The Second Empress Read Free Page B

of the Pyramids with unimaginable wonders: painted sarcophagi, alabaster jars, small figurines carved from bright blue stone. In my château in Neuilly, my collection of Egyptian artifacts fills nearly three rooms. And every birthday, as a gift, Napoleon gives me something new. Last year it was a statue of the Egyptian god Anubis. The year before that, it was a queen’s gold and lapis crown. Someday, when I become too sick to host my brother’s fêtes , I will dress myself in Egyptian linen and cover my wrists and chest with gold. Then I will die an honorable death, like Cleopatra. She didn’t wait for Augustus Caesar to kill her. She was the master of her body.
    “You take this love of the ancients too far.” He stands, though he cannot help but look. “Find something else.”
    I lift the gown over my head and let it drop onto the chaise. Then I cross the chamber and stand naked before my wardrobe.
    “The gauze dress with silver embroidery,” he says, coming to stand behind me.
    “I wore that yesterday.”
    “The new one.”
    My brother knows everything that is purchased within his palaces, from the food for the kitchens to the dresses bought by court women. In this last matter, he takes a particular interest. We are to outshine every court in Europe, he says, and if that means every lady-in-waiting must buy four hundred dresses a year, then so be it. And if a woman should be foolish enough to appear at a gala in a dress she has worn tosome previous fête , she will never be invited again. I adore my brother for understanding this. I hold out the gauze dress, and Napoleon nods.
    He watches me dress, and when I reach for a shawl, he shakes his head. “It’s a shame to cover such shoulders.”
    I turn to place the shawl on my dressing table, and a sharp pain in my stomach makes me wince. I glance at Napoleon, but he hasn’t noticed. I don’t want him to worry about my health. Although someday, no amount of rouge or shadow will cover my illness. It will show itself in lines on my face and the thinness of my body. “Have you ever imagined what it would be like to be the pharaoh of Egypt?” I ask him. I know Egypt makes him think of Joséphine, since it was there that he discovered her infidelities. But in Egypt, their rulers never die. In a thousand years, Cleopatra will still be young and beautiful. With every golden crown and faience ushabti discovered in Cairo, she will be remembered for eternity.
    “Yes,” he quips. “Dead and mummified.”
    “I am serious,” I tell him. “There have always been emperors and kings. But there has not been a pharaoh for nearly two thousand years. Imagine if we could reign together.”
    He smiles.
    “Why not? The ancient Egyptian kings anointed their sisters as wives. There would be no greater couple in the world.”
    “And how would I do this?” he asks. “Or perhaps you don’t remember that the Egyptians rebelled?”
    “You would reconquer them. If you could defeat the Austrians, you could defeat the mamelukes. How difficult could it be?”
    “Not very.”
    I take his arm, and we head toward my salon. “Think of it,” I say. And for the rest of the evening, his eyes follow me. Though I am sure he will be happy with the Italian I’ve found for his pleasure, I know I am the one who fascinates him.

C HAPTER 3

    PAUL MOREAU, CHAMBERLAIN

    Tuileries Palace, Paris
“ Of Napoleon’s three sisters, Elisa, Caroline, and Pauline, the latter, famous for her allurements, was the one of whom he was fondest .”
—JOSEPH FOUCHÉ, DUC D’OTRANTE, NAPOLEON’S MINISTER OF GENERAL POLICE
    O NLY TWO THINGS ARE HONEST IN P AULINE B ORGHESE’S world: her mirror and me.
    When she arrived with her first husband in Haiti, I was the only person on my father’s plantation to warn her of the clap. The aristocratic grands blancs and gens de couleur were all too afraid to speak the truth to the dazzling wife of General Leclerc. I was only seventeen, but if she continued to bed men