The Last Cavalier: Being the Adventures of Count Sainte-Hermine in the Age of Napoleon. Alexandre DumasЧитать онлайн книгу.
eyes heavenward, “his tragic end closed all our accounts, and both France and I have undergone a major loss. But the irreparable loss, my friend, is the loss of Desaix. Ah, Desaix! Such a grave misfortune to have smote our country.”
Totally absorbed in his pain, Bonaparte paced up and down a moment without saying a word. Then, suddenly, he stopped in front of Junot. “So, what do you want to do now? I have always said that I would furnish proof of my friendship when I could. What are your plans? Do you want to serve?”
Then, the look in his eyes difficult to read, Bonaparte asked jovially, “Would you like me to have you join the Rhine army?”
Junot cheeks grew flushed. “Are you trying to get rid of me?” he said. After a pause, he continued: “If such are your orders, I shall be happy to show General Moreau that the officers in the army of Italy have not forgotten their work in Egypt.”
“Well,” said the First Consul with a laugh, “my cart is getting before my horse! No, Monsieur Junot, no, you’ll not leave me. I admire General Moreau a great deal, but not so much that I would give him one of my best friends.” Then, his brow creased, he continued more seriously: “Junot, I’m going to give you command of Paris. It’s a position of trust, especially just now, and I could not make a better choice. But”—he glanced around as if he feared someone might be listening—“you must give it some thought before you accept. You’ll need to age ten years, because the position requires not only gravity and prudence to the extreme; it also demands the utmost attention to everything related to my safety.”
“General,” Junot exclaimed, “on that score.…”
“Silence, my friend, or at least speak more softly,” Bonaparte said. “Yes, you must watch over my safety. For I am surrounded by danger. If I were still simply the General Bonaparte I was before and even after the 13th Vendémiaire, I would make no effort to avoid danger. In those days my life was my own; I knew its worth, which was not very much. But now my life is no longer my own. I can say this only to a friend, Junot: My destiny has been revealed to me. It is the destiny of a great nation, and that is why my life is threatened. The powers that hope to invade France and divide it up would like to have me out of their way.”
Raising his hand to his brow as if he were trying to chase away a troublesome thought, he remained pensive for a moment. Then, his mind moving rapidly from one idea to another—he’d sometimes entertain twenty different ideas at once—Bonaparte resumed: “So, as I was saying, I shall name you commander of Paris. But you need to get married. That would be appropriate not only for the dignity of the position, but it is also in your own best interest. And by the way, be careful to marry only a rich woman.”
“Yes, but I would like her to be attractive as well. There’s the problem: All heiresses are as ugly as caterpillars.”
“Well, set to work immediately, for I am appointing you commander of Paris as of today. Look for an appropriate house, one not too far from the Tuileries, so that I can send for you whenever I need you. And look around; perhaps you can choose a woman from the circle in which Josephine and Hortense move. I would suggest Hortense herself, but I believe she loves Duroc, and I would not want to go against her own inclinations.”
“The First Consul is served!” said the steward, carrying in a tray.
“Let’s sit down,” said Bonaparte. “And in a week from now, you shall have rented a house and chosen a wife!”
“General,” said Junot, “while I don’t doubt I can find a house in a week, I would like to request two weeks for the wife.”
“Agreed,” said Bonaparte.
X Two Young Women Put Their Heads Together
AS THE TWO COMPANIONS AT ARMS were sitting down at their table, Madame la Comtesse and Mademoiselle Claire de Sourdis were announced to Madame Bonaparte.
The women embraced and, gracefully grouping themselves, they inquired after each other’s health and spoke of the weather, as was the mode of aristocratic society. Madame Bonaparte then had Madame de Sourdis sit beside her on a chaise longue, while Hortense took it upon herself to show Claire around the palace, as she was visiting for the first time.
The two girls, though about the same age, made a charming contrast. Hortense was blonde, fresh as a daisy, velvety as a peach. Her golden hair fell down to her knees, and her arms and hands were somewhat thin, for she still awaited Nature’s last touch to turn her into a woman. In her graceful appearance she combined both French vivaciousness and Creole sweetness. And, to complete the charming picture, her blue eyes shone with infinite gentleness.
Her companion had no cause for jealousy in regard to grace and beauty. Both girls were Creoles, but Claire was taller than her friend, and she had the dark complexion that Nature reserves for the southern beauties she seems to favor. Claire had sapphire blue eyes, ebony hair, a waist so slender two hands could span it, and hands and feet as tiny as a child’s.
Both had received excellent educations. Hortense’s education, interrupted by her forced apprenticeship until her mother got out of prison, had been organized so intelligently and assiduously that you would not imagine it had ever been interrupted at all. She could draw very nicely, was an excellent musician, indeed composed music, and wrote romantic poetry, some of which has been passed down to us, not simply because of the author’s elevated position but rather because of its intrinsic value. In fact, both girls were painters, both were musicians, and both spoke two or three foreign languages.
Hortense showed Claire her study, her sketches, her music room, and her aviary. Near the aviary, they sat down in a little boudoir that had been painted by Redouté. There they spoke about society parties, now beginning to reappear more brilliant than ever; about balls, which were vigorously starting up again; and about handsome, accomplished dancers. They talked about Monsieur de Trénis, Monsieur Laffitte, Monsieur d’Alvimar, and both Coulaincourts. They complained about the necessity, at every ball, to dance at least one gavotte and one minuet. And two questions arose quite naturally.
Hortense asked, “Do you know Citizen Duroc, my stepfather’s aide-de-camp?”
And Claire wondered, “Have you had the opportunity to meet Citizen Hector de Sainte-Hermine?”
Claire did not know Duroc.
Hortense did not know Hector.
Hortense more than nearly dared admit that she loved Duroc, for her stepfather, who himself greatly admired Duroc, had given his blessing. Indeed, Duroc was one of those young generals for whom the Tuileries was such a proving ground in those days. He was not yet twenty-eight, his manners were quite distinguished, and he had large but not deeply set eyes. He was taller than average, slender and elegant.
A shadow hovered over their love, however. For while Bonaparte supported it, Josephine did not. She wanted Hortense to marry Louis, one of Napoleon’s younger brothers.
Josephine had two declared enemies within Napoleon’s family, Joseph and Lucien, who had very nearly obtained Bonaparte’s agreement, on his return from Egypt, that he would never see Josephine again. Since his marriage to Josephine, Bonaparte’s brothers were constantly pressing him to divorce, on the pretext that a male child was necessary to realize his ambitious plans. It was an easy argument for them to make, since it appeared they were working against their own interests.
Joseph and Lucien were both married, Joseph perfectly and appropriately. He had married the daughter of Monsieur Clary, a rich merchant from Marseille, and was thus Bernadotte’s brother-in-law. Clary had a third daughter, perhaps more charming than her sisters, and Bonaparte asked for her hand in marriage. “Heavens, no,” the father answered. “One Bonaparte in my family is enough.” If he had agreed, the honorable merchant from Marseille would one day have found himself father-in-law to an emperor and two kings.
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