After his cool affront to Josephine, in endeavoring to persuade her that she should herself suggest to Napoleon the divorce, she begged the emperor to remove Fouché from his office of minister of police; but Bonaparte, with strange blindness, kept the wily serpent near him, and banished from his presence his own guardian angel. And when at last he had been stung himself by the treacherous fangs of the insidious viper, and Napoleon became at length convinced that Fouché was maintaining a correspondence with England, through his spies, the emperor dismissed him; but it was too late.
The same Fouché who had thrust the dagger into the heart of Josephine, afterwards proved to be one of the chief instigators of the plots which caused the second abdication of Napoleon. Bourrienne thus pithily describes him:—
“Fouché had opinions, but he belonged to no party; and his political success is explained by the readiness with which he always served the party he knew must triumph, and which he himself overthrew in its turn. He maintained himself in favor, from the days of blood and terror until the time of the second restoration, only by abandoning and sacrificing those who were attached to him. In all things he looked only to himself; and to this egotism he sacrificed both subjects and governments.
“Such were the secret causes of the sway exercised by Fouché during the Convention, the Directory, the Empire, and after the return of the Bourbons. He helped to found and to destroy every one of these successive governments.”
Napoleon afterwards realized some of the treachery of this archtraitor, and thus spoke of him at St. Helena:—
“Fouché is a miscreant of all colors;—a priest, aTerrorist, and one who took an active part in many bloody scenes of the Revolution. He is a man who can worm all your secrets out of you with an air of calmness and of unconcern.”
What wonder that poor unsuspicious Josephine was betrayed by such a Judas!
This smiling Mephistopheles might thus have counselled with his crafty soul:—
“And so her Majesty beseeches that I be dismissed! We’ll see, my lady, whether you or I shall conquer in this contest! You think you hold your husband’s heart; but I hold the ear of his proud ambition. Which, think you, will prevail? You are surrounded by his relations, who hate you with envious and jealous hatred, than which there is none more bitter. I am their confidant. Ha! methinks my cards in hand shall win the game, even against theQueen of Hearts!”
Bourrienne relates the following conversation with Fouché, which bears upon this point:—
“I said a few words to him about Bonaparte’s regret at not having children. My object was to learn Fouché’s opinion on this subject; and it was not without a feeling of indignation I heard him say, ‘It is to be hoped the empress will soon die. Her death will remove many difficulties. Sooner or later he must take a wife who will bear him a child; for as long as he has no direct heir, there is every chance that his death will be the signal for a revolution. His brothers are perfectly incapable of filling his place, and a new party would rise up in favor of the Bourbons, which must be prevented above all things.’”
And yet this same Fouché afterwards intrigued for the return of the Bourbons.
Just before Napoleon signed his second abdication, a provisional government was established with Fouché at the head. This crafty schemer was at that time the agent of Louis XVIII. and of the Duke of Wellington; and so it was Fouché, who, as a leader in the Chamber of Deputies, forced Napoleon to sign the second abdication. The Marquis de Bonnay wrote concerning his intrigues:—
“I know for a certainty that M. de M., who was sent to Vienna by Fouché, has taken part in a dialogue to the following effect:—
“‘Do not go to war with us, and we will rid you of that man.’
“‘Well, then; rid us of him at once.’
“‘Would you like the king of Rome, or a regency?’
“‘No!’
“‘The Duke of Orleans?’
“‘No!’
“‘Well, Louis XVIII.?—since it must be so. But no nobility, no priestcraft, and above all, no Blacas.’
“‘Begin by ridding us of Bonaparte and all his race.’”
And rid them of Bonaparte, Fouché did; and again this wily diplomat, or base traitor,—according as the reader sides with one or the other party,—came once more to the front, and received again the office of minister of police under Louis XVIII. Thus Fouché had played his cards and won, and Josephine and Napoleon had lost. Surely the title which Lanfrey applies to Napoleon would most fittingly describe Fouché,—“an incorrigible gambler.”
During their private conferences, previous to the direct announcement of his determination, Napoleon endeavored to persuade Josephine of the political necessity of a separation; veiling his real intentions, so that they should appearonly hints of the measure. Sometimes these vague hints would be met by Josephine with tears and supplications; at other times she would rise in calm dignity and defend her claims with unanswerable facts and predictions. There are several most interesting accounts given of various conversations between them at different times, before the final announcement. The following is perhaps the most impressive.
On one occasion Josephine dared predict to him, that the day he separated himself from her his bright star of destiny should fade, and that their parting hour would be the beginning of his downfall.
“You need,” she said, “a friend, and you have nothing but flatterers. Do you believe that your generals are truly attached to you? No! the most of them only wait a propitious moment to turn their arms against you. Do you think they will, with unconcern, see the Emperor Napoleon searching for a wife among the daughters of kings? No! they have been bred in the same school as yourself; they haveearned true nobility, at the price of their blood; and the blazonry upon their armor, of which they are so justly proud, is but the evidence of valor which has given them the prodigious power they now enjoy in Europe.
