The Second Empress (9 page)

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says darkly. “But there will not be an encore performance. The world will see the Bonapartes as one. Not just the Bonapartes—the Beauharnais.”

“Your stepchildren will attend?”

The emperor nods curtly. “Eugène is coming from Italy, and I have told Hortense she is to be my new wife’s Mistress of the Robes.”

I hope my eyes don’t reveal what I think about a man who would command his twenty-six-year-old stepdaughter to serve his teenage wife immediately after she has been forced to see her own mother tossed aside. I picture Hortense with her mousy brown hair and pale, innocent eyes.
Yes, Your Majesty. No, Your Majesty. Of course, Your Majesty
. An entire life of subservience, first to her dramatic mother, then to her husband, Louis Bonaparte—the ill-tempered king of Holland—and now to the second empress of France.

“Everything will be perfect this time,” he tells me. “I’m sending Caroline to collect the princess from Austria, and you will be there to report what happens.”

“Your Majesty?” This is the first I’ve heard of it.

“Is there anyone else who will tell me the truth in this court?”

I stop to think. “No.”

“Which is why I need you. I will surprise your entourage in Compiègne. I’m traveling there tomorrow to see that her apartments have been suitably redecorated.”

“Your Majesty is going to great expense.” It is a neutral statement, something that can be taken either way. But Napoleon smiles.

“This is the marriage I was destined to have. A Hapsburg princess as fertile as a sow. And I have hired the same Master of Ceremonies used by King Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette.”

“Won’t the people say that’s bad luck?”

“If they are fools!” he thunders, and his gray eyes are wide, like those of a man possessed. “Why? Is that what they’re saying?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But when they hear about King Louis’s—”

“Then they will know that this is a wedding of immense significance. I have planned it all,” he confesses. “There will be fireworks and
fêtes
, and two thousand prison sentences will be commuted. I am renovating the entire Château de Compiègne in under two months. They are working on it night and day.”

“And she expects this?”

“I expect it. I am the emperor of France.”

Yes, despite a revolution fought to bring an end to such titles. He notices my hesitation and his neck grows red.

“
What
?”

“Nothing, sire.”

“The thoughts that are going through your head,” he commands. “Word for word.”

“ ‘It is not titles that honor men,’ ” I reply, “ ‘but men that honor titles.’ ” A quote from Machiavelli.

He stops to think how this applies to him and realizes what I’m saying. There is nothing inherently great about his title of emperor. But because the people believe in it, they will break their backs building, and decorating, and renovating. Parisians will live in thrall to their new empress until the shining title becomes tarnished in their eyes. It happened twenty years ago, and there’s no reason to think it won’t happen again. “ ‘The governments of the people are better than those of princes,’ ” he quotes back at me. “Is that what you believe?”

“I am too young and inexperienced to say, Your Majesty. But I believe in freedom.”

He smirks. “Of course. For the people of Haiti and all of our colonies.”

“Yes,” I say boldly. “And it’s an accident of birth that your mother wasn’t born a slave in Martinique.”

There is a moment of silence between us, and as he watches me intently, my stomach tightens. “I once believed that General L’Ouverture was the most dangerous threat in Haiti,” he says. “But perhaps I was wrong.” He continues to watch me, and I think of what the French did to L’Ouverture when they captured him. Then suddenly Napoleon laughs. “
Martinique
?” he repeats, slapping me on the back. “You never give up, Paul, do you?”

“Your Majesty.”

“You truly think that someday I’ll change my mind. But believe me”—he sobers—“as long as there are men on this earth, there will be other men who enslave them.”

“That it exists doesn’t make it right.” I am pushing him, but he has a marriage before him and his mood is good. If he can’t listen to debate now, then when?

He considers this argument briefly and shrugs. “It’s the way of the world, Paul. Be thankful your island is free—for now.” He turns my attention to the last wooden chest, and our conversation is over. “For Joséphine,” he says. Inside is an expensive china set, Sèvres porcelain. “Do you think she’ll like it?”

Not as much as her wedding ring
, I want to reply, but the amount of honesty a king is willing to tolerate is not as great as a commoner. “Yes. She will entertain well with it.”

