The Devil's Reward

by Emmanuelle De Villepin

  All the aristocrats of the region were present as well as a few additional personages such as the prefect and the notary. They all spoke loudly and with the forced gaiety that one is supposed to exhibit on such occasions. Gabriel abandoned me as soon as we arrived and went off with his cousin to check out the young ladies. Grandma Éléonore and my mother seated themselves amid a group of stiff older ladies with sour looks. I hated how I was dressed and wanted to become invisible, especially since I didn’t see Laure, my favorite cousin. I approached the buffet table and set about stuffing myself while trying to keep that from being too obvious. Dressed as I was, no one was going to ask me to dance. I had a lace collar that went up to my chin, my dress was too long, and my shoes were simple flats — a real disaster! Other young ladies were displaying their magnificent décolletés and on each of their faces was an easy smile crowning their triumphant juvenile beauty. I sat down at the bottom of a little staircase and watched the party without being seen. But then the Duc d’Avoiseul spotted me and approached.

  “You look awfully bored,” he said in a kind voice.

  “Not in the least! On the contrary, I find it all very amusing. I’m just a little tired,” and I blabbered on like that.

  It was hard to believe but the Duke was only interested in me. He spent the entire evening with me, tried to get me to dance, and laughed at my attempts at humor. In short, he was discreetly flirting with me, but it did not pass unnoticed, especially by my mother and grandmother, who were absolutely ecstatic.

  Thus began my descent into hell.

  They were on my case day and night to know if I had received any news, if he had come by, how I had replied, and so on.

  At first, like an idiot, by telling of all the Duke’s compliments and kind words addressed to me, I was proud to have in a way rehabilitated them in the eyes of the society they were so attached to. It made them so happy that I didn’t see any reason to deprive them of that pleasure. They would then speak for hours about what might be the deep motives behind the Duke’s taking an interest, since he had not given so much as the time of day to any woman since the death of his wife, and the only answer they could come up with was of course the importance of my lineage, the Crusades, and the kings and queens who circulated in my bloodline — a veritable Capernaum in my veins! I don’t mean to brag, but I think the Duke simply had the hots for me.

  It was Gabriel who first blew the alarm bell.

  “Watch out, sis, or else there’ll be no Paris or philosophy for you until the Duke asks for your hand in marriage.”

  “Stop it, he’s twenty years older than me!”

  “That’s not going to be a problem, neither for him nor for anyone else!”

  “But this isn’t a livestock auction! I’ve got a say in this too!”

  “Hmm, I don’t think so. But really, sis, the Duc d’Avoiseul! You could have hit the ball a little softer.”

  I started hiding what I was able to hide, but the invitations to the Avoiseul home were always extended to my mother and grandmother as well, and the flowers arrived at the house while I was still at school.

  I took my baccalaureate exams and got a particularly good grade on the philosophy test. I was able to celebrate with Abbé Neveu at least—Mother and Grandma Éléonore couldn’t have cared less and Gabriel was away doing military training. My grandma did have a costly dress made for me by way of congratulations, but I would have been more appreciative of her gesture if it had been less immediately transparent that she was primping me for the marriage market!

  Spring gave way to the oppressive heat of summer. We all missed the fresh breeze of Warvillers, the cry of turtledoves, the bold palette of different shades of green, the whinnying of the horses that we’d comb down at the end of our rides, the smell of the soil, the softness of the lawn under our feet, the tall oaks under which one could read a good book while getting drunk on the scent of freshly cut grass, and then the sunset, which promised with a blinding explosion of red that the next day would be sunny too. Warvillers with its proud windy plains, Warvillers where my little château stood abandoned, uncared for and lifeless.

  There being no father to address himself to, the Duke asked my grandmother for my hand in marriage. Grandma, though beside herself with happiness, did not want to reply too hastily. She told him that she’d have to speak with me and that we would give him our answer before the end of the month.

  “Good job, Grandma, that gives us two weeks to find words that won’t upset him too much.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean that he’s nice and I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

  “But of course you’re not going to hurt his feelings,” interjected my mother. “Why would you do that?”

  “Well, no one likes being rejected.”

  The two old women would have been less surprised if a spaceship had suddenly touched down in the living room.

  “You weren’t really expecting me to marry that old goat, were you?”

  “But Christiane, think a little! You’re not going to waste an opportunity like this! Yours is an unbelievable stroke of luck that we simply cannot pass up!”

  “It is absolutely, totally, definitively out of the question!”

  “Don’t speak that way to your mother!” said my grandmother, her cheeks on fire.

  “I’m barely eighteen, he’s forty—the very idea disgusts me!”

  “But what are thinking, you little imp? That you’ll have other chances? Do you think that one of the other families we know will allow one of their sons to marry you after what your father did dragging us through the mud?”

  “And what about Gabriel? Why aren’t you pestering him?”

  “Because he’s a man. It won’t be easy for him either, but maybe he’ll be able to make a match with some plain-faced woman.”

  I can’t recall which one of them pronounced which piece of stupidity because for me they had fused into a single, two-headed monster.

