Desiree

  ‘It was not easy for me to dispose of this material,’ Etienne said candidly. ‘But Monsieur Persson’s country possesses a royal court, and Her Majesty the Queen of Sweden will need, I hope, a new State robe, and will appoint Monsieur Persson a Purveyor to the Court.’

  ‘You must not keep brocade too long, silk goes to pieces,’ I told Monsieur Persson, as a well-informed daughter of a silk merchant.

  ‘This material will not,’ Etienne declared. ‘There are too many gold threads woven in.’

  The parcel was quite heavy, and I held it in my two arms, pressed against me. Although it was still early, the sun was hot, and my hair was sticking damply to my temples when at last we reached the mail coach. We had come rather late, and so could not spend long in farewells. The other passengers had already taken their seats in the coach. Etienne, with a sigh of relief, lifted in the travelling-bag he had been carrying and set it down on the toes of an elderly lady, and Persson almost dropped the picnic-basket as he shook hands with Etienne. Then he entered into an excited discussion with the postillion, who had placed his luggage on the roof of the coach. Persson told him that he would not let the big parcel go out of his sight and would keep it on his knees all the time. The postillion objected, and in the end the coachman lost patience and shouted: ‘Take your seats!’ The postillion jumped up to the box and sat next to the driver and blew his horn. At last Persson got awkwardly into the coach with his parcel. The coach door was slammed to, but Persson opened it again. ‘I shall always hold it in honour, Mademoiselle Eugenie,’ he shouted. Etienne, shrugging his shoulders, asked, ‘Whatever does that mad Swede mean?’

  ‘The Rights of Man,’ I replied, surprised at myself, because my eyes were brimming. ‘The broadsheet on which the Rights of Man are printed.’ As I said it I thought how pleased Persson’s parents would be to see his equine face once more, and I thought that man was passing for ever out of my life.

  Etienne went into the shop, and I went with him. I always feel quite at home in the silk shop. I always did feel entirely at home. As a little girl I had often gone there with Papa, and he had always told me where the different rolls of silk came from. I can also distinguish the various qualities, and Papa always said that it was in my blood because I am a true silk merchant’s daughter. But I think it is just because I so often watched Papa and Etienne passing a piece of material between their fingers, apparently crumbling it and then looking with their eyes screwed up to see whether it would crush easily, whether it was new or old material, and whether there was any danger of the material soon becoming brittle.

  Although it was early in the morning, there were already customers in the shop. Etienne and I greeted them courteously, but I noticed at once that these were not important customers, only citizenesses who wanted muslin for a new fichu or cheap taffeta for a coat. The ladies from the great houses in the environs, who in the past had given big orders to our firm at the opening of the Versailles season, are no longer to be seen. Some of them have been guillotined, many have fled to England, but most have gone ‘underground’, that is to say they are living under false names in some place in which they are not known. Etienne often says that it is a great disadvantage for all craftsmen that the Republic does not arrange balls or receptions. For that the terribly stingy Robespierre is to blame.

  I went to and fro in the shop for a while, helping the customers to feel the various materials and persuading them to buy bright green silk ribbons, because I had the feeling that Etienne wanted to get rid of them. Then I went home, thinking as always of Napoleone, and wondering whether he would put on a gala uniform for our celebration of Julie’s betrothal.

  When I got home I found Mama very excited. Julie had confessed to her that Joseph was coming in the afternoon to talk to her. And now she felt unequal to the situation. At last, in spite of the heat, she went into the town to consult Etienne. When she came back, she had a headache, lay on her sofa, and asked to be called as soon as Citizen Joseph Buonaparte had come.

  Julie, on the other hand, was behaving as if she was crazy. She was going up and down the drawing-room, groaning. Her face, too, was quite green, and I knew she was ill. Julie always suffers from stomach-ache when she is very excited. In the end I took the restless soul into the garden with me, and we sat in the summer-house. The bees were humming in the rambler roses, and I felt sleepy and very contented. Life is so simple, I thought, when you really love a man. Then you belong only to him. If I were forbidden to marry Napoleone, I should just run away with him.

