The Josephine B. Trilogy

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The Josephine B. Trilogy Page 7

by Sandra Gulland


  November 14.

  The doctor spent only a moment examining Father. Nevertheless, he is confident of success. He prescribed a half a grain of tartar emetic followed by a purgative when nausea commences. Father was pleased; he’s to ingest claret as a remedy.

  November 20.

  I’ve been ill, “homesick,” Aunt Désirée says. It was true. I’d been dreaming of home. “Nothing an afternoon shopping won’t cure,” she said.

  So after our morning chocolate she ordered the carriage. Aubin, the footman, escorted us, running in front of our coach in his yellow petticoat with a fringe around the bottom and no breeches.* Mimi told me that there’s wine in the silver ball on top of his staff and nothing at all on under his skirt! (Now every time I see him, that’s all I can think of.)

  Paris is a dirty, crowded city—but everywhere one goes there is gaiety. There are beggars everywhere. Some are quite aggressive. Others play tricks to catch your attention. A gang of street urchins crowded us outside a billiard parlour until Aubin chased after them. One hit Aubin with his flute, on the leg, causing him to curse mightily.

  I was overwhelmed by the beauty of all the things on display, all the trimmings and accessories, the laces, ribbons and silks. Everything I saw, I longed for—until I learned the price, that is. I did purchase a sketching pad and some charcoal at a stall in the market. The vendor reminded me of William, which brought on a mournful reverie in me. Secretly, I’ve started a portrait of him, but already I can’t remember his face.

  Saturday, November 27.

  It is late. We’ve just returned from the home of the Marquis’s brother, Comte Charles, who gave a reception on our behalf. I wore a new dress Aunt Désirée had had made for me: an ivory white silk, cut low—quite low!—with a tiny waist. (As tiny as I can get, anyway—I’ve been trying to lose weight.) The sleeves have gold frogs on them, very pretty. The full skirt is tucked up by pretty little bunches of flowers, revealing a skirt of gauze and a quilted silk petticoat.

  It took more than two hours for Aubin to get my hair piled up into what is called a hedgehog—in three waves over my forehead. First my hair was greased and combed over a wire mesh secured into place with pins. Then I went into the powder closet to be powdered (I almost choked). At the last he attached ribbons, feathers and silk flowers all over. In a wind, I fear I might topple! I’m to wear a cap over this heavy confection days and nights so that it will stay nice until after the wedding.

  Before we left, I went to Father’s room to show him my ensemble.

  “It’s too…!” He sighed, lay back on the pillows. “You look lovely.” He smiled. “Your mother would never approve.”

  “This is Paris, Father,” I said, preparing his evening elixir. “This isn’t Trois-Ilets.”

  “I should say,” he said, taking his glass. “Remember to leave your gloves on.”

  “And to sit up straight, and to keep my mouth closed when I chew, and to—”

  “Have a wonderful time,” he said.

  Everyone cheered when Monsieur de Beauharnais and I made our entrance. There were a number of guests: uncles, aunts, several cousins as well as friends of the family. I was introduced to Monsieur de Beauharnais’s older brother, François. He’s not nearly as good-looking as Monsieur de Beauharnais, nor as clever, but he seemed a gentle man, and very courteous. He looked distinguished in a black satin waistcoat with blue glass ornaments. He is married to Marie (his cousin), who is big with child. She looked ill and did not speak. Her hair, which was not dressed, was hidden under a cap ornamented with vulture feathers. They left soon after the meal, for Marie’s time of confinement is approaching. Aunt Désirée told me that her first baby died not too long ago and that Marie has not taken it well.

  There were a number of distinguished men and women there. A Monsieur de la Chevalerie* and his daughter were charming. Monsieur had spent his youth in the military on Saint-Domingue, so we talked of the Islands. Mademoiselle de la Chevalerie invited me to the next meeting of her Masonic lodge. “We have feasts and perform good works.” Her hair was back-combed all around her face, giving her a woolly look.

