Désirée (12 page)

At the table the bridal couple sat between Uncle Somis and Napoleone, while I found myself wedged in between Uncle Fesch and Lucien Buonaparte. Julie was so excited that her cheeks were pink and her eyes were shining, and for the first time in her life she was really pretty. Immediately after the soup Uncle Fesch tapped his glass because, as a former abbé, he had an awful urge to make a speech. His speech was very long and very serious and very dull; and as he considered it politically unwise to mention the Lord, he confined his laudatory remarks to "Providence." He said that we were indebted to Providence for this great happiness and this good dinner and this harmonious family party; we owed all this the good, the great, the omnipotent—Providence. Joseph winked at me and then Julie smiled, too. Napoleone's eyes twinkled. He laughed. And Mama, growing increasingly tearful as Uncle Fesch's sermon continued, looked at me deeply moved.

Etienne, on the contrary, gave me a look of sheer outrage
because the "Providence" that had brought Joseph and Julie together and bound the Clary and Buonaparte families so intimately together was, undoubtedly, I.

After the roast Etienne made a speech which was short and bad, and then we drank Julie's and Joseph's health. We had got to Marie's wonderful marzipan cake, with the sugared fruits, when Napoleone rose quickly, without first politely tapping his glass, and thundered, "Quiet for a moment." We flinched like frightened recruits. And Napoleone declared abruptly that he was glad to take part in this family celebration; he did not, however, owe his good fortune to Providence but to the Ministry of War in Paris, which had released him from prison without any explanation. Then he paused. I think he hoped to imply that, as a son once beli
eved lost forever but now returned to his family, he had expected to be welcomed more warmly. So far, of course, the young couple had been the centre of attention. After his impressive pause, Napoleone looked at me and I knew what was coming and I was frightened of Etienne.

"And so I want to take this opportunity, while the Clary and Buonaparte families are together on this joyful occasion, to inform—" again he paused. Then his voice softened, everyone was quiet, and it was clear that they were all trembling with emotion, "—inform you that last night I asked for Mlle Eugénie's hand in marriage and that Eugénie has consented to be my wife."

A storm of good wishes burst from the Buonapartes and I found myself in Mme Letizia's arms. But I glanced over at Mama. Mama looked as though she'd been hit over the head. No, she was not at all pleased. She turned toward Etienne and Etienne shrugged his shoulders. But at that moment Napoleone, glass in hand, stepped over to him and smiled— and the power Napoleone has over people is astonishing. For Etienne's thin lips parted, he smirked and touched Napoleone's glass with his. Paulette embraced me and called me sister, M. Fesch said something to Mme Letizia in Italian and she happily answered,
"Ecco."
I think he asked her whether my dowry was as large as Julie's. Everyone was so excited
that no one had taken any notice of Jérôme, the youngest Buonaparte, who had been stuffing himself with all the food he had room for, and more. Suddenly Mme Letizia shrieked, and I saw her leading a chalk-white Jérôme out of the room. I conducted mother and son to the terrace, and here Jérôme disgorged. After that he felt better, but we couldn't have our coffee on the terrace as we had planned.

Soon Julie and Joseph left and got into the gay carriage to drive to their new home. We all walked to the garden gate with them. I put my arm around Mama's shoulder and told her there was no reason to cry. Then more liqueur and cake were served. And Etienne tactfully explained to Uncle Fesch that he would not be needing new employees in the business as he had already promised to find work in the shop for Joseph and perhaps Lucien, too. Finally all the Buonapartes except Napoleone left. We walked in the garden; and Uncle Somis, who as I said appears only for weddings and funerals asked me when I was to be married. In answer to this Mama for the first time in her life, became truly energetic. She turned to Napoleone and placed both her hands pleadingly against his chest.

"General Buonaparte, promise me one thing—wait for the wedding until Eugénie is sixteen, will you?"

"Mme Clary—" Napoleone smiled. "It's not for me to decide this, but for you yourself, M. Etienne and Mlle Eugénie"

But Mama shook her head. "I don't know what it is about you, General Buonaparte—you are very young, and yet I have the feeling—" she hesitated, looked at him and smiled sadly
—
"I have the feeling that people usually do as you wish. At least your own family does; and since we've known you we too, seem to. So I am appealing to you. . . . Eugénie is still very young. Please wait until she is sixteen."