“But remember! in you they but behold their equal. If they sustain the glory of your throne, it is only because your elevation seems their work. They believe you great, because the rays of your grandeur are reflected by themselves. If they burn incense to you, they breathe with delight the incense of a power which they share. But the moment a foreign wife shall come and seat herself at your side, the court will cease to be directed by the same influence. You are toonewa man to attach to your personthe ancient families. You may load them with favors; you have it in your power, and it is your duty to make them forget the wrongs inseparable from the Revolution. But beware you do not humble the old generals who served their country before you. Banish from your halls that too severe etiquette which was not made for them. Their wives and children ought not to be made to blush, either in your presence or in that of your future companion. The sword of the brave will ever be your surest safeguard. I myself have ever been careful to conciliate all parties, and to be indulgent to all opinions; so much so, that, since your fortunes have become so wonderful, I have in a manner taught your officers to forget the immense distance which exists between General Bonaparte and the Emperor Napoleon.”
Some days before the divorce, Josephine is reported to have thus addressed Napoleon:—
“Bonaparte, even now you have no confidence in the stability of your power. You want an ally; and the very sovereign whom you have lately vanquished, the sovereign who has just grounds to hate you, sees himself flattered by the very man who has so lately overrun his country. If such an enormous sacrifice as the giving his daughter to you in marriage be necessary to give peace to his subjects, you cannot but know that he will secretly despise you, and say to himself:—
“‘The man who so lately made me tremble, who imposed such cruel conditions upon me, is on the eve of some dreadful catastrophe. Did he suppose himself firmly seated upon his throne, he would not need to resort to a foreign alliance; and the very circumstance that the mighty conqueror is so anxious to obtain a companion of illustrious birth, is evidence that he intends, should a storm ever arise, to lean upon that foreign support.’”
It was indeed strange that the cry of the Revolution, “Down with theAutrichienne!” did not warn Napoleon that it would be an impolitic action to place another Austrian woman upon the throne of France.
The Empress Josephine, after having long dreaded the terrible misfortune which at length overwhelmed her, was totally unprepared for the shock when it fell. She had for a time been lulled into a fancied security, and had regained tranquillity just as the blow came. Nothing had been done to prepare her for it. Even when all Europe was talking of this probable event, and after negotiations had been entered into regarding her successor, still no direct word had been spoken to the poor victim of this atrocious cruelty and perfidious crime.
The letter in which Napoleon told her of his approaching arrival at Fontainebleau still exists. Its tone is particularly affectionate; and he thus wrote: “I am feasting on the thought of seeing thee again;—I embrace thee. Ever thine.” These were his words sent from Nymphenburg, Oct. 21, 1809. When he arrived at Fontainebleau, however, Josephine perceived that he was constrained and cold, which alarmed her; and the triumphant airs of her sworn enemies, his sisters and brothers and mother, who hastened to greet him with officious homage, betokened that some new effront would soon be offered her.
While she was obliged to conceal beneath a smiling countenance her consuming anxieties, in the midst of the brilliantfêtesof the court, she found that the communication between her suite of apartments and those of the emperor had been closed by his orders, which announced to her that her dreaded doom was nigh.
The Duchesse D’Abrantes gives this account of a visit to Josephine just previous to the public announcement ofthe divorce: “I had an interview with the empress at Malmaison. I had sent her a plant from the Pyrenees, and she wished me to see it in the hot-house. But in vain she attempted to employ herself with those objects which pleased her the most; her eyes were frequently suffused with tears; she was pale, and her whole manner marked indisposition. ‘It is very cold!’ she said, drawing her shawl about her; but, alas! it was the chill of grief creeping about her heart, like the cold hand of death. ‘Madame Junot,’ she said, ‘remember what I say to you this day here, in this hot-house,—this place which is now a paradise, but which may soon become a desert to me,—remember that this separation will be my death, and it is they who will have killed me! I shall be driven in disgrace from him who has given me a crown! Yet God is my witness that I love him more than my life, and much more than that throne, that crown, which he has given me.’ The empress may have appeared more beautiful, but never more attractive than at that moment. If Napoleon had seen her then, surely he could never have divorced her.” Lanfrey thus comments upon this event: “On the evening of Nov. 30, the prefect of the palace was on duty in an apartment adjoining the drawing-room where the emperor and Josephine were sitting, when he heard piercing cries, and with amazement recognized the voice of the empress. A few moments afterwards the door opened, and Napoleon having called him in, he beheld the empress suffering from a violent nervous attack, and uttering exclamations of distress and despair. He then helped Napoleon to carry her into her own apartment. In fact, the much-dreaded explosion had taken place. The emperor had at first determined to await the arrival of the Prince Eugène in Paris, in order that thepresence and consolations of the son whom Josephine so tenderly loved might soften the bitterness of his intended communication. When he announced the terrible news to her who alone was ignorant of it,—to the woman who, by having brought him among her wedding presents the chief command of the army in Italy, had so eminently contributed towards his exalted fortune,—eight days had already elapsed since he had desired Champagny to ask for him the hand of the Emperor Alexander’s sister. It was Russia, his ally, not Austria, whom he thought it better to address first.
