Désirée (74 page)

Something clattered to the floor. Her little crown. She slammed the door behind her. I blinked my eyes the pain in my head was blinding. Yvette put the earrings of the Queen Mother of Sweden in my ears.

"They've been asking all day where you've been," Marie said, and helped me up.

"What did you tell them?"

"Nothing. But you stayed out a long time."

"I sent the manager around to collect outstanding accounts. So I had to stay in the shop to wait on the customers."

"Take off dressing gown, put on violet velvet gown, sit down again—I went through the motions mechanically.

"Five minutes to go," Marie said. Yvette tied up my curls a with a rose-coloured ribbon. Marie asked, "How is the silk business?"

"Flourishing. Satin and muslin for new court dresses for the old marshals' wives. Give me another glass of brandy, Marie."

She poured it out without a word. Without a word I drank it down. It burned, but very pleasantly. I looked in the mirror. My eyes seemed unnaturally large under the silver lids. Perhaps I should powder over the blue shadows below them? The last time I wore this dress, I had a bouquet of violets. Too bad I have none today. . . .

"By the way, Eugénie, someone sent flowers for you. Violets. They're on the mantelpiece in the little salon. It's time you went down."

I don't know whether the brandy or my fatigue was responsible—at any rate I floated down the stairs as in a dream. Below in the hall they were all assembled. Marcelline in a ball dress of Julie's. My nephew, the General, in a well-brushed dress uniform; Mme la Flotte in her best gown. Julie's daughters with purple ribbons in their hair. The small sons of Hortense all spick and span. Count Rosen in his Swedish gala-uniform with the brilliant aide's sash. Colonel Villatte, in the background, in his threadbare field uniform.

Villatte came over to me. "Your Highness, may I beg to be excused during the Tsar's visit? I'll never forget Your Highness' indulgence."

I nodded, preoccupied, and looked from one to the other of them. "Please go into the large salon. I will receive the Tsar in the little salon."

Why did they stare at me in such surprise? "Count Rosen, I see you have an aide's uniform."

"His Highness sent it to me by a Russian officer."

Jean-Baptiste thinks of everything. "You will escort me to the small salon, Count."

"And we—?" Marcelline blurted out.

I was already at the door. "I wouldn't ask any Frenchman or Frenchwoman to be presented to the sovereign of an Allied Power before peace has been concluded between France and
the Allies. As far as I know, the Emperor did not formally abdicate until today," I said.

Marius blushed. Marcelline seemed quite put out. La Flotte bit her lip. The children cried, "May we at least peep through the keyhole?"

The little salon was spotless. On the little table in front of the mirror there were champagne glasses and sweetmeats. On the mantelpiece, a silver basket of violets—they were pathetically small and wilted—and a sealed envelope. Then— the blare of trumpets and the sound of horses' hooves. The Tsar is, of course, always accompanied by his bodyguard. A carriage stopped. I stood stiffly erect in the middle of the room.

The door was flung open. A dazzling white uniform, sparkling gold epaulettes, a giant with a round boyish face, blond curls and an unaffected smile, and behind him, right behind him—Talleyrand. Behind them both milled many foreign uniforms. I bowed, and held out my hand for the blond giant to kiss.

"Your Highness, it is my sincere desire to pay my respects to the wife of the man who has contributed so much to the liberation of Europe," said the Tsar.

My two servants crept noiselessly around, serving champagne. The Tsar sat down beside me on the small sofa. In the armchair opposite—the embroidered frock coat of M. Talleyrand.

"The Prince of Bénévent was kind enough to place his house at my disposal." The Tsar smiled graciously. Does he always wear a gleaming white uniform? In battle, too? Nonsense, the Tsar isn't a general, but an elegant gentleman, who waits on a horse at his headquarters for reports of victories. Only Jean-Baptiste is both a prince and a general. . . . I drank champagne and smiled.

"I am exceedingly sorry that Your Highness' husband didn't enter Paris at my side." The blue eyes narrowed. "I had counted on him. We exchanged numerous letters while our troops were crossing the Rhine. We had a slight difference of opinion on the future frontiers of France."

