Here is your requested copy of the 1847 letter from Madame Lenormand to her niece, attached as a .pdf, and my translation of the original in real text format.

Please keep in mind that Lenormand, the so-called "Sibyl of the Fauborg-Saint Germain," was nothing short of a con artist and the first celebrity fortune-teller who happened to work her way into the Olympian heights of society in post-Terror France. It is most certain that she was not a tyro of khnum, sir. Other than the astonishing encounter that she describes in Milan, I doubt that this letter bears any real occult merit. But you know best, of course.

My translation may seem rough, but Lenormand's vernacular is such that it may not effectively be rendered in Modern English. She actually comes off sounding much more sophisticated here than she ought. Also, I've left the term "petite homme rouge" untranslated throughout. In its day, the term carried an ominous, supernatural weight that the English "little red man" is unable to convey, in my humble opinion.

I hope you find what you are looking for in this letter, sir, and that you will remember the tyros in Paris for our assistance in your search for the khnum.

Best,

Hercule Burat, Curator

Royal Parisian Museum of Supernatural Curiosities

February 24, 2002

*

My Dearest Eleta,

Your last letter of September 10 was a fright! Who taught you to speak to your elders so? My base, uncivilized, whoring sister, God rest her soul, obviously relinquished your upbringage to her Mediterranean servants!!

Who are you to suggest that I lied to the Polish Duchess? Who are you to question how I advise any client seeking my counsel? Are you my teacher? Did you educate me in the arts of card reading? I seem to recall that I was the one who passed my occult skills to you!!! I was also under the bizarre illusion that my half-century of experience had earned me a scrap of respect from my one and only heir. And now you threaten to abandon your practice with the cards?? O, sad and jaded generation! How you no longer care for wisdom, age, or the virtues of nobler times.

Despite your cheeky tone, Eleta, I have contrived to explain to you why I told the Duchess what I told her – why I "lied" to her, as you so barbarously phrase it. Oh, that word! I also plan to unveil to you something that I have never unveiled to another soul, and then maybe you'll understand why I adhere myself to a greater truth. For the world needs your talent as an oracle, sweet lamb. Do not abandon me or my legacy!

I believe that I, once, long ago, saw the petite homme rouge, Eleta. Yes, this infernal character was supposedly a companion of the first Napoleon, and many that watched his rise to power claimed they saw this hellish creature at his side. I tell you that I am quite sure I did see it, and that my encounter with it in the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and ninety seven did forever change the way I read cards. Read on and learn, niece.

In those days, I was nothing but a simple northern girl, lucky enough to find my way into the servitude of Madame Rose (you will notice that I do not call her "Josephine" – that was the Beast's pet name for her and I will never degrade my lady so). She was not a trend follower as we see in Paris today, mongrels barking at the heels of pedigrees. Rose Beauharnais was simply herself – not a beauty, but certainly her own person – and she was high society's pole star long before she became Empress. With the Bourbon royal line beheaded a short time earlier, society was naturally drawn to the quality and charisma of one such as Madame Rose.

Reading fortunes with a deck of cards was not yet in vogue (Madame Rose would set that trend after the disastrous Egyptian campaign, actually), so I was seen as little more than a thief in those Unenlightened Days. Indeed, if it were not for the generous bail postings of Madame Rose, I might have starved away in prison for my so-called "crimes against society," I was arrested so many times.

Now, the Beast – history has vindicated my old name for him - understood what I did about Madame Rose and courted her with the aggressiveness of his laters battles. I warned her not to marry him. Such a pushy little foreigner! And odiferous!! Madame Rose called me "Cassandra" because my cards foresaw nothing but unhappiness for her and the Beast. Cassandra I was, for in those days, like you, Eleta, I always exposed exactly what I saw in my cards. Such a young fool – a blundering, little fool was I!

Well, France sent the Beast off to Italy to play Major-General against the Austrians, but he could not bear to be away from his "Josephine". Very unmanly in my country opinion, but finally, he won the city of Milan and planned to "give" it to her as a wedding present. Even I had to admit that was nice. Soon, Madame Rose and her entourage, of which I was but a small part, were bundled into carriages for the long, dreadful journey through the Alps to that smelly, swarthy land of Italy.

