The Dual Luminary - Revelation: Book II (A Novel of the Alter Rebbe, Chabad-Lubavitch, and Napoleon Bonaparte)

Preface

The genre of the historical novel is, in my mind, a necessary evil of sorts. From my perspective, it becomes a game of observing the glass of beer as either half empty or half full. (Personally, when I look at half a glass of beer, I say, Hey, who has been drinking my beer? Oh well, by now it’s warm and tastes lousy anyway… I guess that means that I am a pessimist in the extreme. But that’s completely besides the point.)

The purpose of the historical novel is to introduce the reader to persons, events, and places that are otherwise unfamiliar to him or her. In that framework, a story is woven together blending as much known relevant data and information as possible with flowing plot points. In other words, the historical novel seeks to portray the names, dates, and places that seem to drone at us from the dusty pages of an old, heavy, lifeless history book in the format of a dynamic story.

This is where the necessary evil part comes in. In order to create this type of story, then the author must fill in the gaps to keep the plot moving in an engaging manner. The amount of added dynamic material determines the entire feel of the book. In some cases, the author strays from a minimalistic filling in the gaps to another realm called artistic license. In this sense, the author feels that the actual historical account cannot connect to the reader in an engaging way, so additional fictitious content is created. In other contexts, an author may include material of artistic license in order to add novelty or even sensationalism. Personally, I often have far less sympathy for this type of wholly unnecessary artistic license in the historical fiction genre, but that’s just my opinion.

At any rate, the usage of the genre of the historical novel is a double-edged sword when it comes to portraying important historical figures such as the rabbinical giant, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi of blessed memory (also known as the Alter Rebbe and the Ba’al HaTanya) as well as other personages, both famous and infamous, such as Thomas Jefferson and Napoleon Bonaparte. On the positive side, it provides the opportunity for the reader to meet and connect with these persons, especially the Alter Rebbe, in a unique and engaging manner. It allows the reader to understand him, his life, and even his works in new ways. On the downside, the historical novel can never be one hundred percent accurate or do proper justice to the historical personages represented.

For instance, one of the greatest challenges to writing The Dual Luminary books was the development of Reb Schneur Zalman’s character in a way that was dynamic but also as accurate as realistically possible. This aspect was especially challenging, since my wife and I are not directly affiliated with Chabad Chassidic Judaism (we are Torah-observant Sephardi Jews). Besides that, even the most devoted student of the Tanya is presumably unaware of what the Alter Rebbe’s posture and body language was when he delivered his spiritual lectures, for instance. What did Sterna Segal, Reb Schneur Zalman’s wife, make him for Shabbat dinner knowing it was his favorite dish? The Ba’al HaTanya was obviously a very serious rabbinical figure who incessantly contemplated and disseminated the spiritual mysteries of the universe, but did he ever crack a dad joke that made his son, Reb Dovber, cringe and groan as a teenager?

In order to properly overcome this challenge, I began to carefully study the various historical and traditional accounts of the life of Reb Schneur Zalman of Liadi. I wanted to portray this rabbinical master in a manner as if he was standing in right front of the reader. After careful study from a wide variety of sources, I began to develop a character sketch that I felt was both respectful and reasonably accurate.

First and foremost, I was impressed with the strength of the Alter Rebbe. Reb Schneur Zalman wasn’t just a community rabbi or even a rebbe – he conducted himself like a prince. His conduct, mannerisms, speech, and even political maneuvering quite literally sparred with some of the greatest emperors, kings, and czars in history.

But the Alter Rebbe was hardly a tyrant – far from it. He was firm and dominant, but also gentle and caring. Perhaps one of the best examples of this trait is the anecdote that the Alter Rebbe halted a farbrengen to chide his son, Reb Dovber (the Mittler Rebbe), for failing to hear the cries of his child (and the Alter Rebbe’s grandson). Reb Schneur Zalman was a man who could speak with confidence and eloquence to the highest authority figures in Russia (and, according to some accounts, even the czar himself) while simultaneously keeping a careful ear to be ready to soothe a small child.

