Days of Splendor, Days of Sorrow (27 page)

Fersen’s cheeks colored slightly. “I am no courtier,
Votre Majesté;
I am a soldier. I would follow in my father’s footsteps, if
I were fortunate enough to advance that far. He was a great Field Marshal in the Swedish army and now he is a statesman, a senator in our Riksdag. But,” the count sighed, as he gazed about the room—taking in the cherry silk draperies and white boiserie—so clearly a woman’s sphere, “fortunately for the populace, but not for a warrior, there is not much for a Swedish soldier to do.”

“So why did you return?”

“Ah, that!” Axel slapped his knees with mock theatricality. “We never got the chance to speak much during your
cercles—
”

“There were always so many people I had to greet; I am so sorry. You are one of the people I have always regretted not getting to know better. And then you returned to your homeland around the same time I became queen. But we can remedy all that, beginning this afternoon. Tell me the story now.” I lifted my legs onto the divan and settled into a reclining position. “I want to hear everything,” I murmured, closing my eyes.

“
Mon Dieu
, that’s quite a lot,” Fersen chuckled. “Where to begin?” I found his accent musical and charming; it almost didn’t matter to me what he said. And I liked the sound of his voice; so different from Louis’s high nasal timbre. “By the time I met you at the Opéra ball that Saturday night in January, 1774—it was the thirtieth, and I will remember it for all my days, for how can an impressionable young man forget the night he meets, and almost dances with, the enchanting dauphine of France?”

I opened my eyes and peeked at him. He was blushing, and surely, I thought, so was I, for the room had somehow grown warmer.

“Shall I continue,
Majesté
?” he asked, catching me watching him.

“
Oui, s’il vous plaît
. It soothes me,” I said, leaning back against the trio of blue satin cushions.

“Well, then, by the time we met, I had drunk my fill of the
usual education prescribed for a young man of the Enlightenment: a visit to Florence, Rome, and Pompeii and then on to Greece, observing in person all the great classical art and antiquities; an introduction to the heads of state of every minor duchy along the way; the obligatory call on Monsieur Voltaire in Switzerland—the poor old sage must be sick to death of young pups from every nationality popping in to venerate him as though he is Michelangelo’s Moses; and of course a tour of Paris, ending with an introduction, through the envoy to the King of Sweden, to the glittering court of Versailles.”

The count’s wry humor amused me. It was not so much what he said, but the manner in which he said it: as if, perfectly aware that he was rather a serious type of man, he could gently mock that in himself. “And then, my father wrote to tell me, ‘Come home, young man, and find a wife.’ ”

My eyes flew open and I sat up as casually as I could manage. “And did you?” The room suddenly became silent, the princesse having reached the end of her sonata. “That was a lovely composition, Marie Thérèse. Let’s have another—but something more lively this time; the other was putting me to sleep. And
molto fortissismo
.” Outstretching my arm toward our guest, I said languidly, “Come take the chair beside me, Count von Fersen. That way we will not have to shout across the room above the music.”

Butterflies danced in my chest as he seated himself and I waited for his reply. “Not for want of trying,” I heard him say. He gazed down at his primly clasped hands. “After a few years of numerous fits and starts in Sweden, I met an heiress whose family had made their fortune in England … a Mademoiselle Leyell. Despite the fact that her origins were in the so-called merchant class, her father being a director of the Compagnie des Indes,
my
father was willing to overlook her inferior social standing because
of her wealth. In April I sailed to London and began to court her in earnest.”

I swallowed hard. “And … should I tender you my felicitations, monsieur le comte?” I breathed.

Axel glanced away, not daring to meet my inquisitive gaze. “She wouldn’t have me. I did everything in my power to please my father and win the girl’s consent, but she told me she did not wish to leave her parents.” He sighed like a defeated man. “I suppose that a life of parties and balls in the vibrant city of London and all the pin money one could desire was preferable to innumerable Swedish winters with a husband of limited means.

“And so, although I admit that I was brokenhearted, I became determined to follow my initial aim: that of becoming a soldier. But since Sweden is not at war with anyone at the moment, I had to become a mercenary. Here, I had three choices: the American War of Independence continues to rage on; within the past few weeks war has broken out between France and England over France’s alliance with the United States; and Austria and Prussia are in conflict over Bavaria. And because I wish to make a career for myself, and because Frederick of Prussia’s armies are the best trained in Europe, I am on my way to offer him my services. It was a simple enough matter to secure an introduction, as his sister is the Queen of Sweden, and the king thinks highly of me.” He patted the breast of his snugly fitting tunic, where the letter of recommendation lay.

“Oh,
non
!” I gasped, reaching to clasp his hand. “You mustn’t! You cannot!” Suddenly I needed air. I rose unsteadily to my feet, my head swimming with images of this man I knew so little yet admired so much, galloping at full tilt on a coal-black steed toward Schönbrunn, bearing down on my beloved family with his cavalry saber held aloft.
“Excusez-moi!”

