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

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      “Well,” Bonaparte answered with a laugh, “I nearly got myself killed when I said something bad about him. Without Duroc, who used his club, I believe we might have been arrested and taken to the Château-d’Eau guardhouse.”

      “Still, that fails to explain how, in the midst of all the praise for the First Consul, the question of Madame Bonaparte’s debts came up.”

      “In fact, in the midst of all that praise for the First Consul, people were saying horrible things about his wife. They’re saying that Madame Bonaparte is ruining her husband with all the clothes she’s buying; they’re saying she has debts everywhere, that her cheapest dress cost one hundred louis and her least expensive hat two hundred francs. I don’t believe a word of that, Bourrienne, you understand. But where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Last year I paid debts of three hundred thousand francs; she reminded me that I had not sent her any money from Egypt. All well and good. But now things are different; I’m giving Josephine six thousand francs a month for clothes. That should be enough. People used the same kinds of words against Marie-Antoinette. You must check with Josephine, Bourrienne, and set things straight.”

      “You’ll never know,” Bourrienne answered, “how happy I am that you yourself have brought up this subject. This morning, as you were impatiently waiting for me to appear, Madame Bonaparte asked me to talk to you about the difficult position in which she finds herself.”

      “Difficult position, Bourrienne! What do you mean by that, monsieur?” Bonaparte asked, suddenly reverting back to more formal speech.

      “I mean that she is being harassed.”

      “By whom?”

      “By her creditors.”

      “Her creditors! I thought I had got rid of her creditors.”

      “A year ago, yes.”

      “Well?”

      “Well, in the past year, things have totally changed. One year ago she was the wife of General Bonaparte. Today she is the wife of the First Consul.”

      “Bourrienne, that’s enough. My ears have heard enough of prattle.”

      “That’s my opinion, General.”

      “It is up to you to take care of paying everything.”

      “I would be happy to. Give me the necessary sum, and I shall quickly take care of it, I guarantee.”

      “How much do you need?”

      “How much do I need? Well, yes.…”

      “Well?”

      “Well, Madame Bonaparte doesn’t dare tell you.”

      “What? She doesn’t dare tell me? And how about you?”

      “Nor do I, General.”

      “Nor do you! Then it must be a colossal amount!”

      Bourrienne sighed.

      “Let’s see now,” Bonaparte continued. “If I pay for this year like last year, and give you three hundred thousand francs.…”

      Bourrienne didn’t say a word. Bonaparte looked at him worriedly. “Say something, you imbecile!”

      “Well, if you give me three hundred thousand francs, General, you would be giving me only half of the debt.”

      “Half!” shouted Bonaparte, getting to his feet. “Six hundred thousand francs! … She owes … six hundred thousand francs?”

      Bourrienne nodded.

      “She admitted she owed that amount?”

      “Yes, General.”

      “And where does she expect me to get the money to pay these six hundred thousand francs? From my five-hundred-thousand-franc salary as consul?”

      “Oh, she assumes you have several thousand franc bills hid somewhere in reserve.”

      “Six hundred thousand francs!” Bonaparte repeated. “And at the same time my wife is spending six hundred thousand francs on clothing, I’m giving one hundred francs as pension to the widow and children of brave soldiers killed at the Pyramids or Marengo! And I can’t even give money to all of them! And they have to live the whole year on those one hundred francs, while Madame Bonaparte wears dresses worth one hundred louis and hats worth twenty-five. You must have heard incorrectly, Bourrienne, it surely cannot be six hundred thousand francs.”

      “I heard perfectly well, General, and Madame Bonaparte realized what her situation was only yesterday when she saw a bill for gloves that came to forty thousand francs.”

      “What are you saying?” shouted Bonaparte.

      “I’m saying forty thousand francs for gloves, General. What do you expect? That is how things are. Yesterday she went over her accounts with Madame Hulot. She spent the night in tears, and she was still weeping this morning when I saw her.”

      “Well, let her cry! Let her cry with shame, or even out of remorse! Forty thousand francs for gloves! Over how many months?”

      “Over one year,” Bourrienne answered.

      “One year! That’s enough food for forty families! Bourrienne, I want to see all those bills.”

      “When?”

      “Immediately. It’s eight o’clock, and I don’t see Cadoudal until nine, so I have the time. Immediately, Bourrienne. Immediately!”

      “You’re quite right, General. Now that we have started, let’s get to the end of this business.”

      “Go get all the bills, all of them, you understand. We shall go through them together.”

      “I’m on my way, General.” And Bourrienne ran down the stairway leading to Madame Bonaparte’s apartment.

      Left alone, the First Consul began to pace up and down, his hands clasped behind his back, his shoulder and mouth twitching. He started mumbling to himself: “I ought to have remembered what Junot told me at the fountains in Messoudia. I ought to have listened to my brothers Joseph and Lucien who told me not to see her when I got back. But how could I have resisted seeing my dear children Hortense and Eugene? The children brought me back to her! Divorce! I shall keep divorce legal in France, if only so I can leave that woman. That woman who gives me no children, and she’s ruining me!”

      “Well,” said Bourrienne as he reentered the study, “six hundred thousand francs won’t ruin you, and Madame Bonaparte is still young enough to give you a son who in another forty years will succeed you as consul for life!”

      “You have always taken her side, Bourrienne!” said Bonaparte, pinching his ear so hard the secretary cried out.

      “What do you expect, General? I’m for everything that is beautiful, good, and feeble.”

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