Читать книгу The Last Love - Thomas B. Costain - Страница 33

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The two days which followed were busy ones for the new commander of the French armies of Italy. He had dinner on the first night with Josephine and luncheon on the second; and the time was spent on his part in efforts to persuade her to accompany him. Josephine professed to be willing, even anxious, to go but she kept pointing out a difficulty: How could she get ready in time?

Napoleon scoffed at this. “An army can be made ready, equipped, rationed, and even marched into battle in two days. How long does one woman need to prepare for a journey?”

“A week,” was the answer.

At regular intervals during the two days, Junot arrived in the Rue Chantereine with notes for her. In them the new bridegroom voiced the intensity of his love. She was his adorable wife and he worshiped her. He would be intensely unhappy if he had to leave her after so brief a taste of the sweetness of her company. How could he devote himself to his new duties if he would think of nothing but her absence from him? Come, lovely Josephine, come with the man who adores you.

She would read the notes, while Junot waited for the answers. Then she would fold them up into neat squares and place them in a belt worn at her waist, and smile at the ambassador. Junot was as sleekly dark as a young seal; and Josephine always had a smile for handsome young men.

“And do you think I should pack in this insane hurry and go with him?”

“Undoubtedly, madame. His peace of mind depends on it.”

“Is it not a very long journey? I have no sense of distance whatever but it seems to me certain I would not survive it.”

“Yes, madame, it must be conceded that the journey is a long one.”

“Would we ride all day long?”

“But, yes, madame. And sometimes part of the night.”

“I would arrive in a dying condition. Unless I expired on the way and had to be buried by the side of the dusty and lonely road.”

“I don’t think the hardships of the trip would be as great as that.”

“Would I have time to dress properly, to bathe, and to refresh myself? You must give me the truth.”

“Madame Bonaparte, I—I want to be honest. You are certain to find the journey exhausting. How much time would be required for these intervals of rest?”

“A few hours only.”

“Madame!” in horrified tones. “Ten minutes might be allowed perhaps. But certainly not more.”

“Please tell my unfeeling husband that I do not wish to kill myself. Tell him I have decided not to accompany him but that I will join him later. That is my final answer.”

“Would you be kind enough to explain in a note which I will carry back to him?”

“No, my brave colonel. Even though I am not engaged in the fatigues of packing, every instant of my time is in demand. I have so many appointments and so many insistent friends. There is no time to sit down and write him a note. You, my kind new friend, will convey my answer in suitable terms.”

At ten o’clock on the evening of the second day, Napoleon arrived in the Rue Chantereine in a carriage with four horses and three of his aides, Junot, Marmont, and Berthier. They had been working all day in the mad haste imposed on them by the iron-willed Corsican. Junot was nodding with sleep, the others had already succumbed and were in a collapsed condition on the back seat.

All the windows of the house were lighted up. Gonthier was obviously taken by surprise when he opened the door and saw the carriage, the uniformed driver and the horses jingling with equipment.

“Is it that m’sieur the general is leaving so soon?” he asked.

“Yes, Gonthier. I have come to say farewell to Madame Bonaparte.”

The sound of the closing door had the effect of wakening Marmont. His father had been a member of the small nobility and an officer in the royal army. The son knew something, therefore, of the pleasures of ease and luxury.

“Why am I starting out on an adventure of interminable fatigue, in which I shall undoubtedly be killed? There are times,” he said, “when I think that war is an insanity.”

Berthier struggled to a sitting position. His hair was tousled and he was badly in need of a shave. Thinking of what Marmont had said, he fell into his usual practice of biting his fingernails while he considered it.

“But the rewards, Marmont,” he muttered finally. “Think of the rewards.”

“We are more likely to get a bullet in the throat as our reward than a title and a fat grant of land.”

“Have you not heard Napoleon say that greatness is in the grasp of all of us? I put my faith in him.” Berthier sighed. “Still, it is true that great hardships are ahead of us.”

“Lets be honest about this,” declared Junot, who was as vain as a peacock in full feather. “What is our chief reward? The uniform we wear! True, we risk our lives. But when we strut out in all our grandeur, the women throw themselves at our feet. Pouf! all their resistance melts away. Isn’t that better than living in peace at a desk or mucking about in plowed fields? I never want to be seen again in baggy gray clothes and hats as flat as a cow’s compliments.”

“You speak of honesty,” grumbled Marmont. “Is there such a thing as real honesty any more? Consider our brave Napoleon and his Fair Creole. He has been pleading with her to accompany him to the front. Does he want her to come? He does not!”

“Sapristi!” cried Junot, the bearer of all those pleading notes. “This is positively absurd, Marmont. I tell you, the man has been in a frenzy.”

“Listen to me, Junot. If the fair Josephine had decided to come, what would have been the result? We would have had to hang around for at least two more days while she got herself ready. We would lose a week on the road because she would get too fatigued for long stretches. At a time when every hour counts, we would have this complaining female on our hands, holding back and whimpering for more sleep.”

“Then why did he try so hard to persuade her?” demanded Junot.

“He is a wily one, this little Napoleon. He wanted to make her think he would be heartbroken without her. Why? Well, he was thinking of the future.”

“But what if she had decided to come?”

“In the first place, he knew her too well to think she would give in. If she had—”

“Sapristi!” cried Junot, making use again of this favorite expression. “That is the point. What if she had agreed?”

“Our ingenious little leader would have found it necessary to move quickly and find some way to make her change her mind again. I’m sure he had it all thought out.”

At this point Napoleon emerged from the stout oaken door of his wife’s charming home. Even in the darkness, which was intensified by the shadow of the trees under which the house stood, it could be seen that his eyes were filled with tears. But his gait was brisk, even cheerful.

“Observe him!” whispered Marmont. “Was I not right? This is the way he wanted it.”

“Well, comrades-at-arms!” cried Napoleon, as he took his place in the carriage. “We are off at last! I begrudged every second we lost arguing with those blockheads at the War Office. In a few days now we will be with our brave troops along the Apennines. And then we’ll break the back of Austrian pride on the anvil of French genius!”

The driver cried, “Up!” and curled his whip over the backs of the horses.

It was from this train of events, still so vivid in his mind, that Napoleon drew in spinning a story for Betsy’s benefit. The version she heard was, of course, much shorter. At many points he was careful to wield a mental blue pencil, even to tiptoe discreetly around many episodes which he realized were not for her ears.

At the finish Betsy sighed deeply and said, “You loved her very much, sire.”

“Yes, Betsee, I loved her very much.”

“More than any of the—the Others?”

“Yes, more than any of the Others.”