The Fox of France

Chapter 21: The Gathering

Joseph followed Armand into his family's courtyard and up the steps. He noticed that Armand's house was a typical Rococo-style building. The walls were adorned with various ornate carvings, decorated with gold and various other colors of paint. Such a building must have once been filled with extravagant grandeur, but now, the golden and colorful paint had weathered and peeled, leaving the entire facade mottled and faded.

Armand noticed Joseph observing the wall and said, "This house has some history to it. It's long overdue for some restoration, but my father and I are both hopeless dandies, too preoccupied with other matters. So, the house... how should I put it?"

Armand furrowed his brow.

"I think it's not so bad," Joseph replied earnestly in a contemplative tone. "It has a unique beauty. It's like an unfurled scroll of time, filled with the weight of history. When you look at it, you see the capriciousness of fate, the unpredictability of life."

"Joseph, your words... I'll take that as a genuine compliment," Armand said. "You know, one of my greatest qualities is appreciating such things. Also..."

Armand paused, looking up and examining the mottled wall in detail. "Joseph, one thing you said is right. This is capriciousness, this is fate. Underneath the splendor, there's solitude and despair, and that's the 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 softly recited in Latin. ("This is a passage from the Latin work 'Carmina Burana' known as 'O Fortuna,' meaning: O Fortune, like the moon, ever-changing, you wax and wane; detestable life now oppresses and then soothes as game of sharp mind, poverty, and power melts away like ice.")

"Goodness! You immediately composed a poem in Latin!" Armand playfully scolded. "You're already outperforming me in the natural sciences, and now... you, my friend, are making it impossible for anyone to live!"

"This isn't mine," Joseph shook his head. "I don't know who wrote it, maybe some nameless poet from the eighth century or even earlier. Well, I've told you, my godfather is a bishop, and I found this in one of his church's scrolls."

"The terrifying Middle Ages must have buried many talented poets," Armand said. "Anyway, let's not stand here chatting on the steps. Let's go inside."

They entered the house, and Joseph looked around the living room. A crystal chandelier with over a dozen candles illuminated the hall, even as night had fallen. On either side of the hall were several chairs, with a dance floor in the center. The marble floor was dimmed with age, losing its former luster.

The sofas in the hall were empty, and Armand said to Joseph, "We haven't invited too many people this time, just a few close friends. They are all in the small living room."

Following Armand, they turned to the right and entered the small living room. As Armand had said, everyone was in the small living room.

Armand introduced Joseph to the people in the room, starting with his father, Charles de La Vauguyon.

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

"Come on, Armand, why are you making it so formal?" Charles de La Vauguyon shook his head. "This is just a casual family gathering."

Then he turned and pointed to a high-backed chair, saying, "Mr. Bonaparte, please have a seat here."

"Thank you," Joseph replied. "I'm a friend of Armand, so you can just call me Joseph."

Armand continued to introduce Joseph to other family members.

"This is my mother, Madame de La Vauguyon."

"I'm pleased to meet you, madam," Joseph nodded in greeting.

"I'm happy to see you young people," Madame de La Vauguyon responded. "It reminds me of the good old days when I was young."

"Mom, you're young too," Armand said.

"This is my cousin, Samuel de Fermat. He's excellent at fencing and shooting, and he served with Marquis de Lafayette in North America. He's a great guy." Armand introduced another short man sitting there. Joseph noticed a long scar beneath his right ear, extending down to his lip. Perhaps to conceal the scar, he intentionally wore a big mustache similar to a character from later comics. It made it hard to determine his age.

"Hello," Samuel stood up and nodded.

"Pleased to meet you," Joseph replied.

Armand then introduced several other people, most of whom were relatives. Finally, Armand led Joseph to a girl in a pale yellow dress.

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

"Pleased to meet you," Joseph said quickly.

"Nice to meet you too," the girl lowered her head slightly, curtsied with her hands holding her skirt, and then raised her head, opening her big green eyes to quickly glance at Joseph. She then lowered her eyelids and said, "I've heard a lot about you from my brother. I heard your paper received a major award from the Academy of Sciences. Not only that, my uncle said you've made significant contributions in mathematics. And you've been recommended for a teaching position at the Paris Military School. You're not even twenty yet, and you've received such a recommendation. That's quite remarkable!"

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

"My brother said, luck is only for those who are prepared," Fanny smiled softly and whispered.

"Well, everyone, please take a seat. Let's not stand and chat," Charles de La Vauguyon said.

Joseph sat in a chair next to Armand. A servant brought a cup of tea and placed it on the small table beside Joseph.

They continued their conversation.

"What were you all discussing before I arrived?" Joseph asked.

"We were discussing the recent performance of 'The Marriage of Figaro,'" Armand replied.

"The Marriage of Figaro" was a work by Beaumarchais. However, for those in the future, they might be more familiar with the opera version adapted by Mozart. But the opera version of "The Marriage of Figaro" wasn't completed until 1786. The recent performance was not the opera most people today know; it was a play adaptation of "The Marriage of Figaro."

"Mr. Beaumarchais' satire in this play is sharp and highly ironic. It's quite audacious that he had the courage to do it," Armand said.

"Beaumarchais is one thing, but the playwrights of the comedy troupe have even more guts. They altered the plot and even made fun of Her Majesty, the Queen. That's real audacity!" Charles de La Vauguyon said.

"Isn't it?" Fanny smiled, her voice low. "They even made Count Almaviva say such things. That's bold! But aren't you worried about the Queen? She might not take it as a mockery. Maybe she'll think Count Almaviva's words are praise!"

Armand chuckled with a disdainful look. "Mary Antoinette, the Queen, is from the Habsburg family and has received a good education. She can definitely grasp simple metaphors. So the changes made by the comedy troupe do require courage. But truth be told, the risks they're taking aren't as great as they might imagine. Because even if they see these satires, the King and Queen probably don't care."

"Someone publicly accuses them, how could they not care?" Samuel interjected.

"Ah, well. Let me give you an analogy," Joseph began. "You fought in North America. I heard that some Native Americans and the British fought against you. It's said that those Native Americans used their sorcery to curse you. So, Mr. Fermat, do you care about their curses?"

"Of course not, because I know their superstitions are useless. You see, there's no sorcery that a bullet can't dispel," Samuel replied.

"If one bullet can't, then we'll use another," Joseph smiled.

"You're right, Mr. Bonaparte," Samuel agreed, laughing. "But in general, dealing with Native Americans, one bullet is usually enough."

"In the eyes of the King and Queen, such accusations are no different from the curses of the Native Americans," Joseph concluded.

Unlock exclusive early access to more than 200 chapters before anyone else by becoming a valued member of my Patreon community.

THIS CHAPTER UPLOAD FIRST AT NOVELBIN.COM