After a death-defying trek, in which we spent some nights in common households without proper accommodations for our royal company, we finally came to the Serboloni Hotel in Milan, where the Beast had made his military headquarters. It was a magnificent place and Madame Rose was given a set of apartments on the upper floor. That's where we recreated Paris in fashion and play. At night, our officers would come to visit us and the Major General would woo Madame Rose. I happened to know that she was disgusted by the sweaty little Corsican, called him "strange" and "awkward" in bed, with unspeakable lusts that she related to me in horrific detail, I'm afraid. To deflect his husbandly advances, she took to arranging card games in the evening. The Major General liked to play poker (my officer, Alencon, told me that the Beast cheated constantly) but would not play that game with his wife. On one of these nights, he grew bored with womanly parlor games and clearly wanted to retire to Madame Rose's chambers. Present were Rose, the Beast, Lieutenant Alencon, myself, and a curious Turkish soldier who had apparently helped the Beast sack Milan with top secret information. The two officers took their cues from the Major General and were ready to rise and leave, when Madame Rose said hastily to the Beast, "My girl Lenormand has a game! Would you care to play, my love?"

I suddenly felt like I was sitting on a griddle. The Beast stared at me with his hateful, piggy eyes as if I had stolen a case of Chateau Rimbaud du Fortenbeau from under his nose. I'll never forget the involuntary twitch he had in his shoulder. He sat slouched in his chair as if he were in his mess hall, hands folded over his waistcoat, shoulder twitching madly. "What is this game?" said Bonaparte after staring at me for what seemed like an eternity.

"Marie reads fortunes," Madame Rose said in her low, soothing voice, which always managed to calm Bonaparte.

The Turk immediately took interest in this and spoke rapidly in his ticky-ticky talk in the Beast's ear. "Very well," said the Major General, smiling. His smiles made him look even more like a swine. "Let's see what she has to say about my fortune."

Madame Rose picked up the playing cards and handed them to me. I pared the cards down to the fortune telling deck, which my teacher, Madame Gilbert, had taught me long ago. I was a respectful student, unlike some I know!

Alencon was watching me sweetly for he had a little crush on me. But the Turk! My goodness, he made me shiver with his stare, as if he meant to cook me!! I could tell there was something corrupt and poisonous about him right away, but I had figured it was just because he was an Oriental living in Italy. But there was something else, too. And as I laid out the cards, I kept looking back into his face, as if my eyes were lodestones, magnetized by his strangeness.

And that's when I saw the future, my dear Eleta.

Of course I had seen the future many, many times before! I predicted the death of Robespierre after all – have I told you about that? His downfall and the subsequent chaos? Another letter with another story, I promise, Eleta. Why, I even foresaw the divorce of Rose and Napoleon, though she refused to listen to me.

But this was different. I'm telling you it was peculiar. For I could really, really see the future – I wasn't simply guessing, as sometimes even the great fortunetellers must do. No. It was as if I were remembering events that had yet to come into being. There was no "wondering" or "hoping" if what I knew would come to pass. I knew it as surely as I knew that my father loved me best as a little girl. I knew it as surely as I remember now your last, ghastly letter to me, Eleta.

And when I looked up from the cards and into the dung-brown eyes of the Turk – I knew he knew, too. I can't tell you how, but I knew that he knew what I knew – knew what I had seen. That the Beast Bonaparte was born under a very, very lucky star.

The Turk bid me to say what I saw, but I was frightened. Oh, damn it all to blazes! I will admit it finally!! I was frightened because, no, I had never truly seen the future before! And it frightened me to know that all my claims of second sight were nonsense compared to this knowing. Eleta, it shook me to my very bones.

But I did it, girl. I said it. I told the Major General what I saw in his future. I told him that his magnificent star would remain in the heavens for a decade from that day and that during those ten years, the Continent as a man would kneel to him.

The Beast liked what he heard, of course, but he was skeptical, as all intelligent people are when they encounter the supernatural. His crazy shoulder twitched and he asked me, "Austria?" For that's whom the Beast was fighting from his base in Milan, so it was his chief concern. Yes, I said, Austria would kneel to him. "Bavaria?" Of course, of course, a little concern like Bavara? Then, as if it maddened him to consider it, he said, "Even Prussia?" and I said, yes, even Prussia. "What of England?" But I answered no, for England was not of the main, and this soil, this land, I knew, was key to his success. His star would never shine on England.

