Désirée (39 page)

Formez vos bataillons!
Marchons, marchons. .

Silk trains rustled, dress swords clanked, we bowed down to the ground; Napoleon appeared. When I first saw Napoleon, I couldn't understand why the Army accepted such short officers. Now he had played up his small stature, had surrounded himself with the very tallest aides he could find, and wore a simple, general's uniform.

Josephine dropped his arm, the diamond tiara nodded in greeting. Murat bowed over her hand.

"How are you, madame?" said the Emperor to the Berthier and, without giving her time to answer, turned to the next marshal's wife. "I'm delighted to see you, madame. You should always wear nile green. The colour suits you.
However, the Nile isn't really green at all but yellow. Yellow ochre—it flows in my memory."

On the cheeks of the lady addressed burned hectic red blotches. "Your Majesty is too kind," she lisped. I wondered if all crowned heads were as crushing as Napoleon, or if he uses these short, curt sentences because he assumes this is how monarchs habitually converse with their subjects.

Josephine, meanwhile, had turned her artfully painted smile
on the marshals' wives. "How are you? . . . Your little
daughter has whooping cough? I was so upset when I heard
it—" Every single one got the impression that the Empress,
with every fibre of her being, had been waiting for days just
to see her. In Josephine's wake came the Imperial Princesses:
Elisa and Caroline, their eyes in arrogant slits; Paulette,
slightly drunk after some supper party or other; Hortense,
tense but making an anxious effort to be friendly. And my
Julie, pale and fighting desperately against her shyness.

Then Murat and Josephine walked slowly through the ballroom. Napoleon followed, Mme Berthier, panting with excitement, on his arm. We others closed in behind. A thousand silk skirts rustled as the women curtsied. Josephine stopped constantly to say a few friendly words to someone. Napoleon addressed his remarks chiefly to the gentlemen. Innumerable officers from the provinces had been invited to represent their regiments. Napoleon questioned them about their garrisons. He seemed to know the number of lice in every single military barracks in France! How could I lure him to Box 17, I wondered hopelessly. First he must drink a few glasses of champagne, I decided. Then I would dare it—

Champagne was passed around. Napoleon refused. He stood on the stage next to his chair of state, letting Joseph and Talleyrand talk to him.

Josephine called me over to her and said, "I couldn't find the sapphire earrings the other day. I'm so sorry."

"Your Majesty is very kind, but I couldn't wear blue, anyw
ay."

"Are you satisfied with Le Roy's gowns, madame?"

I didn't answer the Empress. In the crowded room, I'd
spotted a square red face. I knew that face. The short neck above the collar of a colonel's uniform.

"With the gowns of Le Roy's?" the Empress repeated sharply.

"Yes, of course, very satisfied," I said. Next to the squared red face was a lady's head with hair dyed lemon yellow and an impossible coiffure. Provinces, I thought; a colonel from some provincial garrison, whose wife I don't know, but I man himself. . . .

Later on I succeeded in crossing the ballroom alone. Not recognizing the colonel bothered me, and I decided to try to move inconspicuously a little closer to them. All the guest stood respectfully aside for me and whispered, "Madame la maréchale Bernadotte." Officers bowed deep, ladies smiled fixedly. I smiled back, smiled and smiled until my mouth ached. By this time, I was quite near my colonel, and I heard the lady with the unbelievable coiffure whisper to him, "It is too, the little Clary." All at once I knew who the colonel was. He had discarded the wig with the pigtail, but otherwise the years seemed to have rolled uneventfully over him. He was probably still Commandant at Marseilles. The little Jacobin general, whom he had arrested ten years ago, in the meantime had become Emperor of the French.
 

"Do you remember me, Colonel Lefabre?" I heard myself
ask.
                                                                                                     
I

The woman with the extraordinary hair bowed awkwardly. "Madame la maréchale," she whispered.

"François Clary's daughter," Square Face said at the same time. Then they both waited, embarrassed, for my next remark.

"I haven't been in Marseilles for a very long time," I said.

"Madame would be very bored there, a dull proving hole," said the lady with the hair, shrugging her scrawny shoulders.

"If you want to be posted elsewhere, Colonel Lefabre—" I began, looking into his watery blue eyes.

"Could you speak to the Emperor about us?" cried Mme Lefabre, all excited.

"No, but to Marshal Bernadotte," I answered.

"I knew your papa very well—" the Colonel murmured.

At that moment, I pulled myself together. The Polonaise!

I forgot the Lefabres and without a word gathered up my train and scurried away. Looking scandalized, people frowned as they made way for me. Once again I was behaving impossibly.

Murat was opening the Polonaise with Julie. The Emperor
had escorted Mme Berthier through the ballroom and I should
have been with Prince Joseph. The dance had already begun.
Joseph stood by himself on the stage near the chairs of state,
waiting for me.

"I couldn't find you, Désirée," he hissed angrily.

"Forgive me," I murmured as we hurried to join the other couples. From time to time my brother-in-law scowled at me.

"I'm not used to waiting," he growled.

"Do smile," I whispered angrily. "Smile!" So many eyes I were on the oldest brother of the Emperor and the wife of Marshal Bernadotte.

After two contradances, the guests swooped down on the buffet. Napoleon had retired to the back of the stage and was talking to Duroc. I waved to a lackey passing around champagne and approached the Emperor.

Napoleon immediately interrupted his conversation. "I have I something to tell you, madame."

"A little refreshment?" I asked, waving toward the champagne, with one of M. Montel's fanciest gestures. Napoleon and Duroc each took a glass.

"A votre santé, madame,"
the Emperor said politely, took a
tiny sip and put his glass back. "What I started to say,
Madame—" Napoleon stopped and looked me up and down. "
Have I ever told you, madame la maréchale, that you are ve
ry pretty?"

