Désirée (91 page)
Marcelline and Marie rushed in at the same time. I slipped off the cape. Marie stood before me, with the coronation costume. The gold threads in the white material had in the passage of time acquired a silvery shimmer. And when I had put on the dress, I took a deep breath. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
"What happens next, Jean-Baptiste? Who will march behind the Norwegian delegation?"
"Your two Counts with the royal insignia. On blue velvet cushions."
"Can you still remember how I carried Josephine's lace handkerchief, through all of Notre-Dame? And the crisis because they couldn't find twelve virgins?"
"The royal insignia should have been carried by the highest officials in the state," Jean-Baptiste said, "but you insisted . . ."
"Yes, I insisted that Count Brahe and Count Rosen carry them. When other Swedes had not yet become accustomed to a silk merchant's daughter, they were her knights."
"Behind them will come the lady you selected with the crown. The crown will lie on a red cushion."
"Aren't you satisfied with my choice? It doesn't say anywhere that she has to be a virgin. Only a lady from a distinguished aristocratic family. I therefore decided to award this honour to Mlle Mariana von Koskull, the former lady-in-waiting." I winked at Jean-Baptiste. "In appreciation of her services to the royal houses of Vasa and Bernadotte."
But Jean-Baptiste was suddenly concentrating on the crown jewels. I slipped on the large rings. Finally I clasped the big diamond necklace. It scratched and felt cold and strange around my neck.
"Marcelline, you can tell them in the salon that I'm ready."
Marie was about to adjust my purple robe, but Jean-Baptiste took it from her. Tenderly, very tenderly, he laid it over my shoulders. We stood side by side in front of the big mirror.
"It's like a fairy tale," I whispered. "Once upon a time there was a tall king and a tiny queen." Then I turned around quickly. "Jean-Baptiste—the broadside!"
Calmly he took the frame from the wall. And stood before me in his coronation robe, with Sweden's crown on his anointed head, and held out the broadside to me. I bowed my head and kissed the glass over the faded text of the Rights of Man. When I looked up, Jean-Baptiste's face was white with emotion.
The folding doors to the salon were flung open. Josefina had brought the children. Three-year-old Charles rushed to me, then stopped in fright. "That isn't Grandmama," he said, shying away. "That's a queen." Josefina, in rose-coloured shimmering velvet, held up the infant Oscar to me. I took the child in my arms, he was wonderfully warm, had astonishingly blue eyes, and practically no hair. For your sake, too, for you, too, I'm being crowned, you second Oscar. . . .
The distant roar of cheering in front of the closed windows reminded me of the night in which the many torches had burned bright in the rue d'Anjou. I heard Jean-Baptiste ask, "Why doesn't someone open the windows?" And, "What are they shouting? What are they crying down there?"
But I already knew. It was in French, my Swedes wanted me to understand. They remembered what they'd once read about that night. They cheered:
"Nôtre dame de la paix!"
I quickly handed Josefina the infant, because I'd begun t tremble.
What happened next was like a dream. Probably the pages and heralds had already left the Palace. Probably behind them marched the ministers and the Norwegian delegates. As we descended the marble staircase we caught a glimpse of Count Brahe and Count Rosen with the royal insignia. Rosen tried to catch my eye. I nodded almost imperceptibly, and thought about the drive from Malmaison to Paris, and about Villatte
—
The two counts slowly, solemnly left the Palace. For the fraction of a second I saw Mlle von Koskull in blue, with the crown sparkling on the velvet cushion. The Koskull looked very happy and proud because she hadn't been forgotten, and had no idea how faded she looked. Then Josefina and Oscar climbed into an open carriage. And at last came the gilded coach for Their Majesties.
"I'll be the last to arrive at the church, like a bride," I remarked. Then from all sides rose cheers. I saw Jean-Baptiste smile and wave and wanted to smile and wave myself but I was numb. For they were shouting at me, to me alone:
"Länge leve Drottningen—Drottningen—"
and I realized I was going to cry. I couldn't help myself.
At the church, Jean-Baptiste himself arranged the folds of my purple robe and escorted me to the portals. There I was met by the archbishop with all the other bishops of Sweden. "Blessed be they who come in the name of the Lord," the bishop said. Then the music of the organ rose triumphantly, and I couldn't think clearly again until the archbishop placed the crown on my head. . . .
It is late night, and everyone thinks I've gone to bed to rest up for the festivities tomorrow and the day after tomorrow in honour of Queen Desideria of Sweden and Norway. But I wanted, once more, to write in my diary. How odd that this happens to be the last page. Once it was all empty white pages, and lay on my birthday table. I was then just going on fourteen years old and asked what I should write in it. And Papa answered, "The story of French Citizeness Bernardine Eugénie Désirée Clary."
Papa, I've written the whole story and have nothing more to add. For the story of this citizeness is finished, and that of the Queen begins. I'll never comprehend how this all came about. But I promise you, Papa, to do all I can so as not to disgrace you, and never to forget that, all your life long, you were a highly respected silk merchant.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
This book is based on history, but like every novel it has its own reality. In a few incidents I have departed from history because I am persuaded that history is not always recorded to the last detail. In the light of my own interpretation of the characters and of their reactions I, for one, have chosen to believe that what might have happened did happen.
A. S.
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