Becoming Josephine (41 page)

She plunked down beside me on the velvet bedcover and rubbed my back. “Famian is angry you don’t seek her help. The new moon, we’ll make an offering.”

It had not occurred to me to contact Mimi’s spirits. So far had I traveled from home, from the comfort and ritual of African magic. From Maman. A tide of longing choked me. What I wouldn’t give to retreat beneath the blanket of jungle and wildflowers, free of expectations.

“Tell me what I must do.”

The evening of the new moon, Mimi and I waited until the palace had quieted. We slipped through a door off the kitchens.

A guard stopped us as we stepped into the night.

“We’ll just be in the garden near the edge of the wood,” I said. “Please leave us undisturbed.”

“You have one hour. Bonaparte would have my head if he knew I let you out of my sight.”

I followed Mimi across the lawn, dew seeping into my brocade shoes. My candle flickered in the blackness, casting its paltry light over the landscape. I sneaked a glance back at the palace. How sinister it appeared in the dark; its facade towered over the lawn like a great hulking monster with mirrored eyes. I shivered and walked faster.

Mimi clutched a sack close to her body and ducked behind a chestnut tree. I followed, stumbling over an exposed root.

“Watch it, now.” Mimi continued to a dark corner of the garden. She bent to light a haphazard stack of logs. The wood caught fire and a spray of flames shot toward the moonless sky. The fire burned silver, then orange, throwing an eerie glow on Mimi’s cinnamon skin.

She chanted in her Ibo tongue.

A warmth spread through my limbs. Despite my unease in the dark, a sense of comfort stole over me. How at home I felt in the open air, beside
ma noire
and her gods.

Mimi pointed to her sack. “You take one, I’ll take the other.”

I retrieved the collection of twigs and dried herbs inside.

“Light it.”

We lit our sacred boughs and danced around the ring of fire. Mimi tossed a sachet of dried herbs into the flames. The sweet smell of dead grass filled the air.

“Take this and do as I showed you.” She handed me a burlap pouch filled with vesta powder.

I ran my thumb over the rough material and stared into the fire.

Lord, let this work.

I chanted Mimi’s prayer and sprinkled powder over the flames. When a small amount of powder remained, I pitched the rest into the middle of the pit. It ignited in a small burst. We circled the fire once more, then threw dirt on the flames.

“We’ll do this again on the full moon.”

I nodded and followed her indoors.

The ritual proved successful. My courses returned for six months. But still I did not become pregnant.

“Then it’s not meant to be,” Mimi said when I lamented my infertility.

“But it must!” I said.

In my desperation, I sought the advice of Madame Lenormand, a fortune-teller.

Once again, I stole into the night after Bonaparte went to bed. Madame Rémusat, my closest maid next to Mimi, accompanied me.

“When Bonaparte finds out you’ve left the palace without cavalry, he’ll be incensed,” she said.

“He won’t know, and we have a guard with us. Besides, no one will recognize this old carriage.” I tucked my hands into my muff to warm my freezing fingers.

“But don’t you fear the gossips?” She read my grim expression. “You know I would never tell a soul.”

I gave her a pained smile. “You are the only one, my friend.”

When we arrived at the Palais-Égalité, Madame Rémusat remained in the carriage. The market still buzzed with activity, despite the late hour. Prostitutes posed against their doorframes, adjusting their exposed chemises and calling to passersby. Raucous laughter sounded from the taverns and pale light poured from a gambling house, packed with cigar-smoking scoundrels. I pulled my hood over my head and hurried toward the dilapidated shop nestled in the far corner. The smell of hot waffles drifted from next door.

I paused and looked behind me. No one appeared to be watching.

A cloud of incense and smoke assaulted me as I entered. Black and purple silk swathed the front windows and stars and fake birds dangled from the ceiling.

“
Bonsoir.
” An assistant appeared and ushered me to the back room.

Madame Lenormand sat at a small table puffing on a cigar. A halo of smoke rings floated above her head.

“Ah, there you are, madame.”

“I apologize for the late hour. It was the only time I could get away.”

She shrugged. “I am awake all night. It is when I do most of my business. Now, the fee.” She held out her plump hand, covered in tarnished rings. I placed a sack in her palm and sat gingerly on the worn stool.

Madame Lenormand perched her cigar on a tray. “Let’s see.” She spun her hands above mine. With a swift movement, she grasped them in hers and closed her eyes. I watched her chubby face for movement. At last, her piggish nose twitched and she cleared her throat.

“I see a lost child.”

I inhaled a sharp breath. Would I become pregnant only to lose it? I fought the mounting panic in my chest.

She released my hands, though her eyes remained closed. “A heavy crown. And enemies prepared to strike. Beware.”

My head began to swim. Enemies? Of France? Or . . . the Bonapartes? They would do anything to rid themselves of me.

Her throat made a horrible gurgling sound. She hacked and spat into a cup filled
with murky liquid. “Ahh, yes . . . and there will be a new beginning.”

