Désirée (67 page)

I heard Count Rosen in the next room ask La Flotte if I'd ever be ready. I rearranged my violets. In half an hour my personal association with my first love would be over. . . . Yesterday evening a courier from Stockholm brought me Jean-Baptiste's answer to Napoleon. The letter was sealed, but Count Brahe had enclosed an exact copy for me. Count Brahe also informed me that a copy of Jean-Baptiste's letter to Napoleon had been given all the newspapers.

I stood up and for the last time read the copy. "The sufferings of the Continent make peace imperative, and Your Majesty cannot refuse this demand for peace without increasing tenfold the sum of the crimes you have already committed. What benefits has France derived which could possibly compensate her for her enormous sacrifices? She has gained nothing but military glory and superficial fame, while misery exists everywhere within her borders. . . ."

And I'm to deliver this letter to Napoleon. Things like this only happen to me. My heart beat faster, as I read on:
"I was born in the beautiful country of France which is
under your rule. Her honour and well-being can never be a matter of indifference to me. But without ceasing to pray for the prosperity and happiness of France, I shall always, to the best of my ability, defend that Nation which elected me Crown Prince, and the sovereign who adopted and recognized me as his son. In this conflict between world tyranny and freedom, I shall say to the Swedes: I am fighting with you, and for you, and all freedom-loving peoples will bless our struggle. As to my personal ambitions, I declare to you that I am ambitious, very ambitious. But my ambitions are to serve mankind, and to achieve and maintain the independence of the Scandinavian Peninsula."

This letter, addressed by Jean-Baptiste not only to Napoleon but also to the French nation, ended on a personal note: "Regardless of the outcome, whether you decide for peace or war, Sire, I shall always retain for Your Majesty the regard of a former comrade in arms."

I put the copy back on the night table. Count Rosen was waiting. I had been told to be at the Tuileries at five o'clock in the afternoon. In the next few days the Emperor and his new army leave for the front. Russia is on the move, Prussia has joined with Russia. Napoleon made up his mind long ago. I picked up the sealed letter and straightened my hat.

Count Rosen wore the dress uniform of the Swedish dragoons and his aide's sash. "You accompany me on difficult missions, Count," I said as the carriage rolled over the Pont Royal. Since that night at the hospital, there's been a strange comradeship between us. Probably because I was there when he was sick. Somehow these things bring people close together.

We drove in the open carriage, the air smelled of spring and the blue dusk softened the outlines of everything around us. Now one should have a rendezvous, a fleeting, secret rendezvous for which to wear violets and buy a new hat. Instead, I had to hand the Emperor of the French a letter destined for posterity from the Crown Prince of Sweden, and bring on a Napoleonic outburst of rage. A waste of this lovely twilight.

We didn't have to wait a minute. The Emperor received us in his large study. Caulaincourt and Ménéval were there. Count Talleyrand was over at the window and didn't turn until I was halfway to the big desk. Napoleon had no intention of sparing my spur-clanking Rosen and me the well-known long, painful walk from the door to his desk. Napoleon wore the green Chasseur uniform, and with folded arms stood in front of the desk, leaning back on it, and watched me with a slightly sneering smile. I bowed, and without a word handed him the sealed letter.

The sealing wax cracked. The Emperor read it without betraying any emotion. He handed the sheets of paper, thick with Jean-Baptiste's handwriting, to Ménéval"A copy for the archives of the Foreign Ministry, the original to be kept with my private papers." And to me, "You're all dressed up, Highness. Violet suits you. But what a peculiar hat. Are high hats in style these days?"

This was worse than the outburst of fury I had expected. It was ridicule, ridicule not only of me, but also the Crown Prince of Sweden. I pressed my lips firmly together.

Napoleon turned to Talleyrand. "You know something about beautiful women, Excellency. How do you like the new hat of the Crown Princess of Sweden?"

Talleyrand kept his eyes half-closed. He seemed unutterably bored. Napoleon turned again to me.

"Have you made yourself so beautiful for me, Your Highness?"

"Yes, Sire."