The manner in which the Alter Rebbe dealt with his opponents was also very impressive. While always exerting an attitude of strength and confidence clothed with genuine humility, he was very careful in how he reacted to those who opposed him and even sought to harm him. It is quite clear that the Ba’al HaTanya utilized such Torah-based principles as reacting to his opponents with love and respect as much as possible, while responding to them with carefully thought-out treatises appealing to Torah, Halachah, spirituality, as well as irrefutable logic. Similarly, the Alter Rebbe emphasized the need to hold individuals – rather than the entire movement itself or persons unaffiliated with that individual – accountable for their actions while simultaneously looking positively on the other unaffiliated persons.

Thus, I attempted to portray Reb Schneur Zalman of Liadi as a dynamic – even royal in a way – rabbinical master of a burgeoning community and movement. At the same time, I worked to reflect him as a loving husband, father, and grandfather who was intricately involved in family life. I tried to represent him as strong and dominant, overcoming challenges that would have broken many other men. At the same time, I wanted to express an aura of sincere humility and even sensitivity, not just spiritually, but to the composite welfare (and unfortunately often the suffering) of even a single individual.

Therefore, I would contend that writing a historical novel about the life and times of the Alter Rebbe was a necessary evil. Necessary because the fascinating life and biography of this great figure absolutely should be presented to readers in a dynamic and engaging way. But also evil, because there is no possible way to reflect the life, personality, and accomplishments of this extraordinary person in a manner that is completely accurate and without some fictitious material to fill in the gaps between the data points available to me. In that aspect, we ask for forgiveness in advance from any readers who might spot or sense an imperfection that has arisen from the translation of the life of this great rabbi into the genre of historical fiction. Having said that, we would strongly contend that the finished product is a highly accurate and very respectful portrayal of the Chassidic rabbinical master, Reb Schneur Zalman of Liadi.

Additionally, the rest of the content of The Dual Luminary follows the same model. Excessive artistic license has been avoided. Besides the coinciding subplots of fictional characters, fictitious elements were only added as minimally as possible to fill in the gaps between documented historical events. Some of the content of The Dual Luminary books might be surprising – shocking even. If while reading the books you ask yourself, "Did that really happen?" Generally speaking, it happened exactly as recorded. And if not, then the event is based on or inspired by an actual event. There is very little content of The Dual Luminary, especially that which might be described as sensational or even shocking, that is pure fiction. The more shocking, graphic, and appalling aspects of the story are the grisly historical realities of the era and therefore included for accuracy and necessary context.

Besides numerous authoritative history books and similar sources, much of the content is taken directly from the diaries of both historical persons and soldiers, including Napoleon Bonaparte, Colonel Vladislav Lemanouski, Sergeant Adrien Bourgogne, and others. In many cases, the dialogue recorded consists of and/or is inspired by exact quotes or journal commentaries by the relevant historical figures. Yossi Mendel, François Chevalier, and Mikhail Novikov are technically fictitious, but they often serve as a composite of other historical characters and/or are inspired by other historical personages.

There is one area of The Dual Luminary that is, however, entirely fictitious as well as facetious: the ostensible origins of the olive dip routinely served at Chabad events and functions, especially Shabbat dinners. What is an undisputed fact, however, is that it really is every bit as delicious as portrayed in the novels. (I have even included a recipe in the back.)

Another area that is pure silliness is the creation of The Mendel Club for all Chabad persons named Mendel. Although – full disclosure – I must admit that this has been a pipe dream of mine for many years.

If you are interested in learning more about the life of the Alter Rebbe, Chabad.org has a plethora of great and informative content. I also gleaned much useful information from the book Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi: A Biography by Rabbi Nissan Mindel. Otherwise, I recommend reaching out to your favorite and/or local Chabad house. I say local, because there is no doubt a friendly Chabad rabbi and/or rebbetzin near your present location who will be more than happy to provide you with more information… and maybe some olive dip if you are lucky.