“As the sad scene which had revealed the domestic trouble in the imperial family was soon publicly known, the divorce became the subject of conversation at the court and throughout the nation. The unfortunate Josephine was supported, it is true, by the affection of her children, who felt the blow scarcely less keenly than herself; but being convinced of the absolute futility of resistance, she had, after the deepest anguish, submitted, rather than resigned herself to that strong will which henceforward became inflexible.
“In order to feign consent, it was necessary that she should show herself in public. Hence she was dragged about to all the grand official receptions, and the scandal-loving public watched her closely, in order to note the extent and progress of her misfortune. The echoes of the palace more than once repeated her sobs and complaints; but it was desirable that this victim of pride and policy should appear content to sacrifice herself, and she was not allowed the satisfaction even of a display of grief. In thefêtesgiven at the commencement of December, to celebrate the anniversary of the coronation, Paris beheld her, with death in her heart and a smile on her lips, bearingthe despair which was a torture to her, with grace playing her part of sovereign for the last time; surrounded by her children, who, to use the expression of a contemporary, were dancing at their mother’s funeral.”
Upon his arrival in Paris, after the blow had fallen upon poor Josephine, Prince Eugène had a mournful interview with his afflicted mother.
“’Tis not,” said that noble woman in the agony of her heart, “’tis not that I regret the throne, my son, but I feel that I am leaving the emperor a prey to the evil-minded men who seek his ruin. I shall be no longer here to warn him against their false-hearted counsels. The task reserved for me henceforth will be to pity him, and to pray for him and the French people whom I love.My children will imitate my example.”
Bourrienne gives the following words of Josephine, regarding her divorce:—
“I was ushered into the drawing-room at Malmaison, where I found Josephine and Hortense. When I entered, Josephine stretched out her hand to me, saying, ‘Ah, my friend!’ These words she pronounced with deep emotion, and tears prevented her from continuing. She threw herself on the ottoman on the left of the fireplace, and beckoned me to sit down beside her. Hortense stood by the fireplace, endeavoring to conceal her tears. After a struggle to overcome her feelings, Josephine said:—
“‘I have drained my cup of misery. He has cast me off!—forsaken me! He conferred upon me the vain title of empress only to render my fall the more marked. Ah! I knew the destiny that awaited me; for what would he not sacrifice to his ambition!’ As she finished these words, one of Queen Hortense’s ladies entered with a message to her; Hortense withdrew, so that I was left alone with Josephine.
“She seemed to wish for the relief of disclosing her sorrows. Josephine confirmed what Duroc had told me respecting the two apartments at Fontainebleau; then, coming to the period when Bonaparte had declared to her the necessity of a separation, she said:—
“‘My dear Bourrienne, during all the years you were with us you know I made you the confidant of my thoughts, and kept you acquainted with my sad forebodings. They are now cruelly fulfilled. I acted the part of a good wife to the very last. I have suffered all, and I am resigned!
“‘What fortitude did it require latterly to endure my situation, when, though no longer his wife, I was obliged to seem so in the eyes of the world! With what eyes do courtiers look upon a repudiated wife! I was in a state of vague uncertainty worse than death, until the fatal day when he at length avowed to me what I had long before read in his looks!
“‘On the 30th of November, 1809, we were dining together as usual. I had not uttered a word during that sad dinner, and he had broken silence only to ask one of the servants what it was o’clock. As soon as Bonaparte had taken his coffee, he dismissed all the attendants, and I remained alone with him. I saw in the expression of his countenance what was passing in his mind, and I knew that my hour was come.
“‘He stepped up to me,—he was trembling, and I shuddered; he took my hand, pressed it to his heart, and after gazing at me a few moments in silence, he uttered these fatal words:—
“‘“Josephine! my dear Josephine! You know how I have loved you!... To you, to you alone, I owe the only moments of happiness I have tasted in this world.But, Josephine, my destiny is not to be controlled by my will. My dearest affections must yield to the interests of France.”
“‘“Say no more!” I exclaimed, “I understand you: I expected this; but the blow is not the less mortal.”
“‘I could not say another word,’ continued Josephine. ‘I know not what happened after. I seemed to lose my reason; I became insensible, and when I recovered I found myself in my chamber. Your friend Corvisart and my poor daughter were with me. Bonaparte came to see me in the evening; and oh! Bourrienne, how can I describe to you what I felt at sight of him! even the interest he evinced for me seemed an additional cruelty. Alas! I had good reason to fear ever becoming an empress!’”
The 15th of December, 1809, was the fatal day appointed for the consummation of the divorce. The imperial council of state was convened, and the official announcements of the coming separation were made. Napoleon’s address on this occasion is well known. The prepared response which Josephine attempted to read in acceptation of this cruel decree, was too much for even her marvellous fortitude to endure; and Eugène was obliged to take the paper from his weeping mother, and finish for her the heart-breaking avowal which her quivering lips refused to utter.
