Désirée (47 page)

"Have you interested yourself in the Swedish language, my friend?"

"No, Excellency, I've had no occasion to do so."

"I wonder . . . A year ago when you were stationed in Denmark with your troops, the Emperor left to your discretion the invasion of Sweden. I remember writing to you about it. But you were satisfied just to look from Denmark across to Sweden—and do nothing. Why was this? I've wanted to ask i you for some time."

"You've said yourself that the Emperor left it up to me. At t
hat time, he wanted to help the Tsar conquer Finland. Our
help was not needed. It was enough, as you so rightly pointed
out, Excellency, to look across at Sweden from Denmark."

"And—the lookout? How did you like what you saw, dear friend?"

Jean-Baptiste shrugged his shoulders. "On clear nights one can see the lights along the Swedish coast. But the nights were mostly misty. I seldom saw the lights."

Talleyrand leaned forward and tapped his chin speculatively with the gold top of the cane he always carries because of his lameness. Why this conversation amused him, I couldn't imagine. "Were there many lights in Sweden, dear friend?"

Jean-Baptiste cocked his head to one side and smiled. He, too, seemed entertained by the conversation. "No, very few lights. Sweden is a poor country. A great power of day-before-yesterday."

"Perhaps also a great power of—tomorrow?"

Jean-Baptiste shook his head. "Not politically. But perhaps in other ways. I don't know. Every nation has potentialities if it can bring itself to forget its great past."

Talleyrand smiled. "Every man has potentialities too, if he—can forget his less influential past. We know examples, dear Prince."

"Things have been easy for Your Excellency. You come of an aristocratic family, and in your youth were allowed to study many subjects. Easier, far easier for you than for the examples to which you refer."

That struck home. Talleyrand suddenly stopped smiling. "I deserved that reprimand, my Prince," he said quietly. "The former bishop offers his apologies to the former sergeant." Was he waiting for Jean-Baptiste to smile? Probably. But Jean-Baptiste leaned forward in his chair, his chin in his hand, and didn't even look up.

"I'm tired, Excellency," he said, "tired of your questions, tired of the Police Minister's observation, tired of suspicion. Tired, Prince of Bénévent, very tired."

Talleyrand immediately stood up. "Then I shall make my request quickly and go."

Jean-Baptiste had risen, too. "A request? I can't imagine
what a marshal, fallen into disfavour, could do for the Grand Seigneur."

"Look here, dear Ponte Corvo—it concerns Sweden. Curious coincidence that we have just been talking about Sweden.

. . . I learned yesterday that the Swedish Council of State has sent some gentlemen to Paris to discuss the resumption of diplomatic relations between their country and ours. And it was to further this mission that the Swedes exiled their young and doubtless mad King, and put his decrepit and doubtless senile uncle on the throne. These gentlemen—I don't know whether their names mean anything to you—a M. von Essen and a Count Peyron—asked after you in Paris at once."

Jean-Baptiste frowned deeply. "These names mean nothing to me. Nor do I know why the gentlemen asked about me."

"The young officers with whom you supped after the conquest of Lübeck speak of you often. You are considered a friend of—mm—of the Far North, dear Ponte Corvo. And these gentlemen, in Paris as Sweden's representatives, probably hope that you will say a good word for their country to the Emperor."

"As you see, people in Stockholm are ill-informed," Jean-Baptiste murmured.

"I should like to ask you to receive these gentlemen," said Talleyrand evenly.

Jean-Baptiste's frown deepened. "Why? Can I help these gentlemen with the Emperor? No. Or do you want to persuade the Emperor to ask me to interfere in foreign affairs which are none of my business? I'd appreciate it, Your Excellency, if you would come right out with what you want."

"It's very simple," Talleyrand said calmly. "I should like you to receive these Swedish gentlemen and say a few friendly words to them. The choice of these words I naturally leave to you. Is that too much to ask?"

I don't think you realize what you're asking," said Jean-Baptiste tonelessly. I'd never heard him speak quite like that before.

