Désirée (82 page)

"Respectfully reporting, Your Highness. Representatives of the Nation wish to speak to Your Highness as soon as possible."

All the time, he was buttoning the tunic of his parade uniform. I had to laugh. "I'm no authority on questions of etiquette
, but if you must storm into my bedroom at dawn, I think you should be fully dressed."

"Your pardon, Highness—the Nation," the Count stammered.

"Which nation?" My laughter died.

"The French Nation." Count Rosen had finally finished buttoning his parade uniform, and stood at attention.

"Coffee, Yvette," I said. "Strong coffee." I looked at the Count in bewilderment. "Until I have my coffee, one must speak to me very slowly, and explain everything clearly, or I don't get it. You say the French Nation wishes—well, what does it wish?"

"The Nation, or rather representatives of the Nation, request an audience. It is of the utmost importance, the courier assures me. That's why I put on my parade uniform."

"Yes, I see it."

Yvette brought my coffee. I burned my tongue on it.

"The courier is waiting for an answer," Count Rosen said.

"I can receive them in half an hour—the representatives of the Nation, that is. Not the whole Nation, Count!"

I was making silly remarks to calm my fear. What did they want of me? I was perspiring, but my hands were cold as ice. I slipped into a thin white muslin dress and white sandals. Yvette wanted to do my hair, but I couldn't sit still. While I was powdering my nose, someone announced that the gentlemen had arrived. The gentlemen—which gentlemen?

Because of the heat, all the shutters in the large salon had been closed. The dawn light blurred all the outlines. On the sofa under the portrait of the First Consul sat three gentlemen. They rose as I entered. They were the representatives of the Nation.

The Nation had as representatives Their Excellencies, Fouché and Talleyrand. I didn't recognize the man between them. He was short and very thin. Wore an old-fashioned white peruke and a faded foreign uniform. As I came nearer, I saw that his cheeks and his brow were wrinkled. The eyes in the old face shone with a curious brilliance.

"Your Highness, may we present General Lafayette?" said Talleyrand.

My heart skipped a beat. The Nation. The Nation had really come to me. . . . I curtsied deeply and as awkwardly as a schoolgirl.

Fouché's unemotional voice cut through the silence. "Highness, in the name of the French Government—"

"Have you really come to see me, General Lafayette?" I whispered. Lafayette smiled so simply, so sincerely, that I gathered courage.

"My papa never parted with his first printing of the Right of Man. The broadside stayed in his room until he died. I never thought I'd have the honour of meeting Lafayette in person, and in my own salon." I stopped in embarrassment.

"Your Highness, on behalf of the French Government, which Foreign Minister Talleyrand and I represent, and in the name of the Nation, which General Lafayette represents, we turn to you in this solemn hour," Fouché began again.

Then I looked from one to the other of them. Fouché, one of the five directors at present governing France. Talleyrand who just yesterday returned from the Congress of Vienna, where he had all along represented the France of the Bourbons. Both ex-ministers of Napoleon, both hung with orders and decorations, both in gold-braided frock coats. And between them Lafayette in a shabby uniform without decorations.

"Can I do something for you, gentlemen?" I asked.

"I've seen a situation like this coming for a long time, Your Highness," Talleyrand said. He spoke very softly, very rapidly. "Perhaps Your Highness remembers, I once intimated that, one day, the Nation might very possibly ask a very great favour of you. Does Your Highness remember?"

I nodded.

"This situation has now arisen. The French Nation has a favour to ask of the Crown Princess of Sweden."

My hands were damp with fear.

"I'd like to give Her Highness a picture of the situation, Fouché said. "The allied troops are at the gates of Paris. The
Prince of Bénévent, as Minister of Foreign Affairs, has communicated with the commanders in chief, Wellington and Blücher, to forestall an attack, and to prevent looting. We are naturally offering unconditional surrender."

