#he loved Duroc so much *rolls in tears* | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

napoleondidthat · 5 years

Text

A Little This and That...

I get questions often on Napoleon’s appearance and Napoleon’s physical look. In the current book I am reading, I’ve come across several descriptions so far that describe Napoleon, so far during the Consulate years. Instead of forgetting them, I am jotting them down here to pass on for those interested.

“On 26 December Talleyrand duly picked up Hyde de Neuville in his carriage and drove him to the Luxembourg, where he was ushered into a room and told to wait. When ‘a small insignificant-looking man dressed in a scruffy greenish tail-coat entered, his head lowered’, Hyde took him to be a servant, but the man walked over to the fireplace and, leaning against the mantelpiece, looked up and, as Hyde notes, ‘he appeared suddenly taller and the flaming light in his eyes, now piercing, announced Bonaparte.’

(Napoleon, A Life, Adam Zamoyski, pages 254-256)

“Andigné too was astounded at finding himself face to face with a ‘small man of mean appearance’ in an ‘olive coloured’ tail-coat.”

(Napoleon, A Life, Adam Zamoyski, page 256)

“‘In his disagreeable foreign accent, Bonaparte expresses himself with brevity and energy,’ noted Andigné. ‘A very lively mind causes him to run his sentences one into the other, so much so that his conversation is quite difficult to follow and leaves much to be guessed at. As animated in his conversation as he is nimble in his ideas, he continually leaps from one subject to another. He touches on a matter, leaves it, returns to it, appears to hardly listen to one while not missing a word what one says...An immoderate pride which causes him to place himself above all that surrounds him leads him continually back to himself, and to what he has done. He then becomes prolix and listens to himself speak with visible pleasure, and does not spare one a single detail that could flatter his amour-propre...”

(Napoleon, A Life, Adam Zamoyski, page 256)

“He usually rose at seven and had the newspapers and sometimes a novel read to him while he washed, had himself shaved (something he was slow to learn to do for himself), and dressed. He would then work with Bourrienne in his study, only leaving it to receive ministers or officials in an outer office. He usually ate lunch alone, seldom spending more than fifteen minutes over it and often less. He preferred simple dishes, although he had brought home from Egypt a taste for dates and enjoyed a ‘pilaff’. He only ever drank a single glass of wine, always Chambertin, usually watered down. He would follow this with strong coffee. He was sometimes joined by Josephine and often employed the time talking to people such as artists or writers he wished to see, who stood around as he lunched.”

(Napoleon, A Life, Adam Zamoyski, page 259)

“Gone was the threadbare ‘greenish’ tail-coat. He had designed a uniform for the consuls which was a clear break with the togas and plumes of the Directory. It consisted of a blue tail-coat buttoned up to the chin, with a standing collar and cuffs enhanced by gold embroidery, white breeches, and stockings, and a more sumptuous version in scarlet velvet for ceremonial occasions such as this. Gone too were the lanky strands of hair limply framing his sallow face, replaced by a closer crop a la Titus. He also began to take greater care over his toilette, insisting on frequent changes of linen and manicuring his hands, of which he was inordinately proud. He bathed frequently and doused himself in eau de cologne.

(Napoleon, A Life, Adam Zamoyski, page 262-63)

“Bonaparte’s new role meant he had to learn to behave. Until now, he had operated in a military environment with sallies into small-town politics and wartime diplomacy. He had never had to accomodate the niceties of convention or adapt to civil procedure and had not had the opportunity to develop normal social skills. He was tactless and had, according to one of his ministers, all the grace of a badly-brought-up subaltern, using his fingers at table and getting up from it regardless of whether his companions had finished eating.”

(Napoleon, A Life, Adam Zamoyski, page 263)

“He was kind by nature, quick to assist and reward. He found comfortable jobs and granted generous pensions to former colleagues, teachers, and servants, even to a guard who had shown sympathy during his incarceration after the fall of Robespierre......Whenever he encountered hardship or poverty, he disbursed lavishly. He could be sensitive, and there are countless verifiable acts of solicitude and kindness that testify to his genuinely wishing to make people happy.”

(Napoleon, A Life, Adam Zamoyski, page 263)

“He possessed considerable charm and only needed to smile for people to melt. He could be a delightful companion when he adopted an attitude of bonhomie. He was a good raconteur, and people loved listening to him speak on some subject that interested him, or tell his ghost stories, for which he would sometimes blow out the candles. He could grow passionate when discussing literature or, more rarely, his feelings. When he did, he was, according to Germaine de Stael, quite seductive, though the actress Ida Saint-Elme found ‘more brusquery than tenderness.’ in his attempts to charm. Claire de Rémusat also found his gaiety ‘tasteless and immoderate’, and his manners often more suited to the barrack room than the drawing room. He was generally ill at ease with women, not knowing what to say and making gauche remarks about their dress or their looks, and allowing his lack of consideration for their sex to show. Only in the presence of Josephine was he less prickly.”

