Charbonneau (17 page)

JUNE 2: Baptiste’s diary: “A note from Paul today requesting my company for dinner and mentioning a proposed trip to England for some weeks—he is related to the Royal House there in some way, a puzzle I have never been able to unravel. It is an invitation which leaves Sternenstein little choice, as there is something of the
well-loved slave
in his position. I will miss Sophie—if indeed Sophie and I are still lovers by then; I sometimes wonder what future we have.”

JUNE 5: “Prince Paul presented me with a most handsome gift, another birthday present which he said had been some time in the making: a harmonika of teak, mahagony, and silver, with Jean-Baptiste Charbonneau engraved in florid script on the silver. The new ones were introduced in Vienna only three years ago; mine has a button which changes the key of the instrument and thereby augments the tonal possibilities. I was highly gratified. I played for him some American and French-Canadian folk tunes, and we talked of old times in America. I
do
think of it sometimes. We’re off to England in three weeks.”

JUNE 9: “
Le sauvage naïf
seems to be spending less time courting Sophie, which is probably just as well. Today I drank the afternoon away with Karlheinz in a
Schenke
and drank the evening away in the company of high-class whores. Karlheinz loves to dally with them even when he doesn’t feel like bedding; tonight their presence spurred him to one of his finest mock-philosophical orations, this time in the style of Descartes. He and Sternenstein drink too much, but in that particular company we are still favored.”

JUNE 14: “An accomplishment:
Le sauvage naïf
today gained an earnest compliment from Herr Kapellmeister for his application to his musical studies. I have the rudiments of harmony, and demonstrated today that I can harmonize certain hymns, songs of the common people, and drinking songs. I now try my hand at small compositions—rounds, canons, short songs. What a surprise I would be to General Clark, to Coco, and to the awful Mme. Berthold.”

JUNE 22: “This afternoon Sophie and I went walking to the river to see the steamboat. Standing on the high bank, I asked her again to marry me. She said no; the answer seemed quick, firm, light. She smiled slightly when she said it, and I thought looked a little sad; then she took my hand. On the way back we stopped at a cottage to talk with an old man who was working in his garden. He gave us a short lecture on the plants—their roots, their tubers, their sproutings, their leaves, their pollen—far more than I ever wanted to know about plants. He seemed completely absorbed with the fact that they struggle to live and thrive, and that, with his help, they succeed. As we moved on, Sophie pronounced herself touched. A moment later she put her head on my shoulder and her arm around me and said seriously, ‘Baptiste, this is everything there is. This happiness. This
now
. Take it, and don’t look for possession.’ That, I suppose, is all the answer I shall have to my proposal. I feel on the edge of bitterness.”

JUNE 26: “What do you think, wise reader? Is Sophie playing
le sauvage naïf
for a fool? Does she not mean for us to play like healthy young animals while we are in the flower of life so that she, when a little faded in bloom, can marry some fellow who is rich, respectable, titled, and
white
! Or have you known this already for many pages?”

JUNE 28: “Sophie invited me to the house today, took me most tenderly, lovingly, and later passionately to bed, and then told me it was the last time. What else is there to say? The Prince and I leave for England day after next.”

Sissinghurst Castle

August 7, 1825

Mlle. Coco Berthold

Main Street

St. Louis

State of Missouri

United States of America

My dear Coco—

I beg your forgiveness for having been so long delinquent in writing you; I am, you may be sure, ashamed not to have sent you a letter these eighteen months when I promised periodic accounts of my adventures.

I am now some four weeks in England, and at present am a guest with the Prince in this castle in Kent. I well know you and your family have no great love for the English, and I have learned to have none as well: They are tedious. The days in England are an endless procession of gray skies and muggy heat. The best one can say of the people is that they are careful, measured, and dignified. They have neither dash nor style, no sense of fun; but cut all their feelings in half: Never fascinated, they are only
curious
; never outraged, they are merely
miffed
; never exultant—merely
gratified
. Do you remember the impertinent fun and gay times we used to have? They would think it unseemly. It is precisely the sort of country to have led the fight against Napoleon and to have driven Lord Byron into exile, and perhaps to an untimely death.

