Désirée (46 page)

"Someone or other just told me that my husband had complained to the Emperor because he's always assigned these foreign troops. Jean-Baptiste has always wanted to command French troops and not these poor Saxons."

"Why—poor Saxons?" demanded Fouché

"The King of Saxony sends them into battles they care nothing about. Why, as a matter of fact, are the Saxons fighting at Wagram?"

"They are allies of France, Princess. Don't you see yourself how wise the Emperor was to put the Prince of Ponte Corvo in command of these Saxon troops?"

I didn't answer.

"They held like iron. The Saxons, I mean, under your husband's command, Princess. Or so at least says their supreme commander, the Prince of Ponte Corvo."

"But the Emperor says it's not true?"

"No, the Emperor merely says that he alone has the right to commend the troops. And that it's politically unwise and inconsistent with our honour to praise foreign troops. You didn't pay proper attention, Princess."

I must get his rooms in order, I thought, he's coming home. I stood up. "Excuse me, Your Excellency, I want to get things ready for Jean-Baptiste's return. And thank you so much for your call. I don't quite know—"

He was very close to me. Of medium height, narrow-chested, a little stooped. The long pointed nose with the sort of bloated nostrils seemed to sniffle. "What don't you know, dear Princess?"

"Why you ever came to see me. Did you want to tell me that you have my husband under observation? I can't stop you. It's not important anyway, but—why have you told all this?"

"Can't you really guess, honoured Princess?"

A thought. I suppose I turned red with rage, but my voice was loud and clear.

"Your Excellency, if you thought I would help you spy on my husband, you made a great mistake." I wanted to make a marvellous grandiose gesture, flick my hand and shout, "Get out." Unfortunately I just don't have it in me.

"If I thought so, I was indeed mistaken, that's all," he said calmly. "Perhaps I did think so, perhaps not. At this moment, Princess, I'm not sure myself."

What's it all about, I wondered—why has he come? If the Emperor wants to exile us, he will exile us. If he wants to court martial Jean-Baptiste, he will court martial him. If he wants grounds for anything, his Minister of Police will provide them. . . .

"Most women have unpaid bills at their dressmakers," . Fouché ventured quietly.

I lost my temper. "Now you have gone too far, monsieur."

"Our revered Empress, for example, always has overdue bills at Le Roy. I am naturally at Her Majesty's service at all times."

What? Is he implying that he—pays the Empress? For what services? It's unbelievable, I thought. And knew of course that it was true.

"Sometimes it is not unrewarding to read a man's correspondence. There are frequent surprises. Surprises that don't interest me, but perhaps a wife . . ."

"Don't go to too much trouble," I said in disgust. "You will find that for years Jean-Baptiste has been writing to Mme Récamier, and receives affectionate letters from her. Mme Récamier is a clever, well-read woman, and for a man like my Jean-Baptiste it's a treat to correspond with her."

I'd give a lot to be able to read the intellectual love letters Jean-Baptiste must write to Mme Récamier, I suddenly realized.

"And now you must really excuse me. I must straighten up Jean-Baptiste's room."

"Just a moment, honoured Princess. Would you be kind enough to give the Prince a message from me?"

"Certainly. What about?"

"The Emperor is at Schonbrunn in Vienna. It is clearly impossible to warn him that the English troops are massed, ready to land at Dunkerque and in Antwerp. From the Channel coast they plan to march directly to Paris. I have therefore on my own responsibility and solely for the defence of the country, decided to call up the National Guard. I want Marshal Bernadotte, as soon as he returns, to assume command of these forces and to defend France. That is all, madame."

My heartbeats slowed down. I tried to imagine what might be like. Landing by the English. Attack by the English. March to Paris. All the marshals are at some foreign front. For all practical purposes there are no troops in France. And England is attacking France. . . .

Fouché toyed with the bonbon dish again. I said, "The Emperor distrusts him—and you—you would give him command of the National Guard which must defend our frontiers?"

