NAPOLEON
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1 EXT. WATERLOO BATTLEFIELD - <1815> - DAY
FLAME - BLOOD - SHOT - SHELL - MAYHEM - PANIC... as though
from the POV of some great bird of prey, we swoop in over the
battle-field of Waterloo, where the French army is falling
back in full retreat, pursued across the valley by the
merciless British redcoats...
Our focus is one man in a grey coat and black bicorn hat,
strutting up and down, exposing himself to the full fury of
the English onslaught...
A soldier (Leon) calls out to his comrades - "The Emperor!
Save the Emperor!" With a cry of "Vive l'Empereur!" the Old
Guard rally about their fallen leader, forming a square to
shield him against the general tide of retreat...
Napoleon ignores their efforts - indeed would rather die,
throwing back his jacket and bearing his breast to the enemy
fire. The air is thick with bullets, but none for him.
The hideous din gradually fades...
NAPOLEON (V/O)
I ought to have died at Waterloo,
but the smiles of fortune were at
an end. And the misfortune is that
when a man seeks most for death, he
cannot find it...
We move in swift and TIGHT on Napoleon as he cries out in
(silent) defiance - "Vive la France!"...
2 EXT. ATLANTIC SHORELINE - <1815> - DAY
WAVES POUND on a bleak, Atlantic shoreline. Napoleon, still
in grey coat and bicorn hat, paces with his hands behind his
back, talking to his brother Joseph - a year older, and in
civilian clothes a softer, gentler version of his defeated
brother. A weathered sea Captain stands by, eager to serve.
JOSEPH
Sire... the wind is already
turning. This brave Captain is
confident that his ship can run the
British blockade.
NAPOLEON
Supposing he can't - supposing the
British search the ship and catch
me hiding like a rat in the hold?
I at least have a reputation to
consider.
There is a veiled jibe at Joseph...
CAPTAIN
My ship is as swift as the wind,
your Majesty - the British have
only two in the bay. I can run them
both with time to spare - and have
your Majesty in New York inside two
months.
JOSEPH
Take my passport, sire - we're
brothers - we look alike...
Napoleon stands back a pace, looks Joseph up and down with a
sardonic, affectionate chuckle.
NAPOLEON
You think they would mistake me
for... you??
JOSEPH
Your Majesty knows well enough I
was referring to our physical
resemblance only...
NAPOLEON
The final insult! King José!
(smiles, tweaks his ear)
Americans are just like yourself,
dear Joseph - they are interested
in two things only: property, and
money. And as I have neither, I
should be treated as a homeless
pauper. I'd prefer to take my
chances with the British. I ask
nothing more of them than to be
allowed to live in peaceful
retirement.
We now see that a number of others are standing in a huddled
group at a discreet distance, all aware that their futures
are inextricably bound to their fallen Emperor. Among them,
Count Bertrand (43), who has fought by Napoleon's side for
the past 25 years. Former Chief Engineer to the Grand Army,
latterly Grand Marshal of the Palace, and now ready to follow
his Emperor to the grave if need be, Bertrand is the senior
figure among the Emperor's little suite.
JOSEPH
Retire, your Majesty??
NAPOLEON
I shall take to the leisurely life
you have always championed, Joseph -
a life of reading and contemplation
- perhaps I'll take up farming...
somewhere in Hertfordshire perhaps -
brother Lucien spoke very highly of
Hertfordshire. All I want is peace
and quiet. I refuse to have another
gun fired on my account.
One of his companions (Gourgaud) has trapped a bird - a
quail, caught in a bush.
BERTRAND
Sire, the English will throw you
into the Tower of London!
NAPOLEON
Nonsense, Bertrand! I have
committed no crime. Did I
incarcerate the Tsar of Russia when
I defeated him at Austerlitz? Or
the King of Prussia... or the
Emperor of Austria? Why would their
English cousins treat me any less
generously?
Gourgaud runs up excitedly with the bird. He's a handsome
General in his early 30s, only too ready to serve.
GOURGAUD
For your Majesty's dinner!
NAPOLEON
There is enough unhappiness in the
world, Gourgaud. Set it free. Let
us read the omens... if it flies to
the West, we shall ---
(suddenly hopeful)
-- embark for the New World with
this brave Captain. Perhaps you're
right and the Americans will look
favourably on me - after all, I
doubled the size of their country
for them, didn't I?
