by Zia Wesley
Rose
PS The search for my successor now begins in earnest with inquiries to Czar Alexander and the Russian royal family. Please answer as soon as you are able with any advice regarding my newly proposed status. I suspect your position within the realm of the Ottomans may have produced some wisdom regarding marital relations of which I am unaware. My heart aches and I find no solace in anything. I have always tried to erase the memory of Madame David’s last words to me but they are all I think of now. I have indeed “astonished the world” and shall now “die alone and miserable.”
Josephine found no hope for her marriage in the year that followed, as pressure for an imperial heir increased. Napoleon strengthened his resolve, and in the fall of 1809, a new window of opportunity opened with the proposal of annulment rather than divorce. This solved three tricky issues: it eliminated the need for the sanction of the Holy Father, did not contradict the stipulation of the Imperial edict, and appeased the Czar’s objections, on religious grounds, of a proposed marriage with that house. Even Josephine could no longer use the excuse of religion to object. Assured of keeping her title, income and position, Josephine agreed.
On December 15, 1809 the dissolution of the civil marriage began with Napoleon and Josephine’s statements read by Eugène de Beauharnais at a formal hearing in Paris.
The Emperor said, “God knows what such a decision has cost to my heart! But there is no sacrifice that is beyond my courage if it is shown to be for the good of France. I must add that, far from having any reason for reproach, I have nothing but praise for the attachment and the affection of my beloved wife: she has graced fifteen years of my life; the memory of them will remain engraved in my heart. She was crowned by my hand; I desire that she retain the rank and title of crowned Empress, but more than this, that she never doubt my feelings and that she value me as her best and dearest friend.”
The Empress Josephine replied, With our most august and dear husband’s permission, I must declare that, no longer holding out any hope for a child that could satisfy both his political needs and the good of France, I give to him the greatest proof of attachment and devotion that has ever been given on this earth. Everything I have comes from his greatness; it is his hand that crowned me, and upon this throne, I have received evidence of nothing but affection and love from the French people.
I acknowledge these feelings in agreeing to the dissolution of this marriage, which from this moment on is an obstruction to the well-being of France, depriving it from the joy of one day being governed by the descendants of a great man clearly chosen by Providence to eradicate the evils of a terrible revolution and re-establish the altar, the throne and social order. Nevertheless, the dissolution of my marriage will change nothing of the feelings in my heart: the Emperor will have in me always his greatest friend. I know how much this act, called for by politics and greater interests, has pained his heart; but glorious is the sacrifice that he and I make for the good of our nation.
Nakshidil read the verbatim statements of the Emperor and Empress published in her own French newspaper, and wept. When she read Napoleon’s words “the memory of them will remain engraved in my heart,” she had to set the paper down. It was odd to see the French translation of her own name, attached to her dearest cousin, Rose. She immediately went to her writing table.
March 1, 1810
Dearest, dearest cousin,
Despite the many sorrows you endure, despite the loss and pain, you will always remain the most inspiring example of womanhood. You are kind, beautiful, gracious and filled with joie de vivre! Your light has shown at the very center of one of the greatest Empires in the world, and no one can ever take that glory from you.
When I was lost at sea, I held on to the image of the young man I had grown so fond of during that voyage, Mr. Angus Braugham. My feelings for him guided me through those first frightening weeks. I placed all my hope for rescue upon him. Yet, rescue came instead from a stranger I first thought of as barbarian.
You, my dear cousin, still have so many people to give you hope. Your children, grandchildren and the whole of France adore you. Allow them to heal your wounded heart and heed your husband’s proclamation of his love for you. You are now and shall always be a queen. More importantly, you are surrounded by those who love you.
We are no longer young women looking towards future happiness—no longer Yeyette and Maymay. Instead, we must take comfort in those gifts we have been given.
Do not despair, dear cousin, for you are beloved.
