The Gathering

Joseph followed Armand into the courtyard of his home and climbed the steps. He noticed that Armand's little mansion was a typical Rococo building. Its walls were decorated with carvings in all sorts of shapes, painted with gold and various other colors. In its heyday, a mansion like this must have been a gaudy display of ostentation. But now the gold and other colored paint had weathered and peeled away, leaving the entire façade mottled and patchy.

Noticing Joseph looking at the walls, Armand said, "This house is getting on in years. It's long overdue for a complete renovation, but my father, like me, is a hopeless playboy and can't be bothered with things like that. So the house has become... how should I put it?"

Armand furrowed his brow.

"I actually think it looks rather nice," Joseph said solemnly, in the tone of an operatic aria. "It has a distinctive beauty. It's like an unrolled scroll of time, steeped in history. Looking at it, you see impermanence, you see fate..."

"Joseph, I'll take that as a genuine compliment," Armand said. "You know, it's one of my greatest virtues. And besides..."

Armand fell silent, then raised his head and studied the mottled wall. "Joseph, you're right about one thing: this is impermanence, this is fate. The loneliness and despair beneath all that splendor—that is the true essence of the Rococo!"

"O Fortuna, velut Luna statu variabilis, semper crescis aut decrescis; vita detestabilis nunc obdurat et tunc curat ludo mentis aciem, egestatem, potestatem dissolvit ut glaciem." Joseph murmured the lines under his breath. (This is a passage from "O Fortune, Empress of the World," in the Latin work Carmina Burana. It roughly means: O Fortune, ever-changing like the moon, waxing and waning; hateful life brings both suffering and happiness; whether rich or poor, all melt away like snow and ice.)

"Good heavens! You just wrote a poem in Latin on the spot!" Armand said with mock anger. "You've already trounced me in the natural sciences, and now... Are you trying to make the rest of us look bad?"

"I didn't write it," Joseph said, shaking his head. "I don't know who did, either. Perhaps it was the work of an anonymous poet from the eighth century, or even earlier. Well, I told you my godfather was a bishop. I found it in a fragment at his church."

"The dreadful Middle Ages. Who knows how many talented poets were buried in oblivion?" Armand said, shaking his head. "Come on, let's stop standing on the steps and chatting. Let's go inside."

They went in. Joseph glanced around. A crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the drawing room, its dozen or more candles brightly illuminating the hall, though night had already fallen. A few chairs stood along either side of the hall, with the dance floor in the middle. The floor was laid with marble, but time had dulled the stones and stolen their former brilliance.

No one was sitting on the sofas in the hall. Armand said to Joseph, "We didn't invite many people this time, just a few close friends, so they're all in the smaller parlor."

Armand led him around to the right, and they reached the smaller parlor. Just as Armand had said, everyone was gathered there.

Armand brought Joseph inside, then raised his hand and clapped twice, softly. The people chatting in the parlor chairs stopped and turned to look their way.

"Ladies and gentlemen, allow me the honor of introducing my friend, the future great French scientist, Mr. Joseph Bonaparte... an Italian viscount. Let us welcome him."

"Welcome, Mr. Bonaparte." A man of about forty stood and greeted Joseph.

"Joseph, this is my father, Viscount Charles de Lavoisier," Armand said, with a solemn air.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Joseph said, bowing in return.

"Come now, Armand. Why make such a formal introduction?" Viscount Charles said, shaking his head at Armand. "This is just an informal family gathering."

Then he turned to Joseph and pointed to a high-backed chair. "Mr. Bonaparte, please take this seat."

"Thank you," Joseph said. "I'm Armand's friend, so please just call me Joseph."

Armand continued introducing the other members of the family.

"This is my mother, Viscountess Lavoisier."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, madam," Joseph said, quickly inclining his head.

"I'm always happy to see young people like you," the Viscountess replied. "It reminds me of the good old days when I was young."

"Mother, you're still young," Armand said.

"This is my cousin, Samuel de Fermat. He's skilled with the sword and a crack shot. He fought in North America under the Marquis de Lafayette. He's a great fellow," Armand said, introducing another man sitting there, a short fellow. Joseph noticed a long scar beneath his right ear, stretching down to below his lip. Perhaps to hide it, he had grown a huge beard like Captain Haddock from a later-day comic strip, making it hard to tell his age.