Upon the following day the council was again assembled with the imperial family in the grandsalonat the Tuileries, to witness the legal consummation of the divorce.
All were in court costume. Napoleon entered the apartment, clothed in the imposing robes of state. Pale as a corpse, he stood leaning against a pillar, with folded arms, motionless as a statue.
Again the poor victim of this cruel sacrifice must appear. The keen-edged knife of the political guillotine of blind ambition must this day perform its final act of political decapitation.
The door opens; a sad figure appears. Some reports clothe this sorrowful, weeping woman in white muslin; others in black satin. As the latter seems more fitting: to this funereal scene, we incline to that supposition, which would surely appear more appropriate than bridal white for this moment of public repudiation.
The graceful woman, bending like a weeping-willow before the storm of sorrow which is crushing her to the earth, walks slowly to the seat prepared for her, followed by her son and daughter. The pallor of death is upon her brow. A coffin would have seemed less cruel than the mocking chair of state waiting for her. Had she been Marie Antoinette upon the scaffold, she could scarcely have suffered more; for Marie Antoinette could at least love her dead husband without reproach; while the living husband of poor Josephine holds in his hand the cruel dagger which is piercing her bleeding heart, and his word tears from her brow her rightful royal diadem of wifehood.
The iniquitous decree is read. The quivering victim must pronounce her own sentence. Pressing her handkerchief to her streaming eyes for a moment, she slowly rises, and the oath of acceptance passes her pallid lips. The pen is handed to her, and she signs her owndeath-warrant;and then glides like a mournful spectre from the grandsalonof state, the imperial grandeur of which, together with the presence of her triumphant foes, mock her unutterable woe.
It is the evening of the same day. The weeping womanhas still another heart-rending duty to perform. She must take her final farewell of the man who has stabbed her to the heart; of the husband whom she still adores with every heart-beat of her loyal, loving soul; of the emperor who has crowned her, only to tear from her brow his royal gift and bestow it upon another. Was ever woman’s soul torn with such conflicting emotions? Pride and love have fought a terrible battle within her heart, since the cruel public sacrifice of the morning. But love has conquered; yes, so royally conquered, that there is no place left in her soul for aught but overpowering devotion to the adored husband of her heart.
Napoleon had retired to his apartments. His valet was about to be dismissed for the night when the door opens, and upon the threshold stands Josephine!—more irresistible in her infinite sorrow than in her most imperial robes of dazzling splendor. Her tender eyes are glistening through her tears; her hair falls in disordered locks around her quivering face; her hands are clasped in agonizing despair. For one moment she gazes upon the face of him who has been her life and happiness;—then, forgetting all but her overpowering love, she throws herself into his arms, exclaiming, in tones of commingled tenderness and heart-broken anguish,—“My husband!—My husband!”
Napoleon was overpowered at last. With streaming eyes he beckoned to his valet to retire, and the husband and wife were left alone for their last sad interview. When an hour afterwards Josephine retired from the apartment, still sobbing with irresistible emotion, the valet entered to remove the lights, and found Napoleon with face buried in the pillow and form convulsed with choking sobs.
The next morning, at eleven o’clock, Josephine was to bid a last adieu to the Tuileries. At the appointed hour sheappeared, heavily veiled and leaning upon the arm of one of her lady attendants. Silently she walked through the spacious halls, where all the household had assembled to take final leave of their loved mistress. Not a word was spoken; and as Josephine entered the close carriage she waved an adieu to the weeping friends around her, and without another glance at the grand palace which had witnessed her proud happiness and unutterable woe, she was driven rapidly to her future sad retreat at Malmaison.
But the envious hate of the Bonaparte family received its just reward on the occasion of the marriage of Napoleon to Maria Louisa; and they were then obliged to swallow a more bitter pill of mortified pride than any which had been administered to them during the reign of Josephine.
Madame Mère Bonaparteand the queens of Holland and Naples, the princesses Eliza and Pauline, and the kings Louis and Jerome, were gathered to discuss the coming marriage ceremony of the future empress. Murat, the handsome king of Naples, entered, attired in his rich gala dress of fawn-colored satin embroidered with silver, and wearing a purple mantle lined with ermine and clasped with jewels. The hilt and sheath of his sword sparkled with gems, and his belt was covered with rubies. He wore a sort of cap, of purple, surrounded by an open crown of precious stones, while his boots were of purple velvet edged with fur, and his knee-breeches and vest were of white satin. As he entered the apartment, so proud and so handsome, all of his family exclaimed:
“What a handsome dress!”
“Yes, I flatter myself!” said Murat, gazing into the long mirror before whichla Princesse Borghèsewas paying court to her own beauty; “but do you know, fair ladies,that you are about to be disgraced in the eyes of all Europe?” continued Murat, holding up a printed paper.
“What is it?” exclaimed all in a breath.
“Read!—mesdames les reines!” replied Murat, “and you will learn thatall, queens as you are, you will to-morrow, in the chapel of the Louvre, during the marriage ceremony, have the honor of bearing the train of the imperial mantle of your august sister-in-law.”
