Текст книги "Young bloods"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 27 (всего у книги 42 страниц)

Chapter 61

Paris, 1792

From the moment he arrived in the capital at the end of May Napoleon was astonished by the changes a mere year and a half had wrought on the city at the heart of the revolution. Realising that other nations would not permit France to adopt full-blooded democracy, the National Assembly had declared war on Austria in April. Before the month was out the army of General Dillon had been routed and the volunteer soldiers had murdered their general as they fled from the battlefield. As the coach had carried Napoleon by stages from Marseilles he had read news of further defeats, and the tense atmosphere in Paris was immediately apparent to him. As he headed towards the Pays Normande Napoleon stopped to read some of the posters that adorned every street corner. Most carried news of the latest regulations passed by the local commune. Others gave reports of the debates in the National Assembly. In every street men were hawking newspapers, and small crowds clustered round to read the latest news of the war. The last time Napoleon had been in Paris there had been only a handful of heavily censored newspapers, but now there were scores of publications, openly speaking for almost every political point of view – even for the rump of monarchists still struggling to persuade Parisians to return to the order of the old regime.

When he reached the hotel Napoleon discovered that the room rates had more than doubled since his last stay, and that no rooms were available. The owner explained that the deputies of the new National Assembly and their families and supporters had taken over most of the hotels in the city and there was a chronic shortage of accommodation. He suggested that Napoleon might like to try Monsieur Perronet on Rue de Mail, who was a friend and occasionally let rooms in his house to people who came on recommendation.

The Perronet residence was just off the Rue Saint-Honore, close to the Palais-Royal and the Tuileries. Monsieur Perronet was an engineer and kept an ordered house. He glanced through the note of recommendation, looked the young artillery officer over and beckoned him inside. The room he let to Napoleon was in the attic. It was small and comfortable, and the window looked over the rooftops towards the complex of palaces that made up the Tuileries.

Perronet nodded towards the window. 'If you listen carefully you might just hear the baying of wolves from time to time.That, or the members of the Assembly screaming for each other's blood.'

Napoleon smiled. 'Has it come to that?'

'Not yet, but it will.'The engineer shrugged wearily. 'The war is going badly, the price of bread is up and the mob is hungry to find someone – anyone – to blame for it all. So, citizen, you have chosen a fine time to visit Paris. Before I let the room to you, I have to ask something.' He looked embarrassed for a moment, and Napoleon gestured for him to continue. Perronet pursed his lips. 'Are you here to defend the King, or to oppose him? It's just that if you get involved in any trouble, I don't want the mob coming to my house looking for you. I have a young family, you understand. I have to make sure they are safe.'

'I'm not here to defend the King. I'm here to defend myself, Citizen Perronet. I give you my word, there'll be no trouble on my account.'

'Very well, you can have the room. Five sous a day. Ten if you want to be fed.'

'I'll just have the room, citizen.' Napoleon took out his money pouch, counted out enough for the first month and handed it over. He would have to be careful with the limited funds he had brought with him from Corsica. He would eat only when it was necessary. Monsieur Perronet counted the coins quickly, nodded, and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

As the engineer's footsteps descended the steep creaking staircase Napoleon went over to the window. He stood leaning his elbows on the sill, and stared out across the grimy walls and roofs of the French capital. The spectacle of a great city spreading out on all sides towards a hazy horizon filled him with excitement for a moment before his mind turned once more to the anxiety and uncertainty over his fate.

The debacle in Ajaccio might well cost him his career in the army. It might even cost him his life, and Napoleon wondered if he should have run off and hidden in the Corsican maquis as his mother had advised. He could easily have survived for years living up in the mountains far beyond the reach of the law. But his every instinct revolted against the idea. Here in Paris, far from the scene of the crime, his word could be just as effective as that of those who sought his prosecution.

When he had arrived in Marseilles, Napoleon had received notification that it might be some months before his case was dealt with, thanks to the outbreak of war. That gave him a little time to try to exert some influence over the outcome. And the best place to start would be to petition the foremost deputy from Corsica, Antoine Saliceti. According to the posters on the street corners, Saliceti was to speak in favour of a proposal to disband the King's household guards the next day.

