Désirée (10 page)

"Well, at least, if he's arrested he can't force me to join the Army," fat Louis commented. He sounded positively triumphant.

"Shut up!" Lucien shouted at the fat boy. Louis is sixteen years old but he has never done a day's work in his life, and Napoleone wanted him to join the Army so that his mother would have one less mouth to feed. I can't imagine how flat-footed Louis could ever march anywhere. But perhaps Napoleone wanted him to join the cavalry.

"But why have they arrested him?" Mme Buonaparte asked.

"Napoleone knew Robespierre," Joseph muttered. "And he had the bad luck to submit his crazy plans to the Minister of War through Robespierre. What madness!" The corners of Joseph's mouth twitched nervously.

"Politics, these dreadful politics" Mme Buonaparte moaned.
"Signorina,
I assure you that politics are my family's misfortune. The father of my children—God rest his soul—devoted his life to politics, lost his clients' cases and left us nothing but his debts. And what do my sons talk about all day long? 'One must make useful contacts, one must meet Robespierre, it would be a good thing if we knew Barras—' That's how they carry on. And where does it all lead to?" She pounded the table furiously. "To being arrested,
signorina."

I bowed my head. "Your son Napoleone is a genius, madame," I said softly.

"Yes—unfortunately," she answered irritably, staring into the flickering light of the candle.

I sat up straight. "We must find out where they have taken Napoleone and then try to help him," I said, looking at Joseph.

"But we are poor people, we don't know anyone who would help us," Mme Buonaparte lamented.

I never took my eyes off Joseph.

"The Military Commandant of Marseilles must know where they have imprisoned Napoleone," Lucien said. By his family, Lucien is considered a budding poet and a dreamer; nevertheless, he made the first practical suggestion.

"What's the name of the Military Commandant of Marseilles?" I asked.

"Colonel Lefabre," Joseph said, "and he can't bear Napoleone. Only a little while ago Napoleone told the old man what he thought of him because the local fortifications are in such terrible condition."

"I'll go to see him tomorrow," I suddenly heard myself saying. "Mme Buonaparte, will you pack up a nice parcel of linen for him and perhaps a little food, and send it to me tomorrow morning? I'll take it to this colonel and ask him to give it to Napoleone. And I'll ask him . . ."

"Grazie tanto, signorina, grazie tanto,"
Mme Buonaparte spoke with an effort. At the same time we heard a piercing shriek, water squirted on the floor and Caroline shouted gleefully, "Mama, Jérome has fallen into the washtub."

While Mme Buonaparte pulled her youngest out of the tub, and then slapped him, I stood up. Joseph went to get his coat, to take me home. Lucien declared, "You are very kind, Mlle Eugénie; we shall never forget what you are doing for us." Then I realized how much I dreaded calling on this Colonel Lefabre.

When I said good-by to Mme Buonaparte she assured me, "I'll
send Paulette to you tomorrow morning with the parcel."
She thought of something else: "Now where is Paulette? She sa
id that she and Elisa were going to see a friend across the ro
ad and be back in half an hour. And here they're out again till
all hours."

I remembered Elisa's rouged face. I supposed that Elisa was by now enjoying herself with her young man in some tavern. And Paulette? Paulette is exactly as old as I.

Joseph and I walked in silence through the town. I re
membered the evening when he had taken me home for the first time. Could that have been only four months ago? That was the beginning—then, I was still a child, though I thought myself grown up. Today I know that one is not really grown up until one loves a man with all one's heart.

"They simply can't send him to the guillotine," Joseph said as we approached our villa. He'd clearly been thinking, too, during our long silence. "The worst they could do— that's a military regulation—the worst they could do would be to shoot him."

"Joseph!"

His features were sharply drawn in the moonlight. He does not love him, I realized with a shock—no, he does not love his brother; in fact, he hates him. Because Napoleone is younger and yet was able to get him a post, because Napoleone urged him to marry Julie, because Napoleone . . .