Whereupon Napoleone kissed Mama's hand, and without another word I knew this was a promise.

The very next day Napoleone was ordered to report to duty in the Vendee, where he was to command an infantry
brigade under General Hoche. I squatted on the grass in the warm September sun and watched him pace up and down before me, pale with fury. He poured forth a stream of words to explain to me how disgracefully he was being treated. To the Vendée! To track down hidden Royalists! A few starved aristocrats with their fanatically loyal peasants! "I am an artillery expert and not a policeman," he shouted at me. And as he spoke, he rushed up and down, up and down, his hands clasped behind his back. "They begrudge me the triumph of a court martial; they'd rather bury me in the Vendée—as though I were a colonel overdue for retirement. Keep me away from the front, let me be forgotten—!" When he was angry, his eyes showed a yellowish glint and were as transparent as glass.

"You can ask for your discharge," I ventured quietly. "With the money Papa left me I could buy a little country house and perhaps a few acres with it. If we managed it well and . . ."

He stopped with a jolt and stared at me. But if this idea doesn't appeal to you, you might join Etienne in the firm—" I continued quickly.

"Eugénie, are you mad? Or do you seriously believe that would settle down in a farmhouse and keep chickens? Or sell silk ribbons in your brother's little shop?"

"I had no intention of offending you, I only thought this might be a solution."

He laughed. His laughter was shrill and he was shaking unnaturally.

"A solution! A solution for the best artillery general in France! Or do you realize that I
am
the best general in France?"

With that he rushed up and down again, this time in silence. Suddenly, "I leave tomorrow!"

"To the Vendée?"

No, to Paris. I'll talk to the gentlemen in the Ministry of War."

"But isn't that—I mean, isn't it a serious offense in the Army if an officer disobeys orders?"

"Yes, it is. If one of my recruits disobeys, I have him shot. Perhaps I'll be shot, too, when I get to Paris. I'll take Junot and Marmont with me." ,

Junot and Marmont, his personal adjutants since the action in Toulon, were still in Marseilles. They considered his destiny theirs.

"Can you lend me some money?"

I nodded.

"Junot and Marmont haven't enough to pay the bill for their room. Like me they've had no pay since the day of my arrest. I must bail them out of their inn. How much can you lend me?"

I had been saving up for his dress uniform. Ninety-eight francs were hidden under the nightgowns in my dresser. "Give me all you have," he said and I ran up to my room and fetched the money.

He put the money in his pocket, then took it out again counted it carefully and said, "I owe you ninety-eight francs." Then he grasped my shoulders and held me close. "You'll see, I'll convince everyone in Paris. They must give me the supreme command in Italy, they must give it to me."

"When are you going?" I asked.

"As soon as I've got my adjutants out of their inn. And don't forget to write to me often. Send your letters to the Ministry of War in Paris; they'll forward my post to the front. And don't be sad—"

"I shall have a lot to do," I said. "I'll be embroidering the initials on the linen for my trousseau."

He nodded eagerly.
"B, B,
and again
B!
Mme General Buonaparte—"

And then he untied his horse which, to Etienne's annoyance, he had again hitched to our garden fence, and rode off toward the town. As he disappeared down the quiet street of villas he looked small and very lonely.

Paris, twelve months later—Fructidor, Year III

Nothing is more unpleasant than running away from home.

For two nights I've not seen a bed. My back aches badly because I've been sitting continuously in a travelling coach for four days. And I think the part of me I sit on must be black and blue—ordinary travelling coaches have very bad springs. And I've no money for my return journey. But I shan't need it; I have run away; I'll never go back.

I arrived in Paris two hours ago. It was almost evening and in the dusk all the houses looked alike: grey houses, one next to the other, with no front gardens. Houses and more houses. I had no idea that Paris was so vast. I was the only one in our coach who had never before been in Paris. Wheezing M. Blanc, who joined us two days ago and has business in Paris, took me to a hackney carriage. I showed the coachman thee slip of paper on which I had written the address of Marie's sister. I gave the coachman all the money I had, but he was rude because I had nothing over for a tip. The address was right and Marie's relatives, the Clapains, were at home, fortunately. They live in the rear building of a house in the rue du Bac. I've no idea in what district of Paris the rue du Bac is; not far from the Tuileries, I think. We drove past the Palace, which I recognized from the pictures I've seen. I keep pinching myself to make sure that I'm not dreaming. I am really in Paris, I've really seen the Tuileries, I really ran away from home.

