I would so much like to get up and go into Oscar’s room and sit quietly down by his bed and hold his hand and feel the warmth of his young life. I used to do it so often in the past when I felt lonely and his father was away at some war or other. I never thought that there might be a time when I could no longer go into his room as I please. But that time has come now. You, my son, are no longer alone in your room, for at your father’s order Colonel Villatte, for many years his faithful adjutant, shares it with you till we get to Stockholm. Why? In order to protect you, my darling, from assassins, from those people who are ashamed of Sweden’s choice of plain Monsieur Bernadotte and his son Oscar to be their future Kings. That is why your father demanded that Villatte should sleep in your room and Count Brahe in the one adjoining it. Yes, my darling, we are afraid of murderers now.
Marie sleeps in the room next to mine. How she snores, my God, how she snores!
We have come a long way, and for the last two days we have been held up here in Elsinore by the fog which makes it impossible to cross the Sound. And it is so cold here. But people say, ‘That’s nothing. You wait till you are in Sweden, Highness!’
We left our house in the Rue d’Anjou at the end of October, shut it up and moved to Julie in Mortefontaine to spend the last days with her. Young Brahe and the gentlemen of the Swedish Embassy seemed hardly able to wait for my departure from France. I only learnt yesterday why they were so impatient for me to leave. But I couldn’t very well go without my new court robes which Le Roy was making for me. Some of them were to be white, the colour which I never wanted to wear in Paris because Josephine always wore it. But in Stockholm where nothing would remind me of her it would be different. At last, on the first of November, they were ready and delivered, and on the third we left.
We travelled in three coaches, myself, Colonel Villatte, the physician whom Jean-Baptiste engaged for the journey, and Madame La Flotte in the first, Oscar, Count Brahe and Marie in the second and our luggage in the third. I had left my reader behind. She couldn’t face leaving Paris, and in any case, as Count Brahe told me, there was a complete staff waiting for me in Stockholm which the Queen had appointed for me. But I took Madame La Flotte, who very much wanted to come because she had fallen in love with Count Brahe.
That day of departure seems to be a long way back in the past. But in reality it is only six weeks since we left. In these six weeks, however, we have been on the road from morning till night, and wherever we arrived there would be an official reception ceremony, in Amsterdam, in Hamburg and in places with such strange-sounding names at Apenrade and Itzehoe. We did not stop for any length of time till we reached Nyborg in Denmark, where we were to cross from the Isle of Fünen to the Isle of Zealand on which lies the capital, Copenhagen. Here a courier of Napoleon caught up with us, a young cavalry officer carrying a big parcel.
We were just going to board our boat when he arrived, tied his horse to a stanchion on the quay and ran after us with his big parcel. ‘From His Majesty the Emperor, with his kindest regards!’
Count Brahe took the shapeless parcel and Villatte asked him: ‘Any letters for Her Highness?’
The young officer shook his head. ‘No, only this verbal message. When the Emperor was told of Her Highness’s departure, he said, “A dreadful time of the year to travel to Sweden!” He looked round, saw me and gave me the order to ride after Your Highness and deliver this parcel. “Hurry up! Her Highness will need it very badly!” he said.’ The officer clicked his heels.
I gave him my hand. ‘Thank His Majesty for me and remember me to Paris.’ The cold wind made my eyes water.
In the ship’s cabin we unpacked the parcel. My heart stopped beating when I saw what was in it: a sable coat. The most beautiful fur I had ever seen!
‘One of the Tsar’s three furs!’ said La Flotte, visibly shaken. We had all heard about the three furs which the Tsar gave the Emperor. The first Napoleon presented to Josephine, the second to his favourite sister Polette, and the third – the third was here, on my knee!
A marvellous fur! But I still went on feeling cold to the marrow. The Generals’ greatcoats in the days of old warmed me better than even this fur coat, Napoleon’s greatcoat during the night of the thunderstorm in Marseilles, Jean-Baptiste’s during the rainy night in Paris. They were not as gold-embroidered, the Generals’ greatcoats of those days, as they are to-day, they were coarse and badly cut, but they were the coats of the brave young Republic.
