Désirée (48 page)

"Will Hortense go with her to Malmaison?"

"She will probably drive with her there tomorrow. But Hortense is keeping her apartments in the Tuileries."

"And Josephine's son?"

"Eugène will continue as Viceroy of Italy. It seems he asked to resign, but the Emperor didn't let him go. After all, he adopted Josephine's children long ago. And imagine, Hortense still believes that her oldest son will be heir to the throne. She's furious. The Hapsburg Princess, whom the Emperor is marrying, is eighteen years old, and will have masses of
princes. The Hapsburgs are so horribly prolific. . . ." Julie stood up. "I must go now, dear."

"Where?"

"Back to the Tuileries. The Bonapartes wouldn't like it if
I didn't celebrate with them." She put her crown on straight. "Au revoir, Désirée, get well soon."

I lay a long time with my eyes closed. A Bonaparte is not a suitable match—for one of François Clary's daughters. Julie is used to the Bonapartes and their crowns. She's changed a great deal. How very much she's changed! Am I to blame? I brought the Bonapartes to our home. To the home of honest, simple Citizen Clary. Papa, I never knew, I've thought so often, I never dreamed it would be like this.

A small table was set up by my bed. Jean-Baptiste wished
to dine with his sick wife. I was told to stay in bed all day,
and went to sleep very early. So I had quite a shock when
Marie and Mme la Flotte suddenly appeared at my bedside. "
Queen Hortense begs to be received."

"Now? What time is it?" I was utterly confused.

"Two o'clock in the morning."

"What does she want? Didn't you tell her I'm sick, Mme la Flotte?"

La Flotte's voice cracked, she was so excited. "Of course. But the Queen of Holland won't be turned away. She asks you to see her regardless."

"Sh—not so loud. You'll wake up the whole house." I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes.

"The Queen of Holland is very upset and weeping," La Flotte informed me. She wore a very expensive dressing gown, the sleeves adorned with ermine. Perhaps Fouché pays her tailor's bills, shot through my mind.

"Marie, give the Queen of Holland a cup of hot chocolate; that'll calm her down," I said. "Mme la Flotte, tell the Queen that I'm not feeling well enough to receive her."

"Yvette has already prepared chocolate for the Queen," said Marie, and pulled the dark woollen coat she'd flung over her peasant-like linen nightshirt together at her neck. "And you get up now. I have told the Queen you will receive her
right away. Come, I'll help you, don't keep her waiting, she —is crying."

"Tell Her Majesty I'll hurry," I said to La Flotte.

Marie brought me a plain blue dress. "Better get properly dressed," she declared. "She will ask you to go with her."

"Where?"

"Get dressed, you're probably needed in the Tuileries," Marie said firmly.

"Princess, my mother sent me to ask you to have pity, and to come to her at once," Hortense wept when we met. Tears streamed down both sides of her long nose, her nose was red from crying, and pale blonde locks of hair fell over her forehead.

"I can't help your mother," I said, sitting down beside her.

"That's what I told Mama but she insisted that I ask you."

"Me?" I was really astonished.

"Yes, only you. I don't know why either—" sobbed Hortense into her chocolate cup.

"And now—in the middle of the night?"

"The Empress can't get to sleep," Hortense moaned. "And she won't see anyone— Just you."

"All right, I'll drive there with you, madame." I sighed. Marie was already at the door, holding out my hat, coat, and muff.

The Empress' apartments were only dimly lighted. Shadows danced, I bumped into furniture. But when Hortense opened the door to Her Majesty's bedroom the light nearly blinded us.

On every table, on the mantelpiece, even on the floor stood candlesticks. Wide-open, half-packed trunks gaped at us. Everywhere lay clothes, hats, gloves, robes of state, and negligees in wild disorder. Someone had been rummaging in a jewel box. A diamond tiara glittered under an armchair. The Empress was alone. She lay with outstretched arms on the wide bed, her thin shoulders shook convulsively as she sobbed into the pillow. We could hear hushed women's voices from the next room. Probably they were packing in the dressing room. Josephine, however, was all alone.

