Res non verba

"Oh, he has, has he? Well, that is MOST interesting. What has he been saying to you, General Hoche, that has you looking like Hercules about to tear down the temple?"

Kleber gestured to his open barouche, which was waiting outside, with one of his manservants driving.

"I'd be interested to know... I do not know if you have heard the rumors, but Madame is... missing and I do have concerns that she may be in danger or... at least very pissed off at me, and that means I'm in danger.. ha.. ha... she terrifies me sometimes, she does.... "

Hoche climbs into the barouche. It's no easy feat, fitting two men of their size in one vehicle.

I hadn't heard. This is indeed bad news. Pichegru did say something about coercing a former mistress of your to write to you, do you think that could have something to do with it?

He frowns. That would be a horrible, underhanded way to proceed. At least, when Bonaparte had won Joséphine over, he had done so with nothing but his delightful personality.

"Pfft. It's a two-hour ride to Buttes-Chaumont... or it USED to be. Lord knows now in this odd place we find ourselves in. I can say that, well, to put it bluntly, a man such as Pichegru concerning himself with physical appearance when his is rather.. unfortunate may have something to do with it. Yet, he had no problem sporting with married women - the safest option, as you and I well know - and siring children."

Kleber pondered Hoche's next words, using a portable tinderbox to light his pipe, drawing on it, blowing the smoke out and away from Hoche, which is why he had suggested Hoche take the front seat to begin with.

"Coercing Pauline? Well, that makes bloody sense, then - I was writing her back, to let her know I was married, and inviting her to the wedding - not for any sort of cruelty, mind you. She has her own life, and a damned good one she made of it. Madame took it as something else, and I am afraid she bolted before I could let her know. She has so few female friends, you see... I'd like her to have more, she needs ladies to do lady-things with."

Kleber opened the brandy, and with no small skill, the pipe clenched between his teeth, poured it into two small silver travel-cups, handing one to Hoche, with a nod.

"Not too much, mind you, we do need our wits about us, if Mars and Hercules are about to break into the chamber of Dionysus and stomp on a few grapes..."

Kleber winked, drained his glass and poured himself another one.

I'm sure I don't know what you mean. Mme de Beauharnais was a widow when we met.

He smiled. A widow of a couple of weeks, which Kléber no doubt knew. It should make it all worse, but he didn't really care.

I suppose there aren't too many ladies around here. Can you imagine, Rose is trying to convince Bonaparte and myself to share her affections.

He emptied his cup more slowly than Kléber and considered his words.

You are right, General. We are soldiers and not politicians, and soldiers in peace must be brothers. Especially if they have enemies in common.

He settled into the carriage for a long trip. By instinct, his fingers started fiddling with his sword, drawing it an inch and dropping it back in its sheath rhythmically. That was terrible for the sheath, as he'd been told numerous times, but he couldn't help it.

Kleber rumbled, softer, pausing as he sucked on his pipe, mercifully quiet, stroking his sideburns with his free hand, the brandy-glass empty and set back into the basket. The subtle -shik-shik-shik- of Hoche's sword, which used to bug him, actually helped him to think this time, which Kleber found to be rather interesting.

"Hmm.. I never asked you why you did that - I know you and Madame both twirl your locks up by your ear- I've seen her do it. She will actually take a biro pen - one of her modern ones, called a ball-point - and do what you are doing with your sabre - only with her it is pressing the button to make the pen click, same rhythm. It's why I have a pencil and a small notebook, or this book of matches...anyway... yes. ha-hmm, the plan.... "

Kleber cleared his throat and tried to gather his thoughts; which was, to be honest, like herding cats. He always had a million thoughts going through his head at any given point in time, like a running commentary. It was bloody aggravating at times; but at least he never gave VOICE to them like Bonaparte did. That would be stupid.

"I wish to know where my wife is... and I shall ask Pichegru if he knows, and if I do not like the answer, well... "

I don't always notice that I am doing it. It is as if my body needs to move and I cannot suppress it. If I try, I get exasperated or strangely nervous.

He wasn't about to explain it to a man who was so recently a friend, but he found it increased when he was nervous. Unfortunately, the list of what made Lazare nervous extended to simply being in a public space or reading the papers. He didn't think himself a coward, and had no need for fidgeting in the heat of the battle. He wasn't afraid, it was more like being perceived by others bothered him.

I hope you find your wife well and safe.

He leaned forward with a sly grin.

And if you do like the answer you get, I suggest we give him a thrashing anyway. He more than deserves it.

He sat back and casually crossed an ankle over his knee. He was beginning to enjoy himself, despite his usual distaste for shared vehicles. Horse riding was where things were, in his opinion. Besides, riding gave one fantastic thighs.