Palais des Tuileries, 1802–1807

I
n the fall, my spirits lifted with the birth of Hortense’s joyful baby boy, Napoléon Louis Charles Bonaparte. Little Napoléon brightened the Tuileries and dispelled my depressive humor. Hortense, too, seemed happier—her supreme love for her son distracted her from Louis’s fastidious demands.

Bonaparte couldn’t hold his grandson enough. He tickled the baby’s belly and smelled his fresh skin at every opportunity. I struggled to control my emotions when I watched him heap affection on my daughter’s child.

How I longed to give Bonaparte one of his own.

One evening after Hortense had tucked little Napoléon into bed, she joined me and my ladies for light confections and a game of cards in my private rooms. Bonaparte had long since gone to bed.

“Such a night owl I have become.” I played a seven of spades from my hand.

“It must be difficult for you to sleep alone in such a grand room. I cannot imagine it.” Mademoiselle Fornet placed her nine of diamonds on top of my card with a snap. “Nine takes seven.” She gathered the cards and placed them in her stack, then plucked a candied orange from the dish.

“The room is rather dreary,” I said, “but I don’t sleep alone. Bonaparte is always there.”

“He is? But I’ve seen . . . I mean, I have heard . . . never mind. I beg your pardon.” Madame Tricque blushed crimson. “I don’t know what I am blathering on about, madame.”

Hortense noticed my confused expression and shot me a warning look. Ignore their remarks, she seemed to say.

“Well? Go on,” I said. “You can’t say such things and not continue.”

Everyone cast their eyes to the floor but Madame Rémusat. I gave her a questioning look. “Then you truly have not heard?” She sighed and tossed her cards on the table. “I despair that I am the one to impart such news.”

I sat rigid, bracing myself. I knew what she would say.

“The first consul has taken many mistresses these last months.” Her words came out in a rush.

I sat frozen on my chaise.

Sympathy filled her eyes. “I am sorry, madame. I know how much you love him. He seems to care little for them and treats them poorly, if that is any consolation.”

Many mistresses? He betrayed me a thousand times. A knot clogged my throat. How could he belittle me so, in front of the palace, before all of France?

I leaned on the table for support. How had I not seen them? He must have taken great pains to hide his affairs. The room began to spin. How could I be here again—blinded by love, selling my soul to the man I loved?

A hand caught my elbow. “Madame?”

Hortense slipped her arm around me. “Ladies, we will say good night. Please excuse us.”

“Of course.” A chorus of
bonsoirs
followed them out of the room.

When the door closed behind them, I burst into tears. Hortense did not say a word. She embraced me until the tears dried.

Sometime later I stood and kissed my daughter’s cheek. “Thank you for being with me, my darling. I’m going to retire for the evening. We’ll not speak another word about it.”

Hortense squeezed my hand. “Whatever you wish, Maman. This isn’t truly shocking, is it?”

“No,” I said tersely. “It isn’t. Yet it does not lessen the pain.”

When she had gone I walked slowly to my bedchamber. I was surprised to find Bonaparte awake. Fresh from a late-night tryst?

My blood boiled at the sight of him.

He closed his book. “You’ve been weeping,
amore mio
. Come here.”

“You outlaw prostitution, yet you take whores! In our house!” I removed my shoe and launched it at the wall. “Are women nothing more than pawns to prove your manhood? I suppose I’m not enough for you!” A second shoe landed near the first.

He leapt from the red satin sheets. “I am more than five men put together. Let he who is greater challenge me!”

I rolled my eyes at his assertion. “How can anyone challenge you when you surround yourself with a hundred armies? When every word you utter is law?”

He clutched my arms. “Yet you, a mere woman, brave my anger!” He shook me, jarring my head back and forth. “You know those women are nothing to me!”

I wrenched free of his grip. “Everyone knows of your philandering! I’m humiliated!”

“I’m not having this conversation again, Josephine.”

I threw my hands in the air. “We wouldn’t have this conversation if you kept your trousers buttoned! You aren’t a schoolboy any longer.”

His face turned an alarming shade of purple.

“If I catch a wench in my house—”

“
You
will not command
me
!” He bent over me, fuming.

I met his gaze evenly.

After an instant, he tied a robe over his chemise. “No one expects a ruler to be faithful. And I
am
faithful—to my heart, to your heart!” He stormed through the bedroom door.

The following afternoon, Madame Rémusat and I rode to Malmaison to escape the stifling confines of the palace walls and the sympathetic stares of my ladies-in-waiting.

We strolled arm in arm through my orangery.

“I can breathe again.” I drank in the sight of sun’s rays filtering through the thick glass and warming the air. Flowers bloomed in clusters of fragrant white stars, and a constant trickle of moisture watered the trees. I pulled a branch toward my nose and inhaled. I wished I could hide among the trees, be lost amid the roses and trumpet vines like a songbird. I puffed out a long sigh.

