“No one would tell a child such things. Besides, I’m sure they’re proud their mother consorts with the most powerful people in Paris.”
I hoped they hadn’t heard. I would hate to disappoint or, worse, embarrass my darlings.
Paul was generous to a fault, despite his insatiable appetite for women. He rented a fashionable property on the rue Chantereine—a dream location near the theaters—to surprise me. The afternoon he obtained the keys, we toured my new home.
“You’ll need to hire a gardener, a cook, and a servant or two if you plan to host a soiree with proper company.” Paul’s baritone voice echoed in the empty underground kitchen. We mounted the stairs to the first floor. I peered through the salon window at the carriage house. “And a footman for the coach.”
My own coach. Quel luxe!
“I’m not sure how I’ll afford them all.”
“I can help, but it would be best if you found another source of income.”
“Of course. I’m so grateful for everything, darling.” I stood on the tips of my toes and kissed him. “I can’t thank you enough for Fanny’s appointment with your painter. And Marie-Françoise is quite comfortable with the money you gave her.”
“I can’t say no to you.” He smiled, his eyes shining. “Have you considered dealing in business? With your contacts and the way you manage people—”
I pulled away from him, eyes wide with feigned innocence. “The way I manage people? I am empathetic. That is all.”
“Come, Rose. Do you think I’m a fool? You say just the right thing to get your way. And I am a victim of your charm.” He kissed me harder, and on the mouth.
I had caught him in my web, but I knew he could escape whenever he chose. Unease niggled in the pit of my stomach.
I changed the subject. “What type of business?”
We continued through the house and out the front door. The late afternoon sun threw long shadows onto the drive.
“Military supplies.” He had made his fortune, in part, selling supplies to the revolutionary armies. “I know a few gentlemen looking for a middleman. You would be perfect.”
“I do enjoy negotiating.” An income was precisely what I needed to keep up with my bills, to support a larger staff in my new house.
The footman held the coach door open. I nodded my thanks and chose a seat inside.
“I’ll secure a meeting. You can go from there,” he said.
“When do I begin?”
I met with Citizen Ouvrard and several other bankers the following evening. They connected me with others and by the end of the week, I had secured my first contract. As one of the few women, I had everyone’s attention, earning more money on my first sale than most. I spent the sum in a hurry; a new home required furnishings.
I lavished the salon in sky blue silk and sheer muslin, a veneered mahogany table, and the harp I had longed to play since quitting Désirée’s home. My attention to detail created the illusion of wealth. One must always look the part.
As the last of the architects packed their supplies to depart for the day, the post arrived. Lazare’s blocky handwriting stood out on the envelope, erect and formal, like his posture.
My stomach flipped. The scent of Lazare’s skin, the softness of his touch, had not faded from memory, despite my liaison with Paul. I prayed with each of his letters he would tell me he had divorced.
I opened the missive with care.
15 Messidor III
Chère Rose,
How are you, amour? Eugène is well. He excels at horsemanship and has garnered the respect of every soldier he meets. What a gallant, intelligent young man he has become. You should be proud of how well you have raised him.
I have missed you these last months. I think of you every time I look at Eugène.
I look forward to our reunion this winter when I return.
I have heard you’ve made new friends in Paris. I hope you do not succumb to their greed and questionable morals. Paul Barras is lacking in character.
I worry your sweet nature may be compromised. Not all have your best interests at heart.
In truth, I write to you with news, dearest Rose. I wanted you to be the first to know—I am going to be a father! Adelaide is expecting our first child. I can share your joy as a parent, at last.
I hope you are well. I look forward to taking you in my arms.
Je t’embrasse.
Lazare
His words squeezed my heart like a vise. Adelaide pregnant? Of course he would have a child with his wife. He loved her. And he would never leave her for me.
I laid my head against the windowpane and wept. Sudden fatigue seeped into my bones. I was so tired of the pretenses. It seemed I would never find safety, financial freedom, love to fill the gaping hole within.
I sent for Eugène. I couldn’t accept Lazare’s aid any longer, or hold on to a dream that would never be. Within a week, I enrolled my son at McDermott Academy, a prestigious military school. I pushed Lazare from my mind and threw myself into the merriment around me, eager to forget.
One afternoon in the month of Fructidor, before the leaves began to change, Theresia and I attended a painting exhibition chez Barras for Citizen Isabey. I hoped Paul’s guests might purchase a piece to support my artist friend.
I weaved through the beautiful tableaux in my lemon yellow gown, chatting with acquaintances. I had yet to speak to Paul. He had been flirting with a pretty brunette from the moment I arrived.
Malaise roiled in my stomach. His invitations had ebbed in the past two weeks. I did not love him as more than a dear friend, but still, his easy dismissal of our relationship stung. Dread crept along my spine. I would be alone very soon, made to start again.
I watched a cluster of gentlemen near a refreshment table. I had met each of them at some point. I sighed. One was a braggart, the other always drunk. A third, I thought, would like me to be his mother. I shuddered. No thank you.