Accordingly, the morning after his arrival, Napoleon woke early and polished his boots. He combed out his hair and tied it back neatly before putting on his uniform.

A short walk down the street brought Napoleon to the wide thoroughfare of the Rue Saint-Honore where he joined the crowd that was heading towards the Tuileries to watch the debates of the National Assembly. Some of them had come to petition the deputies, others simply wished to be part of the mob outside the palace where the King and his family were virtually being held prisoners. Still more were taking fruit, wine and newspapers to sell to the crowd. Among the last group were traders selling revolutionary cockades, patriotic red bonnets and carved chunks of stone purporting to be from the remains of the Bastille. Although many of the people seemed high-spirited enough Napoleon sensed a tension running through them like an over-tightened violin string; waiting to snap the instant it was put under any strain. He walked with the crowd as far as the Palais-Royal and then turned off the boulevard and headed down towards the Place du Carousel. The opposite side of the square was filled with a crowd of people shouting abuse through the iron railings that ran along the front of the royal quarters of the Tuileries Palace. On the far side of the railings stood a thin line of red-coated Swiss Guards, their black bearskin hats making them seem tall and formidable as they watched the mob. Napoleon skirted round them and hurried to the riding school where the National Assembly was housed. He was anxious to arrive in good time so that he could observe Saliceti and see what kind of man he was before approaching him for help.

As he turned the corner and strode down the Terrasse des Feuillants, Napoleon was confronted by a large crowd at the entrance to the National Assembly. Scores of men from the National Guard formed a cordon and cleared a path for deputies and their officials as they made their way in for the morning session. A small side entrance provided access to the public galleries, and Napoleon shoved through the crowd towards the sergeant in charge of admission.

'Excuse me!' Napoleon pushed past a heavily made-up woman who was screeching at the top of her voice that she had been promised a seat by one of her clients amongst the deputies.

The sergeant shook his head. 'Sorry, lady, I don't care who you're screwing. All the free seats have gone. Now unless you have a pass there's nothing I can do.'

'Pass? I don't need a pass, you moron.' She prodded him in the chest with the tip of her parasol. 'Let me through!'

The sergeant batted the parasol aside and lunged at her with both hands.The woman fell back into the crowd with a shriek of panic and rage while everyone around her burst into laughter. Napoleon took advantage of the moment and thrust himself in front of the sergeant.

'Excuse me, I need to get by.'

'Not so fast, citizen!'The sergeant held up a hand and stared at Napoleon. 'Your pass?'

For a moment Napoleon frowned, and was sorely tempted to give the sergeant a stern dressing-down for his insubordinate manner. But there was something in the other man's eyes that indicated that he would take little notice of Napoleon's status as an officer so Napoleon swallowed his anger and made to explain himself. 'I don't have a pass.'

'You don't get in then, citizen.'

'I need to see Citizen Saliceti, Sergeant. I'm here to support him.'

'Saliceti, eh?'The sergeant lowered his voice.'Are you from the Jacobin Club?' Napoleon nodded.

'Then where's your cockade? Where's your red bonnet? You don't look like a Jacobin to me.'

'Trust me, I'm Jacobin to the core.'

The sergeant narrowed his eyes fractionally and stared hard at Napoleon. Then he relented and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. 'All right, citizen.You can go in.'

Napoleon nodded his thanks and squeezed past. Once he was inside he made his way up to the banks of seating that overlooked the debating floor. Most of the benches were already filled, and supporters of the various factions clustered together, ready to cheer on their deputies when the time came. Napoleon eventually found a seat close to the balcony and he leaned forward to observe the deputies taking up their places below. Halfway along the length of the building the president and his officials were clustered around the Speaker's rostrum, preparing themselves for the day's business.

It was easy to identify most of the various factions as they sat on the ranks of seats lining the wide concourse running down the middle of the hall. The King's party were the most affluently dressed and elegantly mannered and sat to the right of the Speaker. Opposite the president the Girondists, the moderate republicans, took the lower benches and the more extreme deputies sat high up on the rearmost benches to indicate their disdain.To the left of the president sat the Jacobins, many sporting the red bonnets that proclaimed their militant patriotism. Somewhere amongst them would be Saliceti.

