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832 pages, Hardcover
First published October 26, 2006
Aboard the Victory, the long, heroic, pathetic and tragic tableau of Nelson’s death was unfolding. When the ship’s surgeon reached his side, Nelson told him, “I am mortally wounded. You can do nothing for me Beatty. I have but a short time to live.” Beatty prodded the wound with his finger and realized his admiral was right. He was running a high temperature and desperately thirsty. “Drink, drink, fire, fire” he kept repeating and was given lemonade, water and wine. He asked repeatedly for Hardy. The captain came after an hour during a lull in the fighting. “Well, hardy, how goes the day with us?” Nelson asked. Hardy replied that twelve or fourteen ships had surrendered. “I hope none of our ships have struck, Hardy?”
“No, my Lord, there is no fear of that.”
“I am a dead man, Hardy,” the admiral replied. Hardy returned to his duties and Nelson turned back to the doctor: “All pain and motion behind my breast is gone and you know I am gone.” Beatty concurred. “God be praised. I have done my duty,” breathed Nelson.
[Napoleon] was romantically besotted with his wife, to whom he wrote a letter every day, begging her to join him. But she was otherwise engaged: she had taken a lover, Hippolyte Charles, a small but dashing hussar addicted to drinking and gambling, the polar opposite of the intense, self-disciplined Napoleon. The young general ordered his two most faithful friends, Androche Junot and Joachim Murat, to bring her to him. Of the first, he wrote crudely: “You must return with Junot, do you hear, my adorable one, he will see you, he will breathe the air of your shrine. Perhaps you will even allow him the unique favor of a kiss on your cheek…A kiss on your heart, and then another a little lower, much much lower.” He also remarked that she had “the prettiest little vagina in the world, the Three Isles of Martinique were there.”