Désirée (81 page)

On the open staircase, lackeys stood with torches. The carriage door was flung open. For a fraction of a second, I saw the figure of the Emperor. Then Marshal Ney climbed out of the carriage . . . The crowd surged forward, broke through the cordon of guards, lifted the Emperor to their shoulders. They carried him up the open staircase. They carried him back to the Tuileries. The torchlight flickered over his face, he was smiling, his eyes closed—greedy and pleasure-seeking, like one who is thirsty and at last gets something to drink.

Again we were thrown back. Again a carriage rolled up. Again all necks were craned. This time they murmured in disillusionment. Only Fouché, come to welcome the Emperor. Only Fouché, at his service. ...

I'd had enough. Rosen had to beat a retreat through the mass of people. But when we reached the opposite bank of the Seine, we wandered through deserted streets. "One mustn't overestimate the importance of two, even three thousand enthusiasts, Your Highness." Our footsteps echoed. We were in sight of my house. Dark and without a flag it stood between its neighbours.

From every other roof waved the Tricolour.

Paris, June 18, 1815

Marie had just brought me my breakfast in bed, when the cannon boomed and the church bells began to ring. We hadn't expected a victory, and yet the guns in front of the Dôme des Invalides and the bells of Notre-Dame were proclaiming it. Just as in the old days. . . .

Julie is living with Joseph again in the Elysée Palace. Mme Letizia and all the Bonaparte brothers have returned. But in the Tuileries, Hortense is hostess. She dines with him, and arranges court balls to shorten his nights. For at night Napoleon wanders aimlessly through the empty apartments of the Empress and the deserted nursery of the little King of Rome. He's written one letter after another to Marie Louise. And bought the child a rocking horse. Marie Louise's dressing room has been repapered. Napoleon urged the workmen on. "Her Majesty may arrive at any moment from Vienna." But Marie Louise and the child have not come.

Immediately after his return Napoleon announced an election. This was to prove to foreign countries how hated the Bourbons were in France. These were the first free election since the days of the Republic. So France elected the new National Assembly. Carnot became a deputy and—Lafayette.

It can't be the same man, I thought, when I read the election returns in the
Moniteur.
But Marie said it was. The very same General Lafayette who first proclaimed the Rights of Man. How is it possible that, in all these years, no one has given a thought to Lafayette?

Papa often told us children about him. About the Marquis de Lafayette, who, at nineteen, outfitted his own ship and sailed with his Corps Lafayette to America to fight as a volun
teer for the independence of the United States. In appreciation, the Continental Congress made him a major general. . . . No, Papa, I haven't forgotten what you told me. And this Corps Lafayette fought on foreign soil for liberty. One day, this young Marquis returned to France and, in a frayed American general's uniform, mounted the rostrum in the National Assembly in Paris, and read the Declaration of the Rights of Man. You brought home the newspaper that day, Papa, and read the Declaration to your small daughter. Word for word, so I'd never forget it. . . . Then Lafayette founded France's National Guard to defend our new Republic. But what happened to him after that?

I asked my nephew, Marius. But he neither knew nor cared. Jean-Baptiste could tell me. But Jean-Baptiste is in Stockholm. His ambassador has left Paris, all the foreign diplomats have gone. Foreign countries are maintaining no further diplomatic relations with Napoleon. They don't answer his letters either, but reply only with arms.

Day and night gendarmes ride through villages routing out peasant lads to turn into soldiers, and requisitioning horses. But the peasants go into hiding, and there are no more horses. The officers who once rode with Napoleon from victory to victory produce doctors' certificates. Napoleon has disillusioned them. The state treasury is empty, their pay hasn't been raised. Even my warlike Marius must suddenly take the cure. And the marshals? The marshals have country estates to which they have retired. Davout alone stands by Napoleon. And Ney, whose regiments went over to Napoleon and forced him willy-nilly to go, too. Napoleon quickly appointed a General Grouchy a marshal. Then he marched at the head of his last army across the frontier to intercept the allies.

