‘That’s the Corsican blood. They tend to see the rest of the world as somehow beneath them.’
‘But not you?’
‘My future is tied to that of France. Paoli and his henchmen threw us out of Corsica. I owe Corsica nothing. But my family still feel as if they belong to the island, particularly the women, and Mother most of all.You must try to ignore them, Josephine. All that matters is how I feel about you. You married me, not them.’
‘I married into your family,’ Josephine responded. ‘That’s how they see it. And for that they treat me like a trespasser, or a poacher.’
‘A poacher,’ Napoleon mused sleepily. ‘Then I must be your game.’
‘Oh, you!’ She punched him playfully, then leaned over to kiss him on the lips, and rested her head on his shoulder as he drifted off to sleep.
Josephine’s entourage was everything Napoleon had feared. A string of brightly dressed women, all big mouths and small talk - some of the smallest talk he had ever encountered. They proved to be an unwelcome distraction for his staff officers and senior generals, who found every excuse to visit the army’s headquarters and stay long after the briefings and meetings were over. In addition to her female coterie a number of young men had travelled to Milan with her. Some were on official business: art specialists sent to select the finest works of art to be shipped to Paris under the terms of various treaties that had been imposed by France; scientists and topographers to select various papers and maps from the most prestigious academies of Italy; and a handful of officers in glittering uniforms that had never been near a battlefield, or a field of any kind, Napoleon mused. There was one in particular who caught his eye. A tall, fair lieutenant of hussars who seemed to follow Josephine everywhere, carrying her pug, Fortuné, tucked under his arm.
‘Who is he?’ Napoleon nodded towards the hussar as they walked with a small crowd of guests around the ornate gardens of the mansion he had chosen for his quarters.
Josephine turned to look in the direction her husband had indicated and smiled. ‘That’s Hippolyte Charles. Rather elegant, don’t you think? Quite a catch for my salon in Paris. The ladies adore him.’
‘Why is he not on active service?’
‘He’s incompetent as a cavalry officer, by all accounts - despite being what one might describe as a fine mount in other ways. Anyway, he has a private fortune, very few duties, and a desire to see how well my husband and his army are performing. So I invited him along. You don’t mind? He’s devoted to my dog.’
‘No, of course not, my dear,’ Napoleon replied evenly, though he could think of better uses to which he might put a cavalry officer than looking after a lap dog. On the other hand, anyone who kept that wretched pug away from him should be considered a blessing, he reflected, recalling a nasty bite that Fortuné had once inflicted on him when the little beast had refused to give up his space on Josephine’s bed to him. Napoleon frowned at the memory. ‘Would you like me to find a place for him on my staff ?’
Josephine shrugged. ‘If you like. But I warn you, the man has air for brains. I can’t think that he would be of any value to you.’
‘Perhaps not, but if it would please you?’
‘You’re very kind.’ Josephine smiled. ‘But I think a man of his intellectual pedigree is best suited to serving as my dog groom.’
Napoleon laughed. ‘Very well. I cannot think of a man I’d rather wish Fortuné on.’
Josephine turned and swatted him on the shoulder with her fan. ‘What is wrong with my darling dog?’
Napoleon glanced at the pug, which promptly bared its teeth at him. ‘Let’s just say his bite is worse than his bark.’
The time that Napoleon could spare for Josephine was as precious to him as any treasure, especially since the Austrians were intent on relieving the fortress at Mantua. Towards the end of July a new offensive was launched from the Tyrol under an old veteran, General Wurmser. Napoleon was roused from the bed he shared with Josephine in the early hours, and for several days he hardly left his saddle as the French army was driven back by the enemy advancing in three columns. For his men, so used to advancing, being forced on to the defensive was an unfamiliar and dispiriting experience. So dangerous was the situation that Napoleon was forced to summon Serurier from Mantua, with orders to spike all the siege guns that had just been laboriously positioned to bombard the fortress. With all his men concentrated into a single force, Napoleon fell on each enemy column in turn and defeated them all. The routes down which the Austrians retreated were choked with bodies, abandoned cannon and wagons. Muskets and other equipment had been cast aside as they fled, and all that remained were the stragglers and the wounded, sitting amid the wreckage of their proud army as they waited to be taken prisoner.
Even so, before falling back with his battered army Wurmser had managed to reinforce and resupply Mantua and now, to Napoleon’s intense frustration, the fortress would be able to hold out for several more months. Serurier’s men, who returned to the siege, rapidly began to succumb to the unhealthy conditions in the surrounding marshes and by August over fifteen thousand of his men were on the sick list. Every large building in the country around Mantua was packed with suffering soldiers, racked by fever and hunger, while outside the lines of the graves lengthened day by day. There was no question of an assault on the fortress. The best that could be done was to blockade the garrison and hope to starve them out.
‘It’s impossible!’ he raged at Berthier one evening in August, after reading the latest dispatches from his masters in Paris. ‘They might have abandoned that absurd plan to split the army, but how can we defeat Austria when the Directory starves us of reinforcements? Now it seems they want us to launch an attack on Naples. With what?’ He threw the letter aside with a look of bitter contempt. ‘I have barely enough men to hold the line against Wurmser. Do they think I can conjure soldiers out of thin air?’
Berthier waited a moment for his general to calm down, and then spoke quietly. ‘You must write to them, sir.’
‘Another letter?’ Napoelon shook his head. ‘What use would it serve?’
‘We have to keep trying, sir. Tell them that they must make peace with Naples. It is the price of victory against Austria. Once Wurmser is defeated there will be plenty of time to turn on Naples. But if we fight on two fronts now, we’ll surely be defeated.’
Napoleon stabbed a finger towards the discarded letter. ‘You think they don’t know that? What’s worse is that it seems they are intent on breaking the armistice with Rome. Already our agents tell me the Pope is negotiating with Naples and Venice to form a coalition against us. I tell you, Berthier, it’s almost as if the Directory is hell bent on sabotaging all that I have achieved here in Italy.’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time that you suspected them of undermining you,’ Berthier said quietly.
‘Undermining me?’ Napoleon laughed. ‘Hardly that. They’re betraying me. Me and every single soldier of the Army of Italy. And why do they do it? Do they imagine I have designs on their power? What cause have I given them to suspect that?’ He paused, rose from his chair and crossed to the window to stare down into the garden. Josephine and her coterie were sitting listening to a string quartet. As usual Hippolyte Charles was at her side with Fortuné curled up on his lap. Napoleon frowned. He dearly longed to be as close to Josephine, yet the pressures of his command seemed to demand his attention to the exclusion of almost everything else. He turned back to his chief of staff wearily.
‘I’ll write to Barras. I’ll tell him that unless we make peace in Italy, then it is only a question of time before the army collapses under assault from Austria and the papal allies. We need time to rest our men. Time for those who are ill to recover. If the Directory refuses to negotiate for peace, then I will resign from command of the Army of Italy.’
‘Resign?’ Berthier shook his head.‘You can’t do that, sir. Without you, the army would still be wasting away in Piedmont.You must convince the Directors to come to terms with our enemies.’