Désirée (15 page)

At that very moment, someone with an iron grip grabbed
my shoulders and pulled me back. I tried to shake off the strange hands and shouted, "Leave me alone! Let me go!" But he was holding both my arms and pulling me firmly away from the parapet. I kicked him in self-defence. In spite of I my efforts, I was dragged away. It was so dark that I couldn't see who he was. I heard myself sobbing in despair and I was choking; and I hated the masculine voice, louder than the rain, "Calm yourself. Don't be foolish—here is my carriage."

There was a carriage on the quay. I kept on struggling wildly, but the stranger was much stronger than I and he pushed me into the carriage. Then he sat down next to me and called to the coachman, "Drive on—it doesn't matter where, but drive on."

I moved away as far as I could from the stranger. Suddenly I noticed that my teeth were chattering, from wetness and excitement; and small streams of water were falling from my hair, over my face. A hand reached for mine, a large warm hand. I sobbed, "Let me get out! Leave me!" Yet at the same time I clutched at this strange hand because I was so thoroughly miserable.

"You yourself asked me to escort you," came from the dark depths of the carriage. "Don't you remember, Mlle Desire?"

I thrust away his hand and said, "I—I want—to be alone now—"

"Oh, no, you asked me to be your escort at Mme Tallien's. And now we two are staying together until I've seen you home."

His voice was soft and quite attractive. "Are you this General—this General Bernadotte?" I asked. Then everything came back to me and I screamed, "Leave me alone! I simply can't bear generals. Generals have no hearts."

"Well, there are generals—and generals," he said and laughed. I heard a rustle in the dark and a coat was laid across my shoulders.

"I'll get your coat wet," I said. "In the first place, I'm soaked through with rain; and in the second place, I can't stop crying."

"It doesn't matter," he said. "I expect that. Wrap yourself
up in the coat." A memory flashed through my mind of another general's coat, on another rainy night. That time, Napoleon was holding my hand. . . . The carriage rolled along. Once the coachman stopped and asked a question, but the strange general called out, "No, just go on. I don't care where you go!"

So we drove on and on and I sobbed into the strange coat. "What a coincidence that you happened to be passing on the bridge," I said. And he answered, "No coincidence at all. I felt responsible for you because it was I who took you to the reception. And when you left the drawing room so precipitately, I followed you. But you ran so fast that I preferred to pursue you in a hired carriage. Besides, I wanted to leave you alone as long as possible."

"And why were you mean enough not to leave me alone altogether?" I demanded.

"It was no longer possible," he replied quietly, putting his arm around my shoulder. I was dead tired, nothing mattered anyway, I felt so exhausted. Just drive on, I thought; on, never to have to stop; never to have to see or hear or speak; just to drive on. ... I put my head on his shoulder and he held me a little closer to him. At the same time, I tried to remember what he looked like. But his face was blurred with the many other faces I had seen. "Forgive me for having disgraced you," I said.

"It's all right," he said. "I'm only sorry—for your sake—"

I poured the champagne over her white dress on purpose. Champagne leaves spots," I murmured. Suddenly I began to cry again. "She is far more beautiful than I am—and a great lady—"

He held me close and with his free hand pressed my face a
gainst his shoulder. "Just cry yourself out," he said. "Just cry."

I cried like I've never cried before. I couldn't stop. At times I screamed, and then again I gasped; and all the time I burrowed against the roughness of his uniform. "I'm getting your shoulder pad wet," I sobbed.

"They're already soaked. But don't mind that—go on crying," he said.

I think we drove through the streets for hours, until I had no more tears left. I had cried myself empty. "Now I'll take you home. Where do you live?" he asked.

"Just let me out here, I can get home," I said, and thought of the Seine again.

"Then we'll drive some more," he said. I sat up. His shoulder was so wet that it was no longer comfortable.

In a little while I asked, "Do you know General Bonaparte personally?"

"No, I saw him once, casually, in the waiting room of the Ministry of War. I don't like him."

"Why?"

"I don't know. One can't explain the attraction or antipathy one feels for people. You, for example, I find attractive."

We were silent again. The carriage rolled on through
the rain.
Whenever we passed a street lantern, the pavement glistened in many colours. My eyes were burning, so I closed them and leaned back my head. "I believed in him as I have never believed in any other human being," I heard myself saying. "More than in Mama; more than in —no, it was different with Papa. So I simply cannot understand—"

"There's a lot you can't understand, little one."

"We were to have been married in a few weeks. And now without a word he . . . "

"He would never have married you, little girl. He has been engaged for a long time, to the daughter of a wealthy silk merchant in Marseilles."

I pulled away. His warm protecting hand found mine again. "You didn't know that either, did you? The Tallien told me about it this afternoon. 'Our little general is sacrificing a large dowry to marry Barras' discarded mistress,' is literally what the Tallien said. Bonaparte's brother is married to this Marseilles fiancée's sister. At the moment, a faded countess with useful connections in Paris is more important to Bonaparte than a dowry in Marseilles. So you see, my child—he would not have married you in any case."
           
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His voice was calm, almost comforting in the darkness. At first I didn't understand what he meant. "What are you talking about?" I asked, rubbing my forehead with my left hand to help me think more clearly. My right hand still held tight to his; it was then the only bit of warmth in my life.

"My poor child—forgive me for hurting you, but it is better for you to face the facts. I know how hard it is—but now you know the worst. That's why I told you what the Tallien said. First, it was a wealthy merchant's daughter; now, a countess who has useful connections because she slept with one of the directors, and before that with two gentlemen in the Army's supreme command. You, on the other hand, my little girl, have no connections and no dowry."

"How do you know that?"

