Duval and the Empress's Crown (Napoleon's Police Book 5)

by Michele McGrath

  ‘On your head be it then’, he muttered as he left us in an anteroom. I had indeed spoken enchanted words and we were admitted to the Emperor’s study. It is such a big room and so long a walk, for he did not come forward to greet us. He had obviously been still pouring over the books piled up beside him as his aide said. It is rumoured that he rarely sleeps and I can believe that now. Who else would choose to work on the night before his coronation when he might have had his choice of all the celebrations in Paris? I was terrified. Tomas took hold of my arm and led me up to his desk. Napoléon was looking straight at me as if he could see inside my mind. Then he stood up. I curtseyed and Tomas bowed.

  ‘Madame Duval,’ the Emperor said, ‘I do not believe I have met you. My aide said you had something important for me, which will be needed for the coronation.’

  ‘Indeed I do, Sire. I am here on behalf of my husband, Alain Duval, who works for the Ministry of Police,’ I told him. ‘You tasked him with finding an item that had gone missing. I was given this to bring to you.’ I had hidden Lefebvre’s bag beneath my clothing, to keep it safe. Now I untied the string of my cloak and took out the parcel. I held it out to him.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, watching me closely.

  ‘I have not opened it. I was told only that it is the thing that you have been searching for.’

  ‘Is it indeed?’ Napoléon put the package onto his desk and it gave a clunk as if there was metal inside. That it was heavy I already knew, from carrying it.

  He opened the bag with his back to us and then turned around so we saw what it contained. I gasped as I looked at the glorious thing, all gold with precious gems sparkling in the candlelight.

  ‘The Empress’s crown,’ Napoléon said softly. ‘It has been lost and now it is recovered. Tell Duval that I am very grateful it has been returned unharmed and my thanks to you for bringing it to me. Where is your husband and why did not he bring it himself?’

  ‘In danger,’ I told him and suddenly I felt very giddy. The next thing I knew, I was lying back in a chair in front of the fire. Tomas fanned me and a lackey held a glass of water to my lips. The Emperor asked Tomas how the crown had come into my possession. When he described Jean, the Emperor said,

  ‘Lefebvre! Of course, it would be. Where one goes, so does the other with that pair. Do you know where either of them is now?’

  Tomas did not. The Emperor asked some more questions but we had already told him all we knew. So he dismissed us, saying that he would speak to Fouché and send a troop of soldiers after you, once he had found out where to send them. He told us not to speak of the crown to anyone. We were to bring him word if we received any further communication from you. Then he sent us to our homes in one of his own beautiful carriages with outriders to protect us.”

  “Thank you my love, for the story and for delivering the crown.”

  By this time our section of the cathedral was starting to fill up and we could not speak about the case any more, in case we should be overheard. I looked around me, watching for people that I knew. There were very few of them at first, a couple of Policemen and a general.

  “Oh, there is Madame de Herlay and her daughter.” Eugénie pointed to an elegant woman in black velvet some rows in front of us. “I knew they would be here.” Eugénie started to wave, but Madame de Herlay did not see her; she was looking in a different direction.

  Soft music had started to play as the musicians took turns to entertain the crowds. There was a great rustle of conversation as people found their seats or stood chatting with their friends. The air was scented with a hundred perfumes through which the tangy scent of incense cut its path. With more people in the church and our elevated position, the air around us had become warmer. When I next looked at Eugénie, I found that she had taken off her cloak. She now showed off the antique lace that ornamented from the bodice and sleeves of her grey velvet dress. She looked slightly flushed with excitement as she gazed eagerly over the throng. She could have stepped from the pages of a fairytale. I had a sudden pang. Ever since I fell in love with her, I have wanted to deck her out in fine dresses, but the salary of a Police agent does not allow such frivolities. Now she looked like a princess in her borrowed clothes which were sadly not of my providing. I smiled, though, when I saw that she wore the small string of pearls that I had given her on our wedding day, all that I could afford. The pearls in her ears I had never seen before.

  “Where did you get your earrings?” I asked curiously.

  “Maman lent them to me. Didn’t you see her give them to me when we left Aimée with her?”