The crossing from Nyborg to Korsör took us three hours, and some of us, such as Madame La Flotte and the doctor, were much the worse for it. We only spent a few hours in Korsör and then continued our journey, as we had to be in Copenhagen on December 17th. The King and Queen of Denmark were preparing a great reception for us, and we had to keep to the timetable. So we crept, all of us, into one coach to keep warm, and passed our time talking about Denmark, its history and its royal family. It seemed that not only the Vasas but the Kings of Denmark as well belonged to a family which was not too healthy mentally, and I shuddered at the thought that Oscar would have to marry a Princess of old royal blood some day.
Madame La Flotte noticed my shuddering and suggested that we should stop and get some hot water for our bottles. I shook my head. My shudders didn’t come from the cold alone, they came from anxiety for the future, a future which was full of the shadows caused by the twilight over the Royal Houses of the North.
The evening in Copenhagen passed like a confused dream. I saw the royal castle by the flare of torches, a charming small building in the rococo style, friendly and inviting. But I was stiff with cold and exhaustion. Marie massaged my feet and Yvette did my hair in preparation for the reception, and I put on one of my new white robes.
I asked after Oscar. Marie said that he could hardly keep his eyes open, and so I ordered him to bed. But a moment later Count Brahe appeared and insisted that the young Prince had to take part in the gala dinner at all costs. I was furious but had to give in, and Oscar, instead of going to bed, had to appear in the uniform of a Swedish officer cadet which Bernadotte had had made for him.
Marie gave me a glass of champagne to cheer me up. But I didn’t feel much cheered when I went to the banquet. The Danish royal couple were very kind to me. They both spoke French very well and emphasised how much they admired the Emperor of France. The King urged me to go next morning and see the devastation wrought by the bombardment of Copenhagen by the British Navy. I promised I would. During the meal the King repeated how much he sympathised with Napoleon. Britain, he said, was the common enemy.
‘And yet your mother was an English Princess,’ I said involuntarily.
I had had no intention of being tactless, but I was so tired that I said anything that came into my mind. The mention of his mother created a painful impression on the King. All the same, catching sight of Oscar, who was almost falling asleep over his ice-cream, I added, ‘One should never deny one’s mother, Your Majesty.’ Thereupon His Majesty rose very soon to end the banquet and we all went into the ballroom …
And so we’ve been in this little town of Elsinore for almost three days. But for the fog one could see Sweden from here. And the sea was so rough that Count Brahe kept postponing the crossing time and time again. ‘Your Highness cannot arrive in Sweden in a state of seasickness,’ he said. ‘There will be an enormous crowd on the other side of the Sound wanting to catch a first glimpse of the new Crown Princess.’
And so we wait and wait.
The Swedish commercial agent Glörfelt, who lives here, asked me to be godfather to his son and find a nice name for him. I agreed and called the baby Jules Désiré Oscar, Jules because I was longing for Julie so badly. Oscar and I went to Kronborg Castle, and as we crossed the moat the guns roared out a salvo in salute. La Flotte, who never loses an opportunity to show off her knowledge, told me the story of a prince called Hamlet, his murdered father, his uncle and his mother, all of whom were supposed to have lived here.
‘How long ago was that?
’ I asked La Flotte.
She didn’t know. She only knew that an English author had written a tragedy about it. It certainly was an eerie castle and I was glad that we were not going to live there …
At last it has been decided: we are crossing to-morrow. The fog is still there, but the sea is calmer. Once more I am going through the list of the names of the ladies and gentlemen who will receive me to-morrow in Hälsingborg: my new ladies-in-waiting Countess Caroline Lewenhaupt and Miss Mariana Koskull, my equerry Baron Reinhold Adelswärd, my lords-in-waiting Count Erik Piper and Sixten Sparre and finally my physician Pontin.
My candles are burnt low, it is four o’clock in the morning and I want to try and get some sleep.