I smiled and drank champagne.

"I wanted His Highness to take part in the deliberations over the new form of government for France. After all, His Highness is better informed about the wishes of the French people than I—or than our dear cousins, the Austrian Emperor and the King of Prussia. Besides, the individual rulers and their advisers tend to consider their own interests."

He emptied his glass in one gulp, and held it out absentmindedly to an aide. The aide refilled it. Neither of my servants was allowed near the Tsar. I continued to smile.

"I'm waiting impatiently for your husband's arrival, Highness. Perhaps Your Highness knows when I may expect the Crown Prince?"

I shook my head and drank champagne.

"The Provisional Government of France under the leadership of our friend, the Prince of Bénévent—" the Tsar raised his glass to Talleyrand, and Talleyrand bowed—"informs us that France longs for the return of the Bourbons, and that only the Restoration can ensure peace within the country. Personally, this surprises me. What is Your Highness' opinion?"

"I don't understand politics, Sire."

"In my various discussions with your husband, His Highness gave me the impression that the French people are not at all—do not care very much for the Bourbon Dynasty. I, therefore, suggested to His Highness—" The Tsar held out his empty glass to the aide, and looked me full in the face. "Madame, I suggested to your husband that he urge the French People to choose their great marshal, Jean-Baptiste Bernadotte, Crown Prince of Sweden, as the new King of France."

"And what did my husband answer, Sire?"

"Oddly enough, Highness, nothing. Our dear cousin, the Crown Prince of Sweden, never even answered the letter in which we made this suggestion. Furthermore, he's not arrived to Paris for this momentous occasion, and my couriers can't find him. His Highness has—vanished."

He downed his freshly filled glass, and looked at me mournfully.

"The Emperor of Austria and the King of Prussia are in
favour of the Bourbon Restoration. England has already placed a man-of-war at Louis XVIII's disposal. Since the Swedish Crown Prince hasn't answered me, I shall follow the wishes of the French Government—" his glance sought Talleyrand—"and of my allies." He toyed thoughtfully with his empty glass. "Too bad," he said, and then abruptly, "What a charming room this is, madame."

We stood up, and the Tsar went to the window and looked out into the garden. I stood beside him, hardly up to his shoulder. "A lovely garden," he murmured, but he was preoccupied. My little garden looked a mess, untidy and neglected.

"This is Moreau's former house."

The Tsar closed his eyes suddenly as at a painful memory. "A cannon shot shattered both his legs. Moreau served on my general staff. He died early in September. Hadn't Your Highness heard?"

I leaned my head against the cool windowpane. "Moreau was an old friend of ours. In the days when my husband I hoped the Republic could be saved for the French people."

I spoke very softly, we were alone, over by the window, the Tsar of all the Russias and I. Not even Talleyrand could hear us.

"And it's because of this Republic that your husband didn't accept my suggestion, madame?"

I was silent.

"No answer is also an answer." He smiled.

Suddenly I thought of something and I was very indignant. "Sire—"

He leaned over me. "My dear and honoured cousin?"

"Sire, you offered my husband not only the crown of France. But also a Russian grand duchess."

"They say that walls have ears; evidently even the thick walls of Åbo Castle—" He laughed. "Do you know what your husband said to that, Highness?"

I said nothing. I wasn't angry any more either, just tired.

" 'I'm already married,' the Crown Prince replied. And the subject was dropped. Do you feel better now, Highness?"

"I never really worried, Sire, at least not—about that. Will you have another glass of champagne, my dear—cousin?"

Talleyrand appeared and took our glasses. Talleyrand didn't leave us alone another second. "If there's anything I may do for you any time, my dear cousin, it would make me very happy," said the Tsar eagerly.

"You're very kind, Sire, but I need nothing."

"Perhaps a guard of honour of Russian officers?"

"Oh, please—not that," I entreated. Talleyrand smiled ironically.

