By midday the next day, in a much more pleasant climate, he entered a pass high up in the mountains. He was halted there by the most advanced of the numerous Allied patrols that had stopped him, and ordered to show his papers. The troops were Spaniards recently embodied from what had previously been a guerrilla band, and their leader, now an officer, gave him useful information about the situation of the French units on the far side of the pass.
Shortly before reaching the highest point in the pass he came upon a side track leading into an area of large, tumbled rocks. Having made his way along the path for a few hundred yards, he tethered the horses, ate a picnic meal; then, hidden by big boulders, unpacked his valise and changed into the French Colonel's uniform. As he had no further use for his civilian clothes, he buried them under a pile of shale, and he abandoned his spare horse, since having it would conflict with the story he meant to tell on reaching the French lines. He remounted his own horse, returned to the rough road through the pass and proceeded on his way.
It was not until nearly an hour later, on rounding a corner of the downward slope, that he encountered a French vedette. It consisted only of a sergeant and four men. They were naturally greatly surprised to see a senior French officer alone up there in the mountains; but he told them that he had succeeded by night in getting through the British who were besieging San Sebastian, and was on his way to King Joseph's headquarters, with an urgent plea that the King should attempt to relieve the city, otherwise it must soon surrender. The sergeant willingly gave him directions on how to reach the nearest main road, and by nightfall he entered Bayonne.
At headquarters there Roger learned that the Emperor, infuriated by his brother's defeat at Victoria, had recalled both the King and Marshal Jourdan in disgrace, and, in July sent Soult post-haste back from Germany to resume command of the army now defending the Pyrenees. This could, Roger felt, be bad news for Wellington when he received it, for after Davout and Massena, Soult was considered to be the most able of the Marshals and, as a strategist, could be counted on to make the Allied invasion of France much more difficult than would one of the braver but less brainy Marshals, such as Ney or Augereau.
The Duc de Dalmatia was not at his H.Q., as he had gone up country with his staff to make a personal reconnaissance before launching a new offensive; but the able General Clausel, whom Roger had met on numerous occasions, was there. Roger told him the story of having been caught in San Sebastian, and his success in having got by night through the British lines, in the hope of securing aid for the beleaguered city. The lie provided yet another episode to support the legend in the French Army which had led to his becoming known as ‘le brave Breuc’ and Clausel praised his courage, but said there was little hope of relieving San Sebastian unless the Marshal Duke's projected offensive proved successful.
Clausel had no news of the situation in northern Europe. As far as he knew, the armistice agreed at Plaswitz, which had been reinforced by the Treaty of Reichenbach later in June, still continued and, in view of Roger's reputation, he asked him to remain in a post on his staff. But Roger replied that only circumstances over which he had had no control had compelled him to remain in Spain, and now that he had got out of that miserable country it was his duty, as one of the Emperor's A.D.C.s, to return to him.
That night, at dinner in the headquarters Mess, he met several old acquaintances, and passed an enjoyable evening. Then he set off again early the next morning, on the road to Paris. He had travelled it several times before, so knew well the cities through which he passed: Bordeaux, Angouleme, Poitiers, Tours and Orleans. There being no urgent necessity for speed, he did not tire himself unduly, and was content to cover an average of something over fifty miles a day. This gave him ample opportunity to observe conditions in the cities and the countryside along the way, and he found them deplorable.
In his youth, before the Revolution, and even after it during the Directory, the Consulate and the early years of the Empire, the towns had been a bustle of healthy people, going eagerly about their business; fat, jolly women behind market stalls heaped high with produce, the narrow streets jammed with carriages, wagons and horsemen; while in the fields and vineyards sturdy men worked and chaffed beside buxom peasant girls; there were herds of fat cattle and goats, big piggeries aiid many haystacks.
Now the population of the urban areas was old, slow-moving and looked half-starved. The only young males among them were one-legged, hobbling along on crutches, blind and tapping their way along with a stick, or with bodies hideously distorted by war wounds. In the streets there were no carriages, few wagons and no horsemen, while two-thirds of the market stalls were empty. Between the towns things were little better. Only cripples and greybeards now worked in the fields beside the women. The herds were gone, all but a few scraggy cattle and horses had been commandeered, and not more than once in a mile could a haystack be seen.
To this terrible state, by his insatiable lust for power had the Corsican brigand reduced the once fair land of France.
On Thursday, August 14th, Roger reached Paris, and rode straight to Talleyrand's great mansion in the Rue St. Florentin. He arrived there just before six o'clock in the evening. As that was a favourite hour for gallants to dally with ladies they wished to seduce in their boudoirs, and knowing the brilliant statesman's insatiable zest for amorous encounters, Roger feared he might be engaged. But that did not prove to be the case. His Exalted Highness Charles Maurice de Perigord, Prince de Benevent, Vice Grand Elector of the Empire, was at-home and, on Roger's name being brought to him, at once ordered the footman to show him in.
Talleyrand was at this time fifty-nine years of age. As the eldest son of an ancient, princely family, he would normally have gone into the Army, but an accident while still a child had lamed him for life, and led to his being made to go into the Church. Few men could have been less fitted for the priesthood, as he was venal and so licentious that he was reputed to have slept with scores of the loveliest ladies at the Court of Versailles. That had not prevented his becoming Bishop of Autun, and a leading figure among those who brought about the liberal revolution Of 1789. He was among the first to defy the Pope and adhere to the new French National Church, but with the coming of the Terror he was forced to go into exile, first in England then in the United States. From that time he threw off even the pretence of being a Churchman, and later married.
Never having been officially listed as an emigre, he was able to return to France soon after the fall of Robespierre and, under the Directory, began his brilliant career as the manipulator of France's foreign policy. Although Paris was then still dominated by the new ideas brought in by the Revolution, he contemptuously refused to conform, continued to dress in silks and satins, wore his hair powdered and lived again as a great noble.
By '99 France was bankrupt and the whole country in a hopeless state of disorder. Realising that solvency and law and order could be restored only by government under a strong dictator led to his conspiring with the redoubtable Fouche to bring about the coup d'etat of Brumaire, which led to young General Bonaparte being made First Consul on his return from Egypt. For the greater part of the ten years that followed Talleyrand, as Foreign Minister, and Fouche, as Chief of Police, had been, after Napoleon, the most powerful men in France.
To begin with, Napoleon, knowing nothing of foreign policy, had allowed himself to be guided by Talleyrand; but as the years passed, the Emperor had become ever more convinced of his own omnipotence, and had acted contrary to his Minister's advice. He had, as Talleyrand had believed he would, brought order out of chaos; but, again and again he refused all opportunities to make peace, and Talleyrand saw that, having restored France, he was now destroying her by his ceaseless wars waged for his own aggrandisement. In consequence, in 1807 he had resigned his portfolio and refused to serve the Emperor further.