Wednesday, November 10, 1779—Paris.
Paris! As we crossed the Seine Father gave me a sou to throw in. “Make a wish.”
“This is my wish.”
Paris is bigger and more beautiful than I had imagined, but so muddy!
“Boue de Paris,” Monsieur de Beauharnais cursed, for a bit had splashed onto the sleeve of his lavender grosgrain riding jacket.
“Lutetia, city of mud—that’s what we call it,” Aunt Désirée said.
I had to confess that there was a strange smell. Aunt Désirée said one got used to it, but she cautioned me to be careful of getting any mud on my skirts—it can burn a hole if left on too long.
We made our way at a footpace through crowded streets. I was in a daze, taking it all in. It was cold; everyone in the market was wearing shoes. A man in a beribboned wig was selling vinegar from a wheelbarrow. A squat little soap dealer with a pockmarked face had twisted pretty scarves together to hold up his buckskin breeches. I saw a fish lady wearing a fluted cap.
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 underhis 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 …
* The once-prosperous neighbourhood was now quite poor, situated close to the entrance of the “cour des miracles”-a haven for beggars and thieves made famous in Victor Hugo’s Hunchback of Notre-Dame, written in 1831.
* Breeches were difficult to run in so footmen wore skirts. They also wore bright colours so that they could be more easily seen in the dark.
* Jean-Jacques Bacon de la Chevalerie (1731-1821) was a celebrated Freemason. In 1773 he’d been Grand Orateur of the Grand Orient of France.
* Men who intended to dance wore a hat to a soirée. However, it was considered inappropriate for an elderly man to dance, much less to declare his intention to do so. It was acceptable, however, for an elderly man to be spontaneously recruited-to dance hatless.