He glances down at a letter on Méneval’s desk. I can’t read who it’s addressed to, but I can see the date.
July 17, 1796
. “She kept them all, you know.”

“Who, Your Majesty?”

“Joséphine. She gave this one back to me last night. I was wildly passionate about her once.” He picks up the letter, and even after thirteen years, the ink is still crisp. The emperor hands it to me and says quietly, “See for yourself.”

It’s not addressed to Joséphine, but the intended recipient is clear.

I have received your letter, my adorable friend. It has filled my heart with joy. I am grateful to you for the trouble you have taken to send me the news. I hope that you are better today. I am sure that you have recovered. I earnestly desire that you should ride on horseback: it cannot fail to benefit you
.

Since I left you, I have been constantly depressed. My happiness is to be near you. Incessantly I live over in my memory your caresses, your tears, your affectionate solicitude. The charms of the incomparable Joséphine kindle continually a burning and a glowing flame in my heart. When, free from all solicitude, all harassing care, shall I be able to pass all my time with you, having only to love you, and to think only of the happiness of so saying, and of proving it to you? I will send you your horse, but I hope you will soon join me. I thought that I loved you months ago, but since my separation from you I feel that I love you a thousandfold more. Each day since I knew you, have I adored you yet more and more. This proved the maxim of Bruyère, that “love comes all of a sudden,” to be false. Everything in nature has its own course, and different degrees of growth
.

Ah! I entreat you to permit me to see some of your faults. Be less beautiful, less gracious, less affectionate, less good, especially be not overanxious, and never weep. Your tears rob me of reason and inflame my blood. Believe me, it is not in my power to have a single thought that is not of thee, or a wish I could not reveal to thee
.

Seek repose. Quickly reestablish your health. Come and join me, that at least, before death, we may be able to say, “We were many days happy.” A thousand kisses, and one even to Fortuna, notwithstanding his spitefulness
.

—
Bonaparte

For a moment, I don’t know what to say. The letter is incredibly intimate, and not something he should be showing his sister’s chamberlain. “Who—who is Fortuna?” I finally ask.

“Her dog. She was insanely fond of him. The children used to bring him to visit her in prison during the Revolution,” he remembers. “So much history …” He shakes his head. “I’ve instructed the entire court to visit her at Malmaison. She’ll never be lonely,” he swears. For a moment, I am moved by this compassion. Then he slips his hand beneath his jacket and adds, “She adores me, Paul. I could marry seven more times, to any woman I wanted, and she will still need me. That’s what’s important.”

To the empress at Malmaison
.

December 1809; 8 o’clock in the evening
.

My love—I found you more feeble today than you ought to be. You have exhibited much fortitude, and it is necessary that you should still continue to sustain yourself. You must not yield to funereal melancholy. Strive to be tranquil and above all to preserve your health, which is so precious to me. If you are attached to me, if you love me, you must maintain your energy, and strive to be cheerful. You cannot doubt my constancy, and my tender affection. You know too well all the sentiments with which I regard you, to suppose that I can be happy if you are unhappy, that I can be serene if you are agitated. Adieu, my love. May you have peaceful sleep. Believe that I wish it
.

Napoleon

To the empress at Malmaison
.

Tuesday, six o’clock
.

The queen of Naples, whom I have just seen at the chase in the woods of Boulogne, where I ran down a stag, informed me that she saw you yesterday at one o’clock in the afternoon, and that you were very well. I pray you to tell me what you are doing today. As for me, I am very well. Yesterday, when I saw you, I was sick. I think that you have been out to walk. Adieu, my love
.

Napoleon

To the empress at Malmaison
.

Tuesday, seven o’clock in the evening
.

I have received your letter, my love. Savary tells me that you weep continually. That is not right. I hope that you will be able to go out to walk today. I sent you a line from the chase. I shall go to see you, as soon as you inform me that you are reasonable and that your fortitude resumes its ascendancy. Tomorrow, all the day, I shall be occupied with the ministers
.

Adieu, my love. I am as sad as the weather is gloomy. I have need to know that you are tranquil, and to learn that you have regained your self-control. May you have peaceful sleep
.

Napoleon