The Fox of France

 "How do we determine who our friends are and who our enemies are?" Joseph chuckled. "My brother, you've finally asked a question that's not entirely foolish. Well, Napoleon, think about it. What kind of people desire change in their lives? And what kind of people want to maintain the status quo?"

If it weren't for their previous conversation, Napoleon might have immediately responded, "Those brave, adventurous, and heroic souls want change, while the mediocre, aimless individuals hope to maintain the status quo."

But now, Napoleon had grasped Joseph's line of thinking and wouldn't give such a simple answer. So, after a moment of reflection, he replied, "Those dissatisfied with reality and who believe they should have a larger share wish for revolution, while those content with the current distribution hope to preserve the status quo. Is that what you meant, Joseph?"

"Ah, Napoleon," Joseph smiled, "although I often call you a fool, in reality, you are quite intelligent compared to most. Your thoughts are correct. Well, now you should consider who your allies will be in your revolution and who will be your enemies. I think writing 'The History of Corsica' is not a bad idea."

"What do you mean?" Napoleon asked thoughtfully.

"Writing 'The History of Corsica' will provide you with an opportunity to interact with all layers of Corsican society, from the upper echelons to the common people. Through this, you can conduct a comprehensive survey of Corsica, allowing you to gain a full understanding of the island. My brother, you must understand that without thorough investigation, there can be no accurate judgment, and without judgment, there can be no authority."

Napoleon pondered for a moment and nodded. "Joseph, your point is well taken. I'll get started on this."

"Well, let me tell you," Joseph began, ready to offer some advice on conducting a social survey, but he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" Joseph asked while making his way to the door.

"It's me, Armand," came Armand's voice from outside.

Joseph opened the door to find Armand standing there with heavy bags under his eyes, looking like he hadn't slept or had perhaps indulged in too much "Herb's Elixir." He also carried a bag in his hand.

"Armand, come in," Joseph welcomed him, pulling out a chair for him as he said, "My place is a bit messy; I hope you don't mind."

"No problem. My place is messier," Armand replied with a smile. "Do you have any wine here? I'm parched from the journey."

"I'm afraid not," Joseph shook his head with a smile, "you know I don't drink much. I only have water. Is that alright?"

"Damn! Alright, as long as it's a liquid. I knew not to expect much here," Armand said.

"Oh, Napoleon, would you mind getting the water jug?" Joseph turned to Napoleon.

Napoleon fetched the water jug.

"Is this your brother?" Armand asked.

"Yes, that's my not-so-bright brother," Joseph casually replied.

"I think if he wore ancient clothes, he'd look like the living Emperor Nero or even Alexander the Great," Armand said. "You might be too harsh on your brother."

Upon hearing this assessment, Joseph couldn't help but scrutinize Armand from head to toe several times, leaving Armand puzzled.

"Is there something on my face?" Armand asked.

"No," Joseph replied, "I was just checking if you've sobered up from 'Herb's Elixir.'"

"Ah, do you think I'm rambling because I've never seen your brother before?" Armand responded in a melodramatic tone. "Mere mortals, you should know that the greatest prophets in the world, Apollo's favorites, spoke the truths of the world while under the influence of mysterious intoxication. Do you think I'm babbling because I've never seen your brother? Foolish mortals, you should know that these divine intuitions are at work, and it was in this divine frenzy that I saw the light and the fire in your brother's eyes. In that moment, I even thought of the statue of Alexander the Great! Believe me, my friend, your brother will be extraordinary in the future. Truly!"

At this moment, Napoleon returned with the water jug, and upon hearing Armand's praise, he wore a wide grin on his face.

"Alright, Princess Cassandra," Joseph responded in a similar melodramatic tone, "you do have a point. But tell me, did you foresee my brother's presence here and the need to make this prophecy to him, as if a witch foretold Macbeth's prophecy?"

Cassandra was a legendary Trojan princess and a priestess of the god Apollo. She refused Apollo's advances, and he cursed her to see the future clearly but never be believed when she spoke her prophecies.

