Desiree

  I only went along to Drottningholm to see the famous summer seat of the Vasas where Oscar is going to spend his summers from now onwards.

  The evening after our arrival we were given an entertainment in the little theatre built by the mad King Gustavus III at enormous expense. Miss Koskull, in her blissful amateurishness, sang a few arias which the King applauded enthusiatically, but she had no response whatever from Jean-Baptiste. Yet there was one moment during that dark winter when I thought that … Now the tall Miss Koskull, the Valkyrie, the goddess of the battlefield, had lost all attraction for Jean-Baptiste, now that I was going. All the same, my darling, I am going whatever happens …

  In my honour Their Majesties gave a farewell banquet. After the meal we even danced a little. The King and Queen sat in gilded arm-chairs and smiled graciously, that is to say, as far as the King with his drooping mouth and uncomprehending face cam smile at all.

  I danced with Baron Mörner, Chancellor Wetterstedt and Foreign Minister Engström, and finally with Jean-Baptiste’s youngest Cabinet Secretary, our Count Brahe. After the dance I said to him: ‘It is hot in here. I should like a breath of fresh air.’ We went outside.

  ‘I should like to thank you, Count Brahe,’ I told him. ‘You stood by my side chivalrously when I arrived, and I know that you will see me just as chivalrously to my carriage to say goodbye. You did everything in your power to give me an easy beginning here. Forgive me for having disappointed you. This is the end of the beginning.’

  He hung his dark head and chewed the little moustache which he had been growing. ‘If Your Highness wishes—’

  I shook my head energetically. ‘No, Count, no! Believe me, my husband is a good judge of men, and if he’s made you a Cabinet Secretary in spite of your youth, then it is because he needs your services, needs them here in Sweden.’

  He didn’t thank me for this compliment but continued chewing his moustache. But then he raised his head abruptly. ‘I ask Your Royal Highness not to go. I implore Your Highness!’

  ‘The matter was settled weeks ago, Count Brahe. And I believe I am doing right.’

  ‘But no, Your Highness. I implore you once more to postpone your departure. The time does not seem to me—’ He stopped, ran his fingers through his hair and then jerked out: ‘I am certain that the time you have chosen is wrong.’

  ‘The time is wrong? I don’t understand you.’

  He turned his head away. ‘A letter came from the Tsar. More than that I cannot say.’

  ‘Then don’t say it. As His Highness’s Secretary you must not mention his correspondence. But I’m glad that the Tsar has written. The Crown Prince greatly values a good understanding with him, and I hope that it was a friendly letter.’

  ‘Too friendly.’

  I could make nothing of young Brahe’s behaviour. What did my departure have to do with the Tsar?

  ‘The Tsar has offered the Crown Prince a token of his friendship,’ said Brahe in despair, and he continued without looking at me: ‘The Tsar began his letter with the words “My dear Cousin,” great sign of friendship, that.’

  Yes, a very great sign indeed, the Tsar addressing the former Sergeant Bernadotte as his cousin. I smiled and said: ‘That means a lot for Sweden.’

  ‘It is a question of the alliance, and we have to decide now either for Napoleon or for Russia. Both proposed an alliance to us. And that is why the Tsar wrote: “My dear Cousin, if it can be of any assistance in strengthening your personal position in Sweden I offer you—”’

  ‘Finland, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, he says nothing about Finland. “If it can be of any assistance in strengthening your personal position I offer you entry into my family.”’ Count Brahe’s shoulders seemed to sag as if under a heavy burden.

  I stared at him uncomprehending. ‘What does it mean? Does the Tsar, too, want to adopt us?’

  ‘The Tsar speaks only about – His Highness.’ At last he turned his face back to me. It had a tortured look about it. ‘There are other possibilities, Your Highness, for bringing about an entry into a family.’ Then I understood what he meant.

  Oh, yes, there were other possibilities. Napoleon married his stepson to a Bavarian Princess and he himself is the son-in-law of the Emperor of Austria, and therefore related to the Hapsburgs. All one had to do was to marry a Princess. It was very simple indeed. A Government measure, a document of State such as the one that Josephine had had to read out … And before my mind’s eye I saw Josephine screaming, Josephine moaning with pain on her bed.

