Across the Endless River (21 page)

“It won't be long now!” Paul exclaimed. It was evident that he was delighted to be returning to this landscape. He had not been here since he set out on his adventure to the Missouri River two years earlier.

As the mass of trees began to thin out, the small party of carriages entered the outskirts of a town. Stone buildings and substantial houses lined the streets, including an elaborate twin-towered church whose facade dominated a very large square filled with tented market stalls. They turned onto a wide tree-lined avenue, on one side of which sat more fine houses and on the other what looked like a garden of trees. Baptiste could see beneath the branches of ordered plane trees an immense facade stretching across the entire park. Its roof was alive with statuary. As they came closer, he saw that the front of the palace was given over to symmetrical flower gardens. Spring had arrived here, like an apparition through the haze of tender green that sprouted from the trees.

They continued beyond the garden, turning in at an ornate wrought-iron gate. The carriage stopped as guards in scarlet tunics and gold braid saluted Paul respectfully, then continued into an immense white gravel courtyard. The carriage swung around a central fountain and came to a stop beneath a stone porch that jutted out from the flagdraped Palace of Ludwigsburg. The vehicles carrying the servants and the luggage had been directed elsewhere.

Theresa said to Paul, “Before I do anything, I must have a walk in the gardens. I'll take our guest along while his things are being settled this afternoon, before we lose the sun.”

“Very well,” Paul responded, “but don't try to show him everything on his first afternoon here.”

As they entered the vestibule of the palace, courtiers bowed low and opened doors, footmen carried what little baggage they had kept with them, and older servants curtsied and bowed, greeting Paul and Theresa with special warmth. They proceeded into a monumental columned hall, and Paul turned to an old retainer who appeared to be in charge.

“Suber, this is my good friend Monsieur Charbonneau. See that he has everything he needs to feel at home.” He spoke in German, and Baptiste was happy to discover he understood what was being said.

“Of course, Your Grace. It shall be done.” He inclined his head toward Baptiste and, when he raised it, Baptiste could not help feeling that a steely eye of appraisal flashed upon him as the old servant opened his mouth in a servile smile.

After they had washed and had a light lunch, they strolled along the wide paths of the sprawling gardens. Theresa led Baptiste around the first of the big circular pools that lay spaced at intervals along a central axis, then chose a path that brought them to the double
allées
of plane trees flanking the gardens. Under the canopy of leaves and branches she turned to Baptiste and let out a sigh of relief.

“That's better. We can no longer see the palace. Here I can talk,” Theresa said.

Only a small corner of the facade was visible from where they stood; the rest was shielded from view by the low-hanging branches, trimmed severely along their outer edges and shaped into a high vault on the inside. She continued walking, and Baptiste fell in step alongside her. He felt curious, unsettled, shy, and jubilant, all his senses sharpened now that he was alone with Theresa.

The perfectly spaced columns of trees stretched before them for hundreds of yards, the barrel roof moving slightly in the breeze. An occasional bird flitted overhead and twittered among the boughs, punctuating the perfect quiet that otherwise prevailed.

“This is like another palace corridor,” Baptiste ventured.

“Monsieur Dupin would love to hear you say that. He has been the chief gardener here since the time of King Friedrich, and has spent his life applying the ideals of French landscaping to the grounds of Ludwigsburg. The French have long made their gardens an extension of architecture.” Theresa became more animated with each step separating them from the palace.

At the end of the tree tunnel, they walked through the sunlight to a tall evergreen hedge set at right angles to the line of trees. Theresa hurried ahead, continued along the perfectly regular edge of the bushes, and turned a corner abruptly. Baptiste followed but found only a recess in the hedge. He entered the small passage and discovered a narrow pathway that threaded through the evergreens, turning twice to conceal the entrance. He finally emerged on the other side of the hedge, which was over ten feet deep, in the corner of a perfect square whose boundaries were marked by tall evergreens. Their seamless planes and razor-edge joints mimicked the finest carpentry. Statues stood in alcoves cut into the four sides, stone benches formed a pattern around flower beds and symmetrical paths, and at the center stood Theresa, striking a pose. With her shawl draped over one outstretched arm, she was a Greek goddess presiding over her temple. When she saw Baptiste's startled face she broke the motionless pantomime.

“Do you see? It's a room with walls, furniture, and the sky for a roof.”

Baptiste relaxed. “What an idea,” he said slowly, turning to inspect the dimensions as if to find a flaw.

“Every palace in Europe has one,” Theresa told him, “or a maze fashioned from shrubs, or a life-sized chessboard worked into the lawns. They're
de rigueur.
Monsieur Dupin is very proud of it.”

“I don't understand this place,” Baptiste said softly.

“It is a very convenient refuge from the prying eyes at court, which was the original idea. But trimming and shaping plants for years so that they resemble stone and plaster reminds me of what my grandmother used to say: ‘If God had intended for trees to grow in straight lines, he'd have made them square.' ”

They sat on one of the stone benches, and a feeling of intimacy enveloped them. Theresa said, “I can only imagine how strange this must seem to you. But where you come from seems strange to me, too. Can you imagine that? The few people I have met who have been to your part of the world say that it is like no other place on earth.”

“Many things are different where I come from,” Baptiste said, unsure how to respond.

“Perhaps I can help you understand our ways,” Theresa said gently. “Let us describe our worlds to one another.”

Baptiste hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “In my country when you conclude an agreement, you always shake on it.” He extended his hand.

Theresa laughed as she took his hand in hers.