"The commanders in chief of the allied troops have informed us that they will consider our proposals only under one condition," Talleyrand said quietly. "And that condition is . . .

"General Bonaparte must leave France without delay," Fouché's voice broke.

A brief pause followed. What did they expect me to do? I turned to Talleyrand. But Fouché continued, "Although we informed General Napoleon that his departure is the wish of the French Government, a wish shared by the French Nation, he has not gone." Fouché's voice cracked again. "The General has replied with so incredible a suggestion that one can't escape the impression that Malmaison harbours a madman. Yesterday, General Bonaparte sent his aide-de-camp, Count Flahault, to Paris with a counteroffer that General Bonaparte command what remains of the Army, and beat back the enemy from the gates. In other words—a bloodbath for Paris!"

My mouth was very dry. I swallowed a few times. It didn't help.

"We firmly declined General Bonaparte's offer, and requested him to proceed at once to the port of Rochefort, to leave France," Fouché went on. "Whereupon, tonight, he sent General Becker to us. Becker, whom the French Government has assigned to General Bonaparte—as let's say, commissary, and who is responsible for the smooth carrying-out of his travel arrangements—delivered a new defiant demand. Bonaparte, a mere general, demands—demands, Your Highness—the supreme command of the remaining regiments in order to defend Paris. And not until after a defensive action in Paris—and he assumes, of course, that this will be successful and enable us to obtain favourable peace terms—will General Bonaparte agree to go abroad." Fouché snorted and mopped up the perspiration on his forehead. "What defiance, Your Highness, what defiance."

I was silent.

Talleyrand appealed to me. "We cannot capitulate nor protect Paris from destruction until General Bonaparte has left France. The allied troops have reached Versailles. We have no time to lose, Your Highness. General Bonaparte must leave Malmaison by this evening, and be on his way to Rochefort."

"Why Rochefort?"

"The Allies will, of course, demand the extradition of General Bonaparte." Talleyrand tried to conceal a yawn. "But when General Bonaparte abdicated, he insisted that two frigates of the French Navy be placed at his disposal so that he could go abroad. The frigates have been waiting for him in vain for two days in Rochefort harbour."

Fouché narrowed his eyes. "Besides, the English Navy ha blockaded all our ports. I hear the English cruiser
Bellerophon
is lying at anchor at Rochefort beside the frigates."

Fouché consulted his watch.

Here it comes, I thought—now. . . . I swallowed and asked softly, "What have I to do with it?"

"You, dear Crown Princess, as a member of the Swedish Royal House, are in a position to talk to General Bonaparte in the name of the Allies." Talleyrand smiled, clearly amused.

"Your Highness can at the same time convey to General Bonaparte the French Government's answer to his impudent suggestion." As he spoke, Fouché extracted a sealed letter from his breast pocket.

"I'm afraid the French Government will have to ask one of its regular couriers to take this document to Malmaison," I said.

"And the request that he go abroad? Or surrender himself to the Allies, so that France can have peace at last?" Fouché trembled with fury.

Slowly I shook my head. "You are mistaken, gentlemen. I'm only a private person here."

"My child, you haven't been told the whole truth—"

I jumped. For the first time I heard Lafayette's voice. A deep, serene and kindly voice. "This General Bonaparte has assembled a few battalions in Malmaison, young men, ready
for anything. . . . We're afraid the General might reach a decision which wouldn't affect the ultimate outcome, but would cost the lives of several hundred men. Several hundred human lives mean a great deal, my child."

I looked down at my feet.

"General Bonaparte's wars have already cost Europe millions of human lives," the quiet voice continued relentlessly.

I looked up and saw, over their shoulders, the portrait of the young Napoleon. From far away I heard my own voice. "I'll try, gentlemen."

After that, everything happened quickly.

Fouché pressed the sealed letter into my hand. "General Becker will accompany Your Highness," he said.

And I, "No, I'll take only my Swedish aide."

"A battalion of the guards is at your disposal," said Talleyrand impressively.