Fouché shrugged his shoulders. "To whom should I give the command, Princess? I am a former mathematics teacher and was never a—sergeant. Heaven sent me a marshal to Paris, and heaven be praised. Will you deliver my message to the Prince?"

I just nodded, saw him to the door. Suddenly I had a new idea. Fouché is so sly, perhaps the whole thing is a trap. "But I don't know whether my husband will consider this command if it's without the knowledge of His Majesty," I said.

Fouché stood all too close to me. He must have stomach trouble, his breath is awful. "Don't worry, madame, if it involves the defence of France, Marshal Bernadotte will accept the command." And, very quietly, "As long as he is a Marshal of France."

Whereupon he kissed my hand and departed. That same evening Jean-Baptiste's coach stopped before our house. Jean-Baptiste was accompanied only by Fernand. He hadn't even brought his personal aides. Two days later away he went again. Headed for the Channel coast.

Villa la Grange, near Paris. Autumn, 1809

I have very little time to write anything in my diary. I spend the whole day with Jean-Baptiste and try to cheer him up.

Fouché didn't exaggerate the danger back in July. The English really did land on the Channel coast and took Vlissingen. Within a few days Jean-Baptiste accomplished a miracle. He fortified Dunkerque and Antwerp so well that not only were all the English attacks beaten off, but countless English soldiers and quantities of booty fell into his hands. But the English rallied with courage and dispatch and got their ships out of Dunkerque.

This news reached the Emperor at Schonbrunn and infuriated him. In his absence, a minister had dared to call up the National Guard, and to name as supreme commander the very marshal who was under police supervision. At the same time Napoleon had to acknowledge publicly that Fouché with the help of Jean-Baptiste had defended France. Without this unanticipated mobilization and without the foresight of a marshal who made an army out of untrained peasant boys who for over ten years had never handled firearms, France would have been lost.

Fouché has been elevated to the aristocracy, and is now Duke of Otranto. That sounds almost as romantic as Ponte Corvo and Fouché is about as familiar with his duchy as we are with our Italian principality. The Emperor of course couldn't forgo the pleasure of personally designing Fouché coat of arms: a gold column with a snake coiled around it

The gold column caused great merriment. The former president of the Jacobin Club, who used to confiscate as anti-Republican every fortune he heard about, is today one of the richest men in France. One of his best friends is Thérèse Tallien's former lover, Ouvrard, the arms contractor. Ouvrard is also a banker, and often goes security for Fouché Under the circumstances, no one mentions the snake coiling around the column. Napoleon is indebted to his Minister of Police and he's also seized this opportunity to tell him what he thinks of him.

Naturally everyone waited to see if Jean-Baptiste would be honoured, and perhaps given a new high command. But Emperor didn't even write him a word of thanks.

"Why should he? I didn't save France for him," said Jean-Baptiste.

We now live in La Grange, a great big beautiful villa near Paris, which Jean-Baptiste has bought. He hates the house in the rue d'Anjou. Even though I had the rooms freshly papered, he says "shadows" lurk in every corner.

"Is it all right with you to put Moreau's bust in the hall? I asked cautiously when Jean-Baptiste first saw the house.

Jean-Baptiste looked at me. "You couldn't have found a
better place. I want all our guests to realize as soon as they enter that we will never forget we live in Moreau's former house. Strange that you always anticipate my every wish, little one."

"Why strange? I love you." I enjoy each single day that Jean-Baptiste is out of favour and we can be together quietly in the country. From Julie, of course, I hear what's going on in the big outside world.

She and Joseph have returned. The Emperor had sent Junot and his armies to Spain to help Joseph finally get to Madrid. Junot's army was practically annihilated by the Spanish patriots, backed by the English. Junot blames Joseph for this disaster because as King of Spain he assumed entire command and wouldn't listen to Junot's advice. Things have come to a pretty pass if Joseph can command armies. Only to prove to Napoleon that he can fight as well as "my little brother, the General."

