No. 2
Marmirolo.—On July 12th he writes to the Directory from Verona that for some days he and the enemy have been watching each other. “Woe to him who makes a false move.” He indicates that he is about to make a coup de main on Mantua, with 300 men dressed in Austrian uniforms. He is by no means certain of success, which “depends entirely on luck—either on a dog45 or a goose.” He complains of much sickness among his men round Mantua, owing to the heat and miasmata from the marshes, but so far no deaths. He will be ready to make Venice disgorge a few millions shortly, if the Directory make a quarrel in the interim.
On the 13th he was with Josephine, as he writes from Milan, but leaves on the 14th, and on the 17th is preparing a coup de main with 800 grenadiers, which, as we see from the next letter, fails.
Fortuné.—Arnault tells an anecdote of this lap-dog, which in 1794, in the days of the Terror, had been used as a bearer of secret despatches between Josephine in prison and the governess of her children outside the grille. Henceforward Josephine would never be parted from it. One day in June 1797 the dog was lying on the same couch as its mistress, and Bonaparte, accosting Arnault and pointing to the dog with his finger, said, “You see that dog there. He is my rival. He was in possession of Madame’s bed when I married her. I wished to make him get out—vain hope! I was told I must resign myself to sleep elsewhere, or consent to share with him. That was sufficiently exasperating, but it was a question of taking or leaving, and I resigned myself. The favourite was less accommodating than I. I bear the proof of it in this leg.”
Not content with barking at every one, he bit not only men but other dogs, and was finally killed by a mastiff, much to Bonaparte’s secret satisfaction; for, as St. Amand adds, “he could easily win battles, accomplish miracles, make or unmake principalities, but could not show a dog the door.”