* * *

IMPORTANT NOTE:

A glossary of non-English terms

used frequently throughout the book

is located in the back

for the reader’s convenience.

Chapter 1

The sun still beat heavily on the brows of the French soldiers and officers, despite gently slinking downwards. Green growth from a deep patch of watermelons and other fruits and vegetables stretched in every direction around the combatants, blending into the desert sands of the Sahara and merging into the lazy blue waters of the Nile River. Lush palm trees stood tall and swayed slightly with the warm breeze that provided little relief from the Middle Eastern heat. In the distance, the pyramids of Giza rose above the horizon contrasted by the affluent mosques and other structures of nearby Cairo.

Colonel François Chevalier stepped over yet another enemy corpse. Although no longer the young man he once was, the forty year-old French officer was still fit and muscular. His features were pointed and had remained largely the same, although the first lines in his face had begun to congregate around his blue eyes. Strands of light brown hair framed his sweaty, intense face on either side.

François stood still, squinting in the sunlight and examining the body beneath him. A turbaned Mamluk cavalry officer wearing a red and green robe, indicative of the authority of the Ottoman Turkish Empire under which he had served, lay dead in a twisted position. He was intertwined with his black Arabian horse, who lay panting in the Egyptian heat. Another horse, this one deceased, had collapsed on top of the black horse, restricting his breathing and movement.

Jean-Lambert, Colonel Chevalier called to his nearby companion. Come help me with this.

Jean-Lambert Tallien looked upward from his own examination of a dead body. He unceremoniously let the arm of the dead man fall back to the ground. He carefully picked his steps between corpses of both fallen Moslem warriors and their horses as he drew closer to François Chevalier.

The black horse is still alive, Chevalier declared to Tallien as he scrutinized the animal. He is trapped underneath the dead horse, but I think he is uninjured. Help me lift the dead horse off of him.

Both men grunted as François wrapped his arms around the neck of the dead horse and pulled while Tallien pushed the back of the horse carcass with all of his might. The dead horse shifted and the black horse twisted himself free. He sprang to his feet, letting his lifeless rider silently fall back to the earth.

Excellent, François noted as he examined the animal, ensuring that he was not harmed in any kind of serious way.

Jean-Lambert Tallien peered deeper into the melon patch. Thousands of French soldiers picked over the dead bodies, searching for items of value. Countless Mamluk corpses littered the landscape; some of them were sprawled out in the melon fields, some lay crumpled among the ruins of nearby stone fortifications, some floated in the lapping waves of the Nile River.

How many Egyptian Mamluk soldiers do you think were killed today? Tallien asked the French colonel.

At least twenty thousand, François replied without emotion. He pulled a ruby off of the headband of a Mamluk turban.

And how many did we lose?

François looked upward at Jean-Lambert with a dark smile.

Less than three hundred.

"Incroyable, Unbelievable," Tallien whispered aloud in wonderment.

Napoleon has a background as an artillery officer. He knows how to leverage the heavy guns to his advantage. The Mamluks, however, had never encountered such large cannons before. They fought gallantly. But by the time they realized that they needed to rapidly change their battle tactics, it was too late.

Chevalier and Tallien both scanned the scene of carnage before them. Not far in the distance, a French general with a wooden post for a leg worked to maintain his balance despite stepping in between the carcasses of both men and horses. He squinted his eyes in the Egyptian sun, peering over a long, misshapen Roman nose and pursing his small, tight mouth. Nearby, another general in his early thirties trotted along on his chestnut-colored palomino horse. The second general wore a brightly colored uniform of brilliant yellow jacket and pink trousers accented by feather plumes and even ruffles; he was drastically out of place among the solemn dark blues and starch whites of the rest of the army. A third general, despite being the youngest of the three at twenty-eight years of age, had lost most of his hair to baldness. A sweaty, sunburned forehead blended into a dome of skin that merged with unruly strings of dirty blonde hair.

