Désirée (7 page)

"You must never have any secrets from me, Mlle Eugénie. I
can see deep into the hearts of young ladies. Besides, Joseph t
old me last night that you had promised to introduce him t
o your elder sister. You also told him that your sister was v
ery pretty. That's not true, and—you must have had good r
eason for your little white lie."

"We must hurry," I said to that. "The others must be in the summer house already."

"Hadn't we better give your sister a chance to get better acquainted with my brother before she becomes betrothed to him?" he asked softly. His voice sounded very gentle, almost—yes, almost caressing. His accent quite often seems less foreign than his brother's.

"Joseph will very soon be suing for your sister's hand," he told me then quite forthrightly. It was so dark now that
I could see his face only dimly, but I could tell he was s
miling.

"How do you know that?" I asked, puzzled.

"We talked about it last night," he replied, as if that were the most natural thing in the world to do.

"But last night your brother had never met my sister," I retorted, outraged.

Then he very gently took my arm, and I could feel his nearness all through me. We went slowly on, and he spoke so tenderly and trustingly that we might have been friends for years.

"Joseph told me of his meeting with you, and also that your family are very well-to-do. Your father is no longer living, but I assume that he left a considerable dowry for you and your sister. Our people are very poor."

"You have sisters, too, haven't you?" I remembered that Joseph had mentioned sisters of my age the day before.

"Yes, three young sisters and three young brothers," he said. "And Joseph and I have to provide for Mama and of them. Mama has a very small pension from the State, because she's considered a persecuted patriot since fleeing from Corsica. But the pension doesn't even pay the rent You have no idea, Mlle Eugénie., how expensive a life is now in France."

"So your brother only wants to marry my sister for her dowry?" I tried to sound cool and wise, but my voice shook with indignation and dismay.

"How can you say that, Mlle Eugénie.! I think your sister is a lovely girl—so friendly, so modest, with such pretty eyes —I am quite sure that Joseph finds her charming. They will be very happy together."

He began to walk faster. To him the subject was settled. "I'm going to tell Julie everything you've said," I warned him.

"Of course. That's why I've explained it so carefully. Yes, tell Julie, so that she'll know that Joseph will soon be suing for her hand."

I was horrified. How shameless, I thought; and I imagined Etienne sneering, "Corsican adventurers!" "May I asked said coldly, "why you are so concerned about your brother's marriage?"

"Sh! Don't shout! You must realize, Mlle Eugénie., that before I take over as commander in chief in Italy I want to see my family well settled. Joseph is interested, too, in politics and literature, and he may be able to do well in one or the other of those fields if he no longer has to accept subordinate posts. After my first Italian victories, I will of course look after my whole family." He paused. "And— believe me, mademoiselle, I shall look after them well!"

We had come to the summer house. "Where have you been so long with the child, General?" Julie asked. "We waited a long time for you and Eugénie." But we could see that she and Joseph had completely forgotten us. They were sitting close together on a little bench, though there were plenty of other places to sit. They were also holding hands but I suppose they thought no one could see them in the twilight.

We all four went back then to the house, and both the brothers Buonaparte said they must be going. But at that Etienne spoke up. "My mother and I would be honoured if the Citizen General and Citizen Joseph Buonaparte would stay to supper with us. It's been a long time since I've had an opportunity to participate in such interesting conversation." With this, he looked quite appealingly at the General; he paid no attention to Joseph.

Julie and I hurried to our room to do something about our hair. "Thank goodness," she said, "they both made a good impression on Mama and Etienne."

I must tell you," I said, "that Joseph Buonaparte will soon ask for your hand. And mostly because—" I stopped, my heart was beating so-"because of the dowry!"

How can you say such a hateful thing!" Julie's face was flaming. "He told me how poor his family is, and—" she put two little black velvet bows in her hair—"and naturally he couldn't marry anyone without a dowry because he has only a small salary and has to help his mother and the younger children. I think that's very fine of him. Otherwise . . . Eugénie.!" she exclaimed. "I won't have you constantly using my rouge!"