That's what my wife says, too - she says it helps her to concentrate, or to distract her because the world is too loud, whatever THAT means. She also has... well, headphones - I don't know how to describe them other than music comes out of them, and when she has them on, I have to approach her quietly and get into her line of vision or... well, let's just say she has a wicked right hook."

Kleber chuckled, rubbing at his sideburns for a moment.

"I expect it is the same with you - things just get too much at times, and you need the distraction."

Kleber sighed, and looked out as the gate of Belleville approached, his left arm hanging on the outside of the barouche, fingers drumming restlessly.

"I hope so, too. You know I never married in the living years.. never had the inclination to do so, nor the luck... Madame says it was Karma for me being such a rake in my youth... but.. she's different... I'm sure you've heard of her exploits; she is like the Furies of the early years of our armies, when women took up arms as well, until the CSP put the kibbosh on it in 93. Some still fought, with those Letters of Exception."

Kleber paused at Hoche's next words, and grinned as well, his large canines giving him an almost wolfish air, made all the fiercer by his bushy sideburns and day-old stubble.

"Oh, I intend to... matter of principle. I can forgive him for treating with the enemy in '95 - the Directory was corrupt and eating us alive - even if he denounced both of us - you especially - to gain favor with the merdaille in the CSP. You do know my 'lack of Republicanism' was not because of cowardice - men cannot fight on empty bellies, with no weapons, no clothing - fervent love for one's country is good and all, General, but it does not fill bellies nor provide the powder and bullets to fire on the enemy..."

Kleber leaned out of the barouche and gave the gendarme at the gate the credentials, and a few coins as they paused to pay the toll.

"My father was such a man as you, Monsieur. Guarded the main gate of Strasbourg, he did... had a fine horse and a fine truncheon."

To Hoche:

I am less inclined to forgive him his betrayal. I must admit that part of it is that his command should have been mine, if not for the politicking of the CSP. Pichegru never had a lick of sense. But as you say, it is the past.

The countryside rolled past under their eyes. Lazare, who had grown up in the bustle and noise of the court of Versailles and it's stables, appreciated the calm of rural life in peace time.

From what I have heard, Pichegru has been making quite the spectacle of himself of late. He is hell-bent on screaming about his death, accusing Fouché of murdering him. You know, the gunner of Ville-Affranchie. Pathetic. All of us here have died, but you don't see us making such a fuss out of it.

His own death had been a long and painful agony. He had thought he'd go mad from the pain before he even passed. Kléber, he vaguely heard, had been murdered. He knew better than to pry, but he privately thought that whoever had taken on the giant must have been brave indeed.

"Oh, he has, has he? Well, that is MOST interesting. What has he been saying to you, General Hoche, that has you looking like Hercules about to tear down the temple?"

Kleber gestured to his open barouche, which was waiting outside, with one of his manservants driving.

"I'd be interested to know... I do not know if you have heard the rumors, but Madame is... missing and I do have concerns that she may be in danger or... at least very pissed off at me, and that means I'm in danger.. ha.. ha... she terrifies me sometimes, she does.... "

Hoche climbs into the barouche. It's no easy feat, fitting two men of their size in one vehicle.

I hadn't heard. This is indeed bad news. Pichegru did say something about coercing a former mistress of your to write to you, do you think that could have something to do with it?

He frowns. That would be a horrible, underhanded way to proceed. At least, when Bonaparte had won Joséphine over, he had done so with nothing but his delightful personality.

"Pfft. It's a two-hour ride to Buttes-Chaumont... or it USED to be. Lord knows now in this odd place we find ourselves in. I can say that, well, to put it bluntly, a man such as Pichegru concerning himself with physical appearance when his is rather.. unfortunate may have something to do with it. Yet, he had no problem sporting with married women - the safest option, as you and I well know - and siring children."

Kleber pondered Hoche's next words, using a portable tinderbox to light his pipe, drawing on it, blowing the smoke out and away from Hoche, which is why he had suggested Hoche take the front seat to begin with.

"Coercing Pauline? Well, that makes bloody sense, then - I was writing her back, to let her know I was married, and inviting her to the wedding - not for any sort of cruelty, mind you. She has her own life, and a damned good one she made of it. Madame took it as something else, and I am afraid she bolted before I could let her know. She has so few female friends, you see... I'd like her to have more, she needs ladies to do lady-things with."

Kleber opened the brandy, and with no small skill, the pipe clenched between his teeth, poured it into two small silver travel-cups, handing one to Hoche, with a nod.