Joseph is delighted at Napoleon's change of heart - and is
anxious that Gourgaud should release the bird before the
Emperor can verify which direction it takes. Too late.
Napoleon lifts Gourgaud's hands and the bird flies free...
NAPOLEON
Let fate decide, Gourgaud... I have
always been a creature of
circumstance - I merely go where
events point out the way. When
destiny wills, it must be obeyed.
The bird flies Westward, out to sea and into the setting
sun... Napoleon shields his eyes from the glare...
GOURGAUD
America!!
... but then the bird makes a sudden turn and heads
northward, where a British ship is visible on the horizon.
His expression falls for a brief moment.
NAPOLEON
Bertrand, write a letter.
Bertrand is so used to sudden dictation that he carries a
notebook and pencil at the ready.
NAPOLEON
"To His Royal Highness, the Prince
Regent of Great Britain and
Ireland. Having suffered defeat at
Waterloo, and not wishing to
provoke the horrors of civil war in
my own country, I have decided to
end my political career, and
therefore I come to claim...
(correcting himself)
... and therefore I come, like
Themistocles, to claim the
hospitality of the British
people...
Joseph turns away, his eyes filling with tears, though
Napoleon pretends not to notice.
NAPOLEON (V/O)
I place myself under the
protection of Your Royal
Highness, as the most powerful,
the most constant, and the most
generous of my enemies."
Napoleon addresses Joseph's weeping. He tweaks his ear.
NAPOLEON
Do not be concerned on my account,
Joseph. Nature seems to have
calculated that I should endure
great reverses. She has given me a
mind of marble. Thunder cannot
ruffle it. The shaft merely glides
on.
(embracing him)
Take care of Mamma... and if you
should ever see them, kiss my
wife and my son for me.
In true Corsican tradition, the two brothers kiss each other
on the lips.
3 EXT. CORSICAN SHORELINE - <1778> - DAY
The grey sea is now a dazzling blue. Two boys fight on the
hot, rocky shores of Corsica: NABULIO (aged 9) and GUISEPPE
(10) - like cubs, they maul one another - biting, slapping,
and twisting each others necks. Nabulio is enjoying himself,
but Guiseppe is less happy.
Suddenly they find themselves ambushed by a rabble of other
urchin boys, led by POZZO (14). Guiseppe looks terrified and
is about to run when Pozzo grabs Nabulio - half his size -
twists his wrist and tries to force him to kneel. Guiseppe
looks on helplessly, torn between fight and flight... Pozzo
exerts more pressure - Nabulio winces in pain — then spits in
Pozzo's eye — breaks free, turns round, and - WHAM!
Nabulio's fist is caught mid-air by the firm hand of a fiery,
pint-sized woman - LETIZIA Buonaparte (27) - "easily the most
striking woman in Ajaccio". Despite her advanced pregnancy,
she clearly strikes terror into Pozzo's gang, lashing them in
a Corsican/Italian dialect that few will understand (though
the Italian word "vendetta" is prominent). But she's in too
much of a hurry to scold for long, and - gripping Nabulio and
Guiseppe by the wrists - drags them off across the sandy
rocks, Nabulio poking out his tongue at Pozzo.
They take a short cut through an olive grove, scattering a
flock of goats...
4 EXT. CASA BUONAPARTE - AJACCIO - <1778> - DAY
... and into a dusty back-street in Ajaccio, a small sea-town
on Corsica's western coastline. "It is easier to deplore than
describe the actual condition of Corsica," wrote Gibbon in
1778. He was referring to the island's abject poverty
compared to the riches of Italy, her closest neighbour.
Certainly the houses are in a poor state of repair - "cracked
and peeled and with the stained surface of decay" - and the
people seem to be uniformly dressed in black, but there is a
strong sense of community among them - and an unspoken
hostility towards the presence of French soldiers of the
King's Royal Army, lounging at street corners, regarding the
local Corsicans with amused disdain.
In FAST CUTS, Letizia drags her tattered and blood-stained
boys inside a large house up a narrow alley...
