Désirée (33 page)

I watched this ceremony from a platform erected for the wives of the eighteen new marshals. I held Oscar by the hand although it had been made quite clear he wasn't invited. "Madame la maréchale," said a master of ceremonies, "suppose the child cries and interrupts His Majesty's speech." But I thought Oscar should see his papa made a marshal of France. When the thousands of spectators cheered,
"Vive l'Empereur!"
be
cause Napoleon shook Jean-Baptiste's hand, Oscar waved the little flag I'd bought for him in great excitement.

Julie was on another platform. The exclusive one for the Imperial family. Since an emperor must have a distinguished family, Napoleon had designated his brothers, with the exception of Lucien, of course, Imperial princes, and their Imperial princesses. Joseph will be recognized as the successor to the throne until Napoleon has a son. Mme Letizia's title raised quite a problem. Napoleon couldn't call her "Empress Mother," because she never was an empress, but only wife of the obscure Corsican lawyer, Carlo Buonaparte. Napoleon and his brothers and sisters often speak of her as "Madame Mère," so finally he decided to present her to the nation as "Madame Mère." Madame Mere, incidentally, is still in Italy with Lucien. Hortense, the wife of His Imperial Highness, the flat-footed Prince Louis, has now become a princess by marriage. Eugène de Beauharnais, son of Her Majesty, the Empress Josephine, will also be called Prince.

Although Napoleon's sisters had, within twenty-four hours, ordered themselves gowns, embroidered all over with bees, the
Moniteur
didn't even mention their elevation to Imperial princesses. Caroline, who just before the fall of the Directorate had married General Murat, stood next to me during the ceremony, being like me a madame la maréchale We'd read in the
Moniteur
that the marshals were to be addressed as "monseigneur." Caroline asked me in all seriousness if I intended to call my husband "monseigneur" in public. I couldn't resist answering such nonsense with some of my own —"No, I'll say 'monseigneur' only in our bedroom. In public I'll call him Jean-Baptiste."

After the ceremony the eighteen marshals and their wives dined with the Imperial family in the Tuileries. The walls, carpets and curtains swarmed with gold embroidered bees. Many hundreds of sewing women must have worked day and night to finish these decorations in time. At first I couldn't think what this bee pattern reminded me of. But after I'd
drunk more and more champagne, and the bees seemed to stand on their heads, I recognized it: The Lily. Napoleon's bees are the Bourbon fleur-de-lis upside down. This is no accident, I thought. I wanted to ask Napoleon whether I was right. But I was sitting too far away from him. Now and then I heard him laugh boisterously, and once, in a sudden silence, he addressed his youngest sister Caroline across the table as madame la maréchale. . . .

"Where will it all end—" said I tactlessly to Julie, sitting on our garden bench.

"But everything has only just begun," Julie whispered, holding her bottle of smelling salts to her nose.

"Aren't you well?" I asked anxiously.

"I can't sleep properly any more," she admitted. "Suppose the Emperor leaves no son and Joseph and I succeed—" She began to shake all over and flung her arms around my neck. Désirée, you are the only person who understands me. . . . I'm still only the daughter of the silk merchant Clary from Marseilles; I can't—"

I disentangled her arms from my neck. "You must pull yourself together, Julie. Show them who you really are, show all Paris, show all France."

"Who am I really?" Julie's lips trembled.

"The daughter of the silk merchant François Clary," I said earnestly. "Don't forget it, Julie Clary. Head up, don't be ashamed."

Julie got up and I guided her to my bedroom. The ostrich feathers in her hair were crooked, and her nose was red from keeping. She let me fix her hair, put on some rouge and powder her face without a murmur. Suddenly I burst out laughing.

"Julie," I finally managed to say, "it's no wonder you are ti
red and worried. The ladies of old aristocratic families are al
ways very fragile, and so Princess Julie of the high-born Hou
se of Bonaparte is naturally less robust than Citizeness B
ernadotte."

"You're making a great mistake, Désirée, not to take Napoleon seriously," Julie said.