  “No. I wondered what you were doing but I was concerned, thinking we’d be late.”

  “Silly. When I told her we had been invited to the coronation, Maman wanted me to wear them. Papa gave them to her many years ago so I must take great care of them,” she said with a smile.

  “One day I will buy you a pair of your own,” I promised her.

  As time passed, most of the seats had been taken and many people clustered in the side aisles. The main aisle, down which the imperial procession would enter the building, had been kept clear by a combination of soldiers of the Guard and the imperial lackeys. We had been sitting for hours, occasionally rising, when the trumpeters sounded a blast which brought everybody in the cathedral to their feet. Various processions entered the cathedral, deputations from the cities of France, the Army and Navy and the Legislative Assemblies. They were followed by the judiciary, the administrative corps, the Legion of Honour and chambers of commerce. One of our well informed neighbours identified each of them for us. With each group of people, the buzzing noise and the excitement increased.

  Gradually the guests filled the more important seats in the cathedral. I had a strange fancy that a magnificent stained-glass window had been shattered, its fragments coating the nave and the pews with sparkling colours. Red-robed judges sat next to ladies in white or pale colours, glittering with gold embroidery. The green uniforms of the chasseurs mingled with the blue of the Old Guards. Medals and sashes were everywhere. The members of the Legislative Assembly made a splash of dark colour amid all the splendour. Certain individuals stood out from the others. The envoy from the Ottoman Empire wore a vivid emerald and cream turban. A lady in the front row was all in scarlet, from the plumes nodding on her head to the tips of her shoes. From our vantage point, above her head, she looked like a huge red ball. A black soldier was obviously a person of some importance because of the number of people clustered around him. He sparkled, dressed in shimmering silver except for his cloth-of-gold sash.

  A small interval occurred and then the sound of cheering outside sounded again before the trumpeters blew another fanfare. The cheering, though, seemed too muted to be for the Emperor.

  “It cannot be Napoléon yet,” Eugénie agreed, clinging to my arm as she peered over the crowd towards the doorway. The orchestra played an introduction and then the choir sang,

  “Tu es Petrus.”

  “It isn’t the Emperor, it’s the Pope,” I replied, grasping at the remnants of my schoolboy Latin.

  Proceeded by attendants bearing lighted candles and a long-handled cross, the white robed Pope Pius VII, the cardinals, and grand officers of the Curia walked down the aisle. The elderly Pope looked tired and strained; an old man who had been forced to make an unwanted journey in winter weather. He had experienced many difficulties along the way and arrived late, much to Napoléon’s annoyance. The Pope raised his hand to bless the crowd, turning from side to side as he walked. Some of the older women crossed themselves and dropped to their knees as he did so. Most of the men did not even bow their heads for his blessing. Eugénie, who has always been devout, made the sign of the cross but fortunately did not try to kneel. If she had, we would have had difficulty in getting her to her feet again because by now, we were packed into the stand with barely room to breathe. I had a thought that she might have fallen onto the row below if she had tried to move. I had the greatest difficulty avoiding the
elbows of my companions, in case they touched my ribs.

  The Pope took a seat to the left side of the altar with his attendants clustered round him. Then we waited and waited and waited. We had become cramped, hot and very uncomfortable. Fortunately the excitement sustained us. Not that we could have got out if we had wanted to.

  It seemed an eternity before we heard the sound of cheering outside again, much louder cheering this time. Indeed it was so noisy, that it could only be the Emperor at last. The trumpets rang out, calling us all to stand. We did, eventually, although Berthe Fournier had to be helped to her feet. Her legs would not work; we had all been sitting still for so long.

  The doors opened wide and a man in a marshal’s uniform, ablaze with gold braid entered. I recognised him immediately, Maréchal Murat, the governor of Paris and husband of Napoléon’s sister, Caroline. Soldiers from different regiments followed him. They marched in and took positions on each side of the aisle. A group of ministers followed wearing their gala uniforms. Amongst them I saw the Foreign Minister, Tallyrand, walking with Fouché, who looked rather uncomfortable in elaborate formal dress instead of his usual plain black coat.