"Not too much, mind you, we do need our wits about us, if Mars and Hercules are about to break into the chamber of Dionysus and stomp on a few grapes..."

Kleber winked, drained his glass and poured himself another one.

I'm sure I don't know what you mean. Mme de Beauharnais was a widow when we met.

He smiled. A widow of a couple of weeks, which Kléber no doubt knew. It should make it all worse, but he didn't really care.

I suppose there aren't too many ladies around here. Can you imagine, Rose is trying to convince Bonaparte and myself to share her affections.

He emptied his cup more slowly than Kléber and considered his words.

You are right, General. We are soldiers and not politicians, and soldiers in peace must be brothers. Especially if they have enemies in common.

He settled into the carriage for a long trip. By instinct, his fingers started fiddling with his sword, drawing it an inch and dropping it back in its sheath rhythmically. That was terrible for the sheath, as he'd been told numerous times, but he couldn't help it.

Kleber rumbled, softer, pausing as he sucked on his pipe, mercifully quiet, stroking his sideburns with his free hand, the brandy-glass empty and set back into the basket. The subtle -shik-shik-shik- of Hoche's sword, which used to bug him, actually helped him to think this time, which Kleber found to be rather interesting.

"Hmm.. I never asked you why you did that - I know you and Madame both twirl your locks up by your ear- I've seen her do it. She will actually take a biro pen - one of her modern ones, called a ball-point - and do what you are doing with your sabre - only with her it is pressing the button to make the pen click, same rhythm. It's why I have a pencil and a small notebook, or this book of matches...anyway... yes. ha-hmm, the plan.... "

Kleber cleared his throat and tried to gather his thoughts; which was, to be honest, like herding cats. He always had a million thoughts going through his head at any given point in time, like a running commentary. It was bloody aggravating at times; but at least he never gave VOICE to them like Bonaparte did. That would be stupid.

"I wish to know where my wife is... and I shall ask Pichegru if he knows, and if I do not like the answer, well... "

I don't always notice that I am doing it. It is as if my body needs to move and I cannot suppress it. If I try, I get exasperated or strangely nervous.

He wasn't about to explain it to a man who was so recently a friend, but he found it increased when he was nervous. Unfortunately, the list of what made Lazare nervous extended to simply being in a public space or reading the papers. He didn't think himself a coward, and had no need for fidgeting in the heat of the battle. He wasn't afraid, it was more like being perceived by others bothered him.

I hope you find your wife well and safe.

He leaned forward with a sly grin.

And if you do like the answer you get, I suggest we give him a thrashing anyway. He more than deserves it.

He sat back and casually crossed an ankle over his knee. He was beginning to enjoy himself, despite his usual distaste for shared vehicles. Horse riding was where things were, in his opinion. Besides, riding gave one fantastic thighs.

"Oh, he has, has he? Well, that is MOST interesting. What has he been saying to you, General Hoche, that has you looking like Hercules about to tear down the temple?"

Kleber gestured to his open barouche, which was waiting outside, with one of his manservants driving.

"I'd be interested to know... I do not know if you have heard the rumors, but Madame is... missing and I do have concerns that she may be in danger or... at least very pissed off at me, and that means I'm in danger.. ha.. ha... she terrifies me sometimes, she does.... "

Hoche climbs into the barouche. It's no easy feat, fitting two men of their size in one vehicle.

I hadn't heard. This is indeed bad news. Pichegru did say something about coercing a former mistress of your to write to you, do you think that could have something to do with it?

He frowns. That would be a horrible, underhanded way to proceed. At least, when Bonaparte had won Joséphine over, he had done so with nothing but his delightful personality.

"Pfft. It's a two-hour ride to Buttes-Chaumont... or it USED to be. Lord knows now in this odd place we find ourselves in. I can say that, well, to put it bluntly, a man such as Pichegru concerning himself with physical appearance when his is rather.. unfortunate may have something to do with it. Yet, he had no problem sporting with married women - the safest option, as you and I well know - and siring children."

Kleber pondered Hoche's next words, using a portable tinderbox to light his pipe, drawing on it, blowing the smoke out and away from Hoche, which is why he had suggested Hoche take the front seat to begin with.

"Coercing Pauline? Well, that makes bloody sense, then - I was writing her back, to let her know I was married, and inviting her to the wedding - not for any sort of cruelty, mind you. She has her own life, and a damned good one she made of it. Madame took it as something else, and I am afraid she bolted before I could let her know. She has so few female friends, you see... I'd like her to have more, she needs ladies to do lady-things with."

Kleber opened the brandy, and with no small skill, the pipe clenched between his teeth, poured it into two small silver travel-cups, handing one to Hoche, with a nod.