"I shouldn't like the Swedes to get the idea that the Emperor is at present not—let's say—not availing himself of the
services of one of his most famous marshals. It would create an impression abroad that the Emperor's close associates are not in complete accord. You see, the reason for my request is very simple."

"Ton simple," Jean-Baptiste said. "Far too simple for a diplomat like you. And—far too complicated for a sergeant like me." He seemed troubled. "I don't understand you. I really don't, Excellency." With that he put his hand on Talleyrand's shoulder. "Do you mean to tell me that a former bishop is less eager to do his duty than a former mathematics master?"

Talleyrand with an elegant gesture pointed his stick at his stiff foot. "The comparison limps, Ponte Corvo. Just as I do. It's only a question of to whom one feels duty-bound."

Then Jean-Baptiste laughed. Heartily and much too loud for a prince, the laugh of his young army days. "Don't tell me that you feel any obligation to me. That I couldn't believe."

"Of course not. Allow me to think on a somewhat grander scale. . . . You know that we former bishops really didn't have an easy time during the Revolution. I escaped these perilous difficulties by going to America. This journey taught me to think not only of separate states, but of whole continents. I feel in duty bound to one continent. And that is ours, dear Ponte Corvo. To Europe as a whole, and naturally especially to France. I kiss your hand, beautiful Princess. Good-by, dear friend—it was a very stimulating conversation!"

Jean-Baptiste spent all afternoon riding. In the evening I helped Oscar with his arithmetic and had the poor child multiplying and adding until his eyes ached, and I tried to carry my tired youngster off to bed. But Oscar has grown so much I can't carry him any more. . . . We didn't mention Talleyrand's visit again, because before we went to bed we had an argument over Fernand. Jean-Baptiste said, "Fernand complains that you are too open-handed with tips. He says you give him money every few minutes."

"You told me your own self that we're rich now and I don't have to be so economical. And if I want to give pleasure to Fernand, your old school friend, truest of the true, why should he complain to you behind my back that I'm extravagant?"

"No more tips. Fernand gets a monthly salary from Fouché, and so earns more than enough."

"What—" I was dumfounded. "Has Fernand given you something to make you tipsy?"

"Little girl, Fouché asked Fernand to keep an eye on me,
and Fernand accepted because he thought it would be silly to
lose the money. But he came right to me and told me how
much Fouché is paying him, and suggested that I give him
that much less. Fernand is the most decent fellow under the
sun."

"And what does he tell the Minister of Police about you?" "Every day there's something to report. Today, for instance, I helped Oscar with his arithmetic. Very interesting for the former mathematics master. Yesterday . . ."

"Yesterday you wrote to Mme Récamier and I don't like it." We were off on a familiar theme.

So we spoke no more of Talleyrand.

Paris, December 16, 1809

It was horrible.

Painful and embarrassing for all who had to be there. The Emperor ordered his entire family, his government, his court, and his marshals to assemble. In their presence he yesterday divorced Josephine.

For the first time in ages Jean-Baptiste and I were asked to appear at the Tuileries. We were to be in the throne room at eleven o'clock in the morning. At half-past ten I was still in bed. I had decided that come what might, I would not move from my pillow. It was a cold, grey day. I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. Come what might . . .

"What does this mean? Still in bed?" Jean-Baptiste's voice.

I opened my eyes and saw the dress uniform. The high Gold-embroidered collar gleamed, the stars of his orders shone.

"I've caught cold. Apologize for me to the Master of Ceremonies."

"Like before the Coronation. The Emperor will send you his personal physician. Get up at once and get ready. We're already late."

"I don't think the Emperor will send his personal physician this time." I wasn't worried. "Josephine might happen to look up as she reads out her consent to the divorce. And she might see me. I think the Emperor would at least want to spare her that." I looked at Jean-Baptiste imploringly. "Don't you understand? This—this hateful, this horrible cheap triumph I simply cannot bear."

Jean-Baptiste nodded. "Stay in bed, little one, you have a bad cold. And take care of yourself."

