Read Online Désirée by Annemarie Selinko - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Annemarie Selinko
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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kissed you yet?"
'People don't ask such questions," Julie explained severely. Then it seemed to occur to her that she must be a good example to her little sister. "Listen to this," she continued. "A young lady allows herself to be kissed only after her mother approves the betrothal. But you are still too young to understand such things."
I think I'm tipsy, just a little tipsy, and it's very nice, very pleasant. Julie became betrothed to Joseph, and Mama sent Etienne down to the cellar for champagne. Champagne that Papa bought years and years ago, to be saved for Julie's b etrothal. They are all still sitting on the terrace, discussing where Julie and Joseph will live. Napoleone has just gone to tell his mother all about it. Mama has invited Mme Letizia B uonaparte and all the children for tomorrow evening. Then we'll meet Julie's new family. I do hope Mme Letizia will like me; I hope . . . No, I mustn't write it, or it won't happen! Only pray for it and secretly believe it.
We ought to have champagne often. Champagne prickles on your tongue and tastes sweet, and after the first glass I always laugh and don't know why. After my third glass Mama said, "Nobody must give the child any more!" Suppose she knew I had already been kissed!
This morning I had to get up very early, and till now I've had no chance to be alone. As soon as Napoleone went away I hurried to my room, and now I am writing in my book. But my thoughts are running about and bumping into each other like so many ants; and like ants they're carrying a little load. Ants carry pine needles, twigs, or a grain of sand; my thoughts carry dreams of the future. I keep dropping my load because I have been drinking champagne and can't concentrate properly.
I don't know how it happened, but in the last few days I had quite forgotten that our Swede, M. Persson, was going away today. Since the Buonapartes have been coming to see us I haven't had much time for him. I don't think he likes Joseph and Napoleone. When I asked him what he thought of our new friends, he only said that he found them difficult to understand because they talked so much and so fast; and besides, their accent was different from ours. I can well understand that the Corsican accent is too much for him.
Yesterday afternoon he told me that he had packed his things and was leaving by the mail coach at nine in the morning. I decided, naturally, to see him off; first, because I really like old horse-face; and secondly, it's fun seeing the mail coach off. You always see different people there; and sometimes ladies in Paris gowns. But then, of course, I got Persson and his journey because, after all, I had my first kiss to think about.
Luckily I remembered Persson's departure the moment I woke up this morning. I jumped out of bed, put on my chemise and my two petticoats, scarcely gave myself time to tidy my hair, and ran down to the dining room. There I found Persson having his farewell breakfast. Mama and Etienne were hovering round him and urging him to eat as much as possible. The poor man has a frightfully long trip ahead of him. First to the Rhine and then through Germany to Lübeck, and from there by boat to Sweden. I don't know how many times he has to change mail coaches to get to Lübeck. Marie had given him a picnic basket with two bottles of wine, and a roast chicken, and hard-boiled eggs, and preserved cherries. Finally Etienne and I took M. Persson between us and marched him to the mail coach. Etienne carried one of the traveling bags and Persson struggled with a big parcel, the other bag, and the picnic basket. I begged him to let me carry something, and at last he reluctantly gave me the parcel, saying that it contained something very precious. "The most beautiful silk," he confided to me, "that I have ever seen in all my life. Silk which your dear papa himself bought and at that time intended for the Queen at Versailles. But events prevented the Queen . . ."
"Yes, really royal silk," said
'People don't ask such questions," Julie explained severely. Then it seemed to occur to her that she must be a good example to her little sister. "Listen to this," she continued. "A young lady allows herself to be kissed only after her mother approves the betrothal. But you are still too young to understand such things."
I think I'm tipsy, just a little tipsy, and it's very nice, very pleasant. Julie became betrothed to Joseph, and Mama sent Etienne down to the cellar for champagne. Champagne that Papa bought years and years ago, to be saved for Julie's b etrothal. They are all still sitting on the terrace, discussing where Julie and Joseph will live. Napoleone has just gone to tell his mother all about it. Mama has invited Mme Letizia B uonaparte and all the children for tomorrow evening. Then we'll meet Julie's new family. I do hope Mme Letizia will like me; I hope . . . No, I mustn't write it, or it won't happen! Only pray for it and secretly believe it.
We ought to have champagne often. Champagne prickles on your tongue and tastes sweet, and after the first glass I always laugh and don't know why. After my third glass Mama said, "Nobody must give the child any more!" Suppose she knew I had already been kissed!
This morning I had to get up very early, and till now I've had no chance to be alone. As soon as Napoleone went away I hurried to my room, and now I am writing in my book. But my thoughts are running about and bumping into each other like so many ants; and like ants they're carrying a little load. Ants carry pine needles, twigs, or a grain of sand; my thoughts carry dreams of the future. I keep dropping my load because I have been drinking champagne and can't concentrate properly.
I don't know how it happened, but in the last few days I had quite forgotten that our Swede, M. Persson, was going away today. Since the Buonapartes have been coming to see us I haven't had much time for him. I don't think he likes Joseph and Napoleone. When I asked him what he thought of our new friends, he only said that he found them difficult to understand because they talked so much and so fast; and besides, their accent was different from ours. I can well understand that the Corsican accent is too much for him.
Yesterday afternoon he told me that he had packed his things and was leaving by the mail coach at nine in the morning. I decided, naturally, to see him off; first, because I really like old horse-face; and secondly, it's fun seeing the mail coach off. You always see different people there; and sometimes ladies in Paris gowns. But then, of course, I got Persson and his journey because, after all, I had my first kiss to think about.
Luckily I remembered Persson's departure the moment I woke up this morning. I jumped out of bed, put on my chemise and my two petticoats, scarcely gave myself time to tidy my hair, and ran down to the dining room. There I found Persson having his farewell breakfast. Mama and Etienne were hovering round him and urging him to eat as much as possible. The poor man has a frightfully long trip ahead of him. First to the Rhine and then through Germany to Lübeck, and from there by boat to Sweden. I don't know how many times he has to change mail coaches to get to Lübeck. Marie had given him a picnic basket with two bottles of wine, and a roast chicken, and hard-boiled eggs, and preserved cherries. Finally Etienne and I took M. Persson between us and marched him to the mail coach. Etienne carried one of the traveling bags and Persson struggled with a big parcel, the other bag, and the picnic basket. I begged him to let me carry something, and at last he reluctantly gave me the parcel, saying that it contained something very precious. "The most beautiful silk," he confided to me, "that I have ever seen in all my life. Silk which your dear papa himself bought and at that time intended for the Queen at Versailles. But events prevented the Queen . . ."
"Yes, really royal silk," said
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