Текст книги "The Generals"
Автор книги: Simon Scarrow
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Around them, the soldiers turned away from the grisly carnage of Murat’s pursuit and cheered, some of them raising their hats up into the air on the ends of their bayonets as they joined in the cheers for their commander standing a few steps above them, in the embrace of the most powerful man in France.
Chapter 7
Over the next two days the royalists’ rebellion crumbled as the government troops hunted them down. Most had already fled into the suburbs and surrounding countryside where they could do no more harm. With the centre of Paris back under government control Barras moved quickly to disarm every quarter of the city, even those that had stayed loyal. All firearms, pikes and swords were to be handed in to the local town halls. As the people of Paris began to emerge back on to the streets Paul Barras announced his triumph to the National Assembly. He paraded the officers responsible for crushing the attempted coup, and publicly thanked them for their assistance in defeating the royalists. But even as he did so, Napoleon suddenly realised that not one of them had been singled out by name. Barras was determined to seize all the glory for himself, and would have done without an intervention from one of the deputies, who rose to his feet to propose a vote of thanks to ‘General Bonaparte’. Struggling to hide his irritation, Barras conceded the vote. By the end of the next day all Paris knew of the brilliant officer who had saved France from the Bourbons, and to spare the people the confusion of explaining that Bonaparte was only in fact a brigadier, Barras rushed through his promotion to full general.
So it was that, a week after the storms of grapeshot had swept clear the ground in front of the Tuileries palace, Napoleon was sitting in a large, comfortably appointed office overlooking the same square. He found it hard to believe the improvement in his fortune that had occurred in the last few days. Barras had appointed him second in command of the Army of the Interior. On his greatly enhanced pay he had been able to move out of his squalid rooms in the slum quarter, and into a fine official residence in the hôtel de la Colonnade in the centre of the city. He had servants, a new carriage and horses and a beautifully cut new uniform, albeit lacking in the ostentatious gold braid that Major Murat seemed so fond of. No longer the obscure officer of artillery, Napoleon was now the most talked about man in Paris, invited to almost every ball and salon in the capital. Napoleon smiled to himself. Even the conceited Madame de Staël had condescended to send him an invitation to visit her house. Life was good, he mused. All he lacked now was an army posting worthy of his talents and ambition. That, and perhaps a wife.
There was a knock at the door and Napoleon pulled himself up in his chair and called out, ‘Come!’
His secretary, a thin man with glasses, entered the office. ‘General, there’s a boy outside wishing to see you.’
‘A boy? What’s his name?’
‘Eugène Beauharnais, he says.’
‘Beauharnais?’ Napoleon frowned. ‘I don’t know the name. Did he say what he wants to see me about?’
‘A personal request, with regard to his late father’s sword.’
Napoleon’s curiosity was piqued by this information. He had been on the verge of sending the boy away, but he decided to spare this Eugène Beauharnais a moment of his time. ‘Very well, I’ll see him now.’
‘Yes, General.’
The secretary disappeared and a minute later the door opened again to reveal a tall, handsome boy in his early teens. He had wide clear eyes, and a high forehead capped with curly brown hair. He bowed gracefully. ‘Good morning to you, General Bonaparte.’
Napoleon nodded without rising from his chair. ‘And to you, Citizen Beauharnais. How can I be of service? I’m told it’s some matter relating to your father’s sword?’
‘Yes, sir. My mother has sent me with the request that the family might be able to retain the sword.’
‘I’m sorry, but you must know the terms of the Assembly’s disarmament decree?’
‘Indeed I do, sir.’The boy looked pained. ‘But the sword is one of the few keepsakes that my family has to remember my father by.’
‘What happened to your father?’
‘He was guillotined last year, sir.’
‘For what reason?’
‘He was in command of the garrison of Metz when it fell. The Committee of Public Safety charged him with treason. And, well, you know how it was under Robespierre, sir.’
Indeed Napoleon did. Any military reverse was treated with suspicion and the representatives of the Committee were merciless in their punishment of failure in order to inspire other commanders to achieve success. And here was the human cost of such a strategy – the grief of a blameless family. Napoleon felt some compassion for the boy and his mother. They had already sacrificed enough for France without having to give up a precious memento of what they had lost.
‘Very well, young Beauharnais.You shall keep the sword. It has already been surrendered, I presume.’
‘It was taken from our house yesterday.’
‘Then it will be at the nearest praefecture. Leave your address with my secretary and I will see that the sword is returned to you as soon as possible.’