Duroc smiled broadly, clicked his heels together and said, "If Your Majesty will permit, I should—"

"Go along, Duroc, devote yourself to the ladies!" the Emperor called after him. Then he began again to appraise me, in silence. Slowly a smile played around his mouth.

"Your Majesty had something to tell me?" I said, and plunged on, "If I may ask it, I'd be very grateful to You Majesty if we could meet in Box Seventeen."

It was apparent that Napoleon at first thought he couldn't have heard me correctly. He leaned forward, raised his eyebrows and repeated, "Box Seventeen?"

I nodded eagerly.

Napoleon glanced at the other people on the stage. Josephine was chattering to hordes of ladies, Joseph was holding forth to Talleyrand and the peevish Louis. The marshals' uniforms gleamed among the dancers.

"Would that be proper, little Eugénie?"

"Sire, please don't misunderstand me."

"Box Seventeen—the meaning's clear, isn't it?" Then quickly, "Murat will escort us, it looks better."

Murat, like the rest of the Emperor's entourage, had been watching us every minute out of the corner of his eye. One wave and he came on the double.

"Mme Bernadotte and I wish to be together in a box. Show us the way."

A trio, we left the stage. We passed through the respectful lines that automatically form whenever the Emperor approaches. On the landing, as we neared the box, several couples leapt hastily apart. Young officers sprang from an embrace to rigid attention. I found it very funny, but Napoleon remarked, "The younger generation have no morals. I shall discuss this with Despréaux. I want only those beyond reproach around me." The next minute we were at the locked doors of the boxes. "Thank you, Murat." Murat's spurs jingled and he disappeared. Napoleon kept looking for the number.

"Your Majesty had something to tell me," I said. "Is it good news?"

"Yes, we have approved Marshal Bernadotte's request for an independent command with widespread civil responsibilities. Tomorrow your husband will be appointed Governor of Hanover. I congratulate you, madame. It is an important and very responsible post."

"Hanover—" I whispered, having no idea where Hanover
was.

"When you visit your husband in Hanover, you will live in
a royal palace and be the First Lady of the land. And here
we have Box Seventeen."

It was only a few steps to the door of the box. "You go in
first and be sure the curtains are drawn," Napoleon said. I
opened the door and closed it behind me swiftly. I knew quite
well that the curtains were drawn.

"Well, my child?" Mme Letizia said as I came in.

"He's outside. And he doesn't know that you're here, Madame Mere."

"Don't get so excited. It doesn't mean your head," said Mme Letizia firmly.

No, but it could mean Jean-Baptiste's appointment, I thought. "I'll call him now, madame," I said softly.

"The curtains are drawn," I announced outside, at which I'
d hoped to let the Emperor go first into the box and for me
to disappear. But Napoleon shoved me into the little room.
I flattened out against the side wall to let him by. Mme
Letizia had risen. Napoleon stopped, as though he'd taken r
oot at the door. Through the heavy curtains wafted strains of the
sweet Viennese waltz.

"Son, won't you say good evening to your mother?" asked Mme Letizia quietly. She took a step toward him. If she only bows the least bit, I thought, everything will be all right. The Emperor didn't budge. Mme Letizia took another step.

"Madame Mere, what a beautiful surprise," Napoleon said, not moving.

A last step, and now Mme Letizia stood before him. She bowed her head slightly—and kissed his cheek. Disregarding court etiquette, I slid past the Emperor. Brushing by him, I may have given him a tiny push which landed him, quite naturally, in his mother's arms.

As I re-entered the ballroom, Murat came right over. Like a bloodhound on the trail, he sniffed. "Back so soon, madame?" I looked surprised. "I told the Empress that Bernadotte would be pleased if she would have a word with him, and I gave
Bernadotte the wink that the Empress wanted to see him. So neither of them suspected what was going on in the box." Murat grinned.

"Going on in the box? What
do
you mean, Marshal Murat?"

Murat was so intent on our conversation that he didn't notice the astonished outcry throughout the room. "I meant a very special box. The box to which you took His Majesty," he said confidentially.

"Oh, Box Seventeen! But why shouldn't Jean-Baptiste and the Empress know what happened in this box? The entire ballroom knows by now." I laughed.

The sheepish look on Murat's face was priceless. He raised his head, followed the eyes of the other guests and saw —yes, saw the Emperor pull aside the curtains of Box 17. Right beside him was Mme Letizia. Despréaux signalled to the orchestra, a loud "Hush!" echoed through the hall, followed by wild applause.

"Caroline didn't know her mother was back in Paris," Murat, obviously bewildered, and looked at me anxiously.

"I believe Madame Mere will stand by the son who needs her most," I said thoughtfully. "First the exiled Lucien and now the reigning Napoleon. . . ."

We danced until dawn. While Jean-Baptiste waltzed me around, I asked, "Where is Hanover?"

"In Germany," he answered. "The English royal family came from Hanover. The population suffered terribly during the war."
                                                                             
,

"Do you know who's to rule in Hanover? As French Governor?"
                                                                               
,

"No idea," said Jean-Baptiste. "And it—" He stopped, smack in the middle of a three-quarter beat. He bent his head so that he looked straight into my eyes. "Is that true?" is all he asked.

I nodded.

"Now I'll show them!" he muttered, and danced on.

"Whom will you show what?"

"How to run a country I'll show the Emperor and all his generals. Especially the generals. And Hanover will like it."

Jean-Baptiste spoke very quickly and I knew that he was happy, happy for the first time in so many long years. Strange that at this moment he didn't think about France at all, but only about—Hanover. Hanover—somewhere in Germany.