Désirée (84 page)

"I thank you in the name of France—citizeness."

Lafayette had come to meet me. His eyes smiled out of a hundred wrinkles. His hand lay protectingly under my arm to lead me into the room. "Who are all these people?" I whispered dumfounded.

"Representatives of the Nation, my child," Lafayette said kindly.

"And—this great Nation, Highness, has many representatives." Talleyrand had joined us. Behind him stood Fouché with a white cockade on his coat lapel. The many representatives of the Nation bowed. Suddenly there was a dead silence. Only the roaring of the sea in the street penetrated the closed shutters.

"And all those people in the street? What are they waiting for?"

"A rumour has spread that Your Highness was trying to negotiate," said Fouché rapidly. "The people of Paris have been waiting for hours for the return of Your Highness."

"Tell the people that the Em—that General Bonaparte has surrendered to the Allies and has departed. Then they will go home."

"They want to see you, citizeness," Lafayette said.

"Me? See me?"

Lafayette nodded. "You bring us peace. Capitulation without civil war. You have fulfilled your mission, citizeness."

I shook my head in horror. No, no, not that . . . But Lafayette wouldn't let go my arm. "Show yourself to the people, citizeness. You have saved many lives. May I escort you to a window?"

Helplessly, I let him lead me into the dining room. A window overlooking the rue d'Anjou was opened. Shouts rose from the darkness. Lafayette went to the window. He flung wide his arms. The shouting ebbed away. The old man's voice rang like a trumpet: "Citizens and citizenesses—peace is assured. General Bonaparte has given himself up as a prisoner of war, and to a woman . . ."

"A footstool," I whispered.

"A—what?" asked Rosen.

"A footstool, I'm too short for a crown princess!" I told him, and thought—Josephine, Josephine. . . .

"—and to a woman, a citizeness, chosen by a freedom-loving people in the far north as their crown princess—Napoleon has surrendered his sword. The sword of Waterloo!"

Again shouts rose from the darkness. Lafayette stepped quickly aside. A footstool was placed in front of the window. With both hands I held out the sword. Torches glowed, the darkness below me seethed. Then I made out the words. They kept shouting the same thing to me:
"Nôtre dame de la paix!" —
"Our Lady of Peace!" First exultantly, and finally in rhythm again and again.
"Nôtre dame de la paix! Nôtre dame de la paix!"

I stood still and tears streamed down my cheeks. Lafayette
went back and thrust young Count Rosen forward. The old man took up a candlestick and let the light play on the Swedish uniform and the blue-and-yellow sash. "Sweden, long live Sweden," the crowd cheered. The Swedish flag was run up the flagpole over the gate; the night breeze toyed with it and made it look enormous.
"Nôtre dame de la paix
. . . . !" They cheered long after I'd got down from the footstool, and the windows were closed. Then I stood, feeling strange and lonely in my own salon. The representatives of la Grande Nation formed excited little groups. I think they were quarrelling. Someone said, "Talleyrand has already started on the armistice negotiations." And another, "Fouché will send an secret courier to fat Louis!"

They unfortunately made no move to leave. I laid the sword on the table beneath the portrait of the First Consul. Marie put fresh candles in the candelabra. She was wearing her new blue silk. "Marie—I think we should offer them some-refreshment. Perhaps the cherries we planned to preserve? And some wine?"

"I would have baked some cakes if I'd known all this earlier. This time we've managed to get a lot of flour."

Yes, the sacks of flour in the basement. I listened. In the street they were still shouting.

"Marie, those people down there have been hungry for days. Have the sacks of flour brought up from the cellar. The cook can dole it out in front of the house. The gendarmes will help. Each is to have as much as he can carry away in a handkerchief or scarf."

"Eugénie—you're crazy," Marie said tenderly.

Ten minutes later the representatives of the Nation rushed to the wine as though dying of thirst, and spat the cherry pips in all directions. My knee throbbed so painfully I could hardly think. I limped to the door. But Talleyrand stopped me. "Has Your Highness hurt her leg?"