  The procession of the Empress followed. This was led by ladies in shell pink dresses carrying cushions bearing various items of her regalia, her crown amongst them. I could not help nudging Lefebvre when I saw it far below me. Then Joséphine herself appeared in a white gown embroidered with gold. Diamonds sparkled from her neck and her tiara. Her red velvet coronation robe, lined with ermine, trailed after her, held up at the edges by her daughter, the Princess Hortense, and the Emperor’s sisters.

  “That must be so heavy,” Eugénie whispered and it did look as if Joséphine was walking with difficulty towards the altar. She paused before her throne, five steps beneath the Emperor’s massive gold and green seat.

  Then came the moment we were waiting for. The Emperor’s procession entered, with the marshals and his brothers carrying his regalia. He, too, wore white embroidered silk and a long red, ermine-trimmed robe, which was carried by four men whom I did not recognise. On his head he wore a wreath of laurel leaves made of pure gold. Carefully he mounted the steps to the altar, pausing before his throne on the right of the altar and turned to face the waiting people.

  “Doesn’t she look beautiful?” Eugénie whispered to me as we all waited to see what would happen next.

  “Who?”

  “Joséphine of course.”

  I looked at her. Beautiful was not the word I would have used because she is not truly a lovely woman. Even when she was young, she would not have been able to compare with Eugénie. Now the mother of grown up children, faint lines could be seen on her face, if you looked at her carefully. It was said she was very skilled in the use of cosmetics to mask the signs of ageing. I would not call her beautiful but serene. A little smile played upon her lips.

  “She looks happy,” I replied, “and I am glad for her.”

  “I hope I look as lovely as her when I’m her age,” Eugénie murmured.

  “You are prettier now. Let’s hope you won’t need so much make up,” I said. The woman sitting before me turned and made a face at me for speaking more loudly than I intended.

  The regalia had been laid upon the altar. The Pope rose and the imperial couple turned for his blessing. Afterwards he anointed them with chrism. Mass started. After the Alleluia, the Pope blessed the crowns and the other regalia before returning to his seat. Napoléon went up to the altar and took off his laurel wreath. He picked up the largest of the two crowns. He turned around, held the crown over himself for a moment and then very deliberately placed it on his head. The crowd rippled with movement and there was a tiny noise of conversation.

  “He’s crowned himself!” Berthe Fournier hissed, “I thought the Pope was supposed to crown him?”

  “Shut up, woman,” Fournier said, as the slight sounds ceased.

  “Perhaps he wants to show the world he’s independent of the Pope,” I breathed and Fournier nodded. It would be just like Napoléon, a man who had carved out his own destiny.

  Napoléon returned to the altar, took off his crown and replaced it with the laurel wreath. He picked up the small crown which had caused so much trouble and turned around, waiting expectantly. The Empress walked in front of him. She knelt down on a prie-dieu and bowed her head. The Emperor held up her crown and touched it to his own head. He poised it over hers while he said something which was hard to understand.

  “What did he say?” I asked softly.

  “He said that he was crowning Joséphine as his wife, not in her own right,” Lefebvre, who has excellent ears, murmured.

  “He wouldn’t want to give her too much power or delusions of grandeur,” said Berthe. “Just like a man.”

  Then came the moment I had been waiting for. Very carefully Napoléon placed the small crown on Joséphine’s head, smiling as he did so. He took her hand and led her to her throne, waiting while she seated herself. I looked at Lefebvre and Fournier, who were both grinning. I could not help breathing a sigh of relief. There she was, the Empress Joséphine with her crown safely on her head.

  I don’t remember much of the ceremony that followed. Napoléon had a chain put around his neck and was given a ring, an orb, a sceptre and an ermine collar. A sword, flashing with diamonds was buckled to his waist. I tried to keep my mind on what was happening but tiredness and relief tugged at my eyelids. The music for the service, the Vivat and the Te Deum had been especially written by an Italian, or so we were told. It was lovely but it only made me sleepier. I remember also some girls bearing candles. Once the mass was finished, the Pope left the altar while Napoléon took the oath of office.