  ‘That would indeed secure the position of His Highness,’ I said in a toneless voice.

  ‘It would not, not with us in Sweden. The Tsar has taken Finland away from us, and we cannot get over this loss so quickly. But, Your Highness, with the rest of Europe it would greatly enhance his position.’

  Josephine came back to my mind. But Josephine had not given him a son, had she?

  ‘And therefore,’ Count Brahe concluded, ‘I should like to point out that this is not a favourable time for Your Highness’s departure.’

  ‘Yes, it is, Count Brahe. Now even more so. One day you will understand.’ I gave him my hand. ‘I ask you very sincerely to stand loyally by my husband. We have the feeling that here they grudge us our French friends and servants. For that reason Colonel Villatte, my husband’s oldest and most faithful adjutant, is returning with me to Paris. Try to take his place, Count, my husband will be very lonely. I shall see you to-morrow.’

  I didn’t return to the ballroom immediately. Instead I walked slowly down the endless park as if in a daze. It was to this palace, to this park, that Gustavus IV had been brought as a captive after his enforced resignation. Here, in the alleys and avenues, he ran up and down with his warders running behind him, talking to himself and the lime trees in his despair and madness. And there, by the Chinese pavilion, where in his young days he used to compose his elegies, his mother would wait for him every day, the mother of a madman, the widow of a murdered man, Sophia Magdalena.

  The wind of summer soughed gently in the leaves. I noticed a shadow, and then I saw that the shadow was moving towards me. I screamed, I wanted to run away but stood rooted to the spot. Immediately in front of me on the pebble path in the pale light of the moon stood the Dowager Queen in her black dress.

  ‘I am sorry if I frightened you,’ she said.

  ‘You – you were waiting here for me, Madame?’ I felt ashamed because the wild beating of my heart hardly allowed me to speak.

  ‘No, I could not know that you prefer a walk to dancing, Madame,’ said the flat voice. ‘I myself always go for a walk on fine summer nights. I do not sleep well, Madame. And this park brings back many memories.’

  I could hardly find an answer to that. Her son and grandson had been banished, my husband and my son had been called to their place. ‘I am saying good-bye to these avenues which I hardly know. I am returning to France to-morrow morning.’ I was glad to have found something to say.

  ‘I did not expect ever to be able to speak to you alone. I am glad of this opportunity.’

  We walked along side by side. I had lost my fear of her, an old lady in black clothes. The air was full of the scent of the limes.

  ‘I ponder often over your departure. I believe I am the only one who knows your reasons,’ she said.

  ‘It’s better not to talk about it,’ I said, and walked a bit faster. At that she reached for my arm, and the unexpected touch frightened me so much that I shrank back.

  ‘But, my child, are you afraid of me?’ Her voice had gained an unsuspected depth and sounded full of an irredeemable sadness. We stopped.

  ‘Of course not, that – yes. I am afraid of you, Madame.’

  ‘Of me, a sick, lonely woman?’

  I nodded. ‘Because you hate me like all the other ladies of your family. I disturb you, I don’t belong here – there’s no sense in talking about it. It doesn’t alter the facts. I do understand you very well, Madame. You and I attempt to do exac
tly the same thing.’

  ‘Do please explain what you mean by that.’

  I felt tears rising in my throat. This last evening with all its misery made me cry. But only one short sob came out, then I had myself under control again. ‘You are staying in Sweden, Madame, in order to remind everybody by your presence of your son and grandson. As long as you are here it will be impossible to forget the last Vasas. Perhaps you would have preferred to live in Switzerland with your son, who is said to live in very modest circumstances. Perhaps you would prefer to keep house for him and darn his socks instead of doing embroidery in Her Majesty’s drawing-room.’ I lowered my voice. ‘But you’re staying, Madame, because you are the mother of an exiled King and serve his interests by staying here. Am I right, Madame?’

  She didn’t stir, but stood there, gaunt and upright, a black shadow in the green twilight. ‘You are right,’ she said. ‘And you, Madame, why are you leaving?’

  ‘Because by leaving I best serve the interests of the future King.’