They understood so bold and heroic a figure as Napoleon not at all. Of the English only Byron has caught him on the proper scale—do you know the verses?:
“Whose game was empires, and whose stakes were thrones,/ Whose table earth—whose dice were human bones.”

Paul spends his time here either consulting with professors of natural history or having leisurely chats with his various royal relations. I have been bored, but have used the time to grasp something of English history: I am fascinated by Sir Francis Drake and Sir Walter Scott, but don’t understand the reverence for Elizabeth, and I find Cromwell quite distasteful. Byron interests me ever more;
Don Juan
seems a masterwork, and I am posting you a copy when I post this letter. In it are two of my favorite couplets:

Society is now one polish’d horde,

Formed of two mighty tribes, the Bores and Bored.

Oh, you lords of ladies intellectual,

I know your wives hen peck you all.

The words apply to the English most aptly.

In Stuttgart I did attend the University of Württemberg; though I confess that I did not apply myself to the Roman history, Latin, military theory, & etc., I have, however, labored assiduously at my musical studies: I have been playing the musical compositions of Mozart and Beethoven (Germany’s most celebrated living composer) at the pianoforte, which to me is much superior in sound and expressive range to the harpsichord; I have also composed a song or two, and look forward to testing their worth against your discriminating judgment if I may be allowed to play and sing them for you in the future.

It has been my privilege to be in the company of some of the luminous figures of the two countries in which I have been living: King William of Württemberg, naturally, as I lived in the castle, and the Queen and Queen Mother; here in England most of the royal family, though that was a mere presentation out of courtesy and I did not speak much with them. I have made some friends in Stuttgart, including a fellow student and a young woman several years our senior. She fascinates all who know her: Manners being less
restrictive
here, she dresses and comports herself in somewhat masculine style, and is not retreating and
obsequious
in the way women are taught to be. She is now engaged in writing a satiric novel, normally the province of a man. As she counts among her acquaintance many of the principal artists and intellectuals of Württemberg, and indeed of Europe, so I have been privileged to meet them as well.
Romanticisme
, as it was named by the brilliant Mme. de Stael, is all the rage in Europe; it is sure to have its foolish aspects, but I believe that it is a powerful force and liberating, and one day it will change all of the Western world; even in St. Louis it will make people more nearly
free men
than they are, and I look forward to that day.

I have spoken enough of myself for now, and eagerly await your response. I hope (and believe) that this letter finds you well. Is your family prospering? Are you engaged or married (do not be coy with me, good friend)? Please send all the news
post haste
. I am, mademoiselle

Yrs. respectfully

Jean-Baptiste Charbonneau

Stuttgart, September 30, 1825

General Wm Clark, Superintendent

Bureau of Indian Affairs

St. Louis

State of Missouri

United States of America

Sir:

I have just received your letter on return from a journey to England; my most humble apologies for my failure to send you an account of myself and my activities long since.

I matriculated at the University at Württemberg, the University of Shakespeare’s Hamlet, a year ago, and have made some progress in my studies, especially my musical studies, of which I am very fond. You have often recalled to me that you named me “Dancing Boy” when I was but an infant on the great Expedition; perhaps you then perceived my predilection for music, which now evinces itself so strongly.

In England this summer, where Prince Paul was kind enough to present me to the royal family, I witnessed an event that may be of considerable interest to you: The British opened the first locomotive-powered Railway line, between Stockton and Darling ton. This railway employs cars that run on tracks, as in the coal mines; but rather than being drawn by mules or horses, they are pulled by a
Locomotive
, an engine car that is powered by steam. In this manner the cars may be moved much more rapidly than before; and the British carry passengers on this Railway. It is much anticipated here that before the lapse of many years the Railway will become a principal mode of transportation for people and goods through all of Europe. The drawback, which does not apply to the steamboat, is the necessity of putting down metal tracks on which the cars may run; but the Railway may go
anywhere
. This invention may become of importance to U.S. commerce, and I imagine that you will be interested to hear of it, if the newspapers have not heretofore carried the news.

