Désirée (8 page)

We were silent again for a while. Then a thought occurred to me. "Well, I too shall make world history, Napoleone!"

He looked at me in astonishment, but I went right on. "World history consists, after all, of the destinies of all people, doesn't it? Not only men who sign death warrants or know where to put cannon and how to fire them make history. I think that other people, I mean those who are beheaded or shot at, and—every man or woman who lives and hopes and loves and dies makes world history."

He nodded slowly. "Quite right, my Eugénie. But I shall influence all those millions of destinies of which you speak. Do you believe in me, Eugénie.? Do you believe in me, whatever happens?"

His face was so near, so near that I trembled and involuntarily closed my eyes. Then I felt his mouth hard on my lips. Suddenly—I don't know how it happened, I knew Julie wouldn't approve and it was certainly not what I meant to do, but—my lips parted.

That night, long after Julie had put out the candle, I couldn't get to sleep. Julie's voice came out of the dark: "Can't you sleep either, little one?"

"No. It's so hot in the room."

"I've something I must tell you," Julie whispered. "A tremendous secret, you mustn't tell anyone. Anyhow, not till tomorrow afternoon. Will you promise?"

"Yes, I promise," I said, wildly excited.

"Tomorrow afternoon, M. Joseph Buonaparte is coming to speak to Mama."

I was astonished. "Speak to Mama? Whatever about?"

Julie was annoyed. "You certainly are stupid! About us, naturally, about him and me. He wants—well, what a child you are! He wants to sue for my hand!"

I sat up in bed. "Julie! That means you are betrothed!"

"Sh! Not so loud! Tomorrow afternoon I shall be betrothed. If Mama makes no objection."

I leapt out of bed and ran over to her, but I bumped into a chair and hurt my toes. I yelled.

"Sh, Eugénie.! You'll wake the whole house." But I kept going. Quickly I snuggled under the covers and excitedly shook her shoulder. I didn't know how to show her how glad I was.

"Now you are a fiancée, nearly a bride. Has he kissed you yet?"

'People don't ask such questions," Julie explained severely. Then it seemed to occur to her that she must be a good example to her little sister. "Listen to this," she continued. "A young lady allows herself to be kissed only after her mother approves the betrothal. But you are still too young to understand such things."

I think I'm tipsy, just a little tipsy, and it's very nice, very
pleasant. Julie became betrothed to Joseph, and Mama sent
Etienne down to the cellar for champagne. Champagne that
Papa bought years and years ago, to be saved for Julie's b
etrothal. They are all still sitting on the terrace, discussing where
Julie and Joseph will live. Napoleone has just gone to tell
his mother all about it. Mama has invited Mme Letizia B
uonaparte and all the children for tomorrow evening. Then we'll
meet Julie's new family. I do hope Mme Letizia will
like me; I hope . . . No, I mustn't write it, or it won't happen! Only pray for it and secretly believe it.

We ought to have champagne often. Champagne prickles on your tongue and tastes sweet, and after the first glass I always laugh and don't know why. After my third glass Mama said, "Nobody must give the child any more!" Suppose she knew I had already been kissed!

This morning I had to get up very early, and till now I've had no chance to be alone. As soon as Napoleone went away I hurried to my room, and now I am writing in my book. But my thoughts are running about and bumping into each other like so many ants; and like ants they're carrying a little load. Ants carry pine needles, twigs, or a grain of sand; my thoughts carry dreams of the future. I keep dropping my load because I have been drinking champagne and can't concentrate properly.

I don't know how it happened, but in the last few days I had quite forgotten that our Swede, M. Persson, was going away today. Since the Buonapartes have been coming to see us I haven't had much time for him. I don't think he likes Joseph and Napoleone. When I asked him what he thought of our new friends, he only said that he found them difficult to understand because they talked so much and so fast; and besides, their accent was different from ours. I can well understand that the Corsican accent is too much for him.

