaping insults upon

the French, his eyes creeping round to me every moment to see how I was

taking it. 'Now, Monsieur de Laval,' he cried, putting his rude hand

upon my shoulder, 'here is a toast for you to drink. This is to the

arm of Nelson which strikes down the French.' He stood leering at me to

see if I would drink it. 'Well, sir,' said I, 'I will drink your toast

if you will drink mine in return.' 'Come on, then!' said he. So we

drank. 'Now, monsieur, let us have your toast,' said he. 'Fill your

glass, then,' said I. 'It is full now.' 'Well, then, here's to the

cannon-ball which carried off that arm!' In an instant I had a glass of

port wine running down my face, and within an hour a meeting had been

arranged. I shot him through the shoulder, and that night, when I came

to the little window, Eugenie plucked off some of the laurel leaves and

stuck them in my hair.

There were no legal proceedings about the duel, but it made my position

a little difficult in the town, and it will explain, with other things,

why I had no hesitation in accepting my unknown uncle's invitation, in

spite of the singular addition which I found upon the cover. If he had

indeed sufficient influence with the Emperor to remove the proscription

which was attached to our name, then the only barrier which shut me off

from my country would be demolished.

You must picture me all this time as sitting upon the side of the lugger

and turning my prospects and my position over in my head. My reverie

was interrupted by the heavy hand of the English skipper dropping

abruptly upon my arm.

'Now then, master,' said he, it's time you were stepping into the

dingey.'

I do not inherit the politics of the aristocrats, but I have never lost

their sense of personal dignity. I gently pushed away his polluting

hand, and I remarked that we were still a long way from the shore.

'Well, you can do as you please,' said he roughly; 'I'm going no nearer,

so you can take your choice of getting into the dingey or of swimming

for it.'

It was in vain that I pleaded that he had been paid his price. I did

not add that that price meant that the watch which had belonged to three

generations of de Lavals was now lying in the shop of a Dover goldsmith.

'Little enough, too!' he cried harshly. 'Down sail, Jim, and bring her

to! Now, master, you can step over the side, or you can come back to

Dover, but I don't take the Vixen a cable's length nearer to Ambleteuse

Beef with this gale coming up from the sou'-west.'

'In that case I shall go,' said I.

'You can lay your life on that!' he answered, and laughed in so

irritating a fashion that I half turned upon him with the intention of

chastising him. One is very helpless with these fellows, however, for a

serious affair is of course out of the question, while if one uses a

cane upon them they have a vile habit of striking with their hands,

which gives them an advantage. The Marquis de Chamfort told me that,

when he first settled in Sutton at the time of the emigration, he lost a

tooth when reproving an unruly peasant. I made the best of a necessity,

therefore, and, shrugging my shoulders, I passed over the side of the

lugger into the little boat. My bundle was dropped in after me--conceive

to yourself the heir of all the de Lavals travelling with a

single bundle for his baggage!--and two seamen pushed her off, pulling

with long slow strokes towards the low-lying shore.

There was certainly every promise of a wild night, for the dark cloud

which had rolled up over the setting sun was now frayed and ragged at

the edges, extending a good third of the way across the heavens. It had

split low down near the horizon, and the crimson glare of the sunset

beat through the gap, so that there was the appearance of fire with a

monstrous reek of smoke. A red dancing belt of light lay across the

broad slate-coloured ocean, and in the centre of it the little black

craft was wallowing and tumbling. The two seamen kept looking up at the

heavens, and then over their shoulders at the land, and I feared every

moment that they would put back before the gale burst. I was filled

with apprehension every time when the end of their pull turned their

faces skyward, and it was to draw their attention away from the

storm-drift that I asked them what the lights were which had begun to

twinkle through the dusk both to the right and to the left of us.

'That's Boulogne to the north, and Etaples upon the south,' said one of

the seamen civilly.

