If you'd only done what I suggested
at Austerlitz, and lost a leg, it would have been different. The
people don't ask much song-and-dance business from a one-legged man."
"We compromised with you there," retorted Napoleon. "At Ratisbon our
imperial foot was laid up for a week."
"Yes--but you didn't lose it," returned Fouche. "Can't you see the
difference? If you'd lost it, and come home without it, there'd have
been evidence of your suffering. As it is, do you know what your
enemies are saying about your foot?"
"We do not," said the Emperor, sternly. "What do they say?"
"Well, the Bourbons say you stepped on it running away from the
enemy's guns, and the extreme Republicans say your wound is nothing
but gout and the result of high, undemocratic living. Now, my dear
sir--Sire, I mean--I take a great deal of interest in this Empire.
It pays me my salary, and I've had charge of the calcium lights for
some time, and I don't want our lustre dimmed, but it will be dimmed
unless, as I have already told you a million times, we introduce some
new act on our programme. 1492 didn't succeed on its music, or its
jokes, or its living pictures.
Pages:
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132