“Napoleon can never request of us such an insulting office,” said one.
“It is norequest,” said Jerome, “the emperorcommandsit.”
“As for me,” cried laPrincesse Borghèse, “I would like to see myself touch her odious mantle!”
“Do not excite yourself, sister,” said the queen of Naples, “this matter does not concern either you or thegrande duchesse;you are neither of youqueens.”
“But I am more than aparvenuequeen,” gasped Pauline, between her sobs, “my husband was a noble from birth.”
“I, for one, will not officiate as the waiting-woman of my sister-in-law,” said the queen of Naples haughtily.
“I could not venture to hint at such a degradation to my wife,—the daughter of the king of Wurtemberg,” declared Jerome.
“Sons and daughters, son-in-law and daughter-in-law,” saidMadame Mère, “bear in mind that Napoléoné is accustomed to be obeyed. He is entirely wrong in this matter; but if he is resolved, you will obey.”
“The others may do as they like; but notI,Madame Mère” said the spoiled beauty, Pauline.
“You, like the rest,” replied Madame Bonaparte, with decision.
At that moment the doors were thrown open, and the usher announced, “The Emperor!”
It was in vain that Pauline tried to conceal her tears of rage; or that the queen of Naples endeavored to smooth her ruffled brow; or that Murat hastily sheathed his splendid sword, which he had just drawn in mock defiance to the imperial command.
“Madame la Princesse Borghèse!explain what all this means,” said Napoleon, with severity.
“My sisters and I do not think it proper to carry the mantle of your wife,” Pauline exclaimed defiantly.
“What! do you all refuse?” asked the emperor.
“I cannot disgrace my crown,” sobbed Caroline Murat.
“I will not publicly outrage my unhappy mother!” bravely said Hortense.
“And you, Eliza?” remarked Napoleon; “you probably dread the reproaches of your husband. Ladies, what did I owe to you when I was called upon to reign over France? I have placed you all on such a giddy elevation that it has turned your heads. I have bestowed upon your husbands and yourselves kingdoms, principalities, and splendid establishments; I have overwhelmed you with wealth and honors. What are you without me? Which of you could sustain yourself, if I did not stretch out my hand to support you? Oh! so this is the tone that you assume! Your thrones belong to you by feudal right? Mark me, ladies; the archchancellor of state shall make to you, or rather to your husbands, an official declaration; and whichever one among you ventures to disobey my commands, shall be considered as a culprit, and shall be put under the ban of the empire. And as regards you, Madame Borghèse, who honor us by youralliance, as soon as the marriagefêteshave terminated you will leave Paris; and as you first gave the signal of resistance, so you shall be the first to obey. It is my express determination that the empress, archduchess of Austria, shall receive all the homage due to her birth and rank.”
The emperor then haughtily withdrew. The poor Princess Borghèse fell upon the floor in violent hysterics; and Napoleon, having been apprised of the fact, sent his physician to attend her, bearing also the information to her, that it was thecommandof the emperor that she should be perfectly recovered before the next day. So Pauline could not feign sickness, and was obliged to resign herself to her fate. But even Napoleon himself could not conquer women’s tears; and although his unwilling relations were forced to obey his imperial command, that fatal train of the empress, measuring twelve yards in length, was borne by weeping queens and princesses, who did not even try to conceal their tears of mortification; and they doubtless then realized that an empress ofroyal birthwas not after all such a desirable acquisition to their family as they had supposed. If poor Josephine had not been too generous to be spiteful, and too sad to note aught but her own humiliation and woe, she might have felt herself somewhat avenged by her unconscious successor. As the gorgeous spectacle passed through the magnificent gallery which connected the Tuileries with the Louvre, a child exclaimed to its mother:—
“Mamma, why does the queen of Holland cry? I thought queens were always laughing.”
Poor Hortense! It was indeed cruel in the extreme, that she should have been forced to bear the mantle of the woman who was so unjustly supplanting her own mother.
Whenever Josephine’s friends conversed in her presence regarding the woman who had taken her place, she was careful to avoid the slightest remark which could be construed into a censure of Maria Louisa, though her sorrow could not be concealed. “He will never love her,” she exclaimed with deep feeling; “he has sacrificed everything to his politics; but his first wife—yes, his first wife, will forever possess his confidence.” And she did not deceive herself in this belief, for the ex-empress had reason upon many occasions to exult in the irresistible ascendency she still exercised over Napoleon.
