But then the door was opened by a mulatto woman wearing a bright red headcloth. She stared at him with narrowed eyes.
‘Sir?’
‘Is Madame Beauharnais at home?’
‘She is.’ The woman’s voice had a peculiar sing-song lilt to it that Napoleon could not place.‘Who may I say is calling for her?’
‘General Bonaparte.’ Napoleon tilted his head back as he announced himself.
‘General, you say?’The woman looked at him with an amused expression. ‘Please wait in here, General, and I’ll see if Madame will receive you.’
He was ushered to a low couch in the hall, just to the side of the door. There were two more seats against the opposite wall and Napoleon realised with a sinking feeling that Josephine must be in the habit of receiving many visitors. The light slap of bare feet on the staircase at the end of the hall drew his attention and he turned to see a young girl hurrying down the stairs towards him. Josephine appeared behind her and called out, ‘Hortense! Back up here right now. I must comb your hair before you go out.’
‘But Mother, I want to see the hero!’
Josephine looked past her daughter and flushed as she saw Napoleon. ‘I’m so sorry. Please bear with me a moment.’
‘Of course.’ Napoleon could not help smiling. ‘It seems you have a mutiny to suppress.’
Josephine raised her eyes. ‘If you only knew. Now then, Hortense, back to your room.’
Her daughter took a last look at the visitor and trotted back up the stairs. Josephine took her hand firmly and nodded towards the couches. ‘Please take a seat. I’ll be with you in a moment.’
Once she had gone Napoleon waited in the hall, noting the faded curtains and worn thread of the rugs on the cracked tiles of the floor, clear signs of the declining fortunes of the Beauharnais family.At length the faint sounds of the girl’s excited chatter faded and a door closed somewhere at the back of the house. A moment later he heard footsteps descending the stairs and looked up.
Josephine was wearing a silk gown, and looked to have little on beneath it from the way it clung to the curves of her body. Her hair had been carefully pinned back. Napoleon had to swallow before he could return the greeting she called out to him.
‘So, my general has come to see me after all.’ Her lips parted in a smile. ‘I had feared we had been forgotten amid the public clamour for your attention.’
‘I promised to bring your husband’s sword, and here it is.’ He offered the sword to Josephine. Her gaze passed over the scabbard and then she tenderly lifted it and held it to her chest.
‘My thanks, General.You have no idea how much this simple blade means to me, to my family. I shall be for ever in your debt.’
There was an awkward silence before Napoleon coughed. ‘Well, I suppose I had better take my leave.’
‘Oh . . .’ Her smile faded.
‘Unless—’
‘Please take some refreshment with me,’ Josephine gushed. ‘I mean, if you can spare me the time.’
Napoleon nodded. ‘I will, thank you.’
Josephine glanced at the sword, looked round and then quickly lowered it, with a clatter, on to a marble-topped side table.Then she thrust open a door into a small, sparsely furnished parlour. ‘In here, if you please.’
Napoleon entered the room and crossed to one of the pair of softly upholstered two-seater couches and eased himself down. It was even softer than it looked and he sank into the cushions. Josephine turned to face down the hall and called out, ‘Hesther! Coffee in the small parlour.’
Then she entered the room and closed the door behind her, before crossing to the same couch as her guest and taking the spare cushion, so that their thighs were almost touching.
She looked at him with a concerned expression. ‘General, are you quite well?’
‘Yes. Fine. Why?’
‘It’s just that you look a little feverish.’
‘I’m very well, thank you. It’s warm in here.’
‘So? That must be it.’ She patted his knee. ‘No need for me to worry then.’
He shook his head and forced a smile; then, aware that his gaze was lingering on her body for longer than was seemly, he glanced away, around the room, and saw a miniature portrait in a frame on the mantelpiece. He stood up and approached it.
‘Isn’t that Paul Barras?’
‘Yes. He’s a good friend of mine.’
‘I thought I recognised the face,’ Napoleon responded. In truth the miniature flattered Barras. ‘Your friend, you say?’