Yesterday afternoon he told me that he had packed his things and was leaving by the mail coach at nine in the morning. I decided, naturally, to see him off; first, because I really like old horse-face; and secondly, it's fun seeing the mail coach off. You always see different people there; and sometimes ladies in Paris gowns. But then, of course, I got Persson and his journey because, after all, I had my first kiss to think about.

Luckily I remembered Persson's departure the moment I woke up this morning. I jumped out of bed, put on my chemise and my two petticoats, scarcely gave myself time to tidy my hair, and ran down to the dining room. There I found Persson having his farewell breakfast. Mama and
Etienne were hovering round him and urging him to eat as much as possible. The poor man has a frightfully long trip ahead of him. First to the Rhine and then through Germany to Lübeck, and from there by boat to Sweden. I don't know how many times he has to change mail coaches to get to Lübeck. Marie had given him a picnic basket with two bottles of wine, and a roast chicken, and hard-boiled eggs, and preserved cherries. Finally Etienne and I took M. Persson between us and marched him to the mail coach. Etienne carried one of the traveling bags and Persson struggled with a big parcel, the other bag, and the picnic basket. I begged him to let me carry something, and at last he reluctantly gave me the parcel, saying that it contained something very precious. "The most beautiful silk," he confided to me, "that I have ever seen in all my life. Silk which your dear papa himself bought and at that time intended for the Queen at Versailles. But events prevented the Queen . . ."

"Yes, really royal silk," said Etienne. "And in all these years I
have never offered that brocade to anyone. Papa always said that it was only suitable for a court dress."

But the ladies in Paris are still elegantly dressed," I objected.

Etienne sniffed contemptuously. "The ladies in Paris are no longer ladies! On the contrary, they prefer transparent muslins. If you call that elegant! No, heavy brocade is no longer worn in France today."

And so," said Persson to me, "I have been permitted to buy the silk. I have been able to save a great part of my salary from the firm of Clary, and I am glad that I could use it for this. A reminder—" he sort of gulped. "A reminder of your dead papa and the firm of Clary."

1 was surprised at Etienne. Since he couldn't sell this heavy brocade, which is certainly very valuable but at the moment unfashionable in France, he had worked it off on Persson— for a lot of money, of course. The firm of Clary did very well on this transaction.

It wasn't easy for me to dispose of this material," Etienne said candidly. "But in M. Persson's country there is a royal
court, and Her Majesty the Queen of Sweden will need, I hope, a new State robe and will appoint M. Persson a Purveyor to the Court."

"You mustn't keep brocade too long, silk goes to pieces," I informed Persson—from head-to-toe the daughter of a silk merchant.

"This material won't rot," declared Etienne. "There too many gold threads woven in."

The parcel was quite heavy and I held it in my two arms, clasped to my breast. Although it was still early, the sun was hot and my hair stuck damply to my forehead when at last we reached the mail coach. We were rather late and couldn't spend long in farewells. The other passengers had already taken their seats in the coach. Etienne, with a sigh of relief hoisted the traveling bag he'd been carrying and set it down on the toes of an elderly lady; and Persson almost dropped the picnic basket while he shook hands with Etienne. Then he got into an excited discussion with the postillion, who had placed his luggage on the roof of the coach. Persson told him that he would not let the big parcel go out of his sight and would hold it on his knees the whole time. The postillion objected, but in the end the driver lost patience and shouted, "Take your seats!" The postillion sprang to the box beside him and blew his horn. At last Persson got awkwardly into the coach with his parcel. The coach door was shut but Persson opened it again. "I shall always hold it in honour Mlle Eugénie.," he shouted. Etienne, with a shrug of his shoulders, asked, "Whatever does that crazy Swede mean?"

"The Rights of Man," I replied, surprised at myself because my eyes were wet. "The broadside on which the Rights of Man are printed." As I said it I thought how pleased Persson's parents would be to see his horse-face once more, and I thought that a fine man was vanishing forever from my life.