I moved to find Theresia. She stood in a bath of sunlight streaming through a window, angelic in her beauty, her pale blue gown a piece of fallen sky. The soldier with whom she spoke appeared awestruck. He scratched his neck nervously every few seconds.
I wrinkled my nose. Who was that?
The gentleman was disheveled with greasy hair, and his soiled uniform fit him poorly.
Theresia laughed at something he said. She dismissed him with a wave of her hand and he trudged to the doors in a huff.
She took a glass of champagne from a silver tray and linked her arm through mine. “There you are,” she said, as though she had been searching for me all afternoon.
“Who was that man?”
“The general?” She laughed again and tossed her head. “He asked me to accompany him to a dance later. Imagine dancing with that cretin! I couldn’t help but laugh. I told him I had far more interesting things to do. He didn’t seem happy, did he?”
“Shame on you.” I led her across the room to a painting I had admired twice before. “You could have feigned interest to spare his feelings.”
She rolled her eyes. “He looked as if he hasn’t bathed in weeks.”
I giggled. “Still, you could have been kinder.”
“At least he won’t ask me again.”
“Certainly not.” We stopped before a self-portrait of Isabey with his daughter, one of my favorites. “I haven’t spoken to Paul all evening. I fear he is taken with the brunette.”
“Darling, he’s always chasing someone. Perhaps you should move on.”
I studied the little girl’s dress in the painting. “Marvelous, the way he paints fabric. See how the folds in her frock catch the light? They look soft.”
“Stunning.”
“Perhaps I should find a husband.”
“You don’t mean that.” She leaned closer to examine the strokes. “You
adore your freedom.”
“I’m not sure what I adore any longer.”
Crisp autumn air blew in as the month turned to Vendémiaire, but the falling temperatures did not cool the rumors. The country was bankrupt and Royalists would invade to restore the crown. Riots broke out in the streets. Many friends whispered of hopes for the monarch’s return.
I hoped Barras would quell the disorder.
I sat writing letters to the children when the sound of an approaching carriage floated through the open window. Someone had come? I sprang from my seat and peered out. The setting sun poured amber light over the lawn.
Paul’s coach pulled into the drive. He had not visited me for weeks. Relief and uncertainty swept through me. I hoped nothing was wrong.
“Mimi,” I called, “put on tea and prepare some refreshments. Barras is here.”
Mimi put down her feather duster. “Should I set a place for supper?”
“I will let you know.”
Paul’s footsteps thundered through the front hall. I rushed to greet him.
“It is good to see you, mon ami.” We kissed on either cheek. “Would you care for a cup of tea?”
“I could use a jolt.” He set his pistol and sword on a table with a clunk. “I haven’t slept for days.”
We sat in the salon as Mimi placed a tray stacked with galettes and quiche before us.
“What’s happened?” I selected a sablé. The buttery cookie crumbled in my hand and onto my lap. I brushed at the crumbs.
Paul dug into a slice of quiche. “Royalists plan to overthrow the government in two days. They’ve surrounded the Tuileries. I’ve commissioned a general to take matters into his hands.”
“So the rumors are true? There will be more riots?”
“I believe so. I came to warn you. Leave Paris. Go to Croissy or Fontainebleau. I’ll send you word when it’s safe to return.” He popped an entire sablé into his mouth.
“I’ll pick up Eugène tonight and leave first thing in the morning.” I had witnessed enough bloodshed to last a lifetime.
Eugène and I stayed with Désirée and the Marquis in Fontainebleau. Six days later a letter arrived from Barras.
12 Vendémiaire III
Chère Rose,
All is well. The Assembly survives, the Republic lives! Several hundred men were lost, but the message was sent—the Republic will triumph. You may return when you choose, but I would be honored for you to accompany me to a celebration at the Palais du Luxembourg septidi next, honoring my new protégé and nominated head of the Army of the Interior.
General Vendémiaire we call him.
I hope you will join me.
Je t’embrasse,
Paul
A shift was at hand. For Barras to appoint a new general-in-chief and throw him a celebration meant the man was important, indeed. I would attend in all my finery—to connect with Barras’s new right-hand man, to secure my influence from all sides.
The new general might prove useful.
The Curious General
Rue Chantereine, 1795–1796
“I have someone I would like you to meet,” Barras said on the night of his celebration.
“Who would that be?” I asked innocently, nibbling a petit four—delicious, sugar-coated perfection.
“My star general. He’s a bit unsightly and aggressive, but purposeful. Someone you should know. Perhaps you could teach him some manners.”
“Manners? Goodness, that doesn’t sound good. Is this the general that has everyone worked into a frenzy?” I asked, looking down at my frock. If my dress did not win the general over, he wasn’t male. I’d had it designed after a painting of Venus, the Roman goddess of love. Folds of pale blue muslin fell from my décolletage and an opening in the bodice revealed the dewy skin of my right thigh, visible through sheer stockings. Silver-strapped sandals wrapped my ankles and calves, and a delicate wreath of flowers decorated the curls piled high on my head. Theresia mirrored my style in pale green. A handful of guests had clapped when we arrived. We laughed and swished across the dance floor like nymphs.
