Elisa had been running around with Bacciochi for a long time, hoping that he would marry her. When news of the first Italian victories was received, Bacciochi asked at once to marry her and he was promptly accepted. After the wedding, Napoleon was afraid that Paulette, too, might bring someone of whom he disapproved into the family; so he arranged for Mme Letizia and Paulette to visit him at his headquarters in Montebello. There he married her off with lightning speed to a General Leclerc whom none of us know.
Unpleasant and incomprehensible as it may seem, and in spite of all the world history Napoleon has been making, he has not forgotten me. He is apparently determined to make amends to me for something; so with Julie's and Joseph approval, he sends me one eligible bachelor after another. The first was Junot, formerly his personal adjutant in the Marseilles days. Junot, tall and blond and amiable, appeared in Genoa, urged me to join him in the garden, clicked his heels together and declared that he had the honour to ask for my hand in marriage. I thanked him but refused. But these were Napoleon's orders, Junot remarked artlessly! I remembered Napoleon's opinion of Junot: loyal unto dead, but an idiot! I shook my head, and Junot rode back to Montebello. The next candidate was Marmont, whom I had known in Marseilles. Marmont did not ask me directly but with artful insinuations. I remembered what Napoleon had once said to me about this friend—"intelligent, will stand by me for the sake of his career!" So—he hopes to marry Joseph Bonaparte's sister-in-law, kept running through my head. By marrying me he would be related to Napoleon, could do Napoleon a favour, and at the same time acquire a considerable dowry I countered Marmont's delicate approach with an equally tactful "no." Then I went to Joseph and asked him if he couldn't write Napoleon and ask him to spare me further offers of marriage from his officers.
"Can't you understand that Napoleon considers it an honour to his generals when he suggests them as husbands for his sister-in-law?"
"I am not an order or a decoration to be awarded to some deserving officer," I said. "And if I'm not left in peace, I'll go back to Mama."
I hope this will convince him.
Meanwhile, in spite of the cooler weather, Julie and I sat in the courtyard this morning. In the centre here, there's a fat bronze lady holding a dolphin in her arms and this dolphin continuously spits out water. We were studying the names of the aristocratic Italian families who will be represented at the Embassy tomorrow. In came Joseph with a letter in his hand. His Excellency first talked of this and that, as he always does when he has something unpleasant on his mind, and finally said, "Napoleon has arranged for us to have a new military attaché, Gen. Jean-Pierre Duphot, a very charming young man—"
I looked up. "Duphot? Didn't a General Duphot call on you once in Genoa?"
"Yes, of course." Joseph was obviously delighted. "And I see he made an impression on you, didn't he. Fine! Napoleon Writes that he hopes, Eugénie—you must excuse him but he always says Eugénie instead of Désirée—will be particularly kind to Duphot. He is a very lonely young man, Napoleon says. And so . . ."
I rose. "A new marriage prospect? No, thank you. I thought we were through with this foolishness." At the door, I turned around. "Write to Napoleon at once that this Duphot—or whatever his name is—is not to be sent here."
But he has already arrived. He came a quarter of an hour ago and brought me this letter from Napoleon."
I slammed the door angrily. It gave me particular pleasure to do this, for in a marble palace the slamming of a door sounds like an explosion.
To avoid Duphot, I did not appear at dinner; but I came down
for supper, as I find it boring to eat alone in my room.
Naturally they had seated Duphot next to me —Joseph obeys
Napoleon's wishes slavishly. I glanced casually at the young man. Medium height, very dark, a lot of white teeth in a wide mouth—that was my impression of him. I was especially irritated by the flashing teeth, as he grinned at me continually.
Our table talk was frequently interrupted. We are used to hearing crowds around the Embassy shouting, "Evviva la Francia! Evviva la liberta!" Sometimes there are shouts of "A basso la Francia!" Most Italians are enthusiastic the ideas of the Republic, but many of them seem embittered by the heavy cost to them of our occupation and the fact that Napoleon selects all of their officials. Today the shouting around the palace gate was somehow different; louder—and threatening.
