Читать книгу Clisson andEugénie - Napoleon Bonaparte - Страница 7

FROM birth Clisson was strongly attracted to war. Whilst others of his age were still listening avidly to fireside tales, he was ardently dreaming of battle. As soon as he was old enough to bear arms, he took part in military campaigns, always distinguishing himself with acts of gallantry. Although still a boy, his natural ability and his love of action led him to attain the highest rank in the Revolutionary National Guard. Soon he had even exceeded the high expectations people had of him: victory was his constant companion.

But envy and all the petty jealousies that growing reputations attract, which ruin so many able men and so often stifle genius, brought false accusations against him. His cool head and moderation in the face of these attempts to sully his name served only to increase the number of his enemies. They said that his magnanimity was pride, that his firmness was insolence; even his triumphs were held against him and used as pretexts to bring him down. He began to tire of serving men who did not value him. He felt the need to retreat into himself. For the first time, he turned his gaze upon his life, his inclinations and his situation. Like all men, he desired happiness, but he had found only glory.

This turning in on himself, this introspection, caused Clisson to realise that he was not just interested in war and that he had other inclinations than to cause destruction. It was as important to nurture and improve the lot of men, and to make them happy, as to destroy them. He desired a period of reflection to try to sort out the host of new ideas that for several days had been besieging his soul.

He left the army camp and went swiftly to seek the hospitality of a friend in Champvert, near Lyons. The man’s estate, on one of the best sites near that grand town, combined all the beauty that art and fair nature could produce.

Clisson stayed with his friend, trying to determine how he might find happiness, now that he had abandoned his illusions of glory. He did not spend much time inside the house. His friend very often entertained, receiving guests of high rank and station, and Clisson found the petty formalities irksome. A man of his fervent imagination, with his blazing heart, his uncompromising intellect and his cool head, was bound to be irritated by the affected conversation of coquettes, the games of seduction, the logic of the tables and the hurling of witty insults. He could not see the point in scheming and did not appreciate wordplay. His life was solitary, and he was completely bound up by a single thought, which he had not yet been able to formulate or to understand, though it overpowered his whole being.

Since he was accustomed to hardship, he needed action and plenty of physical activity. No occupation brought him greater pleasure than to wander in the woods. There he felt at peace with himself, scorning human wickedness and despising folly and cruelty. Clisson was surprised to find himself enchanted by the sights he saw. The birth and the close of day, the course of the evening star as it cast its silvery light over copse and field, the changing seasons, the varying vistas, the concerts of birdsong, the murmuring waters – everything struck him as if he were seeing it for the first time. And yet he was looking at things he had seen a thousand times before without ever having been affected in this way. How miserable he had been in his previous life. Not only had he witnessed the destruction of his fellow men but he had also been punished because his soul, victim of illusion, excitement and apprehension, had been blind to the beauties and insensible to the pleasures of nature.

Since he was naturally sceptical, Clisson became melancholy. In his heart, reverie had replaced reflection. He no longer had anything to work towards, to fear, or to hope for. This state of tranquillity, so new to his spirit, might quickly have become stupor, without his being aware of it. From dawn to dusk, as he wandered in the countryside he was moved by the plight of the unfortunate people he came across, and lent them a helping hand.

The spa baths at Allès are about one league from Champvert. Many people went there to enjoy the coolness of the climate. Right from the start he saw this place as a landscape of emotions. It was a realm of enchantment, and he missed not a single day. Unknown as he was, he wandered amongst the throng of ‘hearts’. He gazed with interest at the beauty of the women and their dresses, mostly made of linen. People feel comfortable while taking the waters and he was able to engage in a great number of conversations (inconsequential in themselves but a contact nevertheless), which brought him relief from his melancholy and solitude.

One day when it had rained the day before, there were very few people at the spa. He noticed two young women who seemed to be enjoying themselves as they took their stroll; they walked with the lightness and energy of sixteen-year-olds. Amélie had beautifully set eyes, a slender and elegant figure, a bright complexion, a slightly oval face and an alabaster-white neck; she was seventeen. Eugénie was a year younger and not as pretty. When Amélie looked at you she seemed to be saying: ‘You find me pretty; perhaps you are even in love with me. But you should know that you are not the only one; and you will only attract my attention by flattering me. I like compliments, and I love allowing people to make them to me.’

Eugénie never looked at a man directly. When she gave her sweet smile, she revealed beautifully arranged pearly white teeth. If someone made as if to take her hand, she would proffer it timidly, but then take it away again as quickly as possible. It was as if she were afraid to show her pretty hand, where the blue of the veins contrasted with the whiteness of her skin. Amélie had the same effect as a piece of French music that everyone listens to with pleasure because they appreciate the succession of chords and are soothed by the harmony. Eugénie, on the other hand, was like a piece by Paesiello which transports and elevates only those souls born to appreciate it, leaving ordinary people unaffected. Amélie seemed to command young men to love her, whilst Eugénie appealed to ardent men, who love not as a pastime or as a contest but rather with a deep and committed passion. For the former, love came through beauty; for the latter, it could only come from real empathy. Many men had been Eugénie’s friend. But she was only prepared to share her more intimate feelings with one of them.

Clisson was drawn to Amélie by her fresh face and beautiful eyes. He contrived to find an opportunity to talk to the two girls and to accompany them to their country house, where he asked them if he might come to see them from time to time.

He could not stop thinking about the two pretty girls he had just encountered. He never tired of recalling Amélie’s face and going over what she had said; he was allowing himself to become besotted with her. But the vision of the silent, modest Eugénie kept getting in the way. She had had a strange effect on his heart, which disturbed the pleasure of the memory of the beautiful Amélie.

As for the two young women, they had each been affected very differently by Clisson. Amélie upbraided Eugénie for not having hidden the displeasure that the stranger’s conversation had inspired in her. Amélie found him sombre but distinguished-looking and refreshingly honest. Eugénie thought that Amélie had been too open with him. Her heart was troubled, and she believed that her unease stemmed from a great aversion she had conceived for the stranger; she could, however, find neither explanation nor justification for her aversion.

The next day, Amélie tried in vain to get Eugénie to agree to come to the spa, stubbornly pressing her case. But Eugénie would not countenance it and rose immediately on Amélie’s departure to write to her sister and then to walk around the estate.

Clisson was there already when Amélie arrived; and they picked up again like old friends. The freedom of the spa and the relaxed holiday atmosphere banished all formality and etiquette. They stayed several hours together, looking critically at the women in love; and the amiable, beautiful and charming Amélie returned home having formed an excellent opinion of Clisson. It was true she did not find him particularly seductive, but he was pleasant. She spoke only of Clisson all day long and persuaded Eugénie to take the waters the following day. Eugénie, meanwhile, had meditated a great deal upon some of the things the stranger had said; she did not know

whether to hate him or to be impressed by him.

The day before, Clisson and Amélie had tacitly agreed to meet. Clisson was careful not to miss the assignation. But when from afar he saw Amélie approaching, he was annoyed to see her with her friend. Eugénie, for her part, listened but either did not reply or answered indifferently. She fixed her eyes on the stranger’s, and never tired of looking at him. ‘What is the matter with him? How sombre and pensive he is! His glance has all the maturity of old age, but his physiognomy reveals the languor of adolescence.’ And then Eugénie became angry to see him so absorbed by Amélie. She feigned tiredness and persuaded the group to turn back to their country house. Here they were met by her doctor, who visited them from time to time. The doctor was astounded to see Amélie with Clisson, whom he did not bother to greet, although Amélie introduced him with the words ‘Monsieur Clisson’.