"No, no—I'm only tired, Your Excellency."

He raised his lorgnon. "Our Republican friend, the Marquis de Lafayette, seems to be an old idol of Your Highness."

His tone of voice infuriated me. "He's the one man with clean hands in this room," I blurted out.

"Naturally, Your Highness. All these years he's devoted himself to his vegetable garden, and washed his hands in innocence. Now they're clean—those hands!"

"The silent ones in the country . . . " I began.

"Are always a dictator's most useful subjects."

We listened. Even through the closed shutters we heard the scraping of many feet, and the gendarmes' commands. "That's only the distribution of flour," I murmured.

"How kind you are, my child—first you bring peace of mind and then food for the hungry." Lafayette had joined me, his blue eyes looked at me affectionately.

"How kind and how wise." Talleyrand smiled as he took a glass of wine from a servant. "The little country with the big future—first negotiates and later distributes food." He handed me the glass. "To Sweden, Your Highness."

It occurred to me that I had eaten nothing all day, and I dared not drink on an empty stomach. I noticed, too, that Fouché wanted to snatch the sword. "No, you don't," I cried, limping quickly over.

"But the French government—" he protested. For the first
time I saw the gleam in his small eyes. A very greedy gleam.

"The sword has been surrendered to the Allies and not to
the French government. I will keep it until General Blücher
and General Wellington decide about it."

I held the sword of Waterloo again like an umbrella and supported myself with it. Perhaps cold compresses will help my poor knee, I thought, and looked at the portrait. The First Consul stared scornfully into space.

The silent ones of the country were quarrelling again with the traitors to the Republic. I heard them all the way up to my bedroom. My knee was blue and very swollen. Shaking her head, Marie peeled off my rumpled dress. The street was quiet. I began to write in my diary. . . . And now at last it's dawn. Papa, Lafayette has become an old man. And your broadside of the Rights of Man is probably in Sweden. . . . Since Napoleon's return from Elba no more than ninety,
ninety-five—no—a hundred days have passed. A hundred days and a hundred eternities—am I actually only thirty-five years old? Jean-Baptiste died one death in the Battle of Leipzig, and the young Désirée in the maze of Malmaison. How can two such strangers ever live together again?

I don't believe I'll ever write in my diary again, Papa.

PART FOUR

The Queen of Sweden

Paris, February, 1818

N
OW
it has actually happened to me.

Although I've known for years that one day it would, I couldn't really imagine it. But now it's come. And nothing, I nothing can undo it.

I was at the piano trying to play a new melody Oscar had composed. A shame that Jean-Baptiste wasted so much money on my piano and deportment lessons, I thought once again as I pecked at the keys. At which point the Swedish Ambassador was announced. There was nothing unusual in this, he called frequently, and the afternoon was grey and rainy— just right for a cup of tea.

But the moment he entered the room, I understood. He just stood there. The door closed behind him. We were alone. Yet he stood motionless at the door and didn't move. The whole room lay between us. I wanted to hurry to him. Then he bowed. We were both most uneasy. His bow was so deep, so —solemn. I saw the mourning band on his arm, and felt as though all the blood had left my face.

"Your Majesty—" He slowly stood erect. "Your Majesty, I come with sad news. King Charles passed away on the fifth of February."

I might have been turned to stone. People I've loved have died. The trembling little old king I'd hardly known at all. But his death meant . . .

"His Majesty has delegated me to inform Your Highness of all the circumstances, and to give you this letter."

I didn't stir. The Ambassador came to me, and held out a sealed letter to me. "Your Majesty, please—" he implored, I reached out a trembling hand and took the letter.

"Sit down, Baron," I murmured, and sank into the nearest chair. My hands shook while I broke the heavy seal. It was a large sheet of paper, on which Jean-Baptiste had scribbled in great haste:

Dearest, you are now Queen of Sweden. Please behave accordingly. In haste, Your J. -B.