The boy bowed his head. ‘My sincerest gratitude, General. And my mother’s as well.’
Napoleon smiled. ‘Your mother must be proud of you, Beauharnais. I’m sure you’ll grow up to be a fine soldier, and wear your father’s sword at your side.’
‘That is my ambition, sir.’ Eugène smiled back before he turned to the door and made his way out of the office.
The next day, at noon, Napoleon received another visitor. Madame Josephine Beauharnais was shown into the general’s office, and he automatically rose to his feet and bowed as gracefully as he could. His keen eyes examined her thoroughly the moment he straightened up. She had a tall, long-limbed body and a finely boned face with a small nose, slightly turned up. Her eyes were lively and scrutinised him in return.
‘Madame, what can I do for you?’
She smiled.‘You have done enough for my family, General, by permitting us to keep my late husband’s sword.’
Her voice was low and warm and Napoleon immediately felt himself intrigued by her tone and measured way of speaking. He waved a hand dismissively.
‘It was the least I could do for the family of a fellow soldier. Just make sure that fine boy of yours follows in his father’s footsteps.’
Josephine smiled faintly. ‘Not as far as the guillotine, I would hope.’
Napoleon was taken aback by her morbid jest and laughed nervously. ‘No. Of course not. Your family has already suffered enough for France,’ he added grandly and mentally winced at his pompous tone.
‘Well, yes, I suppose it has.’ Josephine nodded. ‘But times are hard when the nation is at war and death sweeps up everyone in its embrace, regardless of age, gender and innocence. And if the death of Robespierre had come much later, then I would surely have gone the way of my dear Alexandre, leaving my children helpless orphans.’
The woman had an artful turn of phrase, Napoleon decided. There was a very nicely worked huskiness to her last words. Unless it was genuine. He felt a flush of shame at his ungallant thoughts, and tried to cover his feelings by hurrying round the desk to pull out a chair for his guest. ‘Please, madame, take a seat.’
‘Thank you, General,’ she replied, with a small catch in her voice. ‘I’m sorry to appear before you like this. I assure you that I am not in the habit of being so . . . emotional.’ She lowered her head, and Napoleon saw her shoulders trembling. As she leaned forward his eyes fell upon the smooth white flesh of her cleavage and as her chest heaved slightly with a sob he forced his embarrassed gaze away and stared fixedly at the top of her neatly pinned hair.
‘Madame, please. There is no need to apologise. Not after all that you must have been through.’
‘No, no! I must apologise. I only came here to thank you for your kindness, and I’m taking up your valuable time with my nonsense.’With a delicate flick of her hand she pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. ‘I must go. I have no right to impose upon a man with such grave responsibilities. I’m sorry.’
Abruptly she rose from the chair, and Napoleon found himself suddenly looking directly into her eyes.There was intelligence in her expression, and a sensuality in the smooth curve of her lips. Scent filled his nostrils with a musky sweetness that stirred his loins. He took a step back and bowed his head.
‘As you wish, madame. Do you wish me to have your carriage called for you?’
‘Carriage?’ She looked up and he saw the faint look of distress in her expression. ‘I have no carriage, General. I walked here.’
‘Ah . . .Then, please, allow me to call for mine. It will take you home.’
The corners of her lips lifted into a grateful smile. ‘You are a most gallant man, my general. Once again, I am in your debt. Perhaps I might repay you by asking that you call on me?’
‘Yes, I should like that. If it’s not imposing?’
‘It will be I who imposes, on the valuable time of France’s hero.’
Napoleon opened his mouth to speak, but for once no words emerged and he strove for a reply before he blurted out, ‘I’ll come as soon as I can.’
Josephine smiled faintly. ‘I’ll look forward to it. I’ll make sure your driver makes a note of my address.’
Then she turned and left, and as the door closed behind her Napoleon received one last waft of her scent. He breathed it in deeply before it had faded away, leaving only a memory of her that made his blood warm and his heart beat fast as he recalled the creamy whiteness of her breast.
Chapter 8
The following week Napoleon made sure that the malcontents of Paris realised that their uprising was over. Soldiers were posted at all the main road junctions and public buildings, and artillery pieces were openly positioned so that the main boulevards lay under their muzzles. At the same time he summoned regular troops from the Army of the Vendée and some of the depots to supplement the National Guard units in Paris.
