Against a Crimson Sky

by James Conroyd Martin

  “It’s as if he’s sight-seeing,” Paweł said on the third day, as they waited in a courtyard while the emperor was made welcome at a palace in Kondrzew.

  “He is one who enjoys getting the lay of the land, as they say,” Jan replied. “Gives everything—every field, every windmill—a damn good look. But did you notice he almost never looks you in the eye? Did you think that odd?”

  “I did. Doesn’t look at you, and yet he’s so full of questions—like a newspaperman! Wants to know your lineage, place of birth, schooling, ambitions, attitudes of the peasants and gentry. By God, a talk with him is exhausting!”

  “Exactly!” Jan looked toward the little palace. “Well, he must have the poor Lady Treskowa cornered in her own home.”

  “Well,” Paweł joked, “you did say ‘lay of the land’.”

  Jan chuckled. “It could be he is inventorying Poland’s treasures He’s reputed to have an incredible memory.”

  “If you mean to say Lady Treskowa might herself be a jewel of some sort, I caught a good look, and as far as I’m concerned, he can cart her off anytime.”

  “Ha, ha! Where’s your sense of chivalry?”Jan intoned in mock seriousness. “No, the lady in question is Poland herself. Her lands and castles and people.”

  “Pessimist!”

  A ball was held that night in the emperor’s honor. The hall was so choked with festive souls, one could hardly imagine that war was being carried on elsewhere. Gaggles of women had shown up in their finest to have a look at the famous conqueror—and no doubt to be looked at. Jan watched with some interest as the emperor moved among the clusters, smiling, nodding, and talking. Sometimes, when Napoléon found an especially pretty woman, he lingered a while, unleashing his litany of questions. He wore two or three women out in that manner. One swooned and fainted dead away. The emperor retired about midnight, allowing his Polish honor guard to end the night, as well.

  On the fourth day, General Dąbrowski summoned Jan and Paweł to his makeshift office in a nearby home. “What do you suppose it’s about?” Paweł asked.

  “I suspect we’re to give up our rooms. The other legions from Italy have been streaming into Poznań all day, as you know. We’ve got rooms good enough for generals, and I can tick off the names of four or five old Polish warhorses arriving today.”

  “Maybe it’s just new orders.”

  “That won’t happen until the general parley with the emperor.”

  Ten minutes later General Hans Dąbrowski stood and moved around the desk to greet Jan and Paweł. “May I commend you both on your service to the emperor? It’s because of your prowess the other day that the man didn’t lose his horse and himself in the mud.”

  “The man— ” Jan paused, correcting himself. “Rather, the emperor—has his share of derring-do, General. It’s a wonder we didn’t lose one or two of us out there.”

  “Indeed, indeed!” The general harumphed. “Now, to the matter at hand. . . . I have to first admit that this course of action was suggested to me by the emperor himself, but please don’t think that I haven’t harbored the idea myself for some time.”

  What seemed a long moment passed. General Dąbrowski cleared his throat. “You have both been excellent chefs d’escadron.”

  “Thank you, sir,” came the tandem reply.

  “It is my intention to appoint the two of you majors tomorrow.”

  Jan felt himself flushing again as he and Paweł mumbled their appropriate and formal expressions of gratitude. The warmth in Jan’s cheeks was fired by only pride now.

  Outside the house, Jan and Paweł congratulated one another. Their enthusiasm lost its heart, though, as they walked back to their rooms in silence. Each knew that the new commission meant that they would be placed in separate squadrons, for there was but one major per squadron. They would no longer ride spur by spur, fight side by side. And their squadrons might be attached to different legions and sent to very different locations.

  “A toast?” Jan asked as they entered the inn.

  “No thanks,” Paweł said.

  Jan put his arm around Paweł’s shoulders. “Just one. A bittersweet one.”

  Paweł’s smile was just that: bittersweet.