"Not too much, mind you, we do need our wits about us, if Mars and Hercules are about to break into the chamber of Dionysus and stomp on a few grapes..."

Kleber winked, drained his glass and poured himself another one.

I'm sure I don't know what you mean. Mme de Beauharnais was a widow when we met.

He smiled. A widow of a couple of weeks, which Kléber no doubt knew. It should make it all worse, but he didn't really care.

I suppose there aren't too many ladies around here. Can you imagine, Rose is trying to convince Bonaparte and myself to share her affections.

He emptied his cup more slowly than Kléber and considered his words.

You are right, General. We are soldiers and not politicians, and soldiers in peace must be brothers. Especially if they have enemies in common.

He settled into the carriage for a long trip. By instinct, his fingers started fiddling with his sword, drawing it an inch and dropping it back in its sheath rhythmically. That was terrible for the sheath, as he'd been told numerous times, but he couldn't help it.

"Oh, he has, has he? Well, that is MOST interesting. What has he been saying to you, General Hoche, that has you looking like Hercules about to tear down the temple?"

Kleber gestured to his open barouche, which was waiting outside, with one of his manservants driving.

"I'd be interested to know... I do not know if you have heard the rumors, but Madame is... missing and I do have concerns that she may be in danger or... at least very pissed off at me, and that means I'm in danger.. ha.. ha... she terrifies me sometimes, she does.... "

Hoche climbs into the barouche. It's no easy feat, fitting two men of their size in one vehicle.

I hadn't heard. This is indeed bad news. Pichegru did say something about coercing a former mistress of your to write to you, do you think that could have something to do with it?

He frowns. That would be a horrible, underhanded way to proceed. At least, when Bonaparte had won Joséphine over, he had done so with nothing but his delightful personality.

Salut et fraternité

@lazarehoche

General,

I have received your letter - drenched as it is in the perfume of compromise - and read it with the same skepticism I reserve for priests and moderates. Your offer of peace, though elegantly phrased, reads less like a honest, strategic approach and more like a plea from a man fatigued by consequences and jealousy. Regardless: if your offer is reconciliation, my offer is nonchalance. And if you would rather keep trying to drag sentiments out of me instead of revealing your true purpose with your letter, I suggest you find a monastery - or a salon - more fitting for your delicate sensibilities. The Revolution is not swayed by kind words, it only speaks the language of justice.

Salut et fraternité,

Words alone do not make a revolution, actions do. Actions and sacrifice.

I know this and you do as well.

Because you didn't care to compromise with me and my opinions, you doomed so many soldiers to die under the fire of a more powerful adversary. I suppose it was alright for you, because you were not there on the battlefield to see the bodies for yourself, Commissaire aux armées.

You want to know what I truly wanted? Well, since I lived to see the failure of the Revolution we both laid our lives on the line for - and I was only saved from dying by your death - I would like you to acknowledge your errors that had devastating impact on the army. You were never a soldier, you should not have picked our leaders based simply on who could kiss the most arse. I at least was honest in my opinion : I loved the Revolution, but not Robespierre and not you. For this honesty many fine men paid the price.

I don't need to grovel before you. Posterity has judged us both.

@le-vieux-cordelier you wish for action over words? You are a journalist, I have led my men under fire.

Well spoken, well spoken. I knew Representative Saint-Just at Fleurus. I had no opinion of him, though others did. I was passed over for any promotions, for I knew that in a Herbertiste or Girondin, or Jacobin or Dantonist government, my head was suspect.

I tried to wage a humanist war - and yes I understand how ridiculous that sounds; I called for moderation while that drunkard Rossignol and all his Gernegross little toadies, including Representative Hentz and Reubell, clamored for burning people alive along with their non-juring priests in the Vendee, a theatre both you and I fought in.

What happened in Nantes I tried to prevent; it was wholesale murder of French citizens, regardless of their leanings for or against our Republic; had we gone about things with less Revolutionary Zeal, we could have pacified the region and brought them over to us.

For this, my head was under the shadow of the National Razor more than once. For my advice on how to deal with the Austrians in 1796, giving Advice to Beurnonville, I was labeled a traitor. For wishing to retire after petitioning the government again and again for supplies for our beloved Sambre-et-Meuse which never arrived, I was condemned and put on proscription.

Was wonderin' if you'd want to come along - I know we don't get along for reasons I can't even remember anymore - but... the enemy of my enemy is my friend, nicht war?

As for the CSP and the Directory, gonna say to them what I said to them in '97 when they put me on that proscription list, and then Carnot got me off of it, only to beg me to defend them and their lies - "If I fire on those traitors, know that I will turn my back on you!"