The main gratification of my eighteen months here is the numerous friends whom I have made, both in intellectual and artistic circles and in
society
. I do not find my
blood
a hindrance here; perhaps it is an advantage, in that many people of consequence wish to meet me, at least for curiosity, which I confess can be loathesome. Society is not strict in Europe, however, and men of color seem to be regarded as men. I was even able to initiate an
affaire of the heart
with a prominent young woman; alas, it has come to naught, but I do not believe its termination had to do with my race. Therefore I see opportunity here from which ignorant prejudice bars me in St. Louis.

I regret, then, that I must answer your question about my possible return to the U.S. negatively for the present. My feeling at this time is that, as long as Prince Paul wishes me to reside as his guest in Stuttgart or his companion in his travels, I will stay on here and try to discover a place for myself in the world.

I remain deeply grateful to you, the single person most responsible for my being given opportunities seldom afforded to members of my race. I look forward to hearing from you, Sir, about the welfare of your family and yourself, and the news of the city where I passed twelve significant years. Your most humble and obed’t. svt.,

Jean-Baptiste Charbonneau

FEZ, 30 August 1826

Karlheinz von Sternberg

University of Württemberg

Stuttgart

Württemberg

My Dear friend:

Your
Sternenstein
has some leisure just now here in Fez; the Prince is busily engaged in final preparations for our caravan to the interior. I know nothing of the real North Africa as yet; we have not approached the Atlas Mountains nor the Sahara Desert, neither have we met with the primitive tribesmen who inhabit those places. I am but slightly acquainted with this city, the capital of the Sultanate but am more acquainted than I would wish to be with the Moorish city of Tangier. However, I must write you now or not at all for some months, as the interior is quite beyond reach of postal services.

Tangier is a city twice conquered. Centuries ago, the native Berber people held sway in this country; but Moorish sultans took dominion from them. These Sultans still rule, and the vast majority of the people are Moors, Berbers making up an oppressed class. (I have not yet made the acquaintance of anyone of mixed blood, to discover the fate of half-breeds in this land!) Effectively, however, the French have great influence here; for what small commerce there is, the French govern; there is report of approaching French rule.

One cannot imagine that it matters who governs here and who is governed; the people are desperately poor and ill, and Tangier is the most repugnant city it has been my ill luck to visit. Beggars line the streets endlessly, sitting against the walls, seldom if ever moving, and ignored by everyone. They sometimes seem to be shadows or spirits instead of people. When they do move, to cry out for a small coin, they plead their case by pulling back their robes to show the most grotesque sores and deformities. Some have no noses, others neither mouths nor hands nor feet; leprosy has maimed them. Many are missing hands that were chopped off in punishment for theft; many have syphilitic sores; I have seen one old man with a scrorum swollen to the size of his head, and swinging between his knees. Altogether this place is a phantasmagoria of the grotesque, far more bizarre and gruesome than the pale imaginings of our Gothic novelists. Removed from the land on which they must have once sustained themselves, gathered into cities that yet have not the employment that European cities offer, these wretches live in the worst of two worlds. The North American Indian, regarded as “backward,” has a life that makes sustenance, responsibility for oneself, and dignity possible. These backward people have no hint of the worthiness of their own persons.

They do gravitate toward a certain way out: Hashish, when they can get it; delirium from their illnesses also provides a kind of relief. In either case many live in lotus land, and are said to fade into death scarcely noting a change. Also their near neighbors oft do not heed their departure from life—not until they smell the bodies.