Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Companions of Jehu by Alexandre Dumas (best ereader for comics TXT) 📖
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
Book online «The Companions of Jehu by Alexandre Dumas (best ereader for comics TXT) 📖». Author Alexandre Dumas
“Oh, not to-morrow; it will take at least a week to prepare the Parisians to see me leave the Luxembourg for the Tuileries.”
“Eight days,” exclaimed Bourrienne; “that will do.”
“Especially if we begin at once. Come, Bourrienne, to the Luxembourg.”
With the rapidity that characterized all his movements when serious matters were in question, he passed through the suites of apartments he had already visited, ran down the stairs, and sprang into the carriage, calling out: “To the Luxembourg!”
“Wait, wait,” cried Bourrienne, still in the vestibule; “general, won’t you wait for me?”
“Laggard!” exclaimed Bonaparte. And the carriage started, as it had come, at a gallop.
When Bonaparte re-entered his study he found the minister of police awaiting him.
“Well, what now, citizen Fouché? You look upset. Have I, perchance, been assassinated?”
“Citizen First Consul,” said the minister, “you seemed to attach the utmost importance to the destruction of those bands who call themselves the Companions of Jehu.”
“Evidently, since I sent Roland himself to pursue them. Have you any news of them?”
“We have.”
“From whom?”
“Their leader himself.”
“Their leader?”
“He has had the audacity to send me a report of their last exploit.”
“Against whom?”
“The fifty thousand francs you sent to the Saint-Bernard fathers.”
“What became of them?”
“The fifty thousand francs?”
“Yes.”
“They are in the possession of those brigands, and their leader informs me he will transfer them shortly to Cadoudal.”
“Then Roland is killed?”
“No.”
“How do you mean, no?”
“My agent is killed; Colonel Maurice is killed; but your aide-de-camp is safe and sound.”
“Then he will hang himself,” said Bonaparte.
“What good would that do? The rope would break; you know his luck.”
“Or his misfortune, yes—Where is the report?”
“You mean the letter?”
“Letter, report, thing—whatever it was that told you this news.”
The minister handed the First Consul a paper inclosed in a perfumed envelope.
“What’s this?”
“The thing you asked for.”
Bonaparte read the address: “To the citizen Fouché, minister of police. Paris.” Then he opened the letter, which contained the following.
CITIZEN MINISTER—I have the honor to inform you that the fifty thousand francs intended for the monks of Saint-Bernard came into our hands on the night of February 25, 1800 (old style), and that they will reach those of citizen Cadoudal within the week. The affair was well-managed, save for the deaths of your agent and Colonel Saint-Maurice. As for M. Roland de Montrevel, I have the satisfaction of informing you that nothing distressing has befallen him. I did not forget that he was good enough to receive me at the Luxembourg. I write you, citizen minister, because I presume that M. Roland de Montrevel is just now too much occupied in pursuing us to write you himself. But I am sure that at his first leisure moment you will receive from him a report containing all the details into which I cannot enter for lack of time and facilities for writing. In exchange for the service I render you, citizen minister, I will ask you to do one for me; namely, inform Madame de Montrevel, without delay, that her son is in safety. MORGAN. Maison-Blanche, on the road from Mâcon to Lyons, Saturday, 9 P.M.“Ha, the devil!” said Bonaparte; “a bold scamp!” Then he added, with a sigh: “What colonels and captains those men would make me!”
“What are your orders, citizen First Consul?” asked the minister of police.
“None; that concerns Roland. His honor is at stake; and, as he is not killed, he will take his revenge.”
“Then the First Consul will take no further notice of the affair?”
“Not for the present, at any rate.” Then, turning to his secretary, he added, “We have other fish to fry, haven’t we, Bourrienne?”
Bourrienne nodded affirmatively.
“When does the First Consul wish to see me again?” asked the minister.
“To-night, at ten o’clock. We move out in eight days.”
“Where are you going?”
“To the Tuileries.”
Fouché gave a start of amazement.
“Against your opinion, I know,” said the First Consul; “but I’ll take the whole business on myself; you have only to obey.”
Fouché bowed, and prepared to leave the room.
“By the way!” exclaimed Bonaparte.
Fouché turned round.
“Don’t forget to notify Madame de Montrevel that her son is safe and sound; that’s the least you can do for citizen Morgan after the service he has rendered you.”
And he turned his back on the minister of police, who retired, biting his lips till the blood came.
CHAPTER XLIV. CHANGE OF RESIDENCE
That same day, the First Consul, left alone with Bourrienne, dictated the following order, addressed to the Consulate guard and to the army at large:
Washington is dead! That great man fought against tyranny. He consolidated the liberty of America. His memory will ever be dear to the French people, to all free men in both hemispheres, but especially to the French soldiers, who, like Washington and his soldiers, have fought for Liberty and Equality. Consequently, the First Consul orders that the flags and banners of the Republic shall be hung with crape for ten days.But the First Consul did not intend to confine himself to this order of the day.
Among the means he took to facilitate his removal from the Luxembourg to the Tuileries was one of those fĂŞtes by which he knew, none better, how to amuse the eyes and also direct the minds of the spectator. This fĂŞte was to take place at the Invalides, or, as they said in those days, the Temple of Mars. A bust of Washington was to be crowned, and the flags of Aboukir were to be received from the hands of General Lannes.
It was one of those combinations which Bonaparte thoroughly understood—a flash of lightning drawn from the contact of contrasting facts. He presented the great man of the New
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