Désirée (54 page)

"You'll have to stand on your feet for many long hours when receiving your subjects, if ever you're Crown Princess of Sweden, Eugénie," he said quietly. "Please—sit down. Gentlemen, let's all be seated."

So we gathered cozily around his desk. "Where were we? . . . . You wish to leave the Army, Prince of Ponte Corvo? To fight with our armies not as a marshal of France, but as one of our allies? Do I understand you correctly?"

Only then did the Foreign Minister's face show any real interest in the conversation. So that's what Napoleon wanted, had wanted all the time. An alliance with Sweden. "If I grant your request, as you have formally presented it, it is because I naturally would not place any difficulties in the way of one of my marshals who wished to be adopted by an ancient, not very healthy royal family. It was extremely sagacious of the Swedish people to prove their friendship with France by choosing one of my marshals. Had I been asked before the election, I should, of course, have preferred one of my brothers, as an earnest of my particular interest in this alliance and my great regard for the House of Vasa. But since
I wasn't consulted but only confronted with the surprising results of this election—I congratulate you, dear Prince."

"Mama—he doesn't scare me a bit."

Talleyrand bit his lip to stifle his smile, and so did the Duke of Cadore. Napoleon considered Oscar thoughtfully. "Strange that I chose a Nordic name for this particular godchild. While I was off in the hot sands of Egypt." He shook with laughter and clapped Jean-Baptiste on the shoulder. "Doesn't life play tricks, Bernadotte?" And to me, "You'll probably heard, Princess, that Her Majesty is expecting son?"

I nodded. "I rejoice with you, Sire."

Napoleon looked again at Oscar. "I understand why you must become Swedish, Bernadotte. As legally as possible. Particularly for the child. I'm told that the deposed mad King also has a son. You must never lose sight of this exiled son, Bernadotte, do you understand me?"

Now that he was already interfering with our future plans, I knew everything would work out well. He had accepted the situation.

"Ménéval—the map of the Northern countries!"

The large globe beside the desk is no more than a toy. When decisions must be made, Ménéval brings the big maps. "Come closer, Bernadotte," Jean-Baptiste sat on the arm of Napoleon's chair. The Emperor unrolled the map and spread it out on his knees. How often had the two sat thus together in the fields, I thought.

"Sweden, Bernadotte! Sweden does not observe the Continental system. Here we have Göteborg. Here English goods will be unloaded, and brought by way of Stralsund to Swedish Pomerania. From there, forwarded secretly to Germany."

"And to Russia," Talleyrand remarked quite casually.

"My ally, the Tsar of all the Russias, does not, unfortunately, pay enough attention to this problem. English goods do arrive in Russia, a country allied to us. However that may be, Bernadotte, Sweden is at the root of the problem. You will clear this up in Sweden. And if necessary, declare war on England."

Ménéval had begun to take notes on the conversation. Talleyrand watched Jean-Baptiste with interest.

"Sweden's participation will complete the Continental system. I believe we can rely on the Prince of Ponte Corvo," the Duke of Cadore said with obvious satisfaction.

Jean-Baptiste was silent.

"Have you anything to add, Prince?" demanded the Emperor sharply.

Jean-Baptiste lifted his eyes from the map. "I shall, of course, serve the interests of Sweden with all the means at my disposal," he said.

"And the interests of France?"

Jean-Baptiste stood up, carefully rolled up the map of the Northern countries, and handed it to Ménéval.

"As far as I know, Your Majesty's Government is negotiating a nonaggression pact with the Government of Sweden. This could be expanded into a treaty of friendship. I believe, therefore, that I will be able to serve not only Sweden, but my former country as well."

Former country—it hurt indescribably. Jean-Baptiste looked tired. Deep furrows ran from beside his nose to the corners of his mouth.

"You are prince of a small territory under French domination," the Emperor announced coldly. "I am forced to deprive you of the principality of Ponte Corvo and its very considerable revenues."

Jean-Baptiste nodded. "In my request I specifically asked that you do so, Sire."

"Do you intend to arrive in Sweden simply as M. Jean-Baptiste Bernadotte, inactive Marshal of France? If you wish, in view of your previous services, you may keep the title of Prince."