On hearing of the birth of the king of Rome, Josephine evinced her generous sympathy by making a present to the baby archduke of a little carriage drawn by two superbmerinos. The emperor was much pleased with this kind attention, but when he spoke of it to Maria Louisa, the Austrian was offended; for she could never endure to hear a word of praise regarding the woman who had preceded her, and she always tried to prevent Napoleon’s visits to his former wife. But the emperor never ceased to honor Josephine by frequent letters, hurried visits, and constant delicate attentions. Josephine was never forgotten by him, and he always spoke of her with new and increasing interest. He was displeased with certain of his courtiers who affected to forget the forsaken Josephine. “Have you been to Malmaison?” he would inquire of them. “How does the empress?” and these fickle courtiers perceived that if they would please the emperor, they must pay their respects to Josephine. Often when returning from a hunt, Napoleon would go and surprise Josephine at Malmaison with a visit, and walk with her in the garden, conversing with the greatest interest about all his affairs; she was still his mostintimate confidant. To Josephine alone could he confide his inmost thoughts, sure of never being betrayed, and always receiving her most devoted interest. The emperor would often send word to the grandécuyerto detain the Empress Maria Louisa at the riding-school; and then took advantage of the moment of liberty to go and surprise Josephine at Malmaison. It is said that Napoleon was much displeased with Madame de la R., because, having been in Josephine’s service, she proposed to fulfil the same duties for the Empress Maria Louisa. “No,” said he with indignation; “she shall not. Although I am charged with ingratitude towards my wife, I will have no imitators, especially among the persons whom she has honored with her confidence and loaded with her favors.”
After her divorce, Josephine passed her time alternately at Malmaison and the château of Navarre. She here dispensed daily bounty to multitudes of poor families, who were the recipients of her generous benevolence and the objects of her personal care. The following touching incident is said to have occurred just before Napoleon set out on his fatal campaign to Russia.
The Empress Josephine was seated in her gallery of paintings, when the emperor came upon her unawares, and found her reading that passage in the life of Diocletian relating to his abdication: “O ye, who have seen me seated on a throne, come now and see the lettuce which I have planted with my own hands!” Napoleon appeared to be singularly impressed by these words, and said to Josephine with unusual tenderness: “My wife” (for so he continued to call her), “I shall, perhaps, terminate my course in the same way, and take pride in showing the beautiful fruits of your gardens, cultivated by my ownhands, to the envoys of the different nations who may come to visit Napoleon thePhilosopher.”
“So much the better,” answered Josephine; “then should we be happy indeed.” But soon her eyes filled with tears, and she said with inexpressible sadness: “My friend, you have a new wife and a son; I desire henceforth only to aid you by my counsels. But should you ever be free, or should the blast of adversity ever deliver you to your enemies, come, come, O Bonaparte, to my cherished asylum!”
Josephine was very desirous to behold the young king of Rome. Madame Montesquieu, by the order of the emperor, went to Trianon with her augustélève. Hither Josephine went, and when she beheld the young prince, she lavished her caresses upon his baby face, exclaiming with streaming eyes: “I now pardon her freely for the wrong she did me in coming to usurp my place. I am now willing to overlook all my husband’s errors, and concern myself solely about the happiness of a father.”
Napoleon’s overthrow was the result of political errors, into which he was led by evil advisers. They were:—
“1. The unjust war in Spain; an almost insupportable draught upon the blood and treasure of France, and utterly unproductive of profit or glory.
“2. The divorce of his wife Josephine,—a matter of cold-blooded calculation; a wrong determination as to the results to arise from the respective positions of the objects upon the political chessboard. It was discarding aFrench womanfor anAustrian princess. It offended France; it shocked all hearts by an apparent indifference to the love of a noble-minded, innocent, faithful, and beautiful woman.
“3. The unfortunate campaign to Russia, an effort which France was not then strong enough to sustain;though it was one of the grandest displays of military power in the history of the world.”
And yet, with all Napoleon’s plans, it was nothisson who afterwards sat upon the French throne, but thegrandsonofJosephine,—the son of Hortense and Louis Bonaparte who subsequently reigned over France as Emperor Napoleon III. What had the cruel and iniquitous divorce availed after all? Thus a wise Providence seems to declare to the sons of men through the sequences resulting from such historical events,Ye shall not do evil, presuming to imagine that thereby good may arise!
Napoleon’s unfortunate and unjust war with Spain proved in the end to have been an enterprise regarding which the keen intuitions of Josephine had not deceived her. She was endowed with an instinct so perfect, which enabled her to foresee the future with such marvellous skill, that it amounted with her almost to a gift of genius; and she was seldom deceived respecting the good or evil tendency of any of Napoleon’s measures. When informed that the emperor intended to place Joseph Bonaparte upon the throne of Spain, she declared that “she was seized with a feeling of indescribable alarm.”
“When Bonaparte separated from Josephine, he left the woman who had exercised a great influence upon his destinies. It was she who had in a manner launched him upon fortune’s car, who knew how to uphold him in spite of envy, who was the guardian angel sent by Providence upon the earth to repair a thousand wrongs; and from the moment he repudiated her, Napoleon, the invincible Napoleon, began to be a prey to fearful forebodings. This false step was a triumph to his enemies, and all Europe was amazed that a man whose former achievements had covered him with glory, should thus, with asort of ostentation, run after the daughter of a sovereign whom he had subdued by force of arms. ‘From that moment’ (such was the general exclamation) ‘that Napoleon shall start this scandalous project of a divorce, and, not content with severing the bonds which are for him not less sacred than advantageous, shall dare aspire to the hand of the august daughter of the Cæsars, Napoleon is no longer anything of himself; he is but an ambitious man. He will tremble for the result of the part he is acting, for he will seek to sustain himself by force and not by popular favor.’”
