Désirée (9 page)

"I have none, Eugénie.," he confessed. "I have never had enough money to buy myself one and all we get from the State is a tunic—the field uniform I have on. We have to pay for the gala uniform with our own money, and you know—"

I nodded enthusiastically. "Of course, you are helping your mama and your brothers and sisters. And a second uniform would be quite superfluous, wouldn't it?"

"Children, I have a great, a very great surprise for you!" Mama stood before us, laughing and crying at the same time. "Julie and Joseph—" Her voice quivered. Then she pulled herself together. "Eugénie, call Suzanne! And go and see if Etienne is home yet. He promised me he'd be here punctually at half-past five."

I rushed up the stairs and told them both.

And then we all drank champagne. It was getting dark in he garden, but Joseph and Julie no longer bothered about he summer house, but kept talking about the home they would have in one of the suburbs. Part of Julie's dowry was togo for buying a nice villa. Napoleone left to tell his mother all about it. And I came up to my room to write it all down. .

My nice little tipsiness is all gone. I'm only tired and a little
bit sad. For now I'll soon be alone in our white room and I'll
never be able to use Julie's rouge again and surrep
titiously read her novels. But I don't want to be sad; I wan
t to think about something cheerful. I must find out when Nap
oleone's birthday is. Perhaps the allowance I've saved will
be enough for a gala uniform. But—where do you buy
gala uniform for a General?

Marseilles, middle of Thermidor
(Beginning of August, Mama says)

Napoleone has been arrested.

I have been living in a bad dream since last evening. Except for me, the whole town is wild with joy. People are dancing in front of the Town Hall, bands march by one after another, and the mayor is planning a ball, the first in two years. On the ninth of Thermidor Robespierre and his brother were deprived of their civil rights by the other deputies, arrested, and the next morning hauled off to the guillotine. Everyone who had anything whatsoever to do with Robespierre is afraid now of being arrested. Joseph has already lost the post he got through Napoleone's friendship with Robespierre's younger brother. So far, more than ninety Jacobins have been executed in Paris. Etienne says he will never forgive me for bringing the Buonapartes to our home. Mama insists that Julie and I attend the mayor's ball. It would be my first ball, but I won't go. I can hardly laugh and da when I don't know where they've taken Napoleone.

Until the ninth of Thermidor—no, actually until the tenth— Julie and I were very happy. Julie was working eagerly on her trousseau and embroidered hundreds of times the letter
B
on pillow slips, table cloths, towels and handkerchiefs. The wedding is to be in about six weeks. Joseph came see o us every evening, often with his mother and his brothers and sisters. If Napoleone wasn't inspecting some fortification or other, he appeared at all hours of the day; and sometimes his handsome adjutants, Lieutenant Junot and Captain Marmont, came, too. But the interminable talk about politics d
idn't interest me at all. That's why I've just learned that about two months ago Robespierre instituted a new method of
voting. It seems that from now on even deputies can be arrested at the order of a member of the Committee of Public Safety. They say that lots of deputies have guilty consciences because they've got rich on bribes. Deputies Tallien and Barras are rumoured millionaires. Robespierre also unexpectedly arrested the beautiful Marquise de Fontenay, whom Deputy Tallien had previously released from prison and who, since then, has been his mistress. Why Robespierre arrested her, no one knows—perhaps only to annoy Tallien. Many believe there really was something against Fontenay, while others believe that Tallien and Barras were afraid of being arrested themselves because they took bribes—in any event, they organized a great conspiracy, secretly, with a certain Fouché.

At first we could hardly believe these rumours. But when the first newspapers arrived from Paris, the whole town changed with a bang. Flags were hung from the windows, the shops were closed, and everyone called on everyone else, The mayor didn't wait for instructions from Paris; he simply released all the political prisoners. Fanatical members of the Jacobin Club, however, were quietly arrested. The mayor's wife is making a list of prominent Marseilles citizens who will be invited to the ball at the Town Hall.