Joseph explained why. Last night a few Roman citizens were arrested as hostages because a French lieutenant had been killed in a tavern brawl. A deputation from the Roman City Council was outside the palace; these men had asked to speak to Joseph. And a great crowd had collected to see what was happening.
"Why don't you receive the gentlemen; we can wait dinner," Julie said.
But Joseph declared—and the other embassy gentleman nodded in agreement—that this was out of the question. He would not receive them; it had nothing to do with him. From the very beginning, it had been the responsibility of the Military Governor of Rome.
In the meantime the noise outside grew louder; they were storming the outer gate.
"My patience is exhausted!" Joseph shouted. "I'll have the square cleared!" He turned to one of his secretaries. "Go over at once to the Military Commander's office and tell him that the square in front of the Embassy is to be cleared at once. This noise is unbearable!" The young secretary turned to. "It would be safer to leave by the back door," General Duphot called after him.
We continued our meal in silence. Before our coffee was served, we heard the clattering of horses' hooves. Someone had sent a battalion of hussars to clear the square! Joseph
rose, and we went with him to the first-floor balcony. The square below was like a witches' cauldron. A surging sea of faces, a cacophony of voices, an occasional scream. We couldn't see the deputation from the City Council; the crowd had pushed them flat against the entrance gates to our palace. The two guards in front of the Embassy stood motionless at their post, and it looked as if at any moment they would be trampled to death. Joseph pulled us back from the balcony quickly, but he could still peer out of the windows. My brother-in-law was deathly pale and gnawing his underlip; the hand with which he kept smoothing his hair was trembling with rage.
The hussars had surrounded the square. They sat on their horses like statues, ready to charge, awaiting a command. But their commanding officer apparently could not bring himself to give the order. "I'll go down and try to bring these people to their senses," Duphot said.
"General, you must not expose yourself to this danger! It would be madness! Our hussars will soon . . ." Joseph said imploringly.
Duphot flashed his white teeth. "I am an officer, Your Excellency," he interrupted, "and am therefore accustomed to danger. I should prefer to prevent unnecessary bloodshed."
Spurs jingling, he walked over to the door, turned around and sought my eyes. I turned quickly toward the window. So he was acting the role, of a brave man for my sake; to impress me, he was dashing down alone and unarmed into the furious mob. It's so silly, I thought; Junot, Marmont, Duphot-what do they want of me?
The next minute, the gate below was swung wide. We op
ened the window a crack so that we could hear better. The ro
aring shouts decreased in intensity, changed into a threatening
murmur. A high-pitched voice yelled, "A
basso!"
and
again, "A
basso!"
At first we couldn't see Duphot, but then the
crowd moved back from the gate and made way for him. As he
raised his hands, entreating the people to be quiet so that
he might be heard, a shot was fired. Immediately after
ward came the first salvo by the hussars.
I plunged down the stairs and wrenched open the gate. The two guards had lifted up General Duphot and were holding him under his arms; but his legs dangled helplessly from his body, his face hung to one side, his mouth was distorted. His perpetual smile had frozen into a terrible grin. He was unconscious. The two guards dragged him into the hall, his lifeless legs trailing across the marble tiles, and his spurs clanking against the stone. The two soldiers looked up at me helplessly.
"Upstairs—" I heard myself saying. "We must lay him down somewhere upstairs." We were surrounded by scared, white faces. Joseph. Julie. The fat Councillor of Embassy. Julie's maid, Minette. They all drew back as the two soldiers carried Duphot up the stairs. Outside, in the square in front of the Embassy, it was as still as death. Two salvos had been enough.
I opened the door to Joseph's study, which is the room nearest the staircase. The soldiers laid Duphot on a sofa, and I pushed pillows under his head. Joseph stood next to me and said, "I've sent for a doctor. Perhaps it's not so bad."
The stain on the front of the dark-blue uniform spread. "Open his uniform, Joseph," I said; and Joseph fumbled awkwardly with the gold buttons. The spot of blood on the white shirt was bright red. "A stomach wound," Joseph said. I looked at the General's face. He had turned very yellow. From his wide-open mouth came sobs in fits and starts. At first I thought he was weeping; I soon realized he was struggling for breath.
