The Last Cavalier: Being the Adventures of Count Sainte-Hermine in the Age of Napoleon. Alexandre DumasЧитать онлайн книгу.
from her belt the sharp dagger that had killed her brother and struck her arm at the same place where Coster had been wounded. She struck with such force that the blade went into one side of her arm and out the other. Then, holding her wounded arm, with the dagger still in it, out toward Cadoudal, she said, ‘Would you like to see if I am of noble birth? Look! My blood is no less blue, I trust, than Monsieur Coster Saint-Victor’s. Would you like to know how I can claim your trust? This dagger proves that I am affiliated with the Companions of Jehu. Would you like to know my name? I am the goddaughter of that Roman woman who, to give her husband courage, pierced her own arm with a knife. My name is Portia!’
“Coster Saint-Victor gave a start, and while Cadoudal was looking admiringly at the avenging heroine, he said, ‘I can attest that the blade with which this girl has just struck herself is indeed a dagger belonging to the Companions of Jehu. The proof is that I have here one just like it that the company’s leader gave to me on the day of my initiation.’ And he pulled from his cloak a dagger in every way identical to the one in her arm.
“Cadoudal extended his hand to Diana. ‘From this moment on, mademoiselle,’ he said, ‘if you no longer have a father, I am your father. If you no longer have a brother, you are now my sister. Since we are living at a time when everyone is forced to hide his true name under another, your name, like the worthy Roman you are, shall be Portia. From now on, you are part of our army, mademoiselle, and as your first action has earned you a rank of leader, once our surgeon has bandaged your wound, you will attend the council I shall be holding.’
“‘Thank you, General,’ said Diana. ‘As for the surgeon, he’s not needed for me any more than he’s needed for Monsieur Coster Saint-Victor. My wound is no more serious than his.’ Pulling the dagger from the wound in which it had until then remained, she rolled up her sleeve and displayed her lovely arm. Then, turning to Coster Saint-Victor, she said, ‘Comrade,’ she said, ‘please be so good as to lend me your tie.’
“For two years Diana remained with the army of Brittany without anyone ever learning her real name. For two years she participated in every battle Cadoudal waged and shared with the general all the dangers and his fatigue, her devotion to him apparently complete. For two years she swallowed her hatred for the Companions of Jehu and vaunted their exploits, glorified their names: Morgan, d’Assas, Adler, and Montbar. For two years, the handsome Coster de Saint-Victor, who had never met a woman insensible to his charms, besieged the woman named Portia with his love, but in vain. Finally, after two years, her long perseverance was rewarded.
“The 18th Brumaire burst on the scene in France. Immediately the new dictator’s thoughts turned to the Vendée and Brittany. Cadoudal realized that serious war was about to break out in France. He realized, too, that to wage war he needed money. And that only the Companions of Jehu would be able to furnish it.
“Coster Saint-Victor had just taken a bullet in the thigh, so this time he could not be expected to assume his tax collector’s role. Cadoudal thought of Portia. Again and again she had proved her devotion and courage, and with Coster Saint-Victor unavailable, Cadoudal could think of no one better to complete the delicate mission: Dressed like a woman, she could travel anywhere in France undisturbed, and if she traveled by carriage, she could carry considerable sums of money. He consulted the wounded man, who agreed with him completely. Diana was summoned to the general’s bedside, where he laid out his plan. He wanted her to establish contact, by using letters from Cadoudal and Coster Saint-Victor, with the Companions of Jehu, then return to him with the money that was now more necessary than ever, what with hostilities about to break out even more fiercely than before.
“Diana’s heart leaped with joy as he spoke, but not a flicker of emotion on her face betrayed what was happening in her heart. ‘Although the task will be difficult,’ she said, ‘I ask for nothing more than the opportunity to complete it. In addition to letters from the general and Monsieur Coster Saint-Victor, however, I shall need all the topographical information, as well as all the watchwords and passwords, necessary for reaching the secret site of their meetings.’
“Coster Saint-Victor gave her everything she needed. She left with a smile on her face and vengeance in her heart.”
“BARRAS NOW BEING totally powerless, Diana did not even think of going to him when she arrived in Paris. Instead, she asked for an audience with First Consul Bonaparte.
“It was two or three days after Roland had returned from his mission to Cadoudal. We know how little attention Roland paid to women, and he walked right past Diana without even wondering who she was.
“She said in her request for an audience that she had a means to catch the Companions of Jehu and that she would share it once certain conditions, which she wanted to discuss with the First Consul himself, were met.
“Bonaparte hated women who were involved in politics. Fearing that he was dealing with some adventuress, he sent her letter to Fouché and asked him to see what Mademoiselle de Fargas was like.”
Hector paused for a moment to ask, “Do you know Fouché, mademoiselle?”
“No, monsieur,” Claire answered.
“He represents supreme ugliness. Porcelain eyes that cross, thin yellow hair, ashen skin, a snub nose, a crooked mouth filled with ugly teeth, a receding chin, and a beard of the reddish sort that makes his face look dirty—that’s Fouché for you.
“Beauty has a natural abhorrence for ugliness. So, when Fouché came to see Mademoiselle de Fargas—his air both servile and insolent, beneath which one could spot the former seminarian’s false humility—the lovely Diana’s every moral and physical sense revolted.
“The Minister of the Police had been announced, and that title, which opens all doors, also opened Diana’s, until she saw the hideous creature. She pulled back on her sofa and did not even ask Fouché to sit down.
“He chose an armchair nonetheless, and with Diana staring at him, making no attempt to hide her revulsion, he said, ‘Well, my little woman, we have revelations to make to the police and a deal to propose?’
“Diana looked around with such great surprise that the skillful magistrate assumed immediately that he was right. ‘What are you looking for?’ he asked.
“‘I’m trying to determine to whom you might be speaking, monsieur.’
“‘To you, mademoiselle,’ said Fouché insolently.
“‘Then you are quite mistaken, monsieur,’ she said. ‘I am not a little woman. I am an important woman, daughter of the Comte de Fargas, murdered in Avignon, and the sister of the Vicomte de Fargas, murdered in Bourg. I did not come to make a revelation to the police or to arrange any kind of deal with them. I leave that to those who have the misfortune of being its employees or at its head. I have come to demand justice, and as I doubt,’ she said, getting to her feet, ‘that you have any relationship with that chaste goddess, I would be much obliged to you if you would kindly realize that you came to the wrong door when you came here.’
“When Fouché failed to move from his armchair, either out of stupefaction or insolence, she left him sitting there and returned to her bedroom. She locked the door.
“Two hours later, Roland de Montrevel, sent by the First Consul, arrived and escorted her to Bonaparte’s quarters. Having led her to the meeting room with every consideration due a woman, as his distinguished education, supervised by his mother, had taught him, he withdrew to tell Bonaparte she had arrived.
“A few minutes later Bonaparte entered. ‘Well,’ he said, as he responded to Diana’s bow with a benevolent nod, ‘apparently that oaf Fouché thinks he is still dealing with his typical low-class women. That he treated you quite inappropriately, please forgive him. What else can you expect from someone who was a homework supervisor for Oratorians?’