Napoleone and Joseph came to see Etienne. They seemed very worried and shut themselves up with him in the parlour. Afterward, Etienne was angry. He told Mama that "these Corsican adventurers" would land us all in jail. Napoleone sat for
hours in our summer house and told me that he would have to take up a new profession. "You don't really think," he said, "that an officer in whom
R
obespierre was interested will be
kept on in the Army." For the first time I saw him take
snuff. Every day Junot and Marmont met Napoleone secretly
at our house. Neither of them could imagine that his name
would ever be dropped from the list of officers. When I re
peated to him what Marmont and Junot had said, and tr
ied to comfort him, he shrugged his shoulders con
temptuously. "Junot is an idiot," he declared. "Entirely loyal but an idiot."

"But you've always said he was your best friend?"

"Of course. Entirely loyal even unto death, but without a brain in his head. None. An idiot."

"And—Marmont?"

"Marmont—that's something else again. Marmont is loyal because he believes that eventually my Italian plans must succeed—
must
succeed, do you understand?"

Then everything turned out quite differently from what we had expected. Last evening Napoleone was having supper with us. Suddenly we heard marching feet. Napoleone jumped up and rushed to the window, because he can't bear to see even four marching soldiers without wanting know their regiment, where they come from, where they're going, and the name of their sergeant. The marching stopped in front of our house, we heard voices, then crunching on the gravel path, and finally a loud knock on our door. We all sat there petrified. Napoleone had turned from the window and stared, as though he'd been turned to stone, at the door. He crossed his arms over his chest; his face was very white. The door flew open. Marie and a soldier burst into the room together.

"Mme Clary . . ." Marie began.

The soldier interrupted her. "Is General Napoleone Buonaparte in your house?" He seemed to know the name by heart for he rolled it off without hesitation. Napoleone quietly stepped out from the bay of the window and went to him. The soldier clicked his heels together and saluted.

"Warrant for the arrest of Citizen General Buonaparte!"

Simultaneously he handed Napoleone a piece of paper. Napoleone lifted this nearer his eyes, and I leapt up and said, "I'll get a light."

"Thank you, my dear, I can read the command very well," said Napoleone.

Then he let the paper drop, considered the soldier carefully, went straight to him and tapped his top button. "Even on a warm summer evening, the uniform of a sergeant in the
Republican Army should be buttoned according to regulations!" While the embarrassed soldier fumbled with his uniform, Napoleone turned to Marie. "Marie, my sword is in the hall. Please be kind enough to hand it to the sergeant!" And with a bow to Mama: "Excuse the interruption, Citizeness Clary."

Napoleone's spurs clanked. The sergeant stamped out of the room behind him. We didn't stir. Outside, we heard again crunching on the gravel path in the front garden, the marching steps thundered down the road and died away. Finally Etienne broke the silence. "Let's finish our meal, we can't help—" His spoon clinked. We were eating the roast when my brother exclaimed, "What have I said from the start? An adventurer who tried to make a career with the help of the Republic." When we got to dessert, he added, "Julie, I regret that I ever gave my consent to your betrothal to
 Joseph."

After the meal, I crept out by the back door. Though Mama had frequently invited the Buonaparte family to our home, Mme Letizia had never returned the invitation. I could readily imagine why she hadn't. The family lived in the poorest quarter of the town, behind the fish market, and Mme Letizia "was probably ashamed to ask us there. But now I was on my way there. I had to tell her and Joseph what had happened and to see what we could do to help Napoleone.

I shall never forget that trip through the dark narrow streets behind the fish market. At first I ran; I felt that I mustn't waste a minute. I never slowed up until I got to the Town Hall square. My damp hair clung to my forehead and my heart hammered painfully. People were dancing in the square; and an emaciated man, with his shirt open, grabbed hold of
my shoulder and laughed coarsely when I pushed him away. Again and again some creature or other stood in
my way; I felt clammy fingers snatching at me.