As the disasters of his last days gathered around Napoleon, he said to Josephine on one occasion, when paying her a visit at Malmaison:—
“Josephine, when my soul is filled with pain, I feel the need of a true friend into whose bosom I may pour my sorrows. What astonishes me is, that men should study every other science except that of happiness. ’Tis only in retirement that I have found it, and that I may, perhaps, hereafter meet with it!”
Josephine said, regarding the taking of Paris by the allied sovereigns:—
“My courtiers could not long conceal from me the occupation of the capital. I found myself almost in the sad condition of the family of Darius. Should I await the orders of my husband’s conquerors, or should I go and implore their generosity? The melancholy state to which Bonaparte was reduced wholly engrossed my feelings and my thoughts. I was resolved to share his death, or to follow him into exile.”
“Noble-hearted woman! What a contrast does this feeling present to that which actuated his second wife, who abandoned him as readily and with as little compunctionor concern, as though her child had been the son of a German boor, and not of one as great as Cæsar or Alexander!”
While Josephine was at Navarre, and anxiously awaiting the next news from the captured city, she received word from the minister Talleyrand, inviting her to return to Malmaison, to meet there the Emperor Alexander and the king of Prussia, who had expressed a wish to see the queen of that palace of enchantments. Of her interview with these sovereigns, Josephine says:—
“I thanked those magnanimous princes for having had the generosity to honor with their presence the forsaken wife of Bonaparte; I recommended to their kind consideration that brave army which had long displayed such prodigies of valor; I pleaded the cause of those brave soldiers who still formed a bulwark around the hero of Austerlitz; and I claimed, earnestly claimed, the liberty of the man whom I still loved. I forgot all his wrongs towards me, and thought only of his misfortunes.”
The Emperor Alexander of Russia said to Josephine: “I congratulate you on having reigned over the French, a nation so worthy to be well governed; I congratulate you on having known how to make friends while on the throne, friends who have followed you into retirement. ’Tis to you, madame, that France is in a great measure indebted for the tranquillity she enjoyed during the first years of your husband’s reign. Had Napoleon continued to listen to your advice, he would probably now have reigned over a great and generous people. All the sovereigns in Europe, and myself the first, would ultimately have applauded the wisdom of his institutions and the strength of his government.”
When Napoleon returned from Elba to Paris, and wasonce more receiving the acclamations of his adherents at the Tuileries, he is said to have fallen into a “melting mood,” a few nights after his return thither, and he sent for M. Horan, one of the physicians who had attended Josephine in her last illness. After talking about his former wife with much feeling, to whom he certainly was attached even when he so cruelly abandoned her, he said to the physician:—
“So, Monsieur Horan, you did not leave the empress during her malady?”
“No, sire.”
“What was the cause of that malady?”
“Uneasiness of mind—grief.”
“You believe that?” and Napoleon laid a strong emphasis on the wordbelieve, looking steadfastly in the doctor’s face. He then asked, “Was she long ill? Did she suffer much?”
“She was ill a week, sire; her Majesty suffered little pain.”
“Did she see that she was dying? Did she show courage?”
“A sign her Majesty made when she could no longer express herself, leaves me no doubt that she felt her end approaching; she seemed to contemplate it without fear.”
“Well!—well!” and then Napoleon, much affected, drew close to M. Horan, and added, “You say that she was in grief; from what did that arise?”
“From passing events, sire, from your Majesty’s position last year.”
“Ah! she used to speak of me, then?”
“Often; very often.”
Here Napoleon drew his hand across his eyes, which were filled with tears. He then said:—
“Good woman! My excellent Josephine! She loved me truly, did she not? Ah! she was a Frenchwoman!”
“Oh yes, sire! she loved you, and she would have proved it, had it not been for dread of displeasing you; she had conceived an idea.”
“How? What would she have done?”
“She one day said that as empress of the French she would drive through Paris, with eight horses to her coach, and all her household in gala livery, to go and rejoin you at Fontainebleau, and never quit you more.”
“She would have done it! She was capable of doing it!” exclaimed Napoleon, with deep emotion and eyes full of tears; and then he asked the physician the most minute questions about the last hours of Josephine: the nature of her disease, the friends and attendants who were around her at the hour of her death, and the conduct of her two children Eugène and Hortense.
How different was Josephine’s fidelity to the man who had even cut her to the heart by his cruel desertion when he was at the height of his glory, but whom in his dire misfortunes she did not cease to love and desire to aid, from the cold apathy of the woman who had taken her rightful place!
After the fall of the emperor, and his departure to the island of Elba, Josephine fell into a profound melancholy. For several days she preferred to remain alone. Her ladies noticed that she often perused a letter which the emperor had written to her from Brienne, in which he said:—
“Josephine, while revisiting the spot where I passed my early childhood, and comparing the peaceful hours I then enjoyed with the agitations which I now experience, I am constrained to say to myself, I fear death no longer—tome it would this day be a blessing,—but I would once more see Josephine.”