I looked up as the blue velvet cape, hanging in deep folds from his shoulders, disappeared. Then I closed my eyes again. When eleven o'clock struck, I pulled the quilt up to my chin. I, too, shall grow older, I thought, with wrinkles around ill eyes, and no longer able to bear children. . . . In spite of the eiderdown I was chilly. I called Marie and asked for some hot milk. I felt as though I might really have a cold. She brought the milk, sat down on my bed, and held my hand. Before the clock struck twelve, Jean-Baptiste was back, and Julie came with him.

Jean-Baptiste promptly loosened his high embroidered collar and muttered, "The most painful scene I have ever witnessed. The Emperor expects too much from his marshals." With that he left my bedroom. Marie followed, because Julie had come in. Marie has never forgiven Julie. She is always horrid to her, though Julie is now a queen without a country. The Spaniards have thrown King Joseph out for good. But no one in Paris dares say so.

Julie told me what had happened. "We all had to stand in the throne room," she said. "Each person was assigned a place according to rank. We—I mean the Imperial family—were close to the thrones. The Emperor and the Empress came in
together, behind them the Grand Chancellor and Count Regnaud. Count Regnaud remained close to the Empress. The Empress wore white as usual. And she had powdered herself pale. Exactly right for a martyr . . ."

"Julie, don't be so unkind, it must have been terrible for her."

"Of course it was. But I never did like her; I can never forgive her on your account for . . ."

"She had never even heard of me, and it wasn't her fault," I said quickly. "And what happened next?"

"It was deathly still. The Emperor began to read a document. Something about the dear Lord alone knowing how hard this step was for him, but that no sacrifice was too great if made for the sake of France . . . And that Josephine, for thirteen years, had made his life beautiful, that he had crowned her with his own hands, and that she was always to keep the title of an Empress of the French."

"What did he look like while he was reading?"

"You know how he always looks at official functions. Carved in stone. Talleyrand calls it his 'Caesar mask.' He'd put on the mask of Caesar and read so fast it was difficult to follow. He wanted it over with as quickly as possible."

"And then what happened?"

"That's when it got so dreadfully painful. Someone handed the Empress a document, and she began to read aloud. At first her voice was so low that no one could hear a word. Suddenly she burst into tears, and handed Regnaud the sheet. He had to read it for her. It was an awful moment . . ."

"What did her document say?"

"That, with the permission of her beloved husband, she hereby declared she could bear no more children. And that, for the sake of France, the greatest sacrifice was being demanded of her that any woman would ever be asked to make. That she thanked Napoleon for his goodness, and is convinced that this divorce is necessary so that France can someday be ruled by direct descendants of the Emperor. But the dissolution of her marriage could in no way change the dictates of her heart. . . . Regnaud read all this about as passionately
as though he were reading a prescription. And all the time she was sobbing her heart out. . . ."

"And afterward?"

"Afterward all of us, members of the family, went to the Emperor's large study. Napoleon and the Empress signed the divorce decree and then we signed as witnesses. Hortense and Eugène led their weeping mother away, and Jérôme said, 'I'm hungry.' The Emperor looked at him as though he'd enjoy boxing his ears in front of us all. But he only turned around and said, 'I believe that a luncheon has been prepared for my family in the great hall. I beg you to excuse me.' Whereupon he disappeared and the others all rushed to the buffet. That's when I saw Jean-Baptiste leaving. Naturally I asked where you were. He told me you were sick and I came home with him—" Julie paused.

"Your crown is crooked, Julie." As always on official occasions she wore a tiara in the shape of a crown, and as always it was on a slant. She sat down at my dressing table, tidied her hair, powdered her nose, and chattered on, "Tomorrow morning she leaves the Tuileries and goes to Malmaison. The Emperor has given her Malmaison and paid all her debts. Besides, she's to get an annual pension of three million francs; two million must be paid by the State, and one million by the Emperor. Napoleon has also given her two hundred thousand francs for the new plants she has already ordered for Malmaison, and four hundred thousand francs for the ruby necklace a jeweller is making for her."