Tallien added, And we also have the military brilliance of our leadership on our side. Besides Napoleon Bonaparte, who is a genius in his own right despite only being twenty-eight years old, we have such leaders as Generals Maximillian Caffarelli, Joachim Murat, and Louis Nicholas Davout.

Ah, yes, General Caffarelli, François commented with a smile as he watched the French commander move with surprising agility despite his wooden leg. Among the soldiers they say that Caffarelli doesn’t care much what happens in battle since he is always sure to have at least one foot back in France already.

Jean-Lambert chuckled and shook his head, and then said, And General Joachim Murat is clearly a colorful character.

Quite literally, François noted as he glanced at the unusual uniform of the general. He then continued, The Battle of the Pyramids, as General Bonaparte has already titled it, is undeniably a victory worthy of the namesake of the great Napoleon Bonaparte. As Napoleon said to his men as he began the battle, ‘Soldiers! From the heights of those pyramids, forty centuries look down upon you!’

Jean-Lambert Tallien gazed into the backdrop to observe the triangular pyramids which appeared to be a small fraction of their looming size due to the distance.

Well, Tallien commented as he shrugged. "The pyramids are indeed present in the distance. But I would venture to say that they are nearly ten miles away."

Yes, that’s true, the French military officer admitted. But it’s also true that General Napoleon would never acquiesce to naming his great victory ‘The Battle of the Watermelon Patch near Cairo.’

Tallien chuckled slightly and nodded, conceding to Chevalier’s point. Colonel Chevalier, meanwhile, held the reins of his new-found black Arabian horse with his left hand while he examined yet another Mamluk officer with his free right hand. He pulled the dead man to his side, revealing his Egyptian Mamluk sabre. François Chevalier eyed the sabre for a moment, then lifted it up gingerly to appraise it more closely. The metallic sheen of the carefully polished scimitar-like sword glistened in the sun. More notable to François, however, was the gold finish of the handle and scabbard, offset by a pearl grip and emerald ornaments. The French colonel grinned with satisfaction as he roughly ripped the scabbard away from the corpse and affixed it to his own belt.

Jean-Lambert Tallien whistled in admiration as François Chevalier displayed his plundered treasure.

François said, You were sent here to locate and study the priceless antiquities and treasures of Egypt. But it seems that I have already surpassed you, and that you have some catching up to do.

Jean-Lambert laughed. "Well, it is true that I am a key member of the Institut d’Égypte, Egyptian Scientific Institute, created by Napoleon Bonaparte for this French expedition. But I am a member of the political economy team along with General Maximilian Caffarelli himself. The only ‘treasure’ that I will be ‘plundering’ and sharing is knowledge. Although I will say that I am very excited about our recent discovery in Rosetta. A black stone slab was found by Captain Pierre-François Bouchard as he and his soldiers were reinforcing the port wall. Captain Bouchard realized the importance of the discovery and immediately reported it to General Jacques-François Menou."

What’s so special about this ‘Rosetta stone’? François inquired skeptically.

"It contains three translations of the inscription in Egyptian hieroglyphs, in demotic Egyptian, and in ancient Greek.

François glanced at Jean-Lambert and raised an eyebrow.

Which means… what?

It means that for the first time in history, Tallien replied excitedly, we have the ability to translate and read Egyptian hieroglyphs and other heretofore unintelligible Egyptian inscriptions. By cross-referencing the Egyptian languages with the classic Greek, we now have a ‘primer’ of sorts for deciphering Egyptian texts.

The French colonel eyed the member of the Institut d’Égypte with a clear aura of unimpressed boredom.

If that’s your greatest ‘treasure’ so far, François Chevalier replied as he pulled a handful of coins of the local currency out of the pocket of yet another deceased Mamluk soldier, then I recommend that you make the most of your plundering now. At the end of the hour our French forces have been ordered by General Bonaparte to regroup and prepare for our entry into Cairo as conquerors and occupiers. The leadership of Cairo has already capitulated and surrendered unconditionally.