Jean-Baptiste is not coming to meet me. It is only here that I learnt of Napoleon’s ultimatum to the Swedish Government of November 12th. Either, Napoleon demanded, Sweden declares war on Britain within the next five days, or Sweden will be at war with France, Denmark and Russia. The Council of State was convened in Stockholm and everybody’s eye was on the new Crown Prince. Jean-Baptiste, at this meeting, said: ‘Gentlemen, I ask you to forget that I was born in France and that the Emperor holds hostage what is dearest to me in this life. Gentlemen, I do not wish to take part in this conference in order not to exercise any influence whatever on your decisions.’ I understand now why the gentlemen of the Swedish Embassy in Paris demanded that Oscar and I should hurry our departure.
The Swedish Council of State decided for war with Britain and handed their declaration of war to the British Ambassador on November 17th. But Count Brahe told me that he knew the Crown Prince had sent a secret message to Britain to consider this declaration of war as a mere formality. ‘Sweden,’ this message said, ‘wishes to continue the trade in British goods and proposes that British ships bound for Gothenburg from now onwards should sail under the American flag.’
I can’t make head or tail of all this. Napoleon could have kept Oscar and me in France as hostages. But he let us go and sent me a sable fur because I needed it so badly here. Jean-Baptiste, however, asked the Council of State not to take his family into account at all. Sweden was far more important than his family, it was the most important thing on earth for him …
Everybody tells me how the Swedes are looking forward to our boy. Ruthlessly I have been driven through the fog and the cold to hand over my child into their keeping, and I do not know whether it will be for the best.
Are heirs to a throne meant to be happy, I wonder?
Hälsingborg, December 22nd, 1810. (To-day I arrived in Sweden)
The guns of Kronborg Castle thundered as we went on board the Swedish man-of-war. The crew stood to attention, Oscar put his little hand to his three-cornered hat, and I tried to smile. It was still very foggy and the wind was as icy as ever. So I went down into the cabin. But Oscar stayed on deck to have a good look at the cannon.
‘My husband hasn’t come, really?’ I had asked Count Brahe again and again whenever another message came from Hälsingborg about details of the reception arrangements.
‘Important political decisions make His Royal Highness’s presence in Stockholm necessary. New demands by Napoleon are expected.’ With that answer I had to be satisfied.
I had put on a green velvet hat with a red silk rose on it, a green tight-fitting velvet coat which made me look a bit taller, and a green velvet muff. Inside the muff I crumpled up the slip of paper with the names of the members of my Swedish suite. I had tried to learn them, but it seemed hopeless.
‘Your Highness is not afraid, is she?’ asked Count Brahe.
‘Who is looking after Oscar? I don’t want him to fall into the water.’
‘Your own Colonel Villatte is looking after him,’ said Count Brahe, and I thought that his ‘your own’ sounded a bit sarcastic.
‘Is it true Your Highness has put on woollen underwear?’ Madame La Flotte asked in horror. She was fighting seasickness again and her face looked greenish under her make-up.
‘Yes. Marie bought them in Elsinore when she saw them in a shop window. I think you want warm underwear in this climate, particularly when we shall probably have to stand by the quayside for hours over there and listen to speeches. Why not, anyway? No one can see what you are wearing under your skirt!’
As soon as I said it I regretted it. It’s not what you expect a Crown Princess to say. My new Swedish lady-in-waiting would be horried if she had heard it.
‘The Swedish coast can be seen quite clearly now. Perhaps Your Highness would like to come on deck?’ Clearly he wanted me to rush out of the cabin at once.
‘I’m so cold and tired,’ I said, and snuggled deeper into Napoleon’s sable fur.
‘Of course, I am sorry,’ murmured the young Swede, and withdrew.
The thunder of guns made me start up. They were the guns of our ship and were answered at once by the batteries on the coast. I got ready and repaired my make-up. But there were deep shadows under my eyes, the result of sleepless nights.
‘Your Highness looks very beautiful,’ said Count Brahe reassuringly.
But it didn’t reassure me. ‘I shall disappoint them,’ I thought. ‘Everybody expects a Crown Princess to be like a princess from a fairy tale, and I am no fairy-tale princess, I am only the former citizeness Eugenie Désirée Clary.’
I went on deck and joined Oscar.
‘Look, Mama, that is our country!’ the boy shouted.
‘Not ours, Oscar. It’s the country of the Swedish people. Don’t forget that, ever!’
