The Man of Destiny

The landlord, Giuseppe Grandi, is also no novelty. He is a swarthy, vivacious, shrewdly cheerful, black-curled, bullet headed, grinning little man of 40. Naturally an excellent host, he is in quite special spirits this evening at his good fortune in having the French commander as his guest to protect him against the license of the troops, and actually sports a pair of gold earrings which he would otherwise have hidden carefully under the winepress with his little equipment of silver plate.

Napoleon, sitting facing her on the further side of the table, and Napoleon’s hat, sword and riding whip lying on the couch, she sees for the first time. He is working hard, partly at his meal, which he has discovered how to dispatch, by attacking all the courses simultaneously, in ten minutes (this practice is the beginning of his downfall), and partly at a map which he is correcting from memory, occasionally marking the position of the forces by taking a grapeskin from his mouth and planting it on the map with his thumb like a wafer. He has a supply of writing materials before him mixed up in disorder with the dishes and cruets; and his long hair gets sometimes into the risotto gravy and sometimes into the ink.

Giuseppe

Will your excellency⁠—

Napoleon

Intent on his map, but cramming himself mechanically with his left hand. Don’t talk. I’m busy.

Giuseppe

With perfect good humor. Excellency: I obey.

Napoleon

Sharply. Well, sir, here you are at last. Your instructions were that I should arrive here at six, and that I was to find you waiting for me with my mail from Paris and with despatches. It is now twenty minutes to eight. You were sent on this service as a hard rider with the fastest horse in the camp. You arrive a hundred minutes late, on foot. Where is your horse!

The Lieutenant

Moodily pulling off his gloves and dashing them with his cap and whip on the table. Ah! where indeed? That’s just what I should like to know, General. With emotion. You don’t know how fond I was of that horse.

Napoleon

Angrily sarcastic. Indeed! With sudden misgiving. Where are the letters and despatches?

The Lieutenant

Importantly, rather pleased than otherwise at having some remarkable news. I don’t know.

Napoleon

Unable to believe his ears. You don’t know!

Lieutenant

No more than you do, General. Now I suppose I shall be court-martialled. Well, I don’t mind being court-martialled; but with solemn determination I tell you, General, if ever I catch that innocent looking youth, I’ll spoil his beauty, the slimy little liar! I’ll make a picture of him. I’ll⁠—

Napoleon

Advancing from the hearth to the table. What innocent looking youth? Pull yourself together, sir, will you; and give an account of yourself.

She enters with the self-possession of a woman accustomed to the privileges of rank and beauty. The innkeeper, who has excellent natural manners, is highly appreciative of her. Napoleon, on whom her eyes first fall, is instantly smitten self-conscious. His color deepens: he becomes stiffer and less at ease than before. She perceives this instantly, and, not to embarrass him, turns in an infinitely well bred manner to pay the respect of a glance to the other gentleman, who is staring at her dress, as at the earth’s final masterpiece of treacherous dissimulation, with feelings altogether inexpressible and indescribable. As she looks at him, she becomes deadly pale. There is no mistaking her expression: a revelation of some fatal error utterly unexpected, has suddenly appalled her in the midst of tranquillity, security and victory. The next moment a wave of color rushes up from beneath the creamy fichu and drowns her whole face. One can see that she is blushing all over her body. Even the lieutenant, ordinarily incapable of observation, and just now lost in the tumult of his wrath, can see a thing when it is painted red for him. Interpreting the blush as the involuntary confession of black deceit confronted with its victim, he points to it with a loud crow of retributive triumph, and then, seizing her by the wrist, pulls her past him into the room as he claps the door to, and plants himself with his back to it.

Lieutenant

So I’ve got you, my lad. So you’ve disguised yourself, have you? In a voice of thunder. Take off that skirt.

Giuseppe

Remonstrating. Oh, lieutenant!

Lady

Lady

How can I thank you, General, for your protection?

Napoleon

Turning on her suddenly. My despatches: come! He puts out his hand for them.

Lady

General! She involuntarily puts her hands on her fichu as if to protect something there.

Napoleon

You tricked that blockhead out of them. You disguised yourself as a man. I want my despatches. They are there in the bosom of your dress, under your hands.

Lady

Quickly removing her hands. Oh, how unkindly you are speaking to me! She takes her handkerchief from her fichu. You frighten me. She touches her eyes as if to wipe away a tear.

Napoleon

I see you don’t know me madam, or you would save yourself the trouble of pretending to cry.

Lady

Producing an effect of smiling through her tears. Yes, I do know you. You are the famous General Buonaparte. She gives the name a marked Italian pronunciation Bwaw-na-parr-te.

Napoleon

Angrily, with the French pronunciation. Bonaparte, madame, Bonaparte. The papers, if you please.

Lady

Haven’t you noticed that people always exaggerate the value of the things they haven’t got? The poor think they only need riches to be quite happy and good. Everybody worships truth, purity, unselfishness, for the same reason⁠—because they have no experience of them. Oh, if they only knew!

Napoleon

With angry derision. If they only knew! Pray, do you know?

Lady

With her arms stretched down and her hands clasped on her knees, looking straight before her. Yes. I had the misfortune to be born good. Glancing up at him for a moment. And it is a misfortune, I can tell you, General. I really am truthful and unselfish and all the rest of it; and it’s nothing but cowardice; want of character; want of being really, strongly, positively oneself.

Napoleon

Ha? Turning to her quickly with a flash of strong interest.

Lady

Earnestly, with rising enthusiasm. What is the secret of your power? Only that you believe in yourself. You can fight and conquer for yourself and for nobody else. You are not afraid of your own destiny. You teach us what we all might be if we had the will and courage; and that suddenly sinking on her knees before him is why we all begin to worship you. She kisses his hands.