Alexandre Dumas - The Last Cavalier - Being the Adventures of Count Sainte-Hermine in the Age of Napoleon

“Why not? Do you think I’m not strong enough to hear the bad as well as the good that people speak of me?”

“Please note that I affirm nothing. All I shall do is repeat what people say,” said Cadoudal.

“Go ahead,” said the First Consul, a slightly worried smile on his face.

“They say that you were able to come back to France so successfully, without hindrance by the English fleet, because you had made a treaty with Commodore Sidney Smith. They say the terms of the treaty allowed you to return without threat on the agreed-to condition that you would restore our former kings to the throne.”

“George,” said Bonaparte, “you are one of those men whose esteem I value and whom, consequently, I’d not want to give any cause for slander. Since returning from Egypt I have received two letters from the Comte de Provence. If such a treaty with Sir Sidney Smith had existed, do you think the count would have failed to make reference to it in one of the letters he did me the honor of sending? I shall show you these letters, and you can judge for yourself if the accusation brought against me has any basis.”

In the course of their walking, they’d come to the Louis Quatorze Room’s door. Bonaparte opened it. “Duroc,” he said, “go ask Bourrienne to send me the two letters from the Comte de Provence as well as my response. They are in the middle drawer of my desk, in a leather portfolio.”

While Duroc carried out the assigned task, Bonaparte continued: “How astonished I am to see how much your former kings constitute virtually a religion to you plebeians! Suppose I did restore the throne—something I’m not at all inclined to do, I tell you—what would be in it for you people who have shed your blood to see the throne restored? Not even the confirmation of the rank you have fought to obtain. A miller’s son a colonel? Come now. In the royal armies, was there ever a colonel who was not a nobleman born? Among the ungrateful nobility has ever a man risen so high because of his own worth or even for services rendered? Whereas with me, George, you can rise to any rank or level. For the higher I rise, the higher shall I raise those surrounding me.… Ah, here are the letters. Give them to me, Duroc.”

Duroc handed him three documents. The first one Bonaparte opened bore the date of February 20, 1800, and we have copied the Comte de Provence’s letter from the archives without changing a single word.

Whatever their apparent conduct may be, men such as you, monsieur, never cause concern. You have accepted a high position, and I am grateful to you for that. Better than anyone else, you know what strength and power are necessary for a great country’s happiness. Save France from its own fury, and you will have fulfilled my heart’s deepest wish; give it back its king, and future generations will bless your memory. Your importance to the country will always be too great for me to pay the debt my ancestor and I owe you by some high appointment.

Louis

“Do you see any allusion to a treaty in that letter?” asked Bonaparte.

“General, I admit that I do not,” George answered. “And you didn’t answer the letter?”

“I must say that I thought there was no hurry, and I expected I would receive a second letter before deciding. It was not long in coming. A few months later, this undated letter arrived.” He passed it to Cadoudal.

You have surely known for a long time, General, that my esteem for you is assured. If you were to doubt that I am capable of gratitude, propose your own position and set the destiny of your friends. As for my principles, I am French. Lenient by nature, reason makes me even more so.

No, the victor at Lodi, Castiglione, and Arcole, the conqueror of Italy and Egypt, cannot prefer vain celebrity to true glory. However, you are wasting precious time. We can guarantee France’s glory. I say “we” because to accomplish that, I need Bonaparte, and because Bonaparte cannot do it without me.

General, Europe has its eyes on you, glory awaits you, and I am impatient to bring peace back to my people.

Louis

“As you see, monsieur,” Bonaparte said, “there’s no more reference to a treaty in the second letter than there was in the first.”

“Dare I ask, General, if you answered this one?”