Madame Rémusat patted my shoulder. “This will pass, madame. He’ll tire of those women. But you must not argue with the first consul. You enrage him with your jealousy and he pushes you away. Do not let someone come between you.”

Her words shot through me like a poisoned arrow. How could I keep silent while he ripped me apart? I did his bidding at every turn. I had given my life over to him.

I tread upon the petals littering the walkway, their once-white silkiness browned and their edges curled. He would desert me in time and I would be left with nothing. Empty, floating on a vacant sea. My hands began to tremble.

“What if he falls in love? Or one of his women becomes pregnant? I have failed him.”

“You haven’t failed him. You’re his friend, his lover, and good luck charm. Besides, he has had many women and not a single one is with child.”

I pushed away a clawing branch. “All he needs is proof he is fertile and—”

“Be his oasis, the only person who does not vie for his attention or his power. He will be pulled in many directions if he becomes emperor.”

He had spoken of becoming emperor for weeks. I hoped the idea would be forgotten.

Suddenly, the perfumed air clogged my throat and the sun’s rays bored into my skull. Bonaparte would be forced to travel constantly as emperor. How many beautiful maidens would he meet in Prussia, Italy, Spain?

“Why can’t little Napoléon be named his heir? And Hortense is pregnant again.” Madame Rémusat said. “Her children carry the bloodline.”

“We planned for that very thing, but Louis forbids it. He refuses to be passed in the line of succession, even by his own son.” I opened the greenhouse door and a blast of cool air rushed in around us. “I don’t understand a man who doesn’t wish for his son’s honor. Hortense has pleaded with him to reconsider. And now if Bonaparte becomes emperor . . .”

“He would never d—” She stopped short.

I nodded. “Yes, divorce me. You can say it.”

“He would never divorce his empress.”

My eyes grew wide and the first smile in days tugged at my lips. “No, he would not.”

Bonaparte declared the French Empire in May, though he could not decide if I would be granted the title of empress.

“What does a woman do with such a title? It isn’t necessary,” he said. “It doesn’t change your power.”

“It would improve your reputation,” I said. “Your wife would make history alongside you.”

“The people do love you,” he mused aloud. “We will see.”

Once the empire had been declared, we attended an impossible number of official dinners and traveled from town to town, too far from my little Napoléon, the children, and Malmaison. A depressive humor came over me, made worse by my detestable in-laws.

“Bow to your emperor!” Bonaparte bellowed from his place at the table during a family celebration.

“You aren’t emperor yet,” Elise retorted, sinking her teeth into a roll. Through a mouthful of food she asked, “When will the coronation take place?”

“Elise! Do not speak while chewing,” Letizia said.

Elise glowered at her mother.

“It will take months to prepare. I’m aiming for December.” Bonaparte dabbed at a spot of
sauce hollandaise
that had splattered his jacket.

“And what will my new title be?” Elise demanded.

“I don’t intend to distribute new titles to everyone,” Bonaparte said. “Joseph, Louis, and Eugène will become princes for the sake of the bloodline. Their wives will become princesses. The rest of you will remain as you are.”

My heart plummeted. He had decided. And I could be replaced. I focused on the lacy pattern on the tablecloth to hold my rising emotion at bay.

“How can you condemn us to obscurity?” Elise asked, incredulous. “Your own flesh and blood! I should be made a princess!”

“At least
she
won’t be named empress,” Caroline quipped, eyeing me with contempt. “After all, she’s quite unable to fulfill her wifely duties, never mind her duty to the empire.”

My mouth dropped open in shock. She spoke as if I weren’t in the room. Before I could reply, Bonaparte slammed the table with his fist.

“Enough! You behave like greedy swine! After all I have given you, you demand more!” His face burned scarlet. “And my wife has done nothing to deserve your scorn! She’s been gracious and kind. You spurn her sisterly affection without merit.”

“Nabulione,” his mother began, “you should consider the problem of your heir—”

“She
will
be my empress!”

Relief and gratitude flooded my heart. Then love. I smiled at my beloved husband.

Caroline’s ears burned. Louis directed a pointed look at Joseph and then his mother.

Bonaparte noted the exchange. “Madame Mère, I believe you’re sitting in my wife’s seat. Her Imperial Highness, Empress Josephine should be at the head of the table.”

“How dare you speak to our mother that way!” Caroline shouted.

“Son, your head has grown too large for your body,” Letizia said in a glacial tone. “I’ll move when I like. You’re not my husband or my master.”

“I am your ruler!” He pitched his fork at his plate and stood.

I flinched at the clang of metal on porcelain.

“You ungrateful ass!” Elise said.

“Who is the ingrate here?” Bonaparte roared. “Leave my table at once!” He swept his goblet to the floor. The crystal smashed to pieces.

“Gladly! It’s clear I’m not respected here! You tyrant!” Elise pushed back from the table with such force her own glass wobbled.

“You haven’t seen me act the tyrant yet, sister!” The veins in his neck throbbed.

“I’m not afraid of you! You and
your empress
can go to hell!” She stormed from the room.