Once a few items of housekeeping had been dealt with the president announced the proposal to disband the royal household's bodyguard. At once the deputies and the people in the public galleries gave their full attention to proceedings. The president called on Saliceti to speak and a tall, pale-looking man quickly rose to his feet and strode across to the rostrum. At once he launched into a loud and, to Napoleon's mind, cheap and rhetorical attack on the King's failure to prosecute the war with vigour. Was the cause of this failure more sinister than it seemed, asked Saliceti. If the King's supporters harboured any ambitions to crush the Assembly then the household troops were a ready tool with which to carry out the deed.Those seated around Napoleon grumbled ominously in response, while the public in the gallery at the far end cried out in protest at Saliceti's remarks.

'Royalists!' someone spat close by Napoleon. 'The scum should be wiped out!'

'Patience,' said another. 'Their time's coming.'

As soon as Saliceti had finished speaking Napoleon made his way to the deputies' entrance to the debating chamber. Scores of men and women were waiting for the chance to present petitions to their representatives and Napoleon forced his way to the front. More cries of protest and bursts of angry shouting came from the debating chamber, increasing in frequency until it sounded as if a riot was breaking out inside. Almost lost in the cacophony were the president's calls for order, silence and for members to return to their seats. Eventually, he had to suspend the session.The doors swung open and the deputies came streaming out. Napoleon nudged the man standing next to him.

'Does this happen often?'

'All the time,' the man grumbled. 'It's a wonder any decisions are made at all.'

Napoleon snorted with derision and then kept his eyes fixed on the doorway, watching intently until at last Saliceti came out, thronged by members from his party who were loudly congratulating him on his performance. All except one: a sour-faced man in powdered wig. Napoleon recognised the face at once and placed him in an instant: the man from the secret meeting above the bookshop, two years earlier. Citizen Schiller, he had named himself. Napoleon turned again to the man standing next to him.

'Do you know who that man is?' He pointed.

'That's Robespierre. Maximilien Robespierre himself.'

Napoleon's surprise quickly gave way to fear as the full details of that night flooded back into his memory. He had turned down Robespierre's offer to join them. At the time he had dismissed them as a lunatic fringe organisation. Now Robespierre and his followers ruled the capital. Robespierre kept his gaze fixed straight ahead and strode stiffly past Napoleon without even seeing him.

As the deputies swept through the petitioners Napoleon pushed forward until he stood directly in the path of his man. Saliceti had accepted several petitions since quitting the hall and held them in a bundle against his chest.

'Citizen Saliceti?'

Saliceti looked up sharply at the sound of the Corsican accent. He eyed Napoleon warily and nodded. 'Who are you, citizen?'

Napoleon bowed his head. 'Lieutenant Buona Parte at your service. I need to talk to you. I need your help.'

'Buona Parte?' Saliceti looked amused. 'I've heard all about you, my boy.And yes, you really do need my help. Come with me, and while you're at it you can make yourself useful. Carry these.' He thrust the petitions at Napoleon and strode on, leaving the artillery officer struggling to hold all the envelopes and sheaths of paper and keep up with the deputy.

A little later they were sitting in Saliceti's office, a small, dingy room in a building opposite the riding school. Saliceti sat slumped in a heavily upholstered chair and stared at Napoleon.

'You've made an appalling mess of things, Lieutenant. I read a copy of Paoli's report on that affair in Ajaccio.The original report is at the Ministry of War. They've taken a very dim view of your actions and have referred the matter to the Ministry of Justice.'

'Am I to be charged then?'

'Oh, yes! They want a full court martial. It seems they'll settle for nothing less than your head.Yours and that fat fool Quenza's. What the hell did you expect? Your actions are nothing less than treasonous.'

Napoleon felt sick. Was this how all his dreams, all his ambitions, were to end? A quick trial and a quiet execution? He should have taken his mother's advice to go into hiding after all.

'I expect you want me to see what I can do to quash these charges,' Saliceti continued. 'Corsican to Corsican, eh? Even though you Buona Partes have always held me in contempt for wanting to bind us to France, eh?'

'That is true,' Napoleon admitted miserably.

'I see.' Saliceti was silent for a moment, then continued quietly, 'Of course, if I do help you, I shall want a favour in return.'