  Supper was elegant and abundant, served on a table laid with eighteen covers. We had sole fried, rump of beef boiled, boiled rabbit and onion sauce, jigget of mutton roasted with sweet sauce, batter pudding and drippings, macaroni and tarts all together with wine in abundance and brandy. By way of dessert we had filberts, apple pudding and some cheesecakes. So much! I was thankful for the severity of my stays, for surely I would have split a seam. As we dined, a violinist played.

  After dessert, in the game room playing billiards, Monsieur de Beauharnais and his brother played billiards while “discussing” politics (it was more of an argument).

  “Oh politics, always politics,” Mademoiselle de la Chevalerie whispered to me. “At the lodge we only talk of lofty things.”

  I was tempted to advise Monsieur de Beauharnais on a more likely angle for a shot he was setting up, but held my tongue. He shot and missed, leaving the way clear for his brother to sink four running.

  Someone began to play the harpsichord in the front parlour. “Your fiancé may not be good at billiards,” Mademoiselle de la Chevalerie whispered as we left the game room, “but he is so very charming. He is the favourite with all the ladies.”

  In the parlour Aunt Désirée was playing the harpsichord as a woman sang. I was introduced to several people who had newly arrived. Soon Monsieur de Beauharnais and his brother joined us and the gathering became gay. At Monsieur de Beauharnais’s insistence there was dancing, first a polonaise, which is a bit of a walk, and then contredanses, which are more involved.

  “Alexandre is the best dancer in all of Paris,” one of the younger cousins said to me. A plain girl, she was strikingly attired in a lavender silk brocade dress with huge flounces and a bustle. Her braided shoes had little gold buckles on them that looked like flowers.

  “Even the Queen has taken notice,” Mademoiselle de la Chevalerie whispered.

  “The Queen?” I accepted another glass of champagne which a servant brought around. The three of us were sitting close to the musicians and it was a little difficult to hear.

  Mademoiselle de la Chevalerie giggled behind her gold-painted fan. “But then the Queen fancies any number of men.”

  I was feeling a little light-headed and refrained from responding. I turned to watch Monsieur de Beauharnais move through the intricate forms. He did move elegantly. I could understand why everyone so admired him.

  After the piece, which went on for over twenty minutes, Monsieur de Beauharnais invited me to be his partner for a polonaise. I declined. I love dancing, but these forms were entirely new to me. I feared I would embarrass him.

  Nevertheless, it was an enjoyable evening. Even the Marquis seemed spry—I saw him dancing hatless.*

  On the return, in the carriage (I had to sit on a low stool between the seats because my headdress was so high), Aunt Désirée informed Monsieur de Beauharnais that she had decided that the wedding would take place at her country home in Noisy-le-Grand and that she intended to arrange a special dispensation from the archbishop of Paris so that the banns wouldn’t have to be read three times. “This way, you and Rose will be able to get married before Christmas.”

  “Excellent,” Monsieur de Beauharnais said. “I shall talk to my accountant tomorrow.”

  Before Christmas? So soon…

  In which I am married & learn the facts of life

  December 14, 1779—Noisy-le-Grand.

  At nine the morning of my wedding I began my toilette. I allowed four hours in order to indulge in a number of rituals: a wash with water perfumed with jasmine (which made me homesick), a massage (which made me ache) and a facial mask of cucumber and vinegar (which made my skin blotchy). So right from the start my wedding day was not as I had planned.

  After being bled (not too much—just enough to give me a pale complexion), my make-up applied, it took almost an hour—and my headdress freshly po
wered, Mimi and Aunt Désirée helped tie me into a stiff, boned corset to which the paniers were fastened. I kept bumping into the furniture. Over this came the dress: a white satin gown with a train, embroidered and trimmed with lace. This was fixed to the stomacher, an embroidered panel that goes down the front. It wasn’t easy, for the gown was tight. I viewed myself in the looking glass. I looked beautiful, but not radiant. It was torture being inside this construction.

  Last, I slipped on my new shoes laced with silver. I stood in front of the looking-glass.

  “You look like a bride!” Mimi said. She gave a squeal.

  “You sounded like Da Gertrude just then,” I said, turning to see my profile. Tears came to my eyes. How I longed for Mother and Manette—and even Grandmother Sannois! If only they could see me now.

