Young bloods - Scarrow Simon. Страница 82

Early in the new year his local reputation had become so established that he was elected as an officer of Ajaccio's newly formed unit of the National Guard. The French authorities, still only partially accommodated to the new regime that was establishing itself in Paris, viewed the links between the fiery members of the Jacobin Club and the volunteers of the National Guard unit with growing concern, and in the spring they made their move.The Swiss troops garrisoning the citadel disarmed and disbanded the volunteers and closed down the Jacobin Club.

From the long table in the salon of his mother's home, Napoleon penned a bitter letter of complaint about this suppression to deputies Saliceti and Rocca in Paris. While he waited for a reply he travelled north to Bastia and distributed revolutionary cockades to people in the streets, even as he established links with local patriots and tried to determine if the French garrison might be incited to mutiny.

There was bad news when he returned to Ajaccio. The papers reported that Saliceti was trying to persuade the National Assembly to press on with the integration of Corsica into the French state, and declare the island to be one of the new departments that France had been divided into. Napoleon's mood was black. The liberation of his homeland seemed more unlikely than ever with the Corsican deputies working so assiduously to bind the island into the French nation. Everything now depended on Paoli and building up support for the overthrow of French rule by force.

Chapter 58

Pasquale Paoli made his triumphant return from exile in the spring of 1790. Joseph and Napoleon were amongst the delegation from Corsica that met the great man in Marseilles. At sixty-six he still stood tall and erect, and had the remains of the commanding features that had so inspired his countrymen in earlier years. Even Napoleon sensed the spell of the man when he was introduced. Paoli held him by the shoulders and gazed into his eyes.

'Citizen Buona Parte, I had the privilege of knowing your father. Carlos was a good man. I grieved when I heard of his death, far too early for a young man of his promise. At least he has good sons to carry on his work.'

Napoleon bowed his head in gratitude and replied, 'Yes, sir. We will not rest until Corsica has won its freedom.'

'Freedom…' Paoli's brow tightened slightly as he continued to stare in Napoleon's eyes. 'Yes, we will enjoy all the freedoms that the new France has to offer.'

He squeezed Napoleon's shoulder and moved on to the next member of the delegation.

A huge crowd had gathered to greet Paoli as he stepped ashore in Bastia. A path had been cleared for him by the Swiss mercenaries of the Bastia garrison. He descended from the gangway, and raised his hat in salute to the cheering people. A large revolutionary cockade was pinned to the crown of the hat and Paoli waved it slowly from side to side as he strode along the quay, followed by the men of the delegation who smiled and waved to the crowd.

The Buona Parte brothers accompanied Paoli as far as Corte, the ancient capital in the centre of the island. There Joseph remained, having been promised a minor post in Paoli's new administration. Napoleon made it known that he would be honoured to accept any military command under Paoli before he returned to Ajaccio alone. He reflected upon the delicacy of his situation.The Paolists wanted independence. Most of the Jacobins wanted radical democracy, and Napoleon wanted both. In pursuing that aim, he risked enmity from both sides.

In the late summer he returned to the newly reopened Jacobin Club and began to speak again. This time he kept his arguments focused on events in Corsica, rather than putting the case for the broader philosophical themes of the revolution. He argued that any true revolutionary would start the revolution where he stood. They should not wait on the politicians in Paris a moment longer. The Jacobins of Ajaccio should work towards seizing the citadel that loomed over the town and turn Ajaccio into a revolutionary commune. Napoleon added that the Catholic Church must be deprived of its tax rights and legal privileges. Even as he argued this, he knew that the Paolists would disapprove. They were nationalists, not atheists, and sure enough several members of the audience sprang to their feet to denounce Napoleon and condemn his heresies. He recognised one of them as Pozzo di Borgo, a former friend from his childhood. Napoleon pointed to him.

'By what right does the Church enforce these taxes?'

'By divine right!' di Borgo shouted back.'It is the Will of God.'

'And where exactly is this Will of God set down? Not in the Bible. Not in any of the Scriptures.The truth is, men made those taxes. And men can unmake them without offending the Almighty.'

Di Borgo glared back at him. 'The Church is the embodiment of God's Will. If the Church requires taxes, it is because God requires taxes.'

'God requires taxes?' Napoleon laughed.'What does God need taxes for? Are there bills to be paid in Heaven?'

Several of the younger members laughed with him, but di Borgo flushed with anger.'Be careful, Buona Parte, or you will be judged sooner than you think.' With that he turned and left the room, followed by several others and the jeers of the more radical amongst the Jacobins.

When Napoleon left the club late that night, a handful of the younger members walked home with him, in order to continue discussing some of the points made by that evening's speakers. As the party turned into the street that led towards Napoleon's home, several shadowy figures emerged from a side alley and quickly spread out across the road. Each carried a club.

'What's this?' one of Napoleon's companions laughed nervously.'There aren't this many thieves in the whole of Ajaccio.'

'Quiet!' Napoleon snapped. The thud of boots from behind made him turn and he saw more dark shapes emerge from the direction of the Jacobin Club to close the trap. 'Shit…'

For a moment, all was still in the street. Napoleon crouched down and clenched his fists. He drew a breath and cried out at the top of his voice, 'Follow me!'

He threw himself towards the men blocking the street ahead, as his comrades came after him. Gritting his teeth, he ran into one of their attackers before the man could swing his club. They tumbled on to the cobblestones, Napoleon's knee driving the wind from the man's lungs as they landed. He smashed his fists into the man's face, hearing the soft crunch of the nose breaking as the man gasped in pain. Napoleon glanced round, and saw a tangle of dark shapes fighting. It was impossible to tell who was on which side, just as he had hoped when he launched his attack. He felt the shaft of a club and he wrenched it from the man's loose hand. Staying low, he backed towards the wall of a building facing the street. Before him the fight continued in a heaving mass of shadows accompanied by grunts and cries of pain. Suddenly a figure confronted him, club raised.

'Come on,' Napoleon growled. 'Let's get the bastards!'

'Right!' The man laughed and turned back towards the fight. At once Napoleon swung the club he had taken in a scything arc and smashed it into the other man's knee with a loud crack. A shrill cry of agony split the air and the man sprawled to the ground. Napoleon filled his lungs and shouted. 'Jacobins! With me!' He turned and ran up the street towards his house. 'Follow me!'

Footsteps scraped over the cobblestones and thudded after him as Napoleon ran on. Ahead he saw the dull glow of the lantern his mother had lit above the front door for his late return and he glanced back over his shoulder. The street behind him was filled with figures running in the same direction.

'Come on! This way!'

He reached the door, lifted the latch and threw himself inside. Right behind him came two of his comrades, then another, blood gushing from his scalp. Napoleon wrenched open the cupboard where his father had kept his fowling piece. He grabbed the gun, drawing back the flintlock as he crossed back to the door and stood on the threshold. The first of the attackers came running up: a tall man with a scarf tied across his mouth and nose to conceal his identity.As he saw the muzzle of the gun he scrambled to a halt.