  A long silence followed. At last she said: ‘That was exactly what I thought.’ A few bars of guitar music floated through the park, and the voice of Miss Koskull singing came to us for a moment. ‘Are you sure that your leaving would also serve your own interests?’ she asked.

  ‘Quite sure, Madame. I am thinking of the distant future and of King Oscar I,’ I said. Then I bowed deeply to her and went back to the castle.

  It is two o’clock in the morning. The birds have just begun to twitter in the park. Somewhere here in this castle there lives an old woman who can’t find sleep. Perhaps she is still wandering about in the park. She is staying, I am leaving …

  I have described the last evening. There’s nothing more to add to it. But still, I can’t escape my thoughts. Has the Tsar any daughters? Or sisters? For heaven’s sake, I am seeing ghosts again.

  My door opens very, very gently. Are there any ghosts walking about the castle? I could shout for help, but perhaps I am wrong. No, the door is really opening, I force myself to go on writing—

  Jean-Baptiste!

  In the coach during the journey from Sweden to France. The end of June 1811

  My passport is made out in the name of Countess of Gothland. Gothland is a big Swedish island. I don’t know it at all. The Queen thought of it for my title. Under no circumstances was she going to allow her dear daughter, the Crown Princess, to travel through Europe in too modest a style. But on the other hand no attention was to be drawn to the fact that Desideria, the allegedly longed-for one, after a few months in her new home was already on her way back. Hence the disguise.

  The Queen came to see me off. Oscar cried inconsolably but tried to hide his tears. The Queen put her hand on his shoulder; the boy, however, shook it off.

  ‘Promise me, Madame, that you will see to it that the boy goes to bed every evening at nine o’clock,’ I asked her.

  ‘I had a letter the other day from Madame de Staël. She makes some very sensible and progressive suggestions for the Prince’s education,’ said Jean-Baptiste.

  ‘Oh, that woman!’ I murmured, and repeated, ‘At any rate, bed at nine o’clock!’ I looked at Jean-Baptiste for the last time for nobody knows how many weeks to come. So many intelligent and educated women around him, perhaps even a Russian Grand Duchess …

  Jean-Baptiste put my hands to his lips. ‘Count Rosen will be at your side whatever happens.’

  Count Rosen, Count Brahe’s best friend, clicked his heels. He is my new adjutant, a young man with gleaming fair hair and the adjutant’s sash around his waist. Count Brahe came, but we didn’t have any more conversation with each other.

  ‘I wish you a very good journey, Madame,’ said the Queen, who all at once looked old. She seemed not to have slept well. The pouches under her pale eyes were swollen. Was there anybody at all who had slept well last night?

  Oh yes, the Countess Lewenhaupt had! She was positively beaming now that she no longer had to be lady-in-waiting to a silk merchant’s daughter. Miss Koskull, too, looked fresh and blooming, well made-up and very sure of triumph. No doubt, she saw possibilities …

  At the last minute everybody crowded round me so eagerly that they pushed Oscar aside. But he elbowed his way back to me. He is almost as tall as I am now, which is not saying very much. All the same, he really is tall for his age.

  I took him into my arms. ‘May God protect you, darling!’ His hair gave out a fresh fragrance, the fragrance of sun and lime blossom. He must have been out riding this morning.

  ‘Mama, can’t you stay! It is so beautiful here!’

  How good that he found it beautiful here, how good!

  I entered the carriage. Jean-Baptiste propped a cushion up behind my back, and Madame La Flotte took her seat next to me. Villatte and Count Rosen joined us in our coach, Marie and Yvette travelled in a second one. As the carriage started to move I bent forward and looked at the row of windows. I felt sure that at one of the windows on the first floor there would be a black figure standing. And there was! She stayed, I left.

  ‘When we arrive in Plombières we won’t have a single summer dress of the latest fashion,’ said Madame La Flotte. ‘We should go to Paris first and do some shopping there.’

  Fair-haired children were standing by the roadside, waving, and I waved back at them. Already I was longing for Oscar, already …

  Paris, January 1st, 1812

  When all the church bells of Paris were ringing in the New Year we were facing each other alone, Napoleon and I.

  That surprising invitation came to me through Julie. ‘Their Majesties receive after midnight. But the family is asked for ten o’clock, and you are to come along with us at all costs, the Empress said.’