"You forget that I was the very first person under the sun who ever did take him seriously," I told her. "But now we must hurry. On the way to the cathedral I want to see the procession of senators."

Policemen cleared the way to the Luxembourg Palace for Julie's carriage. Here we heard Napoleon solemnly proclaimed Emperor of the French. At the head of the procession rode a regiment of dragoons. Twelve perspiring city councillors followed on foot. It was no picnic for these pot-bellied gentlemen to have to march clear across Paris in parade formation. Behind them trailed the two prefects in gala uniform. And then—greeted by roars of laughter from the spectators— old Fontanes, President of the Senate, on horseback. They had strapped Fontanes onto a brown horse, gentle as a lamb, and led by a groom. Nevertheless, it looked as though the President of the Senate would fall from his horse any minute. In his left hand he held a parchment roll; with his right he clutched his saddle desperately. Behind him the rest of the senators marched in orderly ranks. Then came a band playing an ear-shattering cavalry march, which made Fontanes on his horse even more nervous. The highest officers of the Paris garrison and four cavalry squadrons brought up the rear.

The procession stopped in front of the Luxembourg. A bugler stepped forward, trumpeted a signal in all directions. Old Fontanes righted himself, unrolled his parchment. He then announced that the Senate had decided to elect Consul General Napoleon Bonaparte Emperor of the French.

The crowd listened in silence to the old man's trembling voice and when he'd finished there were a few cries of
"
Vive l'Empereur!"
The band played "La Marseillaise," and the procession moved on. Fontanes read his proclamation again on the place du Corps Legislatif, the place Vendôme, the place du Carrousel, and in front of the City Hall.

Julie and I told the coachman to drive us as quickly as possible to the Dôme des Invalides. It would have cause a terrible scandal if we hadn't turned up punctually there. We were shown to our places in the gallery which had been reserved for the Empress, the ladies of the Imperial family,
and the marshals' wives. And we got there only just in time, Julie slid quickly into her seat on Josephine's left. I was put in the second row, and almost dislocated my neck trying to tee, what with Julie's ostrich feathers and Josephine's high-combed childish curls with pearls scattered through them. Below surged a sea of uniforms. Seven hundred retired officers in shabby uniforms, hung with orders and faded ribbons, sat in the first few rows. Right behind them, slender and frozen-stiff, were two hundred students from the Polytechnical School. Eighteen gilded chairs had been set in front of the pews. Here it was all dark blue and gold: the marshals. While retired officers and the future technicians were so awe-struck they could hardly breathe, the marshals seemed to be bearing up nicely. I saw Jean-Baptiste talking zealously to General Masséna. General Junot kept looking up at us and waving to his wife. At that Josephine snapped open her fan and held it in front of her face to show Junot his behaviour was unseemly.

The marshals stopped talking. The Cardinal approached the altar, knelt and prayed silently. At the same time we heard the sound of bugles outside and many voices shouting,
"Vive l'Empereur!"
The Cardinal rose and walked slowly toward the door, followed by ten church dignitaries. Here he received the Emperor of the French.

Napoleon was escorted by Joseph and Louis and his ministers. Both princes wore most peculiar costumes. In their wine-red velvet waistcoats, wide knee-breeches, and white silk stockings, they looked like—yes, like actors portraying lackeys in a performance at the
Théâtre Français.
The procession of clerical and secular dignitaries which had now reached the altar was arrayed in all the colours of the rainbow. Napoleon and the Cardinal were in the lead. Napoleon— an inconspicuous dark-green silhouette against this display. "He is mad, he's wearing a colonel's uniform without orders or decorations," Caroline whispered in exasperation. She sat next to Princess Hortense. Hortense jabbed her with her pointed elbow and hissed, "Ssst."

With deliberation Napoleon mounted the three steps to the
gilded throne at the left of the altar. I assume it was a throne, although I'd never seen one before. There he sat—a small lonely figure in a colonel's field uniform. I strained my eyes to make out the emblem on the high back of the gilded chair. It was an
N.
A large
N,
encircled by a laurel wreath.