"And wore violets to bring me this—" he snorted through his nose—"this scrap of paper from the former Marshal Bernadotte? Violets, madame, bloom in obscurity, and smell sweet. But this treachery over which the English and Russian newspapers are already rejoicing, stinks to high heaven, madame!"

I bowed. "May I ask leave to withdraw, Sire?"

"You not only may withdraw, madame, you absolutely must withdraw," he roared. "Or did you think I would allow you to come and go freely at court? While Bernadotte is at war with me? And gives orders to fire on the regiments he himself
has led in countless battles? And you, madame, dare come here—wearing violets . . ."

"Sire, the night of your return from Russia, you urged me to write to my husband and to bring you his answer myself. I have read a copy of his letter, Sire, and I'm sure you are seeing me for the last time. I wore violets because they look well on me. Perhaps you'll have a pleasant memory of me, Sire. May I now—for always—withdraw?"

There was a pause. A dreadfully painful pause. Count Rosen stood, stiff as a statue, behind me. Ménéval and Caulaincourt stared at the Emperor in astonishment. Talleyrand actually opened his eyes. Napoleon was definitely disconcerted, and looked around uneasily. "The gentlemen will wait here. I want to speak to Her Highness a moment alone," he said finally. "Please come with me to my study, Your Highness." He indicated the wallpapered door. "Ménéval, pour the gentlemen some brandy."

I saw Ménéval open a wall cupboard, then went into the same room where years before I had pleaded in vain for the life of the Duke of Enghien. The room was practically unchanged. The same small tables, the same piles of documents. Only probably different documents. On the carpet in front of the fireplace lay wooden blocks in various colours. The blocks were notched. Without thinking, I bent over and picked up a red one. "What's this? A toy for the King of Rome?"

"Yes—and no. I use these blocks when I'm planning a campaign. Each one represents a certain army corps. And the notches indicate the divisions at the disposal of each corps. The red block you have in your hand is the Third Army Corps —Marshal Ney's. It has five notches, that is, Ney's corps consists of five divisions. And here—the blue block with three notches is Marmont's Sixth Army Corps with three divisions. When I lay out these blocks on the floor, I can clearly visualize a battle, I have the map in my head. It's really very simple—"

"But do you also chew on the little blocks?" I'd noticed with surprise that a piece of wood had been bitten off the block in my hand.

"No, that's the little King of Rome. As soon as he's brought in here he gets out the bright little blocks; he knows where I keep them. Then, together, we build them up, my little eagle and I. And sometimes he gnaws one of them. God knows why. Mostly he chews on the corps of the worthy Ney."

I put the red block of wood back on the floor.

"You wanted to say something to me, Sire? I refuse to discuss, with Your Majesty, His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince of Sweden."

"Who wants to talk about Bernadotte," he said irritably. "It wasn't that, Eugénie, it was only—" He came close to me and stared at my face, as if he wanted to impress each feature on his memory. "Only when you said you hoped I would have pleasant memories of you, that you were saying farewell forever, I thought—" He turned away brusquely, and went to the window. "People can't part like that when they've known each other so long. Can they?"

I stood in front of the fireplace, the tips of my shoes toying with the coloured blocks of wood. Corps Ney, Corps Marmont, Corps Bernadotte? No, there is no such corps any more. Instead, he has an army, a whole army, made up of Swedish, Russian and Prussian troops. The Army Bernadotte fighting on the other side. . . .

"I said that one can't part like that, without further explanation," came from the window.

"Why not, Sire?"

"Why not? Eugénie! Have you forgotten the days in Marseilles? The hedge, the meadow? Our talks about Goethe's novel? Our youth, Eugénie, our youth. . . . You didn't understand at all why I came to you. The evening I got back from Russia. I was so terribly cold, I was so tired and so alone, and. . . ."

"While you were dictating the letter to Jean-Baptiste, you had completely forgotten that you had known me as Eugénie Clary. You came to see the Crown Princess of Sweden, Sire."

I was sad. Even at our parting, he was lying, I thought.