  “Don’t cry! You’ll spoil your rouge,” Aunt Désirée exclaimed.

  Aunt Désirée and I went down to await the guests. I sat by the window. My veil was secured to my towering headdress by a pearl-studded cap which kept slipping.

  First Abbé Tascher arrived, to stand in for Father, who was too ill to come to Noisy-le-Grand with us. Then, shortly after, Monsieur de Beauharnais’s cousin Comte Claude, who brought word that François would not be able to attend as Marie was indisposed. Of course then we were all of us concerned that her time of confinement had begun, but we were assured that that was not the case. Three men in uniform arrived, colleagues from Monsieur de Beauharnais’s regiment. They apologized that one of their number was unable to attend as he was suffering from an indisposition going around Versailles. Monsieur Patricol, who had been Monsieur de Beauharnais’s tutor when he was a child, arrived a bit late and somewhat flustered, saying he’d had trouble with the wheel of his carriage. But he didn’t put it that way. He said, “There has been an apparent altercation with the drive mechanism.” I was struck by his eyes, which are protruding, and his ponderous forehead.

  Finally Monsieur de Beauharnais came downstairs to join us. He looked elegant in a black silk coat, gold embroidered waistcoat and a lace cravat. I felt proud sitting beside him.

  Aunt Désirée ordered refreshments. I sipped from a glass of champagne, now and again sighing from nerves, fearful that I might faint from the lack of air my corset was causing me.

  We set out for the chapel. Some children cried out, “Long live the bride and bridegroom!” The church was small and quite cold. We were received and Monsieur de Beauharnais and I said our vows. (It took longer to dress than to marry.) As we were leaving the priest almost tripped on his robes thanking Aunt Désirée for the gift of two copper candelabras and six hundred livres, which he assured her would be used in its entirety to make up a dowry for some unfortunate girl of his parish.

  Back at the cottage, the toasts began. Aunt Désirée touched her glass to mine. “To the vicomtesse.”

  I felt light-headed and had to lie down. I was still a little weak when I rejoined the guests. The men were teasing Monsieur de Beauharnais about the night that lay ahead.

  It was almost midnight when the last guest departed. On Aunt Désirée’s instruction Mimi accompanied me to Monsieur de Beauharnais’s room. A fire had been laid, but even so it was chilly. In the dressing room, Mimi helped me out of my gown and into a new lace-trimmed chemise, which was lovely, although scratchy. “You look like an angel,” she said. Mimi tucked my greased and powdered headdress under a boned calash. She began humming: Calypso, you are a woman just like me…

  “How does that song go?” It was familiar.

  Mimi sang, “I caressed Sonson, fondled Sonson, I even went so far I nibbled Sonson!”

  A dizzy feeling came over me. I grabbed hold of a wig stand.

  “Are you all right?” Mimi asked.

  “Yes.” Although I wasn’t sure. I heard footsteps in the bedchamber, heard the door close, the bed boards creak. The light in the bedchamber suddenly went out.

  “Ooooh!” Mimi hurriedly dabbed jasmine fragrance on my neck, bosom and behind my ears. Then she pushed me through the dressingroom curtains.

  I was comforted by the darkness. “I am here,” I heard Monsieur de Beauharnais say. I heard someone coughing downstairs.

  I felt my way to the side of the bed. His hand reached out for me. “You startled me!” I said.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, pulling back the covers. “I should have left a candle burning.”

  I slipped under the covers, felt the warming pan at the foot of the bed. I was trying to think what to say. Was I supposed to say something? I was suddenly aware of the dull, constant ache of my bad tooth. Would I have to have it pulled? Did I have worms in my teeth, like Mimi said? Should I let Monsieur de Beauharnais kiss me if I did?

  “What are you thinking?” Monsieur de Beauharnais asked. He turned onto his side, facing me. My eyes were growing accustomed to the dark. I could make out the outline of his head, his shoulder. He wasn’t wearing a nightcap.

  “Nothing.” I’d been thinking that in the morning I should rinse my mouth with urine to stop the ache. The thought made me ill, but if doing so would save the tooth—“What are you thinking?” I asked.

