Désirée (43 page)

I took my new dress from Le Roy—rose-coloured satin, dark-red scalloped roses—out of my wardrobe, Yvette arranged my unruly hair and I wore the pearl and ruby tiara Jean-Baptiste had sent by special messenger last August on our wedding
anniversary. It's so long since we've seen each other—such terribly long time.

"Your Highness will have a wonderful time," my companion said enviously, staring at the gold jewel box with the eagle in which I kept my jewels. The jewel box I was presented on Coronation Day.

I shook my head. "I'll feel very lonely in the Tuileries without out Queen Julie." Impossible! Julie is now in Naples, as lonely as can be.

The reception in the Tuileries was not at all what I'd expected. We assembled in the great ballroom, of course, and waited until the folding doors were opened and "La Marseillaise" trumpeted forth. At that we curtsied low and the Emperor and the Empress entered. Napoleon and Josephine made the rounds slowly, engaging some guests in conversation and making others miserable by ignoring them.

At first I couldn't see Napoleon very well. His tall golg-encrusted aides surrounded him. But suddenly he stopped near me to speak to some Dutch dignitaries, as I remember it.

"Evil tongues, I hear, are saying that my officers send their troops into the front lines while they themselves stay behind the lines—" he began. And thundered: "Well—is that not what you say in Holland?"

I'd heard that the Dutch are very dissatisfied with the French Government in general, and especially with sluggish Louis and his melancholy Queen Hortense. I, therefore, rather expected the Emperor to scold the Dutch so I hardly listened to him. Instead I studied his face. Napoleon had changed a great deal. The sharp face under the short hair had filled out, the smile on his pale mouth was no longer both solicitous and demanding, but only supercilious. Besides, he'd put on weight, I noticed, and looked as though he had been laced into his trim general's uniform. He wore no decorations except the Order of the Legion of Honour which he had founded himself. He was definitely getting fat. This rotund image of God on earth spoke with sweeping gestures except now and then when he folded his hands behind his back as he used to in moments of great stress.

His supercilious smile was disdainful. "Gentlemen, I think our Grand Army has given outstanding evidence of bravery. One of our highest ranking officers voluntarily risked his life. In Tilsit, I was informed that one of the marshals of France had been wounded."

Did anyone hear my heart thud in the deep silence?

After an effective pause, Napoleon said, "It is the Prince of Ponte Corvo."

"Is—that—true?" My voice cut through the fog of etiquette that blankets the Emperor. A frown, so deep it started at his nose, furrowed his face. One doesn't shout in the presence of His Majesty. One . . . well, well, there's Marshal Bernadotte's little wife. . . . The frown disappeared, and at that moment I knew Napoleon had already seen me before. This was the way he wanted me to hear the news; in the presence of a thousand strangers. He wanted to punish me. For what?

"My dear Princess," he began, and I dipped into a deep curtsy. He took my hand and drew me up. "I deplore the necessity of imparting such sad news to you," he said, looking beyond me and over my head. "The Prince of Ponte Corvo, who has distinguished himself repeatedly during the campaign, and whose conquest of Lübeck we admired enormously, was slightly wounded in the throat at Spandau. I hear that the Prince is already much improved. I beg you, dear Princess, not to worry."

"And I beg for the opportunity to go to my husband, Sire," I said faintly. Only then did the Emperor actually look at me. Marshals' wives just don't follow their husbands to their
headquarters.

"The Prince has been transferred to Marienburg for better nursing care. I advise you, Princess, not to undertake this journey. The roads through North Germany, and especially in the Danzig district, are very bad. Also very recently there's
been
fighting in these provinces. It is not a sight for beautiful women. . . ." He spoke coolly, but he watched me all the time with interest. This is his revenge, I thought, because I went to him the night before the execution of the Duke of Enghien. Because I eluded him that night. Because I love
Jean-Baptiste. Jean-Baptiste, a general he hadn't chosen for me.

"Sire—I beg yon with all my heart, for permission to go to my husband. I haven't seen him for nearly two years."