The strains of military music were carried across to us from the quayside. Colourful dresses and golden epaulettes shone through the fog. I saw a bouquet of pink flowers, roses or carnations. Flowers like that would cost a fortune here in winter, I felt sure.
Count Brahe gave us his last directions. ‘As soon as the ship ties up at the quay I shall run down the gangway and then hold out my hand to you and help you down. I should like the Prince to keep close to Your Royal Highness and, once you are on land, to take up his position to the left of Your Royal Highness. I myself shall be immediately behind you.’ ‘Yes,’ I thought, ‘my young knight will be quite close behind me to protect the daughter of the middle class from the derisive laughter of the Swedish nobles.’
‘Have you understood, Oscar?’
‘Look, Mama, all the Swedish uniforms, a whole regiment, look!’
‘And where am I to stand, Count Brahe?’ asked La Flotte.
I turned to her. ‘You keep with Colonel Villatte in the background. I fear that this reception has not been arranged for your benefit.’
‘Do you know,’ asked Oscar, as the guns were firing around us, ‘what Count Brahe was called in Elsinore, Mama? Admiral Brahe.’
‘Why that, Oscar? He isn’t in the Navy, he is a cavalry officer.’
‘But they did call him Admiral of the Navy.* Do you understand that, Mama?’
I burst out laughing, and I was still laughing when the boat landed in Hälsingborg.
‘Kronprinsessan skål leve! Kronprinsessan, Arveprinsen!’ Many voices shouted rhythmically out of the fog from behind the cordon of soldiers. But I could only see the faces of the Swedish courtiers in front of the cordon, faces rigid and frigid that stared at us without a smile. The laughter froze on my face.
The gangway was put in position and the band played the Swedish anthem, not an inspiring battle song like the Marseillaise but rather a hymn, devout, hard and solemn.
Count Brahe ran past me on to the quay and held out his hand to me. I walked towards it quickly, not feeling very secure. But then I felt his hand under my elbow, felt the land under my feet and Oscar by my side. The bouquet of glowing roses moved towards me, and a gaunt old man in the uniform of a Swedish Marshal handed them to me.
‘This is the Governor General of the Province of Skåne, Count John Christopher Toll,’ Count Brahe introduced him.
I saw the pale eyes of an old man examining me without any sign of friendliness in them. I took the roses, and the
old man bent over my right hand, and then bowed deeply to Oscar. Ladies in silk fur-trimmed cloaks curtsied, and uniformed backs bowed.
It started to snow. I shook hands with the ladies and gentlemen, who forced themselves to an artificial smile. The smile became more natural, however, as Oscar went round to shake hands with them. Count Toll, in harsh French, made a speech of welcome.
Suddenly snowflakes danced round us in thick swirls. Oscar stared at them enraptured. The anthem sounded again in its strange solemnity. The moment it stopped Oscar’s voice rang out through the silence: ‘We shall be very happy here, Mama. Look, it’s snowing!’
How is it that my son always manages to say the right thing at the right moment, exactly like his father?
The old man offered me his arm to conduct me to the waiting equipages. Count Brahe kept close behind me. I looked at the forbidding face of the old man beside me, the strange faces behind me, the bright hard eyes, the critical glances, and I said in a toneless voice: ‘I ask you always to be kind to my son.’
These words were not in the programme, they came out on the spur of the moment, and perhaps they were tactless and contrary to etiquette. An expression of great astonishment came over their faces, at once arrogant and touched. I felt the snowflakes on my eyelids and on my lips, and nobody saw that I was crying.
That evening, as I was undressing, Marie said: ‘Wasn’t I right? I mean about the woollen knickers? Otherwise this ceremony in the harbour might have been your death!’
In the royal castle in Stockholm, during that endless winter of 1810 11
The journey from Hälsingborg to Stockholm seemed endless. We travelled by day and danced the quadrille by night. I don’t know why, but the aristocracy here dance nothing but the quadrille and behave as if they were at the Court of Versailles. They asked me, didn’t that make me feel at home? and I could only smile and shrug my shoulders. I know nothing about the Court of Versailles, all that happened before I was born, and we never had any contact with the court.
Desiree Page 41