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

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СКАЧАТЬ was heading to Vannes, Cadoudal was galloping to the beaches at Erdeven and Carnac, where his boat, only apparently a fishing boat, was plying along the coast.

      Three days later, Sol de Grisolles was in Paris, requesting from the First Consul a safe-conduct and a meeting for a matter of the greatest importance. The First Consul sent Duroc to his hotel, but Grisolles, apologizing politely like a true gentleman, declared that he could repeat only to General Bonaparte the message he carried from General Cadoudal. Duroc reported back to the First Consul and then returned to escort Grisolles to the Tuileries.

      Bonaparte, it turned out, was quite upset about the Cadoudal matter. “So,” he said without allowing Sol de Grisolles time to speak, “that is how your general keeps his word. He agrees to leave for London, and instead he stays in the Morbihan where he raises bands of burning brigades who rampage all over, as if he were Mandrin or Poulailler. But I have given orders. All the authorities have been alerted. If he is taken, he will be shot like a bandit without a trial. Don’t tell me it’s not true. Le Journal de Paris has published an article, and my police reports agree. Besides, people have recognized him.”

      “Will the First Consul permit me to answer,” said Sol de Grisolles, “and to prove my friend’s innocence with a few words?” Bonaparte shrugged.

      “And if in five minutes you admit that your newspapers and your police reports are wrong and I am in the right, what will you say?”

      “I will say… I will say that Régnier is an idiot, that is all.”

      “Well, General. A copy of Le Journal de Paris reporting that Cadoudal had never left France and was raising burning brigades in the Morbihan ended up in his hands in London. He immediately boarded a fishing boat and came back to France, landing on the Quiberon peninsula. He hid at a farm that was to be burned that very night, and he burst from his hiding place just as the leader of the brigade, who claimed himself to be Cadoudal, was about to torture the farmer. The farmer’s name is Jacques Doley; the farm is called Plescop. Cadoudal walked straight up to the man who had usurped his name and blew out his brains, saying: ‘You are lying. I am Cadoudal.’

      “And then he asked me to tell you, General, that in fact it was you, or at least your police, who had tried to sully his name by placing at the head of the burning brigades a man of his size and stature, a man who looked enough like him to be mistaken for him. He took vengeance on the man by killing him right there on the spot. That done, he ran the others off the farm they had presumed to seize, although there were twenty of them and he was but one.”

      “What you are telling me is impossible.”

      “I saw the body, and here is a letter from two farmers attesting to it all.” Grisolles placed under the First Consul’s eyes the written account of the night’s events. It was signed by Jacques Doley and his wife.

      “So,” Grisolles continued, “Cadoudal now frees you from your promise and takes back his own. He is unable to declare war since you have stripped him of all his means of defense, but he declares upon you a Corsican vendetta. For you he adopts the code of your own country: Defend yourself! He will defend himself!”

      “Citizen,” Duroc cried, “do you know whom you are speaking to?”

      “I am speaking to a man who gave us his word as we gave him ours, who was bound as we were, and who had no more right to violate that word than did we.”

      “He is right, Duroc,” said Bonaparte. “Still, we need to know if he’s telling the truth.”

      “General, when a Breton gives his word.…” Sol de Grisolles cried.

      “A Breton can be mistaken or tricked. Duroc, go get Fouché.”

      Ten minutes later, Fouché was in the First Consul’s office. The former Minister of Police had scarcely cleared the doorway when Bonaparte called out, “Monsieur Fouché, where is Cadoudal?”

      Fouché began to laugh. “I could answer that I have no idea.”

      “Why do you say that?”

      “Because I am no longer Minister of Police.”

      “You still hold the office.…”

      “… but am on the way out.”

      “No more joking, Fouché. But, yes, you are on the way out. I am still paying you, however, and you still have the same agents, so you can still tell me what I need to know as you still are, technically, officially minister. I asked you where Cadoudal was.”

      “As of now, he must be back in London.”

      “So he had left England?”

      “Yes.”

      “For what reason?”

      “To blow out the brains of a fellow who had assumed his identity.”

      “And did he kill him?”

      “Right in the presence of the fellow’s twenty men at the Plescop farm. But this man,” he said, pointing to Sol de Grisolles, “can tell you more than I can about the matter. He was close by when it happened. Plescop, I believe, is only two and a half leagues from Auray.”

      “What?! You knew all that and you did not alert me?”

      “Monsieur Régnier is prefect of police. It was his job to let you know. I am just an ordinary citizen, a senator.”

      “So it’s clear, the prefecture is a job honest men will never know properly how to do,” said Bonaparte.

      “Thank you, General,” said Fouché.

      “Indeed. All you need is for people to think that you’re an honest man. In your place, Fouché, I would aim for something higher.

      “Monsieur de Grisolles, you are free to go. As a man and as a Corsican, I accept the vendetta that Cadoudal announces. Let him defend himself, and I will defend myself. But, if he is captured, there shall be no mercy.”

      “That is exactly how he expects it to be,” said the Breton with a bow, and took his leave.

      “Did you hear, Monsieur Fouché?” said Bonaparte when the door had closed on the two of them. “He has declared a vendetta. It’s your job to protect me.”

      “Make me Minister of Police once again, and I’ll be happy to protect you.”

      “You’re a fool, Monsieur Fouché. As bright as you think you are, you’re a fool. For the less you are Minister of Police, visibly at least, the easier it will be for you to protect me, since no one will mistrust you. Besides, it has been only two months since I abolished the Ministry of Police, so I cannot very well restore it without good reason. Save me from some great danger; then I shall restore it. Meanwhile, I shall open for you a credit line of five hundred thousand francs from secret funds. Use it as you need, and when it runs out, let me know. Above all, I want you to see to it that no misfortune befalls Cadoudal. I want him taken alive!”

      “We shall try. But to do that, he first needs to come back to France.”

      “Oh, he’ll be back!—you can be sure of that. I’ll be expecting to hear from you.”

      Fouché СКАЧАТЬ