5 INT. CASA BUONAPARTE - LIVING ROOM - <1778> - DAY
... through the main living room and up the stairs. We
briefly have time to glimpse her husband - CARLO Buonaparte
(32) - playing cards with a stout French aristocrat...
6 INT. CASA BUONAPARTE - BEDROOM - <1778> - DAY
Letizia sweeps into the bedroom and quickly sets about
cleaning up her boys. The room is sparsely-furnished, but
cosy, with a large number of Catholic saints on the walls,
and an even larger number of books. They have been stored up
here - several hundred leather-bound volumes - an unwanted
inheritance judging by the number presently employed as
building-blocks for a toy castle. But a few are stacked by
Napoleon's bed, and at least the top book is being read by
someone. Plutarch's "Lives of the Noble Grecians and Romans",
though we barely get time to look around, never mind read the
titles.
With a strict, firm yet loving hand, Letizia works with
frenetic energy, washing and scrubbing their grubby faces,
dismissing their wounds as trifles, talking all the while in
her strong, Corsican dialect. The words themselves don't
matter, the gist being "You wicked boys - you should have
been home an hour ago - the Comte de Marbeuf has been kept
waiting - and how many times have I told you not to have
anything to do with Pozzo and his brothers? Luciano, did you
finish your school work? "Si, Mamma". In the background we
vaguely notice a cheerful servant/nurse, feeding their baby
brother and sister, while the other brother (Luciano, aged 3)
plays amiably by himself.
Guiseppe is ready first, smartened up, his longish hair tied
back in a pony tail. Nabulio is having problems combing out
the knots while Letizia is on her knees beside him, pulling
up his socks and buckling his shoes. She tells Guiseppe to
hurry down - they'll follow in a moment.
Letizia takes the comb - "here, let me do it" - combs out the
knot - Nabulio winces — then she gives his cheeks a final
clean. There - let me look at you. She stares at him with a
sense of proud anxiety — and with sudden deep affection,
kissing him briefly on the mouth.
7 INT. CASA BUONAPARTE - LIVING ROOM - <1778> - DAY
The charming Comte de MARBEUF (60) has just won another round
of vingt-et-un (Blackjack) against the somewhat foppish Carlo
when Nabulio follows Letizia into the room. Like Marbeuf,
Carlo is dressed as an aristocrat, albeit with lace cuffs
fraying at the wrists. Guiseppe is standing nearby, relaxed
in their company.
MARBEUF
Just in time to save your husband
from penury. I shall have to play
with you later, Signora Letizia...
you're sure to win it all back.
(to Nabulio)
And you, young man - do you have
luck on your side too? Or do you
take after your father?
Nabulio is taken aback by Marbeuf's affable manner -
particularly towards his mother. Marbeuf is clearly entranced
by her, but Letizia has eyes for Carlo only.
LETIZIA
Nabulio, this is the Comte de
Marbeuf, Governor of Corsica.
Marbeuf proffers a warm hand, but Nabulio draws back.
CARLO
Come along, Nabulio - you're not
usually shy of strangers.
MARBEUF
Ah, so this is Napoléone...
NABULIO
My name is Nabulione.
Nabulio stresses the Italian inflection.
MARBEUF
If you are to be educated in
France, you'll have to get used to
Napoléone - that's how they
pronounce it in Paris.
Nabulio looks at his parents in shock...
NABULIO
I don't want to go to school in
France!
I hate the French.....
CARLO
Now, Nabulio - that's over and done
with... we are all Frenchmen these
days, and thanks to the King's
munificence, you and Guiseppe are
to be educated out of the Royal
purse.
MARBEUF
You see, Napoleone, since Corsica
is now a part of France, you are
entitled to the same privileges...
and one of those is that the sons
of impoverished noblemen may be
educated at the King's expense.
Happily your father has been able
to procure documents to prove that
the Buonapartes are indeed of noble
descent - albeit Italian - and thus
you and Joseph are entitled to the
King's bounty.
NABULIO
I won't go.
CARLO
Nabulio, be reasonable... you
always say you want to be a soldier
- here's your chance.
NABULIO
I want to be a sailor.
MARBEUF
Well either way you're going to
need a military education, and that
can't be found in Corsica - whereas
Brienne is one of the finest
military academies in Europe.
