Chapter 36
France, 1786
The cannon trials at the arsenal at Nantes proved
to be an interesting diversion for Napoleon. Nearly every other
country in Europe was equipped with heavier calibre guns. One of
the generals at the Ministry of War had decided that the army
needed to investigate the possibility of re-equipping the artillery
to match the wider standard. Of course, such an undertaking was
expensive and a number of foundries had been asked to submit cannon
for testing. For nearly two weeks Napoleon and over a hundred other
officers of various ranks from across the army observed the
submitted weapons being put through their paces.
The sampled weapons performed well enough,
particularly a gun designed to be drawn by a team of horses for
swift deployment on the battlefield. Napoleon was immediately
intrigued by the possibilities of such a weapon. Even though the
artillery officers were impressed by the weapons on offer, the
cavalry and infantry officers were not. Any programme to replace
the existing weapons would be bound to result in less expenditure
on the other elements of the army.With no agreement possible, the
trials were concluded and everyone returned to his unit.
Napoleon quickly grew accustomed to life in the
garrison town of Valence. The daily round of duties became less
onerous as he became more efficient in his dealings with the men
and equipment.When he was off duty, the lack of any private income
was a constant source of frustration. He simply could not afford to
spend every evening drinking with Alexander and the other officers.
This became something of a contentious issue between them,
particularly following the promotion of an officer in another
battalion. The man in question had no obvious military talent, but
made up for it with an unparalleled pedigree that saw him rise to
the rank of lieutenant colonel at an indecently young age.
‘That’s how it is,’ Alexander shrugged, as they sat
in the officers’ mess of the regimental headquarters. ‘There’s no
point in getting angry and bitter about it.’
‘Why not?’ Napoleon snapped back. ‘It’s absurd. And
it’s wrong.’
‘Wrong?’
‘Yes.’ Napoleon leaned forward in his chair. ‘And
this is not about jealousy, before you throw that into the
argument. It’s about simple justice and - more importantly - it’s
about what’s good for the army.’
‘Really? Would Lieutenant Buona Parte care to
explain why his judgement is superior to that of all the generals
and ministers of His Majesty?’
Some of the officers in the mess were looking round
at them and Napoleon was tempted to end the discussion there and
then. But some devil within prompted him to continue, ‘Mark my
words, Alexander. This cannot be allowed to go on. And not just in
the army. One day the aristocrats will have to renounce all their
advantages and give other Frenchmen a chance to prove
themselves.’
‘And if they don’t?’
‘Then their powers will have to be taken from
them.’
‘Really?’ Alexander laughed. ‘Who by? The peasants?
The factory owners? Or will it all come down to one Corsican with a
particular zeal for reform, I wonder.’
Napoleon forced himself not to respond to the
slight and returned to his original point. ‘All I am saying is that
the current situation is intolerable. It can’t, and won’t,
continue. You have as much chance to read the news from Paris as I
have. The people have had enough. All that matters for us is to
decide which side we are on.’
‘Side?’ Alexander laughed.‘You make it sound like
this is going to lead to war.’
‘It might.’
‘In which case, which side will you take,
Napoleon?’
It was a good question, and now that it had been
asked Napoleon was not sure.True, his sympathies were with the
people who aimed to modernise France; through them the dream of an
independent Corsica might one day come true. On the other hand, he
had sworn an oath to the King of France and saw that any
fundamental change in the way France was governed might descend
into chaos - or worse, the civil war that Alexander alluded
to.
‘Well, Napoleon?’
He shifted in his chair. ‘I don’t know. I’d have to
wait and see what was at stake before I took sides.’
Alexander laughed again, and this time some of the
other officers joined in.
‘The regimental hothead has wilted!’ someone called
out, and the laughter intensified while a few others jeered.
Napoleon flushed angrily. A year ago, he would have flown at them
with clenched fists, but such behaviour was not tolerated in adult
company. Besides, the risks of such a confrontation were far higher
now. If he caused enough offence it was possible that one of the
other officers might call him out. Napoleon was realistic enough to
know that his chances of winning a duel by sword or pistol were not
good. So he bit back on his anger, rose from his chair and thrust
out his hand to Alexander.
‘I have to go. I have work to do. I bid you good
night, Alexander.’
His friend stared back at him for a moment before
he stood and shook his hand. ‘Good night, Buona Parte.’
The other officers fell silent as he strode through
the mess towards the door. Napoleon felt their gaze fix on him like
needles and had to resist the urge to walk even faster.Then he was
out of the room, and descending the steps into the hall of the
building, then out into the cool evening air. Behind him the sound
of voices in the mess slowly rose to its former level as he made
his way back to his room at the house of Mademoiselle Bou, who had
inherited her late husband’s home.
Much of Napoleon’s spare time was spent reading. Histories were his favourite passion, but more recently he had become interested in political theory and philosophy. Rousseau’s works appeared on his shelves alongside the works of Pliny, Tacitus and Herodotus. There was even room for some books on English history, and Napoleon was fascinated by the way in which the English parliament had secured its ascendancy over the throne. If it could be done in an intellectually backward nation like England, then why not France? When Napoleon was not reading he penned essays on artillery tactics, ripostes to Plato and, once he had discovered a copy of Boswell’s history of Corsica, he began to plan his own history of the island.
He wrote quickly, in his spidery scrawl, well into
the night by the light of a single candle, which was all he could
afford. Occasionally he was disturbed by the raucous cries of the
drinkers at the Café Corde next door, and felt pangs of anger and
despair whenever he recognised the voices of the other young
officers of the regiment.