That was three days ago. His Order of the Day was published everywhere. We know it all by heart: "For every courageous Frenchman the time has come to conquer or to die." After this direful proclamation, stocks on the
Bourse
slumped still further. People hoarded foodstuffs. The theatres emptied, the restaurants were dark. With head bowed, Paris awaited the coup de grâce.

And then the miracle: victory bells rang out.

I dressed and went into the garden. A bee buzzed. At first I wandered aimlessly. Then I stopped and listened. Yes— it was all deathly still again. No bells. No cannon. Only the bee.

I was glad when I saw the stranger. Now I wasn't alone in that breathless silence. The stranger was in civilian clothes, narrow-shouldered, of uncertain age. I walked toward him. His thin face was crisscrossed with many little wrinkles. Then I saw his near-sighted squint. It was Lucien Bonaparte.

Lucien, who went into exile when Napoleon became Emperor. Who has lived in England all these years. How strange he should have come back just now.

"Do you still remember me, Désirée? I was at your engagement party."

We sat down on a bench.

"Why have you come back, Lucien?"

"Yes—why? After the Restoration I was the one Bonaparte who could do what he wanted. I wanted to stay in England But I heard of his return." Lucien leaned back and gazed dreamily at the garden. "How beautiful a little piece of turf can be. So quiet, so wonderfully quiet."

"Yes, the victory bells just stopped ringing."

"They were a mistake, Désirée." He watched the flight of a butterfly. "Good old Davout, whom Napoleon left in Paris to bolster morale on the so-called home front, had them rung too soon. Napoleon has won only a skirmish—the overture to a great battle. The village of Charleroi was taken. But the decision rests with Ligny and Waterloo. . . . Do you see how that blue butterfly . . ."

"Lucien, why have you come to see me?"

To spend ten peaceful minutes somewhere. The Government is being kept fully informed. And the National Assembly is sitting continuously as in the days of the Revolution." He stood up. "Now I must go to wait for further couriers."

But I detained him. "This Lafayette. Lucien—is this Deputy Lafayette the same man who proclaimed the Rights of Man?"

"Of course."

"I thought Lafayette died ages ago. Why have we never heard more from him?"

"Because he was busy with his vegetable garden. On a small, very modest estate, Désirée. When the mob stormed the Tuileries and carried the bloody heads of the aristocrats around on pikes, Deputy Lafayette protested. An order for his arrest was issued. Lafayette had to flee. He was captured at Liége and was in Prussian and Austrian prisons for many years. Not until the days of the Consulate was he released. Then he returned to France."

"And then, Lucien?"

"Then he cultivated his vegetable garden, carrots, tomatoes and probably asparagus, too. The man had fought all his life for the Rights of Man—do you suppose he wanted anything to do with the First Consul? Or with the Emperor Napoleon?"

He took my arm in a friendly way. I walked to the garden gate with Lucien.

Paw,
June 23, 1815

"If, for the first time after so many years, I raise my voice—" began Lafayette in that critical session of the National Assembly. The
Moniteur
printed the entire speech. I had read that far when the door to my dressing room flew open. Julie, screaming, staggered in, fell at my knees, and buried her tear-stained face in my lap.

The first halfway intelligible words she was able to get out were, "He has abdicated." Then again nothing but sobs. And at last, "The Prussians may be in Paris any moment—" Marie came in, we stretched Julie out on the sofa, I sat beside her and she babbled incoherently like a drunkard.

"—and he came back—in the middle of the night. In an old Post chaise—he requisitioned somewhere—his own carriage and all his belongings—fell into the hands of the Prussian gen
eral, Blücher—he drove right to us in the Elysée . . . He wanted to see all his brothers and the Ministers, but they stayed only five minutes, they wanted to hurry back to the National Assembly. The Emperor told them that he must call up a hundred thousand men at once—for a new army—and yes, then he urged poor Lucien to go before the Deputies, in his name, and reproach the Nation for leaving him in the lurch."

"And did Lucien go?"