But he did not forget his promise to the Beauharnais boy, and as soon as the sword was located Napoleon had it delivered to his office. Early the next day he set off in his carriage to the address on the Rue de la Chaussée-d’ Antin. As the carriage pulled up outside a generously proportioned building Napoleon felt his pulse racing. He descended from the carriage carrying the sword, and hurriedly smoothed down his coat jacket and breeches, glancing at his boots to ensure that the glassy polish he had demanded from one of his servants was still unbesmirched. Then, taking a breath, he strode up to the door and rapped the large iron knocker.There was a short delay in which he had time to imagine that Josephine Beauharnais might not be at home, even this early in the day.
But then the door was opened by a mulatto woman wearing a bright red headcloth. She stared at him with narrowed eyes.
‘Sir?’
‘Is Madame Beauharnais at home?’
‘She is.’ The woman’s voice had a peculiar sing-song lilt to it that Napoleon could not place.‘Who may I say is calling for her?’
‘General Bonaparte.’ Napoleon tilted his head back as he announced himself.
‘General, you say?’The woman looked at him with an amused expression. ‘Please wait in here, General, and I’ll see if Madame will receive you.’
He was ushered to a low couch in the hall, just to the side of the door. There were two more seats against the opposite wall and Napoleon realised with a sinking feeling that Josephine must be in the habit of receiving many visitors. The light slap of bare feet on the staircase at the end of the hall drew his attention and he turned to see a young girl hurrying down the stairs towards him. Josephine appeared behind her and called out, ‘Hortense! Back up here right now. I must comb your hair before you go out.’
‘But Mother, I want to see the hero!’
Josephine looked past her daughter and flushed as she saw Napoleon. ‘I’m so sorry. Please bear with me a moment.’
‘Of course.’ Napoleon could not help smiling. ‘It seems you have a mutiny to suppress.’
Josephine raised her eyes. ‘If you only knew. Now then, Hortense, back to your room.’
Her daughter took a last look at the visitor and trotted back up the stairs. Josephine took her hand firmly and nodded towards the couches. ‘Please take a seat. I’ll be with you in a moment.’
Once she had gone Napoleon waited in the hall, noting the faded curtains and worn thread of the rugs on the cracked tiles of the floor, clear signs of the declining fortunes of the Beauharnais family.At length the faint sounds of the girl’s excited chatter faded and a door closed somewhere at the back of the house. A moment later he heard footsteps descending the stairs and looked up.
Josephine was wearing a silk gown, and looked to have little on beneath it from the way it clung to the curves of her body. Her hair had been carefully pinned back. Napoleon had to swallow before he could return the greeting she called out to him.
‘So, my general has come to see me after all.’ Her lips parted in a smile. ‘I had feared we had been forgotten amid the public clamour for your attention.’
‘I promised to bring your husband’s sword, and here it is.’ He offered the sword to Josephine. Her gaze passed over the scabbard and then she tenderly lifted it and held it to her chest.
‘My thanks, General.You have no idea how much this simple blade means to me, to my family. I shall be for ever in your debt.’
There was an awkward silence before Napoleon coughed. ‘Well, I suppose I had better take my leave.’
‘Oh . . .’ Her smile faded.
‘Unless—’
‘Please take some refreshment with me,’ Josephine gushed. ‘I mean, if you can spare me the time.’
Napoleon nodded. ‘I will, thank you.’
Josephine glanced at the sword, looked round and then quickly lowered it, with a clatter, on to a marble-topped side table.Then she thrust open a door into a small, sparsely furnished parlour. ‘In here, if you please.’
Napoleon entered the room and crossed to one of the pair of softly upholstered two-seater couches and eased himself down. It was even softer than it looked and he sank into the cushions. Josephine turned to face down the hall and called out, ‘Hesther! Coffee in the small parlour.’
Then she entered the room and closed the door behind her, before crossing to the same couch as her guest and taking the spare cushion, so that their thighs were almost touching.
She looked at him with a concerned expression. ‘General, are you quite well?’
‘Yes. Fine. Why?’
‘It’s just that you look a little feverish.’
‘I’m very well, thank you. It’s warm in here.’
‘So? That must be it.’ She patted his knee. ‘No need for me to worry then.’
He shook his head and forced a smile; then, aware that his gaze was lingering on her body for longer than was seemly, he glanced away, around the room, and saw a miniature portrait in a frame on the mantelpiece. He stood up and approached it.
‘Isn’t that Paul Barras?’
‘Yes. He’s a good friend of mine.’
‘I thought I recognised the face,’ Napoleon responded. In truth the miniature flattered Barras. ‘Your friend, you say?’