Marie's sister, Mme Clapain, was very kind to me. At first she was embarrassed and went on drying her hands on her apron, because I am the daughter of Marie's "gentry." But
when I told her that I'd come secretly to Paris to arrange a certain matter, and because I have no money, Marie said that perhaps—well. Marie's sister was no longer embarrassed and said I could spend the night with her. Was I hungry? And how long did I want to stay? I said that I was hungry and gave her my bread ration ticket, for since the bad harvest, bread is strictly rationed and food is terribly expensive. I said I didn't know how long I'd stay. Perhaps one night, perhaps two. I began to eat and then M. Clapain came home. He is a carpenter and told me that this flat is in the rear building of a mansion which belonged to an aristocrat. The mansion was confiscated by the government but because of the housing shortage this building has been turned into flats for families with many children.

The Clapains have an enormous number of children. Three little children were crawling about on the floor; two more came running in from the street, wanting something to eat. So many diapers are hanging up to dry in the kitchen where we eat that it's like being in a Bedouin's tent. Immediately after the meal, Mme Clapain said she'd like to take a walk with her husband; she so seldom has a chance to because someone always has to look after the children. But now I'm here; and she will put the children to bed and leave without worry. The children were stuffed two into each of the beds, and the youngest was in a cradle in the kitchen. Mme Clapain put on a little hat with a frayed ostrich feather, M. Clapain poured the entire contents of a small bag of powder into his thinning hair, and off they went.

I felt terribly alone and strange in this huge city until I rummaged in my travelling bag and found a few familiar objects. At the last moment I had put in my diary. At first I turned back the pages and read how everything had happened. And now, with a split quill which I found next to the dusty bottle of ink on the kitchen dresser, I am trying to explain why I ran away from home.

I've not written in my diary for a whole year.

But nothing happens in the life of a grass widow—I should say a grass fiancée—whose fiancé is in Paris. Etienne got me
some cambric for handkerchiefs and nightgowns, and damask for tablecloths, and linen for sheets. He deducted the price of these things from my dowry. I embroidered one rounded
B
after the other, constantly pricked my fingers and called alternately on Mme Letizia in her basement flat and Julie and Joseph in their charming little villa. But Mme Letizia talked of nothing but inflation and the high cost of living and complained that Napoleone hadn't been able to send her any money. Julie and Joseph, on the other hand, never stopped gazing at each other and making remarks which no outsider could understand. They giggled and seemed brazenly happy and at the same time somewhat idiotic. Nevertheless, I went to see them often because Julie wanted to know what Napoleone had written to me, and I wanted to read his letters to Joseph.

Unfortunately we all have the impression that my fiancé is having a bad time in Paris. A year ago he arrived there with his two adjutants and with fat Louis, whom he took with him at the last moment so that Mme Letizia would have one mouth less to feed at home. As was to be expected, there was a fearful row at the Ministry of War because he had disobeyed the orders to go to the Vendée. Naturally Napoleone discussed his Italian plans again; and to get rid of him, the Minister of War sent him to the Italian front—on an inspection tour; no mention of a supreme command. Napoleone departed; and when he got there the generals on the southern front either did not receive him, or told him not to interfere with the commands of other officers. Then he came down with malaria and returned to Paris with a yellow face and wearing his old shabby uniform. When he reappeared at the Ministry of War, the Minister was furious and ordered him out. In the beginning Napoleone still got half his monthly pay, the first of every month; but later he was discharged from the Army without a pension. A terrible situation. . . . We don't know what he's been living on. By pawning his father's watch, he could survive about three days! He made Louis join the Army, since he couldn't support him any longer. From time to time, Napoleone has an assistant's job
in the Ministry of War. He draws military maps and is ruining his eyes at this work. His torn trousers were a great anxiety. His journey to Italy finished off his threadbare uniform and he tried to mend the trousers himself, but the steams burst open. Naturally he sent in a request for a new uniform but the State does not grant uniforms to unemployed generals. In his despair he went where they all go when they want to get something done—to "La Chaumière," home of the beautiful Mme Tallien.