I remain as ever your loving cousin,
Aimée
~ ~ ~
On March 11, 1810, two months after the annulment was finalized, Napoleon wed by proxy nineteen-year-old Archduchess Marie-Louise of Austria. Separate secular and religious ceremonies followed on April first and second. The bride’s royal pedigree was impeccable—she belonged to the House of Habsburg, a family that had ruled Switzerland and Austria for over three hundred years. Her father, Francis II, was Holy Roman Emperor, and her mother, Maria Theresa of Naples-Sicily, the niece of Marie-Antoinette. Unfortunately, Napoleon’s invasion had forced the young Marie-Louise and her family to flee their homeland. The resulting hatred of the man they called “the ugly dwarf” was permanently instilled. Napoleon’s second marriage was made out of war, unlike his union with Josephine, which had come out of passion. Napoleon’s threat of invasion had prompted Emperor Francis’s consent to the marriage.
Napoleon attempted to assuage his new wife’s fear of him by attentiveness and deference. He devoted the first weeks of their union solely to her happiness, rarely leaving her side. Despite his efforts, Marie-Louise was unable to do anything more than stoically tolerate the man she thought of as her conqueror. To her, the union was an obligation to her family and country. Enjoyment and affection were not mandated within the same sense of duty, and this quickly became clear to her husband. He had indeed “married a womb,” as Josephine said.
Exactly one month after the royal marriage, on May 10, Countess Marie Lontchinska, Napoleon’s Polish mistress, gave birth to his second bastard son, Alexandre-Florian-Joseph, upon whom Napoleon conferred the title Comte Colonna Walewski.
The birth seemed to bolster the Emperor’s confidence, or perhaps the frustration of an unhappy marriage gave rise to need. Whatever the cause, something inspired Napoleon’s renewed determination to bring Great Britain to its knees. For six years, France had demanded compliance of the trade embargo against Great Britain from its allies Russia, Prussia, Spain, Holland, Austria and Portugal. War had been declared on Spain and Portugal when they failed to comply. However, the embargo proved to be a burden on all countries involved as it severely hampered their import and export trade. So, some countries began to relax their enforcements. In response, Napoleon demanded more funds and ships to enforce the blockade. When his own brother, Louis, King of Holland, refused to divert funds that would throw his country into bankruptcy, Napoleon forced him to abdicate. This prompted the kings of five other countries to ask, “If Napoleon disempowers and exiles his own brother, what might he do to us?” The scales began to tip.
Chapter 22
Paris, September, 1811
The former Empress Josephine Bonaparte sat in Mlle. Le Normand’s salon, sipping a cup of strong black tea. The decor of the small room was a bizarre blend of Empire, Oriental and the newest French avant-garde, with heavy velvet drapes shutting out all outside light. The dim glow from kerosene lamps and rococo candelabras gave the room a soft, dreamlike quality.
Josephine removed her hat. Her dark hair, once described as “raven” was now heavily peppered with grey and gathered into a small knot at the base of her neck. Her shoulders and chest appeared shrunken beneath her fashionable yet slightly worn dress that, like her hair, had lost the clarity of its original color. Fine lines creased her once flawless complexion like an old map, and the dimness of the room accentuated the hollows beneath her eyes. She wore her unhappiness as plainly as she wore her old clothes
.
Mlle. Le Normand reclined comfortably on a red velvet settee, languidly fanning herself with a large, white ostrich-plume fan. Her artificially enhanced red hair was piled high in curly mounds atop her cherubic face. The plump whiteness of her skin against the brightness of her painted lips seemed to exaggerate her guest’s’ unhealthy appearance. As the spiritualist spoke, one chubby little hand slowly twirled the ropes of crystal beads that graced her ample bosom.
“Has the birth of a legitimate heir brought his Highness what he wished for?” she asked.
“In part,” Josephine replied. “He adores the boy, who he says looks just like him. But his bride spurns him as her country’s oppressor. He chose her for political gain and royal lineage. Now that she has fulfilled her duty, she longs to escape his grasp.”
“Truly?” the older woman asked. “I suppose it makes sense. Love would not easily follow invasion. But tell me of you, dear. How do you fare at Malmaison? We miss you so, here in Paris.”
