Chapter 226: First Impressions (4)
Summer, 1798.
“…The final delegate vote—Number 2! The opposition party, the Democratic-Republican Party!”
“With this, the Senate, the House of Representatives, and the Supreme Court swear that the second President of the United States, having obtained a majority, is Thomas Jefferson, and the Vice President is the defeated candidate, John Adams.”
“Jefferson, take good care of the United States.”
“You have worked hard, Washington.”
“““Waaah! Jefferson! Jefferson!”””
Across the ocean, the news spread through Europe that the first President of the United States, George Washington, had completed his term, and Thomas Jefferson had been elected as his successor.
“♩♪”
“Good heavens, how can a violin produce such a sound?!”
“Niccolò! Take me!”
“Paganini—he is a god!”
Around the same time, on the Italian Peninsula, the sixteen-year-old genius violinist Niccolò Paganini was beginning to make a name for himself.
In France, Napoleon was adjusting his clothes while looking into a mirror.
He had considered wearing his general’s formal uniform decorated with brilliant ornaments and gold cords, but she might think it excessive, so he decided instead on a sharp cavalry officer’s dress uniform.
It was not as though Napoleon had never had experience with women before, but how easy was it to find a woman with whom he could discuss Goethe and Jean Bodel in depth?
Whenever he met her for work and spoke with her, the flashes of intellect she revealed possessed a beauty that was rarely found.
“Let’s see. I can buy flowers later. The dinner reservation is already made. And I have tickets for the Beethoven concert after dinner…”
He had even secured those notoriously hard-to-obtain Beethoven concert tickets. He only hoped she would like them.
Ah, how would he confess? He planned to present the ring at the moment when the Paris gas lamps were lit.
To become lovers beneath the luminous streetlamps that symbolized the beauty of Paris—was that not romantic?
Jane, who wrote romance novels, would surely like it.
As for the spot to watch the lighting ceremony, he had used a tiny bit of his authority as a brigadier general and ordered his off-duty orderly, Pétain, to secure a prime location in advance.
In return, he had slipped a couple of crisp five-livre banknotes into Pétain’s pocket. The fellow would not feel too wronged.
After brushing the dust off his shoulder one last time, Napoleon opened the door and walked out.
The plan was flawless. Now it was time to execute it.
It had already been nearly four months since Jane came to France.
Thanks to her exceptional talent for languages, the French that had once been incomprehensible to her was now something she could at least partially understand and speak.
Of course, the process had not been smooth.
Good heavens, why do verbs have genders?
Third-group verbs? What is that supposed to be? Bloody hell!
And why on earth do they count numbers like this?
Despite this hellish language, there was a reason she managed to endure.
Where in England could I ever receive an education like this?
That was the first reason. And then—
“Miss Austen, have you been waiting long?”
“No, I only just arrived as well, Mr. Bonaparte.”
“Ha ha, really? I was worried I might be late. What a relief.”
“Hoho.”
In truth, Jane had come out an hour early because she feared being late and because her heart was already pounding with anticipation. But she did not say so.
“Shall we go, then?”
“Of course.”
The soldier, handsome in his carefully pressed uniform, extended his hand to the lady, and she gladly took it.
The first place the two of them entered together was a bookstore near their meeting spot.
“What shall it be today?”
“How about Dante, Miss Austen?”
“Ah, Dante. That would be wonderful.”
After buying a book, they entered a nearby café and each ordered a cup of coffee.
They sat side by side, sipping coffee and reading.
Every so often, when their eyes met over the pages, both of them blushed.
And yet neither of them dared to close the five-centimeter distance between their shoulders.
Anyone watching would probably click their tongue and mutter, How frustrating! Why aren’t they kissing already?
But the man who had fallen completely in love for the first time, and the woman who felt as though she had become the heroine of the very novels she wrote, lacked the courage to close that sweet five-centimeter gap.
What if his feelings are not the same as mine?
That tiny anxiety pulsed between them.
But time never waited.
After one hour, then two, as twilight stretched across the blue sky and the café prepared to close for the day, the two of them had no choice but to step outside with hearts beating even harder than before.
Beethoven’s performance was magnificent. Truly worthy of the greatest musician in Paris.
“That was an amazing performance! It must have been difficult to secure those tickets, Mr. Bonaparte.”
“Ahem. Well, for me—Napoleon Bonaparte—it was nothing.”
“Oh? Really?”
Ugh, that hurts.
When she asked lightly and smiled, his chest ached terribly.
“Ahem! Ahem! Ah! Now that I think about it, it’s almost time for the lighting ceremony. Would you care to watch it together?”
Idiot. He stumbled over his words at the end without realizing it. That was not natural at all.
What if Jane refused? What should he do?
But she nodded as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Of course!”
…How many children would be good? At least five, perhaps?
No. This was not the time for fantasies. There was no time to hesitate.
Napoleon gently took Jane’s hand again and slowly walked toward the place he had instructed Pétain to secure a few days earlier.