"I don't think I'll be in danger. Count Rosen—my carriage. We're driving at once to Malmaison."

My heart fluttered. Yvette gave me my gloves. "And which hat, Your Highness?"

Hat, which hat . . . Talleyrand was saying something, "—convinced that gratitude will be proved, and perhaps an exception will be made of Mme Julie Bonaparte." Why was he tormenting me?

I turned my back on him. General Lafayette stood near the door to the garden, peeking through the cracks in the closed shutters. I went over to him. "My child," he said, "with your permission I will sit in your garden and await your return."

"All day long?"

"All day long, and I'll be thinking of you all the time."

"Your Highness—the carriage." Count Rosen wore the formal blue-and-yellow sash over his parade uniform.

The drive to Malmaison seemed much shorter than usual. I had the carriage top put back because I could hardly breathe. But it didn't do any good. Close behind us galloped a lone rider. General Becker, the commissary, whose duty it was to watch over the former Emperor of the French on behalf of the French Government. From time to time, Count
Rosen looked at me out of the corner of his eye. We spoke not a single word the whole way.

Near Malmaison the road was barricaded, and National Guardsmen stood watch. When they recognized General Becker, they quickly pushed the barricade aside. The entrance to the park was also guarded by heavily armed sentries. Becker sprang from his horse. My carriage was allowed to pass. My heart began to flutter again. In my distress, I tried to pretend that things were as they used to be. A visit to Malmaison, where I knew every bench and every rosebush. I'd see the little pond again, and . . .

The carriage stopped.

Count Rosen helped me out. Ménéval appeared on the open staircase, the Duke of Vicenza behind him. And then I was surrounded by familiar faces. Hortense ran to me—and Julie. I forced my quivering lips into a smile.

"How wonderful that you've come, dearest," Julie said.

"A delightful surprise," Joseph declared. Beside Joseph was Lucien. His near-sighted eyes searched my face. I smiled desperately. Mme Letizia waved to me from the open window of the white-and-gold salon. How glad they all were to see me.

"Joseph," I gulped, "I must—please, I must speak to your brother immediately."

"How kind of you, Désirée. But you must be patient. The Emperor is expecting an important communication from the Government in Paris, and is not to be disturbed until it comes."

My mouth was dry again. "Joseph—I'm bringing your brother this message."

"And?" they all asked in one breath: Joseph, Lucien, Hortense and Julie, Ménéval and Vicenza, General Bertrand and Jérôme Bonaparte. "And—?"

"I have to give it first to General Bonaparte."

Joseph's face went a shade paler when I said "General Bonaparte." "His Majesty," 'he said, "is on the bench in the maze. You remember the maze and his bench, Désirée?"

"I know this park very well," I whispered, and turned to go.
Spurs jangled behind me. "Wait here, Count Rosen. I walk this path alone."

I knew the intricacies of the maze, so charmingly devised by Josephine. I knew how one turns so as not to run into the hedges, but come suddenly and surprisingly to the little white bench on which only two can sit very close together.

On this little bench sat Napoleon.

He wore the green chasseur uniform, his thin hair was carefully brushed back. His face, with the pale plump cheeks and the domineering chin, was cupped in his hand. Unseeingly he stared at the flowering hedge before him.

When I saw him, I suddenly became quite calm. And with my fear, the sweetness of all my memories vanished, too. I even wondered coolly how best to address him to attract his attention. Then it occurred to me that it didn't matter, we two were alone in the maze of fragrant hedges. . . . But before I spoke to him he turned his head a little and saw my white dress. "Josephine—" he murmured, "Josephine—"

When no answer came, he looked up. Reality returned. He saw the white dress, but he recognized me. He was surprised and very pleased. "Eugénie—are you really here?"

No one heard him call me Eugénie No one saw him move over to one side of the little bench for two, who had to sit very close together. When I sat close beside him, he turned to me and smiled.