  At five o’clock there arrived a gigantic bouquet, with Joseph hidden behind it. The bouquet and Joseph were taken into the drawing-room by Marie; then Mama was informed, and the door of the drawing-room closed behind the two. I put my ear to the keyhole to try to catch what Joseph and Mama were murmuring. But I could not make out a word.

  ‘A hundred and fifty thousand francs in gold,’ I said to Julie, who was leaning against the door with me. She shuddered.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Papa left a hundred and fifty thousand francs in gold for your dowry, and a hundred and fifty thousand for mine. Don’t you remember that the lawyer read that when Papa’s will was opened?’

  ‘What does that matter?’ said Julie peevishly, pulling out her handkerchief and wiping her forehead. Heavens, what a comic picture is a bride-to-be!

  ‘Well, are we to congratulate you?’ said someone behind us, laughing. Napoleone! As soon as he had come he leaned against the door with us. ‘May I, as a future brother-in-law, share the intolerable suspense?’

  Julie’s patience broke down. ‘Do what you like, but leave me in peace!’ said she, sobbing. At that Napoleone and I went on tiptoe to the sofa and sat down silently. I was fighting against hysterics, the whole situation was so idiotically absurd. Napoleone poked me gently in the side. ‘A little more dignity, I should like to suggest, Eugenie!’ he whispered, pretending to be cross.

  Suddenly Mama was standing in the doorway, saying with shaky voice, ‘Julie, please come in.’

  Julie rushed into the drawing-room like mad, the door closed behind her and Mama, and I – threw my arms around Napoleone’s neck and laughed and laughed.

  ‘Stop kissing me,’ I protested, because Napoleone had at once seized his opportunity. But in spite of that I did not let him go – until I thought of the gala uniform. I got a little away from him, and looked reproachfully at him. He had on the same threadbare green uniform as usual, with its shiny back.

  ‘You might have put on your gala uniform, General,’ I said. But I was sorry at once for saying that. His tanned face grew quite red. ‘I have none, Eugenie,’ he confessed. ‘So far I have never had enough money to buy one for myself, and all we get from the State is a tunic – the field-uniform I am wearing. We have to pay for the gala uniform with our own money, and you know—’

  I nodded eagerly. ‘Of course, you are helping your mama and the children! And a second uniform would be quite superfluous, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Children, I have a great surprise, a very great surprise for you!’ Mama stood in front of us, laughing and crying at the same time. ‘Julie and Joseph—’ Her voice quivered. Then she regained composure. ‘Eugenie, fetch Suzanne at once! And go and see whether Etienne has come home yet. He promised me that he would be here punctually at half-past five.’

  I rushed up the stairs and told the two of them.

  And then we all drank champagne. It was getting dark in the garden, but Joseph and Julie no longer bothered about the summer-house but just talked about the home they would set up in one of the suburbs. Part of Julie’s dowry was to serve for buying a nice villa. Napoleone went away to tell his mother all about it. And I came up to my room to write it all down.

  Now my nice little bit of tipsiness is all gone. I am just tired, and a little sad. For now I shall soon be alone in our room, and I shall never be able to use Julie’s rouge again and surreptitiously read her novels. But I don’t want to be sad, but to think about something
cheerful. I must find out what day is Napoleone’s birthday. Perhaps the pocket-money I have saved up will be enough for a uniform. But – where do you buy a gala uniform for a General?

  Marseilles, mid-Thermidor. (Mama calls it the beginning of August)

  Napoleone has been arrested. Since last night I have been living in a nightmare.

  Meanwhile the whole town has been wild with joy; there is dancing in front of the Town Hall, and band after band of musicians are marching past. The Mayor has arranged the first ball for two years.

  Robespierre and his younger brother were outlawed and arrested by the other Deputies on the ninth of Thermidor, and dragged next morning to the guillotine. Everybody who had been associated with him in any way is now in terror of arrest. So far ninety Jacobins have been executed in Paris. Joseph has already lost his position, which he owed to Napoleone’s friendship with Robespierre’s brother. Etienne says he will never forgive me for bringing the two Buonapartes into our house.

