The Ambitious Madame Bonaparte by Ruth Hull Chatlien Read Free Book Online Page B

that made it expeditious for me to leave. I can say no more.”
    He must be on a mission, Betsy thought as Monsieur Pascault asked Jerome about his older brother’s intentions now that he had been awarded the title First Consul for life. “Are we to assume that this is the end of the French republic?”
    “Not at all,” Jerome exclaimed in his strongly accented English. “Napoleon has no ambition for himself. His only desire in this world is to preserve the good that the Revolution accomplished.”
    “And what good would that be?” Betsy’s brother William Jr. asked, dropping his fork noisily onto his plate. “We have read about the atrocities committed in the name of revolution.”
    Jerome thrust out his chin. “My brother was not responsible for the Terror, sir. It was he who brought order back to France, and it is he who stands between France and the return of absolutism.”
    “By becoming a dictator himself?”
    Commandant Reubell leaned forward to forestall Jerome from answering. “The title the First Consul bears is one that the citizens awarded him by plebiscite, and he exercises his power with the sole purpose of defending France. Even now, Great Britain—which I must remind you, sir, is our mutual enemy—seeks to return the Bourbons to the throne and overrule the desire of the French people to live in a republic.”
    Betsy could see from the tight muscles along her brother’s jaw that he remained unconvinced. He retorted, “Then your people have a very different idea from ours of what constitutes a republic.”
    During the tense silence that followed, Betsy felt humiliated by William’s rudeness. Impulsively, she said, “Please excuse my brother, gentlemen. He fancies himself a great patriot, although I can assure you that his guiding motto is not Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité as you might suppose, but rather Security, Annuity, Commodity.”
    Most of the dinner party erupted in laughter, but Betsy’s father glared and her mother shot her a look of astonished hurt. Betsy’s face flamed. Too often, she made what she meant to be a clever rejoinder, only to wish seconds later that she had remained silent. She glanced at Lieutenant Bonaparte, fearing to see disapproval on his handsome face.
    Instead, he smiled at her and then said to the table at large, “Perhaps a story from my childhood will help you understand my brother better. Our family has a long history of fighting for Corsica, but when France took over our country, we accepted the inevitable. My three oldest brothers were educated in France, where they came to believe in the ideals of the Revolution. In 1793, the Corsican patriot Paoli launched an insurrection against revolutionary rule. He had been a great friend to our family. Our parents even fought with him against the Genoese during the 1760s. But because Paoli became a royalist, Napoleon opposed him. For this, the Bonapartes were denounced as traitors, and we had to flee Corsica leaving everything behind. This is why I assert that Napoleon seeks nothing for himself. He lives only to serve the glory of France.”
    “How old were you then?” Dorcas Patterson asked.
    “I was eight years old, Madame. Never will I forget looking back as we climbed a hillside in the night and seeing flames consume my home.”
    Betsy felt unexpected tenderness as she imagined a terrified, curly-haired lad not much older than her brother George. Until that moment, her encounter with Jerome Bonaparte had been simply an exciting flirtation with a man who symbolized the realization of her dreams. Now, she glimpsed the possibility of deep emotions hidden beneath the charm, and she longed to talk together and compare experiences. If she read him correctly, he would know that a person who led a life of privilege could possess secret disappointments. He might understand why she was desperate to leave Baltimore where the cords of familial and societal tradition wrapped her in a net of expectation she feared she