crunch of those same boots on our gravel path until we’d reached the gates of the property, where the household staff had gathered. Some of the younger women were weeping. I noticed Felix kissed each of the staff on both cheeks. He knew they were sad to see the family sons walking off to war but there were also their own sons, husbands, fathers, going. What would our prickly family do without Felix’s charm? I wondered, as I noticed the women brightening for him, finding smiles, even a sad gust of a laugh from the housekeeper.
‘Go on with you, sir,’ I heard her admonish, with a gentle tap on my brother’s arm. She’d been with our family since before Felix and I were born.
‘No further, Fleurette,’ Henri warned. ‘The prefect says it’s chaotic out there.’
I didn’t need him to tell me. I could hear the cacophony of men’s voices, marching boots, yells and squeals from women in the distance, presumably bestowing weepy farewells. I knew he’d want me to remain composed, represent our family well. On impulse I hugged him. ‘Take care of yourself, Henri.’
‘Don’t worry about us,’ he said, but I could see the concern like a shadow behind his bravely set expression. It danced in his eyes, which seemed slightly glassy in the lantern light. Henri turned to address the staff, gave them an uplifting talk that I barely heard because my mind was wandering, considering whether this was the last time I’d see them together. Was this the last moment of innocence in our lives, where hours earlier we’d been sipping champagne and toasting my good health? Were we saying farewell forever?
If not for the way Felix turned and flashed me one of his signature grins, I might have faltered. Instead, I watched them fall in with the rest of the men from our neighbourhood who had respectfully gathered outside our villa – they were all part of the Bataillon de Chasseurs Alpin. Our alpine light infantry had a reputation for being reliable soldiers, brave and willing. What more could you ask of any man? I thought, feeling a rush of sentimentality as I watched the huddle move as one away from us in the low light.
They began to sing. It was a French lullaby I recognised: something my father would hum as he soothed us off to sleep as infants. And with their song came the ancient, enchanting fragrance of jasmine that was first cultivated in the Middle Ages in our region. It was now synonymous with Grasse, imprinted on my memory as richly as a photograph captures a moment. Full of opulent sweetness,
Jasminum grandiflorum
could be picked out with its fruity notes. But this moment belonged to its sister, the evening-blooming
Jasminum sambac
, which rose through the warmth of the night like a ghost of our childhoods to remind us of home, where our hearts lay. Brooding and animalistic, it swept like a wild, invisible creature past me, moving nimbly over the top of the hill to stalk the marching men to their destinies.
5
It had been over a week since Aimery and his 23e Chasseurs had left the town but Henri and Felix were still forming their companies at Villefranche. No visitors were allowed, I was informed. Despite a certain secrecy, it soon became common knowledge that their battalion was going to leave on August 10th. I understood there was nothing to be gained from making the trip down from Grasse other than inevitable pain should we catch a glimpse of each other. Nevertheless, I joined the throng of women to tearfully wave off our men as they proudly marched down to the train station for transportation to La Vésubie.
I gathered that my brothers – two of more than two dozen officers – were on their way to the north, where the Germans had already invaded Belgium. I didn’t see Henri, but Felix I could sense, and I would not let that column of men march past me without one final glimpse of my twin. I scanned the familiar faces, expressions now set grimly as if hammered from stone, eyes forward, following their orders.
‘Go on with you, sir,’ I heard her admonish, with a gentle tap on my brother’s arm. She’d been with our family since before Felix and I were born.
‘No further, Fleurette,’ Henri warned. ‘The prefect says it’s chaotic out there.’
I didn’t need him to tell me. I could hear the cacophony of men’s voices, marching boots, yells and squeals from women in the distance, presumably bestowing weepy farewells. I knew he’d want me to remain composed, represent our family well. On impulse I hugged him. ‘Take care of yourself, Henri.’
‘Don’t worry about us,’ he said, but I could see the concern like a shadow behind his bravely set expression. It danced in his eyes, which seemed slightly glassy in the lantern light. Henri turned to address the staff, gave them an uplifting talk that I barely heard because my mind was wandering, considering whether this was the last time I’d see them together. Was this the last moment of innocence in our lives, where hours earlier we’d been sipping champagne and toasting my good health? Were we saying farewell forever?
If not for the way Felix turned and flashed me one of his signature grins, I might have faltered. Instead, I watched them fall in with the rest of the men from our neighbourhood who had respectfully gathered outside our villa – they were all part of the Bataillon de Chasseurs Alpin. Our alpine light infantry had a reputation for being reliable soldiers, brave and willing. What more could you ask of any man? I thought, feeling a rush of sentimentality as I watched the huddle move as one away from us in the low light.
They began to sing. It was a French lullaby I recognised: something my father would hum as he soothed us off to sleep as infants. And with their song came the ancient, enchanting fragrance of jasmine that was first cultivated in the Middle Ages in our region. It was now synonymous with Grasse, imprinted on my memory as richly as a photograph captures a moment. Full of opulent sweetness,
Jasminum grandiflorum
could be picked out with its fruity notes. But this moment belonged to its sister, the evening-blooming
Jasminum sambac
, which rose through the warmth of the night like a ghost of our childhoods to remind us of home, where our hearts lay. Brooding and animalistic, it swept like a wild, invisible creature past me, moving nimbly over the top of the hill to stalk the marching men to their destinies.
5
It had been over a week since Aimery and his 23e Chasseurs had left the town but Henri and Felix were still forming their companies at Villefranche. No visitors were allowed, I was informed. Despite a certain secrecy, it soon became common knowledge that their battalion was going to leave on August 10th. I understood there was nothing to be gained from making the trip down from Grasse other than inevitable pain should we catch a glimpse of each other. Nevertheless, I joined the throng of women to tearfully wave off our men as they proudly marched down to the train station for transportation to La Vésubie.
I gathered that my brothers – two of more than two dozen officers – were on their way to the north, where the Germans had already invaded Belgium. I didn’t see Henri, but Felix I could sense, and I would not let that column of men march past me without one final glimpse of my twin. I scanned the familiar faces, expressions now set grimly as if hammered from stone, eyes forward, following their orders.
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