  Mama wants Julie and me to go to the Mayor’s ball. It would be my first ball, but I’m not going. I cannot laugh and dance when I don’t even know where they have taken Napoleone.

  Until the ninth of Thermidor – no, really until the tenth – Julie and I were very happy. Julie was working hard on her trousseau, embroidering hundreds of letter B’s on cushion covers, tablecloths, sheets, and handkerchiefs. The wedding is due to take place in about six weeks. Joseph came every evening to see us, and often brought his mother and the children. When Napoleone was not inspecting a fortress somewhere, he would look in at any time of the day, and sometimes his two handsome ADCs, Lieutenant Junot and Captain Marmont, came with him.

  But I was not a bit interested in the interminable talk about the political situation, so that I have only now learnt that some two months ago Robespierre decreed that Deputies could be arrested like other people by any member of the Committee of Public Safety. They say that many Deputies are very frightened because they have grown rich on bribes. The Deputies Tallien and Barras are said to have become millionaires.

  Suddenly Robespierre had even the beautiful Marquise de Fontenay arrested, the lady whom Deputy Tallien set free some time ago and who since then has been his mistress. Nobody knows why she was arrested; perhaps it was just to annoy Tallien. People like Tallien and Barras were afraid of being arrested for taking bribes; at all events, they organised a big conspiracy with a man named Fouché.

  At first, this news was simply not believed in Marseilles. But when the newspapers arrived from Paris there was wild excitement. Flags were hung out, the shops were shut, and everybody made a round of visits. The Mayor did not even wait for confirmation, but at once released all the political prisoners. At the same time, the fanatical Jacobins were quietly arrested.

  Napoleone and Joseph were terribly agitated when they came to see Etienne; they went into the parlour with him. After they left, Etienne was very bad-tempered: he told Mama that those ‘Corsican adventurers’ would be getting us all into prison. Napoleone stayed with me for hours in the summer-house, and told me that he would have to change his profession. ‘You can’t expect an officer,’ he said, ‘in whom Robespierre took an interest to be retained in the army.’ I noticed for the first time that he took snuff.

  Junot and Marmont came every day to meet Napoleone secretly at our house. They could not believe that he would simply be struck off the army list. But when I tried to comfort him and told him what Marmont and Junot had said, he shrugged his shoulders and just said, ‘Junot is an idiot. He’s a faithful soul, but he’s an idiot.’

  ‘But you always say he’s your best friend!’

  ‘Of course he is – absolutely faithful and devoted; he would go to his death for me. But he hasn’t any sense – he’s an idiot.’

  ‘And Marmont?’

  ‘Marmont is very different. Marmont sticks to me because he is sure that my Italian plans will bring success in the end. Bound to!’

  But everything has happened differently from what we expected. Last night, when Napoleone was at supper with us, we heard the approach of men on the march. Napoleone jumped up and rushed to the window; he never sees a squad of soldiers but he must find out what regiment they belong to, where they have come from, where they are going, and what is the sergeant’s name.

  The tramping stopped in front of our house; we heard shouting, and then the crunching of the gravel in the front garden; finally there came a hammering at the front door.

  We all sat as if turned to stone. Napoleone had come away from the window and was looking at the door, with a pale drawn face. He had crossed his arms.

  Then the door was flung open, and Marie and a soldier burst into the room together.

  ‘Madame Clary!’ Marie began, but the soldier cut her short. ‘Is General Napoleone Buonaparte in this house?’ he shouted.

  Napoleone calmly went up to the soldier, who clicked his heels, saluted, and said, ‘Warrant of arrest against Citizen General Buonaparte!’

  He handed a paper to Napoleone. Napoleone held it close to his eyes.

  ‘I’ll bring a light,’ I said, jumping up.

  ‘Thank you, my love,’ said Napoleone, ‘I can read the order quite well.’

  Then he put down the paper, looked hard at the soldier, and went up to him and tapped him on the button below the collar.

  ‘Even on hot summer evenings,’ he said, ‘the sergeant’s uniform is required to be buttoned up. What stupidity!’