“I was about to have Bourrienne answer the letter and sign it when he pointed out to me that since the letters were penned by the Comte de Provence himself, it would be more appropriate for me to respond in my own handwriting, however bad it may be. Since it was an important matter, I did the best I could, and the letter I wrote was at least readable. Here’s a copy,” said Bonaparte, handing George a copy Bourrienne had made of the letter he himself had written to the Comte de Provence. It contained this refusal:

I received your letter, monsieur; I thank you for your kind words.

You ought not wish to return to France; you would need to tread over one hundred thousand cadavers.

Sacrifice your interests to France’s peace and happiness. History will be grateful.

I am not unfeeling about your family’s misfortunes, and I shall be pleased to learn that you have everything you need for a peaceful retirement.

Bonaparte

“So,” asked George, “was that indeed your final word?”

“My final word.”

“And yet history provided a precedent.…”

“The history of England, not our own history, monsieur,” Bonaparte interrupted. “Me playing the role of Monck? Oh no! If I had to choose and if I wanted to imitate an Englishman, I would prefer Washington. Monck lived in a century when the prejudices that we fought against and overturned in 1789 were still strong. Even if Monck had tried to become king, he would not have been able to. A dictator perhaps, but nothing more. To do more, he would have needed Cromwell’s genius. A quality lacking in Richard, Cromwell’s son, who was not able to retain power—of course he was an idiot, the typical son of a great man. And then, some fine result, the restoration of Charles II! Replacing a puritan court with a libertine court! Following his father’s example, he dissolved three or four parliaments and tried to govern alone, then set up a cabinet of lackeys that attended more to matters of royal debauchery than to the business of the court. He was greedy for pleasure and stopped at nothing when money was at stake. He sold Dunkirk to Louis XIV—Dunkirk, which was England’s key possession in France. And he had Algernon Sidney executed, on the pretext that he was party to some nonexistent conspiracy, when, in fact, Sidney had refused not only to attend the commission that sentenced Charles I to death but also, adamantly, to sign the act ordering the royal execution.

“Cromwell died in 1658, when he was fifty-nine years old. During the ten years he was in power, he had the time to undertake many changes but to complete only a few. In fact, he was trying to accomplish complete reform: political reform by replacing a monarchy with a republican government, and religious reform by abolishing Catholicism in favor of Protestantism. Well, if you assume I shall live as long as Cromwell, to the age of fifty-nine—it’s not very long, is it?—I have about thirty more years: three times as many as Cromwell had. And you see that I’m not trying to change things. I’m content to continue things the way they are. I’m not overthrowing things, but rather raising them back up.”

Cadoudal laughed. “What about the Directory?”

“The Directory was not a government,” replied Bonaparte. “Is it possible to establish power on a rotten foundation like the Directory’s? If I had not returned from Egypt, the Directory would have collapsed under its own corrupt weight. All I had to do was nudge it a little. France wanted nothing to do with the Directory. And for proof of that, look at how France welcomed me back. What had the Directory done with the country in my absence? When I returned I found poor France threatened on every side by an enemy that already had a foothold inside three of its borders. I had left the country in peace; I found it now at war. I had left with victories behind me; I returned to defeats. I had left the country’s coffers with millions from Italy; on my return I found misery and spoliatory laws everywhere. What has become of those one hundred thousand soldiers, my companions in glory, men whom I knew by name? They are dead. While I was taking Malta, Alexandria, Cairo; while I was engraving with the point of our bayonets the name of France on pylons in Thebes and on obelisks in Karnak; while I was avenging the defeat of the last king of Jerusalem at the base of Mount Thabor—what was the Directory doing with my best generals? They allowed Humbert to be taken in Ireland; they arrested and tried to dishonor Championnet in Naples. Schérer retreated, thus obliterating the victorious path I had laid out in Italy. They let the English invade the coast of Holland; they got Raimbault killed in Turin, David at Alkmaar, and Joubert at Novi. And when I asked for reinforcements to keep Egypt, munitions to defend it, wheat to plant for its future, they sent me congratulatory letters and decrees stating that the Army of the Orient was meritorious and the pride of France.”