Jean-Baptiste shook his head. "I prefer to turn back the title along with the principality. But if your Majesty wishes to reward my former services to the Republic, I would like to ask that my brother in Pau be made a baron."

Napoleon was puzzled. "Aren't you taking your brother
with you to Sweden? There you could make him a count, or even a duke."

"I have no intention of taking my brother or any other member of my family to Sweden. The Swedish King wishes only to adopt me, and not all my relatives. Believe me, Sire, I know what I'm doing."

Involuntarily we all looked at the Emperor. Crowns, titles, honours he'd practically rained down on his incompetent brothers.

"I think you're right, Bernadotte," said Napoleon slow and stood up. We also rose. The Emperor went to his desk and studied the application for the last time. "And your properties in France? In Lithuania? In Westphalia?" he asked absent-mindedly.

"I'm selling them, Sire."

"To pay the debts of the Vasa Dynasty?"

"Yes, and to maintain the court of the Bernadotte Dynasty in Sweden."

Napoleon reached for his pen. Glanced once more at Jean-Baptiste and me. "When I sign this document, Bernadotte, you, your wife and your son will cease to be French citizens. Shall I sign it?"

Jean-Baptiste nodded. His eyes were almost closed, his lips tightly pressed together.

"This signature also means that I have accepted your resignation from the Army. Shall I sign it, Bernadotte?"

Again Jean-Baptiste nodded. I groped for his hand. The clock struck twelve. A bugle call, a sentinel's signal, sounded in the courtyard. The bugle drowned out the scratching of the pen.

This time we didn't walk all the way from the Emperor's desk to the door alone. Napoleon escorted us, his hand on Oscar's shoulder. Ménéval opened the door to the anteroom. Diplomats, generals, rulers, and ministers—foreign and domestic—bowed low.

"I should like you to join me in congratulating Their Royal Highnesses the Crown Prince and Crown Princess of Sweden," the Emperor said. "And my godson, the—"

"I am the Duke of Södermanland," piped up Oscar.

"And my godson, the Duke of Södermanland," Napoleon continued.

On our way home, Jean-Baptiste sat hunched up in a corner of the carriage. We didn't speak, but we understood each other perfectly. In the rue d'Anjou, a crowd of curious people had assembled. Someone shouted,
"Vive Bernadotte, Vive Bernadotte. . . ."
Just as on the night of Napoleon's coup d'état, when many people hoped Bernadotte could defend the Republic against him.

In front of our house Count Brahe, Mons. Gustav Mörner, and a few other Swedish gentlemen awaited us. The strangers had just arrived from Stockholm with important news.

"Your pardon, gentlemen. Her Royal Highness and I prefer to be alone," Jean-Baptiste murmured briefly as we went by them into the little salon. But we were not alone. Up from one of the easy chairs rose a thin figure: Fouché, the Duke of Otranto. The Police Minister has recently been in disfavour because he secretly negotiated with England, and because Napoleon found it out. Now he stood before us and held out to me a bouquet of deep red, almost black, roses.

"May I congratulate you," he lisped. "France is proud of her great son and . . ."

That will do, Fouché. I have given up my French citizenship," said Jean-Baptiste miserably.

"I know, Highness, I know."

Then, please excuse us. We cannot receive anyone," I said, taking the roses from him. When we finally were alone, we sat beside each other on the sofa, as tired as though we'd come a great distance. After a while Jean-Baptiste got up, went over to the piano, and absent-mindedly hit the keys with one finger. "La Marseillaise." He can play only with one finger, and only "La Marseillaise." "Today I saw Napoleon for the last time in my life," he said. And strummed on. The same tune, always the same.

Paris, September 30, 1810

This noon Jean-Baptiste left for Sweden.

He's been so busy the last few days that we had no chance for a proper good-by. The French Foreign Ministry compiled a list of Swedes, who are considered here to be particularly important. Mörner and Count Brahe briefed him on who these people are. One afternoon, Baron Alquier was announced. He wore a gold-embroidered ambassadorial uniform and the eternal smile of a courtier. "His Majesty has appointed me French Ambassador in Stockholm, and I wanted to pay my respects to Your Royal Highness before my departure."

