Désirée (57 page)

"I shall discuss it with my husband. Anyway, I have no idea of travelling under the name of Desideria of Sweden.

I felt my eyes fill with tears. I mustn't cry now and give these three this satisfaction. I threw back my head.

"Desideria—'the one who is desired'! Perhaps Your Majesty will put your mind to a suitable incognito for me. Now may I go?"

And I slammed the door behind me so hard the sound echoed through the marble corridors. As I had once in Rome, the first palace into which fate tossed me.

From the Queen's salon I went directly to Jean-Baptiste's study. In the anteroom one of his aides barred the way. "May I announce Your Royal Highness?"

"No, thank you. I am accustomed to entering my husband's apartments without being announced."

"But I am obliged to announce Your Royal Highness," he insisted.

"Who obliges you to? His Royal Highness?"

"Etiquette, Your Highness. For centuries . . ."

I pushed him aside. He cringed as though I'd stabbed him. I had to laugh. "Don't worry, Baron. I won't upset your etiquette much longer." Whereupon I went into Jean-Baptiste's study.

Jean-Baptiste sat at his desk, a pile of documents before him, while he listened to Chancellor Wetterstedt and two other gentlemen. A green eyeshade cast a shadow over the upper part of his face. Fernand had already told me how greatly his eyes troubled him. Because here the days are so short, he has to read mostly by artificial light. He works every day from half-past nine in the morning until three o'clock at night, and his eyes are badly inflamed. Only the gentlemen who work with him constantly know about the green eye-shade. He has kept it a secret even from me so that I won't worry. He took it off in a hurry when I came in.

"Has something special happened, Désirée?"

"No. I just want to talk to you."

"Is it urgent?"

I shook my head.
"No. I'll sit quietly in a corner and wait till you're finished with these gentlemen."

I pulled a chair up to the big round stove and warmed myself. At first, I listened. Jean-Baptiste said, "You must remember that the Swedish reichsthaler is the cheapest money in Europe." And, "We cannot squander our few English pounds, so hard earned in the secret trade with England, on any but essential supplies." And, "But I must take action. I've risked my entire private fortune to stabilize the exchange. I should mobilize, yet I cannot recruit men from our ironworks and sawmills. And I should have more artillery—or did you think modern battles were won with swords and fists?"

I began to review my own attitude toward the Queen. I convinced myself I'd been right, and became much calmer. But I felt awful, unspeakably awful. Jean-Baptiste had forgotten I was there, he'd put the eyeshade back on. He held a document up close to his eyes. "I trust the Foreign Minister fully understands the significance of this. We arrested a couple of English sailors in a tavern on the Göteborg waterfront, and England is holding three Swedes to convince France that England and Sweden really are at war with each other. Now the English Government is sending over a Mr. J Thornton, one of her ablest diplomats, to discuss the exchange of prisoners. I want the Foreign Minister— Engeström himself —to confer with this Mr. Thornton."

He looked at them. "I also want Suchtelen informed. Perhaps he could take part in this conference. Unofficially, naturally."

Suchtelen is the Russian Ambassador in Stockholm. The Tsar is still formally allied with Napoleon, but he has begun to arm, and Napoleon is sending troops to Pomerania and Poland. Does Jean-Baptiste mean to effect a secret understanding between England and Russia?

"Perhaps at that time we might mention Finland to Suchtelen again," one of the gentlemen ventured.

Jean-Baptiste sighed, clearly annoyed. "You always come back to that. You'll bore the Tsar and
—
" He broke off. "Forgive me, gentlemen. I know what Finland means to you. We
can indeed bring it up again with Suchtelen. And I will also refer to it in my next letter to the Tsar. We meet tomorrow early. I wish you good evening."

The gentlemen bowed to Jean-Baptiste and to me, and backed out of the room. The fire in the stove crackled. Jean-Baptiste had taken off the eyeshade and had his eyes shut. His mouth reminded me of Oscar asleep—tired but content. How well he rules, I thought. How well—and how wisely.

