‘It’s nothing. A scratch I got at Jena. Nothing that sleep won’t cure.’
‘When did you last?’
‘Sleep? Two days ago? Three? There.’ He handed her the release. ‘He’ll be in the town gaol. You’ll forgive me if I don’t go myself?’
‘I’m ashamed … I’ll send the Princess’s doctor to you. He’s Scottish, by the way. Dr. Scott.’
‘An ally, for certain.’ His tone was still faintly mocking as he made her a deep formal bow, staggered just slightly, and turned to follow Grucz to his own quarters on the floor below.
‘What’s he like, our gallant officer?’ The Princess dropped her sables on a chair and moved over to the big stove to warm her hands.
‘Not particularly gallant, and a mere Captain.’
‘Well, after all, we can hardly offer the luxury the Potockis do. She’s welcome to that Prince Murat! A braggart if ever I heard one. He talked of nothing but the taking of Liibeck. The slaughter! How he rode in at the head of his cavalry through streets running with blood. He didn’t spare us a drop of it. Oh, Jenny, I’m glad Casimir is no older! Murat seems to look on himself as the future King of Poland, by the way.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. Talked a good deal about “my gallant Poles”. And in terms of such patronage! I was hard put to it not to speak up!’
‘Is Bonaparte himself truly coming here? It seems extraordinary that I might really see him.’
‘You must call him Napoleon, Jenny, or, better still, the Emperor. Yes, he’s coming. A group of dignitaries are gone to Poznan to welcome him, and Murat and Josef Poniatowski have their heads together already about a ceremonial reception.’
Since a great many of Warsaw’s chief families had chosen to avoid committing themselves to either French or Russians by awaiting the outcome of the campaign on their country estates, the three deputies sent with Warsaw’s official greetings to Napoleon were not of the first rank, and all they got from him were friendly words, no promises. And then, while the triumphal arches were still building on his expected way into Warsaw, he disconcerted everyone by riding in. at four in the morning on a spavined horse acquired at the last staging post. News of his arrival at the palace spread like wildfire through the town, but he only stayed four days, consolidating his position, reviewing his troops, demanding more and still more supplies for his exhausted army, which had been living off the starving land since leaving Berlin.
‘He’s gone to the front,’ the Princess told Jenny. ‘Prince Josef says he’d hoped to let his troops go into winter quarters, rest them a little, but the Russians don’t seem to mind the bitter weather. Where are you off to, Jenny?’
‘To Madame Walewska’s house. She has a working party today, to make lint and bandages. I promised to help.’
‘For your enemies, the French?’
‘And for the young Poles who have gone with them.’
‘You’re going out into the cold?’ Paul Genet emerged from his apartments on the main floor as she passed them going down the grand stairway.
‘Yes.’ She was surprised to see him. ‘You’re not gone with the army?’
‘No, to my sorrow. The doctors have put me on light duties for a while. So, let me have the pleasure of escorting you, Miss Peverel. It is not a time for young ladies to be out alone.’ He turned to shout for a servant to bring his outdoor clothes, and Jenny noticed how swiftly and deferentially he was served. ‘May I ask where you are going?’ He pulled on his big fur hat.
‘To Madame Walewska’s house. It’s just round the corner.’
‘To join her working party?’ He took her arm as they reached the hard-packed snow of the street. ‘Madame Walewska’s a great beauty, they say, but in quite a different line from the Princess Sobieska. Will you indulge my curiosity by introducing me to her?’
‘If you like. She’s a great enthusiast for you French.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. I suppose she must be about the same age as the Princess. Both married to much older men. Somebody told me that Madame Walewska was pushed into marriage by her family when she was only sixteen. Nearly fainted during the ceremony, poor girl.’
‘I can well believe it,’ said Jenny. ‘I’ve met Count Walewski!’
‘Well then, your report.’ The French Minister, Talleyrand, had accompanied Napoleon on his campaign and was now installed in one of Warsaw’s finest palaces.
‘I entirely agree with you, sir.’ Paul Genet finished his wine and put down the Venetian glass. ‘It has to be Madame Walewska.’
‘Ah. And why?’
