The Fields of Death - Scarrow Simon - Страница 34
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‘Here, on the desk.’ Napoleon tapped the gleaming wooden surface to his right. The servant crossed the room and carefully lowered the tray before bowing his head and backing away. Napoleon finished his notes and set the pen down. The pleasant odour of onion soup curled into his nostrils, and he eased the tray across the desk in front of him. Outside the rain rattled against the window panes in an irregular rhythm as the wind moaned over the chateau. Taking up the spoon he began to sip carefully, his mind soon moving back to the most pressing of the issues weighing on his mind - the matter of how to break the news to Josephine.
A week later Napoleon ate alone with his wife. The last of the dinner service had been cleared away, with most of the food lying untouched on the fine chinaware. At length a steward served them coffee and then retired from the small salon where the Emperor and Empress had taken their supper. It was bitterly cold outside and night had long since closed over the chateau. Hardly a word had been spoken over the meal, beyond mere pleasantries. Napoleon’s stomach was too knotted with anxiety to allow him to eat and he had had to force himself to eat a few mouthfuls of chicken before poking at the rest of the meal and finally laying aside his cutlery and clicking his fingers for the servants to clear the table.
‘It will soon be Christmas,’ Josephine observed at length.
‘Yes.’
Josephine raised her cup and sipped carefully. ‘Nothing has been arranged.’
‘No.’
‘Well, don’t you think we should organise an event of some kind? A celebration?’
Napoleon looked at her, feeling sick at the imminence of his betrayal. ‘There will be nothing for us to celebrate.’
‘What?’ Josephine lowered her cup slightly. ‘Why do you say that? What is wrong, my love? You have been so cold with me from the moment you returned.’
‘I . . . I have something to tell you.’ Napoleon swallowed nervously and found that he could not continue. Josephine saw the pained look in his face and began to rise from her chair to come and comfort him. ‘Sit down,’ he ordered. Then, aware of the harshness of his tone, he forced himself to soften his voice. ‘Please, sit, my love.’
After a moment, she did as she was told and stared back at him. ‘What is it? Tell me.’
There was no longer any means of avoiding the moment and Napoleon took a calming breath before he spoke. ‘I must divorce you.’
‘What?’
‘I have to divorce you. I must have an heir. So I must find a new wife.’
She stared at him and then laughed nervously. ‘You are joking. That’s it. You are teasing me.’
‘No. It’s true.’ Napoleon felt the relief begin to flow through his body now that he could finally explain the situation. ‘This is not about you and me, it is about France. I love you, I always have. But we must be brave and put the needs of our people before our own.’ He watched her dumbstruck expression closely. ‘Do you understand?’
Josephine shook her head faintly, her lips trembling. ‘No . . . No . . .’
‘I wish, with every fibre in my body, that we could avoid this situation,’ Napoleon continued gently. ‘But it has to be done.’
Josephine clenched her fists. ‘Don’t. Please don’t.’
‘I have to. If we are to be divorced then we cannot be together. It would be unseemly.’
‘Don’t do this, my darling.’ Her voice quavered. ‘I beg you.’
‘It has already been done. The senate ratified the decree earlier today. I will announce it in Paris tomorrow, and we will both sign the formal agreement before the imperial court. It is best for it all to be done as swiftly as possible.’ Napoleon smiled. ‘To ease our suffering, you understand.’
‘NO! NO! NO!’ Josephine screamed, sweeping her arm out across the table, knocking her coffee cup and saucer flying towards the fireplace, where it exploded into fragments with a sharp crash. She rose to her feet and lurched round the table towards him, then stopped and stared at him, eyes wild.
‘NO!’ She suddenly raised her fist and Napoleon instinctively flinched. Instead of striking him, she struck her breast, hard, again and again.
‘Don’t do that!’ Napoleon stretched a hand towards her.‘Please don’t, my love.’
A sob racked her body, and then her legs gave way and she fell on to the thick rug underneath the table and curled up on the floor as she screamed and wept. Napoleon stared at her for a moment, knowing that he must not weaken this time. Her tears had undone his anger many times in the past, and caused him to change his mind. But not this time, he told himself. He pushed his chair back and stood over her.
‘Get up, Josephine. Stop crying.’
She shook her head and continued sobbing, adding a grief-stricken shriek every now and then as Napoleon stared at her, helpless as pity and irritation vied to control his thoughts. Behind him the door opened and there was a footman, holding a lamp, and beside him stood Baron Bausset.
‘Sire? I heard cries. Is anything the matter?’
Napoleon gestured towards Josephine. ‘What do you think? Come here, I need your help.’
‘Yes, sire.’
As Bausset hurried across to the table, Josephine reached out and grasped Napoleon’s leg. ‘Help me up,’ she muttered. ‘I don’t want to be seen like this.’
He leaned down and grasped her shoulder, slipping the other hand round her waist as he eased her on to her feet. Her eyes were puffy and red, her cheeks streaked with tears, and her bottom lip trembled. Napoleon felt a terrible guilt burning in his veins and a compulsion to hold her in his arms. Then Bausset arrived at his side and the spell was broken.
‘Here, you help the Empress.’ Napoleon tried to pull himself free but Josephine clung to his arm desperately.
‘Don’t leave me!’
‘I’m not leaving you. I’ll help you to your apartments.’
Her eyes glittered for an instant. ‘Yes. That would be kind of you.’
She eased her grip and Napoleon slipped free, taking a quick pace back. ‘Here, Bausset, you hold the Empress. Tightly, don’t let her fall. I’ll light the way.’
Bausset quickly stepped in and took his place. Josephine forced a smile and thanked the imperial official frostily as her husband carefully took a candle from the holder on the table. Cupping his spare hand round the flame to shield it from any draught, he led the way to the door. With Bausset supporting the Empress, the small party made their way to a small rear staircase and began climbing the steps to Josephine’s apartments on the floor above. As they reached the top step she suddenly went limp in Bausset’s arms and started weeping again.
‘Don’t do it, Napoleon. For pity’s sake don’t divorce me.’
Napoleon turned round. ‘Quiet!’ he hissed. ‘Bausset, for God’s sake, keep a firm grip on her.’
With Bausset half carrying and half dragging Josephine, the three of them made their way down the corridor to the door of her sleeping chamber. Napoleon opened the door and stood to one side, holding the candle high.
‘Get her over there on the bed. Quickly.’
Bausset did as he was ordered and gently laid the Empress down on her silken quilt, before retiring towards his master.
Napoleon felt a sudden burning on his wrist. ‘Shit!’ He snatched the candle down to brush away the molten wax with his spare hand and the little flame flickered wildly.
‘Don’t leave me!’ Josephine rose up on her elbow, her other hand stretched out towards him.
‘Out!’ Napoleon ordered Bausset. ‘Now.’
The two men hurried into the corridor and Napoleon shut the door firmly behind them, cutting off a fresh bout of tears and cries of anguish. He puffed his cheeks with relief before he looked at Bausset. ‘Stay here. The Empress is distraught and needs to rest. She is not to be permitted to leave her apartments until I say. She may receive visitors if she desires, but it would be . . . inappropriate for her to encounter me in the present circumstances, you understand.’
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