candidate, Cadet Poilieaux.'
Napoleon returned to the library and, having passed on the summons, he took his seat again and waited for the assessment procedure to be concluded.The last interviewee came back to the library just as the beams of the late afternoon sun angled through the window.
Footsteps approached down the corridor and the door opened as Father Dupuy entered the library.
'Gentlemen, the director will see the following cadets. Boureillon, Pardedieu, Buona Parte, Salicere and Bresson.The rest of you are dismissed.'
While the other cadets filed out of the room Napoleon felt a surge of joy course through his veins. He had been accepted. He must have been. Unless it was those who were quitting the room who had passed and now the director was about to break the bad news to the rejects. Once the five named boys remained, Father Dupuy held the door open and waved the boys out into the corridor.
As he passed by Napoleon whispered, 'Did I pass?'
'All in good time,' Father Dupuy replied flatly. 'The director will inform you of the result.'
They made their way to the director's office in a silence that belied their nervousness. As they approached the door, it swung open and the inspector stepped out into the hall.
'Thank you, once again, sir,' he bowed. 'It is always a pleasure to visit Brienne.'
'The pleasure is ours, Monsieur Keralio,' the director replied from within.
The inspector turned at the sound of footsteps and nodded to them as the cadets took their places on a bench outside the room and Father Dupuy disappeared into the director's study. 'Gentlemen, I look forward to meeting you again some day.'
'Thank you, sir,' Napoleon replied.
The inspector smiled, then turned away and marched down the corridor towards the main entrance. Father Dupuy emerged through the door and looked down at Napoleon. 'You first.'
Napoleon rose quickly, took a deep breath and marched inside. The director looked up as the cadet stood to attention in front of his desk.
'It seems you have made something of an impression upon my friend the inspector.' He lifted a sheet of paper from the desk and began to read. ''Cadet Buona Parte's constitution and health are excellent; his character is obedient, amenable, honest, grateful; his conduct is perfectly regular. He is good academically but his fencing and dancing are very poor.''The director smiled. 'Not all good news then.'
Napoleon shrugged. He'd just have to avoid sword-fighting and social foreplay if he was to have a successful career.
'Of course, the inspector was basing most of his assessment on the reports of your teachers and could not know your, ah, quality as well as I do. So, he has passed you. You have been awarded a place at the Military School of Paris commencing next autumn. That is, assuming you wish to accept the place?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Very well, Cadet Buona Parte. That will be all. You are dismissed.'
Outside the office, as the next cadet entered for his debriefing, Napoleon shook hands with Father Dupuy, a huge smile splitting his thin face.
'I take it you were successful, then?' Father Dupuy teased him. 'I'm proud of you, Buona Parte.You've come a long way. Further than you think.'
Chapter 26
There was further congratulation from Ajaccio and Autun as the news of Napoleon's success reached the rest of the family. Joseph replied first, overwhelmed with joy and pride in his brother's achievement. So much so that he now had his heart set on a military life too. From home, his father wrote to say that he expected great things of his son. Carlos added that he would be paying a visit to a specialist doctor in Montpellier concerning a persistent pain in his stomach. He would visit his sons at the same time.
When he read his father's letter, Napoleon felt a welter of feelings swell up in his breast. It was over five years since he had last seen his father – longer since he had seen the rest of the family in Ajaccio – and all the ties to home and blood that had been suppressed for so long at last overwhelmed him. That night he cried long and hard into his pillow, his bony chest racked with muffled sobs.
The knowledge that his father was visiting Brienne in spring filled Napoleon's mind in the months that followed.Time seemed to pass more slowly than ever.
At long last, spring came. One afternoon, early in May, Napoleon was called from his maths lesson and summoned to the director's study.There, seated opposite the director, was his father.
Carlos rose slowly from his chair and Napoleon was shocked to see how thin and old he looked, but his eyes twinkled in lively disavowal of his frail state and he smiled as he opened his arms. 'My son… Come here.'
Napoleon crossed the room. Then, conscious of the director's gaze upon him, he extended his arm and shook his father's hand, with a polite bow. 'Father. It's good to see you again.'
'Yes.' Carlos frowned, as he contemplated the changes that the years had wrought upon his son. The boy had gone, and in his place was a pale teenager. He already knew from the letters he and Letizia had received that Napoleon was highly intelligent and had developed a breadth of mind that already exceeded his own. Carlos turned to the director.
'Might we be given a moment alone, sir?'
'Of course.' The director gestured towards the window. 'You might wish to have a stroll in the orchard. It's quite beautiful at this time of year.'
Carlos shook his head. 'I'm afraid that I no longer have the strength for such excursions. I don't want to impose on you, but could we remain here?'
The director stared at him for an instant before he nodded. 'Of course, Monsieur Buona Parte. Please be my guest. Although I have some work I need to complete by suppertime. I'm sure you understand.'
Carlos bowed gratefully. 'You're too kind, sir. I'm sure we won't keep you from your work for long.'
'Then I won't disturb you a moment longer,' the director replied.
The door closed and Carlos turned towards his son with a smile, and held out his arms. 'Show an old man, who has travelled a long way, some affection.'
Napoleon laughed and rushed forward into his father's embrace, pressing his cheek into his father's chest. Carlos laughed out loud, and then stopped suddenly, his face twisted with pain.
'What's the matter?' Napoleon asked in alarm. 'Father?'
Carlos held up a hand. 'It's all right. It will pass.'
He sat down in the chair and closed his eyes, breathing calmly as he kept hold of one of his son's hands. Napoleon glanced at the hand and noted the waxy pallor of the skin and the way it hung on the bones like old cheesecloth. Through the skin and wasted muscle he felt a tremor and for the first time sensed the terror of death. His father, whom Napoleon had taken for granted all his life, was perilously mortal. It had never really crossed his mind that his father would die. Death had simply been a fact, at several removes from experience. Until now. The fragile creature that looked up to him still held the essence of Carlos Buona Parte, but now his body was a brittle cage, no longer the solid monument to good and hearty living that it had once been. Napoleon felt sick and afraid.
'You're dying…'
'No. Not yet,' Carlos smiled. 'I'm ill, Napoleon.Very ill. That's why I've come to France for treatment.' He patted his son's hand. 'And to see you, of course. I'm hoping I can be treated and made well again. After all, I'm not yet forty – still young enough to box your ears when I get better!'
Napoleon smiled. 'I'd even look forward to that.'
'Of course, I couldn't do as good a job as your mother.'
'How is she?'
'She's well. The rest of the family is well. But she misses you most of all.'
Napoleon swallowed. 'I'll come back and see her, as soon as I can.'
'Good boy. Now then, I need to talk to you. Sit down.'