‘Paul has been good to me. Since my husband was executed, he has been my gallant protector. It was Barras who returned most of the property that was confiscated after Alexandre’s death. I owe him a lot. And now he owes you far more, it seems.’
‘Nonsense. I was just doing my duty.’
‘Of course. But that does not change the fact that without your intervention it was more than likely that Paul would have lost his head.’
Napoleon shrugged.
The door opened and Hesther entered the room with a silver tray bearing two steaming cups of coffee. She set the tray down on a side table and left the room. Josephine patted the cushion next to her.
‘Come. Sit down and have your coffee. I have it made strong and sweetened with two spoons of sugar. Black as the devil and sweet as a stolen kiss, as they say in Martinique. I hope you like it.’
Easing his back into the cushions, Napoleon took the proffered cup and cautiously sipped the dark contents. It was hot, but not too hot, and the flavour was surprisingly smooth and pleasing.
‘It’s good.Very good.’
Josephine smiled. ‘I’m so pleased you like it. I think we shall discover that we have a great deal more in common in the future . . .’
As autumn gave way to winter Napoleon found as much time as he could to see the woman who had such a hold over his emotions and his desire. A few days after he had delivered the sword he was invited to dinner and arrived to discover that he was the only guest. The meal was a fascinating example of a cuisine she called Creole, far more spicy and exotic than the fare Napoleon normally allowed himself. They dined by the light of a handful of candles and a small fire in the grate and the conversation flowed as freely as the hands of the clock standing in the corner, which seemed to Napoleon to fly round the hours until it was past midnight. Napoleon called for his carriage, and as they stood on the short flight of steps outside her house Josephine suddenly raised her hands to his shoulders and gently drew his face towards hers for a kiss.
As their lips touched Napoleon felt a warm quiver of delight ripple through his breast. At first he dared not move his lips too insistently, but as she pressed hers against his mouth his lungs filled with her scent and the aroma of her hair and body. He felt her soft body against his and gave in to his passion for this bewitching woman, reaching his hands round to the small of her back and pulling her into his embrace. Then he felt her tongue, softy searching between his lips, and he closed his eyes, knowing that nothing had ever been more perfect than this moment, nor ever would be.
As their lips parted, he nuzzled her cheek, then her neck, and whispered into her ear, ‘Josephine . . . my love.’
‘No more Madame Beauharnais?’ she teased him with a whisper.
‘You are Josephine now. My Josephine.’
‘I like that.’ She kissed him again, and murmured, ‘Don’t leave now. Stay until morning . . .’
In November, the rest of Napoleon’s family arrived in Paris. He had sent word of his success to his mother, Letizia, at the house she had been renting near Marseilles. She was still bitter at having lost her home and possessions when the family had been forced to flee from Corsica two years earlier. Napoleon and his brothers, who shared his revolutionary politics, had taken a stand against Pascal Paoli, who - with English backing - was now virtual dictator of the island, and the family had only just escaped the murderous rage of a Paolist mob. Napoelon knew that his mother blamed their misfortune on Fra
nce in general, and the revolution in particular. Yet it was the same revolution that had given Napoleon the chance to prove himself and he was keen to show his mother, and the rest of his family, the results of his fame and good fortune. Now he could afford to keep them all in comfort.
When his older brother, Joseph, stepped through the door of Napoleon’s new home and beheld him in the uniform of a general, tears of selfless pride pricked at the corners of his eyes before he hugged his brother.
‘If only Father could see you now!’
Napoleon nodded. Their father, Carlos, had sacrificed much to send his two oldest sons to good schools in France. It had been a cruel fate that he died too soon to see their success.
Joseph released Napoleon and stood aside to allow Letizia and the other brothers and sisters to crowd round.There was Lucien, the next boy, who had already made a reputation for himself in Marseilles, espousing the radical politics of the Jacobin party. Louis and Jérôme were already attending a school near Paris. His sisters, Caroline, Pauline and Élisa, stood round him, admiring his best uniform coat with the gleaming braid that marked him out as a general.