  When Julie told me this we were sitting as usual in the small drawing-room in the Rue d’Anjou where she tells me all her cares and worries. She seems contented with her life as the Queen of Spain whose husband has never managed to sit on his throne, contented with her life at the court in Paris where she finds the Empress a really majestic figure and the Empress’s son, the blue-eyed and fair-haired King of Rome, a really adorable little baby. She couldn’t understand at first why I didn’t call at the Tuileries after my return. I didn’t call, and I have been leading a very quiet life ever since, seeing only Julie and a few friends. That was why this invitation came as a surprise, and I couldn’t rid myself of the feeling that it was an invitation for a purpose. But what purpose?

  And so for the third time in my life I rode to the Tuileries with fear in my heart. The first time was the night I asked Napoleon in vain to spare the life of the Duc d’Enghien. The second time I went with Jean-Baptiste and Oscar before we went to Sweden.

  Last night I wore my white and gold robe and the ear-rings from the Dowager Queen, and though I didn’t feel cold, I had thrown Napoleon’s sable round my shoulders. ‘In Stockholm,’ I thought, ‘the temperature will be down to thirty degrees below freezing point.’ I breathed deeply when I entered the palace. I felt at home among the dark-green liveries of the servants, the tapestries and the carpets with the bee pattern, bees, bees everywhere, exactly as he had told me that night. And there were bright lights everywhere, no half-darkness and no ghosts.

  The whole family had foregathered in the Empress’s salon. When I came in everybody rushed to greet me, a genuine Crown Princess now. Even Marie-Louise rose and came to meet me. She still wore pink, her eyes still looked as if they were made of china, but her smile was more effusive than ever. Her first question was about her ‘dear cousin’ the Queen of Sweden. Naturally a member of the Vasa family is nearer to the heart of a Hapsburg than all the Bonapartes of the world together.

  I had to sit beside her on a very fragile sofa. Madame Letita was there, too, and I was pleased to meet the old lady again, Madame Mère with the Parisian curls and carefully manicured finger-nails. Polette, the Princess Borghese, more beautiful than ever, drank a lot, and I remembered that Julie had recently hinted at a mysterious illness Polette had contra
cted, a quite unmentionable illness. Or course I hadn’t been able to imagine what kind of illness that might be. Then there was Joseph, too, smiling disagreeably when talking of the ‘Bernadotte dynasty’.

  It was past eleven o’clock and the Emperor had not yet appeared. ‘His Majesty is still working,’ Marie-Louise explained. The champagne glasses were filled and Julie enquired when we would be shown the baby.

  ‘At the beginning of the New Year,’ said Marie-Louise. ‘The Emperor wants to see it in with the boy in his arms.’

  At that moment Meneval, the Emperor’s secretary, came. ‘His Majesty wants to speak to Your Royal Highness.’

  ‘Do you mean me?’

  His face remained grave. ‘Your Royal Highness, the Crown Princess of Sweden.’

  Marie-Louise, talking to Julie, didn’t seem to be surprised. I realised that she had invited me on the Emperor’s order. The Bonapartes, however, fell silent.

  Meneval took me to Napoleon’s small study. The two former interviews had taken place in his big one. Napoleon looked up for a moment as we entered, said: ‘Take a seat, Madame,’ and then, very impolitely, continued with what he was doing. Meneval disappeared, I sat down and waited.

  A file with many closely written sheets was lying in front of him. I thought I recognised the writing. Probably Alquier’s despatches from Stockholm, I reflected. The clock on the mantelpiece kept ticking towards the New Year, and I sat and waited.

  Suddenly I heard myself say: ‘There is no need, Sire, to intimidate me by keeping me waiting. I am timid by nature, and where you are concerned I am not very brave.’

  He still didn’t look up but said: ‘Eugenie, Eugenie, one waits till the Emperor opens the conversation. Did Monsieur Montel not manage to teach you even that much etiquette?’ Then he continued to read.

  I studied his face. The mask of Cæsar was running to flesh now, the hair had thinned out. ‘Strange,’ I thought, ‘this is the face I once loved.’ It was a long time ago, but I remembered how I loved him. It was only the face I had forgotten.