Désirée (4 page)

I knew many of the marchers. There were the apothecary's two nephews, and, heavens! shoemaker Simon's bowlegged son, outdoing himself to keep pace with the others! And there was Leon, the assistant from our own shop—he had not even asked permission, but had simply joined up and gone off. And behind Leon I saw three dignified young men with dark
yes and black hair, Banker Levi's sons. The Rights of Man had given them the same civil liberties as all other Frenchmen. Now they had put on their Sunday best to go to war for France. "Au revoir, M. Levi," I shouted, and all three of them looked up and waved. The Levis were followed by our butcher's sons, and then came in serried ranks the workmen from the docks. I recognized them by their blue linen tunics and the clatter of their clogs. And they were all singing
"Allans, enfants de la patrie,"
the new song, which was to become famous overnight, and I sang with them. Suddenly Julie was standing next to me. We gathered roses from the ramblers growing around the balcony and threw them down.

"Le jour de gloire est arrivé,"
roared up to us, and the tears ran down our cheeks. And below, Franchon, the tailor, caught two of the roses and looked up, laughing. Julie waved back at him with both her hands and called excitedly,
"Aux armes, citoyens, aux armes!"

They still looked like ordinary citizens in their dark coats or blue linen tunics, their leather boots or wooden shoes.

In Paris only some of them were given uniforms, because there were not enough to go around. But with or without uniforms, they beat back the enemy and won the battles of Valmy and Wattignies—the Simons and Léons and Franchons and Levis. And now the song they sang as they marched to Paris is being played and sung all over France. It is called La Marseillaise," because it was carried through the land by the men of our city. . . .

While I was thinking of those scenes, the old shoemaker had pushed his way through to us. He shook hands with us eagerly but with embarrassment, and we felt that he wanted to express his sympathy. Then he turned hastily to the subject of leather soles, which now are almost impossible to be obtained, and he went on to the tax relief which he wants to discuss with Albitte, and to his bowlegged son, from whom he has had no news. Then his name was called out, and he took leave of us.

We waited for many hours. Sometimes I closed my eyes and leaned against Suzanne. Every time I opened them the
rays of the sun shone at a sharper angle and a little redder through the window. Now there were fewer people in the room. Albitte seemed to be cutting short the interviews, for the archangel was calling out new names more often. But plenty of people who had been here before us were still waiting.

"I must find a husband for Julie," I said. "In the novels she reads the heroines fall in love when they are eighteen at the latest. Where did you meet Etienne, Suzanne?"

"Don't bother me now," Suzanne said. "I want to concentrate on what I must say in there." She glanced at the door.

"If I ever have to receive people, I shall not keep them waiting. I'll give them definite times to come, one after another, and receive them at once. This waiting is awful"

"What nonsense you talk, Eugénie. As if you would ever in your life—what did you call it?—be receiving people."

I fell silent, and grew sleepier still. Port wine makes you gay at first, I reflected, then sad, and finally tired. But it is certainly not strengthening.

"Don't yawn. It's very rude," Suzanne was saying.

"Oh, but we are living in a free republic," I murmured sleepily. Then I woke up with a start because another nan had been called out. Suzanne put her hand on mine. "It's not our turn yet," she said. Her hand was still cold.

At last I really fell fast asleep. I slept so soundly that thought I was in bed at home. Suddenly I was disturbed by the light. I did not open my eyes. "Julie," I seemed to be saying, "let me sleep, I'm tired." A voice said, "Wake up citizeness." But I took no notice until someone shook me by the shoulder.

"Wake up, citizeness. You can't go on sleeping here!"

"Oh, leave me alone," I grumbled, but then I was suddenly wide-awake. Startled, I pushed the strange hand from my shoulder. I had no idea where I was. I was in some dark room, and a man with a lantern was bending over me. For heaven's sake, where was I?

