CHAPTER IV
The Action has switched to Vienna where we encounter those who yet remain in exile.
In a grand Schonbrunn bedroom, there was a decadently splendid post bed which was gilt, elaborately decorated and beside it were sparse other furnishings including a pair of flower vases, a pair of small desks facing one another and tall white curtains that enshrined multi-paned windows that were likely more crafted to compliment the outside architecture of the Austrian palace than the form and space of this Royal bedchamber for it required that the ceiling was higher than practical and contributed to the fairly overwhelming sense of space that would pervade the sentiments of the youngster who so recently had begun to dwell here so it should not surprise the reader to find the aforementioned child and his minder were tucked into one corner as though in rebellion against the scope of the tall emptiness of the palace bedroom.
The young boy watched events without the window with wide-eyed enrapture. The well-dressed Lady standing beside him was apparently much more amused by playing with the child's wispy blonde hair or grooming him. The parade ground manoeuvres of the Austrian grenadiers transfixed the attention of the boy even as his elder knelt down and began to adjust his costume. "When," asked the child, without turning his attention from the window, " can I wear my guards uniform again? I want to wear it. Papa liked when I wore it." His adult did not reply but to give off a small sigh. Two score of drums rolled loudly below and the small boy's hands pressed then hard against the panes. It must indeed seem a waste to the reader how much of the grand and resplendent bedchamber was not being used or even regarded by this pair as the boy's enthusiasm locked them against the corner window alcove, but one must inure oneself to the great wealth and grander display of it that was part of the nature and requirements that was the Royalty of Europe.
The governess knelt and petted the four-year-old's fair locks, consolingly saying, "All of your uniforms were left in Paris."
The boy turned and wrung his warden's fine skirts
despairingly and whined quietly, "The Wicked Old King has taken my clothes!" It
only took another drum roll from the continuing parade to snap the young soldier
back into a facade of courage. His remark then was one of insolence and defiance
as he said, "The Wicked Old King has taken my clothes and my toys. I shall get
them back one day, yes, Maman Quiou?"
Madam the Countess de Montesquiou smiled softly. The
Governess rose and brushed the boy's proud shoulder, carefully saying, "Your
Highness, the Prince of Parma, will one day have all the clothes and toys he
wishes."
The child deflated and grasped his governess's weathered hand, sadly saying, "I'm not a King anymore. I'm not a King anymore."
Suddenly the door across the grand bedchamber opened and Marie Louise entered alone. Her carriage bore anger and grace equally. The Princess was a beautiful woman by any standards, with swan-like shoulders and neck that flowed divinely into a pale, languidly inclined visage. Even as the eye was naturally draw up from her sublimely decorated décolletage to her masterfully coiffured golden locks, it could not fail to hover delightedly about her splendid gaze.
The Princess advanced and took in the child's troubled countenance, asking, "What have you been doing to my child, Madam, that he is so aggrieved?"
Instinctively, the Governess moved to put herself between the boy and his mother. "Nothing, your Highness. We were speaking of France is all." She stepped aside without further pause as the Archduchess knelt to take the child in her arms.
"Good morning, Maman." Greeted the wee and former King of Rome and his Maman embraced him. The two were murmuring quiet words to one another with the governess silent at the side when the boy's eyes widened in recognition of a new arrival.
Entering the room now with heavy booted tread was Count Adalbert von Neipperg. His handsome blonded face bore a jovial light as his single eye took in the scene. A black patch replaced the other oracle but he wore it, and the sabre-made scar about it, dashingly indeed. The man's costume was a jet-black hussar's uniform but with a brilliant golden sash and a breast of medals and gold braid that made the grim ensemble somehow resplendent and joyful.
The cavalryman's gait was graceful and decisive as he moved toward the trio and offered his hand saying, " Madam the Countess de Montesquiou, join me for a turn about the corridor and let us leave these two to their pleasantries."
Numerous silent glances were exchanged at this offering. The Governess was throwing confusion around mostly while the Princess played between delight and slyness. Child Napoleon's face bore disappointment. As the Governess took the Count's hand and began the short promenade to the exit, she tried to study her escort's expression but was rebuffed by only having a patch to query. His intentions toward her were unknown.
She thought she knew full well his intentions toward the Archduchess. When Marie Louise had first fled Paris for Italy, Count von Neipperg had joined her there. Her father, the Emperor of Austria, had sent him to act as her escort and aide for the journey and had remained so when they had encamped in Austria. This was a change in plans much influenced by the dark Austrian Hussar and his persistent attention to the wife of Napoleon Bonaparte was pointedly obvious to the whole court.