  Two days later, Napoléon’s favorite, Prince Murat, came from Warsaw, declaring that city taken. Napoléon wasted no time in making preparations to depart for the former capital of the Commonwealth. Jan heard him tell Dąbrowski that this time his arrival would not be by night and that he looked forward to an enthusiastic welcome. On the day of Napoléon’s departure, the legionnaires gave his retinue a good hour’s safe conduct on the Warsaw Road, then returned to Poznań to ponder what orders might come.

  20

  December 1806

  Anna walked downstairs and found Zofia preparing to go out for the evening. “I’ve had a letter from Jan,” she said. “Both he and Paweł are in good health.”

  “Of course, they are! You worry too much, Anna.” Zofia pulled on her wrap and made for the door.

  “He says Napoléon is likely to come to Warsaw.”

  “I’ve heard that.”

  “There’s more,” Anna blurted.

  Zofia turned around.

  “They’ve both been promoted to majors.”

  “Oh. Good for them! I suppose they’re thrilled to the top of their czapkas. Ah—but I see you’re not, are you?”

  Anna shook your head.

  “You think Jan may be making a career of soldiering?”

  Anna’s answer caught in her throat.

  Zofia’s eyes narrowed. “How many years has it been, darling?—You know that’s what he’s doing. That’s what they’re both doing. The army has them like a spider and two flies. Mark my words, they’ll grow old in it.”

  Anna looked at Zofia and tried to hold her tears at bay.

  Zofia went to her and put her arms around her. “There, there, where’s your old patriot spirit, Anna? You’re the one who held illegal meetings in my house, putting us all at risk, are you not? The minx who minced her way into the Royal Castle impersonating me in order to gain entrance?”

  Anna wondered if her cousin wasn’t mocking her. Still, there was truth in what she said, so she chose to laugh. “I was quite the actress, I admit.”

  Zofia released Anna. “Maybe I’m wrong, dearest. Let us hope the emperor puts everything to right and both Jan and Paweł can come home.—Well, I must fly.” She kissed Anna on either cheek and made her exit.

  Climbing the staircase, Anna went to her little reception room and reread the letter. Was Jan to grow old in the army?

  Barbara came into the room and sidled up to her mother. “Is that from Papa?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “What does he say?”

  “He says he loves you.”

  “What else?”

  “He’s been made a major.”

  “Is that good?”

  “Yes, Basia, it is good. It’s a promotion.—Now run and get ready for supper. Lutisha’s making your favorite.”

  “Plum pierogi?”

  “Yes, plum pierogi.”

  After Barbara left, Anna fell into a reverie. She found herself staring at her treasured crystal dove where it sat on a table near the window, wings extended, its facets enlivened by a nearby candle. Zofia had reminded her of the days before Warsaw fell to the Russians in 1794 when Anna held meetings at the Groński town house for her patriot friends. Now that the bonds of Prussia were loosened, she could do the same, she thought, and her spirits were immediately lifted. But then, as she went over the list of those people in her mind, she realized most had taken up with the legionnaires or moved away, breaking contact. Or had died. No, it was not a group that could be reconstituted.

  While she had received much of the political news of the day through those friends back then, she was not without a source of information in the present. The Countess Potocka had taken a liking to Anna and extended invitations to her, whether or not Zofia was to be included. And the Potocki ho
usehold seemed to be a little headquarters where policy was discussed and leaders entertained. Anna would often read in the Monitor something she had learned at the Potockis’ a week earlier.

  Anna’s eyes fell on the paragraph in Jan’s letter detailing Prince Joachim Murat’s arrival in Poznań and the prince’s news that the Prussians had been put out of Warsaw.

  Anna smiled to herself. Warsaw was free, indeed. In fact, Murat, Grand Duke of Berg, had been the house guest of the Potockis prior to his departure for Poznań.

  In an attempt to put aside her emotional reaction to Jan’s letter, Anna went to her desk now, took a sheaf of paper and put quill to a letter to Jan. After the congratulatory paragraph regarding his appointment, she described just how peacefully the Prussians had left. With the French bearing down, General Kalkreuth, Warsaw’s commandant, picked up and moved out, bags, baggage, and every musket in the city. He left to the sounds of women and boys making cat-calls from windows, taking his men across the Vistula and joining forces with the Russians. The French, led by Murat, arrived on 21st of November, and the city erupted in celebration. Tables laden with food and drink were set up in the streets, and a carnival-like atmosphere prevailed. Citizens fought one another for the right to billet the infantry even though most of the Polish citizenry didn’t speak French—and the soldiers certainly didn’t know Polish! Shunning the Hotel Raczynski, Murat took up lodging at the Potockis’. It was there that Anna met the prince, brother-in-law to the emperor and general in his army.