"You needn't introduce yourself, we've known each other for years," Jean-Baptiste said calmly, but his eyes narrowed. "You were His Majesty's Ambassador in Naples when the Neapolitan Government was overthrown, and a cabinet, in accordance with His Majesty's wishes, formed."

Alquier nodded smilingly. "Wonderful scenery around Naples—"

Jean-Baptiste continued. "And you were His Majesty's Ambassador in Madrid, when the Spanish Government was forced out, and a new cabinet, complying with His Majesty wishes, set up."

"Wonderful city, Madrid, but too hot," Alquier remarked.

"And now you are coming to Stockholm," Jean-Baptiste concluded.

"A wonderful city, but too cold, I hear," Alquier said.

Jean-Baptiste waved this aside. "Perhaps it depends on how one's received. There are warm receptions and cool ones. "

Alquier continued to smile. "His Majesty, the Emperor, has assured me that Your Royal Highness will receive me very warmly. As a former, so to say—compatriot."

"When does Your Excellency leave?"

"On the thirteenth of September, Your Highness."

"We shall arrive in Stockholm at the same time."

"What a happy coincidence, Your Highness."

"Generals rarely leave anything to chance, Excellency. And the Emperor is first of all a general."

Jean-Baptiste rose. Alquier had to depart. Messengers from Stockholm arrived constantly with reports of the magnificent preparations for Jean-Baptiste's reception. Danish diplomats called, and told us that Copenhagen, too, would welcome the Swedish Crown Prince. Every morning, the pastor of the Evangelical Community in Paris came to give Jean-Baptiste religious instruction. It has been arranged that before his arrival in Sweden, Jean-Baptiste will renounce the Roman Catholic Church and become a Protestant. This ceremony will take place in a Danish port, called Helsingör. There, in the presence of the Swedish Archbishop, Jean-Baptiste will sign the Augsburg Confession of Faith. In Sweden, Protestantism is the State religion.

"Were you ever in a Protestant church, Jean-Baptiste?" I wondered.

"Yes, twice. In Germany. It looks like a Catholic church, except that there are no holy images."

"Must I become a Protestant, too, Jean-Baptiste?" He thought this over. "I don't think that's necessary; do as you like. But I haven't time for this nice young pastor and his daily lessons. He'd better instruct Oscar instead. Oscar must learn the Augsburg Confession by heart and, if possible, in Swedish. Count Brahe can help him."

Oscar is learning the Augsburg Confession of Faith in French and in Swedish. On Jean-Baptiste's night table is the list of important Swedes. The Court Chancellor's name is Wetterstedt. Gustaf, of course. Apparently most Swedes are called Gustaf. There are also many Löwenhjelms. One of them, a Karl Axel Löwenhjelm, is underlined on the list. He
will meet Jean-Baptiste in Helsingör, and from there accompany him as Chamberlain to Stockholm. Jean-Baptiste has written "Questions of Etiquette" after his name.

"I'll leave the list for you; please, with Brahe's help, learn the names by heart," Jean-Baptiste said.

"But I can't pronounce them," I complained. "How, for example, do you say Löwenhjelm?" Jean-Baptiste couldn't pronounce it either.

"But I shall learn. One can learn anything if one wants to he said, and added, "You must get busy on your preparation for the journey. I don't want you and Oscar to stay here any longer than absolutely necessary. As soon as I've prepared your apartments in the Royal Palace in Stockholm, you must set off. Promise me that?" He sounded very insistent. I nodded.

"By the way, I've been considering selling this house," he said thoughtfully.

"No, no—Jean-Baptiste, you mustn't do that to me," I pleaded.

He looked at me in surprise. "If you want to visit Paris any time, you can always stay with Julie. It's an unnecessary luxury to keep this house."

"It's my home. And you can't take my home away just like that. If we still had Papa's villa in Marseilles . . . But we haven't. Let me keep this house, Jean-Baptiste, let me keep it!" I implored him. "You will surely come back to Paris, too some time. Then you'll be glad to have your house. Or would you rather stay at the Swedish Embassy?"