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

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СКАЧАТЬ really. They are close relatives of Dr. Cabanis, who shares, as you know, our political religion. He is even the girl’s godfather.”

      “That improves things. All those dowagers who live in Saint-Germain are not good company for Josephine.”

      At that moment Bonaparte turned around and noticed the pedestal table. “Had I said that I would be having lunch here?” he asked.

      “No,” Bourrienne answered, “but I thought it would be better if today you had lunch in your study.”

      “And who will be doing me the honor of having lunch with me?”

      “Someone I have invited.”

      “Given the way I was feeling, you had to be very sure that the person would please me.”

      “I was quite sure.”

      “And who is it?”

      “Someone who came from far away and arrived at the Tuileries while you were with George in the reception room.”

      “I had no other meetings scheduled.”

      “This person came without a scheduled meeting.”

      “You know that I never receive anyone without a letter.”

      “This person you will receive.”

      Bourrienne got up, went to the officers’ room, and simply said, “The First Consul is back.”

      At those words, a young man rushed into the First Consul’s study. Although he was only about twenty-five or twenty-six years old, he was wearing the casual clothes of a general. “Junot!” Bonaparte exclaimed joyously.

      “By God, you were quite right to say that this man did not need a letter! Come here, Junot!” The young general did not hesitate, but when he tried to take Bonaparte’s hand and raise it to his lips, the First Consul opened his arms and pulled Junot tightly to his breast.

      Among the many young officers who owed their careers to Bonaparte, Junot was one of those he loved the most. They had met during the siege of Toulon, when Bonaparte was commanding the battery of the sansculottes. He had asked for someone who could write beautifully, and Junot, stepping from the ranks, introduced himself. “Sit down there,” Bonaparte said, pointing to the battery’s breastwork, “and write what I dictate.” Junot of course obeyed.

      He was just finishing the letter when a bomb, tossed by the English, exploded ten steps away and covered him with dirt. “Good!” said Junot with a laugh. “How convenient! We didn’t have any sand to blot the ink.” Those words made his fortune.

      “Would you like to stay with me?” Bonaparte asked. “I shall take care of you.” And Junot answered, “With pleasure.” From the outset the two men understood each other.

      When Bonaparte was named general, Junot became his aide-de-camp. When Bonaparte was placed on reserve duty, the two young men shared their poverty, living off the two or three hundred francs that Junot received each month from his family. After the 13th Vendémiaire, Bonaparte had two other aides-de-camp, Muiron and Marmont, but Junot remained his favorite.

      Junot participated in the Egyptian campaign as a general. So, to his great regret, he had to part with Bonaparte. He performed feats of courage at the battle of Fouli, where he shot dead the leader of the enemy army with his pistol. When Bonaparte left Egypt, he wrote to Junot:

      I am leaving Egypt, my dear Junot. You are too far away from where we are embarking for me to take you along with me. But I am leaving orders with Kléber for you to leave in October. Finally, wherever I am, whatever my position, please know that I will always give you proof positive of our close friendship.

      Good-bye and best wishes,

      Bonaparte

      On his way back to France on an old cargo ship, Junot fell into the hands of the English. Since then, Bonaparte had heard no news of his friend, so Junot’s unexpected appearance created quite a stir in Bonaparte’s quarters.

      “Well, finally you’re back!” exclaimed the First Consul. “I knew you idiotically let yourself be caught by the English by remaining so long in Egypt. What I don’t know is why you waited five months when I had asked you to leave as soon as possible.”

      “Good heavens! Because Kléber would not let me leave. You have no idea how difficult he made things for me.”

      “He no doubt feared that I’d have too many of my friends in my ranks. I know no love was lost between us, but I never thought he’d demonstrate his enmity in such a petty way. Plus, he wrote a letter to the Directory—do you know about that? What’s more,” Bonaparte added, raising his 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, СКАЧАТЬ