"Forester, C S - Hornblower 09 - Lord Hornblower" - читать интересную книгу автора (Forester C S)

The Mayor tried to meet Hornblower's eyes. He was still in fear of Bonaparte, still terrified in case some reversal of fortune should leave him at Bonaparte's mercy, called to account for his actions in receiving the Bourbon. And, on the other hand, Hornblower knew well enough that if he could persuade the city to offer an open welcome, Rouen would think twice about changing sides again. He was determined upon winning allies for his cause.
"Two hours," said Hornblower, "will be ample for all preparations to be made, for the deputation to assemble, for the streets to be decorated, for quarters to be prepared for His Royal Highness and his suite."
"Monsieur, you do not understand all that this implies," protested the Mayor. "It means -"
"It means that you are having to decide whether to enjoy the King's favour or not," said Hornblower. "That is the choice before you."
Hornblower ignored the point that the Mayor was also having to decide whether or not to risk the guillotine at Bonaparte's hands.
"A wise man," said Hornblower, meaningfully, "will not hesitate a moment."
So hesitant was the Mayor that Hornblower began to fear that he would have to use threats. He could threaten dire vengeance tomorrow or the next day when the advancing army should arrive; more effectively, he could threaten to knock the town to pieces immediately with his ships' guns, but that was not a threat he wanted to put into execution at all; it would be far from establishing the impression he wished to convey of a people receiving its rulers with acclamation after years of suffering under a tyrant.
"Time presses," said Hornblower, looking at his watch.
"Very well," said the Mayor, taking the decision which might mean life or death to him. "I'll do it. What does Your Excellency suggest?"
It took only a matter of minutes to settle the details; Hornblower had learned from Hau much about arranging the public appearances of royalty. Then he took his leave, and drove back again to the quay through the silent crowds, to where the boat lay with Brown growing anxious about him. They had hardly pushed off into the stream when Brown cocked his ear. A church carillon had begun its chimes, and within a minute another had joined in. On the deck of the Porta Coeli the Duke listened to what Hornblower had to tell him. The city was making ready to welcome him.
And when they landed on the quay there was the assembly of notables, as promised; there were the carriages and the horses; there were the white banners in the streets. And there were the apathetic crowds, numbed with disaster. But it meant that Rouen was quiet during their stay there, the reception could at least have an appearance of gaiety, so that Barbara and Hornblower went to bed each night worn out.
Hornblower turned his head on the pillow as the thumping on the door penetrated at last into his consciousness.
"Come in!" he roared; Barbara beside him moved fretfully as he reached out, still half asleep, and pulled open the curtains.
It was Dobbs, slippered and in his shirtsleeves, his braces hanging by his thighs, his hair in a mop. He held a candle in one hand and a despatch in the other.
"It's over!" he said. "Boney's abdicated! Bl?cher's in Paris!"
So there it was. Victory; the end of twenty years of war. Hornblower sat up and blinked at the candle.
"The Duke must be told," he said. He was gathering his thoughts. "Is the King still in England? What docs that despatch say?"
He got himself out of bed in his nightshirt, while Barbara sat up with her hair in disorder.
"All right, Dobbs," said Hornblower. "I'll be with you in five minutes. Send to wake the Duke and warn him that I am about to come to him."
He reached for his trousers as Dobbs left him, and, balancing on one leg, he met Barbara's sleepy gaze.
"It's peace," he said. "No more war."
Even when roused out in this fashion Hornblower dressed, as he did all that came his way, extraordinarily quickly. He was tucking his nightshirt into his trousers - the long skirts of the warm and bulky garment packed the latter uncomfortably full - before Barbara replied.
"We knew it would come," she said, a little fretfully. During recent events Barbara had had small time to sleep.
"The Duke must be told immediately, all the same," said Hornblower, thrusting his feet into his shoes. "I expect he'll start for Paris at dawn."
"At dawn? What time is it now?"
"Six bells, I should fancy - three o'clock."
"Oh!" said Barbara, sinking back on her pillow.
Hornblower pulled on his coat and stopped to kiss her, but she kissed him back only perfunctorily.
The Duke kept him waiting fifteen minutes in the drawing-room of the residence of the departed Prefect where he had been installed. He heard the news with his council round him, and with royal stoicism showed no sign of emotion.
"What about the usurper?" was his first question after hearing what Hornblower had to say.
"His future is partially decided, Your Royal Highness. He has been promised a minor sovereignty," said Hornblower. It sounded absurd to him as he said it.
"And His Majesty, my uncle?"
"The despatch does not say, Your Royal Highness. Doubtless His Majesty will leave England now. Perhaps he is already on his way."
"We must be at the Tuileries to receive him."

CHAPTER XVI
Hornblower sat in his sitting-room in the H?tel Meurice in Paris rereading the crackling parchment document that had arrived for him the previous day. The wording of it might be called as gratifying as the purport of it, to one who cared for such things.

