"Bonaparte?"
Stendhal didn't know how long it had been since he had heard that surname.
In France, that surname had almost become a taboo that couldn't be openly mentioned. Some hated it to the marrow, while others revered it as if it were divine.
And Stendhal certainly belonged to the latter.
He had countless times relived the scenes of the campaign to Russia with Napoleon in his dreams, recalling the retreat from Moscow.
Just like Napoleon's famous saying: "From the sublime to the ridiculous is but a step."
For Stendhal, who had witnessed Napoleon fall from grace, this pain had even become insufferable.
His life was deeply tied to the rise and fall of the Napoleonic Empire; both prospered and suffered dishonor together.
When the news of Napoleon's death reached him from Saint Helena Island in 1821, Stendhal felt as if the sky had collapsed.
