Desiree

by Annemarie Selinko

  During the night, the night from the 12th to the 13th of April, I kept the candle on my bedside table burning all night. About eleven o’clock the murmur from the crowd outside died down. The Rue d’Anjou became very quiet and the steps of the two Russian sentries rang out through the lonely night. The clock struck midnight. The clock struck one, the first hour of the day of the victory parade. I listened to every inexplicable forlorn creaking of the world with all the muscles of my body tensed, I listened, I listened, I listened. The clock struck two.

  Suddenly the silence of the night was shattered by the sound of wheels rolling along the street, wheels grating to a standstill outside my house. I heard the sentries spring to attention and present arms, heard a loud knock on the front door, heard voices, three or four voices, but not the one I was waiting for. I lay quite still, with eyes closed.

  Someone came running up the stairs. Someone tore open the door of my bedroom, kissed my mouth, my eyes, my forehead, my cheeks: Jean-Baptiste, my Jean-Baptiste!

  ‘You must eat something, you’ve had a long journey,’ I said awkwardly, and opened my eyes. Jean-Baptiste was kneeling by my bed, his face lying on my hand.

  ‘A long journey, a dreadfully long journey,’ he said tonelessly.

  I stroked his hair with my free hand. It had gone quite grey, I could see it by the light of the candle, quite grey.

  I sat up in bed. ‘Come, Jean-Baptiste, go into your bedroom and have a rest. I’ll go into the kitchen meanwhile and make you an omelette, shall I?’

  But he didn’t move. He pressed his head against the edge of my bed and didn’t move.

  ‘Jean-Baptiste, you’re at home, you’re at home at last!’

  Slowly he lifted his head.

  Jean-Baptiste, get up. Your room is waiting and—’

  He smoothed his forehead with his hand as if he wanted to smooth away old memories. ‘Yes, yes, of course. Can you find beds for them all?’ he asked.

  ‘All?’

  ‘I am not alone, you know. There are Brahe and Löwenhjelm, besides Admiral Stedingk and—’

  ‘That’s out of the question. The house is overcrowded as it is. With the exception of your bedroom and your study there isn’t a single free room.’

  ‘Overcrowded?’

  ‘Yes, Julie, her children, Hortense’s sons and—’

  He jumped to his feet. ‘Do you mean to say that you offered shelter to all the Bonapartes and are feeding them at the expense of the Swedish court?’

  ‘Only to Julie and the children and a few Clarys. The two adjutants you sent me yourself. As to feeding, the cost of the household as well as all the salaries I am paying out of my own money.’

  ‘Out of your own money?’

  ‘Yes, money I earned by selling silk for the firm of Clary.’ I went into my boudoir and slipped into my pretty green dressing-gown with the mink collar. ‘And now I’m going to get you and your gentlemen something to eat.’

  Then the miracle happened: Jean-Baptiste laughed, laughed as if he were going to burst, sat on my bed and laughed and opened his arms. ‘My little girl, my priceless little girl, come, come to me! The Crown Princess of Sweden and Norway sells silk! Come, my girl!’

  I went to him. ‘I don’t know what there is to laugh at. I had no money left, and everything is so dreadfully expensive. You’ll see!’

  ‘A fortnight ago I sent you a courier with money.’

  ‘Unfortunately he never arrived. Listen, when your gentlemen have had something to eat we’ll have to find hotel rooms for them.’

  He became serious again. ‘They can stay at the Swedish headquarters in the Rue St Honoré.’ Once more his voice had become toneless. ‘You see, I shall have to receive very many people. And I can’t do that here, I can’t. Don’t you understand, Désirée?’

  ‘You don’t want to stay here?’

  He put his arm round my shoulder. ‘I have only come to Paris to let the Swedish troops take part in the victory parade and to see the Tsar. But one thing I can tell you, Désirée: I shall never again return to this room, never.’

  ‘But five minutes ago you wanted to stay here with the whole of your staff!’

  ‘That was before I had set eyes on my room again. Forgive my mistake. But there is no return to where I came from.’ He held me close to him. ‘Well, let’s go down now. My staff hope that you will welcome them. I am sure that Fernand has prepared something to eat.’