(Napoleon, A Life, Adam Zamoyski, page 264)

“He was most at his ease with children, soldiers, servants, and those close to him, in whom he took a personal interest, asking them about their health, their families, and their troubles. He would treat them with a joshing familiarity, teasing them, calling them scoundrels or nincompoops; whenever he saw his physician, Dr. Jean-Nicolas Corvisart, he would ask him how many people he had killed that day. His way of showing affection was giving people a little slap on the cheek or pinching their nose or ear. He was curiously unconscious of causing pain, even when a hard pinch of the nose brought tears to the victim’s eyes, and since they regarded it as a mark of great favour, which it was, nobody objected. ....It was a gesture of familiarity that defused many an awkward situation. Yet real familiarity was something Bonaparte seemed to fear, and only a select few, such as Duroc and Lannes, ever got away with addressing him with the familiar tu.”

(Napoleon, A Life, Adam Zamoyski, page 264)

“He did lose his temper, but he was quick to calm down and forgive. He did on occasion lose control and break things or stamp on his hat. He once hit the interior minister Chaptal with a roll of papers and was known to use his riding crop, on one occasion striking a groom across the face for negligence which had led to a horse throwing him, for which he would make generous amends. Most of his rages were feigned, either to frighten people, to make an example of an officer in front of his men or a general in front of his peers, or just to test someone’s reaction.”

(Napoleon, A Life, Adam Zamoyski, page 265)

“Divova found him ‘amiable, charming, kind, honest, polite’; Maria Edgeworth was less complimentary about his ‘pale woebegone counternance’, and thought him ‘very little’; the eccentric Bertie Greathead was disappointed to find him not as ‘melancholy’ and ‘not so picturesque’ as he had imagined, adding that ‘his person is not only little, but I think, mean.’ The landscape painted Joseph Farington noted, ‘He picked his nose very much.’ Fiszerowa thought he looked ill at ease, and noticed that ‘When he spoke with the ministers of foreign courts, he twisted the buttons of his coat like a schoolboy.’ Fanny Burney was transported by his face, in which ‘care, thought, melancholy, and meditation are strongly marked, with so much of character, nay, genius, and so penetrating a seriousness, or rather sadness, as powerfully to sink into the observer’s mind.’“

(Napoleon, A Life, Adam Zamoyski, page 336)

#napoleon #bonaparte #Napoleon Bonaparte #Emperor Napoleon #Emperor Napoleon I #Emperor Napoleon Ier #Napoleon I #Napoleon Ier #Adam Zamoyski #Napoleon A Life #Book exerpts #exerpts #descriptions of Napoleon #Napoleon the man #Napoleon the person

97 notes · View notes

thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 7 years

Text

Wrack and Ruin: Final

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

What an end to a day. Arthur is frustrated. Feeling bad for a monster! Indeed. How typically French. How typically Bonaparte. How typical it is for one from that family to go and throw the entire plan off. This is how society falls, he thinks, when we start feeling poorly for monsters like the Jersey Devil. As if it inhabits any humanity within it to warrant pity or kindness.

What a miserable end to his letter to Liverpool. Well, perhaps not miserable. Bonaparte, that is Napoleon, assured him that the creature posed no military threat or otherwise to England or her colonies. What would happen were it to go to Upper and Lower Canada? Nothing, Bonaparte had said. Eat some cattle? Scare a few farmers?

He will admit he was not sure what he had expected from the entire expedition which hadn't been his idea to begin with. There was no great confrontation as there had been in Woodford and for that he is thankful. He isn't sure he is up for more confrontations with mystical beings of supernatural power. Age does catch up with one.

He concludes his letter to Liverpool and adds it to the stack that is to be sent on ahead of them before they embark on their journey homeward.

'No dinners with a president,' Napoleon says, letting himself in. 'Are you offended or relieved?'

'Relieved, I assure you. And I had dinner with the director of the Federal Bank and the former, if temporary, King of Spain. I think I can forego dinner with Monroe for that.'

'And you dine regularly with the former emperor of France, how your other dinner guests must pale in comparison.'

'That is a title we do not recognize,' Arthur replies in a stiff manner.

'But Joseph is King of Spain! That is unkind. Not to mention a work of great mental elasticity. Who made him king of Spain I wonder.' But Napoleon is smiling as he says it so Arthur does not take umbrage.

