Events progressed rapidly.

  My mother told me in the morning. I stormed out of her apartments and to my father’s study. I stood there with a closed fist over the wood. My burst of anger and confidence melted as I stared at the grain of the wood. Overcome with a sickness I attempted to turn back but the door in front of me opened before I could leave. My father stood tall before me in his dark green dressing gown. His mouth turned down when he saw me.

  “What?”

  “I,” It took a moment for the rest to follow, “I need to speak with you, Monseigneur.”

  “Fine,” he said as he turned back into his study. I followed but stood close to the door - just in case.

  “What is it?” he asked as he sat down in his red velvet chair behind his desk. I believed he already knew why I was there.

  “Maman told me I am to marry the Mademoiselle de Rohan.”

  “Yes,” he said as he searched through the papers on the table and not looking up at me, “what of it?”

  What of it? As if it was only another commonplace. As if it was nothing at all - as if it wasn’t my entire life. The immense displeasure - the betrayal - of it all. That my family would all conspire against me to force an engagement without consulting me. In honest, I should have expected it. I should have - but I did not. The future wasn’t something I ever looked into then.

  I have to say that I wasn’t always as aggressively pessimistic as I’ve portrayed myself to be. There were time when I had vague hopes. I’ve never had any clear-cut aspirations or shooting star destinies. In my mind’s eyes there existed a perfect provincial life: vast lawns, a large chateau of white stone nestled sound in a land with a never setting sun. I wished for a place where I could do as I pleased and could be completely satisfied. In my mind is where that place has stayed. It rains far too much and the blue skies turn to gray far too easily.

  In my visions, I didn’t picture a wife for myself. Logically, I knew I would have one - somewhere, someday- like all gentlemen . I only could not see her. I couldn’t imagine what she looked like, or see her next to me, or see children - also somewhere someday - running across green lawns. I was limited to the exterior of my person and couldn’t cover anyone else. If I thought about it hard enough, I only saw a calm and caring presence and nothing too specific on looks or personality. I believed I could love anyone who loved me back.

  For Catherine specifically, I did not know her - I didn’t want her.

  “I-I don’t want to.”

  “I see,” he said in a calm voice, “I understand.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes I understand completely,” he said as he continued to rifle through his papers, “you don’t want to help our family. Do your duty-”

  “Well no-”

  “Yes that’s just what you said. You would rather be a lonesome hanger-on getting fat on allowances, am I correct?” he stared at me then, “well I will not allow it. It matters not what you want. Only beasts live on through their own will and passions. No one wishes to be married. They do because their situation requires it - and we do require it.”

  “How?”

  “If you don’t our family will be forever be disgraced in the eyes of Society after what your brother has done. Do you wish that?? For our family to fall to ruin? You might -”

  “No,” I said in a low voice, “I don’t wish that.”

  “Then you will marry her - it has been decided,” he said, " she will have a considerable dowry and there are debts to be paid. Pretty and young as well - don’t look so upset it could be worse. The Rohans can get you a position anywhere.”

  I stood there. I couldn’t refute it. At the same time, If my family risked ruin or needed money I did not care - my heart wasn’t in it. There was no use for me to be married. I didn’t want to change.

  “If you don’t have anything else to say you can leave,” he said, “I have work to do.”

  He stood up and at that abrupt movement I turned and walked straight into the edge of the door frame. He laughed. He didn’t need to lecture, raise his voice, or hurt me to scare me. A sudden movement would startle me and I would avoid meeting his eyes like a cowering well-beaten dog.

  Everyone wished the marriage - except for myself. My father made the official proposal to the Rohans, though only out of formality - it had been decided that my marriage to her would be the honorable thing to do. I was obliged to write a letter to Catherine apologizing for my brother’s behavior and how glad I was to offer my hand to her instead, to do my duty, among other things that made me seem like the chivalric knight I wasn’t.

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  I met her again only once before, after our official betrothal. I found no fault in her - she was the same as she had been when I saw her last. I learned she was the same age as me and had recently left St.Cyr. It was agreed that the dowry would consist of 800,000 livres - paid in two installments - land worth 40,000, and a life annuity of 12,000. As her brother and father were at court, the marriage contract was even signed by His and Her Majesty. It seemed to be a quite agreeable engagement in the eyes of Society.