As the grandeur and stability of the British Empire depend chiefly upon knowledge and experience in maritime affairs, We esteem those worthy of the highest honours who, acting under Our influence, exert themselves in maintaining Our dominion over the sea. It is for this reason that We have determined to advance to the degree of Peerage Our trusty and well beloved Sir Horatio Hornblower, Knight of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath, who, being descended from an ancient family in Kent, and educated from his youth in the sea service, hath through several posts arrived to high station and command in Our navy, by the strength of his own abilities, and a merit distinguished by Us, in the many important services, which he has performed with remarkable fidelity, courage and success. In the late vigorous wars, which raged so many years in Europe; wars fruitful of naval combats and expeditions; there was scarce any action of consequence wherein he did not bear a principal part, nor were any dangers or difficulties too great, but he surmounted them by his exquisite conduct, and a good fortune that never failed him."
It is just, therefore, that We should distinguish with higher titles a subject who has so eminently served Us and his country, both as monuments of his own merit, and to influence others into a love and pursuit of virtue.

So now he was a Peer of the Realm, a Baron of the United Kingdom, Lord Hornblower of Smallbridge, County of Kent. There were only two or three other examples in history of a naval officer being raised to the peerage before attaining flag rank. Lord Hornblower of Smallbridge; of course he had decided to retain his own name in his title. There might be something grotesque about the name of Hornblower, and yet he was fond of it, and he had no desire to lose it in the almost anonymity of Lord Smallbridge or Lord Something-else. Pellew, he had heard, had elected to become Lord Exmouth. That might suit Pellew, but it would not suit him. His brother-in-law, when he received a step in the peerage, had actually reverted from a territorial to a personal title, becoming Marquis Wellesley instead of Earl of Mornington. Another brother-in-law, unable to use the Wellesley name in consequence of his brother's pre-emption of it, had become Wellington, apparently in an effort to retain as much of the family name as possible. He was a Duke now, far above a mere Baron, and yet they were all three Peers together. Lords, hereditary legislators. Little Richard was now the Honourable Richard Hornblower, and some time would be Lord Hornblower in succession to his father. All the formalities regarding titles were a little amusing. Barbara, for instance; as the daughter of an earl - it was her father's rank that mattered, not the fact that one brother was now a marquis and one a duke - she had had higher precedence than as the wife of a Knight of the Bath. She had been Lady Barbara Hornblower up to yesterday. But now as a result of her husband's peerage she would be Lady Hornblower. Lord and Lady Hornblower. It sounded well. It was a great honour and distinction, the coping-stone of his professional career. Oh, to be truthful about it, it was the sheerest lot of tommy-nonsense. Robes and a coronet. Hornblower stiffened in his chair as a thought struck him. Freeman's ridiculous prophecy over the cards in the cabin of the Flame about a golden crown had this much confirmation now. It was an amazingly shrewd guess on the part of Freeman; it had never occurred to him himself for one moment that he might become a peer. But the rest of Freeman's prophecy had fallen to the ground. Danger and a fair woman, Freeman had foreseen. And now the danger was all over with the coming of peace, and there was no fair woman in his life, unless Barbara, with her blue eyes and light-brown hair, could be called fair.
He rose to his feet in his irritation, and perhaps was going to stamp round the room, but Barbara came in at that moment from her bedroom, ready for the Ambassador's party. She was all in unrelieved white, for the party had been planned as a culminating demonstration of loyalty to the Bourbons, and the women were to wear white regardless as to whether or not their complexions could stand it; maybe that was the most convincing proof of loyalty to the newly restored dynasty that could be offered. Hornblower picked up his hat and cloak in readiness to escort her; it was the fortieth time in forty nights, he fancied, that he had done just the same thing.
"We won't stay at Arthur's late," said Barbara.
Arthur was her brother the Duke of Wellington, lately and strangely transferred from commanding the army fighting France to His Britannic Majesty's Embassy to His Most Christian Majesty. Hornblower looked his surprise.
"We shall go on to the Polignacs'," explained Barbara. "To meet M. le Prince."
"Very well, dear," said Hornblower. He thought he kept the resignation out of his voice perfectly convincingly.
M. le Prince; that was the Prince of Cond?, of a younger Bourbon line. Hornblower had begun to learn his way through the complexities of French society - the complexities of the last century transported bodily back into this. He wondered if he were the only man who thought of them as outmoded anachronisms. M. le Prince; M. le Duc - that was the Duc de Bourbon, wasn't it? Monsieur - plain Monsieur, with no honorifics at all - was the Comte d'Artois, the King's brother and heir. Monseigneur, on the other hand, was the Duc d'Angoul?me, Monsieur's son, who would one of these days be Dauphin if his father survived his uncle. The very name of Dauphin was anachronistic, smacking of the Dark Ages. And the future Dauphin, as Hornblower well knew, was a man of convinced stupidity whose characteristic most easily remembered was a high-pitched mirthless laugh something like the cackling of a hen.
They had descended the stairs by now and Brown was waiting to hand them into the waiting carriage.
"The British Embassy, Brown," said Hornblower.