The Second Empress (34 page)

“You don’t think it’s anything serious?” I ask.

“I’d be lying if I said no. You’ve been in pain for seven years, and in terrible pain now for two.”

Yes. I used to think it was God’s way of punishing me for giving away my virtue at the Clary house. “
You’re the prettiest girl in Marseilles,
” Clary told me. “
You can’t blame me for wanting this
.” So I chose to believe him and blamed myself. Then I married Leclerc and suddenly understood. It wasn’t something about me—it was what all men wanted.

“If you will lie down on the couch,” Dr. Espiaud says, “and pull up your gown …”

I do as he asks, and wait for the inevitable pain. It’s only a few moments.

One … two … three …

He sits back and hurriedly makes notes in his book. Then he tells me to breathe and probes me again. When he’s finished, I struggle to sit without wincing.

“I apologize for any pain,” he says softly.

I nod, too ill to speak.

“Given what I’ve seen, and what Dr. Peyre has already told me, I believe there is an infection of the fallopian tubes.”

I have no idea what this means. “Is it curable?”

“I suggest a warmer climate, as Dr. Peyre has said, and I would refrain from any—
activity
—as often as you can. It may not be the cause, but it is undoubtedly aggravating it.”

He is so beautiful, so calm, that it’s impossible to believe he’s a doctor. He should have been born a courtier. There’s no telling to what heights he might have risen then, since beauty is as useful as money at court. “And is there anything else?” I ask.

“Yes. And this may be the most difficult of all.”

I hold my breath.

“It is likely you are infected with
chaude-pisse
.”

The clap
.

“Dr. Peyre tells me you have been applying leeches to your groin to ease the pain. I recommend stopping this. Instead, I would avoid any unnecessary stimulation.”

“What about my baths?” I ask him.

“Warm.”

“Even when I bathe in milk?”

He looks at me curiously, and I explain.

“I need it for my skin.”

“If Your Highness feels that this is a necessity, then yes, even warm milk.”

I silently review everything Dr. Espiaud has said. There doesn’t seem to be any great urgency in his voice. In fact, if I look at him carefully, he doesn’t seem terribly worried at all. Certainly I’m in pain. But perhaps he’s right. If I am careful and limit myself to one lover, it might go away.

“Does Your Highness understand what I am saying?”

“Yes. I shall have to be more prudent,” I tell him.

“Even in Nice.”

Colonel Augustin Duchand will be there. I will restrict myself to his attentions alone. “But what happens if I become sick?” I ask.

“You will need to find a physician.”

“But Dr. Peyre will no longer be serving me.” I turn my head to the side. “Would you like to travel with my suite?”

He hesitates. “I have obligations here, Your Highness. I am paid—”

“Whatever the empress is paying, I will double it.”

He blinks. “That is generous …”

“Triple.” His blue eyes widen, and I smile. “We leave in seven days.”

W
HEN MY BROTHER
hears of my new doctor, he bursts into my chamber. “Where are you going?” He looks around the room. Everything has been packed. Even the heavy rugs, which I can’t expect to use in Nice, are gone. I look into his eyes, and I know he is thinking of Corsica. Twenty years ago we fled our home with nothing but the clothes on our backs. Now the Bonapartes are fleeing again, only this time we’ll be wearing silks and fur. He stands before my new jewelry box and reaches out to touch the mother-of-pearl. “This is new.”

“I had it commissioned from Michelot last month.”

“Fifteen thousand francs at least.”

He has a merchant’s eye for prices. “Fourteen. Everything is in there,” I tell him. “The emerald
parure
, the Haitian pearls. Every state bond you gave me has been turned into jewels.”

He looks away. “That it should come to this …”

“We are Bonapartes,” I say. “What are a few diamonds if they can buy you an army?”

“I heard you sold your properties as well. Three hundred thousand francs. That’s everything, everything, Pauline. What do you have left?”

“My titles. I will always be the Princess Borghese. I will never be homeless as long as there’s Camillo.”

He takes my hand, and I know he has never touched Marie-Louise this way, with such tenderness and affection. “I will miss you.”

“You
will
defeat them,” I say.

“Of course. But it will be long and bloody.”

I put my arms around his neck and lay my cheek on his shoulder. He smells like fire. “Why did you make her regent? Her father is a traitor. She could give away Paris.”

“The thought wouldn’t even enter her mind.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she does what she’s told, even if it means visiting her son’s nursery only once in the evenings. She’ll be loyal to me.”

“And what about Nice?”

“I’ll visit as soon as circumstances allow.”

“By March?” I ask. “Even sooner.”

B
UT FATE IS
a wild horse that has slipped her reins and cannot be commanded by the Bonapartes anymore. While I wait for Napoleon on the warm beaches of Nice, Paul brings me chilling news from Paris. Holland has fallen to the nations allied against us. Then Switzerland follows, and then Spain. With every trip Paul takes, I become more tired and ill. By the end of October, it is not necessary to go to Paris anymore. The entire world has heard what has happened at Leipzig. My brother lost Germany, and there is no more empire.

“You have to eat something, Your Highness.”

“I told you, I’m not hungry.”

Dr. Espiaud looks to Paul, but neither of them can force me to eat. I lie back against my pillows and close my eyes. “Your Highness—” But he had my answer an hour ago.

I feel a soft pressure on my bed and am sure it is Paul. He will tell me he, too, has lost a home. That he knows what it is to lose one’s family to war. But he will never understand what it is to win an empire and then watch it torn to shreds by hungry nations.

“Paoletta,” a familiar voice says softly. I can’t tell if I am awake or dreaming. “Maria Paoletta, open your eyes.”

I obey.
Napoleon
? “Napoleon,” I whisper. We embrace for so long I can hardly breathe. I scramble from the covers. “Is that an
Austrian
uniform?”

He looks back at Paul, who understands his meaning and leaves. “It was the only way I could come here. The people are marching against me in the streets, calling for a return of the Bourbons. Haven’t you seen the white cockades?”

“I haven’t left this villa in days.”

“Are you sick?”

“With worry. You have nine hundred thousand men, and only half of them are truly loyal. Why are they doing this to us?”

“There is no us,” he says quietly. “The Allies say they’re fighting me, not the French.”

“And if they invade Paris? Do you think the Russian Cossacks will remember that when they find beautiful women alone in their houses?”

“Then God will have to protect them. I have done what I can for this nation.” He rises from the bed, and I grab onto his arm.

“Don’t go!”

“The army is waiting, Paoletta.”

“Then they can wait until tomorrow. Please. Just for the night.” He looks down at my robe, which has fallen open. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again.”

He breathes heavily. “One night.”

Napoleon to General Savary
.

Dresden, June 13, 1813
.

I want peace, which is of more concern to me than to anyone else … but I shall not make either a dishonorable peace or one that would bring an even more violent war within six months
.

Napoleon to Count Metternich
.

April 1813
.

I cannot take the initiative: that would be like capitulating as if I were in a fort: it is for the others to send me their proposals [for peace talks]. If I concluded a dishonorable peace, it would be my overthrow. I am a new man; I must pay more heed to public opinion, because I stand in need of it. The French have lively imaginations: they love fame and excitement, and are nervous. Do you know the prime cause of the fall of the Bourbons? It dates from [the French defeat at Battle of] Rossbach
.

Napoleon to Marie-Louise
.

1813
.

Peace would be made if Austria were not trying to fish in troubled waters. The [Austrian] emperor is deceived by Metternich, who has been bribed by the Russians. He is a man, moreover, who believes that politics consists in telling lies
.