Speaking of Napoleon at this time, she is reported to have said: “I am the only one to whom he intrusted all his secrets—all except the one which has caused his ruin; and had he communicated that to me in season, I should still have enjoyed his presence; and by means of my counsels he would perhaps have escaped these new calamities.”
Among the last words uttered by the faithful Josephine, were these, regarding Napoleon, whose loved portrait she then gazed upon: “Banished to an island under a foreign sky, torn from France, from a wife and a beloved son, from all his friends; fallen from the palaces of kings, among the hills of Elba, overcome by cares and fatigues, sad and melancholy, alone amidst the dwellers upon that island, there still remains to him one faithful Pylades, and a few warriors who have voluntarily shared his exile. Bonaparte can never find consolation in his deep misfortunes, except in the reflection that there still remains to him one true friend who hath never ceased to watch over his precious life. But, alas! she is lost for him.”
“Josephine, Bonaparte’s last friend; Josephine, the first object of his ambition, and the only woman whom he truly loved. Bonaparte was fortunate while her lot was connected with his. His after-life was less miserable while she survived. Dying, she still wished to press his hand; his name was the last word she uttered, and her last tear fell upon his portrait.”
Time destroys great reputations, but that of Napoleon’s first wife will be deathless while woman’s self-sacrificing love remains.
“At least,” said Josephine, with dying breath; “atleast I shall carry with me some regrets. I have aimed at the good of the French people; I have done all in my power to promote it, and I may say with truth to all who attend me in my last moments, that never, no, never, did the first wife of Napoleon Bonaparte cause a tear to flow.”
Beautiful May had already clothed the gardens of Malmaison with verdure and adorned them with radiant flowers. The sunset tints crimsoned the western horizon, and tipped the white clouds with purple and gold. The birds in the groves were softly carolling their vesper songs, and the gentle breeze, swaying the delicate leaves, fanned with caressing touch the fevered cheek of the dying Josephine, who, with eyes fast dimming in death, gazed once more through the open window upon the loved beauties of her favorite Malmaison, which on this 29th of May, 1814, seemed to have put on new loveliness to comfort the gentle spirit so soon to take a fond and last farewell. As the shadows of twilight deepened, and the dying empress looked once more on the portrait of her idolized husband, the emperor, she exclaimed, “L’isle d’Elbe——Napoleon!” and closed her eyes on earth, and passed beyond the portals of mortal life.
“The death of Josephine threw all France into tears, and even strangers shared in the general sorrow. They witnessed the universal regrets her death occasioned, and it may be truly said, to the praise of both the friends and foes of Bonaparte, that, on this mournful occasion, all united to scatter flowers upon the tomb of the woman who had adorned the happy days of the illustrious exile.”
On the 2d of June, the funeral honors were paid to the mortal remains of the Empress Josephine, in the parish church at Ruel. Commissioners from the sovereigns ofRussia and Prussia headed the procession, which proceeded from Malmaison to Ruel. Many foreign princes, marshals, generals, and officers of the French and allied armies escorted the renowned remains.
The military consisted of Russian Hussars and the National Guards of France. The chief mourners were Prince Eugène, the Grand Duke of Baden, Marquis de Beauharnais (brother-in-law), Count de Tascher (nephew), Count de Beauharnais (cousin), and the grandchildren of the deceased empress.
The funeral oration was pronounced by the Archbishop of Tours, while the bishops of Evreux and Versailles assisted in the religious ceremonies. The body of the empress was enclosed in a leaden coffin, which was afterwards placed in one of sycamore wood covered with black cloth. The casket was deposited in a vault in the church at Ruel, over which was raised achapelle ardenteformed of funeral hangings; the altar, richly decorated in the form of a tomb, and the altar-piece, representing a cross, were surmounted by a canopy. On the right was placed a statue of Immortality, on the left that of Religion. A sepulchral lamp was suspended in the middle of thechapelle ardente.
Queen Hortense, who had been conveyed to the church before the funeral obsequies, knelt for a long time beside the tomb, with her brother, after the other mourners had left the church.
The spot is now marked by a monument of white marble, representing the empress kneeling in her coronation robes, and bears this simple and touching inscription:—
EUGÈNE AND HORTENSE TO JOSEPHINE.
The widow and the orphan went daily to weep by hertomb. Many of her faithful friends continued to make visits to the last resting-place of her whose memory was honored by universal respect and sincere mourning. The poor and the rich alike honored her life and mourned her death. “What now remains to Josephine is the recollection of her good deeds,”—a more fitting memorial than costly monument or marble sarcophagus of most elaborate art.
As an empress, none can claim a more exalted place, as the personification of grace, beauty, and queenly dignity. But it is as awoman—as awifeand amother—that the brightest halo of glory crowns the pure brow of Josephine; and asLove’s Martyr, she has gained the highest place amongst the self-sacrificing women of historic fame.