  “I’m thinking what a strange situation this is. We hardly know one another.” His words slurred a little.

  I made a little laugh.

  “Perhaps you would prefer to wait,” he said.

  “Yes.” Was that what he wanted me to say? I wondered.

  The room suddenly became brighter. The moon had come out from behind a cloud. I could see his eyes. His lips were thin, a little disdaining, his nose prominent, giving him an aristocratic profile. My husband, the man for whom God intended me. I had only met him six weeks before, and now I was his wife.

  “Perhaps if I just kissed you,” he said.

  “Yes.” A pin had come loose in my headdress and was poking into my scalp uncomfortably.

  He moved over to my side of the big bed. His head blocked the light from the window. I could no longer see his features. He put his hand on my shoulder. His breath smelled of brandy and cigars. His lips touched mine, and then he pulled away. Was that it? I wondered. Did I do something wrong?

  “I forgot something,” he said.

  He reached back and opened the cabinet beside the bed. “Aunt Désirée doesn’t want the sheets stained,” he said, handing me a cloth.

  What was I supposed to do with it?

  “Put it under your…you know.”

  Under my bottom?

  He lay down beside me. I felt him fumbling with my bed jacket. “Do you mind?” he asked.

  “Do you want me to take it off?” I didn’t want to take it off.

  He kissed my nose. I wondered, did he miss my mouth? His hand slipped into the bodice of my night-dress. His lips covered my mouth. Then he slipped his hand under my night-dress, found the place between my legs. I cried out, surprised. His fingers were cold. He kissed me hard. He pushed my night-dress up around my waist, got on top of me. His manhood felt warm against my skin. He poked it here and there. I lay still. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. Then I felt a sharp pain. I cried out and tried to pull away, but he held me. And then he was inside me.

  He kissed my wet cheeks. He was moaning and moving around. I wondered how long it would go on. I tried not to cry, but it hurt! Then he clasped me to him hard, his feet kicking, and collapsed on top of me, groaning.

  Had he had an attack? Was he dead? “Are you all right?” I whispered. What had happened? He rolled over beside me, grunting.

  Soon he was snoring. The image of William’s face came to me, his smile. You would make a lovely queen, he had told me.

  Tears trickled down the side of my face onto the pillow. Was I a woman now?

  January 1, 1780, New Year’s Day—Paris.

  I have resolved to go to mass every morning. I want to become a good wife. I have asked for divine help in this, for so often a pained expression covers Monsieur de Beauharnais’s brow.

  “What is it I do?” I asked Aunt Désirée. “What is the
reason?”

  “Reason,” she said, correcting my pronunciation. “You continue to drop your r’s, Rose.”

  Aunt Désirée wrote out a list of words. I am to practise them, recite them to her every evening. I try to accept her correction without temper, for I know that it is in this that I must strive—to obey without question, to become Madame la vicomtesse, a most excellent wife.

  January 13.

  Monsieur de Beauharnais practises dance steps all the day long, watching himself in the big looking glass. He has been invited to the Queen’s ball at Versailles…but I have not.

  “Why?” I asked Father and Aunt Désirée. “Why might I not go?”

  “You haven’t been presented at Court, Rose,” Father said.

  “Neither has Alexandre.”*

  “But Alexandre is the best dancer in all of Paris,” Aunt Désirée said. “This is quite an honour, Rose. You should rejoice on your husband’s behalf.”

  Sunday, January 23.

  Monsieur de Beauharnais has returned from Versailles. He danced with the Queen!

  Aunt Désirée looked like she might faint. “Alexandre, tell us the truth. You didn’t dance with the Queen.”

  It was true, he had, for one-quarter turn of a polonaise, he said.

  “Did she touch your glove?” Aunt Désirée asked. “This one?”

  “Behold, Madame, I give you my blessing.” Monsieur de Beauharnais made an elegant sweep through the air and touched his hand to her shoulder.

  We gathered in the front parlour to listen to his account. Even Father came downstairs to join us, interrupting Monsieur de Beauharnais to fill us in on details of proper royal deportment.

 

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