I certainly have heard Pichegru speak of your wife in most troubling terms. Something about kissing her portrait daily, and "breaking her to his will".

Hoche, let me remind you why you were dismissed: I do not, and let it be clear, question your military experience. But he who trembles before necessity already betrays it. The people demand action, not deliberation without end. In indecision lurks corruption, for to hesitate in the face of the enemy is to hold in contempt the blood of the nation that has armed you. Either way, I made a serious attempt to listen to the talk of you two but it bored me; it was like a whisper in the alleys of the night city: empty, without candor and fervor, only filled with contempt, greed and venomous treachery. Misery loves misery, yes? Speak to me right into the face if you wish to receive salvation - for that is what you came to me in the first place, n'est pas? Not on your knees, but with your words; and I more appreciate actions.

Kléber isn't convincing me of anything except going to give your dear Pichegru what he deserves for his behavior.

Salut et fraternité

@lazarehoche

General,

I have received your letter - drenched as it is in the perfume of compromise - and read it with the same skepticism I reserve for priests and moderates. Your offer of peace, though elegantly phrased, reads less like a honest, strategic approach and more like a plea from a man fatigued by consequences and jealousy. Regardless: if your offer is reconciliation, my offer is nonchalance. And if you would rather keep trying to drag sentiments out of me instead of revealing your true purpose with your letter, I suggest you find a monastery - or a salon - more fitting for your delicate sensibilities. The Revolution is not swayed by kind words, it only speaks the language of justice.

Salut et fraternité,

Words alone do not make a revolution, actions do. Actions and sacrifice.

I know this and you do as well.

Because you didn't care to compromise with me and my opinions, you doomed so many soldiers to die under the fire of a more powerful adversary. I suppose it was alright for you, because you were not there on the battlefield to see the bodies for yourself, Commissaire aux armées.

You want to know what I truly wanted? Well, since I lived to see the failure of the Revolution we both laid our lives on the line for - and I was only saved from dying by your death - I would like you to acknowledge your errors that had devastating impact on the army. You were never a soldier, you should not have picked our leaders based simply on who could kiss the most arse. I at least was honest in my opinion : I loved the Revolution, but not Robespierre and not you. For this honesty many fine men paid the price.

I don't need to grovel before you. Posterity has judged us both.

@le-vieux-cordelier you wish for action over words? You are a journalist, I have led my men under fire.

Well spoken, well spoken. I knew Representative Saint-Just at Fleurus. I had no opinion of him, though others did. I was passed over for any promotions, for I knew that in a Herbertiste or Girondin, or Jacobin or Dantonist government, my head was suspect.

I tried to wage a humanist war - and yes I understand how ridiculous that sounds; I called for moderation while that drunkard Rossignol and all his Gernegross little toadies, including Representative Hentz and Reubell, clamored for burning people alive along with their non-juring priests in the Vendee, a theatre both you and I fought in.

What happened in Nantes I tried to prevent; it was wholesale murder of French citizens, regardless of their leanings for or against our Republic; had we gone about things with less Revolutionary Zeal, we could have pacified the region and brought them over to us.

For this, my head was under the shadow of the National Razor more than once. For my advice on how to deal with the Austrians in 1796, giving Advice to Beurnonville, I was labeled a traitor. For wishing to retire after petitioning the government again and again for supplies for our beloved Sambre-et-Meuse which never arrived, I was condemned and put on proscription.

Was wonderin' if you'd want to come along - I know we don't get along for reasons I can't even remember anymore - but... the enemy of my enemy is my friend, nicht war?

As for the CSP and the Directory, gonna say to them what I said to them in '97 when they put me on that proscription list, and then Carnot got me off of it, only to beg me to defend them and their lies - "If I fire on those traitors, know that I will turn my back on you!"

I certainly have heard Pichegru speak of your wife in most troubling terms. Something about kissing her portrait daily, and "breaking her to his will".

Salut et fraternité

@lazarehoche

General,

I have received your letter - drenched as it is in the perfume of compromise - and read it with the same skepticism I reserve for priests and moderates. Your offer of peace, though elegantly phrased, reads less like a honest, strategic approach and more like a plea from a man fatigued by consequences and jealousy. Regardless: if your offer is reconciliation, my offer is nonchalance. And if you would rather keep trying to drag sentiments out of me instead of revealing your true purpose with your letter, I suggest you find a monastery - or a salon - more fitting for your delicate sensibilities. The Revolution is not swayed by kind words, it only speaks the language of justice.

Salut et fraternité,

Words alone do not make a revolution, actions do. Actions and sacrifice.

