Désirée (23 page)

It was already dark when we finished our coffee. He brought a candle and a large sheaf of paper into the garden and began to write.

"Will you accept the supreme command?" I asked. A terrible fear lay like a cold hand on my heart.

Jean-Baptiste looked up. "What's that? Will I accept the supreme command in Italy? Yes, if they meet my conditions; I'm listing them now."

His pen raced like a hunted thing over the white paper. Later we went into the house, and Jean-Baptiste went on writing in his study. I put his supper on the desk, but he paid no attention. He wrote and wrote. A few days later I learned by chance from Joseph that Jean-Baptiste had turned over to Barras a plan of action for the Italian Front. First question: How many troops would be necessary to hold this front by maintaining effective garrisons from which they could counter-attack?

But the directors couldn't meet Jean-Baptiste's conditions. True, new recruits of various age groups were called up, but there
were not enough uniforms or arms to equip them. Jean-Baptiste declared that under these circumstances he must decline to assume the responsibility for the Italian Front; and
Scherer, the Minister of War, took over the supreme command himself.

Two weeks later Jean-Baptiste came home at noon. I was helping
Marie preserve plums and ran out through the garden to me
et him. "Don't kiss me," I warned him, "I smell just like
the kitchen. We're making plum jam—so much that you can have it every morning for breakfast all winter."

"But I won't be here to eat your jam," he said calmly and walked toward the house. "Fernand! Fernand—get my field uniform ready, pack the saddlebags as usual. I leave tomorrow morning at seven. You and the luggage at nine—" I heard more for Jean-Baptiste had disappeared upstairs. I stood paralyzed at the front door.

We spent all afternoon alone in the garden. The sun no longer warmed us, the lawn was covered with dead leaves. Overnight, it was autumn. I folded my hands in my lap and listened to Jean-Baptiste. Occasionally I missed the point of what he was saying, but I heard his voice. At first he spoke to me as though I were a mature human being, and then softly and tenderly as to a child.

"You've always known that I would go to war again, haven't you? You are married to an officer, you are a sensible young woman. You must pull yourself together and be courageous—
"

"I don't want to be courageous," I said.

"Pay attention—Jourdan has assumed the supreme command of three armies: the Danube Army, the so-called Swiss Army, and the Army of Observation. Masséna will try, with the Swiss Army, to hold back the enemy at the Swiss frontier; I will command the Army of Observation and march with my troops to the Rhine. I will storm the Rhine at two points: near Fort Louis du Rhin, and near Speyer and Mayence. For the conquest and occupation of the Rhineland and the adjacent German territories, I have asked for thirty thousand men. These have been promised me, but the Government cannot keep this promise. Désirée, I go to cross the Rhine with sham army, and I must throw back the enemy with it. . . . Are you listening to me, little one?"

"There is nothing you can't do, Jean-Baptiste," I said, and I loved him so much that tears came to my eyes.

He shrugged his shoulders. "The Government, unfortunately, seems to agree with you and will allow me only an inadequate complement of raw recruits to attack the Rhineland."

" 'We generals saved the Republic, we generals will keep it intact,'" I murmured. "Napoleon once said that to me."

"Of course. That's why the Republic pays its generals. There's nothing strange in that."

"The man I bought the plums from this morning was very put out with the Army and the Government. He said, 'As long as General Bonaparte was in Italy, we had one victory after another; and the Austrians were begging for peace. But as soon as he left there and went off, for the glory of our country, to the Pyramids, things went from bad to worse.' It's funny—the impression Napoleon's campaign has made on ordinary people."

"Yes, but it never occurred to the plum dealer that Napoleon's defeat at Aboukir was the signal for our enemies to resume the attack. Nor does the plum dealer realize that although Napoleon won many victories, he never permanently fortified the conquered territory. As a result, we are now obliged to defend the frontiers with ridiculously small forces while Comrade Bonaparte, with his splendidly equipped army, suns himself on the banks of the Nile. And this is 'the strong man.' "

" 'A royal crown lies in the gutter. One need only bend down and and pick it up,'" I said.

