The Last Cavalier: Being the Adventures of Count Sainte-Hermine in the Age of Napoleon. Alexandre Dumas
“So, the figure is frightening?”
“Enormous.”
“How much?”
“I don’t dare tell you.”
“Three hundred thousand francs?”
Josephine gave a sigh.
“Six hundred thousand?”
Another sigh, even heavier than the first.
“I must say that you are indeed beginning to frighten me,” said Bourrienne.
“I spent the whole night adding sums up with my dear friend Madame Hulot, who is very good at such things. As you know, Bourrienne, I don’t have a head for figures.”
“So how much do you owe?”
“More than twelve hundred thousand francs.”
Bourrienne gave a start. “You’re right,” he said, and he was no longer laughing. “The First Consul will indeed be furious.”
“Let’s just tell him it’s half that amount.”
“Not a good strategy,” said Bourrienne shaking his head. “While you’re at it, I advise you to admit everything.”
“No, Bourrienne. Never!”
“But what will you do about the other six hundred thousand francs?”
“First of all, I shall contract no more debts, because they make me too unhappy.”
“But how about the other six hundred thousand?” Bourrienne asked again.
“I shall pay them out of what I can save.”
“That won’t work. Since the First Consul is not expecting the figure of six hundred thousand francs, he will make no more of a fuss for twelve hundred thousand than for six. On the contrary, since the blow is more violent, he will be in even greater shock. He will give you the twelve hundred thousand francs, and you will be over and done with it.”
“No, no,” cried Josephine. “Don’t make me do that, Bourrienne. I know him too well. He’ll fly into one of his rages, and I can’t stand seeing him get so violent.”
At that moment Bonaparte’s bell rang for his office boy, probably to find out where Bourrienne was.
“That’s him,” said Josephine. “He’s already in his study. Hurry, and if he’s in a good mood, you know.…”
“Twelve hundred thousand francs, right?”
“Heavens, no! Six hundred thousand, and not a penny more!”
“That’s what you wish?”
“Please.”
“Very well.”
And Bourrienne hurried up the little staircase to the First Consul’s study.
II How the Free City of Hamburg Paid Josephine’s Debts
WHEN BOURRIENNE RETURNED to the study, the First Consul was reading the morning mail that the secretary had laid out for him on his desk. He was wearing the uniform of a Republican division general, a frock coat without epaulettes with a simple gold laurel branch, buckskin pants, a red vest with wide lapels, and boots with their tops turned down. At the sound of his secretary’s footsteps, Bonaparte turned his head.
“Oh, it’s you, Bourrienne,” he said. “I was just ringing Landoire to have him call you.”
“I had gone down to Madame Bonaparte’s room, thinking I would find you there, General.”
“No, I slept in the large bedroom.”
“Ah,” said Bourrienne. “In the bed that belonged to the Bourbons!”
“Well, yes.”
“And how did you sleep?”
“Poorly. And the proof is that I’m already here and you did not have to awaken me. It’s all too comfortable for me.”
“Have you read the three letters I set aside for you, General?”
“Yes, the wife of a sergeant-major in the consular guard who was killed at Marengo is asking me to be the godfather of her child.”
“How should I answer her?”
“Tell her I accept. Duroc can stand in for me. The child’s name will be Napoleon. The mother will receive an annuity of five hundred francs that will revert to her son. Answer her in those terms.”
“And how about the woman who, believing in your good luck, asks you for three lottery numbers?”
“She’s crazy. But since the woman believes in my star and is sure she’ll win if I send her three numbers, though she has never won before, tell her that you can only win the lottery on those days you don’t bet anything. As proof tell her that she has never won anything when she has bought tickets, but on the day that she has not bought a ticket she has won three hundred francs.”
“So, I am to send her three hundred francs?”
“Yes.”
“And the last letter, General?”
“I was just beginning to read it when you came in.”
“Keep reading; you will find it interesting.”
“Read it to me. The writing is scribbly and difficult to read.”
With a smile, Bourrienne picked up the letter. “I know why you’re smiling,” said Bonaparte.
“Ah, I don’t think you do, General,” replied Bourrienne.
“You’re no doubt thinking that someone with handwriting like mine should be able to read anyone’s, even the scribbling of cats and public prosecutors.”
“Well, you’re right.”
Bourrienne began to read:
“‘Jersey, February 26, 1801
“‘I believe, General, that since you are back from your extensive voyages, I can now, without being indiscreet, interrupt your daily occupations by reminding you who I am. However, you may be surprised that such a feeble excuse is the subject of the letter I have the honor of addressing you. You will remember, General, that when your father was forced to take your brothers out of the school in Autun and came to see you in Brienne, he found himself penniless. He asked me to lend him twenty-five louis, which I was pleased to do. Since his return, he has not had the opportunity to pay me back, and when I left Ajaccio, your good mother offered to give up some of her silver to reimburse me. I rejected her offer and told her that I would leave the promissory note signed by your father with Monsieur Souires and that she should pay it when she was able and it convenient. I judge that she had not yet found the appropriate time to do so when the Revolution took place.
“‘You may find it strange, General, that for such a modest sum I am willing to trouble your occupations. But my situation is very difficult just now, and even such a small amount seems large to me. Exiled from my country, forced to find refuge on this island I abhor, where everything is so expensive that one has to be rich to live even simply, I would deem it a great kindness on your part if you would enable me to have that tiny sum which in earlier days would have been meaningless to me.’”
Bonaparte nodded. Bourrienne noticed his reaction.
“Do you remember this good man, General?” he asked.
“Perfectly well,” said Bonaparte. “As if it were yesterday. The sum was counted out in Brienne before my very eyes. His name must be