T
WENTY

A
PRIL 22, 1824
P
ALACE OF
L
UDWIGSBURG

Dear Cousin,

I write to you from Württemberg. Duke Paul and I came up from Stuttgart some days ago, but I am now here on my own while he visits relatives in Baden. There is plenty for me to do, however. I am being introduced to court life, having German lessons, and venturing into the town to see how the local people live. I am also taking piano lessons! I learned to play the pump organ a little in St. Louis, but this is more difficult.

As I mentioned to you, I did not have the opportunity to get to know France other than by my solitary walks in Paris. I cannot say I met or talked to anyone outside the Duke's circle of friends. Here things are different. The town is much smaller than Paris (still very large compared to St. Louis) and it is an easy matter to walk among the people. Market days are best, I have found. There are many outsiders in town and I blend in more readily, easily mingling with the crowds filling the taverns around the main square. I have acquired some simple clothes that allow me to pass unnoticed, and the color of my skin is taken as proof of Mediterranean parentage.

When I open my mouth, of course, I do not pass for a local. My German is coming along—I am told my accent is good—but I don't yet have enough words to allow me to say anything of substance. My teacher would prefer that I learn every rule and exception of grammar. Very few people outside the palace speak French and almost no one speaks any English or Spanish, so I stick to German and try my best. Everyone drinks beer in the taverns, and one or two mugs help untie my tongue.

Two days ago a woman in the marketplace recognized me as a friend of Duke Paul, and as soon as she said the words, the atmosphere changed. She and her friends drew back, suddenly cool and reserved, and acted as if I were a wild animal that might bite. When I mentioned it later to Duke Paul, he cautioned me about such “adventures,” as he called them, among the local population. He told me he won't walk into town on his own. I asked him why, and he said that for a member of the royal family to wander at will was “unthinkable.” That was the end of the discussion. Here there is a reverence for the king and his relations that borders on fear, an attitude Americans don't feel toward their leaders. Nevertheless, I have decided to continue my walks as discreetly as I can.

I will be traveling again soon. Duke Paul plans to visit his family's lands in Silesia, where his brother lives. According to him, it is the wild edge of Europe. Then we will go to Berlin and possibly to Saint Petersburg to meet with his fellow natural historians. We might go to Paris again, too, though probably not until much later in the fall. I hope to have the pleasure of finding you there.

You can write to me here at Ludwigsburg if you like. We won't leave before late August, and any mail that arrives after that will follow me with Duke Paul's own correspondence.

I realize that I have hardly asked about you. I trust that you are well. It seems like years rather than weeks since we last met at Prince Franz's ball. Your father's words about the Bourbons are still vivid in my mind, as is the vision of your blue dress. Remember me a little when you think of your father's family in America.

Your affectionate cousin,
Jean-Baptiste

T
WENTY-ONE

P
aul left the countless boxes in Stuttgart, “in safe warehouses,” he told Baptiste, “until the collection finds its home.” A few items were sent to Ludwigsburg, packed in fine trunks and presented to Paul's friends and family as exotic gifts that showed he had been to the far ends of the earth. In the ensuing weeks, Baptiste saw some of the pieces in the family salons: a pair of moccasins on a mantel, or a powder horn with a beaded lanyard on a table lying amid precious baubles and porcelain vases. They looked sadly out of place on a polished wood sideboard or a marble hearth.

The week after they arrived, Paul planned to return to Stuttgart for two or three days and then visit friends in nearby parts of Württemberg. Baptiste was content to remain at Ludwigsburg, exploring. His daily German lessons with Schlape continued, and as his speaking improved, the older servant taught Baptiste court protocol, the arcane rules of conduct that prevailed in the sovereign's presence.

Theresa accompanied him around the palace and its grounds. As a member of the royal family, she could go where she pleased, and her knowledge of the domain was intimate and extensive. She taught him the names and uses of the royal apartments that ringed the vast courtyard: the state dining room, the family dining room, the ambassadors' waiting room, the map room, the music room, and the throne room. The column-lined hallways connecting the rooms seemed to go on forever. Only a few of the rooms had open hearths; the others were warmed by huge gray metal cylinders set against the wall, sometimes decorated with pieces of porcelain, which Theresa explained were heating stoves, stoked in winter by servants who passed through a network of invisible passageways behind the walls. Baptiste wanted to see the servants' side of the wall, but Theresa told him it was not possible.

She showed him the royal theater, an elaborately decorated hall with four tiers of seating and the royal box at the center of the first level, richly draped in red velvet and gold braid. The royal chapel looked much like the theater—there was even a royal box in the balcony that was accessible from the king's apartments—but in place of a stage stood a marble altar flanked by huge paintings whose crowded tableaux Baptiste recognized from his study of the Bible. Intricate carvings of foliage and broad bas-relief medallions covered the walls and ceiling; overhead, angels were stringing garlands and laughing down at him. The shimmering expanse of organ pipes looked like a frozen waterfall, and he wondered how you could talk to God amid such clutter.

Theresa took him to the far side of the palace, whose facade was fronted by a wide stone terrace that looked out on gardens and fountains well below. When they arrived, two soldiers stood at attention in front of little stone guardhouses at opposite ends of the terrace. They looked down to the boxwood parterres and perfectly manicured flower beds worked into a large design that he recognized as the royal coat of arms. Mrs. Clark's kitchen garden came to mind. She was so proud of its patch of verbena and hollyhocks, which gave color around the vegetable beds, its flagstone walk, and the bench beneath the rose arbor.
What would she make of all this fuss?
he wondered.

“What is that structure?” he asked, indicating a towered building visible in the middle distance, crowning a rise in the forest.

“La Favorite, the hunting lodge. Our grandfather used to keep the surrounding woods stocked with pheasant, but it's used very little now, only for an occasional celebration.”

“I'd like to see it,” Baptiste said.

“Some day when the weather is fine,” Theresa responded, and turned away.