Gathering

Joseph followed Armand into the courtyard of his home and climbed the steps. He noted that the small mansion was a quintessential example of Rococo architecture. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings, embellished with gold leaf and various other paints. Such a building must have once been a testament to ostentatious display, but now, the gold and colored paints had weathered and peeled away, leaving the entire facade mottled and scarred.

Armand noticed Joseph observing the walls and remarked, "This house has seen better days. It has long been in need of a complete renovation, but my father and I are both hopeless playboys; we simply never get around to it. As a result, the house is... well, how should I put it?"

Armand furrowed his brow.

"I actually think it's quite charming," Joseph said with a straight face, adopting a tone reminiscent of an aria. "It possesses a unique aesthetic. It is like an unfurled scroll of time, heavy with the weight of history. Looking at it, one sees impermanence, one sees fate..."

"Joseph, I'll take that as a genuine compliment," Armand said. "In any case, you know that's one of my greatest virtues. Besides..."

Armand paused, looking up to study the mottled wall in detail. "Joseph, you are quite right about one thing: this is impermanence, this is fate. The loneliness and despair beneath the grandeur—that is the true essence of 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 recited in a low voice. (This was a passage from "O Fortuna," the opening movement of the Latin work Carmina Burana. Its meaning: Oh Fortune, like the moon, you are changeable, ever waxing and waning; hateful life first oppresses and then soothes as fancy takes it; poverty and power it melts like ice.)

"Hell! You actually recited a poem in Latin on the spot!" Armand feigned anger. "You've already crushed me in natural science, and now this... you fellow, do you want to leave any room for the rest of us to live?"

"I didn't write it," Joseph shook his head. "I don't even know who did; perhaps it is the work of an anonymous poet from the eighth century or even earlier. Hmm, I mentioned to you that my godfather is a bishop; I saw it in a fragment of a manuscript at his cathedral."

"The terrible Middle Ages, who knows how many talented poets were buried by them," Armand sighed. "Anyway, let's not stand on the steps chatting. Let's go inside."

The two entered, and Joseph looked inward. A crystal chandelier hung in the center of the drawing room, its dozen or so candles illuminating the hall, which had already slipped into the evening. Chairs were arranged on either side of the hall, with a dance floor in the middle. The floor was paved with marble, though years of wear had left the stone dull, stripped of its former luster.

The sofas in the hall were empty, and Armand said to Joseph, "We didn't invite many people this time, just a few close friends, so they are all in the small parlor."

Following Armand as he turned to the right, they arrived at the small parlor. Just as Armand had said, everyone was gathered there.

Armand led Joseph inside, then raised his hands and clapped twice. The people conversing in the chairs stopped and turned their heads to look toward them.

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

"Welcome, Monsieur Bonaparte," a man of about forty stood up to greet Joseph.

"Joseph, this is my father, Viscount Charles de Lavoisier," Armand introduced him solemnly.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Joseph bowed in return.

"Come now, Armand, why so formal?" Viscount Charles shook his head at his son. "This is just a casual family gathering."

He then turned and pointed to a high-backed chair, saying to Joseph, "Monsieur Bonaparte, please, take a seat here."

"Thank you," Joseph said. "I am a friend of Armand's; please, just call me Joseph."

Armand continued to introduce the other family members.

"This is my mother, Viscountess Lavoisier."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Madame," Joseph quickly nodded in greeting.

"I also enjoy seeing you young people," the Viscountess replied. "It always reminds me of the good times when I was young."

"Mother, you are still young," Armand said.

"This is my cousin, Samuel de Fermat. He is skilled in fencing and marksmanship and once followed the Marquis de Lafayette to fight in North America. He's a great fellow," Armand introduced another short man sitting nearby. Joseph noticed a long scar beneath his right ear that extended down to his lip. Perhaps to hide this mark, he had intentionally grown a thick beard, reminiscent of Captain Haddock from later comics, which made it difficult to judge his age.

"Hello," Samuel stood up and nodded.

"A pleasure to meet you," Joseph replied.

Armand introduced a few more people, mostly relatives of the family. Finally, he brought Joseph to a young woman wearing a pale yellow dress.