‘Paul has been good to me. Since my husband was executed, he has been my gallant protector. It was Barras who returned most of the property that was confiscated after Alexandre’s death. I owe him a lot. And now he owes you far more, it seems.’
‘Nonsense. I was just doing my duty.’
‘Of course. But that does not change the fact that without your intervention it was more than likely that Paul would have lost his head.’
Napoleon shrugged.
The door opened and Hesther entered the room with a silver tray bearing two steaming cups of coffee. She set the tray down on a side table and left the room. Josephine patted the cushion next to her.
‘Come. Sit down and have your coffee. I have it made strong and sweetened with two spoons of sugar. Black as the devil and sweet as a stolen kiss, as they say in Martinique. I hope you like it.’
Easing his back into the cushions, Napoleon took the proffered cup and cautiously sipped the dark contents. It was hot, but not too hot, and the flavour was surprisingly smooth and pleasing.
‘It’s good.Very good.’
Josephine smiled. ‘I’m so pleased you like it. I think we shall discover that we have a great deal more in common in the future . . .’
As autumn gave way to winter Napoleon found as much time as he could to see the woman who had such a hold over his emotions and his desire. A few days after he had delivered the sword he was invited to dinner and arrived to discover that he was the only guest. The meal was a fascinating example of a cuisine she called Creole, far more spicy and exotic than the fare Napoleon normally allowed himself. They dined by the light of a handful of candles and a small fire in the grate and the conversation flowed as freely as the hands of the clock standing in the corner, which seemed to Napoleon to fly round the hours until it was past midnight. Napoleon called for his carriage, and as they stood on the short flight of steps outside her house Josephine suddenly raised her hands to his shoulders and gently drew his face towards hers for a kiss.
As their lips touched Napoleon felt a warm quiver of delight ripple through his breast. At first he dared not move his lips too insistently, but as she pressed hers against his mouth his lungs filled with her scent and the aroma of her hair and body. He felt her soft body against his and gave in to his passion for this bewitching woman, reaching his hands round to the small of her back and pulling her into his embrace. Then he felt her tongue, softy searching between his lips, and he closed his eyes, knowing that nothing had ever been more perfect than this moment, nor ever would be.
As their lips parted, he nuzzled her cheek, then her neck, and whispered into her ear, ‘Josephine . . . my love.’
‘No more Madame Beauharnais?’ she teased him with a whisper.
‘You are Josephine now. My Josephine.’
‘I like that.’ She kissed him again, and murmured, ‘Don’t leave now. Stay until morning . . .’
In November, the rest of Napoleon’s family arrived in Paris. He had sent word of his success to his mother, Letizia, at the house she had been renting near Marseilles. She was still bitter at having lost her home and possessions when the family had been forced to flee from Corsica two years earlier. Napoleon and his brothers, who shared his revolutionary politics, had taken a stand against Pascal Paoli, who – with English backing – was now virtual dictator of the island, and the family had only just escaped the murderous rage of a Paolist mob. Napoelon knew that his mother blamed their misfortune on France in general, and the revolution in particular. Yet it was the same revolution that had given Napoleon the chance to prove himself and he was keen to show his mother, and the rest of his family, the results of his fame and good fortune. Now he could afford to keep them all in comfort.
When his older brother, Joseph, stepped through the door of Napoleon’s new home and beheld him in the uniform of a general, tears of selfless pride pricked at the corners of his eyes before he hugged his brother.
‘If only Father could see you now!’
Napoleon nodded. Their father, Carlos, had sacrificed much to send his two oldest sons to good schools in France. It had been a cruel fate that he died too soon to see their success.
Joseph released Napoleon and stood aside to allow Letizia and the other brothers and sisters to crowd round.There was Lucien, the next boy, who had already made a reputation for himself in Marseilles, espousing the radical politics of the Jacobin party. Louis and Jérôme were already attending a school near Paris. His sisters, Caroline, Pauline and Élisa, stood round him, admiring his best uniform coat with the gleaming braid that marked him out as a general.
Letizia held off until the last before she kissed her son formally on each cheek. ‘I knew you had it in you to achieve greatness. But keep your feet on the ground, my boy. There are people in this world who will try to use you and your new position for their own ends.’
‘Mother!’ Napoleon laughed.‘I am a grown man now. I know how to look after myself.’
‘You are your father’s son,’ she replied wearily. ‘And I know how easily led he was.’
Napoleon frowned. ‘I am no fool, Mother.’
‘We’ll see.’
In view of her smothering attitude it was nearly a month before Napoleon revealed to his family that he intended to get married.