"Now, what is it, little one?"

"I'm leaving, Jean-Baptiste. When it's summer and the roads are better. I'm going home, dearest," I said softly.

At that he opened his eyes. "Have you gone mad? You are at home. Here in the royal palace in Stockholm. In the summer we'll go to Drottningholm, to our summer residence. A charming little palace, with a great big beautiful park. You'll love it."

"But I must go, Jean-Baptiste. It's the only way," I insisted. And repeated to him word for word my conversation with the Queen. He listened without comment. His perpetual frown grew deeper. And then he broke loose. Like a storm.

"And I have to listen to this nonsense. Her Majesty and Her Royal Highness cannot get along. I must say the Queen is right—you don't always behave like—what's expected at the court of Sweden. You'll learn, of course, you'll learn. But, God knows, I can't be bothered with all this now. Have you any idea what's happening in the world? And what will probably come to a head in the next few years?"

He stood up and came over to me. His voice was hoarse with excitement. "Our very existence—the existence of Europe. Napoleon's system creaks in every joint. In the south, there's been no peace for a long time. In Germany, his enemies are secretly uniting; almost daily some French soldier is shot from ambush. And in the north—" He stopped and chewed his lower lip. "Napoleon can no longer depend on the Tsar, so he will attack Russia. Do you understand what that means?"

"He's attacked and conquered so many countries," said I with a shrug. "We both know him."

Jean-Baptiste nodded. "Yes, we know him. Better than
anyone else the Crown Prince of Sweden knows him. And therefore, in his hour of destiny, the Tsar of all the Russians will abide by the advice of the Swedish Crown Prince."

Jean-Baptiste took a deep breath. "And when finally there is a new coalition, under the leadership of England and Russia, then Sweden must decide. For or against Napoleon."

"Against him? That—that would mean that you would fight against France—"

"No, Napoleon and France are not the same. Not for a long time, not since the days of Brumaire, which neither he nor I have forgotten. That's also why he's concentrating troops on the frontiers of Swedish Pomerania. If he won a war again Russia, he would simply overrun Sweden, and put one of his brothers on the throne. But during a Russian war, he prefers to have me on his side. At present, he's trying to buy me: he repeatedly offers me Finland, says he will speak to the Tsar about it. The Tsar at least outwardly is still his ally."

"But you said the Tsar will never give up Finland."

"Naturally not. But the Swedes continue to hope .
. . .
Somehow I'll make it up to them."

He smiled unexpectedly. "When Napoleon is defeated when the great house-cleaning starts in Europe, then Napoleon's most faithful ally will pay through the nose. Denmark of course. Denmark will then, at the suggestion of the Tsar, forgo her rights in Norway, and Norway will be united with Sweden. And that, my little girl, is not written in the stars, but on a map."

"But Napoleon isn't defeated yet," I said. "And how cam you keep talking about Sweden's destiny and not realize that'll exactly why I must immediately return to Paris?"

Jean-Baptiste sighed. "If you knew how tired I am, you couldn't harp so on this theme. I cannot let you go. Here you are the Crown Princess. Enough. That settles it."

"Here I can only embarrass you, but in Paris I could do a lot. I've thought everything out."

"Don't be childish. Would you perhaps spy on the Emperor for me? I have my spies in Paris, never fear. I might tell you that our old friend Talleyrand not only corresponds secretly
with the Bourbons, but with me. And Fouché, now fallen into disfavour . . ."

I burst out. "I won't be a spy, Jean-Baptiste. Don't you see I what will happen when—what did you call it?—when the big house-cleaning begins? Every country Napoleon has deprived of independence will throw out the Bonaparte—kings. But France herself—France, Jean-Baptiste, was a republic before Napoleon crowned himself. So much blood was shed so willingly for that republic. You say that Talleyrand corresponds secretly with the Bourbons? Can anyone force France to take back the Bourbons?"

Jean-Baptiste shrugged his shoulders.

"Depend on it, Désirée, the old dynasties cling together and will try it. But what has that to do with you and me?"

