They both laughed now, and when they had recovered she leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. 'Farewell, Lieutenant. I wish you well. Maybe one day, we'll both find ourselves quiet homes in the country.'
'Maybe.' Napoleon nodded. 'Goodbye.'
She left the room quietly, closed the door and he heard her footsteps softly cross the landing and descend the stairs. He returned to bed and curled up under the blanket until his body had warmed up again.The smell of her was still on the pillow and he shut his eyes and breathed the scent in through his nose and let his mind drift back to the thrill of the previous night.
Chapter 44
Napoleon finally rose and dressed as a bell tolled eleven. He sat down at his table and drafted a letter to the War Minister, Jean-Baptiste de Gribeauval, explaining that he was being obstructed by the Treasury in pursuit of compensation for his family, and therefore needed to apply for another six months' extension to his leave. He had few illusions that the War Minister would be pleased to grant such a junior officer yet more leave. After all, he had not served with his regiment for over a year already. But it was all Napoleon could do at this stage. In any case, his money would not last much longer and he would be compelled to return to Corsica. He was not looking forward to reporting his lack of success in Paris. His anger at the corruption and inefficiency of the government was fuelled by the wider inequality between the grinding poverty of the masses and the heedless luxury of the aristocrats and their coteries. Something had to change. But what prospect of change was there when the army stood by ready to crush any expression of discontent by the downtrodden and despairing people of France? What could anyone do about the situation?
Once the letter was completed, Napoleon copied it into a more legible form and sealed it. He tucked it inside his coat and set off for the War Ministry offices where the letter was handed in to a clerk, who was given the address of Napoleon's lodgings for the reply. Then he set off again, walking the streets, deep in thought about the state of the world around him, almost unaware of the fine weather that had embraced Paris and infused most of its inhabitants with better spirits after the cold and damp of previous weeks. When Napoleon looked up he realised that he was passing the street on which Monsieur Cardin had his shop. He pulled up with a start and glanced round, but he recognised no faces in the street around him, and he quickly hurried on.
By the time he had found a cheap inn for his evening meal, Napoleon's thoughts had returned to the pamphlet he had read two days earlier. The arguments poured through his mind with the irresistible force of a great river. The author, Citizen Schiller, deployed logic as if it were a weapon, and shot down anything in his sights, whether it was the monarchy, the Church or the aristocracy. He must be an interesting man to meet, Napoleon reflected. And he was speaking at Monsieur Cardin's shop that night. It was the thought of a moment and the decision followed immediately.
As one of the city clocks struck eight Napoleon emerged from the shadows opposite the subscription library and quickly crossed the street, with a last anxious glance round to make sure that he was not being observed. The library was almost in darkness; only a tiny glimmer of light flickered in the depths of the interior.Yet there were already men inside. From across the street he had seen them arrive, singly and in small groups. Napoleon reached for the door handle, but someone had obviously been keeping watch, because the door swung open at his approach.
'Inside, quickly!' Monsieur Cardin whispered.
As the door closed behind him, Napoleon could see a small candle guttering at the owner's desk at the back of the shop. But there was no sign of the men who had entered before him.
'This way, Lieutenant.' A hand gently pressed him towards the candle. 'I hoped you would come.'
'Only to listen,' Napoleon replied. 'I am interested in new ideas. That's all. I will not become part of a conspiracy.'
'Of course not. What do you take us for? We are only a small group of freethinkers. Any civilised society would tolerate us. But, alas, we are not living in civilised times. So we must debate in private. This way, Lieutenant. Up the stairs.'
His shadowy arm indicated the first few steps in an alcove behind his desk.
'Where does this lead?' Napoleon asked suspiciously.
'My stockroom and office. It's surrounded on three sides by the seamstress business. There's only one window, which is screened so we shall be quite private.'
Napoleon nodded his assent and climbed the narrow stairs. They turned back on themselves and then there was a door, beneath which ran a strip of light from the room on the other side. The door opened, washing the staircase in light, and a man beckoned to him. Napoleon stepped into the room. It was as Monsieur Cardin described it, a plain storeroom. But it was large and seemed to take up the same floor space as the library directly below. Piles of books lined the walls. In one corner there was a small printing press, and piles of cut sheet paper were standing ready to be run through the machine. The centre was taken up with two long tables that had been pushed together, around which seats had been arranged. Nearly all the seats had been taken by well-dressed men, and Napoleon took them for lawyers, bankers and the like.
'Welcome, Lieutenant,' said the man who had opened the door and Napoleon turned towards him.
'I know your face.You must have followed me when I left here two days ago.'
'Yes,' he smiled. 'I've been keeping a close eye on you ever since. We had to be sure that you weren't an informer. It didn't seem likely that an agent of the King would be so foolhardy as to wear an army uniform. But we had to be sure.' He thrust out his hand. 'Allow me to introduce myself, Augustin Duman. Please have a seat. The meeting is about to begin.'
Napoleon sat down near to the door. He could not bring himself to trust men who took such pains to meet in secret, and wanted a quick route out of the room if it became necessary to flee. Monsieur Cardin sat to one side of Napoleon and Duman sat on the other. At the head of the table, clearly illuminated by the candlesticks running the length of the two tables, sat a man with similar facial features to Duman. He wore a powdered wig and had an intelligent, if severe, expression. He clenched his fist and thumped the table. 'I'm calling the meeting to order.'
The other men fell silent instantly and turned towards the head of the table. The man in the wig nodded. 'Thank you, citizens.'
He paused and looked towards Napoleon.'And is this our new man, the artillery lieutenant?'
Monsieur Cardin cleared his throat and leaned forward to have a better view of the man sitting at the end. 'Citizen Schiller, the lieutenant is here to listen and observe. He has made no commitment to us.'
'As yet,' Schiller smiled. 'But I'm hoping the force of our arguments will convince him to join us soon.'
Napoleon said nothing and kept still.
'I understand you read my pamphlet?'
'Yes, sir.'
Schiller smiled. 'Here we refer to each other as "citizen". Out there on the streets we are still subjects and have to defer to rank. But here we meet as equals. So Citizen Schiller it is.'
'I was merely being respectful,' Napoleon responded.
'You sounded deferential.There'll be no deference in the new France, Citizen Buona Parte. Deference will not be tolerated. We can't afford to tolerate it, lest it drag us back into the past. Back to the rule of the many by the few. Do you understand?'
'I understand, citizen,' Napoleon nodded. 'But surely there are differences between men, measurable differences. That is the natural order.'
'Agreed. But does that justify the gross inequalities between men, and women, for that matter? If we discount God for the moment, men made society the way it is. They can just as easily make it another way, a better way.You will concede that at least.'