by Zia Wesley
I hesitate to write these things to you, firstly, because I can hardly believe them myself and hoped they might dissipate like an unwelcome dream, and secondly, because you are so far removed. I remember how helpless and despondent I felt when we believed you lost, and do not wish those feelings upon you now.
Do you remember Euphemia David telling us that my husband would die “as a result of troubles that would befall the land of the Franks?” We seem to be in the midst of those very troubles, and I live in mortal fear of this coming to pass—not for loss of a love we never shared, but for the small security it affords.
Please pray for my family and me and know that should anything happen to me, I have always remained your loving cousin,
Rose
Nakshidil held the letter in her hand and began to sob. Rose was right, she felt helpless. What could she do?
She dried her eyes, and walked down the long hall to the Sultan’s quarters. Seeing her approach, one of the guards, accustomed to the Kadine’s unannounced visits, stepped inside and immediately reappeared to open the doors wide for her to enter.
Selim sat at his secretary desk amending a piece of music he had been composing. Seeing the distressed expression on her face, he set down his pen and rose to greet her.
“A disturbing letter from my cousin Rose in France,” she said, holding the letter out to him.
Now fluent in both spoken and written French, Selim read the letter quickly. He guided Aimée to a divan, and signaled a servant to bring coffee.
“Monsieur Ruffin has spoken to me of these things,” he said. “I had not thought of how they might affect your family there. We will send gold. Perhaps she can buy her way out of these troubles, or at least out of France for a while. She must go where she will be safe.” He gazed reassuringly into his lover’s eyes. “We will send her the means to buy whatever she needs, my love.”
“What if it does not reach her in time?” Nakshidil asked, with a pained expression.
“I will summon Monsieur Ruffin immediately and ask his advice in this matter,” Selim replied. “Even the fastest ship will take more than a month to reach France.” He remembered the Dey’s fleet that had been moored in the bay of Istanbul for several months in anticipation of another Janissary revolt. Perhaps Baba Ben Osman has a faster one, he thought. At a little over sixty years of age, Baba Mohammed Ben Osman still ruled over his fleet. “I will also summon Ben Osman,” Selim said aloud.
“Yes! Ask Baba for his fastest ship, please,” she pleaded. “Oh, would that I could go,” she added.
Selim regarded her incredulously. “Surely, you are not serious,” he said.
“Oh no, Selim, just wishful. I just wish I could be with Rose when she needs someone so much.”
She snuggled against Selim, who wrapped his arms around her protectively and kissed the top of her head.
“I will send the summons out immediately, Naksh. We will do all that we can. Do not fear for your cousin.”
He said the words in reaction to Nakshidil’s apparent distress, but without real understanding of her feelings. Selim was a child of the seraglio ignorant of the familial bonds of European families. His mother and uncle had been the only blood relatives he had ever known, and he had never fathered a child. His compassion was a testament to his deep sense of morality. And Aimée was the only person left whom he truly loved. Her unhappiness therefore became his own.
Two days later, Baba Mohammed Ben Osman’s fastest ship, captained by his eldest son, sailed for France carrying a small wooden chest of gold and a letter from Aimée.
September, 1792
My dearest cousin Rose,
I pray this letter finds you and your family safe and well, and hope the gift I have entrusted to Monsieur Ruffin’s representative helps to alleviate at least some of your suffering. I am sorry I did not think to do so sooner. But, who could have foreseen this madness? The situation you describe brings tears to my eyes and makes my stomach churn. Has all of France gone mad? Is there somewhere safe you can go? Where are Aunt Sophie and Uncle Jean-Louis?
All is well here but I beg you to please let me know if there is any more I can do to help. You are correct regarding my feelings of helplessness but at least this is something that with the aid and good will of Sultan Selim, I can do. Please, please be safe.
Your devoted cousin,
Aimée
Chapter 12
Two years passed without word from Rose. When a letter finally arrived Aimée frantically tore it open, scanning its contents as fast as she could. The last paragraph read:
“You, my cousin, always so pure and god-fearing. It is difficult for me to imagine the woman you must now be to have gained the lofty position of power within the sensualist realm of the Ottomans. Has fate caused the reversal of our childhood roles and cast you as the wanton and me, the poor widow?”
With tears streaming down her face, Aimée pushed open the secret door that lead from her apartments to the Sultan’s and burst into his bedchamber. Holding the pages of Rose’s letter in her hand she cried, “Selim! Terrible news... from Paris.”
Selim moved quickly to her, as she collapsed in his arms. She was crying too hard to continue speaking as she pushed the letter into his hands. Selim read the letter with disbelief. Rose’s husband had been executed by the revolutionary government, as had both the King and Queen. Rose had been imprisoned for four months, almost dying from the inhumane conditions and lack of food. Her son was in the army, and her daughter had luckily been living with an aunt in Fontainebleau. The family estate had been confiscated and would be “redistributed” to the peasants. Aimée’s gift had saved her life by allowing her to buy her way out of prison. Now, everything was gone, and Rose was destitute. The entire country continued to reel from the on-going upheavals and atrocities of the revolution.