  That evening I wrote a long letter to Gabriel and the next day I went to call on Abbé Neveu.

  “Why don’t you ask your aunt Bette for help? Wasn’t she helpful with your high school studies? She strikes me as being intelligent and more open than the other women in your family.”

  “My mother and grandmother can’t stand her. And besides, what weight does a rich bourgeoise, and Swiss, have against the Duc d’Avoiseul?”

  “My poor child, what are you going to do?”

  “If I was of age, I’d run away.”

  “Oh Lord, no! You must find a solution within your family. What about your uncle Geoffroy?”

  “He’s my father’s brother, you know, and not liked very much either anymore, especially since they suspect that they still see each other.”

  “Would you like me to speak to their confessor?”

  “Whoever they chose as a confessor could not be anyone very accommodating.”

  “I’m willing to try anything, and you too, you should try to get help from the others in your family.”

  It was no use. The confessor felt that Abbé Neveu lacked common sense and that an older man was a very good thing for someone like me who needed a firm hand at my young age. He added that it was certainly not their business to meddle in the affairs of these two saintly women.

  Aunt Bette and Uncle Geoffroy came to our house, one after the other, to try and persuade my mother and grandmother. They reminded my mother that she had married for love, and that they still remembered her radiant face at the wedding.

  “Right, and look how that turned out,” said my grandmother, pursing her lips as she always did when she was exasperated.

  “But the happiness that comes with love, you mustn’t deprive Christiane of that chance!” insisted Aunt Bette.

  “We’re sparing her great misfortune, you mean to say!”

  “Élé
onore, I know your rectitude and your sense of duty, but the times really have changed,” wailed Aunt Bette.

  “Not in our families, my dear. Not in ours. Are you saying you don’t remember?”

  “Éléonore, I did so love your son, I cannot stand to think that Christiane should never know that kind of happiness.”

  “Oh, let’s stop this sentimental nonsense! The only thing that matters in the end is to stay in one’s social milieu and live comfortably with someone who has shared the same upbringing. Everything else is passing fancy and will-o’-the-wisp.”

  Aunt Bette left with a heavy heart. As for Uncle Geoffroy, he was greeted with mockery: “That the Corbois family parades through my salon dispensing marriage advice, I find that rich indeed!”

  My mother was silent. I would like to think she had some reservations about my sacrifice, but she said nothing to confirm that she did.

  Gabriel was furious and let it be known, but his declaration only made things worse.

  “Unfortunately your children have taken after their father, my poor Marguerite. They are irascible, insolent, and rebellious. We should organize this marriage as quickly as possible if we want to avoid a catastrophe. A father’s faults are pardoned in children but not in adults — and especially not when they have the bad taste of resembling him!”

  Meanwhile the Duke continued courting me — without ever going beyond any lines of decorum or putting me in an embarrassing situation. He came every day to take tea and invited us regularly to his home. In all I found it more pleasant than to stay trapped with only my mother and grandmother. He brought us in his car and drove us home too. He did everything very slowly — driving, talking, moving, reacting, understanding. I had just turned eighteen and this overall slow speed was to me like being caged in the middle of the desert. At eighteen one moves at a running pace, one is constantly in motion, you only feel good with the wind in your hair.

  He was, though, very nice — Mother and Grandma, on the other hand, were odious.

  That was why I accepted the marriage in September. I did not do it for them, but because of them. Anything had to be better than life at my grandmother’s, and I said to myself that I stood a better chance of persuading the Duke to let me go study in Paris than of persuading my mother and grandmother.

  “God protect you, my poor child,” said Abbé Neveu.

  “You are completely nuts,” said Gabriel.

  “Christiane, remember that you can change your mind at any time, even at the last minute,” said Aunt Bette.

  “I’ll drive you to city hall, if you like, but are you sure of your decision?” asked Uncle Geoffroy.

  “It’s the happiest day of my life,” said the Duke.

  “Finally a rational decision,” said Grandma Éléonore.

  “My dear, you’ll see that all of this is for your own good,” said Mother.

  “My child, welcome to our family,” said the Duchesse d’Avoiseul.

  As the day of the wedding approached, the Duc d’Avoiseul became more active. Honestly, I liked him just fine. He was kind, courteous, and considerate. The only problem was that any greater closeness between us I found repugnant. One day he kissed me and I nearly vomited. I found his breath disagreeable, and having his fat fleshy tongue inside my mouth was like being forced to swallow a dirty dishrag. I had already kissed another boy, one of my school friends, and it had been an entirely different experience. I was resigned to getting married, but the idea that it would entail physical intimacy was deeply troubling and literally making me sick. I told myself that I would come up with some solution along the way, that I would lead him into accepting a chaste arrangement, and yet I knew this would not be easy because he clearly found me very attractive.

  It was now mid-September and for the occasion we had moved back into the château at Warvillers. My grandmother was willing to undertake any expense — intent as she was that this marriage be a hot topic of conversation throughout the region. So it was, then, that Gabriel and I rediscovered our bedrooms, the great living rooms, and our secret hiding place in the oak tree. The days got shorter. We spent the Friday evening before my wedding drinking a bottle of Pommard and speaking in whispers while seated atop the font where I’d been baptized eighteen years earlier. As it became dark, we did not feel the chill of the evening.

