The Second Empress by Michelle Moran Read Free Book Online Page B

said he returned this morning and didn’t want to see anyone but you .”
    Pauline watches me from her chaise, and the accusation is clear. “He told you he wanted the Austrian, didn’t he?”
    “Yes.”
    “And you hid it from me?”
    “He asked that I keep my silence.”
    “I’m his sister !” she cries. “And your loyalty is to me .”
    “Over the emperor of France?”
    She puts her hand on her stomach, but I can see that this time, it’s her pride that’s been hurt.
    “Let me read you some Ossian,” I suggest. When she doesn’t object, I go to the bookcase and take out the works of the blind Scottish bard. The leather cover is worn, and even the pages are faded. “ Cath-loda ,” I begin, and when I come to her favorite line, “Fair rose the beam of the east,” Pauline begins to recite the words with me.
    “ ‘It shone on the spoils of Lochlin in the hand of the king. Fromher cave came forth the beautiful daughter of Torcul-torno. She gathered her hair from wind, and wildly raised her song.’ ” Then she stops, and says the king’s name again. “Torcul-torno.”
    “ ‘Of aged-locks,’ ” I reply, using the poet’s best description.
    “It’s a funny name, isn’t it?” she asks.
    I can see her thoughts straying and put down the book.
    “Almost as ridiculous as Maria Lucia.”
    I sigh.
    “What? You do realize he’ll have to change it to something French.”
    Already I feel pity for the new empress.
    “And do you know what else Caroline told me?” she whispers, though no one is in her salon but us. “He’s giving Joséphine the Élysée Palace. That’s in addition to Château de Malmaison. And she’s to keep the title of Empress! I want to see this harlot from Vienna’s face when she learns about that.” She lays back on her pillow. “Go,” she says, the most tragic figure in the empire, twisting herself as if her pain were real. “My brother called you to his study for twelve. But I want to know everything he says about her.” She sits up. “ Everything !”
    I leave the princess’s apartments, and immediately I notice the change. There is no laughter in the halls, and the faces of the courtiers look worried and drawn. Although Pauline has an endless list of grievances with her brother’s former wife, the people of France have always believed that Joséphine is his talisman, his good luck charm in times of peace and war. It is widely known that she made donations to the poor and funded hospitals for the sick, and before every battle she could be seen on her knees in Notre Dame, offering prayers for the soldiers. Even Parisians, who are cheap with their praise, call her Madame Victoire.
    “It’s an ill omen,” I hear a woman say. “She left in a thunderstorm, and it hasn’t stopped raining since.”
    “Did you see how Monsieur Eugène and Madame Hortense were crying? Bonaparte’s the only father they’ve ever known.”
    “A nineteen-year-old wife and a Hapsburg!”
    Outside the emperor’s study, two soldiers are having a similar conversation. I recognize them both. Dacian, who is tall and well liked by women, was a good friend to me when I arrived in Paris, instructing me on court etiquette. It was François who taught me how to fence. As soon as they see me, they smile.
    “Paul.” Dacian claps me jovially on the back.
    “Is the emperor inside?”
    “He’s with his secretary and the Comte de Montholon.” Dacian glances around. When he’s sure the hall is empty, he whispers in my ear, “Is it true then, that he’s to marry an Austrian?”
    “Marie-Antoinette’s great-niece?” François puts in.
    I nod.
    “I heard the emperor sent his stepson, Eugène, to the Austrian ambassador to broker the deal. Can you imagine sending your ex-wife’s son to ask for a new woman’s hand in marriage?”
    No. But then that would never happen in Haiti. For all of our supposedly backward ways, we do not marry and divorce our wives for sport.
    “It isn’t right,”