NAPOLEON
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well, Dr. Arnott, there are good
people in every kind of religion.
Bertrand arranges the flowers with Marchand's help.
NAPOLEON
I've written a great deal, but I
find it very tiring. I no longer
have the strength to write. I'm so
weak that it would not take a
cannonball to kill me. A single
atom would be enough.
Bertrand waits till Marchand and Dr. Arnott have left the
room, then draws closer...
BERTRAND
I am sorry, at a time when it is
obvious that your Majesty is far
from well, to broach the subject of
my personal troubles, but I am
broken-hearted that your Majesty
should have seen fit to treat me so
harshly.
NAPOLEON
No, no, I don't know what you mean
Bertrand. You'll have to explain
yourself. I'm sick in bed and I
don't talk much. You haven't
anything to complain about.
BERTRAND
Your Majesty has withdrawn the
confidence which you formally
reposed in me. I have lost almost
without regret the high rank, the
fortune, and the honours to which
you raised me. But this new
misfortune overwhelms me. It was
not so long ago that Your Majesty
said that my conduct had been
irreproachable. How can I, in so
short a time, have fallen from
grace?
NAPOLEON
But I don't know what you're trying
to say, Bertrand. I'm very nice to
you. I haven't anything against
you. Marchand is the one person
whose care I find most pleasant,
because it is that to which I have
been accustomed. That's all I can
say.
BERTRAND
My poor wife - if the climate is
not sufficient to kill her, she
will surely die of a broken heart!
You have forgiven so many of your
enemies -- will you not forgive
your old friends? No doubt Madame
Bertrand has been in the wrong, but
has she not most cruelly expiated
those wrongs? Is she not very
unhappy? Has she not been the
victim of the most atrocious
slander?
NAPOLEON
But I have nothing with which to
reproach Madame Bertrand. She is a
most admirable woman. I'm simply
not accustomed to seeing her,
that's all.
BERTRAND
She would have cared for you with
such deep affection. She is
sincerely fond of you, your Majesty
- more so than you think. Will you
see her tomorrow, if only for a
moment?
NAPOLEON
But I have already told you that I
find Marchand's care the most
agreeable because it is what I have
become accustomed to. I gave you to
understand precisely what I meant.
It would be exactly the same with
my mother, had she not been used to
looking after me. Nevertheless, I
will see Madame Bertrand before I
die.
BERTRAND
But things haven't yet reached that
point, Your Majesty! We will keep
you with us!
You often used to say that you were
a father, so forgive us as you
would forgive your own children.
Are we not your friends?
The Grand Marshal is unable to restrain his tears.
BERTRAND (V/O)
To his last moments he was kind and
affectionate to us all...
Marchand is again on duty, helping Napoleon to shave. He can
barely hold the razor, but resists all offers of help. He
holds Marchand's wrist a moment - smiles... "Wilkinson -
Birmingham - England" -- then suddenly vomits. He sinks back,
half shaved. Marchand wipes his face. Bertrand arrives. A
long pause.
NAPOLEON
How is your family, Bertrand?
BERTRAND
Very well, Sire.
NAPOLEON
What is the weather like?
BERTRAND
Very fine.
NAPOLEON
Is there any sun?
BERTRAND
Yes, a little.
NAPOLEON
What time is it?
BERTRAND
Eight o'clock.
Napoleon turns to Dr. Arnott...
NAPOLEON
May I have some coffee?
DR. ARNOTT
No, sire... it will aggravate the
stomach.
NAPOLEON
Is barley syrup made from barley?
DR. ARNOTT
Sire, it is made from the milk of
almonds.
NAPOLEON
Do they make fruit syrups out of
cherries?
DR. ARNOTT
Yes.
NAPOLEON
From apples?
DR. ARNOTT
Yes.
NAPOLEON
From pears?
DR. ARNOTT
No.
NAPOLEON
From almonds? Oh yes, of course -
barley syrup.
(to Bertrand)
Where is Gourgaud?
BERTRAND
In Paris.
NAPOLEON
Why did he leave?
BERTRAND
Because he was ill.
NAPOLEON
Have I just been given a drink?
BERTRAND
Yes, Sire.
NAPOLEON
Was it water mixed with wine?
BERTRAND
No, it was lemonade.
NAPOLEON
Give me some wine and water.
Marchand hands him a glass and he drinks.
NAPOLEON
Oh, that was good. It hasn't been
blessed, has it?