  Anna had been less than impressed. Oh, he was young—twenty-two on the outside—forthright, elegant in accent and manner. However, he talked like a parrot, but unlike a parrot, did little listening. His lectures on war could easily exceed an hour, tedious stuff in mixed company. Lady Potocka said later how he seemed to be playing the part of a king, for he was constantly alluding to the legendary King Sobieski. Anna wondered if he didn’t imagine himself Poland’s king. Did he see his own future in Poland? Perhaps it was not out of the question—after all, he was said to be a favorite of Napoléon, who seemed to be finding or making kingdoms for his newly royal brothers.

  Anna asked Jan his opinion on the Murat question and closed off her letter, choosing not to end with more personal commentary, not to write of her fears.

  “Well?” Zofia demanded even before Charlotte could take her seat in the reception room.

  Charlotte’s blue eyes, appearing smaller than they were because of the weight a predilection for sweets had inflicted, sparkled with teasing delight. “Oh, I’ve talked to quite a few fellow French wayfarers—those in the know,” she said. “I’m a veritable cornucopia of information on Napoléon’s love life.”

  “I knew I kept you around for something.” Zofia laughed. “Here, take your tea.”

  “Merci—biscuits, too—how delightful!” Charlotte began to prepare her tea, mixing in two teaspoons of sugar. “Well, he was engaged when he met Josephine—to some chit a decade younger than himself. He all but jilted her for Josephine—and after compromising the chit, I might add.”

  Zofia’s mouth fell slack. “And then to marry someone a decade older than he!”

  “Well, not quite—but six years, at least. What was the man thinking?”

  “Maybe he thought her exotic. She’s Creole, isn’t she?”

  Charlotte nodded. “From Martinique. But exotic? The bloom was off the rose, you can be sure. They say even then Josephine’s teeth had blackened so that she learned to smile without showing them. She’d been married before and has two children—grown now—to remind her.”

  “Divorced?”

  Charlotte chuckled, wiping away the crumbs of a biscuit from her rouged lips. “You might say so! By the big knife. Her husband went to the scaffold during the Terror. Just five days before Robespierre’s downfall. Fate, I guess. She was in prison and would have had the headache cure, too, but ten days after the coup she was freed.”

  “Fate again.”

  “It’s rumored she was quite active in the prison—Les Carmes—if you know what I mean. Seems the place was a den of iniquity where the aristocrats shamelessly cavorted as a way of denying their fate and showing their disregard for the new regime.”

  Zofia shrugged. “Understandable, I suppose.”

  “Well, after her release she stalked Napoléon, they say. She wanted someone powerful and wealthy. He was coming into power, but wasn’t wealthy. In fact, he thought she was a woman of property in Martinique. Ha! No such thing!” Charlotte fell into a fit of the giggles now. “It seems that on their wedding night, Josephine had her pet dog in their marriage bed and it bit the little man! Mind you, the dog’s name was Fortuné!”

  Zofia exploded into laughter, too. “How appropos!—Good heavens, Char, I didn’t expect this kind of detective work! You’re quite amazing!”

  “Oh, there’s more. After the wedding, Josephine complained to friends about Napoléon’s performance—said if it were a play, it would only be a one-act!”

  “Now you’re embroidering!” Zofia gave a dismissive wave of her hand.

  “I’m not, I swear!”

  “Is their marriage as bad as all that?”

  “Worse, if you can believe it. Neither has been faithful from the beginning. Josephine’s carnal appetite is voracious and what with the many and long separations, she has had ample opportunity to indulge it. And Napoléon seeks out women wherever he goes . . . or vice versa. On his Egyptian campaign, he took the wife of one of his lieutenants as mistress. Broke up their marriage, he did, and led this woman—Pauline—about Cairo as if she were Cleopatra to his Caesar.”