They end up topsy-turvy on the bed with Napoleon's stockinged feet on the pillows and head by the foot of the bed with Arthur the opposite. It is a quiet evening, no formal dinner. At some point soon they will go downstairs and be social. Both are still in their hunting clothes, buckskin breeches and wool coats deposited on chair backs.

'I still cannot believe neither of you shot it,' Arthur says. He can feel circles being traced along his hip.

'It was no wolf, bear or boar. There would have been no honour in it. You would agree with me had you seen it.'

Arthur props himself up and looks down to Napoleon who has his eyes closed. One arm is beneath his head as a pillow, the other against Arthur's leg drawing those absent shapes.

'It's the Jersey Devil,' Arthur says.

'It was sad.'

'Sad? You don't look at a deer and think, oh it's sad so I shan't shoot it today.'

'No, no.' Napoleon's face screws up in thought then regains composure. He unwinds his hand that was a pillow and rubs his eyes. 'It's different. I felt pity for it. Not the pity you feel for a wounded horse or hound, where it is a mercy to shoot them. But the pity you feel for a man who dies alone with no one to hold his hand. Or the pity you feel when someone is dead and there is no one to mourn for them. The pity associated with extreme isolation.'

'That is all very well but it is hardly human.'

Napoleon thinks on this then sits up and frowns at Arthur. He holds out his hand and balances it side to side, 'yes and no. When I met its gaze I felt there was something humane about it. It's eyes, though red and yellow, were still human eyes.'

'You mean they expressed human emotion.'

'No, I mean they literally were the eyes of mankind. The eyes of Adam.' He rubs his face again. 'It's hard to explain. I hold no grievance with Joseph for not shooting it. I didn't run it through either. We just sort of exchanged eye contact with it then it went on its way. The only of its kind Joseph thinks. How sad. Alone, exiled from its family all those years ago.'

Arthur, 'there is no similarity there. Your family still cares. Well, some of your family cares.'

Napoleon laughs. Says that Arthur really knows how to make a man feel loved. Excellent ability to improve a person's mood. ‘God,’ he sighs as he lies back down, ‘what would I do without you to remind me that some of my family cares?’

'I wager you would get on well enough.'

'I'd be a puddle of despair.'

Arthur rolls his eyes, mutters that Napoleon is not being serious anymore. Always skirting away from difficult truths. At that Napoleon sits back up and with a grave expression says, 'I'm sorry.'

'For what? I was just grumping. It's my way.'

'Now who isn't being serious?'

'Fine, fine I accept your strange and unnecessary apology.'

Napoleon smiles and pats Arthur's cheek. 'I am glad.' Bringing up Arthur's hand he brushes a kiss along the knuckles then says he must go and bathe and change if he is to be in anything resembling a presentable state for dinner.

It is later, after food and drinks and several rounds of cards and Arthur has retired for the evening that Napoleon finds Joseph in his library with a thick blanket on his lap and reading Defoe. Joseph looks at him from overtop his glasses.

'You appear comfortable,' Napoleon says. He lingers at the edge of the room. Outside the light of the fire and the lamps and candles. Joseph motions him to the chair near him.

'I hate this book but I'm too committed to stop now. Besides, I promised Cadwalader that I would give him my assessment of it and I would like it to be more thorough than 'absolute rubbish, feed it to the pigs with turnip tops'.'

'What a country gentlemen you have become.'

Joseph smiles, says that the same could be said for Napoleon. He heard of the garden from Wellesley who was really just complaining about the bees. Bees, how fitting. He has thought about bees as well.

Napoleon, 'what I said today. I didn't mean it.'

'Yes you did.'

'No,' he sighs. 'No, I didn't. I was angry more at myself than you. I'm never angry at you.'

'What a lie.' But Joseph laughs a bit as he says it.

'I am trying to apologize brother. Very well, I have been angry you in the past. I am capable of being angry and frustrated and all manner of other things with you but I still love you and I am sorry for the unkind words I said today. I do not truly believe them of you.'

Joseph takes his glasses off and sets them aside along with Defoe. He looks at Napoleon with great patience. Napoleon ponders for a moment longer then goes, 'and I am also sorry for making you King of Spain instead of letting you remain King of Naples like you preferred and I am sorry for leaving Elba thus setting in line a chain of events that lead to this current situation and I am also sorry for making you do my homework on Corsica when we were seven and never managing to keep my stockings up then blaming you for my state of undress to mother.' A tentative look. 'Shall I continue?'

'Perhaps you should just write me a letter. No, no, Nabulio it is all right. I thank you for your apology. I always know that you generally do not mean what you say in the heat of the moment. What was it Duroc said about you?'

'Oh no not the Duroc quote.'

Joseph, in an aproximation of Duroc's manner of speaking, "The emperor speaks from his feelings, not according to his judgement; nor as he will act tomorrow."

