He looked up and saw that most of the other officers were looking at him with open hostility. Even Alexander looked annoyed by his explanation. There was an awkward silence, then Captain Des Mazis’ chair scraped back and he stood up.
‘Lieutenant Buona Parte, I find your sentiments offensive. There is no place for such views in this mess and I would be obliged if you did not raise the matter again. Do you understand?’
Napoleon felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment and anger. ‘Sir, I meant no offence. I was merely trying to explain the motives of these rioters.’
‘You’re a soldier, Lieutenant, not a politician, nor a philosopher, thank God.You swore an oath of loyalty to the King, not to the common rabble. And this mess will not tolerate any attempt to justify the illegal actions of dangerous rioters. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Napoleon replied quietly. ‘Perfectly clear.’
‘Good. Then I would ask you to leave the mess at once, to spare us any more of your ill-considered opinions. Now go.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Napoleon saluted as his cheeks burned with shame. He turned away from the hearth and started towards the door.
‘One final thing, Lieutenant,’ Captain Des Mazis called after him.
Napoleon paused and turned back. ‘Sir?’
‘Seeing as you have such a keen understanding of these criminals, I’m assigning you to my detachment tomorrow. Let’s see how sympathetic you are when you have to confront a screaming mob of these . . . animals.’ He made a cold, thin smile. ‘Perhaps you can try to reason with them.’
Napoleon felt his cheeks flush with anger. Then he turned away and strode stiffly out of the officers’ mess.
Chapter 51
The expedition to Seurre brought back uncomfortable memories of the Lyons uprising to Napoleon. As the detachment marched through small villages he was aware of the inhabitants watching them with barely concealed resentment and hostility.The soldiers camped at the end of the first day’s march on a neglected common in the middle of a wretched collection of hovels. Captain Des Mazis and his brother had ridden off to spend the night with a local landowner, leaving Napoleon in charge of the camp.
As the soldiers prepared the evening meal several small and pitifully thin children wandered up through the tent lines and stood and stared at the steam wisping up from the cooking pots. Napoleon watched as one of the corporals turned to the children with a warm smile.
‘It’s all right. Come, tell me your names.’
They stared back at him with sunken eyes until he squatted down and beckoned to them. Then one of the children, a slight boy with a shock of blond hair, stepped forward uncertainly.
‘That’s better!’ the corporal grinned. ‘Who are you then?’
The child’s lips fluttered a moment before he replied softly. ‘Please, sir, I’m Philippe.’
‘Philippe . . . Are you hungry, Philippe?’
The child licked his lips and nodded.
‘And how about the rest of your friends? Come on, all of you. Sit over here by the fire and you can have some stew.’
They crept out of the shadows like ghosts and sat on the grass staring at the cooking pot.
One of the soldiers crossed himself. ‘Jesus, look at them. No more than skin and bones.’
‘Well, don’t just stand there,’ the corporal said quietly. ‘Give them something to eat.’
As the soldiers began to share their food with the children, more shapes appeared from the gloom, older children, adults and a handful of old men and women. All of them gaunt and pathetically silent as they held out their hands for the hunks of bread that the corporal was distributing from the back of the detachment’s supply wagon.
As soon as he was aware of the corporal’s actions Napoleon strode across to the wagon. ‘What’s going on here? Those are military supplies. Stop that at once.’
The corporal paused and around him the villagers turned to the young lieutenant with expressions of dread and despair. Napoleon heard a faint keening noise in someone’s throat. He pushed through the crowd to the back of the wagon. ‘Corporal, put that bread sack back in the wagon.’
The man stared back at him for a moment, before he climbed down and stood in front of the officer. ‘Sir, these people are starving.’
‘I gave you an order, Corporal.’
There was a pained look in the man’s eyes as he struggled with his conscience, then he gestured to the side of the wagon. ‘You should have a look at something, sir.’