  “I swear to maintain the integrity of the territory of the Republic, to respect and enforce respect for the Concordat and freedom of religion, equality of rights, political and civil liberty, the irrevocability of the sale of national lands; not to raise any tax except in virtue of the law; to maintain the institution of Legion of Honour and to govern in the sole interest, happiness and glory of the French people.”

  Those are the words he said, according to the Moniteur next day. I remember thinking at the moment that I hoped he would keep some of them. Then at least the gains of the Republic would not have been thrown away by this man’s vanity. Only time would tell.

  Various titles were announced afterwards. Fortunately the man who read them out had a louder voice than the Emperor. Most of the old names were honoured, two of Napoléon’s brothers, Caulaincourt, Berthier, Duroc and several others. I listened but I did not catch Fouché’s name. Perhaps I missed it. I must have started to doze because I came to myself with Lefebvre shaking me.

  “You were going to fall off your seat,” he hissed. “Stand up. The great man’s leaving.”

  I got to my feet, swaying. The trumpets blew, the Emperor and Empress walked down the aisle to the cheers of the crowd waiting outside. Cannons roared in the distance. Although I knew they were only a salute, I could not help the cold shiver that ran down my back at the sound. I have heard too many guns fired in anger to listen to their voices again without fear.

  The Pope and the other dignitaries left, followed slowly by the rest of us. The ancient cathedral did not have enough doors to accommodate the thousands of people who were trying to pass through them all at once. It was a long time before we reached the outside world. Then at last we were in the fresh cold air. Snow was falling. We walked through the flakes which glittered as if they, too, were diamonds. As I looked upwards, an astonishing site met my eyes.

  “What’s that?” I gasped. Looking at a small light that seemed to be floating in the sky above the city.

  “It’s a balloon with lights on it,” Lefebvre said. “I read in the paper that they intended to send one up at the moment when the Emperor was crowned.”

  “Heavens! It’s in the shape of a crown!”

  “It must be huge. What a wonderful sight,” Berthe whispered. “I have never seen such a thing be
fore.”

  “Is there anyone in it?” François asked in an awed voice.

  “Who would go up in that? They’d have to be mad.”

  I watched the balloon fade into the distance, with strange feelings. I was sick of crowns. I never wanted to see another one.

  “So they are both crowned,” Eugénie said. “We will not see a day like this again in our lifetimes.”

  “Let us hope so,” I murmured. One coronation was more than enough for me. It had been a test of our endurance, sitting for hours crammed in by all the world. The colours and the ceremonial could not compensate me for the discomfort. Yet, when Eugénie asked me if I was glad I had been there, I replied that I was, especially with my friends around me. It was a day when history had been made and we had all played our part.

  Amidst all the glitter and the gold, the music, the incense and the prayers, I knew the moment I would always remember most clearly. I saw again the white, drawn faces of the three Princesses and the sweet smile of the Empress, as the Emperor tenderly placed her crown upon her head. That moment will stay with me for the rest of my life, whatever else I forget about the ceremony.

  “Without all of you the coronation would not have happened, for Joséphine at least,” Berthe said, smiling at us.

  “No. She looked so happy. May she continue to be,” Eugénie said.

  “I hope so too,” I replied, thinking of all the jealousies and hatred within the imperial family which I had seen demonstrated during the investigation. Empress or no, I felt sorry for Joséphine. “Let her enjoy today and many days to come.”

  The books in this series are at present:

  Duval and the Infernal Machine 1800: Invalided out of the French Army, Alain Duval joins the Ministry of Police in Paris, led by the infamous Joseph Fouché. Newly appointed and off duty, he is strolling through the city when he sees a crowd waiting for Napoleon, the First Consul, not yet Emperor. He is jostled by some men leaving the area in a hurry and shortly afterwards a bomb, the 'Infernal Machine' explodes. Duval joins the hunt for the bombers. Horse-shoes and barrel hoops send him searching all over Paris. Some of the bombers are captured but others escape. Napoleon puts an abrupt end to the search but the story is not over. Duval falls in love with his mentor's daughter, and together they find another of the bombers, leading to a surprise ending.