"I understand," said the Tsar seriously. "Of course I understand, dear Cousin." He bowed over my hand. "If I had had the honour of meeting you sooner, Highness, I would never have made that suggestion to the Crown Prince. I mean the one in Åbo."

"You meant it well, Sire."

"The ladies of my family who might have been considered are, I regret, not pretty, while you, dear—very dear Cousin— I must go—"

The door had long since closed behind my royal guest and his aides-de-camp. But I still stood aimlessly in the middle of the salon. I was too tired to move. I looked around the room the Tsar had just left and thought about Moreau, who had come from America to fight for the freedom of France. He didn't live to see the white banners, the white cockades. . . . The servants began to clear away the empty champagne glasses. My glance fell on the wilted violets. "Count Rosen, where did those flowers come from?"

"Caulaincourt brought them. He came from Fontainebleau, and was on his way to Talleyrand to turn over the signed Instrument of Abdication."

I went over to the fireplace. So many violets bloom in Fontainebleau. The sealed envelope was not addressed. I tore it open.

A piece of paper empty except for one scrawled initial:
N.
I took a handful of the wilted violets out of the basket and held them against my face. They smelled very sweet, very alive, although they were already half-dead.

"Your Highness, forgive me for disturbing you," Rosen stuttered from behind me. "I'm sorry to trouble you. So far His Highness has managed somehow or other to send me my pay. But for weeks now, I've had no money, there are things I need urgently, and so—"

"Pierre, I mean the steward of my household, will give you your pay immediately—"

"But only, Highness, if you're sure you'll not be inconvenienced, Your Highness has not received any revenue either for some time."

"Of course not. That's why I'm so tired today. I've worked all day long to earn money for our household."

"Highness!" He was horrified.

"Don't be shocked. I sold silk. Nothing dishonourable Count. One measures a few metres of satin, a few metres of muslin or velvet from a roll, cuts it off, wraps it up, and counts the money. You know that I'm the daughter of a merchant."

"Anyone would have lent Your Highness whatever you needed."

"Certainly, Count Rosen. But my husband has finally finished paying the House of Vasa's debts with his personal savings, I don't want to accumulate new debts for the House of Bernadotte. And now, dear Count, good night. Make my excuses to my guests, and ask Queen Julie to take my place at table. I hope you'll all enjoy the veal roast."

Marie was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs. She took my arm and helped me walk up. In my dressing room, I stumbled over something shiny, and started to pick it up. But Marie said, "Leave it, it's only one of Julie's crowns." She undressed me as if I were a child. She put me to bed, and tucked the blankets around me the way I like them.

"Imagine! The roast veal burned," she said gloomily. The cook lingered in the driveway, hoping to see the Tsar." I closed my eyes.

I woke up in the middle of the night. Sat up with a start. It was very dark and very still. My heart was pounding. I held my head, trying to remember. . . . What had awakened me —
a thought, a dream? I knew suddenly that something was going to happen, this very night, perhaps this very hour. Something I'd had a vague presentiment about all evening, but I couldn't think what. First I'd been too tired, and then the Tsar had arrived. All at once, it came to me. The abdication and the violets. The violets—

I lit the candle, and went into my dressing room. The newspaper lay on the dressing table. Slowly—word for word—I read it through. ". . . the Emperor Napoleon, faithful to his oath . . . renounces . . . the thrones of France and Italy . . . there is no personal sacrifice, even of his life, which he is not prepared to . . ."

Yes—no sacrifice, even of his life. . . . These words had awakened me. If a man feels he's reached the end of his life, he undoubtedly thinks back. To his youth, to the years of hope and expectation. He remembers a hedge, a young girl, met by chance, who leaned with him against the hedge, not so long ago he saw the girl again, wearing violets. In the park at Fontainebleau many violets are now in bloom. The soldiers of the guard stand idly in the courtyard with nothing more to do. He'll ask one of them to pick violets while he signs the Abdication. Caulaincourt can take the violets when he delivers the documents in Paris, a last greeting from a man alone with his youth. . . .