I exited the music room with a rustle of taffeta and made for
the entrance to the villa, in need of a gulp of fresh air. The count was not three paces behind me, following me into the sunlight. “I apologize for my rudeness, monsieur le comte,” I said breathlessly, “but I—”

“You need not enlighten me as to your distress,
Majesté
,” he replied kindly. He offered his arm, and we began to stroll along the winding lanes. A light breeze riffled the furbelows in my skirts and the ruffle of my linen cap. “No sooner had I spoken the words than I saw the anguish written upon your face. How uncivil, how callous of me to have so enthusiastically mentioned the Hapsburgs’ greatest enemy, to tell
you
, of all people in the world, of my intention to fight for him against your mother and brother!” He clapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I am an utter fool, Your Majesty. If you chose to dismiss me from your sight at this very moment and never spoke to me again, I should fully comprehend the reason.”

I placed my gloved hand on his arm and we halted our progress. Behind us, Gabrielle and Marie Thérèse, having followed us outdoors, stopped as well, several paces behind us. “As I have already expressed the regret that I did not come to know you better when I was dauphine, I should be disconsolate to lose you again so soon after your return,” I murmured. A plan began to formulate in my mind. “What if I helped to secure you a posting with a French regiment instead? I hear there are a number of opportunities for a man to distinguish himself.” In truth I had not, but I was certain they existed. Otherwise, why would such a large number of French noblemen have taken commissions and sailed for North America? “But for the time being, you would still be able to come to court often and attend my balls and
levers
and I will assure you of an open invitation to le Petit Trianon.”

We had arrived at the colonnaded Temple of Love. Sinking onto one of the curved marble benches, I admitted, “I am a bit fatigued from all this walking.”

“Can I send your attendants for some water?” he asked solicitously.

“They should be carrying some Ville d’Avray and a couple of goblets in a basket,” I replied. “Nowadays whenever I go out for any length of time, someone must always follow me with plenty of water.”

We gazed for several moments at the countryside. The gentle breeze weaving in and out of the columns felt pleasant on my warm, flushed cheeks. “What else can I say to induce you to stay in France?” I asked softly. The count’s profile, silhouetted as it was, looked so fine and noble and he had such perfect carriage. If this had been the man I met in the forest of Compiègne on the fourteenth of May in 1770 and someone had introduced him as the dauphin of France I would have easily believed him a prince.

“What if I promised to dance with you at my balls, although I do very little of it these days? I tire too easily, yet I do not forget that as dauphine I disappointed you. But I was frightened then,” I admitted.

Axel turned to look at me. “Of what?” he asked quietly.

“Many things. But of myself mostly. And of you, too,
peut-être
.”

“And you are not afraid now to dance with me?”

“No,” I lied. My ancient
tendre
for the duc de Lauzun seemed a child’s game to this; yet this was nothing, not even a flirtation. A simple conversation with the Swedish count had put me out of sorts. Or perhaps it was the ease with which we seemed able to confide in each other that stirred something in me, a body already so sensitive to the slightest emotion, so susceptible that laughter and tears might come one after the other in rapid succession, or at the same time in a flurry of mirthful hysteria. Finally I gathered the courage to say the words I had longed to voice for the past hour. “Did you love Mademoiselle Leyell?”

The count gazed into the middle distance where a flock of wild geese had just landed on the grass. “It would have been a
good match,” he replied. “She had a lively temperament that suited me well. Soft, fair hair. Large blue eyes. And I had been persuaded that she was not indifferent to me.” He sighed heavily and raked a hand through his lightly powdered umber hued hair. “I think perhaps she reminded me of someone I’d once met. And so I believed I was in love with her. A young man’s heart, even that of a sober Swede, is often given to flights of fancy. And the memory plays tricks on him. A chance encounter late one evening in a crowded, overheated ballroom, the scent of her perfume that lingers long after she has gone. The melody of her voice that never leaves your ears. The cadence of her walk. The tilt of her head. The changeability of her smile. And perhaps when my father saw her bankbook, I thought I saw all those qualities in Mademoiselle Leyell. Clearly, however, the young lady found me lacking.”

My ladies must have decided that I had spent enough time alone with the count, for they began to approach the temple with the wicker basket.

Yet Axel had more to say to me. “Nevertheless, however brief an initial encounter may be, I do believe in the
coup de foudre
as the French say, in that ‘thunderclap’ of becoming love-struck right then and there. I wonder,” he added, turning slowly to face me, “whether it is possible for one to ever forget one’s first love. That is, if one is wise enough—or fool enough—to recognize that one has indeed fallen in love.”

Ever so gently he reached out with his gloved hand and blotted a falling tear that had mutinously escaped my eyes, bringing his finger to his lips. “My secret,” he whispered. And turning to face my attendants, he said, “
Ah, bon, Majesté!
Your water has arrived.”

D
ECEMBER
1778

Early in the evening on the eighteenth of December I awoke from a nap thinking I had been dreaming of swimming in a lake with my sister Charlotte. My nightgown was soaked through and my thighs were covered in fluid. I shouted for help, thinking something was terribly wrong, afraid I was losing my baby.

The maid who slept in a cot near the foot of my bed rang for the doctors and Monsieur Vermond. Poor thing, she was barely older than a child herself and didn’t know what to do either, terrified of touching me, or any of the linens, and making a mortal error.

Several minutes later, the bespectacled
accoucheur
arrived with his box of instruments, his supper interrupted. After briefly examining me by placing his cold fingers on my thighs and blotting the liquid away with a clean, moist cloth, he informed me that it was perfectly normal for my bag of waters to break shortly before the pains of labor commenced.