"Mama, I've brought the Princess Ponte Corvo," said Hortense.

Josephine didn't stir. She just dug her fingernails deeper into the silk coverlet. "Mama," Hortense repeated, "the Princess Ponte Corvo."

With quick decisive steps I went over to the bed. Grabbed the shoulders shaking with sobs and turned Josephine over. Now she lay on her back, staring at me with swollen eyes. She's become an old woman, I realized with a start. In this one night she's become an old woman. . . .

"Désirée—" Her lips moved. Then fresh tears started. Unchecked, they streamed down her unrouged cheeks. I sat on the side of the bed and tried to take her hands in mine. She twined her fingers around mine immediately. Her pale mouth was half-open. I saw gaps in her teeth; her cheeks were crinkly as tissue paper. She'd cried away her enamel make-up so I saw the large pores. Her child-like curls were very loose and damp on her temples. And the chin, her girlish, utterly charming and somewhat pointed chin had gone slack, showing the beginning of a double chin. Pitilessly the many candles bathed her poor face in uncompromising light. Had Napoleon ever seen her not carefully made up? "I've been trying to pack," wept Josephine.

"Your Majesty needs sleep above everything," I said. And to Hortense, "Blow out all these candles, madame." Hortense obeyed, slipping like a shadow from light to light. Finally only a very small night light flickered. Josephine's tears dried up. Short, hard sobs shook her. It was worse than the weeping. Your Majesty must go to sleep," I repeated, trying to get up.

But she wouldn't let me go. "You must stay with me tonight, Désirée," her lips trembled. "You know best how much he loves me—as he loves no one else, doesn't he? Only me, only me. . . ."

So that's why she wanted to see me. Because I know better than anyone else how much he loves her. If only I could help her. . . "Yes, only you, madame. When he met you, he forgot everyone else. Me, for example. Madame remembers?"

An amused smile played around her mouth. "You threw a
champagne glass at me. The spots could never be removed. It was a dress of transparent muslin, white with a red glow— and I had made you very unhappy, little Désirée. Forgive me, I didn't mean to."

I stroked her hand and let her go on about earlier times. How old was she then? Not much older than I am today.

"Mama, you'll like it at Malmaison. You've always considered Malmaison your real home," from Hortense.

Josephine winced. Who'd interrupted her memories? Oh, yes, her daughter. "Hortense is staying in the Tuileries," Josephine remarked, trying to catch my eye. The amused smile had gone, she looked old and tired. "Hortense still hopes Napoleon will name one of her sons his successor. I should I never have permitted her marriage to one of his brothers. The child has had so little out of life—a husband she hates and a stepfather whom she . . ."

"—whom she loves," Josephine would have said. She never got that far. With a hoarse scream Hortense flung herself at the wide bed. I pushed her back. Was she going to strike her mother? Hortense began to sob helplessly. This just couldn't go on, I thought. Hortense was weeping already and the Empress would soon tune up again. "Hortense, get up immediately and pull yourself together." I had absolutely no right to order around the Queen of Holland, but the Queen obeyed instantly. "Your mother must rest. And you, too. When does Her Majesty leave for Malmaison?"

"Bonaparte wants me to drive there early in the morning," Josephine whispered. "He has already told the workmen that my rooms—" The rest of her sentence got drowned out with sobs.

I turned to Hortense. "Didn't Dr. Corvisart leave a sleeping draught for Her Majesty?"

"Of course. But Mama won't take it. Mama's afraid someone will poison her."

I looked at Josephine. She lay on her back again, and the tears were flowing down her swollen face. "He's always known I couldn't have another child," she moaned. "I told him so. Because once I was pregnant and Barras—" She stopped, then
suddenly shrieked, "And that fool of a doctor Barras sent me to ruined me. Ruined, ruined—"

"Hortense, ask someone to bring a cup of hot tea immediately. And then get some rest yourself. I'll stay here until Her Majesty is asleep. Where is the sleeping draught?"

Hortense fumbled among the bottles and jars on the dressing table and finally handed me a small bottle. "Five drops, Dr. Corvisart said."