"Who said that?" Jean-Baptiste shouted.

"Napoleon."

"To you?"

·No, to himself. He was looking at himself in a mirror. I happened to be watching him."

We didn't speak for a long time. It was so dark that I couldn't see Jean-Baptiste's face clearly.

There was a sudden cry of rage from Marie. "No pistols on my kitchen table! Get out—and be quick about it!"

And Fernand, plaintively, "Let me at least clean them here —I'll load them outside."

And Marie, "Out of my kitchen with those firearms, I say!"

"Do
you use your pistols in battle?" I asked Jean-Baptiste.

" Very seldom, now that I'm a general," came out of the darkness. Then we got up and went into the house.

It was a long, long night. For many hours I lay alone in our wide bed and counted the hours as the clock struck in our little church in Sceaux. I knew that Jean-Baptiste was downstairs in his study, poring over maps and drawing thin lines and little crosses and tiny circles. Finally I must have dozed off for I suddenly awoke in terror, certain that some
thing had happened. Jean-Baptiste was asleep beside me. But I
  had awakened him. "Is something wrong?" he murmured.

"I had a terrifying dream," I whispered, "that you were
riding off—to war."

"I really am riding off to war tomorrow," he answered
.
He must have acquired the habit in those long years at the front: Jean-Baptiste can be fast asleep, but he wakes up instantly and completely. "I'd like to discuss something with you," he continued. "I've thought about this several times. . . . . Tell me, Désirée—what do you do with yourself all day long?"

"Do with myself? What on earth do you mean? Yesterday I helped Marie with the plums; day before yesterday I went with Julie to see Mme Berthier, the dressmaker. She's the one who fled to England with the aristocrats, but now she's come back. And last week I . . . . "

"But what particularly interests you, Désirée?"

"Well, nothing really," I confessed in confusion. He put his arm under my head and drew me closer. It was wonderful to rest my cheek against his shoulder without being scratched by an epaulette.

"Désirée, I don't want the days to seem long for you while I am away, and so I thought you should take some lessons."

"Lessons? But, Jean-Baptiste, I haven't learned anything since I was ten years old."

"That's just it."

"I went to school when I was six, at the same time as Julie. The nuns taught us. But when I was ten, all the convents were dissolved. Mama wanted to teach Julie and me herself but she never got around to it. How long did you go to school, Jean-Baptiste?"

"From the time I was eleven until I was thirteen. Then I was expelled from school."

"Why?"

"One of our teachers was unfair to Fernand."

"And so you told the teacher what you thought of him?"

"No, I boxed his ears."

"That was the only thing to do," I said, leaning against his shoulder. "I thought you'd been at school for years and years, you know so much. And you read so many, many books—"

"At first I just read to make up for the lessons I'd missed. Later I studied hard at the officers' school. But now I want to learn many other things. When, for example, one is called upon to govern occupied territory, shouldn't one have some idea of trade policies, law and . . . But you needn't bother with these things, little girl. I thought you might take lessons In music and deportment."

"Deportment? Do you mean dancing? I know how to dance; I danced at home, on the anniversary of every Bastille Day, in the square in front of the Town Hall."

"I don't mean only dancing," he explained. "Many young girls used to be taught a number of things; for example, how to curtsy, the gestures with which a lady invites her guests to move from one room to another . . ."

But, Jean-Baptiste, we have only the dining room! I needn't acquire elaborate gestures to show a guest the way from the dining room to your study."

"If I should be appointed Military Governor anywhere, you would be the First Lady of the district and would have to receive innumerable dignitaries in your salon."

"Salon!" I was outraged. "Jean-Baptiste, are you talking about palaces again?" I laughed and bit his shoulder.

"Ouch-stop that!" he yelled. I let go.

