Désirée (37 page)

"To be there," Etienne said. "To be at the ceremony."

"You should have come to Paris earlier, dear brother-in-law," Jean-Baptiste said sensibly. "All the tickets have been spoken for."

Etienne, who has gotten quite fat, mopped his brow. In th
is awful weather my coach was delayed even more than usual."

"Perhaps Joseph can help him," I whispered to Jean-Baptiste. "We can't do any more now."

"Joseph is in the Tuileries with His Majesty, and can't see anyone, I've already been told," Etienne said unhappily.

"Listen, Etienne, you never liked Napoleon so you can't care that much about seeing his coronation," I said, trying to calm him.

But that really started Etienne off. "How can you say such is thing! Don't you remember that in Marseilles I was the Emperor's closest confidant, his best friend?"

"I know you were horrified when I became engaged to him," I said.

Whereupon Jean-Baptiste slapped Etienne on the back. "Really? You opposed this engagement? Brother-in-law Etienne, you're a man after my own heart. If I have to hold you on my knees in that crowded cathedral—I'll get you in somehow." Still beaming, he turned and called, "Junot, Berthier. We must smuggle M. Etienne Clary into the cathedral. Come, we've fought harder battles in our day."

So from the window I watched my brother Etienne, hidden by three marshals' uniforms, swept into Notre-Dame.

After a while the three marshals' uniforms reappeared, and reported that Etienne was sitting with the diplomatic corps. "He's next to the Turkish Minister," Jean-Baptiste informed me, "who is wearing a green turban and—" He stopped as the Pope's procession came into view, a battalion of dragoons in front and the Swiss Guard following.

Presently we saw a monk riding on a mule and holding a cross in his upraised hands. "The mule had to be hired and Despréaux says it costs sixty-seven francs a day," Marshal Ber
thier said. Jean-Baptiste laughed. Then came the Pontiff's carriage. It was drawn by eight grey horses, and we immediately recognized the Empress' gala coach that had been placed at the Pope's disposal. The Pope came into the Archbishop's palace, but we had no chance to welcome him. He donned his vestments in a downstairs room, left the palace at
the head of the highest ecclesiastical dignitaries, and walked slowly to the portal of Notre-Dame.

Someone opened a window. The crowd kept silent. Only a few women knelt as the Pope passed while most of the men didn't even take off their hats. Suddenly the Pope stopped, said something to a young man in the front row, his head held high, and made the sign of the cross. We later heard that Pius VII had noticed this young man and so many others still standing, and had smilingly remarked, "I believe the blessing of an old man can do no harm." Twice more the Pope made the sign of the cross in the clear frosty air, then the white figure disappeared through the portals of Notre-Dame, and like a red wave, the ranks of cardinals closed in behind him.

"What happens now in the cathedral?" I asked.

Someone explained to me that at the Pope's entrance the choir of the Imperial Chapel began the
Tu es Petrus,
and that the Pope would then be seated on the throne at the left of the altar.

"And it's time right now for the Emperor's arrival," he continued. But the Emperor kept the people of Paris, the marching regiments, the distinguished guests, and the head of the Holy Roman Church waiting for him another whole hour.

At last a salvo of cannon proclaimed that the Emperor had left the Tuileries. I don't know why, but suddenly we were all silent, Wordlessly we walked in front of the large mirrors on the ground floor. Silently the marshals checked on the stars of their orders and straightened their blue-and-gold backs. Valets handed them their blue capes which they flung over their shoulders. As I powdered my face, I was astonished to find that my hands were trembling.

It sounded like a rumbling storm—first far away, then louder and louder, finally raging close by,
"Vive l'Empereur—Vive l'Empereur. . . ."

First came Murat, on horseback, in the gold-laden uniform of the Governor of Paris. Behind him thundered the dragoons. Then mounted heralds: in lilac velvet embroidered with golden eagles. The heralds carried staffs embellished with gold bees. Such lilac splendour dumfounded me. And once, I
thought, I saved my pocket money to buy him a new unif
orm, because his old one was so shabby. One gilded carriage a
fter another passed, each drawn by six horses. Despréaux al
ighted from the first, the Emperor's aides from the second, t
hen the ministers. And finally, in a coach covered with gold b
ees, the Imperial princesses. The princesses were all in
white, and wore coronets in their hair. Julie came over to me q
uickly and squeezed my hand. "If only everything goes
well," she said in exactly Mama's tone of voice.