The thin little Italian physician, when he finally arrived, was even more agitated than Joseph. It was such a wonderful opportunity for him, to be called to the French Embassy
.
He was a great admirer of the French Republic and of Gen. Napoleon Bonaparte. While he opened Duphot's shirt he expressed regret for the trouble in the city and stammered something about "irresponsible elements." I interrupted him to ask whether he needed anything. He looked at me, startled and remembered what he was doing. "Oh, yes, some luke-warm water. And perhaps a clean cloth."
He began to wash out the wound. Joseph had stepped over to
the window; and Julie leaned against the wall, struggling not to be sick. I took her outside and then told Joseph he'd better look after her. Joseph was obviously delighted to leave the room. "A blanket," the doctor said to me, "can you get a blanket? He's very cold, he's bleeding so much—internally, mademoiselle, internally—"
We spread a blanket over Duphot. "I'm afraid there's nothing more to be done, mademoiselle. What a terrible thing— such an important man!" The doctor's eyes rested briefly on Duphot's gold epaulettes, then he hurried to the door behind which Joseph had disappeared. I went into the next room with him. Joseph, Julie, the Councillor of Embassy and a few secretaries sat whispering around a large table; and a lackey was serving port wine to strengthen them. Joseph jumped up, offered the doctor a glass; and I could see that at this manifestation of the Bonaparte courtesy the little Italian was practically walking on air. He stammered, "Oh, Excellency—oh,brother of our great Liberator—"
I returned to Duphot. At first I was busy; I fetched clean cloths and wiped the blood that trickled down his chin. I soon gave this up, because it came constantly in an unbroken flow. Finally I just spread out cloths under his chin. I tried in
vain to attract the attention of the glazing eyes. At last I fetched my diary and began to write.
I believe that many hours have passed; the candles are nearly burned out. But I can still hear a soft murmur of voices in the next room. No one is going to bed until . . .
He recovered consciousness once.
1 heard him moving, knelt down beside him and raised his head onto my arm. He looked at me. Again and again. He wasn't sure where he was. "You are in Rome, General Duphot," I said, "in Rome, in the home of Ambassador Bonaparte."
He moved his lips and spat out bloody foam. I wiped his face with my free hand. "Marie—" he was able to whisper, "I want to
go to Marie—"
"Where is Marie? Quickly—tell me where is Marie?"
His eyes cleared and he recognized me; still his eyes where questioning. So I repeated, "You are in Rome. There were riots. You have been wounded—a shot in the stomach."
He nodded almost imperceptibly. He understood me. My thoughts ran on: he was beyond help, but perhaps Marie. . . .
"Marie. What is her surname? And where does she live?" I whispered urgently.
His expression was anxious. "Don't tell—" his lips shaped the words—"Don't tell—Bonaparte—"
"I won't tell him anything," I promised. "But if you are ill a long time we must tell Marie, mustn't we? Napoleon Bonaparte won't ever know anything about it." I smile at him confidentially.
"The sister-in-law—I'm to marry Eugénie, the sister-in-law he managed to say. "Bonaparte proposed it and—" I couldn't understand the rest. Then he said softly, "You must be sensible, little Marie—I'll always look after—you and little George—dear, dear Marie—"
His hand slid to one side, he tried to kiss my arm. He thought I was Marie. He had explained to Marie exactly why he was deserting her —her and the little son—to marry me, Bonaparte's sister-in-law. Such a marriage would mean promotion and undreamed-of opportunities. . . .
His head, resting on my arm, was as heavy as lead. I raised it a little. "Marie's address—I'll write to her," I said, trying to catch his eye again.
For the fraction of a second he was completely conscious. "Marie Meunier—rue de Lyon—thirty-six—in Paris—" His features had sharpened, his eyes lay in deep hollows, and his breathing sounded like stifled hiccups. He was sweating profusely.