Hmm. The back of that young man’s head in the distance looked familiar—sitting there on a blanket and blocking others from coming near. It seemed the job had been done properly.
“Cough! Cough!!”
“Why, what’s wrong, Bonaparte? Are you sick?”
“No, I suddenly—cough!”
When he coughed loudly enough for anyone to hear, the familiar head in the distance slowly turned.
…Right. No need for a salute. Just go.
“Bonaparte? Are you really all right?”
“Ahem. Yes, I’m fine now, Miss Austen. Oh! Look! A perfect spot just opened up there. That would be ideal for watching the lighting ceremony…”
Murmuring that, Napoleon gently tugged Jane’s hand.
Shortly after the two of them stepped beneath the streetlamp—
The entire world suddenly brightened.
The product of human science and reason illuminated all of Paris. Yellow light mingled with the dark sky, creating a beautiful nightscape.
Only one place in the world could produce such beauty—France.
Jane slowly took in the sight, then smiled dreamily.
“…No matter how many times I see it, it’s still wondrous and beautiful.”
Napoleon gazed at her face for a long moment before speaking.
“Miss Austen. No—Jane.”
He took a ring from his coat and gently placed it into Jane’s hand.
“Will you…enter a relationship with me—Napoleon?”
The answer was simple.
Gladly.
“Hmph. Well, it is pretty.”
Soissons, now twenty-two years old, sniffed and said.
He had come to Paris from the small city of Autun in south-central France four years ago.
The boy who once sold newspapers in the marketplace now pushed a cart like a street vendor.
Before the Revolution, he would never have escaped the life of earning barely enough to eat each day. But after the Revolution, newspapers and magazines sold incredibly well.
Especially after Peuple de Épi began publishing Forbes and Maxim, people who had never even glanced at newspapers flooded into the magazine market, and the pie grew enormously. Soissons was one of those who benefited.
What housewife did not read the daily cooking column in Forbes? What boarding school student did not secretly bring a copy of Maxim into the dormitory?
Rumor even said that young nuns in convents passed around copies of Maxim among themselves. Thus the hot-blooded youths of France filled Soissons’s pockets generously every day.
And then there was the card pack released this time. Whenever he loaded it onto his cart, people all over the neighborhood rushed out and shoved banknotes into his pocket.
“Hup.”
Soissons parked his cart in front of his rented room and gathered several magazines and a paper envelope stuffed with items from the corner.
It was midnight. The streetlights would be completely extinguished at one o’clock in the morning, so he had to hurry for the sake of his main customers.
He bit into the convenient meal from Peuple de Épi he had bought earlier and chewed it down casually. There was nothing better for filling the stomach cheaply.
After securing the goods under his clothes like a sash so they would not fall, he began running toward a boarding school in the 14th arrondissement of Paris.
Two gatekeepers stood at the front gate, both looking like the sort who would have nasty tempers. Just like always.
Soissons glanced at the clock hanging along the street.
12:56 a.m. If he waited just a little longer, the lights would go out.
One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes.
Finally, with a soft click, the streetlights went dark. In front of the boarding school, the only light came from the candle in the gatekeepers’ lodge.
He exhaled twice, then slipped into the shadows and began climbing the wall.
Though it was over three meters high, Soissons—who had survived twenty-two years in the streets—scaled it in an instant like a snake gliding over a wall.
From below came a small voice.
“Mister!”
Two boys wrapped in dull blankets so no one would recognize them.
Students from wealthy families who could afford this expensive boarding school—and tonight’s main customers.
Soissons quietly pulled out the goods from inside his clothes and lowered them down.
“Here you go.”
“Tha—hey! Why are you pulling it back up!”
“Money first, you brats.”
“We have to see the goods first!”
“What? Hey, what grade are you in?”
“F-fourth year.”
“You think I’ve been doing business with your seniors for years just to get fooled? Hand over the money.”
“But still!”
“Hey, Gijo, just give it to him first.”
At his friend’s urging, the boy grudgingly pulled some banknotes from his pocket and handed them up.
“Let’s see. One, two, three… Good. Looks right.”
Only then did Soissons lower the bundle.
“Twenty Peuple de Épi card packs, seven copies of Maxim, and three copies of Forbes. Right?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Kids, remember to use the Soissons Special Delivery next time—”
—Pheeew! Pheeew! Hey! You there! Who are you?!
At the sound of the gatekeepers’ whistles, Soissons jumped down and began running.
“Damn it! He got away again!”
“That lunatic—how is he so fast?”
“Damn it, another wasted effort. …Well, he never comes again after showing up once anyway. Let’s go back to the lodge.”
Grumbling, the gatekeepers closed the door and slumped into their chairs.
“Tsk. Nothing to do. Let’s play cards to pass the time.”
“Sounds good. But are you sure? You’ve never beaten me.”
“That’s only because my cards were terrible! Ahem—today will be different. I got a bunch of new cards from that peddler earlier!”
The two gatekeepers pulled out their decks, which they had been guarding like treasures, and sat across from each other at the table.