"Don't be alarmed, citizeness," the strange man said. His voice was soft "and pleasant, but he spoke with a foreign
accent, which made me sure I was having a bad dream. I' said I wasn't afraid, but, I thought, where am I, and who are you?

The strange man stopped shining the lantern in my face, and now I could see his features more clearly. He was a really handsome young man, with kind dark eyes, a very smooth face, and a charming smile. He was wearing a dark suit and a coat over it.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," the young man said politely, "but I'm going home, and I'm closing Deputy Albitte's office."

Office? How had I got to an office? My head ached and my legs felt like lead. "What office? And who are you?" I stammered.

"It's Deputy Albitte's office. And my name, as this seems to interest the citizeness, is Citizen Joseph Buonaparte, secretary to the Committee of Public Safety in Paris, seconded to Deputy Albitte as his secretary during his journey to Marseilles. Our office hours were over a long time ago; I must lock up, and it's against the law for anyone to spend the night in the Town Hall. I must therefore ask the citizeness very kindly to wake up and leave."

Town Hall, Albitte! Now I knew where I was, and why. But where was Suzanne? I was at a loss.

"Where is Suzanne?" I asked the friendly young man.

At that his smile broadened into a laugh. "I have not had the privilege of meeting Suzanne," he said. "I can only tell you that the last people who came to see Citizen Albitte left two hours ago. I am the only person in the office. And I am going home now."

But I must wait for Suzanne!" I insisted. "You must excuse me, Citizen Bo-ma-"

"Buonaparte," said the young man, politely helping me out. Well, Citizen Bonapat, you must excuse me, but here I am, and here I stay until Suzanne comes back. Otherwise there'll be a frightful row when I get home alone and confess that I lost her in the Town Hall. You can understand that, can't you?"

He sighed. "You're awfully persistent," he said. He put the
lantern on the floor and sat down next to me on the bench. "What is this Suzanne's surname, and why did she want see Albitte?"

"Her name is Suzanne Clary, and she is my broth Etienne's wife," I told him. "Etienne was arrested, and Suzanne and I came to ask for his release."

"Just a moment," he said. He got up, took the lantern, ai disappeared through the door where the archangel had stood guard. I followed him. He was bending over a large desk and looking through some files of papers.

"If Albitte received your sister-in-law," he explained, "your brother's file must be here. The Deputy always asks for the papers in the case before talking to the relatives of arrested men."

I did not know what to say, so I murmured, "The Deputy is a very just and kind man."

He glanced up at me mockingly. "Above all a kind man, citizeness. Perhaps too kind. And that's why Citizen Robespierre of the Committee of Public Safety commissioned me assist him."

"Oh, so you know Robespierre," I said without thinking Heavens, here was someone who knew Deputy Robespierre who will arrest his best friends to serve the Republic!

"Ah, here we are! 'Etienne Clary,'" the young man exclaimed in satisfaction. " 'Etienne Clary, silk merchant Marseilles.' Is that right?"

I nodded eagerly. "But in any case," I said, "his arrest was misunderstanding."

Citizen Buonaparte turned to me. "What was a misunderstanding?"

"Whatever it was that led to his arrest."

The young man looked severe. "I see. And why was arrested?"

"Well, that we don't know," I admitted. "But at any rate I can assure you that it was a misunderstanding." Then I thought of something. "Listen," I said eagerly, "you said you know Citizen Robespierre, of the Committee of Public Safety.

Perhaps you can tell him that Etienne's arrest was a mistake and—"

My heart stood still. For the young man shook his head slowly and seriously. "I can do nothing about this case. There is nothing more to be done. Here—" he solemnly picked up a document—"here is the decision, entered by Deputy Albitte himself."

He held the sheet out to me. "Read it for yourself!"

I bent over the document. Though he was holding the -lantern quite close, I could make nothing out. I saw a few hastily written words, but the letters danced before my eyes.

"I am so troubled, please read it to me," I said, close to tears.