"Has he told you already that he wants to marry you?" I asked.

"Whatever put that idea into your head? Why, we just discussed things in general, and his little brothers and sisters."

On our way down to the dining room, where they were all crowded around our two guests, Julie suddenly put her arm around my shoulders and pressed her cheek to mine. Hers was very hot. "I don't know why," she whispered, and she kissed me, "but I'm so happy!"

I took her hand. In spite of her burning cheeks, her fingers were ice-cold. I suppose that's love. For myself, I wasn't hot or cold but I had that queer heaviness around my heart. Napoleone—a queer name. So that's what it's like to be in love. Napoleone . . .

That was all two months ago.

And yesterday I was kissed for the first time and Julie was betrothed. The two events belong together somehow, for while Julie and Joseph were sitting in the summer house Napoleone and I were standing by the hedge at the bottom of the garden, so as not to disturb the others. Mama has told me always to spend the evenings in the garden with Julie and Joseph, because Julie is a young lady of good family.

Since that first visit the two brothers have been to see us almost every day. Etienne—who could have believed it? Wonders will never cease—invited them to come. He never gets enough of his talks with the young General. (Poor Napoleone, how terribly they must bore him!) Etienne is one of those people who values a person according to his success. When I first said that the two Buonapartes were Corsican refugees he refused to have anything to do with them, and called them "adventurers." But ever since Joseph showed him the clipping from the December
Moniteur
in which his brother was gazetted Brigadier General, Etienne has been fascinated with Napoleone.

Napoleone had driven the English out of Toulon. This is how it happened. The English, who are always meddling with our affairs, were enraged at our condemning our King
to death (though Napoleone says it's only a hundred and fifty years since they did the same thing to their own king). So they, the English, formed an alliance with the Royalists of Toulon, and occupied the town. Then our troops besieged Toulon. Napoleone was ordered there, and in no time succeeded where his superiors had failed. Toulon was stormed, and the English routed. Then for the first time the name Buonaparte appeared in the Army Orders, and Napoleone was promoted to Brigadier General. Etienne, of course, pestered him for the whole story of the siege of Toulon; but Napoleone says there was no trick to it, merely a matter of a few cannon, and he, Napoleone Buonaparte, understands thoroughly how and where to put cannon to the best advantage.

After his success at Toulon, Napoleone went to Paris to try to see Robespierre. Robespierre is the most powerful man in the Committee of Public Safety. That committee is our Government. To get to the great Robespierre he had first to see the younger Robespierre, the great man's brother. Robespierre—the right one—thought Napoleone's plans for a campaign in Italy were excellent, discussed them with the Minister of War, Carnot, and asked him for permission to entrust the preparations to Napoleone. Napoleone says that Carnot gets furious whenever Robespierre interferes with his Ministry, because it's really none of his business. But nobody dares to contradict Robespierre, because he has only to sign a warrant and off one goes to the guillotine. That's why Carnot received Napoleone with such a show of friendliness and accepted his Italian plans. "First," said Carnot, "inspect our fortresses in the south; I will give your ideas careful attention, Citizen General." But Napoleone is quite sure that his Plans lie pigeonholed in the Ministry of War. Robespierre, however, will soon arrange, Joseph thinks, for Napoleone to be given the supreme command in Italy.

Etienne and all our friends hate this Robespierre. But they don't say so aloud; that would be too dangerous. It is said th
at Robespierre has made the members of the Revolutionary Tribunal give him secret reports on the opinions of all the
officials in the State service. Even the private life of every single citizen, they say, is watched. Robespierre has declared that every genuine Republican has a duty to live a moral life and to despise luxury. Recently, he actually had all the brothels in Paris closed. I asked Etienne whether brothels were a luxury, but he said angrily that I mustn't talk about such things. And no dancing in the streets is allowed any longer, though that was a pleasure everybody enjoyed on public holidays. Etienne has absolutely forbidden us ever to criticize Robespierre in front of the two Buonapartes.