NABULIO
I won't go!
... and he turns on his heels. Carlo calls out sharply, and
is about to follow when Letizia gestures him to be still.
MARBEUF
(to Letizia)
I should say he takes after you.
8 EXT. PLYMOUTH HARBOUR - ST HELENA — <1815> - DUSK
An old British warship - the "Bellerophon" - rides at anchor
in Plymouth Harbour, besieged by a thousand little boats
crammed with sight-seers. It is the last Sunday in July - the
first summer in 20 years when Britain has not been at war.
Girls are decked out in their prettiest summer frocks, the
weather is delightful, and several boats carry small
orchestras that play French airs — anything to entice the
Ogre to show himself. Those with spyglasses are able to
inform their companions, "He's having his dinner!" On deck, a
burly British sailor is holding up a black board bearing this
helpful information. A genteel voice contradicts her, "Don't
you mean luncheon?" "Corsicans don't eat luncheon!"
A Naval Longboat is ploughing its way through the throng, the
oarsmen pushing the rowing-boats aside.
Closer to the Bellerophon's hull, a small boat bobs up and
down near the poop deck - a position jealously guarded by the
occupants: five teenage girls and two young men.
The girls giggle and fall about in the boat, trying to stand
and call up to a cockney British Tar on the quarter deck --
GIRL
Does he really have fangs?
TAR
Them and all, luv! He's sinkin' 'em
into his dinner right now. And you
know what he's eatin'? A lovely
little darlin', all juicy and
tender - just like you!
The girls squeal with delight, unaware that they are being
watched through one of the portholes. Then one of them spots
Napoleon's face... and nearly swoons.
9 INT. CABIN - BELLEROPHON - <1815> - DUSK
Napoleon watches through the porthole, shaking his head.
NAPOLEON
What a thing is imagination! Here I
am among people who don't know me,
who have never seen me, but who
only know of me, and yet they are
moved by my presence - they would
do anything for me. Such is
fanaticism!
He is standing close by the Captain's table, where Captain
MAITLAND and his officers are still enjoying port with
stilton. One of them is Jotting down his words, while the
others listen with rapt attention. A few of Napoleon's suite
sit with them, somewhat awkwardly under the circumstances.
NAPOLEON
In each class of people, some chord
responds to me. All I need to do is
touch it. Yes, imagination rules
the world...
MAITLAND
I believe you are correct, sire.
NAPOLEON
The defect of our modern
institutions is that they do not
speak to the imagination. Now
if.....
There is a sharp rap at the door. On a nod from Maitland, the
Guard on duty opens the door and two high-ranking Englishmen
enter: Sir Henry BUNBURY (55) and the elderly Lord KEITH (70)
KEITH
I trust we are not interrupting?
MAITLAND
On the contrary, my Lord, the
Emper... General Bonaparte - is
most anxious to learn when he may
go ashore.
(to Napoleon)
May I introduce my Honourable
Lord Keith.
NAPOLEON
You and I have met before, sir...
(off Keith's look)
When I was 23 years old - and I
drove you British out of Toulon...
KEITH
Ah yes... but I settled the score
when I was 55 and drove you
French out of Egypt. Sir, may I
take this opportunity to express
my gratitude for the kindness you
bestowed upon my nephew at
Waterloo... Captain Elphinstone
of the 7th Hussars... He was
brought to you as a wounded
prisoner and you instructed that
his wounds be dressed and thereby
saved his life. If I can render
you any civility in return I will
consider it my duty.
Napoleon's suite are relieved at Keith's evident amiability.
NAPOLEON
Let me speak to the Prince Regent.
KEITH
Sir, regrettably that is not within
my province. I - we - come as
emissaries on behalf of His
Majesty's Government. Allow me to
introduce Major-General Sir Henry
Bunbury, His Majesty's Under
Secretary of State for War.
BUNBURY
Good afternoon, General. I am
commanded to communicate the
contents of a letter from Viscount
Melville, First Lord of the
Admiralty, to my Lord High Admiral,
Lord Keith. "Sir.
It would be inconsistent with our
duty to this country and to his
Majesty's Allies, if we were to
leave General Buonaparte the means
of once again disturbing the peace
of Europe, and renewing all the
calamities of war. It is
unavoidable that he should be
restrained in his personal liberty
to whatever extent may be
necessary, and the island of St
Helena has therefore been selected
for his future residence.