" 'The matter has been fully explained,'" he read, " 'and he has been set free.'"

"Does that mean—" I was trembling all over—"does that mean that Etienne—?"

"Of course! Your brother is a free man. He probably went home to his Suzanne long ago, and is now sitting with the rest of the family enjoying his supper. And the whole family are making a fuss over him and have entirely forgotten you. But—but—what's the matter, citizeness?"

I had begun to weep helplessly. I couldn't stop, the tears ran down my cheeks, and I cried and cried; and I simply could not understand why I was crying, for I wasn't sad, I was terribly happy, and I didn't know you can weep for joy.

'I am so glad, monsieur," I sobbed, "so glad!" It was obvious that the scene was making the young man uncomfortable. He put down the file and busied himself with things on the desk. I dug down into my "Pompadour" handbag and looked for a handkerchief, but I found I had forgotten to put one in. Then I remembered the handkerchiefs in the front of my dress, and I reached down inside the open neck. At that moment the young man looked up, and he could hardly believe his eyes. Two, three, four little handkerchiefs came out of my frock, just as if I was a conjurer.

"I put them there so that everyone would think I was
grown-up," I murmured, thinking I owed him an explanation. I was terribly ashamed. "You see, at home they treat me like a child."

"You are no longer a child, you are a young lady," Citizen Boonopat assured me at once. "And now I'll take you home. It's not pleasant for a young lady to walk through the city alone at this time of night."

"It is ever so kind of you, monsieur, but I cannot accept--" I began to stammer in embarrassment. "You said yourself that you wanted to go home."

He laughed. "A friend of Robespierre permits no contradiction. We'll each have a sweet, and then go."

He opened a drawer in the desk and held out a bag to me. In it were cherries dipped in chocolate. "Albitte always keeps sweets in his desk," he told me. "Take another chocolate cherry. Good, isn't it? Nowadays only deputies can afford sweets like these." The last sentence sounded a little bitter.

"I live on the other side of the city; it would be very much out of your way," I said guiltily, as we were leaving. But I did not want to refuse his offer to escort me, for it's quite true that young ladies cannot be out alone in the evening without being molested. Besides, I did so like him.

"I am so ashamed of having cried," I said a little later.

He pressed my arm reassuringly. "I understand how you felt. I have brothers and sisters, too, and I love them. An also, sisters of about your age."

After that I no longer felt in the least shy. "Marseilles isn't your home, is it?" I asked him.

"Yes, it is. All my family, except one brother, live here now."

"I thought— Well, your accent is different from ours."

"I am a Corsican," he said, "a Corsican refugee. We all came to France a little over a year ago—my mother, my brothers and sisters, and I. We had to leave everythin
g we
owned in Corsica, and escaped with our bare lives."

It sounded wildly romantic. "Why?" I asked, breathless with excitement.

"Because we are patriots," he said.

"But doesn't Corsica belong to Italy?" I inquired. My ignorance is beyond belief.

"How can you ask such a thing?" he replied indignantly. "For twenty-five years Corsica has belonged to France. We were brought up as French citizens, patriotic French citizens! That's why we couldn't possibly come to terms with the party that wanted to hand Corsica over to the English. Then a year ago English warships suddenly appeared off our coast. You must have heard about it—didn't you?"

I nodded. Probably I had heard about it at the time, but I had forgotten all about it now.

"We had to flee. Mama and all of us." His voice was grim. He was like a real hero in a novel—a homeless refugee.

"And have you friends in Marseilles?"

"My brother helps us. He was able to get Mama a small government pension, because she had to flee from the English. My brother was educated in France. In Brienne, in the Cadet College. He is a general."

'Oh," I said, speechless with admiration. One really should say something when told that a man's brother is a general, but I couldn't think of a thing and he changed the subject.

"You are a daughter of the late silk merchant Clary, aren't you?"

I was startled. "How did you know that?"