Not until there was a great rustling of silk dresses around me did it occur to me that we were supposed to kneel and that the Cardinal had already begun to read the Mass. Napoleon had risen, and walked down two of the steps. "He refused to go to confession first, although Uncle Fesch told him to," Caroline was whispering to Paulette. Hortense hissed "Ssst" again. Josephine covered her face with her folded hands and looked as though she were seriously praying.

Uncle Fesch—the chubby abbé, who during the Revolution resigned to become a travelling salesman and asked Etienne for a job in the Clary firm, had long since returned to his church. From the day the French troops entered Rome, and Napoleon dictated peace conditions to the Vatican, Uncle Fesch had been sure of a cardinal's hat.

And now Uncle Fesch, in the purple of a cardinal, held the golden pyx on high. On their knees before him were the marshals, on their knees the retired officers, who in the hour of need had led the peasants, labourers, fishermen, banks clerks, and recruits to the defence of the Republic's frontiers. On their knees were the young pupils of the Polytechnical School. On her knees was Josephine, the first Empress of the French, and beside her the whole Bonaparte family. On their knees were the high dignitaries of the Church. Napoleon remained standing on the first step to the throne, and bowed his head as he waited.

The last organ note died away. Like a gentle breeze a sigh of relief soughed through the cathedral. Then thousands held their breath. Napoleon removed a paper from his breast pocket and began to speak. But he didn't unfold the paper. He spoke without notes, and he spoke quietly, but clear as a bell his voice vibrated through the cathedral.

"He took elocution lessons from some actor," Caroline whispered.
"No, from an actress," Paulette giggled. "Mlle George." "Ssst," hissed Hortense.

As he reached the final sentence, Napoleon stepped down from the first step to his throne. He stood by the altar, his right hand raised for the oath.

"And now you swear to preserve the principles of freedom
 and equality, on which are based all of our rights, with all
 the power which in you rests. Do you so swear?"

Every hand went up. Mine, too. A chorus of voices chanted
the oath, the sound swelled, soared to the dome, and died
 away.

The
Te Deum
started. Slowly Napoleon went back to the
throne, sat down and never took his eyes off the congregation.
The organ played louder.

Escorted by his eighteen gold-bedecked marshals, Napoleon
left the cathedral. Dark green pinpointed against all this
splendour. In front of the cathedral he mounted his white
horse and rode at the head of his guard back to the Tuileries. Th
e crowd cheered. A woman with crazy eyes held up an inf
ant and screamed, "Bless him, bless him!"

Jean-Baptiste waited for me at our carriage. On the way home
I said, "You sat in the front row, so you could see everyth
ing clearly. How did his face look when he sat so still on the t
hrone?"

"He smiled. With his mouth, but not with his eyes."

And since he didn't go on, but stared straight ahead, I a
sked, "What are you thinking about, Jean-Baptiste?"

"About the collar of my marshal's uniform. I can hardly b
ear the prescribed height. Besides, it's too tight and makes m
e uncomfortable."

He looked very elegant to me. His white satin vest and dar
k-blue coat were embroidered all over with oak leaves in real
gold threads. His blue velvet cape, lined with white satin, was
trimmed with gold braid. Around the hem were enormous gold
en oak leaves.

"Your former fiancé knows how to be comfortable. He laces us up
in gold oak leaves while he wears a colonel's field uniform
," said Jean-Baptiste. He sounded bitter.

When we got out of the carriage at our house, a group of young men in shabby clothes immediately descended on us. "Vive Bernadotte!" they shouted". "Vive Bernadotte!"

Jean-Baptiste hesitated a fraction of a second. "Vive l'Empereur," he finally answered. "Vive l'Empereur."

When we were alone together at dinner, he casually remarked, "You will be interested to hear that the Emperor has given the Police Minister confidential instructions to watch over not only the private lives, but also the private correspondence of his marshals."

"Julie told me that in the winter he will be really crowned," I said while I thought this over.