  Mention of Fernand brought me back to reality. I put on some rouge and powder, and Jean-Baptiste and I went arm-in-arm down to the dining-room. Young Brahe was there – I should have liked to kiss him but didn’t dare because of Löwenhjelm – Löwenhjelm, Admiral Stedingk, a much-bemedalled man, and Fernand in a brand-new livery with gold buttons. ‘How is Oscar?’ I asked him.

  Jean-Baptiste took some letters out of his breast-pocket and said proudly: ‘The Prince has composed a regimental march!’

  My heart gave a little leap of joy when I heard that Oscar composed music.

  Fernand’s coffee was bitter and sweet at the same time. ‘Exactly like this homecoming,’ I thought.

  We sat in front of the fireplace in the big drawing-room. I noticed Jean-Baptiste gazing towards the portrait of the First Consul in the far half-dark end of the room. One by one we fell silent till at last Jean-Baptiste turned to me and asked in a sharp voice: ‘And – he?’

  ‘The Emperor is at Fontainebleau waiting to learn what is decided about him. By the way,’ I added, ‘he tried to commit suicide the night before last.’

  ‘What?’ they exclaimed with one voice. Only Jean-Baptiste said nothing.

  ‘Since the Russian campaign the Emperor’s always carried poison about with him,’ I said, not looking at the men but into the fire. ‘The night before last he swallowed it. But his valet had seen him and he took the necessary measures at once. Napoleon has completely recovered now.’

  ‘That is grotesque,’ said Stedingk, ‘tragic and ridiculous at the same time. If he wanted to make an end why didn’t he shoot himself?’

  Again there was silence, silence as heavy as lead. At last Count Brahe cleared his throat and said: ‘Your Highness, concerning to-morrow’s victory parade—’

  Jean Baptiste started, then recovered himself and began in his usual precise manner: ‘Above all, I shall have to clear away every actual and possible misunderstanding between myself and the Tsar. He expected me, as you know, to advance with the allies into France. I did not, and I did not take part in any battle on French soil. If my allies take it amiss—’ He broke off.

  I looked at Brahe, who, hesitantly, answered my unspoken question: ‘We drove about in Belgium and France for weeks, aimlessly, Your Highness. His Highness wanted to see the battlefields.’

  ‘The villages where fighting took place are completely destroyed. That is not the way to make war,’ said Jean-Baptiste between his teeth.

  Löwenhjelm, deciding that this was the moment, opened the briefcase he had with him and produced a bundle of letters. ‘Your Highness, I have here all the letters from the Tsar to you which have not been answered. They chiefly concern—’

  ‘Don’t say it!’ shouted Jean-Baptiste at him. I had never before seen him lose his self-control to such an extent. He bent forward and stared into the fire The eyes of the Swedes, I noticed, were directed to me. I seemed to be their last hope.

  ‘Jean-Baptiste,’ I began. But he gave no sign of having heard me. I got up, knelt by his side and put my head against his arm. ‘Jean-Baptiste, you must listen to these gentlemen. The Tsar offered you the crown of France, didn’t he?’

  I felt his body stiffen, but I didn’t give up. ‘You didn’t answer the Tsar. And that is what has made it possible for the Count of Artois, Louis XVIII’s brother, to come to Paris to-morrow and prepare everything for the return of the Bourbons. The Tsar had no option but to conform to the wishes of the other allies and the suggestions of Talleyrand.’

  ‘But the Tsar will never understand why I kept aloof from the
French campaign and why I did not answer his proposal. Sweden cannot afford a disagreement with the Tsar, don’t you understand?’

  ‘Jean-Baptiste, the Emperor is very proud to be your friend. And he realises that you cannot accept the French crown. I explained it all to him.’

  ‘You what?’Jean-Baptiste gripped my shoulders and stared at me.

  ‘Yes, he was here to pay his respects to the wife of the victor of Leipzig.’

  I could hear them all, Jean-Baptiste and his Swedes, breathe a sigh of relief.

  I got up. ‘And now, gentlemen, you will want to rest a few hours before the big parade, I hope that everything will be ready for you at the Rue St Honoré.’

  I left the drawing-room quickly. I didn’t want to see Jean-Baptiste leave his home to stay in some palace or other. But he came after me and caught up with me on the staircase, leaning on me heavily. In my bedroom he dropped on my bed, and I had to undress him as if he were a child. I put out the candle, but already the morning was creeping through the chinks of the shutters and there was little sleep for us.