  We were married at Monfermeil, on August 12th of 1755. That morning, I dressed myself in a fine white silk suit heavily embroidered in silver. I adjusted the cuffs and ruffs of my undershirt in the mirror. At that point, it was the most expensive suit I had worn. I enjoyed the heaviness of the metal threads and the crispness of the linen.

  “Very handsome,” said my mother when she came into the room in her grand habit.

  “Any advice?” I asked. I knew that she had married my father the same age I was.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No,” she said as she fixed my cravat, “you don’t need it - you’re a sweet boy.”

  In the months proceeding my marriage I thought of my father often. His violence, his aloofness, and his apathy. Sometimes I would stare at him and his off-hand and cold manner and told myself that I would never be like him - I was better. I had to be better. I told myself that I wouldn’t be a bad husband. I told myself I would never be a bad person.

  She kissed me on the forehead, “I’m proud of you.”

  “I haven’t done anything.”

  “You don’t have to - I’m always proud of you.”

  As she looked at me tears welled up in her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing it’s - I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.”

  “Don’t cry, Maman. “ I said. “I’ll always be here to look after you.”

  We hugged each other for a long moment. I’m grateful that I still remember that moment - knowing that someone care for me - at least a little. I’m glad that I still have small memories of her - long after I have forgotten what she looks like.

  My father entered the room and our two families met in the morning room with the other guests. The only witnesses on my side were my parents. My grandparents had died before I was born, the same with my father’s brother, and my mother’s sister never responded to the invitation. There were many guests on the Rohan side: Catherine’s father, her uncle the Archbishop, her brother and the many different kinds of aunts and other relations. In all there were some fifty guests. The Rohan side gave gifts to Catherine - ribbons, jewels, gloves, and laces. I gifted her a complete Sevres tea service which was picked by my mother.

  I took Catherine’s hand and we moved to the chapel. The ceremony was a long painful haze. I only wished for it to be over as soon as possible. The crowd were dressed in many colored silks and laces. Hot sun shone through the windows and the hot air suffocated me. I only wished to go through the motions - as if I was in a play and nothing was actually real. My marriage was just one of the many other things that I just let happen to me without any resistance. The faces of all the guests all looked the same to me as all the others and I paid not attention to the splendor of the ceremony. I was terrified I would stumble or embarrass myself but nothing went wrong. I knelt there at the altar with my suit stained with my mother’s tears. What an odd thing it is to be married as a child of six and ten.

  The Archbishop de Rohan, in his bright red robes, performed the ceremony. I looked over at Catherine, who was dressed well in a pastel blue gown of silver threads holding a bouquet of orange blossoms. She was beautiful, fresh and happy, but beauty only meant so much in the face of uncertainty. I did feel sorry for her but I avoided her glance.

  It used to be a comfort at times that I would be exactly the same forever. It was far easier. This new ideas - being married, head of a household, eventually a father. It was all unknown to me. It was as if I was blind-folded and unsure if the next ten paces stood even field or a large abyss.

  We listened and responded to the Archbishop as he spoke. When it was time, we joined our right hands together.

  “I, Charles Xavier Edmond d’Artois, take thee, Marie Catherine de Rohan, to my wedded wife and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

  In the distance I heard crying.

  Catherine repeated the same. The Archbishop gave me the ring. I placed it on her finger, looking more towards the ground than at her directly.

  “With this ring I thee wed with my body I thee worship and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen.”

  “Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.”

  After the ceremony, Catherine received kisses from all her female relatives in order of kinship and age. The two of us handed out gifts to the guests: sword knots to the men and fans to the women. The dinner began at four back at the Chateau de Montfermeil.

  The rest of the night went by in a strong haze that seemed to never end. An abundance of good wine, sauces, ices, asparagus, and fish were served. Catherine gave drinks to the staff set up in the courtyard. I danced with Catherine, who was ever graceful, as well as I could. The music agitated me as an uneasiness set in my stomach as the sky darkened.

  By the end of the night I was thoroughly exhausted. The bed was blessed by the Archbishop de Rohan while Catherine and I stood by in our nightclothes in front of our family members - which was more uncomfortable for me than could be expressed. We went to bed and the audience departed as the curtains closed. I watched my father who, I believe, was smirking.

  Of course I knew that was supposed to happen, it’s not as if I lacked experience, but I only laid there frozen in place as the silence grew ever louder. I felt that Catherine was about to say something to me but I quickly turned to the other side of the bed and shut my eyes tight hoping to force myself asleep as soon as possible.

  Nothing happened.