The corridor beyond the bedchamber was as grand as the former room such that the arriving duo was dwarfed by the architectural design. No carpet was laid down upon the shimmering tiles so each footstep gave an echo and each whisper flew to the far end of the corridor, no doubt by design as it required one to be confident of each movement and every word.
Once in the hallway and beyond a closed door, Von Neipperg broke the silence and courted the Governess' favour with remarks on the weather and her costume. She knew though that this polite crossing of blades belied the swordsman's more serious intentions.
The Governess endeavoured a thrust with her own ungainly weapon, "Sir, what ploy has brought us to this? Is it for them to be alone or for we to be alone and for what reason?"
Neipperg didn't even bother to parry the attack, allowing it to fall away harmlessly. "The Archduchess asked me to allow her time alone with her son whom she loves so very much. She had remarked to me how difficult she found it to gain opportunities for intimate times with her beloved boy."
She saw the attack just in time and countered, "I do not contest her love for the boy. I understand though the strain that she goes through daily since the loss of her husband and Empire so perhaps her duty is sometimes lax…"
"…But that must be forgiven," inserted the Count, "when she has such a fine governess as yourself to stand by the child's side and see to his every need."
The Countess de Montesquiou titled her head as though to better sense to if a hit had been scored. She experimented with a riposte. "Just as the Archduchess has such a fine escort to see to her every need."
Neipperg did not falter, "Are there some things that a Governess cannot do and only a mother may provide? It seems indeed that it is your duty to perform all of those duties that you can to keep the child healthy and distracted from his woes."
On the defensive now, the Governess was losing her balance. "It is part of my duties to know when to step back and allow the mother her time with the child. Just now…"
"Just now you were hovering, watchful and within sight of the child, keeping his distracted attentions on yourself; thereby giving him hope that soon he would be alone with you again." The black hussar paced, slowly circling his conversation partner and each step resounded on the hall floor like a knell. "You believe it your duty to be the mother's proxy. Her presence diminishes you."
"No. No." came two ineffectual parries. "I am ever diminished. I am humble. I know my place."
The flash from Von Neipperg's single eye was a decisive thrust. "Perhaps that is the difference between you and I, Madam." He ran a finger along the length of his short blonde moustache as though he were wiping clean the blade.
The Lady spun to face her accuser and pleaded without raising her voice. "I love the boy with all my heart. I love him."
Count von Neipperg bit his lip.
After a pointed pause, the Austrian Hussar offered his arm to the French Governess. She refused it and made for the bedchamber door alone, momentarily, and then withdrew to take up the still proffered nicety. She shook her head quickly to discard her otherwise affected expression and then gave consent for them to return to the familial scene.
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Madam the Countess de Montesquiou languidly drew herself along the high hedged walk. Behind her, the brilliant sky majestically framed the palace that was retreating slowly into the distance. She allowed her trailing left hand to drag across the immaculately trimmed and rigid foliage but sharp pangs of painful sensations did not deter her from the practice, even when the hedges blended into the majestic tall Bourbon Rose bushes. She halted as the pebbled rock way flowed beneath a yellow Rose bedecked trellis and into the Kleine Garten. There she turned over her fair hand and surveyed the hatch marked red and white scrapings. A single finger, marked by a glistening rose red droplet of blood, was brought to her thin lips and, casually sucking upon the digit, the Governess turned her attention to the grandeur of the garden.
It was a wild splendour of rich and deep greens intermingling playfully amongst themselves with shade, shadow and brightly glowing translucent leaves. The sunflowers were expansive and stood stretched tall, seeking a glimpse through the milling, living crowd at the glory of the Sun. The Schonbrunn palace could be seen from here and Madam reflected on the disparity: The view from the terraces made this corner of the gardens seem so ordered and quiet yet here, amongst the foliage, she was bombarded by sensations of so much interplaying life that it was as though one of Beethoven’s grand symphonies was being furiously performed on natural instruments. This was a cacophony of verdant chiaroscuro.
The unified hue of the whole was offset markedly by bright blossoms of various colours. The vibrant landmarks though were the fragile Chinese climbing roses of Maria Theresa yellow juxtaposed to larger, deep violet Gallicas with their fine thorns. It was when one such as the Governess bent low to examine the old, artificially fertilized soil that one witnessed wilting daisies clutching at the skirts of thin and jaundiced shrimp plants or wild weeds winding their ways among all manners of root and ruin. Here the world of the garden was dark and untamed but not dangerous. No, where the sunlight could not see, perhaps it was safer.
Maman Quiou sagged down onto a marble
bench and amid the splendour of the palace gardens, wept for her plight.