“Her husband is dead, and the King and Queen. France is lost.” Aimée sobbed. “Oh, my poor, poor Rose.”
“We will send help,” Selim said quietly. He began to calculate possible implications for his own Empire. Over the past four years, France had furnished him with a continual stream of officers, engineers and artillery specialists to train and work with his new troops. What might they do now, and what position would Monsieur Ruffin take? It did not bode well.
November 1794
My dearest cousin Rose,
I cannot bear the thought of the horrors you have endured. I mourn your personal loss as well as that of France. I have entrusted Monsieur Ruffin with another package for you, along with this letter. How can these things happen in a civilized country like France? And who will rule now that they have killed the King and Queen? What will happen to the royal children, the Dauphine?
Oh, my dear Rose, I am helpless being so far away, and I fear what may befall you and your children before you receive this letter. After receipt of your last letter, I began praying again. Know that I pray daily for your safety, and for sanity to return to France, though I am no longer sure upon whose ears my prayers may fall.
It seems pointless for me to write about myself, as nothing of any great importance is happening here. You may find it interesting that I am building a library in Istanbul, a French library. Sultan Selim and I have become quite close since my husband’s death, and he acts more father than cousin to Mahmud, who adores him.
I pray that my gifts help to alleviate your situation and bring you some respite. Please write immediately to let me know that you received everything and whether you are moderately comforted or relieved. My heart aches for your loss and your troubles, my darling cousin. Would that I could do more, and let me know directly if I may.
Your devoted cousin,
Aimée
After finishing the letter, she dropped two handfuls of loose diamonds, rubies and sapphires into a calfskin purse. She wrapped the pouch within a blue cashmere shawl, and placed the precious bundle into a wooden box, then sealed it with wax. The Kizlar Agasi would deliver the package into the hands of Monsieur Ruffi
n, who would personally transport it to France for delivery to Rose. It would take six weeks for her cousin to receive the package, and another six for word of its receipt to come back to her. She would not rest peacefully until she knew that it had. What if Rose was imprisoned again? What would happen to her children? What if she died? The last thought doubled her over, and she sobbed as if her fear was, in fact reality. Rose was more than her closest relative. She had become her lifeline to the outside world. How small might Aimée’s world become without Rose?
~ ~ ~
Selim’s “Secret Army” currently consisted of sixteen hundred men who resided and trained ten miles outside of Istanbul in Levland Ciftlik. The first two hundred men had volunteered from Koca Usef Pasha’s personal army of Russian and German deserters. One hundred additional young men were recruited off the city’s streets and spirited away before the word could spread. French artillery officers trained the recruits in military formations, tactics, modern weaponry and the French language. They were the first Turkish soldiers to become proficient in the European style of warfare. Their uniforms, modeled after those of the French, consisted of breeches, soft, brimless blue hats like berets and red tunics. In two months’ time, they would be introduced to the general populace as the “Riflemen of the Corps of Gardeners,” and no one knew how the Janissaries might respond.
~ ~ ~
Pierre Ruffin returned to Istanbul from France in February of 1795 after a round-trip voyage of just three months on one of Baba’s ships. He brought a letter from Rose that he delivered to Selim. The two men had been meeting on a regular basis for several years, and now sat in one of the Sultan’s informal meeting rooms.
“Madame Beauharnais appears to be well recovered from her travails,” Ruffin reported. “She asked that I personally convey her deepest gratitude to you.”
“Thank you. I know the Valide Sultana thanks you as well. Please tell me all the news from France,” Selim said.
“Unhappily, it seems that order returns only to be challenged. Royalist opposition always seems to be brewing somewhere, despite the fact that most Frenchmen seem pleased with the new government. And if our own unrest were not enough, we had to send troops into Amsterdam. There seem to be rebellions everywhere these days.” He sighed heavily.
“Yes, I understand. The more reform I attempt to bring about, the more opposition I encounter. Our “New Order” has brought so much good change to the people with land reform, education, reduced taxation, and new limitations on the powers of overbearing Pashas. But some factions still resist change of any kind, good or bad.”
“The Janissaries?” Ruffin asked.
“As always the Janissaries,” Selim replied. “They continue to eschew our new military and naval schools, and refuse to learn French. Apparently, they would still rather die than learn from foreigners—and so they may. Hopefully, they will not take the whole Empire with them.”
“How goes the rest of the empire, my lord?” Ruffin asked, hoping to discover some piece of new information about Egypt. The French still longed for a handhold in the East, and news of civil unrest there had spread to the continent. Russia had her eye on it as well. If the Turks lost possession, both empires would vie for the prize.
“Some of my other subjects also prefer to cling to the past,” Selim replied. “No doubt you have heard the talk of rebellion in Arabia, Syria, Palestine and Egypt. It is fueled by religious radicals not unlike the Janissaries. They support the old ways and wish to see Mustapha in my place. They believe he would be a “manageable” Sultan because he is young. But they do not know him as I do. He is a terribly unbalanced young man, filled with anger and hatred, who enjoys seeing people suffer—actually watching people suffer physically. I’ve no doubt that were he Sultan, thousands of heads would roll. It would be a bloodbath.”