"What of Egypt?" said the Turk. I looked at him, and in that frightening moment, I did not see an Oriental officer sitting beside the Major General - nor even a person at all. I saw the petite homme rouge. I didn't call him that at the time, but later, when people talked about Napoleon's stygian companion, I knew of what they spoke. A short, red-faced fellow with red hair and red eyes, and nothing about him wholesome. Nothing about it was of our world, but there it was, standing on two feet in Milan.

Bonaparte looked at the Turk as if he were out of his mind. "Egypt? If not England, then why Egypt? Aren't you listening?"

"Europe is but a molehill," said the petite homme rouge, and I remember thinking why doesn't Rose, or the Beast, or Alencon see his hellhound eyes? Why is everyone treating this nightmare as a normal person? "Alexander knew this," the petite homme rouge said. "Augustus. Why, all the great reputations have come from Egypt, mon general."

I told them, yes, despite my prophecy, that Cairo would kneel to Bonaparte. "But you shall be victorious only on Egypt's dry land," I said. "Beware the sea."

"I shall be victorious in Egypt," said the Major General, and the petite homme rouge repeated me, saying, "On land." But Bonaparte did not heed him. In his delight, the twitchiness in his shoulder vanished.

The petite homme rouge said, "Will he meet anyone there? A magician? Will he meet an old Egyptian magician there? Can you see that, young lady?"

I said that he might. He very well might. The King of Spades, which Madame Gilbert called the magician, was inverted near the fool, that is, the three of hearts, and I could see them next to one another wrestling like naughty twins.

"Will he meet Canum?" said the petite homme rouge. "Will I find a person there named Canum? Can you see that?"

I did not know, truly, between you and me, Eleta. I could not be sure and I was confused! What was this Canum he spoke of, do you know, Eleta, dear? I did not, so I did not say.

"Where? If he will meet the magician, where will we meet him? In Cairo? Or must we advance toward the first cataract of the Nile, perhaps? Where is the Canum?"

But I could not answer, and Madame Rose made a graceful joke about Oriental manners, which made the petite homme rouge remember himself, and in whose presence he sat. So he eased back in his chair, and in my eyes he lost his crimson hair, fiery eyes, and became again the Turk.

And I saw that it did not matter that I should answer him this strange question about Canum or Canoumme or whatever he might have been saying - for I had fulfilled his purpose. I had delivered the message that Bonaparte was invincible, that after Italy, Bonaparte should attempt Egypt. This suited the petite homme rouge for he was of that faraway land, I now believe, and wanted to return to Egypt and did not care how he got there – even if it meant riding thousands of dead French souls.

I'm admitting this to you, now, Eleta. Fifty years later, I admit this finally, because I wonder if I am a murderer. I wonder if I caused the slaughter of millions by telling that Beast what I saw in his future. Did I set a course to destruction that night? I believe I did, my lamb, and I shall never forgive myself for saying truthfully what I saw. And this is why I read fortunes in cards, now, still. This is why I go to the courts of Europe as I do, reading cards for crowns and kings. For I never want any powerful man to see the future as Bonaparte did. I have devoted my life to recovering that enticing, thrilling hum of power that I felt in the Serbaloni Hotel that one evening, but also to clouding the future whenever I thought I saw it true in a prince's cards. I do not condone "lying," but the truth is a poisonous herb that we card readers must at times pull up by the roots, my little lamb.

And yet, stories about the petite homme rouge are circulating once more in the public houses, as another Bonaparte is indeed ascendant. But I think we are safe. Once the first Napoleon returned from Egypt, the petite homme rouge never appeared again at Bonaparte's side, though the Beast was often accompanied by Oriental officers. I hope that the petite homme rouge locked itself in a pyramid or took up with his old friend Canum up the Nile. I cannot say and do not care to know, as long as he is not in France.

So there is my story at last, and I hope that I may pass into the Great Beyond with a clean soul. I ask forgiveness, not for my "lies" but for the truth I told, and I dearly hope that you will help me rectify my wrong by taking up my name and lifelong mission of toppling tyrants.

I remain your devoted and loving,

Aunt Marie

Paris

October 29, 1841