Barras led me through the room. “Yes, and he’s my new appointed head of the Army of Italy and the Army of the Interior. I find him . . . amusing.”
“How so?”
“You will see.”
As we approached the general, my hand flew to my mouth. This man? It was the same bedraggled soldier whom Theresia had spurned and mocked. He could not be the hero of the Republic!
His uniform engulfed his meager frame. His scuffed boots had lost their shine. Unkempt brown hair hung over his collar and looked as if it had not been washed in weeks. As Theresia had said, it appeared the general did not practice hygiene.
I looked at Barras for assurance. He nodded. I recoiled inwardly. What an ungainly man—hero or no.
“Bonsoir, Bonaparte,” Barras said, shaking his hand.
The general stood a little straighter. “Good evening.” He spoke with an Italian accent.
“May I present to you, the widow Rose de Beauharnais.”
“Citoyenne.” Bonaparte bowed his head, gripping his brandy glass a little tighter. His fingers turned red, then white.
I waved my white silk fan. “General Bonaparte, how very nice to meet you.”
The general said nothing. His blue-gray eyes appeared cold and flat like cobblestones. No warmth emanated from his person, yet his intensity was distinctly noticeable.
I smiled to ease the tension. “You’ve accomplished an amazing feat. Extinguishing the violence and commanding a group of rebels. Paris rests easy tonight knowing our safety is in your hands.”
“It was amazing. Tactical, really,” he answered through tight lips.
My smile froze on my face. Unkempt and arrogant. What a man! Such a combination would not endear him to the exalted company he sought, not for long.
He stared straight ahead and said nothing more.
Barras laughed and clapped him on the back. “I like your self-confidence, man.”
General Bonaparte didn’t smile or answer.
Paul swigged from his glass and said, “If you two will excuse me, I need to speak with Monsieur Ouvrard.” He left in a rush.
I would scold him for leaving me with this man. I cleared my throat. “You must have some intriguing stories, as a soldier and hero.”
“Of course.” His eyes roved over my frame.
A loud clanging—the dinner announcement—interrupted our pitiful attempt at conversation.
I touched his arm gently. “I am meeting a few of my lady friends. Perhaps we can chat later?”
“All right,” he said, staring at my gloved hand.
“Wonderful to meet you, general. Good evening.”
Bonaparte bowed and made his way toward Barras.
I rushed in the opposite direction. What a relief to be rid of him, the odd little man.
Escaping the general was not easy. His unnerving eyes followed me the remainder of the evening. After much dancing, I glistened with perspiration and sought the courtyard for fresh air. Couples sat along the outer rings of the garden, locked in embraces or engrossed in conversation.
I ran my fingers along the cool surface of the fountain. Amazing detail, the way the artist had made the marble appear fluid, lustrous. I peered into its pool at my reflection. My gown shimmered like an apparition in the moonlight.
I turned at the sound of footsteps.
General Bonaparte. His eyes sparkled, hard as diamonds in their hollowed sockets, and his long nose protruded from his bony face. He studied me from head to toe as if memorizing every detail.
“You’ve enjoyed dancing this evening, Citoyenne de Beauharnais.”
He had manners after all.
“I love to dance. Don’t you, general?”
He stiffened. “I
don’t partake in activities that make me look a fool. I’m a soldier. My dance is on the battlefield.”
“That’s a shame. Women love to dance.” I gave him a flirtatious smile. A cool breeze made the hair on my arms stand on end.
“Indeed.” He stared through the thin material of my dress.
“A lovely evening.” I looked up at the moonlit sky.
Bonaparte took my hand in his.
“General?” I startled at his touch.
“May I read your palm?” He began to stroke it. “I’m well versed in reading fortunes.”
“You?” I laughed. “I would have never guessed. You’re so . . . guarded.”
“I’m from Corsica. We take palm reading very seriously.”
“As do I.” I grinned, amused by his brazen behavior. “What does my future hold?”
He pulled my hand closer. His hot breath tickled my skin while he traced the lines with his finger. After a short study, he froze, then dropped my hand as if it were a poisonous snake.
I laughed. “Goodness, what do you see?”
His face paled. “Mi perdoni . . . I must go.” He turned on his heel and fled. Without a backward glance or a word to anyone, he escaped into the night.
The general’s behavior fascinated me. I couldn’t imagine what had upset him. It was my palm, after all. When I told Barras, he said I would grow used to the general’s unusual mannerisms, maybe even grow to like him.
I doubted that.
The next time I saw Bonaparte, I visited him of my own volition. He had ordered the surrender of all unauthorized arms in the city to prevent further tumult after the recent coup—without exceptions.
Eugène became enraged.
“I won’t surrender Papa’s sword! It’s my inheritance. I have nothing else left of him!” He balled his hands into fists and paced our small salon. The wood floor groaned beneath him.
“I know it’s upsetting, darling, but you can’t disobey.” I envisioned my adolescent son standing before the Committee of Public Safety. I shivered. “You must.”
Becoming Josephine: A Novel Page 19