‘Many reasons. First of all; there is the Princess Ovinska’s claim to the throne of Poland. She’s Sobieska by birth, as you know. Her marriage with Ovinski was entirely dynastic; the union of two lines with claims to the Polish crown. And they have a son.’
‘If he is Ovinski’s son,’ said Talleyrand.
Genet laughed and threw out a hand. ‘I can see that as usual you know more than I do, sir. Yes, there is that question, but, so far, Ovinski has acknowledged the little Prince. I understand that there are great hopes built on the child.’
‘A fortunate thing he is no older. What do you think would happen, Genet, if the Emperor were to declare him the future King of Poland, naming, perhaps, Joachim Murat as his regent?’
‘I think all Poland – Austrian, Russian and Prussian would rise in his name. And I think Murat would probably have him murdered. He counts on the crown for himself.’
Talleyrand smiled his subtle smile and poured more wine. ‘I do appreciate your gift for going to the heart of a matter, Genet. So – Madame Walewska it is. She’ll cooperate, you think?’
‘I’m told she hero-worships the Emperor already. She’s a much more likely candidate than the Princess, who is one of those devilish proud Poles I can’t abide.’
‘Which would make it all the more effective if she were to become the Emperor’s mistress. But I doubt if her husband would be so complaisant as Walewski. I don’t much like the Russian element there.’
‘No,’ said Genet. ‘And, another thing, the Princess is too tall. She’d tower over the Emperor. Madame Walewska’s a little thing.’
‘Just as high as his heart.’
‘Exactly.’
Russians and French fought a bitter winter campaign through mud and snow those last days of December. The Russians claimed the battle of Pultusk as a victory, but they retreated afterwards and Napoleon was able to return to Warsaw in apparent triumph. And now, at last, he announced a formal reception at the castle.
‘The Brotherhood want you to go,’ Jenny told the Princess,
‘I shall please myself, not the Brotherhood. I long to meet this conquering Emperor who carries all before him.’
But she returned from the reception in a very bad temper. ‘He looked us over as if we were a lot of cattle at the market, said something about beautiful women, as he might have said promising fatstock, lavished his one smile on the Walewska, and went back to his politics. And what an insignificant figure of a man! I expected some majesty at least. He’s a mere dwarf against Murat or Poniatowski. No wonder he likes to spend his time with that crippled Foreign Minister of his, Monsieur Talleyrand.’
‘Monsieur Genet speaks highly of Talleyrand. Says he has more brains than all the Marshals put together.’
‘At least he has manners,’ admitted the Princess. ‘Well – he’s one of the old French aristocracy, however much of a renegade. You should hear Napoleon; he still speaks with a frightful Corsican accent. And no dignity! He came hurrying into the room as if the devil were after him, and Talleyrand limping as hard as he could to keep up with him. A pitiful exhibition. And to see our Polish dignitaries fawning on him! It made me sick. He’s promised us nothing; does nothing but grumble because his soldiers haven’t enough supplies … You were right about Kosciusko, by the way. I asked Prince Murat when he was coming, and Murat as good as admitted that Kosciusko asked for promises the Emperor wouldn’t give.’ She smiled at hersel
f in the glass. ‘Then he begged me to forget he’d said it. He’d been charmed into indiscretion,’ he said. ‘Forget I told you, Jenny, please.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Jenny could not help wondering if the Princess would have liked Napoleon better if he had paid her more attention, committed an indiscretion or two for her sake. But it did not sound likely in the formidable Emperor of the French.
‘Napoleon can’t hold a candle to the Tsar,’ said Isobel now, thoughtfully, as if, perhaps, her train of thought had been running parallel to Jenny’s. ‘I really begin to wish we were in Petersburg, Jenny.’
It was Carnival in Warsaw and the town saw a gaiety it had not known since it lost its capital status at the Third Partition in 1795. The Princes of Napoleon’s recently established Confederation of the Rhine were there to dance attendance on its founder, and more and more Polish aristocrats decided that Napoleon was a more hopeful patron for Poland than the Tsar and came in from their estates to pay him court.