Etienne went back to the shop and I went with him. I always feel quite at home in the Clary silk shop. As a little girl I had often gone there with Papa and he had always told me where the different bolts of silk came from. I can
also distinguish the various qualities and Papa always said that it was in my blood because I am a true silk merchant's daughter. But I think it is just because I so often watched Papa and Etienne take a piece of material between their fingers, apparently crumpling it and then looking with appraising eyes to see whether it would crush easily, whether it was new or old material, and whether there was any danger of its soon becoming brittle.

Although it was early in the morning, there were already customers in the shop. Etienne and I greeted them courteously, but I knew right away that these weren't important customers, only citizenesses who wanted muslin for a new fichu or cheap taffeta for a coat. The ladies from the great houses nearby, who used to give us big orders at the opening of the Versailles season, are no longer to be seen. Some have been guillotined, many have fled to England, but most have gone "underground"—that means they are living under false names in some place where they are not known. Etienne often says that it is greatly to the disadvantage of all merchants that the Republic does not arrange balls or receptions. For that, the dreadfully stingy Robespierre is to blame.

I busied myself in the shop for a while, helping the customers feel the different materials and persuading them to buy harsh green silk ribbons, because I felt that Etienne would like to get rid of them. Finally I went home, thinking as always of Napoleone and wondering whether he would wear a gala uniform when we celebrated Julie's betrothal.

At home I found Mama in an awful state. Julie had announced that Joseph was coming that afternoon to speak to her, and she just didn't feel up to it. At last, in spite of the heat, she went into the town to consult Etienne. When she came back she had a headache, lay on her sofa, and asked to be called as soon as Citizen Joseph Buonaparte arrived.

Julie, however, really acted crazy. She stalked around the parlour and groaned. Her face, too, was quite green and I
knew she was ill. Julie always suffers from stomach-ache whe
n she gets excited. In the end I took the distracted girl into the
garden with me and sat with her in the summer
house. The bees hummed in the rambler roses and I felt sleepy and very contented. Life is so simple, I thought, when you really love a man. Then you belong only to him. If I were forbidden to marry Napoleone, I should just run away with him.

At five o'clock there arrived a gigantic bouquet, with Joseph hidden behind it. The bouquet and Joseph were escorted to the parlour by Marie; then Mama was informed and the door of the parlour closed behind them both. I pressed my ear to the keyhole to find out what Joseph and Mama were murmuring, but I couldn't hear a single word.

"A hundred and fifty thousand francs in gold," I said to Julie, who was leaning against the door with me. She pulled herself together.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Papa left a hundred and fifty thousand francs in gold for your dowry, and a hundred and fifty thousand for mine. Don't you remember that the lawyer read.that when Papa´s will was opened?"

"That's not at all important," said Julie, peevishly, pulling out her handkerchief and wiping her forehead. A bride-to-be can certainly be funny.

"Well, are we to congratulate you?" laughed some behind us. Napoleone! He'd just arrived and he leaned against the door with us. "May I, as a future brother-in-law, share the intolerable suspense?"

Julie's patience collapsed. "Do what you like, but leave me in peace!" she sobbed. At that Napoleone and I went on tip-toe to the sofa and sat down silently. I was fighting against hysterics; the whole situation was absurdly idiotic. Napoleone poked me gently in the side, "A little more dignity, if I may say so, Eugénie.!" he whispered, and made a terrible, silly face.

Suddenly Mama came to the door and said in a shaky voice, "Julie, please come in."

Julie dashed into the parlour like a mad thing, the door closed behind her and Mama, and I—yes, I threw my arms around Napoleone's neck and laughed and laughed.

"Stop kissing me," I protested, because Napoleone had immediately seized this opportunity. But in spite of that, I didn't let him go—until I thought of the gala uniform. I drew away a little and looked at him reproachfully. The same threadbare green uniform as always.

"You might have worn your gala uniform, respected General," I said. I immediately regretted my words. His tanned face grew quite red.