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
Roland looked at Bonaparte. “Was it for that you brought me here, general?” he asked, laughing.
“For that, and something else, too, perhaps. Bourrienne, write—”
Bourrienne hastily seized his pen.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes, general.”
“‘My dear President, I write to let you know that my wife and I, with one of my aides-de-camp, will dine with you the day after to-morrow. This is merely to say that we shall be quite satisfied with a family dinner.’”
“What next?”
“How do you mean?”
“Shall I put, ‘Liberty, equality, fraternity’?”
“Or death,” added Roland.
“No,” said Bonaparte; “give me the pen.”
He took the pen from Bourrienne’s hands and wrote, “Ever yours, Bonaparte.” Then, pushing away the paper, he added: “Address it, Bourrienne, and send an orderly with it.”
Bourrienne wrote the address, sealed it, and rang the bell. An officer on duty entered.
“Send an orderly with that,” said Bourrienne.
“There is an answer,” added Bonaparte.
The officer closed the door.
“Bourrienne,” said Bonaparte, pointing to Roland, “look at your friend.”
“Well, general, I am looking at him.”
“Do you know what he did at Avignon?”
“I hope he didn’t make a pope.”
“No, he threw a plate at a man’s head.”
“Oh, that was hasty!”
“That’s not all.”
“That I can well imagine.”
“He fought a duel with that man.”
“And, most naturally, he killed him.”
“Exactly. Do you know why he did it?”
“No.”
The general shrugged his shoulders, and said: “Because the man said that I was a thief.” Then looking at Roland with an indefinable expression of raillery and affection, he added: “Ninny!” Then suddenly he burst out: “Oh! by the way, and the Englishman?”
“Exactly, the Englishman, general. I was just going to speak to you about him.”
“Is he still in France?”
“Yes, and for awhile even I thought he would remain here till the last trumpet blew its blast through the valley of Jehosaphat.”
“Did you miss killing him?”
“Oh! no, not I. We are the best friends in the world. General, he is a capital fellow, and so original to boot that I’m going to ask a bit of a favor for him.”
“The devil! For an Englishman?” said Bonaparte, shaking his head. “I don’t like the English.”
“Good! As a people, but individually—”
“Well, what happened to your friend?”
“He was tried, condemned, and executed.”
“What the devil are you telling us?”
“God’s truth, general.”
“What do you mean when you say, ‘He was tried, condemned, and guillotined’?”
“Oh! not exactly that. Tried and condemned, but not guillotined. If he had been guillotined he would be more dangerously ill than he is now.”
“Now, what are you gabbling about? What court tried and condemned him?”
“That of the Companions of Jehu!”
“And who are the Companions of Jehu?”
“Goodness! Have you forgotten our friend Morgan already, the masked man who brought back the wine-merchant’s two hundred louis?”
“No,” replied Bonaparte, “I have not forgotten him. I told you about the scamp’s audacity, didn’t I, Bourrienne?”
“Yes, general,” said Bourrienne, “and I answered that, had I been in your place, I should have tried to find out who he was.”
“And the general would know, had he left me alone. I was just going to spring at his throat and tear off his mask, when the general said, in that tone you know so well: ‘Friend Roland!’”
“Come back to your Englishman, chatterbox!” cried the general. “Did Morgan murder him?”
“No, not he himself, but his Companions.”
“But you were speaking of a court and a trial just now.”
“General, you are always the same,” said Roland, with their old school familiarity; “you want to know, and you don’t give me time to tell you.”
“Get elected to the Five Hundred, and you can talk as much as you like.”
“Good! In the Five Hundred I should have four hundred and ninety-nine colleagues who would want to talk as much as I, and who would take the words out of my mouth. I’d rather be interrupted by you than by a lawyer.”
“Will you go on?”
“I ask nothing better. Now imagine, general, there is a Chartreuse near Bourg—”
“The Chartreuse of Seillon; I know it.”
“What! You know the Chartreuse of Seillon?” demanded Roland.
“Doesn’t the general know everything?” cried Bourrienne.
“Well, about the Chartreuse; are there any monks there now?”
“No; only ghosts—”
“Are you, perchance, going to tell me a ghost-story?”
“And a famous one at that!”
“The devil! Bourrienne knows I love them. Go on.”
“Well, we were told at home that the Chartreuse was haunted by ghosts. Of course, you understand that Sir John and I, or rather I and Sir John, wanted to clear our minds about it. So we each spent a night there.”
“Where?”
“Why, at the Chartreuse.”
Bonaparte made an imperceptible sign of the cross with his thumb, a Corsican habit which he never lost.
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