Read Online Désirée by Annemarie Selinko - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Annemarie Selinko
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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Etienne. "And in all these years I have never offered that brocade to anyone. Papa always said that it was only suitable for a court dress."
But the ladies in Paris are still elegantly dressed," I objected.
Etienne sniffed contemptuously. "The ladies in Paris are no longer ladies! On the contrary, they prefer transparent muslins. If you call that elegant! No, heavy brocade is no longer worn in France today."
And so," said Persson to me, "I have been permitted to buy the silk. I have been able to save a great part of my salary from the firm of Clary, and I am glad that I could use it for this. A reminder—" he sort of gulped. "A reminder of your dead papa and the firm of Clary."
1 was surprised at Etienne. Since he couldn't sell this heavy brocade, which is certainly very valuable but at the moment unfashionable in France, he had worked it off on Persson— for a lot of money, of course. The firm of Clary did very well on this transaction.
It wasn't easy for me to dispose of this material," Etienne said candidly. "But in M. Persson's country there is a royal court, and Her Majesty the Queen of Sweden will need, I hope, a new State robe and will appoint M. Persson a Purveyor to the Court."
"You mustn't keep brocade too long, silk goes to pieces," I informed Persson—from head-to-toe the daughter of a silk merchant.
"This material won't rot," declared Etienne. "There too many gold threads woven in."
The parcel was quite heavy and I held it in my two arms, clasped to my breast. Although it was still early, the sun was hot and my hair stuck damply to my forehead when at last we reached the mail coach. We were rather late and couldn't spend long in farewells. The other passengers had already taken their seats in the coach. Etienne, with a sigh of relief hoisted the traveling bag he'd been carrying and set it down on the toes of an elderly lady; and Persson almost dropped the picnic basket while he shook hands with Etienne. Then he got into an excited discussion with the postillion, who had placed his luggage on the roof of the coach. Persson told him that he would not let the big parcel go out of his sight and would hold it on his knees the whole time. The postillion objected, but in the end the driver lost patience and shouted, "Take your seats!" The postillion sprang to the box beside him and blew his horn. At last Persson got awkwardly into the coach with his parcel. The coach door was shut but Persson opened it again. "I shall always hold it in honour Mlle Eugénie.," he shouted. Etienne, with a shrug of his shoulders, asked, "Whatever does that crazy Swede mean?"
"The Rights of Man," I replied, surprised at myself because my eyes were wet. "The broadside on which the Rights of Man are printed." As I said it I thought how pleased Persson's parents would be to see his horse-face once more, and I thought that a fine man was vanishing forever from my life.
Etienne went back to the shop and I went with him. I always feel quite at home in the Clary silk shop. As a little girl I had often gone there with Papa and he had always told me where the different bolts of silk came from. I can also distinguish the various qualities and Papa always said that it was in my blood because I am a true silk merchant's daughter. But I think it is just because I so often watched Papa and Etienne take a piece of material between their fingers, apparently crumpling it and then looking with appraising eyes to see whether it would crush easily, whether it was new or old material, and whether there was any danger of its soon becoming brittle.
Although it was early in the morning, there were already customers in the shop. Etienne and I greeted them courteously, but I knew right away that these weren't important customers, only citizenesses who wanted muslin for a new fichu or cheap taffeta for a coat. The ladies from the great houses nearby, who used to give us big orders at the opening of the Versailles season, are no longer to be seen. Some
But the ladies in Paris are still elegantly dressed," I objected.
Etienne sniffed contemptuously. "The ladies in Paris are no longer ladies! On the contrary, they prefer transparent muslins. If you call that elegant! No, heavy brocade is no longer worn in France today."
And so," said Persson to me, "I have been permitted to buy the silk. I have been able to save a great part of my salary from the firm of Clary, and I am glad that I could use it for this. A reminder—" he sort of gulped. "A reminder of your dead papa and the firm of Clary."
1 was surprised at Etienne. Since he couldn't sell this heavy brocade, which is certainly very valuable but at the moment unfashionable in France, he had worked it off on Persson— for a lot of money, of course. The firm of Clary did very well on this transaction.
It wasn't easy for me to dispose of this material," Etienne said candidly. "But in M. Persson's country there is a royal court, and Her Majesty the Queen of Sweden will need, I hope, a new State robe and will appoint M. Persson a Purveyor to the Court."
"You mustn't keep brocade too long, silk goes to pieces," I informed Persson—from head-to-toe the daughter of a silk merchant.
"This material won't rot," declared Etienne. "There too many gold threads woven in."
The parcel was quite heavy and I held it in my two arms, clasped to my breast. Although it was still early, the sun was hot and my hair stuck damply to my forehead when at last we reached the mail coach. We were rather late and couldn't spend long in farewells. The other passengers had already taken their seats in the coach. Etienne, with a sigh of relief hoisted the traveling bag he'd been carrying and set it down on the toes of an elderly lady; and Persson almost dropped the picnic basket while he shook hands with Etienne. Then he got into an excited discussion with the postillion, who had placed his luggage on the roof of the coach. Persson told him that he would not let the big parcel go out of his sight and would hold it on his knees the whole time. The postillion objected, but in the end the driver lost patience and shouted, "Take your seats!" The postillion sprang to the box beside him and blew his horn. At last Persson got awkwardly into the coach with his parcel. The coach door was shut but Persson opened it again. "I shall always hold it in honour Mlle Eugénie.," he shouted. Etienne, with a shrug of his shoulders, asked, "Whatever does that crazy Swede mean?"
"The Rights of Man," I replied, surprised at myself because my eyes were wet. "The broadside on which the Rights of Man are printed." As I said it I thought how pleased Persson's parents would be to see his horse-face once more, and I thought that a fine man was vanishing forever from my life.
Etienne went back to the shop and I went with him. I always feel quite at home in the Clary silk shop. As a little girl I had often gone there with Papa and he had always told me where the different bolts of silk came from. I can also distinguish the various qualities and Papa always said that it was in my blood because I am a true silk merchant's daughter. But I think it is just because I so often watched Papa and Etienne take a piece of material between their fingers, apparently crumpling it and then looking with appraising eyes to see whether it would crush easily, whether it was new or old material, and whether there was any danger of its soon becoming brittle.
Although it was early in the morning, there were already customers in the shop. Etienne and I greeted them courteously, but I knew right away that these weren't important customers, only citizenesses who wanted muslin for a new fichu or cheap taffeta for a coat. The ladies from the great houses nearby, who used to give us big orders at the opening of the Versailles season, are no longer to be seen. Some
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