The Last Cavalier: Being the Adventures of Count Sainte-Hermine in the Age of Napoleon. Alexandre Dumas

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СКАЧАТЬ Bourrienne, once these debts have been paid, and you are confident that you can pay them all with the six hundred thousand francs…”

      “Yes?”

      “Well, my suppliers will then no longer refuse me credit.”

      “But how about him?”

      “Who?”

      “The First Consul. He swore that these would be the last debts he would pay on your account.”

      “Just as he also swore last year,” said Josephine with her charming smile.

      Bourrienne looked at her in stupefaction. “Truly,” he said, “you frighten me. Give us two or three years of peace and the few measly millions we brought back from Italy will be exhausted; yet you persist.… If I have any advice to give you, it is to allow him some time to get over this bad mood of his before you see him again.”

      “But I can’t! Because I really must see him right away. I have set up a meeting this morning for a compatriot from the colonies, a family friend, the Comtesse de Sourdis and her daughter, and not for anything in the world would I have him fly into a fit of rage in the presence of these fine women, women whom I met in society, on their first visit to the Tuileries.”

      “What will you give me if I keep him up here, if I get him even to have his lunch here, so that he’d have no reason to come down to your rooms until dinnertime?”

      “Anything you want, Bourrienne.”

      “Well, then, take a pen and paper, and write in your own lovely little handwriting.…”

      “What?”

      “Write!”

      Josephine put pen to paper, as Bourrienne dictated to her: “I authorize Bourrienne to settle all my bills for the year 1800 and to reduce them by half or even by three quarters if he judges it appropriate.”

      “There.”

      “Date it.”

      “February 19, 1801.”

      “Now sign it.”

      “Josephine Bonaparte.… Is everything now in order?”

      “Perfectly in order. You can return downstairs, get dressed, and welcome your friend without fear of being disturbed by the First Consul.”

      “Obviously, Bourrienne, you are a charming man.” She held out the tips of her fingernails for him to kiss, which he did respectfully.

      Bourrienne then rang for the office boy, who immediately appeared in the doorway. “Landoire,” Bourrienne said, “inform the steward that the First Consul will be taking lunch in his office. Have him set up the pedestal table for two. We shall let him know when we wish to be served.”

      “And who will be having lunch with the First Consul, Bourrienne?”

      “No business of yours, so long as it’s someone who can put him in a good mood.”

      “And who would that be?”

      “Would you like him to have lunch with you, madame?”

      “No, no, Bourrienne,” Josephine cried. “Let him have lunch with whomever he chooses, just so he does not come down to me until dinner.” And in a cloud of gauze she fled the room.

      Not two minutes later, the door to the study burst open and the First Consul strode straight to Bourrienne. Planting his two fists on the desktop, he said, “Well, Bourrienne, I have just seen the famous George Cadoudal.”

      “And what do you think of him?”

      “He is one of those old Bretons from the most Breton part of Brittany,” Bonaparte replied, “cut from the same granite as their menhirs and dolmens. And unless I’m sadly mistaken, I haven’t seen the last of him. He’s a man who fears nothing and desires nothing, and men like that … the fearless are to be feared, Bourrienne.”

      “Fortunately such men are rare,” said Bourrienne with a laugh. “You know that better than anyone, having seen so many reeds painted to look like iron.”

      “But they still blow in the wind. And speaking of reeds, have you seen Josephine?”

      “She has just left.”

      “Is she satisfied?”

      “Well, she no longer carries all her Montmartre suppliers on her back.”

      “Why did she not wait for me?”

      “She was afraid you would scold her.”

      “Surely she knows she cannot escape a scolding!”

      “Yes, but gaining some time before facing you is like waiting for a change to good weather. Then, too, at eleven o’clock she is to receive one of her friends.”

      “Which one?”

      “A Creole woman from Martinique.”

      “Whose name is?”

      “The Comtesse de Sourdis.”

      “Who are the Sourdis family? Are they known?”

      “Are you asking me?”

      “Of course. Don’t you know the peerage list in France backward and forward?”

      “Well, it’s a family that has belonged to both the church and the sword as far back as the fourteenth century. Among those participating in the French expedition to Naples, as best as I can recall, there was a Comte de Sourdis who accomplished marvelous feats at the Battle of Garigliano.”

      “The battle that the knight Bayard managed to lose so effectively.”

      “What do you think about Bayard, that ‘irreproachable and fearless’ knight?”

      “That he deserved his good name, for he died as any true soldier must hope to die. Still, I don’t think much of all those sword-swingers; they were poor generals—Francis I was an idiot at Pavia and indecisive at Marignan. But let’s get back to your Sourdis family.”

      “Well, at the time of Henri IV there was an Abbesse de Sourdis in whose arms Gabrielle expired; she was allied with the d’Estrée family. In addition, a Comte de Sourdis, serving under Louis XV, bravely led the charge of a cavalry regiment at Fontenoy. After that, I lose track of them in France; they probably went off to America. In Paris, they live behind the old Hôtel Sourdis on the square Saint-Germain-l’Auxerrois. There is a tiny street named Sourdis that runs from the Rue d’Orleans to the Rue d’Anjou in the Marais district, and there’s the cul-de-sac called Sourdis off the Rue des Fossés-Saint-Germain-l’Auxerrois. If I’m not mistaken, this particular Comtesse de Sourdis, who in passing I must say is very rich, has just bought a lovely residence on Quai Voltaire and is living there. Her house opens onto the Rue de Bourbon, and you can see it from the windows in the Marsan pavilion.”

      “Perfect! СКАЧАТЬ