Etienne talks to Napoleone of practically nothing but the Italian plans. "It is our sacred duty," says Napoleone, "to instill into all the European peoples the idea of Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity. And if necessary—with the help of cannon!" I always listen to these talks just to be near Napoleone, though they weary me terribly. The worst is when Napoleone begins to read the
Handbook of Modern Artillery
to my brother. That sometimes happens and Etienne, that dolt, imagines that he understands it a bit. I think Napoleone is a complete spellbinder.

But when we are alone he never talks about cannon. And we are often alone. After supper Julie always says, "Don't you think we ought to take our guests into the garden for a bit, Mama?" Mama says, "Go along, children!" and we four, Joseph and Napoleone and Julie and I, disappear in the direction of the summer house. But before we get there, Napoleone generally says, "Eugénie., what do you say to a race? Let's see which of us can get to the hedge first!" Then I lift up my skirt and Julie cries, "Ready—set—go!" and Napoleone and I run like two possessed for the hedge. While I run to it with my hair flying and my heart beating wildly and a stitch in my side, Joseph and Julie disappear into the summer house.

Sometimes Napoleone wins the race, and sometimes I do; but if I get there first, I know that Napoleone has purposely let me win. The hedge is just chest-high. Usually, we lean close together against the foliage; I rest my arms on it and look up at the stars; and then Na
poleone and I have long talks. Sometimes we talk about
The Sorrows of Werther,
a very popular novel by an unknown German writer named Goethe. I had to hide the book, because Mama won't let me read love stories. I didn't like it much, anyway. It is the story, sad beyond belief, of a young man who shoots himself because the young lady whom he loves marries his best friend.

Napoleone is quite enthusiastic about the book. I asked him whether he could imagine himself committing suicide because he was crossed in love. "No, because a girl whom I love will marry no other," he said and laughed. Then he became suddenly serious and looked at me, and I quickly changed the subject.

Often we just lean against the hedge and watch the quiet meadow beyond. The less we talk, the nearer together we seem. Then I imagine that we can hear the brass and the wild flowers breathing. Now and then a bird somewhere sings a melancholy song. The moon hangs in the sky like a golden lantern, and while I look at the slumbering meadow I think, Dear Lord, let this evening last forever, let me go on forever close to him. For, although I've read that there are no supernatural powers and the Government in Paris has set up an altar to Human Reason, when I am very sad or very happy I always think, Dear Lord. . . .

Yesterday Napoleone unexpectedly asked, "Are you never afraid of your destiny, Eugénie.?" When we are alone with the sleeping meadow, sometimes he uses the familiar
tu,
although not even betrothed lovers or married couples do that nowadays.

" Afraid of my destiny? No—" I shook my head—"I am not afraid. No one knows what's in store for him. Why should one be afraid of what one doesn't know?"

" Its strange that most people say they don't know their destiny," he said. His face was very pale in the moonlight, his eyes stared far away. "I am my destiny. I know my fate."

"And are you afraid of it?" I was amazed.

He seemed to think it over. Then quickly, in jerks, "No.
I know I shall do great things. I was born to build states and to rule them. I am one of the men who make world history."

I stared at him, dumfounded. It had never occurred to me that anyone could think or say such things. Suddenly I laughed. At that he drew back and his face was distorted. He turned on me.

"You laugh, Eugénie.?" he almost whispered. "Eugénie., you laugh?"

"Forgive me—please forgive me," I said. "It was only because—I was afraid of your face, it was so white in the moonlight, and—so strange. When I'm afraid, I always try—to laugh."

"I don't want to shock you, Eugénie.," he said, and his voice was tender. "I can understand your being frightened. Frightened—of my great destiny."