Letizia held off until the last before she kissed her son formally on each cheek. ‘I knew you had it in you to achieve greatness. But keep your feet on the ground, my boy. There are people in this world who will try to use you and your new position for their own ends.’
‘Mother!’ Napoleon laughed.‘I am a grown man now. I know how to look after myself.’
‘You are your father’s son,’ she replied wearily. ‘And I know how easily led he was.’
Napoleon frowned. ‘I am no fool, Mother.’
‘We’ll see.’
In view of her smothering attitude it was nearly a month before Napoleon revealed to his family that he intended to get married.
Chapter 9
‘Congratulations, sir!’ Murat grinned as he strode up to them in the hall of Madame Sinoir’s house. ‘She’s a lucky woman.’
Napoleon’s blood froze and he sensed his mother bristle beside him as he replied, ‘Thank you, Murat.’
‘Well, can’t stop, sir. Some of us bachelors still have a busy love life.’
‘Yes.’ Napoleon glared. ‘I shan’t keep you.’
Whistling off key to himself, Murat strode away and Napoleon quickly steered his mother to the doorway leading through to the salon.
‘You’re getting married?’ Letizia said loudly as they entered the crowded room. ‘To whom?’
Some of the other guests at the salon turned briefly to look at Letizia before returning to their conversations. Napoleon winced and his mother instantly noticed the gesture.
‘It was your idea to bring me here. Kindly do me the courtesy of not being embarrassed by my presence. Especially since it is only now that you tell me this news.’
‘Yes, Mother.’ Napoleon had been putting the moment off for as long as possible, even after he had arranged to bring her to the salon to be introduced to Josephine.
‘So then. Who is this woman you think you want to marry?’
‘Her name is Josephine Beauharnais.’ Napoleon replied calmly. ‘She’s a widow with two children, well connected, intelligent and witty. She will be a fine wife, and one day I hope she will be the mother of my children. And she’s over there.’ Napoleon nodded to a table where Josephine was playing cards with Paul Barras and two young cavalry officers.
Letizia squinted for a moment. ‘She looks older than you.’
‘She is,’ Napoleon admitted.
‘And she’s flirting with that man.’
‘That’s Paul Barras. He’s an old friend of hers.’
‘More than that, I should say,’ Letizia muttered.
Napoleon frowned, and then abruptly turned and waved a hand to attract Josephine’s attention. She looked up from her cards and smiled at him. Napoleon beckoned, and after a brief word of apology to her male companions she rose from her seat and crossed the room to join him.
‘You wanted me, my love?’
‘Yes.’ Napoleon felt his heart lift at her words. ‘I’d like you to meet my mother.’
Josephine smiled graciously and bowed her head.‘I have heard so much about you, and the rest of the family, from Napoleon. I feel I almost know you already.’
‘And I know almost nothing of you,’ Letizia replied flatly, in her heavy Coriscan accent. ‘But I will make sure that I find out everything I can about you.’
‘Mother . . .’
‘Oh, don’t fret!’ She turned back to Josephine with a forced smile. ‘I’m just keen to know more about any person who might join our family. I’m sure you understand?’
‘Of course,’ Josephine replied. ‘It’s a natural instinct for any mother. Especially the mother of one of France’s most promising soldiers.’
‘Precisely. It is important that Napoleon marries well. To someone deserving of his fame.’
Napoleon felt his insides clench with embarrassment. He wished he had never suggested this meeting. But it had to happen, he realised.A man’s family and his wife could not be kept apart for ever. Unfortunately. He glanced at Josephine and gave a slight shake of his head to indicate that she should not take his mother’s brusqueness to heart.
‘I see,’ Josephine replied evenly. ‘Madame Bonaparte, I can assure you that my family is as respectable as any in France, and has been for many generations.’ She paused, then continued in a warm tone, ‘As I am sure you will come to realise once you have settled into Paris.You must be finding it difficult to adjust to such a sophisticated world after spending a lifetime in Corsica, no?’