  “You are crazy to get married,” Gabriel said a bit tipsily.

  “You’d do the same if you lived with Mother and Grandma.”

  “Those two, you’ll leave them one day and even have happy memories of each. But marriage — you can’t get out of that so easily!”

  “Listen, it’s decided, so too bad. He’s nice.”

  “I am really blown over by your decision, you know.”

  “Don’t let it upset you, Gabriel. But hey, promise me you won’t ever abandon me. You’ll come see me often, right? Will you promise me that?”

  “Are you ever dumb! Of course I will! You’re the person I care most about in the world.”

  “Yeah, well, you sure hit me enough when we were kids!”

  “It was on account of that rat Papyrus.”

  “You hit me on account of him? Aren’t you exaggerating there a little?”

  “No, no, no! The hitting came from the bottom of my heart! No, what came from that bastard was your fear that I’d abandon you. But me, I’m different.”

  “You’re like him in everything.”

  “Wrong. I don’t take drugs and I don’t abandon people.”

  “You haven’t yet served in two wars and you don’t have a piece of shrapnel lodged in your spine.”

  “You still stick up for him! Incredible! In fact, good for you that you’re marrying that old fart, otherwise who knows who you’d bring home!”

  It was now late and our hearts were overflowing with half-nostalgic memories — of love received and love given, of the wounds of time and of the fear of everything that we should have released to the blowing wind.

  The next day I had a terrible headache and nausea. My mother had me swallow a glass of disgusting salty hot water. I understood from her nervous gestures and sighs that I was not to spoil the party. I should say in her defense that she exhibited no gaiety. She actually looked deeply sad. I believe she thought this was one more part of the cross one had to bear and that now it was my turn to lift and carry that weight. My mother was certain that one did not come into the world to have a lighthearted good time. Grandma Éléonore was not euphoric either. She reminded me of General Kutuzov and his scorched-earth policy, except that instead of sacrificing Moscow to keep it from falling into the hands of Napoleon, it was me she was sacrificing to protect the family’s grandeur from the pillory.

  They all left for the church and I stayed at the château with Gabriel and Uncle Geoffroy. My bridesmaids were waiting for me at the presbytery with Aunt Elodie, who was in charge of everything. My two companions looked like they were going to a funeral. I tried to ignore them but I had a terrible knot in my stomach. Thus it was that in total silence the car rolled through the gate of our Warvillers home.

  The gate closed behind us with a loud metallic clank, swallowing up forever our childhood and with it the only idea we ever had of happiness.

  I remained silent, alone with my heaving sighs, which I did my best to keep down.

  When Gabriel opened the car door for me, he looked so sad I thought I was going to burst into tears — but then something quite extraordinary happened.

  Uncle Geoffroy stood straight as an arrow, his arm slightly bent to accept my own. Gabriel was arranging my train and my veil. Aunt Elodie was on the steps of the church organizing the cortege of children. The families and guests were waiting for me inside.

  At that precise moment — I remember it all as though it just happened — I heard a very familiar noise, the vroom of Papyrus’s motorcycle and sidecar. We all turned to look in the direct
ion of the noise and saw him wearing his leather helmet and big goggles, as in the old days, and approaching at high speed. He pulled up in front of me. We all looked a bit dumbstruck, our jaws hanging open like in cartoons.

  “Get in! I forbid you to go through with this.”

  “But Papyrus, I can’t.”

  “Get in! Now!”

  I looked for support from my companions, but they had digested their general surprise and were apparently doing nothing to hold me back.

  “Go,” said Gabriel. “Go with him!”

  “He’s right,” said Uncle Geoffroy. “Climb on that thing. And as for you, Louis, take care of her this time!”

  “Gabriel, Geoffroy — we’ll call you tomorrow. Rest easy. Come Christiane, get in, you’re not going to let yourself be crucified, are you?”

  I pulled off the veil that had belonged to my mother and before her to my grandmother and before her to her mother, and so forth back in time, and I climbed into Papyrus’s sidecar.

  This caused a big stink. Grandma Éléonore died without pardoning me. Mother took it as the ten thousandth trial she had to undergo to win a good seat in paradise. The people in the region, especially those of our milieu, got sore throats retelling the stories of our family.

  I spent the first week with Papyrus in a small hotel in the rue des Saints-Pères, close to where I live now. He explained to me that for all those years he had kept in touch with Aunt Bette, and that she had come to plead with him to do something to prevent the wedding. At first he wanted no part of it. Then on the morning of the wedding day, he said to himself that the shame he’d feel to appear before us all was not enough to justify abandoning me to the dungeon of such a lugubrious fate. When I asked him what exactly his relation with Aunt Bette was, he told me their entire story.

  “So why didn’t you get married then? To avoid causing Uncle Geoffroy any pain?”

  “No doubt.”

  “But Papyrus, would Bette have gone along with it?”