  “How old was she?”

  “Only twenty.”

  “Ah, a change from Josephine. Did it last?”

  “Only as long as the Egyptian campaign. When it was done, he dropped her as if she had the cholera. In fact, he’s has a reputation for cruelty to women—in word and deed. Then there was this Italian opera singer he carted back to Paris and set up in a house. That ended when she met a young musician and tried to balance two lovers. Napoléon ejected them both from the city. And so it goes—wherever he travels. Oh, he writes to Josephine regularly and has spies report back to him on her indiscretions.”

  “While he pursues his own indiscretions.”

  “Précisément! But the marriage somehow endures.”

  “And now he hopes to find something out about the essence of Polish women?”

  Charlotte was about to respond when she caught Zofia’s meaningful stare and realized a response was unnecessary. She laughed instead and reached for the last biscuit.

  Barbara and Izabel sat on a couch across from Anna, their eyes alive with excitement. They could scarcely contain themselves. Outside, despite a continuing rain something short of a deluge, the streets of Warsaw swarmed with people and buzzed with noise and activity. Fireworks were being prepared, triumphal arches created, and not a door or post in the vicinity went without a wreath. Vendors were already setting up, and street entertainers were laying claim to spaces in the square and its adjoining avenues.

  “Now you two must be serious for the moment,” Anna said, her eyes fixing on her daughter’s green irises, then on Iza’s eyes of sky blue. She glanced back at her daughter in time to see her rolling those eyes in impatience. “I’m serious, Basia—and you must be, too!”

  “Oh, Mama, if this is another caution—”

  “It is, indeed. And you’re going to listen! Tomorrow is going to be wild with celebration. This street will probably be impassable and half the citizens will be drunk. Do you understand?” Both girls nodded. “I’ll not deny you your fun or the chance to see the French emperor arrive, but I don’t want one of you to part from the other for a single moment. Not one! And you are both to be accompanied by one of the servants.”

  “If it’s about that man, Mama— ”

  “It’s not just about him, but if you do come across him, you’re to come home immediately. It’s about any number of people who might do you harm on a
day like tomorrow.”

  Barbara jumped up and kissed Anna on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Mama. We’ll be careful.” She effected an escape then, calling Izabel, “Come, Iza, help me select something to wear, should I catch the emperor’s eye.”

  “A big chance that,” Iza called back and stood.

  Anna reached out and took Izabela’s hand. “You’re the elder, Iza. Please don’t let Basia out of your sight.”

  “I won’t, Aunt Anna. I promise.” Iza leaned over and kissed Anna lightly.

  Anna knew that she meant it. How strange, Anna thought, once she was alone. Zofia’s daughter was sensible and serene, so unlike Zofia, while Anna’s own daughter had a touch of Zofia’s unpredictable and wild nature.

  Anna’s caution for the celebration proved unnecessary, though, for on 19 December 1806, Emperor Napoléon Bonaparte arrived in Warsaw at four in the morning on a sad specimen of a horse he had gotten at a posting house. His retinue’s carriages had been left behind, mired in the mud-filled roads. For the arrival of the French messiah, the city slept—even the sentinel who snoozed at his booth and had to be shaken awake by the emperor himself.

  Had the weather been better in the morning, the street festivities would have gone on anyway, but once it got about that Napoléon had already slipped into town and was slumbering nicely at the Royal Castle, few people braved the December rain and winds.

  Barbara and Izabel were crushed with disappointment.

  Two days later, Anna arrived at the Potockis’ in Willanów at seven in the evening. Lady Anusia Potocka had sent an invitation earlier in the day, and certain she would hear first-hand impressions of the emperor, Anna was most anxious to go.

  Anusia’s father-in-law had been one of the Polish nobles delegated to meet with Napoléon that very evening at the Royal Castle, so he was absent from supper.

  After the meal, some of the guests played cards while others conversed quietly. Still, the activities could not dispel a keen sense of anticipation.