I know this and you do as well.

Because you didn't care to compromise with me and my opinions, you doomed so many soldiers to die under the fire of a more powerful adversary. I suppose it was alright for you, because you were not there on the battlefield to see the bodies for yourself, Commissaire aux armées.

You want to know what I truly wanted? Well, since I lived to see the failure of the Revolution we both laid our lives on the line for - and I was only saved from dying by your death - I would like you to acknowledge your errors that had devastating impact on the army. You were never a soldier, you should not have picked our leaders based simply on who could kiss the most arse. I at least was honest in my opinion : I loved the Revolution, but not Robespierre and not you. For this honesty many fine men paid the price.

I don't need to grovel before you. Posterity has judged us both.

@le-vieux-cordelier you wish for action over words? You are a journalist, I have led my men under fire.

Well spoken, well spoken. I knew Representative Saint-Just at Fleurus. I had no opinion of him, though others did. I was passed over for any promotions, for I knew that in a Herbertiste or Girondin, or Jacobin or Dantonist government, my head was suspect.

I tried to wage a humanist war - and yes I understand how ridiculous that sounds; I called for moderation while that drunkard Rossignol and all his Gernegross little toadies, including Representative Hentz and Reubell, clamored for burning people alive along with their non-juring priests in the Vendee, a theatre both you and I fought in.

What happened in Nantes I tried to prevent; it was wholesale murder of French citizens, regardless of their leanings for or against our Republic; had we gone about things with less Revolutionary Zeal, we could have pacified the region and brought them over to us.

For this, my head was under the shadow of the National Razor more than once. For my advice on how to deal with the Austrians in 1796, giving Advice to Beurnonville, I was labeled a traitor. For wishing to retire after petitioning the government again and again for supplies for our beloved Sambre-et-Meuse which never arrived, I was condemned and put on proscription.

Salut et fraternité

@lazarehoche

General,

I have received your letter - drenched as it is in the perfume of compromise - and read it with the same skepticism I reserve for priests and moderates. Your offer of peace, though elegantly phrased, reads less like a honest, strategic approach and more like a plea from a man fatigued by consequences and jealousy. Regardless: if your offer is reconciliation, my offer is nonchalance. And if you would rather keep trying to drag sentiments out of me instead of revealing your true purpose with your letter, I suggest you find a monastery - or a salon - more fitting for your delicate sensibilities. The Revolution is not swayed by kind words, it only speaks the language of justice.

Salut et fraternité,

Words alone do not make a revolution, actions do. Actions and sacrifice.

I know this and you do as well.

Because you didn't care to compromise with me and my opinions, you doomed so many soldiers to die under the fire of a more powerful adversary. I suppose it was alright for you, because you were not there on the battlefield to see the bodies for yourself, Commissaire aux armées.

You want to know what I truly wanted? Well, since I lived to see the failure of the Revolution we both laid our lives on the line for - and I was only saved from dying by your death - I would like you to acknowledge your errors that had devastating impact on the army. You were never a soldier, you should not have picked our leaders based simply on who could kiss the most arse. I at least was honest in my opinion : I loved the Revolution, but not Robespierre and not you. For this honesty many fine men paid the price.

I don't need to grovel before you. Posterity has judged us both.

@le-vieux-cordelier you wish for action over words? You are a journalist, I have led my men under fire.

Sincerely,

- @lazarehoche

I found myself here, in Buttes-Chaumont.. in my home... with strange neighbors... that loud bastard General d'Hautpoul and his band of merry-makers...

and I've found Moreau... living with Kleber, Marceau, Damas and others... and a *very* fetching little lady... my lord.. fiery of hair and of temper... I have **acquired** her portrait... kept it with me... I kiss it daily... Why should Kleber have such a pretty thing while I continue to languish, spending my coin in the brothels, and not even the nice ones... the Palais-Royal has cancelled my credit there...

You're still as much of a gross old man as you always were I see. You were bad enough with any lady who had the misfortune to meet you, and that's common enough among soldiers, but I can't help be a bit alarmed by that "empty headed pretty boy" comment...

Anyway. What would the proud Saint-Just, may his annoying soul rest in peace, think if he saw his protégé like this? To think he petitioned for you to take the place that was mine by rights because you were "more patriotic", hah! More adept at kissing up, rather.

How, my pretty little boy-General, could I have strangled myself? How? I mean, I AM into a newfangled joy called breath-play, but this would be beyond the pale.

I am not much older than you, mon blondin, yet I have more experience. I was a teacher once, and my language and writing is far more refined than your low-born shit-shoveling stable-speak - your speech and language would make a fishwife blush, nevermind your orthography and penmanship. It is nothing but creative, and full of expletives that no true Patriot would use in polite company.