Are you expecting any resistance from the locals, or perhaps from military reserves? Tallien inquired cautiously as Chevalier carefully mounted the nervous black stallion.

Colonel François Chevalier glanced down from the Arabian horse at the gruesome collection of twenty thousand dead Mamluk warriors. He surveyed the morbid scene surrounding him and then answered with a grim smile and a derisive snort.

None whatsoever.

Chapter 2

Colonel François Chevalier and Jean-Lambert Tallien strode side-by-side through the claustrophobic alleys of Cairo. Beige stones had been piled into intricate cube-like structures and spread as paving for the roadways. Tapestries hung suspended above the street as merchants and craftsmen wearing flowing white robes lined the bazaars and markets while they plied their wares. Moslem women wearing loose-fitting garments ranging from pink to black pushed their way through the streets; their hair and sometimes faces were concealed by hijab coverings. The smells of sizzling kabobs and pungent spices drifted along the still, warm air.

François Chevalier stepped towards a shawarma vendor and pointed to several skewers of heavily seasoned lamb meat. He withdrew a few of the stolen coins from his pocket and shoved them towards the merchant. Reluctantly, the Arab man presented half a dozen kabob skewers to the two French invaders.

Isn’t it ironic, Tallien noted as he nibbled on the tender cube of lamb, that we are buying their wares with their own money?

"Le butin va aux vainqueurs. To the victors go the spoils, François replied obtusely. He then added as they rounded the corner, In more ways than one."

As the bazaar stretched before them, dozens of scantily clad men and women sat dejected in crude iron chains. Some were dark-skinned Nubian males who were muscular despite their malnourishment; others were fair-skinned women with shorn hair; all were hopeless.

It’s the Cairo slave market, François explained to Tallien. Well, part of it, anyway. I have been told that a young slave girl can be purchased for as little as one month’s wages for a French infantryman.

The French Revolution made it clear that slavery is forbidden in France and our territories, Tallien retorted, scrunching up his nose at the deplorable scene.

"Well, we’re not in France now, are we, Jean-Lambert? François retorted as he rolled his eyes. Besides, don’t preach to me about the ideals of the Revolution. We hardly made good on our promises of equality to the African slaves in the French Caribbean. And you never even batted an eye. So why should you care about the slaves of Moslem Cairo?"

Jean-Lambert Tallien sulked for a moment, stung by the rebuke. Colonel François Chevalier glared at him briefly, and then changed the subject.

The palace is just up ahead, past the stairs and to the right, François declared as he pointed in the direction of their destination.

How many abandoned palaces are there?

Many, François answered. In a sense, Cairo is two cities. The first is the home of the masses, such as the merchants of the bazaar. Just beyond that, the Mamluks lived in luxurious residences that could be described as small palaces. General Bonaparte himself has taken the palace of a Mamluk ‘warlord’ who, ironically, fled at the first sign of battle. But, considering the fate of his braver comrades, I can’t say I blame him too much. Napoleon has graciously appointed the other residential palaces to his officers and high command, including myself. Here it is.

François Chevalier gestured to an arched doorway leading from the alley to a small courtyard. Beyond the courtyard a tall palatial building lay nestled between other residences of similar or even greater affluence.

The two men first stepped into the courtyard and then into the Mamluk palace, gazing in satisfied wonder. Mosaic floors spread throughout the residence, with marble and alabaster staircases joining the levels of the palace together. Ornate vaulted ceilings were suspended by decorative granite arches.

Chevalier and Tallien explored the palace room by room. The French colonel eyed an intricately-tiled round depression in the middle of a side chamber. Plush velvet cushions lined the dugout, and several large pitchers sat nearby along with an oven-like apparatus. François clapped his hands gleefully as he strode towards the cushions and pitchers.

Tallien asked in disbelief, Is that what I think it is?