‘What? What do you mean?’ Napoleon glared at the man. ‘Obey my order.’
‘Sir, please, come with me.’Without waiting for a response the corporal turned the corner of the wagon and Napoleon strode after him, anger coursing through his veins.
‘What is the meaning of this, Corporal? I told you—’
‘Sir, look.’The corporal pointed to the base of the front wheel. At first Napoleon thought that the man was pointing to a pile of rags.Then as his eyes adjusted to the faint light cast from a nearby fire he saw the face of a young woman, little more than a girl. She stared back at him, eyes bright with terror. She was dressed in a tattered dress that hung open to her waist. A small bundle was clutched to her breast, which hung down like an empty purse.
‘He won’t feed,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘I can’t get him to feed . . .’
The corporal squatted down beside the girl and gently pressed a lump of bread into her hand. ‘There. Eat that. He can’t feed until you’ve eaten something. Eat that and try again.’
She stared at the corporal, then her eyes flickered down to the bread in her hand and she slowly raised it to her mouth and began to chew on the corner, gently rocking her baby as her jaws worked on the crust in her mouth. The corporal eased himself back to his feet and, taking Napoleon’s arm, he gently steered his officer back to the end of the wagon.
‘I’ve got a daughter her age.’
Napoleon swallowed. ‘The infant. Will it live?’
The corporal gave him a blank stare. ‘He’s already dead, sir.’
‘Dead?’ He felt sick. ‘Does she know?’
The corporal shook his head. ‘Poor girl’s half mad with starvation. I doubt she’ll last much longer herself.’
‘I see.’ Napoleon nodded. Inside he felt a vast black pit of despair opening up and threatening to overwhelm him. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes and fought for control of his emotions. But all around him the skeletal shapes of the villagers huddled in the red hue of the campfires, silent in their suffering as they shared the soldiers’ food. Napoleon swallowed and turned back to the corporal. ‘Feed them. Feed them all. Make sure they all get a decent meal.’
‘Yes, sir.’The corporal looked relieved.
‘No one should have to live like this,’ Napoleon said.
‘No, sir. It ain’t right.’
Napoleon shook his head slowly. ‘No. It’s not right. It’s . . . intolerable.’
The detachment moved off at first light, while the villagers were still asleep. They crept out of the village like thieves making their escape from the scene of a crime and Napoleon willed his men on, anxious to leave the terrible place behind him and get as far away from the scene as possible.
They stopped at the pillared entrance to the drive that led up to the château where the captain and his brother had spent the night. After an hour and half’s wait the two officers came riding down the drive.
Captain Des Mazis nodded a greeting to Napoleon. ‘Well done, Lieutenant. That’s saved us some time.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The men stared at the mounted officers with sullen expressions and Alexander edged his horse closer to Napoleon and leaned down to speak so that his words would not be overheard.
‘What’s happened? They look like someone’s taken a shit in their cooking pot.’
Napoleon stared back at Alexander. He wanted to tell him everything.To share the knowledge of the terrible suffering in the village they had left on the ro
ad behind them. Then he glanced past Alexander, up the drive to where the steeply pitched roof of the château gleamed above the tops of the trees, and he knew that the young man would not understand.
‘It’s nothing. They just want to get this over and return to barracks.’
They reached Seurre in the late afternoon to discover that the local militia had already quashed the riot. At first Napoleon felt disappointed that they had arrived too late to witness the excitement. As the column tramped down the nearly deserted streets of Seurre he glanced up at the tall façades of the houses of wealthy merchants. Here and there, in the windows, he saw people watching them. There was anxiety in some faces, relief in others and Napoleon sensed that the issues that had caused the rioting had not yet been resolved. This impression strengthened when the detachment passed through a working-class area of densely packed slums. Every door was closed, every window shuttered and there was no sign of life at all. Further on, the column marched past the blackened remains of a row of warehouses. The air was acrid with the stench of the ruins and thin trails of smoke still billowed into the air. There were some burned-out houses; other buildings had shattered doors and windows. Broken and discarded spoils littered the cobbled streets and every so often there were dark patches of dried blood.