Napoleon remains motionless, without moving a muscle. Not so
his suite, who receive the news as though it were a sentence
of death. Lord Keith is embarrassed, as is Maitland and most
(though not all) his Officers.
BUNBURY (O/S)
"Of the persons who have been
brought to England with General
Buonaparte, he will be allowed to
select three officers, who will
be permitted to accompany him to
St Helena. Twelve servants will
also be allowed, as well as the
ship's surgeon, Doctor O'Meara.
Napoleon's expression is "earnest, almost melancholy, but he
did not allow any trace of ill-temper or violent passion to
manifest itself," wrote Bunbury later. Among Napoleon's
suite, Gourgaud is outraged, Bertrand distraught, the
debonair Count MONTHOLON (32) ambivalent, and the Comte de
LAS CASES (50) in tears.
BUNBURY (O/S)
"It must be distinctly understood
that all those individuals will be
liable to restraint during their
attendance upon him at St Helena,
and they will not be permitted to
leave the island without the
written sanction of His Majesty's
Government."
Their devotion briefly fades as the life-sentence sinks in.
Bertrand is the first to rally, bracing his shoulders with
stoic resolve, swiftly followed by the others. There is an
unspoken rivalry already beginning to stir among his suite,
each wanting to be first in their Emperor's affections.
Napoleon wanders over to the window, looks out, hands behind
his back.
NAPOLEON
Do you know what St Helena is, my
Lord?
KEITH
An island, sir...
NAPOLEON
It is a dead volcano - a lump of
rock in the middle of the south
Atlantic, a thousand miles from
land!
KEITH
Sir, although I have not visited
the island personally, I believe
Lord Wellington stayed there on his
way back from India some years ago
and found it most congenial.
NAPOLEON
I will not go to St Helena.
Bunbury and Lord Keith exchange glances. Gourgaud is
thrilled, but Bertrand knows better.
KEITH
I see. Well, if you wish to...
NAPOLEON
I was raised up by the people of
France to be their Emperor. I have
abdicated in favour of my son, and
from the moment I boarded this
ship, I have been under the
protection of your laws. If I stand
charged with a crime, then read the
charge and let me be tried in a
court of English law.
KEITH
Sir, I sincerely regret that I am
not permitted to.....
NAPOLEON
Why does the Prince Regent not
answer me himself? I have fought
and conquered kings and emperors,
and not one of them did I imprison
or exile. St Helena - God forbid!
To be imprisoned on a rock, cut off
from the world of people and all
that is close to my heart - that is
worse than the iron cage of
Tamberlaine! Send me back to the
Bourbons! Let the King of France
sign my death warrant - if he
dares! Or at least show courage
yourself and shoot me here and now!
BUNBURY
Perhaps if General Buonaparte were
to.....
NAPOLEON
I am not General Bonaparte to you,
sir! I am the Emperor Napoleon!
General Bonaparte was last heard of
in Egypt - sixteen years ago!
Napoleon storms out of the cabin...
10 EXT. DECK - BELLEROPHON - <1815> - DAY
... and up onto the quarter deck, eliciting a gasp of wonder,
terror and delight from the 8,000 spectators in the harbour:
"Long live Boney!" "Good luck to you Boney!" "Show us your
fangs!" "We love you Boney" "Long live the Republic" "Long
live the Revolution!" "Vive l'Empereur!" Napoleon tips his
hat to a pretty girl who squeals with glee, then turns on
Keith and Bunbury, who have followed him up onto deck -
NAPOLEON
I came here of my own free will -
I could have gone to the United
States - I could have sought the
protection of the Russian Tsar...
or the Emperor of Austria - my own
father-in-law!
The French suite have cautiously surfaced onto the quarter
deck, where they are joined by FANNY Bertrand (32, the Grand
Marshal's wife) and ALBINE Montholon (34), a more aloof
woman, who treats Fanny with a measure of scorn.
NAPOLEON
Why does your Prince Regent not
answer for himself? Who are you to
determine my fate?? I will not go
to St Helena! Let the people of
England decide... they are not my
enemies - you are my real enemies -
you aristocrats...!
