Napoléon's "Wife"¹

Maréchal Louis-Alexandre Berthier
Source

He was torn, the Emperor had returned. Though he had reconciled himself to the Bourbons, deep inside he couldn't shake his feelings for Napoléon. As much as the Emperor had abused him during their many campaigns together, both understood that together they made a powerful team.

He had decided to pull up stakes and move into Germany, Bamberg to be specific. He had many friends there, not a few enemies as well. But he wanted to put distance between himself and the uproar in Paris. Then he would decide whether or not to keep himself aloof from Napoléon's return, or rejoin the Corsican.

Another factor was his age, after all, he was 61 years of age and was worn out from the campaigns. Particularly Russia, like many in the Army, though he had survived, he had left many friends there, their bodies left to rot under foreign soil. To be honest, he felt as if he'd left a piece of himself there as well.

For a moment he thought of his mistress, his Giuseppa, the love of his life. The Emperor frowned upon that relationship, had even forced him to marry a German princess. Oddly enough, his mistress and his wife became fast friends. Berthier still wondered if his wife knew the whole story behind his Italian lover. Surely she must know.

Berthier sighed, then opened the letter which had been handed to him by the young man waiting patiently behind him some minutes ago. He had recognized the seal instantly, one which he had issued orders under for many a year, the personal seal of the Emperor himself.

Breaking the wax, he opened the letter, wondering if the Emperor had written it himself or if he had dictated it to an aide. He recognized the handwriting, the letter was in the Emperor's own hand.

"Better than any code," he chuckled as he said that.

"Sir?"

"The Emperor's handwriting, I'm one of the few who can actually read it. And interpret its meaning."

The young messenger remained silent at that.

Berthier read the missive, nodding once, then again, as he if agreed with what the Emperor seemed to be saying. Well, one thing was clear, war was coming and Napoléon wanted him back, at headquarters and in the field. Berthier sighed.

"Will you be returning directly to the Emperor?" he inquired of the messenger.

"Only if you continue on into Germany, Sir. Otherwise I am to accompany you back to Paris. There is a squadron of Chasseurs waiting nearby to provide your escort. To protect you."

"Do I need protection?" Berthier turned in his seat, suddenly annoyed.

"Not from the Emperor, but there has been rumor of a plot to murder you."

"Rumor?"

The messenger looked towards the door, then reached into his jacket, producing another message. This one too had a seal, but the seal was broken.

"Someone else's mail?" Berthier scoffed as he took the paper. He saw that the seal was that of the Ministry of Police, the seal of Fouché himself.

He read the letter, then handed it back to the young man. "Has this been verified?"

"Non, monsieur, but every indication we have tends to make us believe it."

"So Fouché thinks to take charge of the government himself ..."

"So the Emperor believes."

"Let us be on our way then."

"To?"

"Why Paris, of course."

¹ The relationship between the Emperor and Berthier, his long time Chief of Staff, was very close. Though Napoléon abused the man at times, he knew that Berthier was the perfect interpreter of the Imperial will. The Emperor's orders were often short, unclear, but Berthier apparently lived in side Napoléon's brain and could issue concise and clear orders. The Emperor's will was often indiscernible, until it went through Berthier. The Army often referred to Berthier as the Emperor's wife.