"You can't imagine how eagerly the Austrian aristocrats and the foreign diplomats in Vienna waited for the ambassador our Republic to make a fool of himself. They positively prayed that I'd eat my fish with a knife. We owe our Republic impeccable manners, Désirée." After a while he added, "It would be lovely, Désirée, if you could play the piano."

" I don't think it would be lovely."

"But you are musical?" he asked hopefully.

"I don't know whether I am or not. I like music very much. Julie plays the piano, but it sounds awful. It's a crime to play badly."

"I want you to take piano lessons and study singing." I gathered that he didn't wish to be contradicted. "I have told you about my friend, the violinist, Rodolphe Kreutzer. Kreutzer accompanied me to Vienna when I went there as Ambassador. And he brought a Viennese composer to see me at the Embassy. His name was Beethoven. M. Beethoven and M. Kreutzer played together many evenings, and I was sorry I had not learned to play some instrument when I was a child. But—" he laughed suddenly out loud—"but my mama was pleased when she had enough money to buy me a new pair of Sunday trousers!"

Unfortunately, he got serious again immediately. "I insist that you take music lessons. I asked Kreutzer yesterday to write down for me the name of a music teacher. You'll find the slip of paper in my desk drawer. Begin the lesson and write me regularly about your progress."

Again a cold hand clutched at my heart. "Write to me regularly," he had said. "Write to me—" Letters, nothing but letters would be left. A leaden grey morning came in through the curtains. I stared at the curtains, my eyes wide open. I could see the blue of the curtains distinctly; gradually I could distinguish the little bouquets of flowers in their design. Jean- Baptiste had gone to sleep again.

A fist hammered on our door. "It's half-past six, General," Fernand announced.

Half an hour later we were sitting at the breakfast table, and for the first time I saw Jean-Baptiste in his field uniform. Neither orders, nor decorations, nor sash brightened the severe dark blue of his tunic. I had no more than started my breakfast when the dreaded farewells began—horses neighed; someone knocked on the door; I heard men's voices; spurs clanked and Fernand rushed outside. "Sir, the gentlemen are here."

"Ask them to come in," said Jean-Baptiste; and our I room was full of officers, ten, twelve—I don't know how many. They
clicked their heels together and their swords rattled. Jean-Baptiste waved casually toward them.

"The gentlemen of my staff."

I smiled mechanically.

"My wife is extremely pleased to meet you," explained Jean-Baptiste, smiling graciously, and he jumped up.

"I am ready. We can go now, gentlemen." And to me, "Good-by, my darling one, write me regularly. The Ministry of War will send me your letters by special courier. Good-by, Marie, take care of madame."

He was already out the door, and the officers with the rattling swords disappeared with him. I wish I'd kissed him again, I mused. Suddenly the room, grey in the morning light, spun around me; the yellow flames of the candles behaved very oddly—they twitched and flickered and then everything went black.

When I came to, I was lying on my bed. The room reeked of vinegar. Marie's face floated above me.

"You fainted, Eugénie," Marie said.

I pushed the cloth with the vinegar smell off my forehead. I wanted to kiss him again, Marie," I said wearily. "—In farewell, you know."

Sceaux, near Paris, New Year's Eve
(The last year of the eighteenth century begins)

Bells ringing in the New Year woke me from my nightmare, bells nearby in the village church at Sceaux and from faraway Notre-Dame and other churches in Paris. In my dream I was sitting in the little summer house in Marseilles, talking to a man who looked exactly like Jean-Baptiste—though I knew that it was not Jean-Baptiste, but our son.

You missed your deportment lesson, Mama, and M. Mon
tel's dancing class," my son said in Jean-Baptiste's voice. I wanted to explain that I had been too tired. But at that moment something awful happened: my son shriveled up before my eyes; he got smaller and smaller until he was a dwarf only up to my knee. This dwarf, whom I knew was my son, clung to my knee and whispered, "Cannon fodder, Mama—I am only cannon fodder and will be ordered to the Rhine. I myself seldom use my pistol, but the others shoot—piff-paff,
piff-paff!"