". .
. But we belong together," Joseph was saying, "Napoleone and I and our brothers and sisters, we belong together and we must stick together in good times and bad."

"Good night, Joseph," I said.

"Good night, Eugénie"

I got into the house unnoticed. Julie was in bed but the candle on her dressing table was still lit. She had been waiting for me. "You went to see the Buonapartes, didn't you?" she asked.

"Yes," I answered, as I quickly began to undress. "They live in a frightful cellar, and late in the evening Mme Letizia washes their clothes, and Jérome, that terrible child
,
fell into the washtub, and I think that the two girls—Elisa and Paulette—spend their evenings somewhere with men. Good night, Julie—sleep well."

At breakfast Etienne announced that Julie must postpone her wedding as he did not want a brother-in-law whose brother had been arrested because of his Jacobin opinions. It would be a family disgrace and bad for the business as well. Julie began to sob. "I refuse to postpone my wedding." Then she locked herself up in our room. No one discussed the matter with me because, except for Julie, no one has
any idea that Napoleone's concerns are mine. Well, perhaps Marie knows. I believe that Marie knows everything. After breakfast Marie came into the dining room, beckoned to me, and I went out into the kitchen where I found Paulette with the parcel.

"Come on," I said to her, "let's go quickly before anyone notices us." For Etienne would be wild with rage if he knew that I intended to call on an official with a parcel of underdrawers for Napoleone Buonaparte, who was under arrest.

I have spent my whole life in Marseilles, and Paulette came here only a year ago; but she knows her way about far better than I do. She knew exactly where to find the Military Commandant. She never stopped talking as we walked there. She swayed her hips as she walked, and her shabby, bright blue skirt swung back and forth. She held herself very erect and pushed out her bosom—it's much larger than mine though we are the same age—and every few minutes she passed her pointed red tongue over her lips to keep them shiny. Paulette's nose is narrow like Napoleone's; her dark blonde hair, done up in a thousand tiny ringlets, is tied together with a blue ribbon. She has plucked her eyebrows so that only a thin line remains, and this she blackens with charcoal. I think that Paulette is very beautiful, but Mama doesn't like her looks and doesn't wish me to be seen with her.

Paulette kept coming excitedly back to the former Marquise de Fontenay, the new Mme Tallien. "People in Paris are mad about her. They call her 'nôtre dame de Thermidor.' She was carried in triumph out of prison on the ninth of Thermidor, and Deputy Tallien married her at once. And just imagine—" Paulette opened her eyes wide and took a deep breath "—just imagine, she doesn't wear petticoats under her frock. She goes out in a transparent sort of undergarment—and one
can see everything! I tell you—everything!"

Where did you hear that?" I asked, but Paulette ignored me.

" Her hair is coal black and so are her eyes; and she lives in a house called 'La Chaumière,' in Paris, and inside it the
walls are all lined with silk. Every afternoon she receives all the famous politicians there and—yes, and I've heard that if one wants a favour from the Government one need only tell her about it. I've been talking to a gentleman who arrived only yesterday from Paris, and this gentleman—" she stopped suddenly.

"And this gentleman?" I asked expectantly.

"I met him. You know how one meets people, don't you? He was standing in the Town Hall square, looking at the Town Hall, and I happened to be passing. And-well, we suddenly got into conversation. But you must keep your mouth shut about this. Swear you will?" I nodded. "All right," Paulette continued, "swear by all the saints in heaven. You see, Napoleone is furious when I talk to strange gentlemen. He's such an old maid about such things. . . . By the way, do you think that your brother Etienne would give me some material for a new dress? I've been thinking that some transparent material in rose might be nice, and—" she broke off. "There, over there is the Military Commandant's office. Do you want me to go in with you?"

I shook my head. "I think it's better for me to see him alone. You'll wait for me, won't you? And cross your fingers to wish me luck?"

She nodded seriously and crossed her fingers. "And I'll recite the Lord's Prayer—it can't hurt anything," she said.

