Now was the vital moment of decision.
The Revolution is Over
As Roger stood there at the foot of the stairs he could feel the pulse throbbing in his temple. There was no time to lose; not a moment. Shouts and screams were still coming from the Orangerie. In there the gangling-limbed Lucien, short-sighted, bespectacled, thin-voiced, was displaying magnificent calmness and courage. A motion was brought that his brother should be outlawed, but he refused to put it to the Assembly. Then, seeing that his hand was about to be forced, he gained some minutes by resigning the Presidency to Chazel. Pandemonium again broke out. Fifty members all wanted to put motions and they fought like tigers to get up on the rostrum, each one who succeeded being dragged off again before he could make himself heard.
Roger's brain was whirling madly. Few men now knew Bonaparte better than he did. The Corsican was by nature a brigand, a thief on the grand scale, an athiest, a born liar, unscrupulous, ruthless and boundlessly ambitious. He was the absolute antithesis of the honour, integrity and high moral standards for which Britain's Prime Minister stood. It could not be wondered at that Mr. Pitt feared to see such a man given power, and had ordered Roger to do all he could to check his advancement.
Instead Roger had performed many useful services for Bonaparte and, for the past month, had done his utmost to aid him in a conspiracy which might, sooner or later, lead to his wielding supreme power. Chance had given Roger the opportunity to bring in Fouche, but that was incidental. Fouche took his own decisions and, his views being as they were, Talleyrand would later have been certain to secure his co-operation. In any case, Roger had been only swimming with the tide. Had he endeavoured to thwart the conspiracy, Fouche would soon have learned of his activities through one of Rial's thousand spies and would have pounced. So Roger would have found himself in prison or, worse, been in his grave. But now, simply by refraining from going upstairs, he could undo all that Talleyrand had striven for with such ardour, patience and skill.
There lay the rub. If he betrayed Bonaparte he would also be betraying Talleyrand, and he had unshakable faith in Talleyrand. He knew that Mr. Pitt disliked and despised Talleyrand even more than he did Bonaparte. But in that Roger had always felt that the shy, cold, passionless Prime Minister erred greatly in confusing morals with interests. Both Bonaparte and Talleyrand stood condemned on their personal records: the one for trickery and theft, the other for corruption and licentiousness. But Bonaparte had a genius for bringing order out of disorder; he had started as a revolutionary, but he had matured into a man of sound Liberal views who at least showed respect for religion and wished to see real liberty and justice restored to his countrymen; while Talleyrand was the man of great vision. All his life he had maintained that only when Britain and France reached an understanding could permanent peace and prosperjty come to Europe. He was the man of Peace. With Bonaparte in power, his influence would be enormous. And everywhere that Bonaparte now went, the people in the streets called to him, 'Peace! Give us Peace.' If he won this desperate gamble, how could he ignore both Talleyrand and the Will of the People?
Sweat had broken out on Roger's forehead. He was now facing ' The Great Risk' that he had always dreaded might some day be forced upon him. If he once again went against Mr. Pitt's judgment, Bonaparte, as Commander of all France's Armies, might decide to carve out for himself in Europe the Empire that he had failed to carve out in the East. If that happened, it would mean the shedding of tears by a million women and the shedding of blood by a million men. The burden of such a decision was almost too great for any one man's shoulders. But Roger took it. He put one foot on the lowest stair. Then he began to run.
As he burst into the room where Bonaparte had spent most of the day he saw that he was slumped in a chair, his features haggard, his hair in disorder, mopping the blood from a cut on his face. Next moment Roger had seized him by the arm, pulled him to his feet and was shouting:
' Quick! You have not a moment to lose! In the Five Hundred they are murdering your brother and are about to outlaw you! Do you understand? To outlaw you! Order the troops to clear the Orangerie. Talleyrand sent me. It is your only chance. It is now their lives or yours. Fail to act and tomorrow they will send you in an iron cage to Cayenne.'
Bonaparte shook Roger off. But, as though he had received an electric shock, his old vitality returned to him. His dark eyes flashed, he strode to the window and out on to the balcony. Drawing his sword he cried in his harsh Italian accent to the troops lined up below:
'Soldiers I will stand for no more. I have observed the laws, but the Five Hundred is filled with traitors. I went among them to plead for an end to the measures that have brought France to ruin. They insulted and reviled me. They attacked me with daggers. They are about to murder my brother. The peace must be kept. I order you to go in and rescue him.'
His mind had cleared and had seized upon a feature in the situation by which he might later whitewash himself. He had not ordered the troops to put an end arbitrarily to the session, but simply to rescue his brother.
Murat took off his feathered hat, waved it and ordered the troops to fix bayonets. A great cheer went up. With Murat at their head, holding high his sabre, they charged into the Orangerie.
Roger, utterly spent by the mental ordeal he had been through, sank down in the chair from which he had pulled Bonaparte. Later he heard about the final scene in the drama. When Murat burst into the Orangerie, Lucien had again got possession of the rostrum but was spreadeagled and clinging to it. At the sight of the bayonets and busbies the Deputies had scattered. In terror of their lives, most of them jumped out of the windows. Some made their way back to Paris; others, fearing arrest and execution, spent the night wandering miserably about the park and forest.
In spite of the rough handling he had received Lucien, when escorted outside, mounted a horse, grabbed a sword and, pointing it at the General, who had come down to meet him, cried, * Should my brother ever attempt anything against our liberties, I will plunge this into his heart.' This theatrical gesture brought cheers from even the soldiers of the Legislative Guard, who had
previously shown some doubt about where their duty lay.
Proceeding to the Anciens Lucien reported to them, with tears streaming down his cheeks, how Deputies of the Five Hundred had drawn their daggers on his brother, how, mercifully, he had been spared, and then how, fearful of being called to account for their act, the Deputies had disappeared of their own accord.
Having expressed their horror at the attack, the Anciens passed a decree appointing Bonaparte, Sieyes and Ducos Provisional Consuls, formed an interim Legislative Committee from among themselves and adjourned the Councils until February 20th.
But the decrees of the Anciens still required ratification by the Five Hundred to make them fully legal. By then the majority of its members were lost in the damp mists of the November night: hungry, scared out of their wits and tearing their red robes as they hunted for hiding places among thickets of thorn bushes. But a handful of Bonaparte's supporters had known flight to be unnecessary, so were still hanging about. The indefatigable Lucien gathered together some twenty-five of them. Then, by the dim light of three candles, they ratified the decrees and also decreed the expulsion of the sixty Jacobin members. At one o'clock in the morning the three Provisional Consuls took the oath before both Chambers and formally assumed office.