And below, a postscript,

Don't forget to destroy this letter at once.

Behave accordingly: I let the letter fall and smiled. I knew the Ambassador was watching me. The Ambassador with his band of mourning. I quickly tried to assume a sad and dignified expression. "My husband writes me that I'm now Queen of Sweden," I said earnestly.

At that the Ambassador began to smile. "On February 6, His Majesty was proclaimed by the Royal Heralds King Charles XIV John of Sweden and Norway, and the wife of His Majesty was proclaimed Queen Desideria."

"Jean-Baptiste should never have permitted that! I mean, to call me Desideria," I murmured. To that the Ambassador had no answer. "How—how did it happen?" I asked at last.

"The old gentleman passed away peacefully. He had a stroke on the first of February, and two days later we knew the end was near. His Majesty and His Highness, the Crown Prince, were in the sickroom."

I tried to imagine the scene. The Stockholm Palace, the over-crowded sickroom, Jean-Baptiste, and His Highness, the Crown Prince. Oscar—Crown Prince Oscar . . .

"My friend, Solomon Brelin, has written me exactly what happened. In the antechamber outside the sickroom the mem
bers of the court and the Government had assembled. The connecting door was open. At about seven o'clock, on February the fifth, the King's breathing became quieter. We realized he had regained consciousness. The Queen fell on her knees at his bedside, Princess Sofia began to pray half out loud. Suddenly the old gentleman opened his eyes and stared fixedly in the direction of the Crown Prince—I mean His Majesty. And His Majesty steadily returned his look. He moved only once, to ask the Crown Prince to bring him a coat. My friend writes that His Majesty was very pale and seemed cold. Although the heat in the small room was almost unbearable. . . .

"The longer the dying man gazed at the Crown Prince—I mean at His Majesty—the quieter and easier became his breathing. At a quarter to eleven it was all over."

I bowed my head. I, too, was suddenly cold. "And then?"

"The Dowager Queen and Princess Sofia Albertina left the
death room, and the others, too, withdrew. Only His Majesty
remained. He expressly wished to be left alone with the dead
King."

The Ambassador shivered a little, but went on quickly. "At midnight His Majesty received members of the Government, representatives of the Army, and the senior civil servants, who swore the oath of allegiance to him. This ceremony is required by the Constitution. Early in the morning His Majesty was proclaimed by the Royal Heralds King of Sweden and Norway. After that, His Majesty attended the service of mourning. And after this, His Majesty mounted his horse, and received the oath of allegiance from the troops of the Stockholm garrison. Meanwhile, the citizens of Stockholm had gathered at the Palace gates to do homage to their sovereign. The next day His Majesty, for the first time, ascended his throne in Parliament, and took the royal oath. As His Majesty laid his hand on the Bible, Crown Prince Oscar knelt before his father. . . . Your Majesty cannot imagine the rejoicing in Sweden. The coronation ceremony at the request of His Majesty will not be held until the eleventh of May."

"Really— the eleventh of May?"

"Has His Majesty a special reason to choose this date?"

"On the eleventh of May, it will be just twenty-five year since the soldier Jean-Baptiste Bernadotte became a sergeant in the Army of the French Republic. It was a great day in my husband's life, Your Excellency."

"Yes, yes, of course, Your Majesty."

I rang for tea. Marcelline came in to help me serve it. We drank our first cups in silence.

"More tea, Your Excellency?"

"You're very kind, Your Majesty."

Poor Marcelline was so shocked she dropped a cup, with a crash. Soon afterward the Ambassador took his leave. '"The French King will undoubtedly pay Your Majesty a visit of condolence," he assured me.

"Broken china means good luck," whispered Marcelline and looked at me in awe.

"Perhaps— Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Her Majesty, Queen of Sweden and Norway!" She rolled out the words impressively.