Napoleon found it difficult to see how a lowly artillery lieutenant could possibly be of service to one of the leading figures of the revolution, but he nodded his assent all the same.'I'll do what I can.'

'Good. Now tell me, since you have just come from Corsica, what the hell is Paoli up to?'

'Paoli? What do you mean, citizen?'

'I'm hearing reports that the man is running the island like a virtual dictator. He's making all the key appointments. He controls most of the National Guard units – Ajaccio's being the honourable exception, thanks to your efforts. I've also heard that he's been talking to English agents. Seems that he might just as easily lead Corsica into the arms of the English as join the revolution.'

'No. He just wants what all true Coriscans want.'

'And what do we want, Buona Parte?'

Napoleon shrugged. 'Freedom.'

'Freedom. And what exactly does this freedom consist of?'

'Independence. A chance to rule ourselves.'

'We're too small to be independent. Corsica is fated to be part of the inventory of one kingdom, or another. The only question worth asking is which kingdom you prefer. Either Corsica becomes part of the revolution and has its share of democracy, or it becomes the personal property of Paoli and his friends, until he hands it over to England.'

'There is another way,' Napoleon insisted. 'An independent Corsica, that embraces the values of the revolution.'

'I suppose that was the thinking behind your attempt to establish a commune in Ajaccio?'

'Yes,' Napoleon admitted. 'Paoli wouldn't have it, so I decided to go ahead by myself.'

'Good God! Is there no end to your ambition, Lieutenant?' Saliceti's dark eyes twinkled in amusement. 'Still, I imagine you have the measure of our friend Paoli by now. He's a dangerous schemer. We'll need to keep a close eye on him.'

'What do you mean?'

'Nothing, at the moment.' Saliceti sat himself up, reached for some paper and took up his pen. 'I'll see what I can do for you, Lieutenant Buona Parte. Now I must ask you to leave. I have to return to the Assembly shortly. Leave your address with my clerk and I'll be in touch with you when I have any news.'

Napoleon rose from his chair and went to the door. He paused.'Do you really think you can help me escape the charges?'

'Well, if I can't then nobody can.'

Chapter 62

One afternoon towards the end of June, Napoleon was lying on his bed underneath the open window staring up into a clear blue sky, when he became aware of the sound of a crowd some distance off. At first he ignored it, but the sound grew in volume and even though it was impossible to make out any distinct cries or chants, there was no mistaking the anger that filled the hearts of those in the crowd. Rising from his bed, Napoleon reached for his hat, descended the staircase and left the house. Outside there were people in the street, drawn, like him, towards the source of the noise, and as they all headed towards the heart of the city the noise grew in volume and passion until it was deafening as he approached the Rue Saint-Honore. The route ahead of him was filled with a dense crowd as far as the eye could see – thousands of men and women armed with hatchets, swords, wooden stakes and some muskets, marching towards the royal apartments of the Tuileries.

Napoleon grasped the arm of a young woman at the rear of the crowd. 'Citizen, what's going on?'

She glanced at his uniform and gave him an unfriendly look before she replied. 'There's a petition for the King. To tell the bastard to approve the Assembly's decree to penalise those priests who won't swear allegiance to the constitution. He wouldn't listen to the deputies, but he's going to listen to us – or there'll be trouble.'

'Trouble?'

She did not elaborate, but pulled away from Napoleon, surged forward into the crowd and took up the chant of the revolutionary song, 'Ca Ira' that was echoing back off the buildings lining the boulevard. With a growing sense of excitement and curiosity Napoleon quickened his pace to keep up with the crowd.

The mob poured out of the boulevard and spilled into the Place du Carousel. The chant was deafening now, but Napoleon could not see what was happening over towards the royal apartments of the Tuileries. He hurried to a building on one side of the square and climbed up on to a window sill for a better view. The foremost ranks of the crowd had fastened ropes to the iron bars of the gates and with a rhythmic roar they now strained on the ropes, aiming to tear the gates down.There was a cheer as one of the great gates began to buckle. Napoleon saw that an officer was hurriedly marching the Swiss Guards back to the barracks on the far side of the courtyard. A handful remained to close up the doors of the central pavilion that provided access to the vast staircase inside the entrance hall.