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

"A pleasure to meet you," Joseph said quickly.

"Likewise," the girl lowered her head slightly, holding the hem of her dress and curtsying in response. She then looked up, her large, emerald-green eyes darting toward Joseph before she lowered her gaze again. "I have heard many things about you from my brother. I heard your paper won a grand prize from the Academy of Sciences. Not only that, my uncle says you have already made many important contributions to mathematics. And you have received a recommendation and will soon obtain a teaching position at the Paris Military Academy. You cannot be even twenty years old yet, and to receive such a recommendation—it is truly remarkable!"

"Mademoiselle, it is not as difficult as you might imagine," Joseph replied with a smile. "I was simply quite lucky."

"My brother says that luck only belongs to those who are prepared," Fanny said softly with a smile.

"Alright, everyone, sit down. Don't stand while talking," Viscount Charles de Lavoisier said.

Joseph took a seat in a chair beside Armand. A servant brought a cup of tea and placed it on the small table beside him.

The group resumed their conversation.

"What were you all discussing just now?" Joseph asked.

"Before I went out, everyone was talking about the recent performance of The Marriage of Figaro," Armand replied.

The Marriage of Figaro was a work by Beaumarchais. However, for those of later generations, they would be more familiar with the operatic version adapted by the musician Mozart. But the operatic Marriage of Figaro would not be completed until 1786; the version recently performed was not the opera people would later know, but the stage play.

"Monsieur Beaumarchais's satire in this play is truly sharp and biting. It is rare for him to have such courage," Armand said.

"If you ask me, Monsieur Beaumarchais is one thing, but the people in the comedy troupe are the truly bold ones. They even changed the plot to satirize Her Majesty the Queen. That is true courage!" Baron Lavoisier said.

"Isn't that so?" Fanny added softly with a smile. "They actually had Count Almaviva say those things. It was very bold. Aren't they worried about the Queen? She won't think it's a satire of her; perhaps she will think that what Count Almaviva said was a compliment to her!" Armand laughed with a look of disdain.

Because Queen Marie Antoinette lived extravagantly and loved to spend money recklessly, countless expensive jewels and fashions flowed into her palace, and a luxurious fashion trend swept through the French aristocratic circles under her leadership. She was happiest when inviting nobles who shared her tastes to participate in all-night gambling, revelry, and balls.

Folklore had it that whenever a whimsical new idea for spending money popped into her head, she would act like a spoiled child, crying and throwing tantrums to force her husband to make it happen for her. As a result, royal expenditures grew, and the fiscal deficit became increasingly severe. Among the common people, Queen Marie earned the nickname "Madame Deficit."

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

"The Count said: 'What does spending money matter? Even if it leads to a massive deficit and we have to go everywhere begging the Jews for loans, it is of no consequence. You must know that since ancient times, how many kings have been willing to throw away their kingdoms for the smile of a beauty? To allow one's wife to wear the sparkling jewels she loves, even if the husband goes bankrupt, it is only right.'" Armand replied.

"Is that so? Armand, you underestimate the Queen. No matter what, the Queen is of the Habsburg line and must have received a fine education. She would certainly understand such a simple metaphor. So, the playwrights of the comedy troupe did indeed need courage to make such changes. But honestly, the risk they took was not as great as you might imagine. Because even if they saw this satire, the King and Queen might not care at all," Joseph said.

"How could they not care when someone is accusing them in public?" Samuel interjected.

"Ah, as for that question, allow me to use an analogy. You have fought in North America. I have heard that at the time, some of the Indians there stood with the British to oppose you. It is said that those Indians would use their witchcraft to curse you. So, Mr. Samuel, do you care about their curses?" Joseph asked with a smile.

"Of course I don't care, because I know that their superstitions are useless. You must understand, there is no witchcraft that cannot be solved by a bullet." Samuel replied.

"If one cannot solve it, then just use another." Joseph laughed.

"You are right, Mr. Bonaparte." Miusael also began to laugh, "Though generally speaking, when dealing with Indians, a single bullet is all it takes."

"In the eyes of the King and Queen, such accusations are no different from the curses of the Indians. They do not care at all."