The season opened officially with a ball given by Talleyrand at his luxurious palace on Honey Street in the old town. ‘I wish you could come, Jenny.’ The Princess clasped the Sobieski emeralds round her throat. ‘It’s going to be like the good old days, they say. No expense spared. Provisions and even flowers by courier from Dresden; Napoleon’s own Concert-Master Kapellmeister Paër from Berlin.’
‘And people starving in the streets.’ Jenny held out the Princess’s fur-lined velvet cloak for her. ‘You know I wouldn’t come, even if I were asked. You may build hopes in the French, Isobel, though I am not sure if you are wise to. But either way, they are still my enemies.’
‘Including Monsieur Genet?’ With a roguish look. ‘But I won’t tease. Tell me I’m in looks, and I must be gone.’
‘You’re magnificent,’ said Jenny with complete truth. The Princess was at her sparkling best: short dark curls glossy with health, the white Empire dress setting off her tall, elegant figure to perfection, the family emeralds her one brilliant note of colour, if you did not count her remarkable eyes. ‘You’ll be the belle of the ball,’ Jenny prophesied, and wondered privately just who the Princess meant to captivate. She had been both relieved and puzzled to receive no message from the Brotherhood about this important occasion, and was allowing herself to hope that perhaps now the French control of Warsaw was absolute, their power had lessened.
But once again, Isobel returned in a bad temper. ‘The man can’t even dance! You never saw anything so vulgar and clumsy. And laughing all the time, as if it did not matter in the slightest.’
‘I suppose if you are master of half the world, it hardly does. But did you dance with him, Isobel?’
‘In a manner of speaking. I was chosen for the quadrille. With Anna Potocka, of course, and Elizabeth Sobolewska and the Walewska. And Napoleon roaring with laughter, and talking through the music and holding the Walewska’s hand so long he missed the beat.’ She laughed. ‘He asked Anna Potocka if she thought him a good dancer, and she told him he danced perfectly “for a great man”. Murat can dance, mind you. Compared to Napoleon he seems quite a man of the world.’
‘He was one of the quadrille?’
‘Yes, he and Napoleon’s other brother-in-law Camillo Borghese, and that oaf Marshal Berthier. Elegant company for a Princess of Poland!’
Two nights later, Napoleon himself gave a dinner and concert at the castle. ‘I shall stay at home,’ announced the Princess. ‘I won’t go on lending countenance to his vulgar merrymaking.’
‘Everyone else is going,’ said Jenny.
‘We Sobieskis lead, we do not follow. If my ancestor, Jan Sobieski, had waited for a leader before he saved Vienna …’
‘That was a long time ago,’ said Jenny. ‘Is it true that Napoleon is bombarding Marie Walewska with messages and gifts, and she is holding him at arms’ length? She was certainly looking very pale at the working party this morning. Poor child, she seems so young.’
‘And inexperienced. I tell you, Jenny, if she yields to Napoleon, she will become his devoted slave, quite forget the interests of Poland!’
‘I see.’Jenny saw a great deal. ‘But I do wonder if you are right. Marie could be a powerful advocate, I think, just because she is so gentle and good. The Empress Josephine is gentle, they say.’
‘But not good! And if Marie Walewska thinks Napoleon is going to get the divorce that has been talked about for her sake, she’s out of her mind. Emperors don’t divorce for charming little bourgeoises.’
‘She’s hardly that.’ But she knew the protest wasted. Princess Isobel was not reasonable where Marie Walewska was concerned. Had she really planned to captivate the French Emperor herself?
Not all Jenny’s persuasions, not even a message from the Brotherhood could persuade the Princess to go to Napoleon’s dinner. Jenny was reading aloud to Prince Casimir, while his mother sat gazing sombrely into her glass, when the front doorbell jangled imperiously two floors below.
‘What in the world?’ The Princess dropped her glass and they sat silent, listening to booted footsteps on the grand stair.
‘Princess!’ The door had swung open to reveal Prince Murat, more resplendent than ever in evening-dress. ‘I am come on the Emperor’s orders to take you to the castle.’ He reached down a confident hand to raise her to her feet. ‘Your fine young Princeling will entertain me while you change your dress.’
‘No I won’t!’ Something about his tone to the Princess had enraged Casimir. ‘And I’m not a Princeling either, I’m a Prince of Poland.’ For a moment, Jenny was actually afraid he would fly at the handsome Marshal.
