FullReads

NAPOLEON (suddenly becoming the commanding officer again and throwing Giuseppe off). There he is at last. (Pointing to the inner door.) Go. Attend to your business: the lady is calling you. (He goes to the fireplace and stands with his back to it with a determined military air.)

GIUSEPPE (with bated breath, snatching up his tray). Certainly, excellency. (He hurries out by the inner door.)

THE MAN’s VOICE (impatiently). Are you all asleep here? (The door opposite the fireplace is kicked rudely open; and a dusty sub-lieutenant bursts into the room. He is a chuckle-headed young man of 24, with the fair, delicate, clear skin of a man of rank, and a self-assurance on that ground which the French Revolution has failed to shake in the smallest degree. He has a thick silly lip, an eager credulous eye, an obstinate nose, and a loud confident voice. A young man without fear, without reverence, without imagination, without sense, hopelessly insusceptible to the Napoleonic or any other idea, stupendously egotistical, eminently qualified to rush in where angels fear to tread, yet of a vigorous babbling vitality which bustles him into the thick of things. He is just now boiling with vexation, attributable by a superficial observer to his impatience at not being promptly attended to by the staff of the inn, but in which a more discerning eye can perceive a certain moral depth, indicating a more permanent and momentous grievance. On seeing Napoleon, he is sufficiently taken aback to check himself and salute; but he does not betray by his manner any of that prophetic consciousness of Marengo and Austerlitz, Waterloo and St. Helena, or the Napoleonic pictures of Delaroche and Meissonier, which modern culture will instinctively expect from him.)

NAPOLEON (sharply). Well, sir, here you are at last. Your instructions were that I should arrive here at six, and that I was to find you waiting for me with my mail from Paris and with despatches. It is now twenty minutes to eight. You were sent on this service as a hard rider with the fastest horse in the camp. You arrive a hundred minutes late, on foot. Where is your horse!

THE LIEUTENANT (moodily pulling off his gloves and dashing them with his cap and whip on the table). Ah! where indeed? That’s just what I should like to know, General. (With emotion.) You don’t know how fond I was of that horse.

NAPOLEON (angrily sarcastic). Indeed! (With sudden misgiving.) Where are the letters and despatches?

THE LIEUTENANT (importantly, rather pleased than otherwise at having some remarkable news). I don’t know.

NAPOLEON (unable to believe his ears). You don’t know!

LIEUTENANT. No more than you do, General. Now I suppose I shall be court-martialled. Well, I don’t mind being court-martialled; but (with solemn determination) I tell you, General, if ever I catch that innocent looking youth, I’ll spoil his beauty, the slimy little liar! I’ll make a picture of him. I’ll–

NAPOLEON (advancing from the hearth to the table). What innocent looking youth? Pull yourself together, sir, will you; and give an account of yourself.

LIEUTENANT (facing him at the opposite side of the table, leaning on it with his fists). Oh, I’m all right, General: I’m perfectly ready to give an account of myself. I shall make the court-martial thoroughly understand that the fault was not mine. Advantage has been taken of the better side of my nature; and I’m not ashamed of it. But with all respect to you as my commanding officer, General, I say again that if ever I set eyes on that son of Satan, I’ll–

NAPOLEON (angrily). So you said before.

LIEUTENANT (drawing himself upright). I say it again. just wait until I catch him. Just wait: that’s all. (He folds his arms resolutely, and breathes hard, with compressed lips.)

NAPOLEON. I AM waiting, sir–for your explanation.

LIEUTENANT (confidently). You’ll change your tone, General, when you hear what has happened to me.

NAPOLEON. Nothing has happened to you, sir: you are alive and not disabled. Where are the papers entrusted to you?