Odd that Julie hasn't yet seen through Joseph. I wonder whether they would all desert Napoleon, as they did in Marseilles, if things went badly for him? No, not all of them. Josephine would be loyal. But he will soon leave her, I hear. The rumour is that he intends to divorce her. Because he hopes to found a dynasty with the help of an Austrian archduchess, a daughter of the Emperor Franz. Poor Josephine, she's been unfaithful to him but she would never desert him. Yesterday we had an unexpected visitor: Count Talleyrand, Prince of Bénévent. The Prince called it a "neighbourly call," and laughed. The duchy of Bénévent lies next to Ponte Corvo. Talleyrand and we were presented with our small principalities at the same time. After Fouché, Talleyrand is the most powerful man in the service of Napoleon. A year ago Talleyrand resigned as Minister of Foreign Affairs, presumably after a heated argument with Napoleon, during which Talleyrand warned against further wars. It seems, however, that Napoleon cannot forgo his diplomatic services. Talleyrand was appointed Grand Seigneur of the Empire, and is consulted before any important decision is made by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

I'm really fond of the lame "Grand Seigneur." He's witty and charming and never talks to ladies about war and politics. I can hardly realize he was once a bishop. He was the first bishop to take the oath to the New Republic. But because he comes from an old aristocratic family even that wouldn't have saved him from arrest by Robespierre if he hadn't fled to America in time. A few years ago Napoleon forced the Pope to excommunicate Talleyrand. Napoleon wanted him to marry and disapproved of his changing mistresses so often (Napoleon has become somewhat strait-laced, especially about members of his court). But Talleyrand always excused himself by saying he really couldn't marry, he had to remain celibate. However, his excuses were finally of no avail and he had to marry his last mistress. As soon as he married her, he was never seen with her again. I would never expect this from a former bishop. However that may be, this influential man was our unexpected caller yesterday. "Why haven't I seen you in Paris for so long a time, dear Prince?" he asked.

And Jean-Baptiste politely, "That shouldn't surprise Your Excellency. You may have heard that, because of my health, I am on leave."

Talleyrand nodded seriously, and asked solicitously whether Jean-Baptiste was feeling any better. And as Jean-Baptiste rides for hours every day, and is very tanned, he had to admit that his health was considerably better.

"Have you recently had any interesting news from abroad?" Talleyrand next inquired. That was a foolish question. In the first place, Talleyrand knows better than anyone else what is happening abroad. And secondly . . .

"Ask Fouché, he reads all my mail. Before I do," Jean-Baptiste said quietly. "However, I haven't heard anything worth mentioning."

"Not even greetings from your Swedish friends?"

I saw nothing peculiar in this question. Everyone knows that Jean-Baptiste very magnanimously sent some Swedish officers home from Lübeck instead of imprisoning them there. Naturally, he now and then gets letters from them, these people with the unpronounceable names. Nevertheless the
question did seem to be significant. Jean-Baptiste looked at Talleyrand and nodded, "Yes, I've had greetings. Hasn't Fouché shown you the letter?"

"The erstwhile mathematics teacher is a very conscientious man and has naturally shown me the letter. But I wouldn't call the greetings exactly casual. Nor on the other hand particularly promising."

"The Swedes last March deposed their mad King Gustavus and proclaimed his uncle, the thirteenth Charles, King," Jean-Baptiste remarked.

This began to interest me. "Really? This king destined by heaven to defeat the Emperor has already been deposed?"

I got no answer. Talleyrand and Jean-Baptiste still looked each other straight in the eye. The silence was oppressive. "Don't you believe, Excellency, that this Gustavus is really mad?" said I, to break the silence.

"It's hard to be sure from here," and Talleyrand smiled at me. "But I've been told that his uncle is very important to the future of Sweden. This uncle is old and sickly. And childish, isn't he, if I'm not mistaken, Prince?"

"He has adopted a young relative to succeed him. Prince Christian Augustus von Holstein-Sonderburg-Augustenburg."

"How easily you speak these foreign names," mused Talleyrand.

"I lived long enough in the North to accustom myself to these names," Jean-Baptiste replied.