But Murat only laughed. ‘A fierce young Polish eagle, Princess. You’d best make haste with your dressing, for fear he tries out his talons on me. The Emperor awaits you.’
Chapter 15
They were taking bets in the salons of Warsaw as to how long Marie Walewska would hold out. ‘It’s disgusting,’ Jenny told the Princess. ‘They were even discussing it in whispers at the working party today. She looks hag-ridden, poor girl.’
‘The Emperor won’t like that.’
‘The amazing thing is it doesn’t make her any less beautiful. Perhaps, actually, more interesting. She’s one of those lucky blondes who can even cry without looking plain. She really has the most extraordinary eyes.’ And then, aware of the Princess’s fulminating silence. ‘You should see her husband! Strutting about as if he’d won some great prize. It’s disgusting,’ she said again. ‘And people calling on her who never thought of doing so before. Men mostly, but some women too. I don’t much like high society.’
‘Why should you? Or understand it? Even the Walewska’s husband and her brother Benedict Lacynski feel she should yield to Napoleon for Poland’s sake. What they don’t see is that their tool is made of putty. She’ll be clay in his hands once she’s yielded to him. Forget all about Poland.’
‘Not Marie!’
There was a message from the Brotherhood next day. ‘They say she is not to think of going,’ Olga told Jenny.
‘Going where?’
‘You didn’t know?’ Olga was delighted at this evidence of a gradual alienation from the Princess, of which Jenny herself had only been half aware. ‘She got a message to her husband, God knows how, saying she wanted to join him in Petersburg. This is the answer.’
‘His answer, or theirs?’
‘Who knows?’ Olga shrugged. ‘It’s the answer.’
‘Did I forget to tell you?’ Isobel was casual. ‘Monsieur Talleyrand very kindly said he’d see that a personal message got through to the Prince.’
‘Even though France and Russia are at war?’
‘You English have such absurdly absolute ideas! For you, on your island, war is war, peace, peace. Here in Europe, it’s not like that. Things change … Relationships change … Napoleon longs to be friends with his brother Emperor, the Tsar of Russia.’
‘That’s what Talleyrand says?’
‘Yes. When I told him I had actually entertained the Tsar
, he was most interested.’
‘As well he might be. So – we stay?’
‘Of course. My husband is no fool. He and Talleyrand are old friends. Ovinski was in Paris in 1789, when Talleyrand was representing his diocese at the States General. He was still Bishop of Autun then. Lord – what a long time ago! They had the same interests, Talleyrand says, talked the same language.’
‘French,’ said Jenny.
‘Naturally. The language of politics, of Europe … I’ve been stupid. I see it now. I thought my husband asked me to come here because of that message you insisted on sending to the Brotherhood. When you got in such a panic about the Jewess, Miriam. It’s not that at all. He thought one of us should be watching Polish interests vis à vis France, while the other took the Russian side.’
‘And Miriam and her sons?’
‘A nothing, a nonsense! One look at the grovelling Jews here in Warsaw showed me what a fool I was to let you frighten me into giving them a second thought. Lucky for them, or I might be compelled to take some kind of action.’
‘Isobel!’ But a serf was scratching at the door to announce Prince Murat, a frequent caller these days.
‘Prince Ovinski is back in Petersburg, did you know?’ Jan stamped snow off his padded boots.
‘No? Is he? Have you spoken to him?’ Glynde folded up his closely written letter to Granville Leveson Gower. ‘And the Princess?’
‘She’s in Warsaw.’
‘Good God! In the hands of the French? And Miss Peverel?’
‘There too, I suppose. No need to look so anxious. The French aren’t barbarians. She’ll come to no harm.’
‘No harm! Like Pichegru, and d’Enghien and Captain Wright? Not to mention Marie Antoinette and Madame de Lamballe and God knows how many other unfortunate women.’ He changed the subject. ‘What news of the Richards?’
‘He’s up to his neck in work, arranging for shipments of arms from England for the Russian troops.’
‘It’s an ill wind! We’ll hear less then, of his grumbling about war being death to trade. And Mrs. Richards?’
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