How unpatriotic of you to rely on old prejudices of class to hoist yourself up! It's true that you don't have much else to prop up your image...

I wouldn't really call the citizen @tribundupeuple the "silent, strong type", quite the opposite. But whatever.

Good luck to her, I hope she breaks both of your arms. She seems to me to he the type of lady who aims for where it hurts, reminds me of one of our old cantinières.

Sincerely,

- @lazarehoche

I found myself here, in Buttes-Chaumont.. in my home... with strange neighbors... that loud bastard General d'Hautpoul and his band of merry-makers...

and I've found Moreau... living with Kleber, Marceau, Damas and others... and a *very* fetching little lady... my lord.. fiery of hair and of temper... I have **acquired** her portrait... kept it with me... I kiss it daily... Why should Kleber have such a pretty thing while I continue to languish, spending my coin in the brothels, and not even the nice ones... the Palais-Royal has cancelled my credit there...

You're still as much of a gross old man as you always were I see. You were bad enough with any lady who had the misfortune to meet you, and that's common enough among soldiers, but I can't help be a bit alarmed by that "empty headed pretty boy" comment...

Anyway. What would the proud Saint-Just, may his annoying soul rest in peace, think if he saw his protégé like this? To think he petitioned for you to take the place that was mine by rights because you were "more patriotic", hah! More adept at kissing up, rather.

Sincerely,

- @lazarehoche

Xavier and Sylvie read the letter. It brings back a sense of nostalgia for the time when the men in Sylvie's life held strong political positions and could assert their ideas, when her grandmother was still alive and encouraging them, and when Jean, her brother, was an adorable boy very close to them—before he turned his back on their father .

Xavier decides to speak first.

Ahh, those were truly the good old days... I started out as Secretary General under my future father-in-law, Pache, who already knew me well from the time I was involved with the Patriotic Society of Luxembourg, where we often had conversations along the way.

When I served as Secretary General under the Ministry of War, I had a number of responsibilities. We had to reorganize the entire administration, and it was a colossal—though rewarding—task. Among other things, I had to create an office to assist petitioners, including injured soldiers, women, or the elderly, providing them with information about the steps to follow for their requests.

Later, when my father-in-law was unjustly removed from his position as Minister of War, I lost that position as well. But when Bouchotte returned, I became assistant to the minister alongside my dear colleagues Prosper Sijas and Ronsin. Vincent also rose in rank, and we were able to place many more compatriots loyal to the Revolution, to avoid another disaster like the betrayal by the traitor Dumouriez.

During his arrest, @lazarehoche reached out to me so I could attest to his civic virtues. Charles de Hesse also asked me to intervene on his behalf so that he might be released. I also supported a promotion for the son of Fouquier-Tinville to a second lieutenant position in the 4th Regiment of Chasseurs à Cheval. I was accused of acting arbitrarily, but I explained myself before the Convention, and everyone was satisfied with the outcome.

Even though I got along well with my colleagues—who made many excellent decisions—there were times when I had to oppose them, as in the case of François-Siméon Chauvet, who was unjustly dismissed and later arrested. I threatened to resign if he was not immediately reinstated.

Naturally, I received correspondence from important generals, including Alexandre Dumas (@general-alex-dumas), then Commander-in-Chief, in March 1794 regarding the military situation.

Nevertheless, I never got along with Hédoin Pons-Ludon, a military officer who wanted to be promoted to lieutenant colonel. I believed that decree was unwarranted, and he hurled insults at me.

I also took measures to halt or reverse sudden dismissals that I believed to be arbitrary and harmful to the public good. My position did not prevent me from accompanying representatives of the people to assess the situation in various cities and among the troops stationed there.

Finally, although this role kept me very busy, it didn’t stop me from remaining politically active. I continued to propose judicial reforms, political initiatives, and, when I had the time, attended the Jacobin Club.

Sylvie, lost in her thoughts of youth, begins to speak, her eyes sparkling with emotion.

Unlike my husband, I was never able to hold a formal position. But I learned so much just like my brother, thanks to my father. I used to sit at the table with my father's collaborators, who were always brilliant minds—like Hassenfratz, Vergne, General Meunier, Gaspard Monge, Carnot-Feulins...

I saw my father develop excellent strategies for establishing a purchasing directorate, responsible for centralizing supply acquisitions for the ministries, alongside the excellent Swiss banker Lindermann.

My father was always too cautious to share his military plans with me( and with anyone)—those were matters of state secrecy—but he taught me as much as he could about how military affairs ought to be managed. From time to time, I also saw the Roland couple back when they were still allies of my father, before their political split, when they were seeking updates on the war.