"Thank you. And good night, madame."

I took off Josephine's crumpled white dress, slipped the gold sandals from her tiny feet, and covered her up. A maid brought in the tea. I took the cup and sent her right away. Then I carefully dripped the contents of the bottle into the tea. There were six drops; all the better, I decided. Josephine sat up obediently and drank in thirsty, greedy gulps. "Like everything else in my life—very sweet, with a bitter aftertaste." She smiled and reminded me of the Josephine I'd always known before. Then she fell back into the cushions. "You weren't there this morning—for the official ceremony," she said drowsily.

"No, I thought you'd prefer me not to be."

"I did." A brief pause. She breathed more regularly. "You and Lucien are the only Bonapartes who weren't there."

"I'm no Bonaparte," I said. "My sister Julie is married to Joseph. That's as far as the relationship goes."

"Don't desert him, Désirée!"

"Who, Your Majesty?"

"Bonaparte."

The drops had apparently confused her. But they were calming her. I stroked her hand slowly and, without thinking, stroked a hand with swollen veins, the hand of a delicate aging woman. . . .

"When he loses his power—and why shouldn't he lose it?— all the men I've ever known have lost their power, some even their heads, like my late husband De Beauharnais. When he loses his power—" Her eyes closed. I let go her hand. "Stay With me—I'm frightened—"

"I'll sit down in the next room and wait until Your Majesty
wakes up. Then I'll accompany Your Majesty to Malmaison.

"Yes, to Malmai—"

She was asleep. I blew out the candle and went into the next room. There it was pitch dark. All the candles had burned out. I groped my way over to the window and pulled the heavy curtains apart. A gloomy winter morning dawned By its faint light I found a deep comfortable chair. I was dead tired, and my head throbbed as if it would burst. I took off my shoes, tucked my legs under me, and tried to sleep. The maid seemed to have finally finished packing. All was quiet

Suddenly I sat up. Someone was coming. The light of the candle was reflected on the walls. Spurs jingled. The candlestick was on the mantelpiece. I tried to look over the high back of my chair. Who entered the bedroom of the Empress without knocking?

He. Naturally—he.

He stood in front of the mantelpiece, peering round the room. Involuntarily I stirred. He looked quickly toward a chair. "Is someone here?"

"Only me, Sire."

"Who is 'me'?" He sounded angry.

"The Princess of Ponte Corvo," I stammered, trying to get my legs out from underneath me so that I could sit up and find my shoes. But my feet had gone to sleep and prickled something awful.

"The Princess of Ponte Corvo?" Incredulously he came closer.

"I beg Your Majesty's pardon, my feet have gone to sleep under me—I can't find my shoes—just a minute please. . . . "
I stammered on. Finally I found my shoes, stood up and sank down into a deep curtsy.

"Tell me, Princess, what are you doing here at this hour?" asked Napoleon.

"I wonder myself, Sire," I said, rubbing my eyes. He took my hand and drunk with sleep I steadied myself. "Her Majesty asked me to stay with her tonight. Her Majesty has at last gone to sleep," I whispered. Because he said nothing I felt I disturbed him. I continued, "I'd better leave and not disturb Your Majesty here. If I only knew how to get out—of this place. I mustn't rouse the Empress."

"You don't disturb me, Eugénie, sit down again."

It was already lighter. The grey, faint light of dawn picked up the furniture, the paintings, the pale-striped tapestries on the walls. I sat down again and tried to wake up a little more.

"I couldn't sleep, of course," he said, apropos of nothing. "I wanted to bid farewell to this salon. Tomorrow—this morning the workmen come."

I nodded. It was very embarrassing for me to have to be here at this farewell . . . "Look, there she is, don't you think she is beautiful, Eugénie?"

He held out a snuffbox on which a miniature was painted, considered it and went quickly back to the mantelpiece, fetched a candlestick and held the portrait under the flickering yellow light. I saw a young girl's round face with porcelain-blue eyes and very rosy cheeks. Above all a very rosy face. "It's hard to judge these snuffbox miniatures," I said. "They all look alike to me."