‘How perceptive of him...I miss him a good deal.'

'I know.'

'We are leaving for England tomorrow.'

'I know.’

Joseph searches his brother's face and finds sadness but it is a well-restrained emotion. At first he is annoyed because even now, even after it all, even in this intimate moment when it is just the two of them, he must be in control of himself but then he remembers being ten years old and going to France and how he wept and wept and made his brother's shoulder damp and Napoleon, who was Napoleonne then, just cried a few tears. Two, or three. And he swallowed a few times but couldn't speak. The empire just made him worse.

When do walls develop? Is it when you are taken from your family who you will not see for another fifteen years and thrust into a country whose language you do not speak, whose customs you do not understand and told to make friends with boys you cannot interpret? Is it when you witness war for the first time? Mobs running wild? Your friend taking a piece of shrapnel and dying atop of you as they cough blood onto your face? When do you bury yourself in irony and smiles and wry social observations?

Joseph wonders how much he has changed as well, in all those years. He looks back to Corsica and it feels as if it was ten minutes ago. Then, at the same time, it feels one hundred years ago.

Napoleon is staring at the fire and breathing very carefully. He is tapping out a rhythm on the armrest.

'I should go to bed, it is late.'

Joseph, 'no, no. Stay. We may not see each other for some time after this.'

Napoleon does not look at him. Joseph wants to say, You know I have seen you naked and squalling, right? You know I have seen you screaming in our father's lap because you scrapped your knee, ruined your breeches and everything is terrible?

But that would serve no purpose. Joseph instead goes to a shelf and retrieves a selection of books. 'Do you remember when father read Cicero to us for the first time?'

'Vaguely. I remember sitting on the floor of his study and listening to him read. I don't remember what it was about. It was our tradition whenever he was home. He would let you sit in his nice chair because you were always in a better state of dress than I.'

'You had just spent the day chasing around with the shepherd boys in the hills. You were filthy.'

'I was six. All six year olds are filthy.'

Joseph sits back down with the books and sets them on the floor between them. He says they should read from one, that he has chosen all those he remembers them going through when young. There is even Ossian, Napoleon's favourite though Joseph never quite understood why. And beneath that Virgil and Ovid and Caesar and Roland and countless others. Napoleon picks up Ossian and thumbs through a few pages.

'I was once accused of having Ossian dreams,' he says as he reads a section.

Joseph shrugs, 'there are worse dreams to have.'

'What do you want to read?'

Joseph picks up dusty Virgil and hands it over. Anything of his, for now. And really, it doesn't matter, they have all night.

Later, several books alter, Napoleon bids good evening. It is half two in the morning and Joseph says, 'I am glad you came. Even if we didn't succeed in anything remotely close to what we set out to do.'

'Next you must come to England. We have trolls.'

Joseph grasps his brother's hand and says that it is a plan then pulls Napoleon into a hug. He tells himself to not cry so much as he did when they were boys. The sense of separation is not as large as it was then. There has been a decreasing in the miles in the gulf that Joseph had imagined between them. Perhaps scouting for trolls would be just the thing. A vacation from sometimes-dreary Bordentown.

Pulling back Napoleon's hand stays on Joseph's neck and he looks his brother full in the face. It is like he is memorizing him, or seeing him afresh for the first time in many years. Joseph grins.

'Don't get into too much trouble, Nabulio.'

'Don't worry, Giuseppe, I have made enough noise for one lifetime. Come to England for the trolls?'

'For the trolls. Maybe we'll find some humanity in them, too.'

'Sure, but don't tell Wellesley, he'll have an apoplexy.'

Sometimes, Joseph thinks, it is like that poem wherein we go into the forest and carve the words of our love into trees and as the trees grow so do our loves become louder. There will be some forgotten people whose trees do not grow and their voices petrify, freeze in time. But they have been lucky, he thinks. Their voices are still heard, they are not reduced to living in silent woods barren of human contact and love. Their exile could have been thus - could have made of them unspeakable creatures not to be seen or heard or known.

A gentle thank you to all who stuck with me this week and through the strange and odd journey of this wee story. It went in an unexpected direction for me and I am glad you all kept with me as we jointly became emotional about brothers being brothers.

I also want to thank everyone who lovingly liked, reblogged, and commented. You are all so great and wonderful and supportive and it means the world. Really though, you’re all the best.

Thank you also to the anon who sent in the prompt of Napoleon and Arthur vs. Cryptids. I am not sure if this is what you wanted but thank you for the inspiration! It has been a pleasure to write.

<3 <3

#writing #wrack and ruin #jersey devil #napoleon #napoleon bonaparte #duke of wellington

13 notes · View notes