I also had the horror of meeting that miserable Dumouriez.

But if I hadn’t had so many meals with my father’s collaborators at the time, I never would have had the chance to fall in love with Xavier—the best husband I could ever have hoped for.

how good it is to hear from you, for that i do not forget those who have been good to me in the past. i cannot thank you enough for taking care of my dear eugene. i hope we can still be on good terms in this place.

your good friend,

mme beauharnais.

My dear Madame de Beauharnais, I am delighted to hear from you. May I still call you Rose as I once did? It is you, madam, who have been most good to me.

she sighs. that time she spent inside her "house" made her reflect on every fault she comitted. it kept hurting her. speaking wasn't going to solve anything, but at least it would give her peace, peace for her human self.

You could never bore me, my dear.

however, the mention of his children interrupted whatever giddiness she felt.

Overcoming his discomfort at touching people - besides, he's touched Rose often and worse, he takes her hand gently.

i.. lazare

in complete silence, she thinks throughly, looking directly into the man´s eyes. years ago that young soldier gave her support in her darkest moment, when she thought she was already dead, he made love to her, held her, surely it wouldn´t be out of place to make a proposal to him.

if you don´t have a place to stay, then maybe... would you consider living with me?

He has been erring around since he has awakened, unattached and unclaimed. The castle he sees is immense and beautiful, almost intimidating. A part of his mind reminds him that Rose is a noblewoman, rich, and was empress of France. He is merely a stable hand who has risen the ranks of the military.

Yet her beautiful eyes are watching him with such loneliness and melancholy, and he has no more obligations to the army or his wife, and so he lets himself fall into the flame. He is Icarus, and her long lashes are the sun.

I... I do not have any place to stay. I would be delighted to stay with you, if you can put up a rough soldier in your gentle home.

He lifts her hand up to kiss it.

she then gently takes his hand, guiding him towards her bedroom in a hurry. when they arrive, she politely asks him to sit on her bed, holding his hands a little nervously.

That was not exactly what he was expecting, but alright. In all fairness, it's not like they were ever exclusive. He'd been married, she'd been on and off again with Barras and who knows who else.

If that's what you want, then I suppose it's fine. As long as you don't ask us to live under the same roof, then I don't object to sharing your affections with the half-p- uhhhhh with Bonaparte.

You're as sweet as I remember you. You know you have me wrapped around your little finger and I'll put up with Bonaparte if you ask me to, just so I can do this again.

how good it is to hear from you, for that i do not forget those who have been good to me in the past. i cannot thank you enough for taking care of my dear eugene. i hope we can still be on good terms in this place.

your good friend,

mme beauharnais.

My dear Madame de Beauharnais, I am delighted to hear from you. May I still call you Rose as I once did? It is you, madam, who have been most good to me.

she sighs. that time she spent inside her "house" made her reflect on every fault she comitted. it kept hurting her. speaking wasn't going to solve anything, but at least it would give her peace, peace for her human self.

You could never bore me, my dear.

however, the mention of his children interrupted whatever giddiness she felt.

Overcoming his discomfort at touching people - besides, he's touched Rose often and worse, he takes her hand gently.

i.. lazare

in complete silence, she thinks throughly, looking directly into the man´s eyes. years ago that young soldier gave her support in her darkest moment, when she thought she was already dead, he made love to her, held her, surely it wouldn´t be out of place to make a proposal to him.

if you don´t have a place to stay, then maybe... would you consider living with me?

He has been erring around since he has awakened, unattached and unclaimed. The castle he sees is immense and beautiful, almost intimidating. A part of his mind reminds him that Rose is a noblewoman, rich, and was empress of France. He is merely a stable hand who has risen the ranks of the military.

Yet her beautiful eyes are watching him with such loneliness and melancholy, and he has no more obligations to the army or his wife, and so he lets himself fall into the flame. He is Icarus, and her long lashes are the sun.

I... I do not have any place to stay. I would be delighted to stay with you, if you can put up a rough soldier in your gentle home.

He lifts her hand up to kiss it.

she then gently takes his hand, guiding him towards her bedroom in a hurry. when they arrive, she politely asks him to sit on her bed, holding his hands a little nervously.

That was not exactly what he was expecting, but alright. In all fairness, it's not like they were ever exclusive. He'd been married, she'd been on and off again with Barras and who knows who else.

If that's what you want, then I suppose it's fine. As long as you don't ask us to live under the same roof, then I don't object to sharing your affections with the half-p- uhhhhh with Bonaparte.