"Hello," Samuel said, rising to his feet and nodding.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Joseph replied.

Armand then introduced Joseph to several more people, mostly relatives of the family. Finally, he led Joseph over to a young woman in a pale yellow dress.

"This is the most precious pearl in our family, my sister, Fanny," Armand said.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Joseph said quickly.

"Likewise." The young woman lowered her head slightly, lifted the edges of her skirt with both hands, and curtseyed in reply. Then she raised her head and gave Joseph a quick look with her wide green eyes before lowering her gaze again. "My brother has told me a great deal about you. I hear your paper won a major prize from the Academy of Sciences. And that's not all: my uncle says you've already made several important contributions to mathematics. You've also been recommended for a teaching post at the Paris Military Academy, and you're not even twenty yet, are you? That's truly remarkable!"

"Miss, it's not as difficult as you imagine," Joseph replied with a smile. "I've just been lucky."

"My brother once told me that luck only comes to those who are prepared," Fanny said with a soft smile.

"Now, everyone, let's sit down. No need to stand around talking," Viscount Charles de Lavoisier said.

So Joseph took a seat beside Armand. A servant brought him a cup of tea and set it on the little table beside his chair.

Everyone continued chatting.

"What were you all talking about just now?" Joseph asked.

"Before I went out, everyone was discussing the recently staged The Marriage of Figaro," Armand replied.

The Marriage of Figaro was a work by Beaumarchais. But later generations were more familiar with the operatic version adapted by the composer Mozart. The opera would not be completed until 1786, however, so the recent performance had not been the opera familiar to people in later times, but the play The Marriage of Figaro.

"Beaumarchais's satire in this play is so biting, so sharp. It's amazing that he had the nerve to write it," Armand said.

"Beaumarchais is one thing, but the people at the comedy troupe are the ones with real guts," said Baron Lavoisier. "They even changed the plot to mock Her Majesty the Queen. Now that takes nerve!"

"Indeed," Fanny said softly with a smile. "They actually had Count Almaviva say something like that. It was incredibly bold. Didn't they worry about the Queen? She wouldn't think the line was mocking her. Perhaps she'd take what Count Almaviva said as praise!" Armand laughed scornfully.

Queen Marie Antoinette lived extravagantly and loved to spend money recklessly. Countless precious jewels and fashionable clothes flowed into her palace, and under her influence, luxurious fashions swept through the lives of France's aristocracy. She was happiest when she invited nobles she liked to join her in all-night gambling, revels, and balls.

According to popular stories, whenever some fanciful new idea for spending money came to her, she would pout and cry like a child, making a scene until her husband gave in. As a result, royal spending continued to rise and the deficit grew ever more severe. Among the common people, Queen Marie had earned the nickname "Madame Deficit."

"Armand, what did Count Almaviva say?" Joseph asked.

"The Count said, 'What does spending money matter? Even if it leaves you buried in debt and forced to borrow from Jews everywhere, so what? Just think: since time immemorial, how many kings have been willing to throw away their kingdoms for a beauty's smile? If a husband has to go bankrupt to buy his wife the glittering jewels she likes, then so be it,'" Armand replied.

"Is that so? Armand, you're underestimating the Queen. Whatever else she may be, she comes from the House of Habsburg and must have received a good education. She can easily understand such a simple metaphor. So the comedy troupe's writers did indeed need courage to make that change. But honestly, they didn't take as great a risk as you might think. For all they knew, even if the King and Queen noticed the satire, they might not care in the slightest," Joseph said.

"If someone insults them in public, how could they not care?" Samuel interjected.

"Ah, well, let me put it this way. You fought in North America. I've heard that some Native Americans there sided with the British and fought against you. Supposedly, they used their magic to curse you. So, Mr. Fermat, did you care about their curses?" Joseph asked with a smile.

"Of course not. I knew their superstitions were useless. You see, there's no spell a bullet can't deal with," Samuel replied.

"And if one bullet doesn't do the trick, just fire another," Joseph said with a laugh.

"You're right, Mr. Bonaparte," Miusael said, laughing along. "Though usually, one bullet is enough for a Native American."

"In the eyes of the King and Queen, accusations like these are no different from Native American curses. They don't care."