The Last Great Dance on Earth Read Online Free PDF

it.
    Le 21 Floréal, * Geneva
I love you very much. My Josephine is very dear to me. A thousand kindnesses to the little cousin. Advise her to be wise, do you hear? N.
    May 14
—
Malmaison.
    Hortense squinted to make out Bonaparte’s messy scrawl. “I think that says ‘little cousin,’ Maman.” She frowned. “What little cousin?”
    “Are you sure that’s what it says?” I asked, taking the letter back—flushing, I confess. Bonaparte has a habit of referring to a very private part of me by code name. “It must mean something else,” I said, turning so that she might not see my smile.
    May 24, 1800, Aosta
Chère Maman,
    A quick note just to let you know that we are over the Alps. The passage took five days. It was icy—we literally slid into Italy! So large an army has not crossed the Saint-Bernard Pass since the days of Charlemagne. It made me realize how much can be accomplished by a leader who has perseverance and knows his own mind. You know of whom I speak.
    Your devoted son, Eugène
    Note—Citoyen Henri Robiquet is a good possibility.
    May 30
—
Paris.
    “My brother has requested that I give you thirty thousand francs out of his account, Madame,” Joseph said with a hint of a bow. “I thought it wise to take care of the matter before I made my departure.” Belatedly, he removed his hat and stuck it under his arm.
    “You’re leaving, Joseph?”
    “I’m departing for Italy this afternoon.”
    “You’ll be seeing Bonaparte? If only I had known—I could have accompanied you.”
    “It was an abrupt decision.”
    “Is there a problem?” I asked, suddenly fearful.
    “My brother Napoleon may die.”
    I felt for the back of a chair to steady myself. “Whatever do you mean?”
    “And Lucien has claimed the right to succession.”
    “Lucien
Bonaparte?
What right?” I asked, confused. Anyway, wasn’t Lucien in mourning for his wife?
    “Exactly! Lucien may be Minister of the Interior, but I am thirty-two and Lucien has only just turned twenty-five. I am the eldest. It is
my
right, not his. This must be settled immediately, before Napoleon is killed in battle.”
    “Oh,” I said weakly. “Of course.”
    June 14, Saint-Germain-en-Laye
    Chère Madame Bonaparte,
    I know how busy you are these days with official and unofficial duties, but perhaps you could spare a moment of your time for your poor aunt and her ailing husband? The Marquis has taken a turn. If you are unable to call, at least pray for him.
    Your godmother, Aunt Désirée
    June 17
—
Saint-Germain.
    Aunt Désirée met me at the door, her face white with rice powder. “Thank God you’re here! The Marquis is dying—from strawberries, of all things.”
    “Aunt Désirée, please don’t alarm me. Are you serious?” I don’t know why the possibility of the old Marquis’s demise surprised me. We’d celebrated his eighty-seventh birthday not long ago. It was a miracle he was alive, but because he had lived so long, I’d come to think he would always be with us.
    “Oh yes, I assure you, he is at the heavenly gates. My goodness, but it’sa hectic business. The doctor has been here three times today already, and each time costs eleven livres—I mean francs. What
do
we call money now? I wish they’d stop changing the names of things. Perhaps you could have a word with your husband about it.”
    “It is francs now.” The air was as thick as that in a hothouse. There were fresh-cut flowers on every surface. “Did you get my letter about Eugène being safely over the Alps?”
    “And that’s another thing,” Aunt Désirée said, her hand on the stair railing. “If we’re at war with England, why are we fighting Austria? And if we’re fighting Austria, why are we fighting in Italy?”
    “It’s hard to explain,” I said, following Aunt Désirée’s ample posterior up the stairs. How did we get onto politics? And what about the Marquis! “The flowers are beautiful,” I observed, changing the subject.
    “The mayor of