"One can tell by looking at you," he said. "You are only a little girl, a very good little girl. You don't know how great ladies behave or how social life is conducted in drawing rooms. And you obviously have no money or you would have slipped a note to the Tallien's lackey and he would have admitted you. Yes, you are an upright little thing and—" he paused. Suddenly he burst out, "And I should like to marry
you."

"Let me get out! Don't make fun of me," I said. I leaned forward and knocked against the glass. "Coachman, stop the carriage at once!" The carriage stopped. But the General shouted, "Drive on immediately!" And the carriage drove on trough the night.

Perhaps I did not express myself very well," came from the darkness. "You must forgive me but I've never had an opportunity to meet young girls like you. And, Mlle Désirée, I mean it—I'd like very much to marry you."

"In Mme Tallien's drawing room there were crowds of ladies who seem to have a preference for generals," I said. "I have not!"

"You don't think I would marry one of those cocottes— forgive the word, mademoiselle—one of those ladies, I mean."

I was too tired to answer, much too tired to think. I could not understand what this Bernadotte, this tower of a man,
wanted of me. My life was over anyway. I felt cold despite his large coat, and my silk shoes were soaked through and felt like lead on my feet.

"Without a revolution, I wouldn't be a general; not even an officer, mademoiselle. You are very young but perhaps you've heard that before the Revolution no bourgeois was ever promoted beyond the rank of captain. My father was a clerk in a lawyer's office and came of a family of craftsmen. We are simple people, mademoiselle. I worked my way up. I joined the Army when I was fifteen and then for a long time I was a noncommissioned officer; and gradually—well, now I am a general commanding a division, mademoiselle. But perhaps I am too old for you?"

"You will believe in me—whatever may happen," Napoleon once said to me. A great lady with useful connections and silver eyelids ... Of course, I understand you, Napoleon —but it is shattering me.

"I have a very important question to ask you, mademoiselle."

"Forgive me, I didn't hear you. What did you ask me General Bernadotte?"
 

"Whether I am too old for you?"

"I don't know how old you are. And it doesn't matter, does
it?"

"But it does. It's very important. Perhaps I really am too old; I am thirty-one."

"I'll soon be sixteen," I said. "And I'm very tired; I'd like to go home now."

"Yes, of course. Forgive me, I am very inconsiderate. You live—?"

I told him the address and he gave it to the coachman.

"Will you consider my proposal? In ten days I must return to the Rhineland. Perhaps you could give me an answer by then?" He spoke slowly and added more quickly, "My name is Jean-Baptiste, Jean-Baptiste Bernadotte. For years I have been saving part of my pay; I could buy a little house for you and the child."

"For what child?" I asked' involuntarily. He became more han ever incomprehensible.
                         
,

"For our child, naturally," he said promptly—and reached or my hand but I quickly pulled it away. "I want so much to have a wife and a child. For years I've wanted them, mademoiselle."

I lost my patience. "Listen to me, you don't know me at all."

"Yes, I do—I know you well," he said and he sounded as though he did. "I think I know you far better than your family does. I have so little time to think about my own life; I'm almost always at the front, and so I couldn't come visit your family for weeks—and take walks with you and do whatever a man is supposed to do before he can make a proposal of marriage. I have to decide quickly—and I have decided."

He was serious. He wanted to use his leave to get married, to buy a house—and a child . . . "General Bernadotte." I said, "in the life of every woman there is only one great love."

"How do you know?" he asked quickly.

"It's so—" How
did I
know this? "It says so in all the novels and it must be true," I said.

At that moment.the carriage creaked to a stop. We had arrived at the Clapains' house in the rue du Bac. He opened he carriage door and helped me out. A lantern hung over the house door. I stood as I had at Mme Tallien's, on tiptoe, so that I could see his face. He had beautiful white teeth and a huge nose. I handed him the key which Mme Clapain had lent me and he unlocked the door. "You live in a very fine house," he remarked. "Oh—we live in the building at the back," I said. "And now good night and many thanks, truly many thanks for —everything."

But he didn't move. "Go back to the carriage, you'll get all wet," I said. Then I remembered something and smiled. "Don't worry, I'll stay here," I assured him.

That's a good girl," he said. "Good night—and when may come for your answer?"

I shook my head. "In the life of every woman . . . " I
began again. But he raised his hand warningly. Instead, I said, "It wouldn't do, General, really not. It isn't that I'm too young for you, but you can see yourself— I'm much too short for you!" With that, I quickly closed the door behind me.

When I came into the Clapains' kitchen, I was no longer tired—only utterly exhausted. I can't sleep now—can never sleep again. So I am sitting at the kitchen table writing and writing. The day after tomorrow this Bernadotte will come here to inquire after me, but I will certainly not be here. I don't know where I'll be the day after tomorrow.

Marseilles, three weeks later

I have been very ill.

Cold in the head, sore throat, very high fever, and what the poets call a broken heart. In Paris I sold Marie's gold medallion for just enough assignats to pay for my journey home. Marie put me right to bed and called the doctor because I had such a high fever. He couldn't understand where I could have caught cold—it hadn't rained for days in Marseilles. Marie also sent a messenger to Mama, who returned at once to nurse me. So far, no one has discovered that I have been in Paris.

Now I am lying on the sofa on the terrace. They have covered me up with many blankets, and they say that I am very pale and frightfully thin. Joseph and Julie returned from their journey yesterday and are coming to see us this evening. I hope I shall be allowed to stay up.

Marie has just come running out to the terrace. She is flourishing an extra broadside and seems very excited.

Gen. Napoleon Bonaparte has been appointed Military Governor of Paris. Hunger riots in the capital have been suppressed by the National Guard.