The colonel in charge of the militia was waiting under an awning in one corner of the town square. He rose to greet the new arrivals with a salute. Captain Des Mazis gave orders for the men to fall out and prepare their tents for the night, before he led his officers over to the awning for a formal exchange of pleasantries.
‘Fine timing, you fellows!’ the colonel boomed at the new arrivals. ‘We were just about to set the seal on this unfortunate affair.’
‘What do you mean, sir?’ Captain Des Mazis responded.
‘Why, we have the scoundrels responsible for this uprising! My men found ’em skulking in a coal cellar this very afternoon. Hauled ’em out, had some sergeants beat a confession out of them. Just enough to stand up in a quick drumhead court. I passed sentence not an hour ago. They’re to be hanged at dusk.’ He nodded across the square to where three men were standing in chains under armed guard. ‘Should make for an interesting entertainment after dinner!’ He laughed good-humouredly. ‘One of my boys is already taking bets on who lasts the longest.You’ll get poor odds on that boney one.’
The colonel entertained the officers to a fine dinner at long tables arranged in the shade of the trees. The very best wines and meats of Seurre were set before his guests, but Napoleon had a clear view across the square towards the condemned men from where he sat, and could not enjoy his meal.As the final course was cleared away, some stewards set up several rows of chairs in front of an ancient oak tree in a small park in the centre of the square. A sergeant approached with three lengths of hemp, unravelled them and tossed them over a stout limb projecting out from the trunk of the oak.Then he set to work tying a noose at the end of each trailing rope.
The colonel rose from the table and called on the officers to join him, then strolled over towards the oak tree and took his seat in the centre of the row facing the three nooses. Around him the other officers took their places and when all was ready the colonel nodded to his adjutant, who shouted across the square, ‘Bring the prisoners!’
The three men were thrust into motion and half walked, half stumbled across to their place of execution. As they approached, Napoleon could see that their faces were marked with bruises and cuts and one of them was nursing an arm in a makeshift sling. He felt a queasy sickness rising in his throat as he watched each man forced into position behind a noose, and then the sergeant drew the rope over their heads and adjusted the slip knot so that it lined up with the spine at the nape of each man’s neck. A squad of soldiers marched up and four men were detailed to each rope. They took up the slack and then stood still, waiting for the order to proceed.The sergeant looked to the adjutant for permission to begin and received a nod.
‘Does any man among the condemned wish to offer any final words?’ the sergeant called out. Napoleon glanced from man to man. One was shaking uncontrollably and his whimpers were clearly audible. Next to him a tall, thin man stood, staring defiantly at the officers seated in front of him. Only the last man opened his mouth.
‘This is not the end!’ he cried. ‘This is the first step towards liberty and equality! You can kill us, but you can’t kill what we stand for.’ He turned and looked at the soldiers holding the rope behind him. ‘Brothers, why are you doing the dirty work of these aristocrats? We are on the same side. They are your enemy. They—’
‘I’ve heard enough of this!’ the colonel barked. ‘Get on with it!’
‘Execution party!’ shouted the adjutant, raising his arm. ‘Prepare!’
The soldiers tensed their arms and braced their feet. The ringleader took a deep breath and cried out. ‘Liberty! Lib—’
The adjutant’s arm swept down. ‘Pull!’
The soldiers hauled on the ropes and the three men were jerked off their feet up into the air. There were gasps and a few nervous laughs from the seated officers as the men kicked and writhed frantically as the nooses snapped tight about their necks and strangled them. Their faces strained in agony as they tried to draw breath with rasping hisses.The ringleader went first, his eyes bulging as his tongue, dark and swollen, protruded from his lips. The tall man was last, giving up the fight some minutes after his comrades. All three bodies slowly stopped swaying until at last they were still.