MARCHAND
(smiling)
No, sire.
NAPOLEON
And O'Meara, is he here?
BERTRAND
He has left, sire.
NAPOLEON
How very odd. I thought that he was
still feeling Madame Bertrand's
pulse. Who sent him away?
BERTRAND
The Governor.
NAPOLEON
Because he grew too fond of us?
BERTRAND
Yes, Sire.
NAPOLEON
So he won't be coming back?
BERTRAND
No, Sire.
NAPOLEON
And Miss Betsy, where is she?
BERTRAND
She too has left.
NAPOLEON
What! She left?
(to Marchand)
When was that, Louis?
MARCHAND
Two years ago, sire.
NAPOLEON
How very odd. She really has gone
then?
MARCHAND
Yes, sire. She has gone... but we
are still here...
Napoleon turns back to Bertrand...
NAPOLEON
Give me my little piece of china.
Bertrand passes him his chamber pot between the sheets.
Napoleon looks blankly at Marchand...
NAPOLEON
What is the name of my son?
MARCHAND
Napoleon...
NAPOLEON
Napoleon. You will look after me
till the end, won't you? And close
my eyes for me? You have shared my
exile you have shown me every
kindness. You will be faithful to
my memory you will do nothing to
injure it...
(to Bertrand, strongly)
When I am dead, you will place the
altar at my head in the room where
I shall lie in state, is that
clear?
BERTRAND
Yes... your Majesty...
NAPOLEON
Mass will be said, and you will see
to it that all the customary
ceremonies of the church will be
performed. I'm not afraid of dying.
The only thing I'm afraid of is
that the British will keep my body
and bury me in Westminster Abbey as
a trophy.
May I not have a little coffee?
DR. ARNOTT
No, sire...
NAPOLEON
Just a spoonful? Please??
Bertrand is on the verge of tears...
BERTRAND (V/O)
What thoughts sprang to my mind at
the sight of so great a change -
when I looked at this man, formerly
so terrifying, who had commanded so
proudly, so absolutely, now reduced
to begging for a spoonful of
coffee, asking permission, obedient
as a child, asking permission again
and again without obtaining it.
Repeatedly asking permission, and
always unsuccessfully, yet without
any signs of bad temper. At other
periods of his illness he had sent
his doctors to the Devil and had
done as he pleased. But now he was
docile as a child. That was what
the great Napoleon had become my
Prince - a humble and unhappy
child.
Napoleon is now on his death-bed, with Bertrand, Montholon
and Marchand standing by. Fanny Bertrand is finally admitted
to the bedroom. Napoleon's deterioration (gradual to us but
sudden to her) is so great that her hand shoots to her mouth.
He beckons Fanny closer.
NAPOLEON
The name of Bertrand is linked with
mine forever. For as long as I
live, he shall live...
He sinks back on the pillow, Fanny trembling, Bertrand
watching, trying to keep a grip. As Bertrand continues O/S,
the room slowly fills with his other companions, servants and
their families...
BERTRAND (V/O)
His memory declined during the last
few days. He looked at us with the
penetrating glance which you know
so well...
Montholon moves closer to the bed.
BERTRAND (V/O)
We tried to dissimulate, but he was
so used to reading our faces that
no doubt he frequently discovered
our anxiety. He felt too clearly
the gradual decline of his
faculties not to be aware of his
state...
Suddenly Napoleon sits up...
NAPOLEON
Lannes! Massena! Victory is ours!
Quick! Forward! We have them...!
(sinks back)
I am the watch that does not know
itself. Bertrand... Let me
piss... My little piece of china,
leave it there.
The little room is now filled with faces, transfixed at the
impossible. Young Arthur Napoleon faints.
NAPOLEON
There is no more oil in the lamp,
my friends...
(closing his eyes)
Happiness lies in sleep.
BERTRAND (V/O)
For the last two hours he neither
spoke nor moved; the only sound was
his difficult breathing, which
gradually but regularly decreased.
Later, and Marchand, Montholon, Bertrand and Antommarchi keep
vigil. It is late afternoon, the sun fading. Napoleon closes
his eyes, murmuring...
NAPOLEON
France... Army... Head of the
Army... Joseph... Josephine...
His hands falls limp... a gasp from his few companions - then
they burst into tears in each other arms...