Letizia glared back at her, as Josephine went on, ‘I should be delighted to introduce you and your family to Paris, if you would like. It can be quite bewildering to provincials, and of course it would be a pleasure to help the family of my husband to settle into polite society.’ She smiled sweetly, then turned towards Napoleon and slipped her hand through his arm.
‘Napoleon,’ Letizia said hurriedly.‘I find that I am tired. Please would you take me home.’
‘But we’ve only just arrived.’
‘Well, it seems I am not well. Come,’ she said.
Napoleon nodded and gave Josephine’s hand a gentle squeeze. ‘I’ll see you later.’
She nodded, and turned back to Letizia. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Madame Bonaparte. However briefly.’
‘Oh, I am sure that we will have plenty of time to become thoroughly acquainted with each other,’ Letizia replied as she took hold of Napoleon’s arm. ‘Please excuse us. I am sure your gentlemen friends are missing your company.’
Josephine smiled a farewell and turned away. As soon as she was out of earshot Napoleon whispered to his mother, ‘What do you think of her?’
‘I don’t think she is for you.’
‘She is for me,’ Napoleon replied earnestly. ‘She is all I ever wanted in a woman.’
‘I will not discuss this here, in front of these people. Later, when we get home.’
Napoleon folded his arms and leaned against the window frame as he faced his mother, Joseph, Lucien, Caroline and Élisa, sitting in the chairs of his small study.
‘What is the reputation of this woman?’ Letizia shot at him.‘If we were in Ajaccio I would know of her at once and be able to decide if she was worthy of you. But here in Paris? Hardly anyone has a good reputation from what I have seen. Women disport themselves like whores. So, I ask you again, Napoleon, what is her reputation?’
Napoleon felt a stab of anger tear through his heart and had to bite down hard to stop himself from swearing. The moment passed and he responded quietly, ‘This is not Ajaccio, Mother. This is Paris, and life is lived differently here. The old ways are gone, and people express themselves in a more liberal manner now.’
‘Liberal manner, indeed. Pouf! It’s licentiousness, pure and simple, and Corsicans are better than that.’
‘Mother,’ Joseph intervened. ‘For better or worse, we are French now. We have to live
by a different standard.’
‘Lower our standards, you mean.’
Joseph ignored her and turned to his younger brother. ‘The important question is, does Napoleon love her? And does she love him?’
‘Love?’ Letizia laughed. ‘What do either of you know of love? Sound reasons for marriage come first, love grows later. Depend upon it, that’s how marriages work. If you do it the wrong way round it is merely a childish infatuation that quickly passes and all that is left is a marriage certificate and a lifetime of duty. Napoleon!’
‘Yes, Mother?’
‘This Beauharnais woman, what do you know of her?’
Before Napoleon could reply, Lucien coughed and stirred. ‘I have heard something of her.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve been spending some time at the Jacobin club, finding out as much as I can about the political terrain, as it were.’
‘Really?’ Letizia stared at him.‘Is that wise, given your nose for trouble?’
Lucien looked down at his shoes, shamed by the memory of the ill-timed radical pamphlet he had written that had done so much to ruin the family’s fortunes in Ajaccio.
His mother tapped her foot impatiently. ‘Well? What do you know of this woman? Speak up.’
‘She is well connected indeed, just as Napoleon said. Until very recently she was the mistress of Paul Barras.’ His eyes flickered towards his brother leaning against the window frame. ‘Some say that she still is.’
‘Then they are fools,’ Napoleon replied tersely. ‘She is mine and mine alone, and she wants to be my wife.’
‘Of course she does,’ Letizia said. ‘Who else would be fool enough to have her?’
‘Enough!’ Napoleon took a stride forward, his hand cutting through the air. ‘I have decided to marry her and that is an end to it! You will not question my decision, Mother.’
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