“Thank you, Mademoiselle, I miss Paris as well. Napoleon still writes me daily of all the news. He does not wish me to want for anything, and has been extremely generous. He is encouraging me to visit Aix to take the waters. As you can see, I have not felt well of late.”
“I am glad to hear of his concern, Madame, and perhaps the Emperor is correct. The waters will put the roses back in your cheeks.”
“Yes, I may take a short trip there soon, and plan an extended stay for early spring and summer.”
“I am very glad to learn he has not cast you aside.”
“Oh no. He continues to assure me of his affections—within the bounds of propriety of course,” she added. I must be careful not to say too much, she reminded herself.
“Of course. So there are no plans to visit?” she asked.
Josephine did not want the rumormongers of Paris to know the depth of Napoleon’s devotion to her or that he had rented a small chateau near hers. “Letters suffice, thank you,” she said. Her hand rested atop a plain wooden box on the table beside her. “It is all here—everything I could remember about my life, Madame.”
“I am honored, Madame, and of course, I will honor your request,” she said, leaning forward. “Your secrets shall be safe with me.”
“Until I am gone,” Josephine said.
“One hopes that will not occur for many years, my dear, but nothing will be published until you are gone. You have my solemn oath on that.”
Josephine sighed and took a sip of her tea. “There is one incident I believe you will find most interesting as it falls within your particular realm of expertise—an encounter with a fortuneteller on Martinique when I was a young girl. I never mentioned it to anyone before now. She told my cousin and me that we would both be queens.”
“Queens? Surely, you do not mean to say that you have a cousin who is also a queen.”
“Yes, although not a queen in the traditional sense.” She smiled tentatively and took another sip of tea before continuing.
“We were both fourteen years old when we visited an old obeah woman, a fortune-teller you would call her. She was legendary among the Creoles because her predictions always came true, and we were desperate to know if we would marry.”
“Was she a gypsy?”
“No. Obeah is an African word. She practiced Vodoun magic, and we called her a witch. She was actually the half-African and half-Irish daughter of a slave who bewitched an Irish plantation owner. That was what everyone said, anyway.” Josephine shivered and pulled her cloak closer around her shoulders. “Her name was Euphemia David. They called her the Irish Pythoness.”
Mlle. Le Normand’s eyes widened. “Was it common practice for people to consult with her?”
“Yes, for the Creoles. It was forbidden to me, as a Catholic. But you know, so many Catholic men married Creole women—like my father—and those Creole roots went deep. Our visit was quite the clandestine outing, arranged with the help of a young slave girl.”
Josephine took a sheaf of old, yellowed papers from the box. “The day after we saw her, I wrote down everything she had said.” She carefully opened the aged pages and glanced at them. “I never discussed that night again with my cousin Aimée, because the predictions for her were so horrid. I hoped she would forget and prayed they would not come to pass.”
Mlle. Le Normand sat forward onto the edge of the settee, resting the fan in her lap. “But did they come to pass?”
Josephine answered softly, “Yes.”
Mlle. Le Normand reached forward to pat Josephine’s hand. “Well, let us discuss your good fortune then, hmmm? What were her predictions for young Josephine?”
Josephine coughed and took a sip of tea. “Firstly, my name was not Josephine. My given name was Marie-Josèphe Rose Tascher de La Pagerie, but everyone called me Rose. Bonaparte changed my name to Josephine before we married.”
Mlle. Le Normand’s eyebrows raised. “I did not know that.”
“You also did not know that he changed the spelling of his own name from the Corsican Buonoparte to the more French sounding Bonaparte.”
“Mon dieu. You are a font of information today, my dear.”
Josephine smiled. “There is much you do not know, old friend, and that I intend to remedy.”
“Please tell more of the old fortuneteller.”
“It was late one summer night, and Aimée and I secretly left my house like thieves in our nightdresses. We crept through the dark jungle to the obeah’s shack, and we were both so frightened. The old woman bade us sit on the floor before her, and as we did we saw the tiny white bones she cast onto the floor while she smoked her pipe.”