BERTRAND (V/O)
And so he died, surrounded only by
a few servants, the man who had
dictated laws to the world, and
whose life should have been
preserved for the sake of the
happiness and glory of our
sorrowing people.
On the floor by Napoleon's bed is a piece of paper. Marchand
picks it up and hands it to Bertrand, then moves towards
Napoleon...
BERTRAND (V/O)
We found the enclosed by His
Majesty's death bed, and believe it
to be his last thoughts. "A new
Prometheus, I am nailed to a rock
to be gnawed by a vulture...
NAPOLEON (V/O)
(overlapping powerfully)
... Yes, I have stolen the fire of
Heaven and made a gift of it to
France. The fire has returned to
its source, and I am here. Nothing
to my son... but my name...
TIGHT: Marchand's fingers gently close Napoleon's eyes as the
words "my name" recede into silence...
MIXING TO:
312 EXT. OCEAN - DAY
A monochrome ocean - then a black dot -- a ship...
313 EXT. ST HELENA - HARBOUR - DAY
In a thin drizzle, soldiers disembark at Jamestown...
314 EXT. JAMESTOWN HILL - ST HELENA - DAY
The marching feet of British Soldiers tramping up the steep,
muddy road from Jamestown to the Longwood plateau...
315 EXT. GERANIUM VALLEY - ST HELENA - <1840> - NIGHT
Torrential RAIN. By the light of spluttering oil-lamps, the
lid of a coffin is slowly winched open to reveal...
Napoleon, dressed in his dark green uniform and wearing the
Legion of Honour, lying as though asleep.
TITLE:
20 Years Later
Napoleon has not aged a day, though his surviving companions
are now grown old: Marchand, Gourgaud, Novarrez, Ali... and
Bertrand, 70 and doubled with age. All eyes are rooted on the
Emperor... before even Bertrand has to turn away.
[MUSIC creeps in] It takes 43 stalwart British Soldiers to
lift the two-ton coffin onto a massive ox-cart...
316 EXT. ST HELENA MONTAGE - <1840> - DAY
[MUSIC OVER]... and 26 horses to haul the cart down the steep
muddy track to Jamestown's tiny harbour. The coffin is
covered with a velvet pall, sprinkled with golden bees and
etched in ermine. Bertrand, Marchand, Gourgaud and Ali trudge
either side, each holding a corner tassel. The cortege is now
escorted with full British military honours.
As the great catafalque is rowed out across the harbour, the
shore batteries boom, answered by a volley from every British
ship in sight. The longboat reaches the French frigate La
Belle Poule, where the coffin is winched aboard on a huge
pulley.
A sudden shaft of sunlight spreads across the horizon as
Napoleon finally sets sail...
317 EXT. OCEAN - <1840> - DAY
[MUSIC OVER] La Belle Poule sails north, across the equator.
318 EXT. DECK - LA BELLE POULE - <1840> - DAY
[MUSIC OVER] The Emperor's companions are on deck, guarding
the huge catafalque. Then a voice Land Ahoy! and the
coast of France looms through the haze, MUSIC swelling...
319 EXT. RIVER SEINE- <1840> - DAY
[MUSIC OVER] The coffin is transferred to a barge, draped in
black velvet. Slowly it enters the Seine and proceeds up
river, its flags stiff with ice. Hundreds of peasants,
working-men and children line the snowy banks, standing with
heads bowed as the sarcophagus glides silently by aboard the
black-hulled barge...
320 EXT. SEINE & CORBEVOIE - <1840> - NIGHT
[MUSIC OVER] At Courbevoie, on the outskirts of Paris,
hundreds of camp fires have been lit on both banks of the
Seine. Here the ghosts of the Grande Arm้e have gathered, the
"moustaches" of Austerlitz and Russia, gun on shoulder,
stoic, frozen, to watch over "the Old One": Grenadiers,
Dragoons, Lancers, Mamelukes - and L้on, now a grey-whiskered
Grumbler of 70, wearing his iron hook and wood-wormed leg as
proudly as his threadbare uniform, "magnificent in his
loyalty and his poverty".
As the great catafalque comes to rest against the landing
stage, L้on takes up a handful of bedding straw with his iron
hook, lights it from the embers of the fire as he did on the
eve of Austerlitz... the wave spreads until the freezing
night air is filled with a thousand flaming torches and the
cries of "Vive l'Empereur!"