François grinned. He answered by plopping down heavily on the soft cushions. He tore his tall, black leather boots first off of one foot, and then the other. His two feet were covered with sores and blisters, even oozing with dried blood. Trekking through the unforgiving Egyptian desert followed by a fierce battle had taken their toll on the French colonel’s body. He extended his feet downward into the tiled dugout and pulled a cork out of the bottom of one of the pitchers. Cool water surged from the pitcher into the dugout. François heavily sighed with pleasure as the refreshing liquid filled the palace bath and swirled around his damaged feet and ankles.

Wasting no time, Jean-Lambert Tallien likewise ripped off his own oppressive footwear and lowered himself to a set of cushions opposite the French colonel. He also smiled and exhaled with relief as he dipped his bare feet into the cool water.

François commented, I will ignite the oven and heat the water later. For now, this is perfect.

Indeed it is, Jean-Lambert agreed as he leaned back into the velvet pillows.

The two French men reclined in silence for a long moment until Tallien finally spoke.

Sometimes it’s hard to believe that we got here – the palace baths of Egypt – from the throes of the French Revolution. Tallien sighed ruefully. From the storming of the Bastille to the bazaars of Cairo.

François nodded thoughtfully but did not initially reply, lost in his own thoughts.

Tallien asked, Didn’t you first serve as the attendant of Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette when the French Revolution began? What is the latest news of Lafayette, anyway?

Lafayette fled from the Jacobin radicals of the Revolution. He was intending to escape to America, but he was instead captured by the Austrians. They held him in prison for over five years – much of which was solitary confinement. Then one day they opened the door to his solitary cell and his wife, Adrienne de Noailles, along with their two daughters, were brought to him. Emperor Francis of Austria granted Adrienne’s request that they all be captive together. Imagine being locked in a dark, filthy cell for years doing nothing but staring at the walls, and then the door is opened to reveal your wife and children! At any rate, after five years, Napoleon Bonaparte secured his release, but the French government is wary of him. Lafayette has expressed his sincere gratitude to Napoleon, but he is unwilling to pledge his support to the post-Revolutionary administration since he feels it is ‘unconstitutional.’ So he remains in Hamburg on a property belonging to his wife’s family. Many of Lafayette’s properties and assets have been confiscated by the French government vindictively since he refuses to support them, but it is uncertain if he will be able to recover some of them later. Presently, it is rumored that Lafayette and his family will eventually return to France, albeit quietly. And while Napoleon still seeks to secure his favor and participation, I doubt Lafayette with his delusional sense of ‘ethics’ and ‘principles’ will ever support the general, especially as he rises to more and more power.

Tallien grunted and nodded. We are forever indebted for the service of Lafayette in many regards, but he never could truly embrace the Revolution. And for those reasons, he has become obsolete and even a liability. Anyway, Tallien continued, a lot has happened in the past three years since Paul Barras and I stabilized the Revolution after Pierre Robespierre’s Reign of Terror. There have been some insurrections here and there, some by Jacobin radicals seeking to avenge Robespierre, others by Girondin moderates and even royalists still loyal to Louis XVI. But all in all the government has remained stable.

I believe you mean ‘stagnant,’ François corrected. And the unrest has only been quelled and stability maintained by the iron fist of General Bonaparte. As Napoleon defended Barras and the Directory of five members who essentially ruled France after the Revolution, he ordered then Lieutenant Joachim Murat – our very own general now – to bring him forty cannons. Napoleon had the cannons set in place and loaded them with canisters of small iron balls. He gave the usurpers, in this particular case royalists, a ‘whiff of grapeshot,’ and pretty much ended the French Revolution right then and there.

Barras, Jean-Lambert Tallien breathed quietly under his breath through an unmistakable scowl. What betrayal.