I held the parcel close and walked briskly toward the Military Headquarters. I heard my own voice, sounding rather hoarse and strange, asking the guard on duty to announce me to Colonel Lefabre. When I was conducted into the bare room and saw the huge desk and the foursquare Colonel my heart beat so violently that at first I couldn't speak. The Colonel had a square red face with grey stubbles of hair on it, and he wore an old-fashioned pigtail wig. I put the parcel on the desk, swallowed desperately and didn't know what to say.

"What is in that parcel, citizeness? And who are you?"

"Undergarments, drawers, Citizen Colonel Lefabre, and my name is Clary."

His watery blue eyes studied me from head to toe. "Are you a daughter of the late silk merchant, François Clary?"

I nodded.

"I used occasionally to play cards with your papa. A very honourable man, your papa." He continued to stare at me. "And what do you want me to do with these drawers, Citizeness Clary?"

"The parcel is for General Napoleone Buonaparte. He has been arrested. We don't know where he is. But you, Colonel, must know where he is. There's probably a cake in the parcel, too. Clean linen and a cake—"

"And what has François Clary's daughter to do with this Jacobin, Buonaparte?" the Colonel asked me slowly.

I felt very hot. "His brother Joseph is engaged to my sister Julie," I said, and considered my answer a stroke of genius.

"And why hasn't his brother Joseph, or your sister Julie come to see me?"

The watery eyes were very serious and continued to gaze at me intently. I had the feeling that he knew everything. Joseph is afraid. The relatives of arrested men are always afraid, aren't they?" I spoke with difficulty. "And Julie has her own worries at the moment. She is crying because Etienne—that's our older brother—has abruptly refused to allow her to marry Joseph Buonaparte. And we've had all this trouble because—" I was by then so furious that I couldn't control myself—"all because you, Citizen Colonel, have arrested the General."

"Sit down," was all he said.

I sat down on the edge of a chair beside his desk. The Co
lonel took a pinch of snuff. He looked out the window. He see
med to have forgotten me completely. Suddenly he t
urned and faced me. "Listen to me, citizeness—your brother E
tienne is quite right. A Buonaparte is not a suitable match for
a Clary—a very honourable and respected man, your late P
apa."

I said nothing.

I don't know this Joseph Buonaparte. He's not in the
Army, is he? But as far as the other brother is concerned, this Napoleone Buonaparte . . ."

"General
Napoleone Buonaparte!" I interrupted, tossing my head.

". . . As for this General, it was not I who had him arrested. I only carried out orders received from the Minister of War in Paris. Buonaparte has Jacobin sympathies, and all such officers—I mean all the extreme elements in the Army —have been arrested."

"And—what will happen to him?"

"I've not been informed about that."

And as the Colonel made a gesture indicating that it was time for me to leave, I stood up. "The linen and the cake," I said pointing to the parcel, "perhaps you could give him these things?"

"Nonsense. Buonaparte isn't here any longer. He was taken to Fort Carré in Antibes."

I had not been prepared for this blow. They had dragged him away, I couldn't reach him . . . "But he must have some clean laundry so that he can change," I said awkwardly. The red face before me was blurred; I wiped away my tears, but fresh tears came. "Can't you send him the parcel, Citizen Colonel?"

"But, my dear child, do you think I have nothing better to do than spend my time looking after the underclothing of an uncouth youngster who is allowed to call himself a general?"

I sobbed loudly. He took another pinch of snuff; the scene obviously embarrassed him greatly. "Do stop crying," he said.

"No," I sobbed.

He came around his desk and stood next to me. "You stop crying, I say!" he shouted at me.

"No," I sobbed again. Finally I wiped my eyes and looked at him. He was standing close to me, his watery blue eyes glittering helplessly.

"I can't stand tears," he said. At that I began to cry again. "Stop it," he shouted. "Stop it! . . . Well-if you won't leave me in peace—all right, I'll send one of my soldiers to
Fort Carré with the parcel and ask the Commandant there to give it to this Buonaparte. Are you satisfied now?"