Julie nodded. "Yes, he went and came back barely twenty minutes later. When Lucien mounted the rostrum terrible invectives were hurled at him. Lucien stood up under it calmly, not a muscle in his white face twitched while the Deputies shouted,
'A bas Bonaparte, à bas Bonaparte!'
Only when they bombarded him with inkwells did he take off his glasses. Finally the chairman called for silence, the uproar ceased, and Lucien said in an unemotional voice that the Nation had deserted his brother. But at that point Lafayette jumped up. 'Have you forgotten where the bones of your sons and brothers whiten? In Africa, on the Tagus, on the Weichsel, in the ice of Russia; two million men have fallen for the sake of one who wished to fight all Europe! It is enough!' Without a word, Lucien left the rostrum.

"I heard this all from Fouché Lucien himself told us nothing," Julie sobbed. "Joseph and Lucien talked with Napoleon all night. Until dawn—I had to keep serving coffee and brandy —the Emperor constantly paced up and down and pounded on the table and screamed. . . ." Julie covered her face with her thin hands.

"Could Joseph and Lucien talk him into abdicating?"

Julie shook her head and let her hands fall. "This morning Lafayette declared in the National Assembly, 'If General Bonaparte does not abdicate within the hour, I will demand his deposition.' Fouché came to us with this threat. They allowed Napoleon only one hour."

"And all day yesterday and all last night," I pointed out.

"Finally the Emperor signed—Fouché stood beside him. He
abdicated in favour of the King of Rome. But this didn't interest the ministers."

Marie began to massage Julie's ankles, as she had in the old days.

"And—I'm not going back to the Elysée," Julie whispered suddenly. "The children must come here, I want to stay here—" There was a wild look in her eyes. "They couldn't arrest me in your house, could they? Not here . . ."

"The allied troops aren't in Paris yet. Perhaps they'll never get here," I said.

Julie's lips trembled. "The Allies? No, our Government, Désirée—ours. A General Becker has already been assigned to watch the Emperor—by the Directorate."

"The Directorate?"

"The new government is called a directorate. They're negotiating now with the Allies. Carnot and Fouché are two of the five directors. And I'm so afraid of them—" She began to weep helplessly again. "And in the streets, they screamed at me,
'A
bas les Bonapartes!'"

The door burst open—Joseph.

"Julie, you must pack. The Emperor wants to leave Paris immediately and move to Malmaison. The whole family is to go with him. Come, Julie, please hurry."

With a wild cry, Julie dug her fingers into my shoulders. Never, never in her life would she leave me. Joseph's eyes were inflamed, his face, with heavy bags under his eyes, was grey, one could see he hadn't slept for two days and nights. "The whole family is going to Malmaison, Julie," he repeated.

Julie relaxed her hold on my shoulder. "Julie—you must go with your husband."

She shook her head, her teeth were chattering. "In the streets they're still shouting,
'A
bas les Bonapartes!'"
she repeated.

"Even so, Julie," I said, and pulled her to her feet.

"I wanted to ask if Julie, the children and I might drive to Malmaison in your carriage," Joseph murmured, avoiding my eyes.

"I meant to lend Mme Letizia my carriage. But perhaps
there'll be room for you all. The Swedish coat of arms is clearly visible."

"But you will help me, Désirée, you will, won't you?" cried Julie. Joseph went to her swiftly, put his arm around her, and led her to the door.

It's just a year since Josephine died. All the roses are blooming now at Malmaison.

Paris, during the night of June 29-30,1815

His sword lies on my night table, his destiny has come full circle, and I was the instrument. They say I fulfilled a patriotic mission. But my heart is heavy. My only outward mark is an angry bruise. . . . Perhaps this night will be over sooner if I write in my diary. This morning, earlier than God, the Nation suddenly wanted to speak to me. It sounds crazy, but it's really true.

I had lain awake for two hours, turning and tossing in this summer heat. These days the sun beats down mercilessly on the women who are again lining up at the butchers and bakers. The last cannon rumble by, to be set up in front of the city gates. No one pays any particular attention. Paris may be attacked by the Prussians, the English, the Russians, the Saxons and the Austrians, but it doesn't seem to concern people while they wait for a piece of bread. . . . Unbelievably early, in rushed Yvette. Count Rosen had to speak to me right away. Even before she could finish, the Swede was at my bedside.