"Yes, but fix your coronet, it's crooked," I whispered back.

Like the sun suddenly emerging on this grey wintry day came the Emperor's carriage. It was gilded all over and decorated with a frieze of bronze medallions, representing the various Departments of France, joined with golden palm leaves. On top of the carriage gleamed four enormous bronze eagles, their claws clutching laurel branches. In their midst lay a large golden crown. The coach was lined with green velvet, the Corsican colour. Eight horses with white feather plumes snorted to a stop in front of the palace.

We went outside and instinctively lined up.

In the right-hand corner of the carriage sat the Emperor, Napoleon was dressed in purplish-red velvet, and when he alighted, we saw he wore wide trunk-breeches, and white silk stockings embroidered with jewels. In this costume he looked ver
y strange, like an opera star with too short legs. And why Spanish trunk-breeches, Napoleon, why trunk-breeches?

The Empress, on the other hand, sitting at his left, looked more beautiful than ever before. In her childlike curls shone the largest diamond I had ever seen. Although Josephine was heavily rouged, I felt at once that her smile—radiant and young, how very young—came from her heart. The Emperor had had a religious marriage ceremony performed, she could be crowned, she had nothing more to worry about. . . . .

When Joseph and Louis, who had been seated facing Napoleon in the Emperor's coach, went by me, I couldn't believe my eyes. They were both formidably decked out. In white from head to foot. Their shoes were white satin with gold rosettes, and I noticed that Joseph had acquired a little
paunch. While he grinned just like my Oscar's freshly pal rocking horse, Louis looked glum as he flat-footed it into the palace.

In the palace, Napoleon and Josephine quickly put on their coronation robes. For a second Josephine's mouth tightened with the strain of standing erect under the weight of her purple robe. But then Julie and Hortense, Elisa, Paulette and Caroline picked up the train, and Josephine gave a deep sigh of relief. As Napoleon laboriously pulled on a pair of gloves, the fingers stiff with gold embroidery, he looked toward us for the first time. "Can we begin?"

Despréaux had already distributed all our paraphernalia. Now we awaited his signal to take up our rehearsed positions. But the signal wasn't given. Despréaux whispered to Joseph and Joseph shrugged his shoulders. Napoleon had turned away and was studying himself in a mirror. Not a muscle in his face moved, but his eyes narrowed suddenly as he tried to view himself objectively. He saw a not quite middled-sized man. The ermine collar of his coronation robe reached nearly up to his ears. . . .
The crown of France lies in the gutter,
one need only lean down to pick it up. . . .
Well, Napoleon had leaned and fished the crown out of the gutter. The Imperial crown.

Our embarrassed whispers and aimless standing about reminded me of a funeral. I looked for Jean-Baptiste. He was with the other marshals, holding the velvet cushion with the Emperor's Chain of the Legion of Honour he had to carry in the procession. He was thoughtfully gnawing his underlip. Now we carry the Republic to its grave, I thought. Papa, your son Etienne has a ticket of admission, and your daughter Julie is a princess and wears a small gold crown. . . .

"What are we waiting for, Despréaux?" Napoleon sounded impatient.

"Sire, wasn't it decided that Madame Mère was to lead the coronation procession, and Madame Mere is . . ."

"Mother isn't here," said Louis. His voice reverberated with malicious pleasure. Napoleon had sent one courier after another to Italy to ask his mother surely to be in Paris for the
coronation. Finally Mme Letizia could no longer ignore his urgency. She'd taken leave of her exiled son Lucien and set off.

"We regret her absence greatly," Napoleon said expressionlessly. "Despréaux, we will go to the cathedral."

Fanfares blared forth. Slowly and solemnly the heralds in lilac and gold moved toward the cathedral. Pages in green followed them closely. Then came Despréaux, Master of Ceremonies, and behind him, in pairs and stiff as marionettes, tripped the sixteen marshals' wives. Then along came Serurier and Murat, Serurier with a cushion on which rested the Empress' ring, Murat with Josephine's crown. The air was icy cold when I emerged, holding the cushion with the lace handkerchief like some sacrificial offering. Passing by the crowds, held back by an impenetrable cordon of soldiers, I heard occasional shouts, "Vive Bernadotte—Bernadotte—" I stared straight ahead at Murat's gold-embroidered back. As I carried Josephine's handkerchief through Notre-Dame, music from the organ and the smell of incense wiped out all thought.