"The old dynasties might also dispute the succession of the former Jacobin General Jean-Baptiste Bernadotte to the Swedish throne. And who will remain loyal to you then?"

I can do no more than serve Sweden with all my strength. Every franc I've saved in my life is invested in the rehabilitation of this country. Not for a second do I consider myself or my past, but only the policies which will secure Sweden's independence. If I succeed, Désirée—if I succeed, there will also be a Swedish-Norwegian union."

He had taken a chair by the stove, and his sore eyes were covered with his hand. "More than that no man can expect of anyone. And as long as Europe needs me to fight Napoleon, Europe will protect me. Who will afterward be loyal to me, Désirée?"

The Swedish people, Jean-Baptiste. Only the Swedish People, and they're all that matters. Be faithful to the Swedes, who called you here."

"And you, my darling?"

I am only the wife of a man who's probably a genius, and not the Desideria the Swedish nobles wanted. I lower your Prestige. The aristocracy here will ridicule me and the middle classes will be ready to believe what they say about the foreigner. Let me go, Jean-Baptiste. It will strengthen your position." I smiled sadly. "Next time the King has a stroke, you
will be named Regent. You can carry out your policies more easily if you have the Regency. You'll do better without me, dearest."

"It all sounds very sensible, little girl, but . . . No, no! In the first place I can't have the Swedish Crown Princess in Paris as Napoleon's hostage. My own decisions would be influenced if you were in danger, and . . ."

"But shortly before I got here you urged the Swedish State
Council not to concern itself with the fate of those you loved
most. At that time we were still in Paris, Oscar and I. No,
Jean-Baptiste, you can't consider me. If the Swedes are to be
loyal to you, you must stand by them."

I took his hand, pulled him down on the arm of my chair and snuggled up to him. "Besides— do you seriously believe that Napoleon would ever let his brother Joseph's sister-in-law be arrested? Very unlikely, isn't it? And since he knows you, he knows that nothing would come of it. Look, he sent me a sable stole at the same time he received an unfriendly letter from the Swedish Government. No one takes me seriously, dearest, let me go."

He shook his head violently. "I work day and night. In my free time I lay cornerstones for new buildings and receive rectors of universities. At the noon hour I go to the parade ground and try to show my Swedes how Napoleon drills his soldiers. I cannot carry on if I don't know you're near me, Désirée—I need you—"

"Others need me more, Jean-Baptiste. Perhaps a day will come when my house will be the only place in which my sister and her children can take refuge. Let me go, Jean-Baptiste, I beg of you."

"You can't exploit my position in Sweden to help your family, Désirée. That I would never allow."

"It won't hurt Sweden any if I can help someone in trouble. Sweden is a small country, Jean-Baptiste, with a few million inhabitants, isn't it? Only through its humanitarianisms can Sweden become great, Jean-Baptiste."

"One might think you spent your time reading books," said indulgently.

"I'll take the time, dearest. In Paris I'll have nothing else to do. I'll try to educate myself so that someday you won't have to be ashamed of me, you and Oscar."

"Désirée, the child needs you. Can you actually imagine not seeing Oscar? I don't know how things will work out. Perhaps you won't be able to get back for a long time. Europe will soon be one vast battlefield, and you and I . . . "

"Dearest, I couldn't go with you to the front in any case. And the child—"

Yes, the child. All the while I'd been trying to stifle this thought. The idea of being separated from Oscar was like a throbbing wound.

"The child, dearest, is still the Heir Apparent. Surrounded by three tutors and an aide-de-camp. Since our arrival in Stockholm, he has had very little time for me. I am familiar with his daily schedule, every minute is planned. At first he will miss me very much, but he'll soon realize that an heir apparent never considers his feelings. Only his duties. In this way our child will grow up like a born prince. And no one will ever call him a parvenu king, Jean-Baptiste—"

I leaned my head on Jean-Baptiste's shoulder and wept.

"You're soaking my shoulder again—as you did when I first met you. . . ."

He drew me to him.