"Ah, you still don't believe," Armand said. "But wait and see. As for the reason I'm here, well, I didn't foresee meeting your brother here and making this prophecy. Joseph, do you remember the script we discussed last time? Spartacus?"

"Of course, I remember. Have you finished it?" Joseph asked in amazement. "This isn't like you, Armand. You usually write no more than twenty words a day."

"Well, you're right. But this time is different," Armand acknowledged his usual daily output. "I had a sense of a mysterious force compelling me, and I couldn't stop writing. The ancient Greeks believed that tragic playwrights weren't creating on their own; rather, the gods worked through them. When I was writing Spartacus, I felt that way, as if the Muses themselves were guiding my hand, making me write without pause. Joseph, this is not my creation; it's the Muse working through me. I'm just a vessel driven by divine inspiration. So, even though I've written this play much faster than anything before, the quality surpasses all my previous work. Compared to what I wrote before, it's like comparing the Graces to Helen. Do you want to take a look?"

"Alright, enough self-praise," Joseph interjected. "You sound like a charlatan selling indulgences. Let's see the script."

"Here you go!" Armand handed over the bag.

Joseph took the bag and, inside, found a neatly bound manuscript.

"Feel free to enjoy yourselves, and I'll take a look first," Joseph said while opening the script.

"You go ahead," Armand replied.

Napoleon leaned in to read it alongside Joseph.

Armand, leaning back in his chair, began to playfully engage Louis, who had been rather quiet all this time.

Sunlight streamed in through the window, casting a warm glow on Joseph's desk. As time passed, this patch of sunlight crawled across the table like a snail, gradually shifting from one end to the other. By the time Joseph had finished reading the entire script, the sunlight had already moved from one end of the desk to the other.

"So, how is it?" Armand asked eagerly when he saw Joseph put down the manuscript. He had been keeping an eye on Joseph and Napoleon while playfully interacting with Louis.

Joseph, however, remained silent for a moment before letting out a sigh and turning to Napoleon. "Napoleon, I've told you before that even with talent, one must work hard to achieve success. Look at this example before you. This guy named Armand, he's a complete scoundrel, a playboy who's wasting his life away. You see how good this script is, right? That's because you haven't seen the trash he wrote before. Compared to this, everything else he wrote was utter garbage! If this scoundrel were serious and put in effort, he might even catch up to Aeschylus, or even touch the heels of Homer, Euripides, and Sophocles. But this guy spends most of his time drinking and fooling around!... Speaking of drinking, Armand, your script actually makes me want a drink. It's about time for dinner; why don't you treat us, and we can go out for a drink?"

This transition was quite abrupt, catching even Armand off guard. However, he quickly understood that Joseph held his script in high regard.

"Very well, I'll treat," Armand agreed. "We can drink and chat. I know a place where they serve excellent Poitou brandy."

The group left Joseph's home, hailed a horse-drawn carriage, and soon arrived at a tavern called "Lilacs in May." Armand seemed to be a regular there, as he greeted the owner and the considerably larger proprietress with ease. Then he said, "Prepare a quieter spot for us, and bring another round of brandy!"

"Of course, Armand, and your usual spot where you can see the Seine," the landlady called out. The owner personally led them to their table.

As they sat down at the table, Armand said to the owner, "Philip, just bring us something to drink, and I'm not interested in your age-old menu."

The owner complied and left. Soon, a variety of dishes and a bottle of brandy were served.

"Napoleon, you can have a bit of brandy, but not more than one glass. Louis, you can't have any," Joseph instructed his brothers as he poured himself a full glass.

"It's unfortunate to have a big brother," Armand said.

"Armand, there's a major problem with your script, and it's a big one," Joseph stated.

"What problem?" Armand asked anxiously.

"It's too sharp. If you don't make some changes, it will be banned. But if you do make changes, it will lose its powerful impact," Joseph answered.