François laughed somewhat cruelly. Do you mean ‘betrayal’ because he agreed with his allies to deny you a position on the five-member ruling committee known as the Directory? Is ‘betrayal’ defined as his hypocritical claims that you had a history of being too radical as an agent of the Reign of Terror even though you were one of most instrumental factors in the ending the rule of Robespierre and his self-same ‘Terror’? Instead, you were pushed out to be a member of the Council of Five Hundred. Or do you mean ‘betrayal’ since your wife, Thérésa Cabarrus Tallien, handily abandoned you without even the slightest hesitation of remorse and instead joined Paul Barras’ harem of debauchery instead?

Jean-Lambert Tallien bolted upright abruptly, incensed at the gall of his smirking companion. François Chevalier snorted and rolled his eyes.

Don’t pretend to be offended, François jeered back at Jean-Lambert. You know what kind of woman Thérésa Cabarrus was when you married her. What did you expect?

Tallien sighed sadly but didn’t disagree or argue. I just didn’t think it would be as bad as it became.

"Are you referring to the lewdness of Thérésa as the head mistress of Paul Barras, or the fact that you discovered that Barras impregnated your wife with her recent son, Francis? Or perhaps you are thinking of the rumors that still swirl among the echelons of high society whether or not you are the true father of your daughter, Rose, or if she is the illegitimate issue of Barras. Do you even know?"

A dark shadow passed over Jean-Lambert Tallien as his face was briefly contorted with an expression of rage.

François laughed. Oh, don’t take it so hard. Besides, it could be worse. You could be married to Joséphine de Beauharnais like Napoleon is. You know she and Thérésa were both part of Paul Barras’ collection of ‘playthings’ together until he passed Joséphine off to Napoleon Bonaparte as a ‘gift,’ right? And now she fancies herself with her title of the wife of the conquering general. Meanwhile, she lavishes herself with luxuries spent at General Bonaparte’s expense while she develops a reputation as one of the most unfaithful wives of Paris.

Do you think Napoleon knows? Tallien asked, taking the opportunity to change the subject from the betrayal of his own wife whom he loved fiercely, even now.

Of course he knows, Chevalier scoffed. How could he not know? All of France knows it. Besides, I have heard that he has received multiple letters confirming her infidelity and frivolous spending. For the present moment, he chooses to ignore it. Or perhaps he is in denial.

Tallien rubbed his temple, then chuckled ruefully. "Isn’t it fascinating that a man who can inherently comprehend how to command thousands of men, manipulate masterful political intrigues, and topple entire nations, seemingly cannot understand his own wife, let alone keep her in line?

François glared at Tallien, raising an eyebrow at the apparent hypocrisy of the statement. He decided to let it go.

Perhaps, Chevalier added wryly, Bonaparte could follow the lead of Pierre Beaumarchais who – his enemies have claimed – poisoned his first two wives. The French colonel then chuckled. "No one knows if it is true, but it would be a very poetic way for the author of The Barber of Seville to dispatch of those pesky women he married for their money."

It doesn’t matter now, Tallien said dismissively with a wave of his hand. "He is dead now. After being in exile from the Revolution, Pierre Beaumarchais returned to Paris to live his final years in relative peace."

Right, François acknowledged. His eyes became distant for a moment as he recalled his first encounter with the famed opera writer, watch inventor, and smuggler as they imported weapons together into the fledgling American colonies about twenty-two years before. Chevalier then commented instead on the previous topic at hand, Anyway, hopefully General Bonaparte can keep a better grip on Cairo than he does his wife.

Do you think Napoleon’s Egyptian campaign is in danger of failure?

François shrugged. "Only time will tell. Napoleon chose to invade Egypt in order to cut off key trade routes of the British Empire and cripple our foes across the channel. He has attempted to ingratiate himself with the local population by declaring that he and his French army are notmembers of the Roman Catholic Church, but that we are even seeking to convert to Islam."

Tallien coughed and sputtered in disbelief. You must be joking.

Not in the slightest, Chevalier declared as he shook his head. "Napoleon is supposedly a Deist, but more accurately he seems to worship the ‘deity’ of ‘political opportunity.’ It is not clear how serious Napoleon is about this proposal, however. Regardless, I’m not certain that