Napoleon's eyes never left my face. "Nearly two years. . . . You see, gentlemen, that the marshals of France do sacrifice themselves for their country. If you wish to venture on this journey, dear Princess, you will be provided with a pass. For how how many persons?"

"For two. I'll take Marie with me."

"I beg your pardon, Princess—who?"

"Marie. Our faithful Marie from Marseilles. Your Majesty may perhaps still remember her," I flung back.

At last. The marble mask vanished, and an amused smile took its place. "Of course, the faithful Marie—Marie of the marzipan cakes."

And to one of his aides, "A pass for the Princess of Ponte Corvo and one woman companion." He looked searchingly around, and his eyes lighted on a tall grenadier colonel. "Colonel Moulin! You will escort the Princess and be responsible to me for her safety." And then to me, "When do you plan to leave?"

"Tomorrow morning, Sire."

"Please convey my warm regards to the Prince and tell him you bring a gift from me. In recognition of his services in this victorious campaign—" Napoleon's eyes glistened, his smile was almost a sneer. Here it comes, I thought. "I present him with the residence of the former General Moreau in the rue d'Anjou. I recently bought it from his wife. I'm told that the general has chosen America for his exile. It's a pity, a capable soldier, but unfortunately a traitor to France. A great pity. . . ."

As I curtsied I saw only his back. The hands clasped convulsively behind his back. The house of General Moreau, the Moreau who, just like Jean-Baptiste, would not betray the Republic on the eighteenth of Brumaire, and who was arrested five years later in connection with a Royalist conspiracy and
sentenced to two years' imprisonment. It was ridiculous to arrest this faithful general of the Republic as a Royalist. The First Consul changed his sentence to exile for life. And now the Emperor has bought his house and is giving it to Moreau's best friend, Jean-Baptiste, whom he hates but cannot do without.

That's how I come to be travelling along country roads, through battlefields strewn with horses, their stomachs distended and all four legs sticking out stiffly. Past little mounds of earth on which are warped, hastily put together wooden crosses. It's raining, raining all the time.

"And they all have mothers," I said irrelevantly.

The colonel beside me, who had been asleep, sat up. "Who? Mothers?"

I pointed to the mounds of earth on which the rain rustled down. "The dead soldiers. They're all sons!"

Marie drew the curtains in front of the carriage windows. In bewilderment the colonel peered from one to the other of us. We were silent. He shrugged and closed his eyes again.

"I miss Oscar," I said to Marie. I have left Oscar for the first time since he was born. In the early morning hours before my departure, I drove with the child to Mme Letizia in Versailles. The Emperor's mother lives in the Trianon. She had just returned from early Mass.

"I'll take good care of Oscar," she promised. "Remember, I've brought up five sons."

Brought up—but badly, I thought. But one doesn't say any such thing to the mother of Napoleon. She stroked the child's forehead with her rough hand which, in spite of care and creams, will never lose the traces of heavy housework. "Go without anxiety to your Bernadotte, Eugénie. I'll take good care." Oscar—I feel cold without my little son. When he's sick, he always sleeps in my bed.

"Should we not stop at an inn?" asked the colonel. I shook my head. It was now late night and Marie put a bottle, filled with hot water at a coach station, under my feet. The rain rattled on the carriage roof. The soldiers' graves and their
poor crosses were drenched. And so we drove toward Marienburg.

"Now I've seen everything," popped out as our carriage finally drew up in front of Jean-Baptiste's headquarters. I'd gradually got used to palaces, but the Marienburg is no palace. It's a fortress. A medieval, grey, hideous castle, dilapidated and unhomelike. Soldiers swarmed around the entrance. Such heel-clicking and excitement when Colonel Moulin showed my pass. The Marshal's wife in person.

"I want to surprise the Prince; please don't announce me, I said as I alighted. Two officers led me through the gateway and into a badly paved courtyard. I looked in horror at the thick, crumbling walls, and expected any moment to meet minnesingers, knights and their ladies. But I saw only soldiers from the different regiments.

