Most spectators were placed so distant in the nave that they’d have to crane their necks to see. I had a direct view of the disaster I intended to cause, even while pondering this new alliance with Talleyrand. If Napoleon was confounded, would men still be bidding for the Brazen Head? Probably more so, in any scramble for power.
My ticket meant I was perched near the important, who glanced at my traveler clothing as if I’d stumbled into the wrong reception. To get to my seat I elbowed and stepped over tribunes, grand officers of the Legion, generals, admirals, procurators-general of the Imperial Courts, sea prefects, mayors of good towns, presidents of canton assemblies, and so on, each placed to make clear the Napoleonic pecking order. Across from me on another tier of benches, stacked like produce in a market stand, were princes, princesses, diplomats, famed savants, ranking police officials, and even the minister of sewers and wells. If only Ben Franklin could see me now.
I catalogued my alliances. I’d conspired with the British spymaster Sidney Smith to take revenge for the death of my wife who, as it turned out, was not dead. I’d partnered with Comtesse Catherine Marceau for a return of royalists who, as it turned out, were arrested, scattered, or repatriated. I’d allied with Réal to advise Napoleon’s army officers, allied with Napoleon to find a medieval automaton I was skeptical existed, allied with odd Palatine to disrupt Napoleon’s coronation with religious blasphemy, and been promised ten thousand francs by Talleyrand to let him try this “android” first. Now I was sitting in the center of an agitated porridge of two million excited Frenchmen who, if they knew what I was about, would rip me limb from limb.
For such a simple man, my life is surprisingly complicated.
Astiza’s and Harry’s place was empty. Their absence made me uneasy. Had she gotten the better tickets? Perhaps she was helping the comtesse make the substitution. Perhaps Talleyrand’s aides were giving her further instruction on where to travel east. If chaos ensued, we should escape west as planned, but perhaps there was opportunity eastward as well. I shifted restlessly. I needed to consult with my wife.
Also conspicuously empty was a seat opposite me, intended for the emperor’s domineering and ever-dissatisfied mother. The politically astute artist David would later paint her into the coronation, but the vacuum created by her absence reminded everyone that even absolute power is not absolute.
We waited, interminably. The pope had set off for the cathedral at nine, Napoleon at ten. The music began at half-past ten when the pope’s regiment of robed clergy paraded into Notre Dame with miter hats, swinging censors, and ornate candlesticks. Cardinals and bishops from across Western Europe marched to the music of what I read in the ceremony brochure was two orchestras, four choirs, five bands, and altar boys with communion bells: about five hundred noisemakers in all. Hymns alternated with anthems followed by bands crashing into hideous military music, and then altar boys would jingle into the echoing silences. We endured, stoically.
Pius entered in a scarlet robe and weighted with a papal crown Napoleon had ordered made with a precisely reported 4,209 diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, just in case the Vatican missed the value of the bribe. The pope wore it like a yoke. Cloak and headgear were so heavy that once seated he shed them for modest white dress and simple papal cap. He blessed us, even me, turning from one group to another with fingers uplifted.
At eleven we heard the roars of adulation as Napoleon and Josephine finally arrived outside and were escorted into the Archbishop’s Palace to re-dress. They required nearly an hour to exchange the morning’s velvet frippery for coronation robes as bulky as bear pelts. As time crawled, Pius ran out of blessings and prayers and finally just sat with his eyes shut, praying or napping. The rest of us yawned as orchestra and choir banged back and forth. Vendors sold meat rolls that were passed hand over hand. Lords and ladies sipped from smuggled flasks.
Where was my family?
I impatiently peered into the shadows at either side of the triumphal arch, looking for Astiza and Harry. Finally, there they were, scanning the crowd to look for me! I lifted my arm, but they gave no recognition. Catherine, radiant in white, her hair gloriously set, figure sublime, whispered to this aide or that. She did glance my way, but if she saw me, she didn’t share