But he shook his head emphatically. "I had been thinking about Bernadotte. That very morning. But when I reached
Paris, I longed to see you, only you. And then—I don't know how—I was so tired that evening, as soon as we mentioned Bernadotte I forgot Marseilles again. Can't you understand?"

It was dark. No one came to light the candles. I could no longer distinguish his features. What did he want?

"In these last weeks I have organized a new army of two hundred thousand men. By the way, England has promised Sweden one million pounds to pay for the equipment of Bernadotte's troops. Did you know that, madame?"

I didn't answer. Besides, I hadn't known it.

"Do you know who advised Bernadotte to give copies of his letter to me to the enemy press? Mme de Staël is with him in Stockholm. In the evening, she probably reads her novels to him. Did you know that, madame?"

Yes—I knew it; it doesn't matter, why does he bring it up?

"Bernadotte seems not to have found a more delectable companion."

"Yes, he has, Sire." I laughed. "Mlle George gave a command performance with great success in Stockholm and enjoyed the benevolence of His Royal Highness. Did you know that, Sire?"

"My God, Georgina, sweet little Georgina. . . ."

"His Royal Highness will soon be seeing his old friend Moreau again. Moreau is returning to Europe to fight under Jean-Baptiste's command. Did you know that, Sire?"

How lucky that the darkness lay like a wall between us.

"They say the Tsar has promised Bernadotte the crown of France," Napoleon said slowly.

That sounds mad, but it's possible. If Napoleon were defeated then—yes, then what?

"Well, madame? If Bernadotte should even play with this thought, it would be the blackest treachery ever perpetrated by a Frenchman."

"Naturally. A traitor to his own convictions. May I withdraw now, Sire?"

"If you should ever feel in personal danger in Paris, madame—I mean, if people should molest you, you must immediately
seek refuge with your sister Julie. Will you promise me that?"

"Yes, of course. And the other way around."

"What do you mean—'the other way around'?"

"That my house is always open to Julie. That's why I'm staying in Paris."

"You, too, are reckoning on my defeat, Eugénie?" He came very close to me. "Your violets have a bewitching fragrance. . . . I should have you put out. You probably tell everyone that the Emperor will be defeated. Besides, it doesn't please me to have you go driving with that tall Swede."

"But he is my aide. I must always take him with me."

"Your mama would have disapproved. And your strict brother Etienne." He took my hand and laid it against his cheek.

"Today, Sire, you have at least shaved," I said and drew my hand away.

"What a pity you're married to Bernadotte," he murmured. I groped toward the door. "Eugénie!"

But I already stood in the light of the large study. The gentlemen sat around the desk, drinking brandy. Talleyrand had apparently just made a witty remark, for Ménéval, Caulaincourt and my Swede were shaking with laughter.

"Let us share the joke," the Emperor said.

"We were saying that the Senate has agreed to the calling up of 250,000 recruits for the new army," Ménéval said, and nearly collapsed with laughter.

"And if it goes on for two years, they'll be called up younger and younger and the recruits for the years 1814 and 1815 will be mere children," Caulaincourt continued. "The Prince of Bénévent, therefore, suggested an armistice of at least one day each year so that Your Majesty's new army can be confirmed."

The Emperor also laughed. It didn't sound entirely real, The recruits are now Oscar's age. "That isn't funny, it's sad," I sa
id, and bowed for the last time. This time the Emperor escorted me right to the door. We didn't say another word to each other.

On the drive home, I asked Rosen if the Tsar really had offered Jean-Baptiste the French crown.

"In Sweden, that's an open secret. Did the Emperor know about it?"

I nodded.

"What else did he talk about?" Rosen asked shyly.

I thought back. Suddenly I yanked off my violet corsage and flung it out of the carriage. "About violets, Count—only about violets."

That very same evening a small parcel from the Tuileries was delivered to my house. The lackey said that it was for the Crown Prince of Sweden. I opened it and found a small gnawed block of wood. Green, with five notches. When I see Jean-Baptiste again, I'll give it to him.