Alexandre Dumas - Murat

Alexandre Dumas, pre, born Dumas Davy de la Pailleterie (July24, 1802 December 5, 1870) was a French writer, best known forhis numerous historical novels of high adventure which have madehim one of the most widely read French authors in the world. Manyof his novels, including The Count of Monte Cristo, The ThreeMusketeers, and The Man in the Iron Mask were serialized, and healso wrote plays and magazine articles and was a prolificcorrespondent. Source: Wikipedia

On the 18th June, 1815, at the very moment when the destiny ofEurope was being decided at Waterloo, a man dressed like a beggarwas silently following the road from Toulon to Marseilles.

Arrived at the entrance of the Gorge of Ollioulles, he halted ona little eminence from which he could see all the surroundingcountry; then either because he had reached the end of his journey,or because, before attempting that forbidding, sombre pass which iscalled the Thermopylae of Provence, he wished to enjoy themagnificent view which spread to the southern horizon a littlelonger, he went and sat down on the edge of the ditch whichbordered the road, turning his back on the mountains which riselike an amphitheatre to the north of the town, and having at hisfeet a rich plain covered with tropical vegetation, exotics of aconservatory, trees and flowers quite unknown in any other part ofFrance.

Beyond this plain, glittering in the last rays of the sun, paleand motionless as a mirror lay the sea, and on the surface of thewater glided one brig-of-war, which, taking advantage of a freshland breeze, had all sails spread, and was bowling along rapidly,making for Italian seas. The beggar followed it eagerly with hiseyes until it disappeared between the Cape of Gien and the first ofthe islands of Hyeres, then as the white apparition vanished hesighed deeply, let his head fall into his hands, and remainedmotionless and absorbed in his reflections until the tramplings ofa cavalcade made him start; he looked up, shook back his long blackhair, as if he wished to get rid of the gloomy thoughts which wereoverwhelming him, and, looking at the entrance to the gorge fromwhence the noise came, he soon saw two riders appear, who were nodoubt well known to him, for, drawing himself up to his fullheight, he let fall the stick he was carrying, and folding his armshe turned towards them. On their side the new-comers had hardlyseen him before they halted, and the foremost dismounted, threw hisbridle to his companion, and uncovering, though fifty paces fromthe man in rags, advanced respectfully towards him. The beggarallowed him to approach with an air of sombre dignity and without asingle movement; then, when he was quite near

"Well, marshal, have, you news for me?" said the beggar.

"Yes, sire," said the other sadly.

"And what are they?"

"Such that I could wish it were anyone but myself to announcethem to your Majesty"

"So the Emperor refuses my services! He forgets the victories ofAboukir, Eylau, and Moscow?"

"No, sire; but he remembers the treaty of Naples, the taking ofReggio, and the declaration of war of the viceroy of Italy."

The beggar struck his forehead.

"Yes, yes! I daresay he thinks I deserve his reproaches, and yetit seems to me that he ought to remember that there are two men inme the soldier whom he made his brother, and the brother whom hemade a king . Yes, as brother I have treated him illvery ill, butas king, upon my soul, I could not have acted differently . I hadto choose between my sword and my crown, and between a regiment anda people. Listen, Brune: you do not know how it all happened. Therewas an English fleet, the guns of which were growling in the port,there was a Neapolitan population howling in the streets. If I hadbeen alone, I would have passed through the fleet with one boat,through the crowd with my sword alone, but I had a wife andchildren. Yet I hesitated; the idea of being called traitor anddeserter caused me to shed more tears than the loss of my throne,or perhaps the death of those I love best, will ever wring from me. And so he will have nothing more to do with me? He refuses me asgeneral, captain, private? Then what is left for me to do?"

"Sire, your Majesty must leave France immediately."

"And if I don't obey?"

"My orders are to arrest you and deliver you up to acourt-martial!"

"Old comrade, you will not do that?"

"I shall do it, praying God to strike me dead in the moment Ilay hands on you!"

"That's you all over, Brune. You have been able to remain agood, loyal fellow. He did not give you a kingdom, he did notencircle your brow with a band of iron which men call a crown andwhich drives one mad; he did not place you between your conscienceand your family. So I must leave France, begin my vagabond lifeagain, and say farewell to Toulon, which recalls so many memoriesto me! See, Brune," continued Murat, leaning on the arm of themarshal, "are not the pines yonder as fine as any at the VillaPamfili, the palms as imposing as any at Cairo, the mountains asgrand as any range in the Tyrol? Look to your left, is not CapeGien something like Castellamare and Sorrentoleaving out Vesuvius?And see, Saint- Mandrier at the farthest point of the gulf, is itnot like my rock of Capri, which Lamarque juggled away so cleverlyfrom that idiot of a Sir Hudson Lowe? My God! and I must leave allthis! Is there no way of remaining on this little corner of Frenchgroundtell me, Brune!"

"You'll break my heart, sire!" answered the marshal.

"Well, we'll say no more about it. What news?"

"The Emperor has left Paris to join the army. They must befighting now."

"Fighting now and I not there! Oh, I feel I could have been ofuse to him on this battlefield. How I would have gloried incharging those miserable Prussians and dastardly English! Brune,give me a passport, I'll go at full speed, I'll reach the army, Iwill make myself known to some colonel, I shall say, 'Give me yourregiment.' I'll charge at its head, and if the Emperor does notclasp my hand to-night, I'll blow my brains out, I swear I will. Dowhat I ask, Brune, and however it may end, my eternal gratitudewill be yours!"

"I cannot, sire."

"Well, well, say no more about it."

"And your Majesty is going to leave France?"

"I don't know. Obey your orders, marshal, and if you come acrossme again, have me arrested. That's another way of doing somethingfor me. Life is a heavy burden nowadays. He who will relieve me ofit will be welcome . Good-bye, Brune."

He held out his hand to the marshal, who tried to kiss it; butMurat opened his arms, the two old comrades held each other fastfor a moment, with swelling hearts and eyes full of tears; then atlast they parted. Brune remounted his horse, Murat picked up hisstick again, and the two men went away in opposite directions, oneto meet his death by assassination at Avignon, the other to be shotat Pizzo. Meanwhile, like Richard III, Napoleon was bartering hiscrown against a horse at Waterloo.