The Last Cavalier: Being the Adventures of Count Sainte-Hermine in the Age of Napoleon. Alexandre Dumas
marriage pleased the First Consul far less than the one arranged for Mademoiselle de Sourdis. First of all, Bonaparte had himself been in love with Madame de Permon; in fact, before marrying Josephine, he had tried to marry her. But Madame de Permon had refused, and he still held a grudge. Furthermore, he had advised Junot to marry someone rich, and now Junot, on the contrary, was choosing a wife from a ruined family. His future wife, on her mother’s side, was descended from former emperors in the Orient and the girl, whom Junot had familiarly called Loulou, came from the Comnène family as well, but she had a dowry of only twenty-five thousand francs. Bonaparte promised Junot he would add one hundred thousand francs to the basket. Also, as governor of Paris, Junot could be guaranteed a salary of five hundred thousand francs. He would simply have to manage with that.
Josephine had meanwhile waited impatiently for her husband all evening. But he had dined with Junot, and then they had gone out together. Finally, at midnight, he had appeared in his dressing gown and with a scarf over his head, which meant he would not retire to his own rooms until the next morning. Josephine’s face had beamed with joy: Her long wait had been worth it. For it was during such visits that Josephine was able to solidify her power over Bonaparte. Never before had Josephine so insistently pressed her case for the marriage of Hortense to Louis. When he’d gone back up to his own rooms, the First Consul had very nearly agreed to the betrothal of his stepdaughter to his brother.
So, when Madame de Sourdis arrived, Josephine was eager to tell her of her good fortune. Claire was dispatched to console Hortense.
But Claire didn’t even try. She knew only too well how difficult it would have been for her herself to give up Hector. Instead, she wept with Hortense, and encouraged her to bring up the question with the First Consul as he surely loved her too much to consent to her unhappiness.
Suddenly a strange idea came to Hortense: She and Claire, with their mothers’ permission, should consult Mademoiselle Lenormand and have their fortunes told.
It was Mademoiselle de Sourdis who acted as ambassador, presenting to their mothers their wish and asking their permission to put it into execution. The negotiation was long, with Hortense listening at the door and trying to hold back her sobs.
Claire came joyously back. Permission was granted, on the condition that Mademoiselle Louise not leave the presence of the two girls even for a moment. Mademoiselle Louise, as we believe we have pointed out, was Madame Bonaparte’s principal maid, and Madame Bonaparte had complete confidence in her.
Mademoiselle Louise was given strict orders, and she swore on everything that was holy to do her duty. Heavily veiled, the two girls climbed into Madame de Sourdis’s carriage, which was a morning carriage without a coat of arms. The coachman was told to stop at number six, Rue de Tournon; he was not told whom they were going to see.
Mademoiselle Louise was the first to climb down from the carriage. She had her instructions, so she knew that Mademoiselle Lenormand lived in the back of the courtyard and to the left. She would then lead the girls up three steps and knock on the door to the right.
She knocked, and when she asked to come in, she and the two girls were led into a study off to one side, not generally open to the public.
They were informed that each girl would be received separately, because Mademoiselle Lenormand never worked with more than one person at the same time. The order in which they would be received would be determined by the first letter of their family name. Thus Hortense Bonaparte would be first. Still, she had to wait a half hour.
The arrangement greatly upset Mademoiselle Louise, for she had been ordered never to let the girls out of her sight. If she remained with Claire, she’d lose sight of Hortense. If she accompanied Hortense, she’d lose sight of Claire.
They took the question to Mademoiselle Lenormand, who found a way to reconcile the situation. Mademoiselle Louise would remain with Claire, but Mademoiselle Lenormand would leave the door of the study open so that the maid would be able to keep her eyes on Hortense. At the same time, she would be far enough away from Mademoiselle Lenormand that she would not be able to hear what the prophetess was saying.
Naturally, both girls had requested the grand set of cards. What Mademoiselle Lenormand saw in the cards for Hortense seemed to impress her greatly. Her gestures and facial expressions indicated growing astonishment. Finally, after she had again shuffled the cards well and carefully studied the girl’s palm, she stood up and spoke like one inspired. She pronounced just one sentence, which brought an incredulous expression to her subject’s face. In the face of Hortense’s pressing questions, she remained mute and refused to add a single word to her declaration, except to say: “The oracle has spoken; believe the oracle!”
The oracle signaled to Hortense that her time was up and summoned her friend.
Although it was Mademoiselle de Beauharnais who had proposed coming to consult Mademoiselle Lenormand, Claire, after what she had seen, was equally eager to learn her future. She hurried into the prophetess’s study. She had no idea that her future would astonish Mademoiselle Lenormand as much as had her friend’s.
With the confidence of a woman who believed in herself and hesitated to offer improbable utterances, Mademoiselle Lenormand read Claire’s cards three times. She studied Claire’s right hand, then the left, and in both palms she found a broken heart, the luck line cutting through the heart line and forking toward Saturn. In the same solemn tone she had assumed in her pronouncement for Mademoiselle de Beauharnais, she spoke her oracle for Mademoiselle de Sourdis. When Claire rejoined Mademoiselle Louise and Hortense, she was as pale as a corpse, and her eyes were filled with tears.
The two girls did not say one word further, did not ask a single question, so long as they were under Mademoiselle Lenormand’s roof. It was as if they feared that any utterance on their part might bring the house down around their heads. But, as soon as they were settled in the carriage and the coachman had started the horses off at a gallop, they both asked at the same time: “What did she tell you?”
Hortense, the first to be received, was the first to answer. “She said: ‘Wife of a king and mother of an emperor, you will die in exile.’”
“And what did she tell you?” Mademoiselle de Beauharnais asked eagerly.
“She said: ‘For fourteen years you will be the widow of a man who is still alive, and the rest of your life the wife of a dead man!’”
SIX WEEKS HAD PASSED since the two girls had visited the prophetess living on Rue de Tournon. Mademoiselle de Beauharnais had, in spite of her tears, married Louis Bonaparte, and that very same evening Mademoiselle de Sourdis had been going to sign her marriage contract with the Comte de Sainte-Hermine.
Mademoiselle de Beauharnais’s repugnance for her marriage might lead one to believe that she was repulsed by the First Consul’s brother. That was not the case at all. It was simply that she loved Duroc. Love is blind.
Louis Bonaparte was then about twenty-three or twenty-four years old. He was a handsome young man—in fact, he resembled his sister Caroline—though he appeared to be a little cold. He was well educated and had true literary instincts. Upright, kind, and very honest, he never for a minute presumed that the title of king in any way changed the rules and duties of the human conscience. He is perhaps the only prince who, reigning over a foreign people, elicited at least a bit of gratitude and love in his subjects, just as Desaix had done in upper Egypt. He was a just sultan.
Before we leave that loyal-hearted man and the charming creature he was marrying, let us say that the marriage happened suddenly, for no other reason than for Josephine’s incessant hounding.
“Duroc,” Josephine told Bourrienne, repeatedly, “would give me no support. Duroc owes everything to his friendship with Bonaparte,