Boulogne! Etaples! How the words came back to me! It was to Boulogne

that in my boyhood we had gone down for the summer bathing. Could I not

remember as a little lad trotting along by my father's side as he paced

the beach, and wondering why every fisherman's cap flew off at our

approach? And as to Etaples, it was thence that we had fled for

England, when the folks came raving to the pier-head as we passed, and I

joined my thin voice to my father's as he shrieked back at them, for a

stone had broken my mother's knee, and we were all frenzied with our

fear and our hatred. And here they were, these places of my childhood,

twinkling to the north and south of me, while there, in the darkness

between them, and only ten miles off at the furthest, lay my own castle,

my own land of Grosbois, where the men of my blood had lived and died

long before some of us had gone across with Duke William to conquer the

proud island over the water. How I strained my eager eyes through the

darkness as I thought that the distant black keep of our fortalice might

even now be visible!

'Yes, sir,' said the seaman, ''tis a fine stretch of lonesome coast, and

many is the cock of your hackle that I have helped ashore there.'

'What do you take me for, then?' I asked.

'Well, 'tis no business of mine, sir,' he answered. 'There are some

trades that had best not even be spoken about.'

'You think that I am a conspirator?'

'Well, master, since you have put a name to it. Lor' love you, sir,

we're used to it.'

'I give you my word that I am none.'

'An escaped prisoner, then?'

'No, nor that either.'

The man leaned upon his oar, and I could see in the gloom that his face

was thrust forward, and that it was wrinkled with suspicion.

'If you're one of Boney's spies--' he cried.

'I! A spy!' The tone of my voice was enough to convince him.

'Well,' said he,' I'm darned if I know what you are. But if you'd been

a spy I'd ha' had no hand in landing you, whatever the skipper might

say.'

'Mind you, I've no word to say against Boney,' said the other seaman,

speaking in a very thick rumbling voice. 'He's been a rare good friend

to the poor mariner.'

It surprised me to hear him speak so, for the virulence of feeling

against the new French Emperor in England exceeded all belief, and high

and low were united in their hatred of him; but the sailor soon gave me

a clue to his politics.

'If the poor mariner can run in his little bit of coffee and sugar, and

run out his silk and his brandy, he has Boney to thank for it,' said he.

'The merchants have had their spell, and now it's the turn of the poor

mariner.'

I remembered then that Buonaparte was personally very popular amongst

the smugglers, as well he might be, seeing that he had made over into

their hands all the trade of the Channel. The seaman continued to pull

with his left hand, but he pointed with his right over the

slate-coloured dancing waters.

'There's Boney himself,' said he.

You who live in a quieter age cannot conceive the thrill which these

simple words sent through me. It was but ten years since we had first

heard of this man with the curious Italian name--think of it, ten

years, the time that it takes for a private to become a non-commissioned

officer, or a clerk to win a fifty-pound advance in his salary. He had

sprung in an instant out of nothing into everything. One month people

were asking who he was, the next he had broken out in the north of Italy

like the plague; Venice and Genoa withered at the touch of this swarthy

ill-nourished boy. He cowed the soldiers in the field, and he outwitted

the statesmen in the council chamber. With a frenzy of energy he rushed

to the east, and then, while men were still marvelling at the way in

which he had converted Egypt into a French department, he was back again

in Italy and had beaten Austria for the second time to the earth. He

travelled as quickly as the rumour of his coming; and where he came

there were new victories, new combinations, the crackling of old systems

and the blurring of ancient lines of frontier. Holland, Savoy,

Switzerland--they were become mere names upon the map. France was

eating into Europe in every direction. They had made him Emperor, this

beardless artillery officer, and without an effort he had crushed down

those Republicans before whom the oldest king and the proudest nobility

of Europe had been helpless. So it came about that we, who watched him

dart from place to place like the shuttle of destiny, and who heard his

name always in connection with some new achievement and some new

success, had come at last to look upon him as something more than human,

something monstrous, overshadowing France and menacing Europe. His

giant presence loomed over the continent, and so deep was the impression

which his fame had made in my mind that, when the English sailor pointed

confidently over the darkening waters, and cried 'There's Boney!' I

looked up for the instant with a foolish expectation of seeing some

gigantic figure, some elemental creature, dark, inchoate, and

threatening, brooding over the waters of the Channel. Even now, after

the long gap of years and the knowledge of his downfall, that great man

casts his spell upon you, but all that you read and all that you hear

cannot give you an idea of what his name meant in the days when he was

at the summit of his career.

