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

Bonaparte bit his lip as he listened, but he did listen. And in that moment decided to abolish the Ministry of Police. On that very Monday, at his brother’s insistence—he had gone to spend the day with his brother at Mortefontaine—he signed an abolition order and put it in his pocket.

The next day, on his return to Paris, though pleased with his decision, he knew what a blow it would be for Josephine. So he tried to be charming with her when he got back, which gave some hope to the poor woman, for whenever she looked beyond her husband’s gaiety or sadness, beyond his ill humor or cheerfulness, she saw nothing but divorce.

Seated in her boudoir, he was giving orders to Bourrienne when she slipped over to him and, sitting in his lap, stroked his hair and then put her fingers near his mouth for him to kiss them. When his kiss met her burning hand, she asked, “Why did you not take me with you yesterday?”

“Where?” he asked.

“Wherever you went.”

“I went to Mortefontaine, and since I know there’s some hostility between you and Joseph.…”

“Oh, and you could also add between me and Lucien. I say Lucien as well as Joseph because both of them are hostile to me. I am not hostile to anyone. I could ask for nothing better than to get along with your two brothers, but they hate me. So you should realize how worried I am whenever you are with them.”

“Relax. All we discussed yesterday was politics.”

“Yes, politics. Like Caesar with Anthony. Did they try the wrappings of royalty on you?”

“What? You know Roman history?”

“My friend, all I know about Roman history concerns Caesar, and every time I read it I quake.”

She was silent a moment. Bonaparte frowned, but there was no holding her back now that she had started: “Please, Bonaparte, I beg you, do not make yourself king. I know that evil Lucien is pressing you to do so, but you must not listen to him. It would be the end of all of us.”

Bourrienne, who had often given the same advice to his schoolmate, was afraid that Bonaparte would fly into a rage. But instead, he began to laugh. “You’re crazy, my poor Josephine,” he said. “All those dowagers from the Faubourg Saint-German must be telling you such tales, as well as your La Rochefoucauld. Stop bothering me.”

At that moment the Minister of Police was announced. “Do you have anything to say to him?” asked Bonaparte.

“No,” said Josephine. “It’s you he must be on his way to see; he no doubt wants merely to greet me in passing.”

“When you’ve finished, send him to me,” said Bonaparte, standing up. “Come, Bourrienne.”

“If you have no secrets to tell him, why do you not see him right here? I’d have you longer here with me.”

“Indeed, I was forgetting that Fouché is a friend of yours,” said Bonaparte.

“A friend of mine?” remarked Josephine. “I do not allow myself friends among your ministers.”

“Well,” said Bonaparte, “he will not be a minister for long. But no, I have no secrets to impart.” Then, turning toward Constant, who had announced Fouché, he said affectedly, “Show the Minister of Police in.”

On entering, Fouché seemed surprised to find Bonaparte there with his wife. “Madame,” Fouché said, “this morning my business is with you, not the First Consul.”

“With me?” said Josephine in astonishment and with some worry.

“Oh,” said Bonaparte. “Then let’s see what this is all about.” And to show that he had regained his earlier good humor, he pinched his wife’s ear.

Tears welled in Josephine’s eyes—why did Bonaparte have always to make his little love gesture so painful? But she kept her smile.

“Yesterday,” said Fouché, “Dr. Cabanis came to see me.”

“Good God!” said Bonaparte. “What made that benign philosopher venture into your den?”

“He came to ask if I believed, madame, before any official visit would be arranged, that a certain marriage in his family would have your blessing, and if it did, whether you would take it upon yourself to obtain the First Consul’s consent.”

“Well, now! You see, Josephine,” said Bonaparte with a laugh, “people are already treating you like a queen.”

“But,” said Josephine, “thirty million French people can get married without the slightest objection from me. Who could be giving so much thought to etiquette as to check with me?”

“Madame la Comtesse de Sourdis, whom you honor sometimes by receiving her here. She is marrying her daughter Claire.”

“To whom?”

“To the young Comte de Sainte-Hermine.”

“Tell Cabanis,” Josephine answered, “that I enthusiastically support their union, and unless Bonaparte has some reason not to approve it.…”

Bonaparte thought for a moment. Then, turning to Fouché: “Come up to my office,” he said, “when you leave Madame. Come, Bourrienne.”

Scarcely had Bonaparte and Bourrienne disappeared than Josephine, placing her hand on Fouché’s arm, confided, “He went to Mortefontaine yesterday.”

“Yes, I know,” said Fouché.

“Do you know what he and his brothers talked about?”

“Yes.”

“Was it about me? Did they talk about divorce?”

“No: Be reassured on that point. They were talking about something else entirely.”

“Was it about the monarchy?”

“No.”

Josephine sighed. “Well, in that case, little does it matter what they talked about!”

Fouché smiled that dark sardonic smile so characteristic of him. “However,” he said, “since you will probably be losing one of your friends.…”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“I will?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he has protected your interests.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“I cannot divulge his name. His disgrace is still a secret. I’ve come to warn you so you can choose someone else.”

“Where do you expect me to find this other person?”

“In the First Consul’s family. Two of his brothers are against you. Align yourself with the third.”

“Louis?”

“Exactly.”

“But Bonaparte insists on giving my daughter in marriage to Duroc.”

“Yes, but Duroc does not seem quite so eager to enter into marriage, and his indifference is offensive to the First Consul.”

“Hortense bursts into tears every time we talk about it. I don’t want it to look like I am sacrificing my daughter; she says that she has given her heart.”

“Well,” said Fouché, “does anyone really have a heart?”

“Oh, I do!” said Josephine. “And I am proud of it.”

“You?” said Fouché with his sarcastic laugh. “You don’t have only one heart, you have.…”

“Careful!” said Josephine. “You are about to say something disrespectful.”

“I’ll not say a word. As Minister of Police, I must remain silent. Otherwise people might say I am revealing secrets from the confessional. So, as I’ve nothing further to tell you, allow me to go and announce to the First Consul some news he is not expecting to hear from my lips.”

“What news?”

“Yesterday he signed an order for my resignation.”

“So you are the person I shall be losing?” Josephine asked.

“Yes, that’s correct,” said Fouché.

The realization elicited a sigh from Josephine as she placed her hand over her eyes. “Oh, don’t worry!” said Fouché, walking over to her. “It won’t be for long.”

In order not to display too great a familiarity, rather than taking the little stairway up to Bonaparte’s office, Fouché left through Josephine’s outside door, then came back in through the clock pavilion and went up to the First Consul’s study.

The First Consul was working with Bourrienne. “Ah!” he said to Fouché as he came in, “you can explain something to me.”