Fanny lets out a stifled cry at the mention of St Helena —
turns to her husband Bertrand and starts weeping...
NAPOLEON
I raised myself up from nothing to
be the most powerful man in the
world! I fought fifty pitched
battles and won almost all of them!
Europe was at my feet!
Called by the voice of the nation,
my maxim has always been
Opportunity to all talents, without
distinction of birth or fortune'...
my system of equality for all is
the reason that you English hate me
so! Yet God made all men alike!
Las Cases hurriedly scribbles down Napoleon's outrage,
Montholon jots down the gist - but Gourgaud, Bertrand and the
women are too stunned to think of such things.
NAPOLEON
Who forms a nation? Not your lords,
nor your fat prelates and
churchmen, nor your gentleman, nor
aristocrats and kings... it is the
people who make a nation - and I
was the people's Emperor! All my
efforts were directed towards
illuminating them, instead of
brutalizing them as you do, by
ignorance, superstition, and the
lash!
(stamps foot)
No, no, no! I refuse! I will not go
to St Helena!
Fanny is now verging on the hysterical... both Montholon and
Bertrand try to calm her. Suddenly she runs to Napoleon:
FANNY
Your Majesty, I beg of you! Hasn't
my husband sacrificed enough? Must
he now sacrifice his family?? We
have friends in England... we can
start again here... but... St
Helena ..?!
She looks up at him, tear-streaked and forlorn. Napoleon
retains his composure.
NAPOLEON
I am not going to St Helena, Madame
Bertrand. But even if I was, I
would not force Bertrand to go with
me. He is entirely free to do as he
likes - as are you all.
Bertrand looks humiliated by his wife's unbridled emotions,
and hurriedly escorts her away. Napoleon turns back to Lord
Keith and Sir Henry Bunbury. He takes Lord Keith aside...
leans over the rail and gazes out at the bay, filled with
bobbing boats. His mood has changed... he suddenly seems very
vulnerable.
NAPOLEON
May I call upon your favour... and
ask you your advice?
KEITH
Sire, you must remember that His
Majesty's Government are acting on
the joint wishes of the allied
powers: Prussia, Russia, Austria -
and France.
NAPOLEON
But England has been appointed as
my jailor - and it is you who
have been my most consistent
enemy. Is there no court in
England to which I can appeal?
KEITH
I am no lawyer, sir, but I believe
none. Nevertheless I am satisfied
that there is every disposition on
the part of His Majesty's
government to render your situation
as comfortable as is consistent
with prudence...
(lowering his voice)
And there is always the possibility
of a change in government, either
here or in France, which might take
a more favourable view towards you.
Napoleon looks out at the armada of sight-seers, who raise a
cheer when he turns to them. He turns back to Keith.
NAPOLEON
The French monarchy will never
consent to my release. But thank
you, my Lord. Please remember me to
your nephew. I admire the brave men
of all nations.
Napoleon turns aside, Keith whispering to Bunbury...
KEITH
God forbid that the reptile should
spend time with the Prince Regent -
within half an hour they'd be the
best of friends!
Suddenly there's a scream - Fanny has broken free and is
trying to leap overboard. Bertrand and Montholon race after
her, leaving Albine to murmur to Gourgaud...
ALBINE
Let her go... let her go...
Montholon and Bertrand grab Fanny and pull her back from the
brink. Napoleon turns to the forlorn Gourgaud.
NAPOLEON
Why so glum, Gourgaud? We shall
just have to make the best of it,
that's all. After all, we stand as
martyrs of an immortal cause.
Millions of men weep with us, our
country sighs, and glory has put on
mourning! We struggle here against
the tyranny of the gods, and the
hopes of humanity are with us!
Misfortune itself knows heroism,
and glory! Only adversity was
wanting to complete my career!
Had I died on the throne, in the
clouds of my glory, I should have
remained a problem for many. As it
is, thanks to my misfortunes, I can
be judged naked.
(surveying the crowd)
I have worn the Imperial crown of
France, and the Iron crown of
Italy. But England has handed me
the finest crown of all... the
crown of thorns!
Napoleon raises his hat to his vast audience, eliciting a
tumultuous cheer - "God bless you!" "Long live the Emperor!"
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