The Man of Destiny

honor. Napoleon Hm! Nothing worse than that? He takes up the paper. Lady And your happiness. Napoleon Happiness, little woman, is the most tedious thing in the world to me. Should I be what I am if I cared for happiness? Anything else? Lady Nothing⁠—He interrupts her with an exclamation of satisfaction. She proceeds quietly, except that you will cut a very foolish figure in the eyes of France. Napoleon Quickly. What? The hand holding the paper involuntarily drops. The lady looks at him enigmatically in tranquil silence. He throws the letter down and breaks out into a torrent of scolding. What do you mean? Eh? Are you at your tricks again? Do you think I don’t know what these papers contain? I’ll tell you. First, my information as to Beaulieu’s retreat. There are only two things he can do⁠—leatherbrained idiot that he is!⁠—shut himself up in Mantua or violate the neutrality of Venice by taking Peschiera. You are one of old Leatherbrain’s spies: he has discovered that he has been betrayed, and has sent you to intercept the information at all hazards⁠—as if that could save him from me, the old fool! The other papers are only my usual correspondence from Paris, of which you know nothing. Lady Prompt and businesslike. General: let us make a fair division. Take the information your spies have sent you about the Austrian army; and give me the Paris correspondence. That will content me. Napoleon His breath taken away by the coolness of the proposal. A fair di⁠—He gasps. It seems to me, madame, that you have come to regard my letters as your own property, of which I am trying to rob you. Lady Earnestly. No: on my honor I ask for no letter of yours⁠—not a word that has been written by you or to you. That packet contains a stolen letter: a letter written by a woman to a man⁠—a man not her husband⁠—a letter that means disgrace, infamy⁠— Napoleon A love letter? Lady Bitter-sweetly. What else but a love letter could stir up so much hate? Napoleon Why is it sent to me? To put the husband in my power, eh? Lady No, no: it can be of no use to you: I swear that it will cost you nothing to give it to me. It has been sent to you out of sheer malice⁠—solely to injure the woman who wrote it. Napoleon Then why not send it to her husband instead of to me? Lady Completely taken aback. Oh! Sinking back into the chair. I⁠—I don’t know. She breaks down. Napoleon Aha! I thought so: a little romance to get the papers back. He throws the packet on the table and confronts her with cynical good humor. Per Bacco, little woman, I can’t help admiring you. If I could lie like that, it would save me a great deal of trouble. Lady Wringing her hands. Oh, how I wish I really had told you some lie! You would have believed me then. The truth is the one thing that nobody will believe. Napoleon With coarse familiarity, treating her as if she were a vivandiere. Capital! Capital! He puts his hands behind him on the table, and lifts himself on to it, sitting with his arms akimbo and his legs wide apart. Come: I am a true Corsican in my love for stories. But I could tell them better than you if I set my mind to it. Next time you are asked why a letter compromising a wife should not be sent to her husband, answer simply that the husband would not read it. Do you suppose, little innocent, that a man wants to be compelled by public opinion to make a scene, to fight a duel, to break up his household, to injure his career by a scandal, when he can avoid it all by taking care not to know? Lady Revolted. Suppose that packet contained a letter about your own wife? Napoleon Offended, coming off the table. You are impertinent, madame. Lady Humbly. I beg your above suspicion. Napoleon With a deliberate assumption of superiority. You have committed an indiscretion. I pardon you. In future, do not permit yourself to introduce real persons in your romances. Lady Politely ignoring a speech which is to her only a breach of good manners, and rising to move towards the table. General: there really is a woman’s letter there. Pointing to the packet. Give it to me. Napoleon With brute conciseness, moving so as to prevent her getting too near the letters. Why? Lady She is an old friend: we were at school together. She has written to me imploring me to prevent the letter falling into your hands. Napoleon Why has it been sent to me? Lady Because it compromises the director Barras. Napoleon Frowning, evidently startled. Barras! Haughtily. Take care, madame. The director Barras is my attached personal friend. Lady Nodding placidly. Yes. You became friends through your wife. Napoleon Again! Have I not forbidden you to speak of my wife? She keeps looking curiously at him, taking no account of the rebuke. More and more irritated, he drops his haughty manner, of which he is himself somewhat impatient, and says suspiciously, lowering his voice, Who is this woman with whom you sympathize so deeply? Lady Oh, General! How could I tell you that? Napoleon Ill-humoredly, beginning to walk about again in angry perplexity. Ay, ay: stand by one another. You are all the same, you women. Lady Indignantly. We are not all the same, any more than you are. Do you think that if I loved another man, I should pretend to go on loving my husband, or be afraid to tell him or all the world? But this woman is not made that way. She governs men by cheating them; and with disdain they like it, and let her govern them. She sits down again, with her back to him. Napoleon Not attending to her.