“Let us pray you prevail, sir, with the aid of your new fighting force. I fear you may need them. If I and my country may serve you further, you have only to ask.”
“Thank you, Monsieur. The French government’s generosity shall not be forgotten. Your people here have become invaluable to us, despite the misfortunes of the revolution in their own country. The time will come when all of our empire will look upon France as I do and acknowledge the role she plays in our development.”
Ruffin lifted his glass of champagne and extended it towards Selim. The high-pitched clinking of the crystal echoed through the domed room. “À la santé de l’empire,” he toasted.
“Merci, mon ami,” the Sultan replied.
August 28, 1795
My dearest cousin Aimée,
I continue to be overwhelmed by your generosity. Not only did your jewels allow me to extricate myself from poverty and avoid the poorhouse, they enabled me to move back to Paris with Hortense. It is encouraging to see the city regaining some of its old character and coming back to its senses. Recently, we held a national convention to write a new constitution for a “Liberal Republic.” A central government of five men, called The Directory, is now in power, and although still in a state of flux, seems quite effective. They recently settled my husband’s estate quite fairly upon the children and me. I consider it extremely fortunate that an old family friend, the Vicomte Paul de Barras, (now citizen Barras) is one of the five directors.
I am sorry to tell you that Father passed away amidst the riots and chaos into which both France and Martinique were thrown. I am grateful for the time we spent together on my last visit and that he came to know his granddaughter. Mother now lives in Fort-Royal with Aunt Lavinia, and sends us a small monthly stipend from Father’s estate. I cannot imagine how she will get on without Father, but perhaps she is stronger than I know.
I have leased a lovely home on rue Saint-Honoré with a small but adequate staff of servants. Parisians appear to have settled into a somewhat comfortable rapport with one another, greatly relieved to have food on their tables and a modicum of security in our daily lives.
Social rapport has changed as well with “salons” replacing formal gatherings where citizens (as both women and men now call ourselves) discuss matters of importance rather than gossip. I am surprised to discover my interest in matters such as the making of laws and the machinations of government, which I find quite fascinating.
Our manner of dress has changed radically and is now quite simple—no more complicated undergarments, hoops, stays or wigs. The less complicated dress eliminates the need for servants to assist in dressing, you see. I much prefer it, as it reminds me of the simplicities of our youth on Martinique, although my shifts are now made of silk instead of linen. I must be getting old, cousin, as I have taken to reflecting on the happiness of my youth.
So, my dearest, my worst fear came true (as predicted), and I am a widow with two children. Hortense is twelve and Eugène already a young man of fourteen. We were just fourteen when we ran off to see Euphemia David. Speaking of that old witch, I recently met an extraordinary woman who considers herself “gifted” in a similar fashion. Her name is Marie Le Normand, and she hosts the most marvelous salons, though her “talents” do not compare with those displayed by Madame David.
Aunt Sophie and Uncle Jean-Louis have returned to their house—no doubt a testament to Sophie’s distinct manner of “charms” and persuasion. Now free of the restrictive niceties of her class, Sophie has become more notorious than ever. They say she has at least three lovers in addition to her Italian who still resides in her attic! Mon dieu, I do not know how she manages it.
The last remaining Royalists, mainly Catholics backed by the English, were recently defeated in La Vendée. The Revolutionary government has supported anti-Catholic sentiments here for several years, and no one practices openly anymore or wishes to be associated. So, you see, cousin, I too am no longer sure who hears my prayers, although I am certain who answers them—it is you.
I close in gratitude, and remain as ever your devoted and loving cousin,
Rose
~ ~ ~
Perestu entered t
he magnificent apartments, formerly occupied by the Circassian Kadine, where Nakshidil now lived. A mature woman of twenty-seven, she was still slight of build, now resembling a sleek cat more than a small bird. Her halting Turkish had been replaced by impeccable French, which she often chose to speak over Turkish.
Noticing the letter in Nakshidil’s hands, she asked, “From Rose?”
“Yes, and for once it is mostly good news. When I read her words, I can hear her voice and sense the relief... even happiness. She is much changed.”
“I am glad. I know how much you care for her, and how difficult it has been for you to be so far away when she needs you.”
“Thank you, Perestu.” She saw the sadness on the younger woman’s face and asked, “What troubles you, little bird?”
“Last night...” her voice faltered. “My moon cycle began again,” she whispered and began to cry.
She lived in the constant hope of becoming pregnant, and now began to fear that its absence was her fault. She laid her head in Aimée’s lap and sobbed as Aimée stroked her hair.
“Oh, Perestu, I am so very sorry. So sorry, my sweet. Have you spoken with Selim about this?”
“Oh no. I could not.” Her lovely face filled with pain as she looked into her friend’s eyes. “Why won’t Allah give me a child, Naksh?”
“I am not sure why any God does anything. I have asked mine for many things that have not been given. But, I think you must talk with Selim about this.”
Nakshidil held her sobbing friend, and resolved to speak with Selim herself. He must disclose his disability to the girl. She would never reveal the information to anyone else, and it was senseless to live with a hope that would never be fulfilled.