Suddenly I heard a girlish giggle: "Well, I never, it's the little
Clary girl!" It was Elisa Buonaparte, Napoleone's eldest sis
ter. Actually, Elisa is only seventeen; but that evening she was so
heavily rouged and so dressed up, with dangling
earrings, that she looked much older. She was leaning on the arm of a young man whose fashionably high collar hid half his face. "Eugénie—" she called after me, "Eugénie, can't my young man treat you to a glass of wine?" But I kept on and disappeared in the narrow unlit alleyways on the way to the fish market. There I was submerged in leering, creaking simmering darkness. Terms of endearment and curses fluttered down from the doors and windows, and in the alley lovesick cats meowed. I breathed more freely when I reached the fish market where there were a few lanterns. I was suddenly ashamed of being afraid, and I was also somehow ashamed of my own beautiful white villa with the lilac bushes and rambler roses. I crossed the fish market and asked a man where the Buonapartes lived. He pointed to a dark narrow cavern of a street. The third house on the left. Joseph had once mentioned that they lived in a cellar. I saw a narrow staircase and stumbled down the stairs, pushed open a door and found myself in Mme Buonaparte's kitchen. It was a large room which I couldn't see clearly because there was only one miserable candle, standing in a cracked teacup. The smell was frightful. Joseph, wearing a crumpled shirt and no tie, sat at the table reading a newspaper by candlelight. Nineteen-year-old Lucien, opposite him, was leaning over the table and writing. Between them were plates with remains of food on them. In the dark recess of the kitchen, someone was washing clothes.
Schrum, schrum—I
could hear hands moving up and down with fanatical energy on the washing board; there was a sound of gurgling water; and it was so hot that I almost suffocated.

"Joseph," I said, so he'd notice me. Joseph was startled.

"Has someone come in?" This was Mme Buonaparte speaking in her broken French. The
schrum, schrum
at the washing board stopped. Napoleone's mother stepped into the circle of candlelight, drying her hands on her large apron.

"It's I," I said, "Eugénie Clary."

Whereupon Joseph and Lucien exclaimed together, "In the name of God, what's happened?"

"They've arrested Napoleone," I said.

For a moment there was deathly silence. Mme Buonaparte groaned, "Holy Mary, Mother of God." Joseph's voice choked as he cried, "I've seen it coming, I've seen it coming!" Lucien managed a broken, "How awful!"

They asked me to sit down on a wobbly chair and tell them all about it. Brother Louis—sixteen years old and very fat —came out of the adjoining room and listened with no change of expression. I was interrupted by a terrible scream; the door was flung open and little Jérome, Napoleone's ten-year-old brother, rushed into the kitchen, followed by twelve-year-old Caroline. She was shouting horrible waterfront curses. And then they began to struggle for something he was trying to stuff into his mouth. Mme Buonaparte slapped Jérome, reprimanded Caroline in Italian and took away whatever it was Jérome was trying to swallow. When she discovered that it was a bar of marzipan, she broke it in two and gave Jérome and Caroline each a piece. She shouted, "Be quiet! We have a guest!"

When Caroline noticed me, she said, "Oh, la, la—one of the rich Clarys!" Then she came over to the table and sat on Lucien's lap.

A horrible family, I decided, but I was ashamed of thinking so. They can't help it that there are so many of them. They can't help being so poor and not having any living room except the kitchen.

In the meantime, Joseph had begun to question me. "Who ar
rested Napoleone? Are you sure they were soldiers—not the
police?"

They were soldiers," I answered.

"Then he is not in prison but under some sort of military ar
rest," Joseph concluded.

"What difference does that make?" Mme Buonaparte moaned.

"A tremendous difference," Joseph declared. "The military authorities would never execute a general without a trial; he'll come before a court martial."

"You have no idea how dreadful this is for us,
signorina
" Mme Buonaparte remarked. She pulled up a kitchen stool, sat down beside me and placed her damp work-worn hand on mine. "Napoleone is the only one of us who earns a regular income. And he has always been industrious and economical, and gives me half of his pay for the other children. It's a pity, what a pity!"