"Monseigneur is nearly well. Monseigneur usually works at this hour and doesn't like to be disturbed. What a surprise! said the younger of the two officers and laughed.

"Couldn't you find any better headquarters than this?" I asked tactlessly.

"At the front, the Prince doesn't care where he lives. And here we at least have room for our offices. This way, if you please, Princess."

He opened an unimpressive door, and we walked along a cold and stuffy corridor. Finally we came to a little anteroom, and Fernand hurled himself at me.
"Madame!"

I almost didn't recognize him, so splendidly was he turned out. A wine-red lackey's uniform with huge gold buttons adorned with a strange coat of arms.

"How elegant you've become, Fernand." I laughed.

"We are now the Prince of Ponte Corvo," he explained solemnly. "Please look at these buttons, madame." He stuck out his stomach to show me all the buttons on his coat. "The Ponte Corvo coat of arms. Madame's coat of arms!" he announced proudly.

"At last I have a chance to see it," I said as I studied the intricate design with interest. "How is my husband, Fernand?"

"We are now quite well again, but the new skin over our wound still itches," Fernand informed me. I put my finger on my mouth. "Shh." Fernand understood and very quietly opened the door.

Jean-Baptiste didn't hear me. He was sitting at the desk, chin in hand, studying a huge volume. The candle beside the book cast a light only on his forehead. His forehead was clear and very calm. I looked around. Jean-Baptiste was surrounded by a strange confusion of familiar objects. In front of the fireplace with a crackling fire stood the desk with files and leather volumes. Next to the fireplace hung a huge map, on which the flickering flames cast red lights. In the background I saw Jean-Baptiste's narrow camp cot, a table with his silver washbowl, and bandage material. Otherwise the big room was empty. I went a little nearer. The log in the fireplace crackled so Jean-Baptiste didn't hear me. The collar of his dark-blue uniform was open, and he was wearing a white neckcloth. Under his chin the cloth was loose, and I saw a white bandage. He turned a page in the fat volume and made a note in the margin.

I took off my hat. It was very warm beside the fireplace, and for the first time in days I felt warm and safe. But I was tired, so dreadfully tired. But that didn't matter now. I was at last at my destination.

Your Highness," I said. "Dear Prince of Ponte Corvo . . ."

At the sound of my voice, he jumped up. "My God—
Désirée!"
He was beside me in two rapid strides.

"Does the wound still hurt?" I asked between kisses.

"Yes, especially when you press against it so hard," he admitted ruefully. Alarmed, I let my arms fall. "I'll kiss you Without putting my arms around you," I promised.

" Could you? Splendid—"

I sat on his lap. I pointed to the heavy volume on his desk. "What are you reading?"

"Law. An uneducated sergeant must learn many things if he's to administer all of North Germany and the Hanseatic towns," he said. "And don't forget that I'm also to continue governing Hanover and Ansbach."

I closed the book and clung to him desperately. "Oscar was ill," I whispered. "And you left us alone. You were wounded, and far away—"

His mouth was gentle. "Little girl, little girl—" he said and held me close.

Until the door suddenly was flung open. It was definitely embarrassing. Naturally I sprang from his lap, and smoothed my hair. In the doorway stood only Marie and Fernand.

"Marie asks where the Princess will sleep. She wants to unpack the travelling bags," Fernand said accusingly. I realized he resented my bringing Marie.

"My Eugénie can't spend the night in this bug-infested fortress," cried Marie.

"Bugs? Not one," Fernand cried back. "These damp walls kill all animal life. In the quartermaster's stores there are beds, even princely beds with canopies," he declared.

"Bug-burg," Marie replied bitterly.

"Hearing those two quarrel takes me right back to the rue Cisalpine." Jean-Baptiste laughed. With a shock I remembered the Emperor's gift. After supper I would tell him we're to take over Moreau's house. First we'll dine and wine—and then—

"Fernand, you are to see that, within half an hour, a bedroom and a salon are ready for the Princess," Jean-Baptist ordered. "And not with that damp furniture from the store. The aide on duty is to requisition furniture for the Princes from the surrounding estates. Good furniture."