The men of the artillery regiment remained in Seurre for nearly two weeks and Napoleon led patrols through the quiet streets daily. The only sign of continued unrest were the slogans that appeared on walls each morning. The most frequent message was simply, ‘Liberty! Equality!’ and Napoleon shuddered as he remembered the colonel’s entertainment of the first night. The bodies remained hanging from the tree as an example to the workers of Seurre. A watch was set over them so no friends or relatives could claim the bodies and cut them down for proper burial. In the warm summer air, corruption soon set in and the stench of decay filled the corner of the square and carried across it whenever there was an evening breeze from that direction.
News from Paris reached the town.The impasse that had beset the parliament had crumbled. The third estate had won over enough of the clergy from the first estate and some nobles from the second estate to declare itself a National Assembly with the authority to pass its own laws.The King’s son had died after a long illness at the start of June and the King and Queen were so racked with grief that they had done little to curb the rapidly growing power of the third estate. The country was bracing itself for the inevitable battle of wills between the King and the new National Assembly. There were reports that over twenty regiments were camped near Versailles waiting for orders to crush the Assembly and disperse the mob that had gathered outside the royal palace to support the deputies of the third estate.
Captain Des Mazis led his detachment back to Auxonne on the afternoon of 18 July. It was immediately apparent that something significant had happened. The streets were filled with people locked in earnest discussion. They moved aside as the column of soldiers tramped past.
‘Keep the men moving!’ Captain Des Mazis yelled from the front of the column. ‘Back to the barracks as quickly as possible.’
Alexander reined his horse in and waited for Napoleon before edging his mount back into the column.
‘What’s this all about, I wonder.’
‘Something’s happened at Versailles, perhaps,’ Napoleon said.
Alexander stared at him in wide-eyed excitement. ‘The King’s moved against the National Assembly. I bet that’s it.’
‘We’ll know soon enough.’
As the detachment marched in through the main gates of the barracks a junior lieutenant came running up. He saluted Captain Des Mazis and passed on his orders in breathless excitement.
‘Colonel’s compliments, sir. All officers are to report to headquarters at once.’
>
‘At once? But we’ve only just returned from Seurre.’
‘At once, sir.’
‘Very well.’ Captain Des Mazis turned in his saddle and bellowed an order to the detachment. ‘Fall out! Corporal, take over!’
The three officers marched quickly across the parade ground to the headquarters building. Inside, the main hall was filled with the rest of the officers from the regiment and the artillery school. Napoleon edged over towards General du Tiel.
‘Excuse me, sir.’
‘Ah, Buona Parte. It’s grim news, isn’t it, lad?’
Napoleon shook his head. ‘What news, sir?’
‘From Paris—’
Before the general could continue there was a commotion at the end of the hall and heads turned as the colonel strode in through a side door and quickly mounted the small platform. At his side was a young officer, looking weary and bearing the filth of some days’ hard riding. An expectant silence filled the hall as the officers faced the colonel and waited for him to speak. He cleared his throat and drew a deep breath. His voice carried clearly over the crowd and communicated his anxiety in the forced tonelessness of his delivery.
‘Gentlemen, this is Lieutenant Corbois of the Swiss Guard. He has come to us directly from Versailles with a dispatch from the War Minister.’ He turned towards Corbois and gestured for him to step forward. ‘It’s best that you tell the news.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Lieutenant Corbois calmed his nerves and began to speak.‘Four days ago, on the fourteenth, the mob in Paris stormed the Bastille. They slaughtered most of the garrison, murdered the governor and seized all the stores of muskets and gunpowder. When I left Versailles the King was having orders prepared for General Broglie to march on Paris. Gentlemen!’ Lieutenant Corbois’s voice was strained and he had to pause a moment to clear his throat again. ‘Gentlemen, I fear that France will be at war with itself at any moment.’
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