Napoleon muttered his disapproval. While he could understand that no one in the palace wanted to provoke the mob, the crowd had to be dispersed before it gained access to the courtyard. But it was already too late. There was a wrenching crash as the gate was pulled from its hinges and toppled into the square. A huge roar of triumph filled the air and the crowd surged through the gap, across the courtyard towards the palace. When they reached the doors at the top of the steps leading up from the courtyard, they battered at the timbers with axes and hammers.To no avail. The doors were solid and had been reinforced in recent months to guard against such an assault.

Suddenly there were several puffs of smoke and then the flat crack of musket fire. On the second and third floors of the palace, windows shattered, showering those nearest in the mob with shards of glass; victims of their foolhardy companions with firearms.The shooting continued for nearly a quarter of an hour, shattering every window and pockmarking the facade of the palace. Then a white sheet fluttered at one of the windows and the shooting gradually stopped. A figure appeared on one of the balconies and gestured down to the crowd. Those closest to the palace roared out a reply, and moments later the doors of the palace opened and the mob began to surge inside.

Was this it, Napoleon wondered: the moment when the Bourbon dynasty fell, torn to pieces by the Paris mob? He felt a great sense of regret and disgust well up inside him at the thought that France now belonged to these animals. It was too horrible to contemplate, but a morbid fascination kept him standing there on the window sill, straining his eyes towards the distant entrance to the palace. Shortly afterwards he saw the tall doors open behind a balcony overlooking the courtyard and several figures shuffled out into the full view of the mob. There was a cheer. In amongst the figures stood a man and woman in powdered wigs.The King and Queen, Napoleon realised, his blood going cold with dread. But it was soon clear they were not in mortal danger. A man stepped up beside Louis and placed a red bonnet on his head. The crowd cheered and Louis made no effort to remove it. Instead he raised a glass, made some kind of toast and then took a swig as the crowd cheered again.

'Lieutenant Buona Parte?'

Napoleon looked down and saw Monsieur Perronet with a companion on the edge of the square below him. He waved a greeting and climbed down to join his landlord.

'A sad business,' Perronet said quietly after making sure no one was close enough to overhear.

'Indeed,' Napoleon replied.

Perronet turned to indicate his companion. 'My friend Monsieur Lavaux, a lawyer.'

'A lawyer?' Napoleon smiled. 'It seems that your profession may soon be out of business. A few more days of this and there won't be any law at all.'

Lavaux nodded. 'It's an outrage. How dare those animals treat the King and his family like that? It's an outrage!' he repeated through clenched teeth.

'You must forgive Monsieur Lavaux,' Perronet smiled. 'He is something of a royalist.'

Napoleon shrugged. 'You don't need to be a royalist to be offended by such a spectacle.' He stared at the distant figures on the balcony, being displayed before the mob. 'I tell you, if I was in charge of the royal bodyguard such things would not be tolerated.'

Perronet exchanged a quick look of surprise with his friend, before he turned back to Napoleon. 'And what would you do to prevent such an event, Lieutenant?'

Napoleon glanced at the mob and narrowed his eyes. 'They're nothing more than a rabble. A quick blast of grapeshot and they'd bolt like rabbits. That's what I'd do.'

'Maybe,' Lavaux conceded.'But they'd be back, sooner or later.'

'Then I'd have the guns loaded and ready,' Napoleon replied. 'And sooner or later, they'd realise the futility of opposing me.'

'Er, quite.' Lavaux shuffled uncomfortably, and then smiled at his friend Perronet.'We must go, or we'll be late for our meeting.'

'Eh?' Perronet looked confused, then grasped the point. 'Of course. Please excuse us, Lieutenant. We must go. If I may, I'd advise you to get off the streets.'

Napoleon tore his gaze away from the distant balcony and smiled. 'Later. I want to see how this ends.'

'Be careful, then.' Perronet waved a farewell and made off with his friend.

When they were out of earshot, Lavaux turned back for one last look at the young artillery officer bearing witness to the public humiliation of the royal family. He nudged Perronet and whispered, 'What on earth do you make of that – "If I was in charge…"?' For a moment he chuckled at the young man's astonishing hubris, and then idly wondered if he would ever hear of the name Buona Parte again.