And so many smells! So many sounds! Everywhere foot passengers were talking, arguing, singing, but I couldn’t understand a word—it’s French, but poissard, Aunt Désirée said, the language of the market.
It was late by the time we got to the district of Monsieur de Beauharnais’s family home. The street lamps hanging out on great brackets were just being lit. The house is on a street so narrow the carriage couldn’t turn around. Aunt Désirée expressed warnings regarding the neighbourhood.
“A short distance away thieves are known to gather,” she said.
*
The house is tall, with big shutters. There is a stone face of a woman above the front door. “Vesta,” Monsieur de Beauharnais said, helping Father up the steps. “A Roman goddess.”
“A guiablesse!” Mimi whispered, and refused to pass.
I grabbed her hand and pulled her in. “There are no voodoo spirits in Paris,” I hissed.
Inside it was very grand—more grand than Uncle Tascher’s home in Fort-Royal even—with a big fireplace and many fine furnishings. In the front parlour white and gold brocade curtains hung from gold rods.
“Ohhhhh,” Mimi sighed. The slippery wood floors squeaked when she walked over them, reminding me of crick cracks.
Father took my arm. “This will do?” he asked, giving me a wink.
“It’s like a palace,” I whispered. I had a sad thought of Mother and Manette, of our worn grey rugs.
“This way!” Aunt Désirée called out, following Monsieur de Beauharnais up a sweeping staircase.
Monsieur de Beauharnais’s father, Marquis de Beauharnais, received us in his bedchamber, standing with the help of two walking sticks. He was dressed in a flannel night-shirt and a quilted gold satin dressing gown. He was wearing an old-fashioned white powdered wig of thick curls which flowed over his shoulders and down his back. He was a lot older than I expected—in his sixties or seventies I think—but he had an air of distinction, in spite of his state of undress.
I made a half-curtsy and accepted his offer of a chair by the fireside, where a tea board had been set.
“Content, Alexandre?” the Marquis asked, after we’d been introduced. I was relieved that Monsieur de Beauharnais answered in the affirmative.
“I believe you will find her pleasing,” Aunt Désirée said.
“I can see that for myself,” the Marquis said. He winked at me.
After a light supper and a family prayer we retired, weary travellers all. Aunt Désirée showed me to my room, which is large and filled with the most elegant furnishings. Father is in the room next to mine so that I might easily tend him. Mimi is in a room on the third floor with the other household servants.
And so, dear Diary, I must blow out the candle. I hear church bells ringing. I am here, at last.
Paris!
November 13.
Father is more comfortable now that he’s taken to bed and doesn’t have to move, although he’s none too happy about all the concoctions Aunt Désirée makes him take. In the morning he’s to eat a paste of powdered rhubarb and currants. In the evening she brings him pennyroyal mixed with sugar. He doesn’t mind that so much, but the poultice Mimi must smear on his chest is disgusting: bread mashed with milk, egg yolks and raisins.
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 powered, 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.