  ‘This confounded victory parade,’ Jean-Baptiste said. ‘How can I march with bands playing across the Champs Elysées at the head of the Northern Army?’

  ‘Of course you can. Why not? The Swedes have fought bravely for European freedom, and now they want to enter Paris in triumph with their Crown Prince at their head. How long will it all take, after all? One hour, perhaps two at most. It will be much easier than – Leipzig, Jean-Baptiste.’

  ‘Tell me, Désirée, what exactly did you tell the Tsar?’

  ‘That in France you are a Republican and in Sweden the Crown Prince. Not perhaps in those words, but the Tsar understood me all right.’

  ‘What else did you talk about, my girl?’

  ‘About Grand Duchesses. The Tsar thought you’d better stay with me. His Grand Duchesses are not at all pretty.’

  ‘Mhm,’ Jean-Baptiste said.

  At last he fell asleep, a short and restless sleep like that of a traveller in the bed of some indifferent hotel room.

  An argument between Fernand and Marie about the big clothes-iron put an end to Jean-Baptiste’s sleep. He went into his dressing-room, where Fernand helped him to dress. Meanwhile Marie brought our breakfast and grumbled: ‘The Marshal might have left Fernand at home.’

  ‘Where do you call home?’

  ‘Stockholm, of course.’

  The door between my boudoir and Jean-Baptiste’s dressing-room was not closed, and after a while I heard the voices of Brahe and Löwenhjelm. They reported that Wetterstedt, the Prime Minister of Sweden, had arrived, and that our own headquarters was being stormed.

  ‘By the Parisians?’ asked Jean-Baptiste.

  ‘Oh no, the street has been cordoned off and the Tsar has put a Russian regiment at our disposal,’ said Brahe.

  Jean-Baptiste’s answer was given so quickly that I only caught a few words: ‘Swedish dragoons … under no circumstances Russian sentries …’

  Then I heard Löwenhjelm say who it was who had stormed our headquarters. Apparently Talleyrand had called in the name of the French Government, followed by the Marshals Ney and Marmont, the Personal Adjutant of the King of Prussia, the British Ambassador, a deputation of the citizens of Paris, and so on.

  In the middle of this enumeration Colonel Villatte was announced. Jean-Baptiste asked him in at once. I went to join him. Fernand was just sprinkling him with eau de Cologne and handing him the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honour. Jean-Baptiste took it as usual without thinking, when suddenly he seemed to notice it and froze in the act of putting it round his neck. Löwenhjelm warned him that the time was getting short. Slowly Jean-Baptiste came to life again and put it on. ‘On parade, Marshal Bernadotte!’ he whispered to the hollow-cheeked face that stared back at him from the mirror.

  At that moment Villatte came in. Jean-Baptiste turned to him quickly, went to meet him and slapped his shoulder. ‘Villatte, how glad I am to see you again!’

  Villatte stood to attention.

  Jean-Baptiste shook him by the shoulder. ‘Well, old friend?’

  Villatte remained immobile, his face rigid.

  Jean-Baptiste’s hand slipped from his friend’s shoulder. ‘Can I do anything for you, Colonel?’

  ‘I am told that the allied powers yesterday ordered the discharge of all French prisoners of war. I therefore request my – release.’

  I laughed. But Villatte did not smile. His face became very sad instead.

  ‘Of course, Colonel, you are free to go,’ said Jean-Baptiste. ‘I should be very glad if you could stay with us as our guest for the time being.’

  ‘I thank Your Highness for the very kind offer. I regret that I cannot accept it and I ask Your Highness to excuse me now.’

  ‘Villatte,’ I said, ‘you have gone such a long way with us. Won’t you stay with us?’

  ‘The Emperor has released his Army from the oath of loyalty to him,’ Jean-Baptiste added hoarsely. ‘Even his Marshals are calling on me. Why will you of all people—’

  ‘That is just why. The Marshals have not thought it necessary to say good-bye to their Supreme Commander. I am only a colonel, Your Highness, but I know what I have to do. I shall go to Fontainebleau first and then join my regiment.’

  He turned and the next moment he was gone. Jean-Baptiste looked very grey in the face.