321 EXT. CHAMPS ELYSEES - PARIS - <1840> - DAY
[MUSIC OVER] And on the coldest day within living memory,
over a million people gather on the streets of Paris to
witness the Emperor's return. The immense catafalque - a
circle of Victories bearing the coffin on a shield of gold
and drawn by sixteen black-plumed horses - passes slowly
beneath the Arc de Triomphe and down the Champs Elysees.
Guns thunder, church bells peal -- the crowd goes wild.
But best of all, as grand as the epic itself and enough to
reduce gaping idiots to silence, is the sight of the Old
Guard trudging behind the catafalque through a sudden flurry
of snow. Proudly wearing the faded uniforms that a younger
generation knows only from paintings, they are led by Surgeon
Larrey, with L้on close behind, "marching with set jaws and
fixed eyes, with no thought but for their god"...
Even the English dignitaries, watching from the balcony of
the British Embassy, are briefly humbled...
... and among the crowd we spot a woman in black - a Mrs
Elizabeth Abell, formerly Betsy Balcombe. In a gloved hand
she clutches the little locket of hair...
The crowd stand to attention, saluting Bertrand, Marchand,
Gourgaud and the long column of old soldiers as they trudge
pass... then a cry of "Vive Napoleon!" is taken up... someone
dares to sing the forbidden Marseillaise...
... and soon a million lungs are singing, shouting, screaming
their acclaim with a sad and frantic love, arms outstretched
and tears streaming as the towering catafalque glides slowly
by, bearing the Emperor on his shield...
322 EXT. SEINE & LES INVALIDES PARIS <1840> DAY
The catafalque is barely visible through the snow as it
passes over the River Seine and into Les Invalides...
323 INT. LES INVALIDES PARIS <1840> DAY
... where it is placed beneath the great dome. The huge
church, filled with the aristocracy, echoes the pomp and
ceremony of the Coronation. Old Marshal Soult is helped from
his wheel-chair by Grouchy and Oudinot. He hobbles forward,
prostrating himself before the coffin while Prince Joinville
marches up to his father, the Bourbon King Louis-Philippe,
and salutes him.
PRINCE
Sire, I bring you the body of the
Emperor Napoleon.
KING
In the name of France, I receive
him.
A fanfare sounds, drums roll as the King turns to Bertrand,
flanked by Marchand, Gourgaud and Las Cases.
KING
General Bertrand, I command you to
place the Emperor's sword and hat
upon his coffin.
Prince Joinville presents Bertrand with the magnificent sword
of Austerlitz. But Bertrand is so utterly overcome that he
breaks down. Marchand consoles the sobbing Grand Marshal,
allowing Gourgaud the honour of placing the sword on the
coffin, followed by the battered black hat. A fanfare of
MUSIC - voices soar - and Soult flops back into his
wheelchair.
SOULT
(to Grouchy)
Now let's go home and die.
As the MUSIC swells, we PULL slowly up inside the dome of Les
Invalides...
324 INT. LES INVALIDES PARIS DAY
... the image gradually MIXING through to the present day.
The huge sarcophagus is now encased in red marble, resting on
a plinth in the centre of a great circular well.
NAPOLEON (V/O)
Historical fact, which is so often
invoked, and to which everyone so
readily appeals, is often a mere
word: it cannot be ascertained when
events actually occur in the heat
of contrary passions; and if, later
on, there is a consensus, this is
only because there is no one left
to contradict it. But if this is
so, what is this historical truth
in nearly every case? An agreed
upon fiction...
Doors open light spills across the floor and the first of
the day's tourists flood in, along with an excited party of
school children. Some exhibit a healthy disrespect and lark
about, but there's one boy who dimly reminds of the young
Napoleone...
NAPOLEON (V/O)
Yet who can read the bottom of my
thoughts, my true intentions? And
yet everybody will take hold of
that order, measure it by his own
yardstick, make it conform to his
individual way of thinking. And
everybody will be so confident of
his own version! The lesser mortals
will hear of it from privileged
mouths, and they will be so
confident in turn!
And then will come the flood of
memories, the paintings, the
diaries, the anecdotes, the drawing
room reminiscences...
The boy is drawn to the circular rail, Napoleon confiding
with a sardonic smile...
NAPOLEON (V/O)
And yet, my friends, that is
history.
The background chatter gradually fading as the boy gazes
down at the little Corsican in his long stone home.
* * * * *
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Script created with Final Draft by Final Draft, Inc.