What actually met my eye was very different from this childish

expectation of mine. To the north there was a long low cape, the name

of which has now escaped me. In the evening light it had been of the

same greyish green tint as the other headlands; but now, as the darkness

fell, it gradually broke into a dull glow, like a cooling iron.

On that wild night, seen and lost with the heave and sweep of the boat,

this lurid streak carried with it a vague but sinister suggestion.

The red line splitting the darkness might have been a giant half-forged

sword-blade with its point towards England.

'What is it, then?' I asked.

'Just what I say, master,' said he. 'It's one of Boney's armies, with

Boney himself in the middle of it as like as not. Them is their camp

fires, and you'll see a dozen such between this and Ostend.

He's audacious enough to come across, is little Boney, if he could dowse

Lord Nelson's other eye; but there's no chance for him until then, and

well he knows it.'

'How can Lord Nelson know what he is doing?' I asked.

The man pointed out over my shoulder into the darkness, and far on the

horizon I perceived three little twinkling lights.

'Watch dog,' said he, in his husky voice.

'Andromeda. Forty-four,' added his companion.

I have often thought of them since, the long glow upon the land, and the

three little lights upon the sea, standing for so much, for the two

great rivals face to face, for the power of the land and the power of

the water, for the centuries-old battle, which may last for centuries to

come. And yet, Frenchman as I am, do I not know that the struggle is

already decided?--for it lies between the childless nation and that

which has a lusty young brood springing up around her. If France falls

she dies, but if England falls how many nations are there who will carry

her speech, her traditions and her blood on into the history of the

future?

The land had been looming darker, and the thudding of waves upon the

sand sounded louder every instant upon my ears. I could already see the

quick dancing gleam of the surf in front of me. Suddenly, as I peered

through the deepening shadow, a long dark boat shot out from it, like a

trout from under a stone, making straight in our direction.

'A guard boat!' cried one of the seamen.

'Bill, boy, we're done!' said the other, and began to stuff something

into his sea boot.

But the boat swerved at the sight of us, like a shying horse, and was

off in another direction as fast as eight frantic oars could drive her.

The seamen stared after her and wiped their brows. 'Her conscience

don't seem much easier than our own,' said one of them. 'I made sure it

was the preventives.'

'Looks to me as if you weren't the only queer cargo on the coast

to-night, mister,' remarked his comrade. 'What could she be?'

'Cursed if I know what she was. I rammed a cake of good Trinidad

tobacco into my boot when I saw her. I've seen the inside of a French

prison before now. Give way, Bill, and have it over.'

A minute later, with a low grating sound, we ran aground upon a gravelly

leach. My bundle was thrown ashore, I stepped after it, and a seaman

pushed the prow off again, springing in as his comrade backed her into

deep water. Already the glow in the west had vanished, the storm-cloud

was half up the heavens, and a thick blackness had gathered over the

ocean. As I turned to watch the vanishing boat a keen wet blast flapped

in my face, and the air was filled with the high piping of the wind and

with the deep thunder of the sea.

And thus it was that, on a wild evening in the early spring of the year

1805, I, Louis de Laval, being in the twenty-first year of my age,

returned, after an exile of thirteen years, to the country of which my

family had for many centuries been the ornament and support. She had

treated us badly, this country; she had repaid our services by insult,

exile, and confiscation. But all that was forgotten as I, the only de

Laval of the new generation, dropped upon my knees upon her sacred soil,

and, with the strong smell of the seaweed in my nostrils, pressed my

lips upon the wet and pringling gravel.