Not until we had come to the choir did Murat stop and step aside. I saw the altar and the two gold thrones. On the throne at the left sat, still as a statue, a little old gentleman in white. Pius VII had waited for Napoleon nearly two hours. I stepped up beside Murat and looked around. Saw Josephine approaching the altar, her eyes wide open, shiny with tears and smiling ecstatically. At the lowest step to the double throne at the right of the altar, she paused. Right in front of me now stood the Imperial princesses with her train. I craned my neck to see Napoleon's entrance. First came Kellermann with the large Imperial crown. After him Perignon with the sceptre and Lefebvre with Charlemagne's sword. Then Jean-Baptiste with the Chain of the Legion of Honour, next Eugène de Beauharnais with the Emperor's ring, and finally Berthier with the Imperial orb, and the lame Foreign Minister Talleyrand with a gold wire contraption into which, in the course of the ceremony, the Emperor was to let fall his robe.

The exultant notes of "La Marseillaise" poured triumphantly from the organ. Napoleon walked slowly up to the altar, with Joseph and Louis carrying the train of his purple robe. Finally Napoleon stood beside Josephine. His brothers and the marshals lined up together behind him. The Pope rose and said the Mass.

Then Despréaux gave Marshal Kellermann an almost imperceptible signal. Kellermann stepped forward and held out the crown to the Pope. It seemed to be very heavy because the delicate hands of the Pope could hardly hold it up. Suddenly Napoleon let the purple robe slip from his shoulders. His brothers caught it and passed it to Talleyrand. The organ music stopped. Clearly and solemnly the Pope pronounced the blessing. Then held high the heavy crown to set it on Napoleon's bowed head. But Napoleon's head wasn't bowed. His hands in the gold-embroidered gloves reached up and impetuously seized the crown. For a short second Napoleon held the crown above his head. Then he slowly put it on.

Not only was I startled but all the others, too. Napoleon had violated all the rituals of coronation and crowned himself.

The organ swelled, Lefebvre presented the Emperor with the sword of Charlemagne, Jean-Baptiste dropped the Chain of the Legion of Honour around his neck, Berthier turned over the orb, and Perignon the golden sceptre. Finally Talleyrand put the purple robe over his shoulders, and the Emperor slowly ascended the steps to his throne. Joseph and Louis picked up the train, and then stood, one on each side of the throne.
"Vivat Imperator in aeternum,"
proclaimed the Pope.

Thereupon Pius VII made the sign of the cross before Josephine's face and kissed her on the cheek. At this point Murat was to have handed him Josephine's crown. But Napoleon had already covered the short distance from his throne and held out his hands for her crown. So Murat gave the crown not to the Pope but to Napoleon. For the first time that day the Emperor smiled. Carefully, very carefully so as not to disarrange her hair, he set the crown on Josephine's childish curls. Escorted by Napoleon, Josephine took a step
toward the throne, then jerked to a stop and practically went
over backward. Elisa, Paulette and Caroline had dropped the
train
on purpose.
They wanted Josephine to fall, to make her
ridiculous at the moment of her greatest triumph. But by main
force, Julie and Hortense managed to hang on to the heavy
train. Napoleon took Josephine's arm and supported her.
No, she didn't fall. She just stumbled on the first step to the
throne.

While young girls of the old French aristocracy—the virgins who had caused Despréaux such anxiety—walked toward the altar with their candles, the Pope and his entourage withdrew to the crypt. Napoleon, his face expressionless, sat next to Josephine on the throne. He stared straight ahead with half-closed eyes. Since he'd mounted the throne, I'd been standing between Murat and Talleyrand in the front row below. What does a man think about who has just crowned himself Emperor of the French? I couldn't take my eyes off his set face. Now—now a muscle twitched near his mouth, he clamped his lips together firmly and suppressed a yawn. Suddenly he caught sight of me. The half-closed eyes opened and he smiled for the second time that day; not tenderly, as he had when he crowned Josephine, but easily, happily—yes, as he used to; the way he had when we'd raced to the hedge and j
ust for fun he'd let me win.