  Before I left I took him into my boudoir, sat him down on the stool before the dressing-table, and began to rub his grey cheeks carefully with rouge. He protested vigorously.

  ‘You can’t ride across the Champs Elysées at the head of your victorious troops looking like death itself. If you enter like a victor you must look like a victor.’ I examined my handiwork and noticed with satisfaction that his cheeks looked a very natural red.

  But Jean-Baptiste shook his head in revulsion. ‘I can’t. Really, I can’t.’ It sounded almost like sobbing.

  I put my hands on his shoulders. ‘After the parade you’ll show yourself at the command performance in the Théâtre Français. You owe that to Sweden. And now, dearest, I fear you must go.’

  He buried his head on my breast. All the colour had gone out of his lips, they were sore and full of cracks. ‘I believe that during the victory parade there will be only one other man as lonely as I and that is – he!’

  ‘Nonsense! You are not lonely. After all, I am with you and not with him! Go now, your staff is waiting.’

  He got up and put my hand to his lips. ‘Promise me not to go and see the parade.’

  I promised him that.

  When the bells began to ring for the beginning of the parade I went and sat in the garden. Everybody had gone in my coach to be there too, and I had given the servants the day off. Hence no one was there to announce the unexpected visitor. This unexpected visitor had found the front door open, entered and wandered through the empty house into the garden. I didn’t notice him because I had my eyes closed and was thinking of Jean-Baptiste at the victory parade. ‘Your Highness!’ I heard someone shout through the ringing of the bells, and when I, startled out of my thoughts, opened my eyes, I saw Fouché with his pointed nose and small eyes, and a very big white rosette on the lapel of a rather modest tail-coat. He made a deep bow.

  Rather overcome, I pointed to the bench. He sat down with alacrity and at once began to talk. I couldn’t hear him because of the bells. He stopped talking, smiled and waited. Then the bell-ringing came to an end.

  ‘I am sorry to disturb your Highness, I have come on Talleyrand’s behalf to see Madame Julie Bonaparte. Talleyrand is very busy these days, whilst I unfortunately have very much time. I had in any case intended to call on you, and so I offered to take the document along. It concerns the future of the members of the Bonaparte family.’

  He handed me the copy of a very lengthy document.

  ‘I shall pass it on to my sister.’

  ‘Do have a look at the list, Your Highness.’

  I looked and read: the mother of the E
mperor – 300,000 francs; King Joseph – 500,000 francs; King Louis – 200,000 francs; Queen Hortense and her children – 400,000 francs; King Jerome and his wife – 500,000 francs; Princess Eliza – 300,000 francs; Princess Polette – 300,000 francs.

  ‘These are annuities, Your Highness, annuities! Our new Government is really generous.’

  ‘Where may the members of the Bonaparte family live?’

  ‘Only abroad, Your Highness!’

  So Julie, who always feels miserable away from France, will be an exile, an exile for the rest of her life! And why? Because I, once upon a time, had brought Joseph into our house in Marseilles. ‘I must try to help her,’ I thought, ‘I must do all I can to keep her here.’

  ‘Perhaps you could ask His Royal Highness to intervene on behalf of Madame Julie Bonaparte? Or go and see His Majesty King Louis XVIII and put in a good word for her with him?’

  ‘King Louis …’ I repeated, and tried to get used to the name.

  ‘His Majesty is expected to arrive at the Tuileries in the next few days.’

  ‘What did this King Louis do during his exile?’ I wanted to have an idea what the brothers Bonaparte might do with their time in their future asylums.

  ‘His Majesty engaged in studies. He translated a famous book into French, Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.’

  ‘Translated history, not made it,’ I thought. ‘Is he bringing his own court with him?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, and went on to make the astonishing request that I should mention his name to His Majesty King Louis to help him obtain a post.

  ‘I’m sure you have not been forgotten, Monsieur Fouché,’ I said. ‘Even I, who was only a child at the time, remember clearly the many thousand death sentences you signed.’

  He fumbled with his white rosette. ‘That, Your Highness, is no longer remembered. What I should like to be remembered, however, is the fact that several times during the last few years I tried secretly to come to an arrangement with Britain. General Bonaparte called me a traitor, Your Highness, I risked my life.’