  While the soldier fingered his uniform in embarrassment, Napoleone turned to Marie.

  ‘Marie,’ he said, ‘my sword is in the ante-room; will you please be so kind as to hand it to the sergeant.’

  Then, bowing toward Mama, he said, ‘Please forgive this disturbance, Citoyenne Clary!’

  Napoleone’s spurs clinked as he went out. Behind him tramped the sergeant. We did not move. Again we heard the crunching of the gravel in the garden; then the soldiers marched away. Not till then did Etienne break the silence.

  ‘Let us go on,’ he said, ‘there’s nothing we can do.’

  He picked up his spoon.

  When we came to the joint he remarked, ‘What have I told you from the first? He is an adventurer, sponging upon the money of the Republic!’

  And when we came to the dessert he added, ‘Julie, I regret having given my consent to your betrothal to that man.’

  After supper I slipped away through the back door. Although Mama had had the whole of the Buonaparte family here several times, we had never been invited by Madame Letitia to go there. I had a good idea why that was. The family live in the poorest quarter of the town, just behind the fish market, and Madame Buonaparte may well have been ashamed to let us see her poor refuge. But now I wanted to see her. I must tell her and Joseph what had happened, and talk about how to help Napoleone.

  I shall never forget that journey through the dark narrow lanes round the fish market. At first I ran like mad; I felt that I must not lose a moment; I only slowed down when I was coming to the Town Hall square. My hair was all damp, and my heart was thumping painfully.

  There was dancing in front of the Town Hall, and a tall man with his shirt-collar open caught me by the shoulder and roared with laughter when I pushed him away. One person after another tried to stop me; sticky fingers touched my arms, and suddenly a girl exclaimed, ‘Look, there’s the little Clary girl!’

  It was Eliza Buonaparte, Napoleone’s eldest sister. Eliza is only seventeen, but that evening, painted and powdered and with dangling earrings, she looked much older. She was hanging on the arm of a young man whose fashionable high collar hid half of his face.

  ‘Eugenie!’ she called after me, ‘Eugenie, won’t you let my partner give you a drink?’

  But I ran on, into the narrow unlit lanes leading to the fish market. There I was in the midst of a darkness filled with a giggling and shrieking throng. A hubbub of love-making and quarrelling came out of all the doorways and windows, and courting cats were miauling in the gutter.

/>   I breathed more freely when I reached the fish market; there were a few lights there, and I began to get the better of my timidity. Soon I was ashamed of it, and also of the fine white villa with the lilac trees and rambler roses that was my home. I crossed the fish market, and asked where the Buonapartes lived.

  I was directed to the dark entrance of a lane: the house was the third on the left. Joseph had once told me that they had a basement dwelling.

  I came to some narrow steps that led down to a basement, stumbled down, reached a door, and found myself in Madame Buonaparte’s kitchen.

  It was a big room, lit only by a candle in a broken saucer. The smell was dreadful.

  Joseph was sitting at the table, in a crumpled shirt, without a neckerchief, reading newspapers by the light of the candle. Opposite him, the nineteen-year-old Lucien was bending over the table, writing. Between the two was a dish with the remains of a meal. At the back, in the dark, clothes were being washed; somebody was scrubbing hard, and water was splashing. The heat was unbearable.

  Joseph!’ I said, to attract his attention. He jumped up.

  ‘Has somebody come?’ asked Madame Buonaparte, in broken French. The scrubbing stopped, and Napoleone’s mother came into the light, wiping her hands on a big apron.

  ‘It’s me, Eugenie Clary,’ I said.

  At that Joseph and Lucien started up. ‘For heaven’s sake, what has happened?’ Joseph asked.

  ‘They have arrested Napoleone.’

  For a moment there was deathly silence. Then Madame Buonaparte cried out, drowning Joseph’s voice:

  ‘Holy Virgin, Mother of God! I saw it coming, I saw it coming!’

  ‘Terrible,’ exclaimed Lucien.

  They gave me a rickety chair to sit on, and I told them what had happened.

  Then Louis came in from another room: he is seventeen and very fat. He listened apathetically.