“Her pipe?”
Josephine laughed. “Oh yes, she smoked a long clay pipe, and then she looked at us and told us not to be afraid and that she was honored by our visit. Her eyes were perhaps the strangest thing about her, the palest green. She threw the bones for me and immediately said that I would marry.”
Mlle. Le Normand raised her hand dismissively and made a “phtt” sound with her mouth. “Any fool could have told you that,” she said.
“Oh no, she was quite specific, Madame. She went on to say that I would marry a man originally destined to be the husband of another in my family, a girl who was doing to die.”
“And you had sisters?”
“Yes, I was elated and horrified at the same time. I have never ceased to regret that my sister Catherine’s death brought my first husband to me. Although, having known his true disposition, her death may have been a kinder fate than mine.”
Mlle. Le Normand tsk-ed, and shook her head. “Yes, poor man. A victim of the revolution.”
“You misunderstand, Madame. He was a cad and a wastrel—unfit to be either husband or father. I was in the process of divorcing him when he was imprisoned and beheaded. But that is another story about which I have also written.” She patted the wooden box. “Euphemia David said nothing of his character whatsoever. She said that a legal proceeding would separate us and that he would perish tragically, leaving me a widow with two children.”
“Ah, yes, your children, Eugène and Hortense.”
Josephine riffled through her notes. “She spoke of my second marriage, and what she said of Bonaparte was truly intriguing. She said when we met he would be without fortune. Can you imagine a poor Bonaparte?” Both women laughed. “And yet, he was indeed poor when I married him. Lastly, she said that he would rule the world.”
“She seems quite the gifted seer, Madame.”
“Yes, she said many things, all sounding too fantastic to ever come to pass and yet, they all came true. She said that upon my departure from Martinique a flame of light would appear in the sky. She called it a ‘harbinger of my destiny.’”
“But surely, that did not take place.”
“Oh yes, it was the most frightening and extraordinary thing. The day I set sail from Martinique, blue flames engulfed the mast of the ship! We thought it would set the ship afire, but it did not. The sailors calle
d it Saint Elmo’s Fire.”
“I have heard of this phenomenon, but never witnessed it. My goodness. More tea, Madame?”
As Mlle. Le Normand refilled their cups, Josephine silently read her notes. Her face looked pained, and she spoke almost too quietly to be heard. “She concluded by telling me that I would die alone and miserable.”
“Oh my dear, regardless of our accomplishments, we all die alone, do we not? Alone does not necessarily indicate that one is miserable.” She tsk-ed again and patted Josephine’s hand. “What of your cousin’s fate? Why did her prediction upset you so?”
“I tried to make light of it for poor Aimée’s sake, told her it was just superstitious drivel. Now, I can hardly believe that it actually happened. Had I not made these notes the next day, I might not have remembered at all.” She coughed for a few moments, then regained her breath and took a sip of tea. “Forgive me. She was to be abducted by pirates.”
Mlle. Le Normand was stunned into silence.
“When the news of her abduction reached us, everyone assumed she was dead. She had been in a convent for several years, intending to take her vows and become a nun. How would an innocent girl like that ever survive capture by ruthless pirates? I secretly prayed she would not. Only I knew of the prediction, that Aimée would face a fate worse than death.” Her hands shook as she consulted her notes. “You see, she was sold into the Ottoman Sultan’s harem, just as the obeah woman said.”
Mlle. Le Normand’s hand pressed against her chest. “Oh, pray no! This came to pass?”
Josephine carefully refolded the papers. “I am afraid so.”
“Is the girl still alive?” she whispered.
“Yes, very much so. I received a letter from her only a few weeks ago. We have been corresponding for many years, since she was first able to send word from Istanbul.”
“Imprisoned in a seraglio? Like Monsieur Mozart’s opera?” Mlle. Le Normand whispered.
Josephine leaned forward and gently touched Mlle. Le Normand’s forearm. “She does not consider it a prison, Madame, and her son is now the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire.”
