“Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown.”—Shakespeare.“Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness.”—Shakespeare.
STRANGER than fiction are the facts of history; and nowhere, among the imaginary characters of romance and poetry, can be found a story of a life more marvellously varied in experience, more weirdly strange in its many thrilling scenes of unutterable misery or dazzlingly triumphant splendor, than the history of the Empress Josephine affords.
But remarkable as were the events of her life, her character was still more remarkable. With no early advantages of education, outside of the fashionable accomplishments of music, drawing, and dancing; by her self-taught acquirements, and diligent study, together with an intuitive perception and aptitude, which enabled her mind to grasp the gravest questions, she was in after-life a most brilliant conversationalist; and by her comprehensive genius and marvellous political foresight, she became the safest, wisest, and most far-seeing of all Napoleon’s advisers and counsellors. When influenced by her persuasive voice, prompted by a heart incapable of any motive but that of the sternest rectitude, and most exalted and unselfish devotion, Napoleon’s acts were always to be commended; and so highly did he prize her counsel, that he called her his “Mentor.”
Josephine looking kind of simperingJOSÉPHINE.EMPRESS OF FRANCE.
JOSÉPHINE.
EMPRESS OF FRANCE.
Never did she advise him to a false step; and historyhas shown that, regarding those plans and deeds of Napoleon, which results have proved to have been unwise or grievous mistakes, the gentle voice of Josephine had never failed to give prophetic warning.
As Napoleon stands forth pre-eminent amongst the famous men of history, so does the name of Josephine shine with undying lustre among those of the most celebrated heroines of the world. We are dazzled by her gorgeous state and magnificence as empress. We admire her keen intellect and exquisite tact, which never failed to suggest the most perfect and pleasing demeanor, under every emergency, in a time of many unsettled political opinions and tottering thrones. But we love the gentle, unselfishwoman, whose heart ever responded to every call for sympathy; whose hand was ever open to bestow benefits; and whose marvellous heroism could support her in the midst of such terrible reverses and peculiar trials as only a woman’s heart could suffer, and only a woman’s love could endure.
In writing the history of Josephine, we are forced to look upon the darker side of Napoleon’s character. From the time he ceased to heed her loving voice,—the persuasive sweetness of which, he himself acknowledged; declaring, “that the first applause of the French people sounded to my ear sweet as the voice of Josephine,”—from that time, the hitherto invincible Napoleon made one false step after another, allowing himself to be influenced by ambitious flatterers and deceived by evil counsellors; following theignis fatuusof an overweening ambition and thirst for power, which had taken the place of the noble spirit of aspiring to the uplifting of his countrymen and defending the sacred rights of the people, which had actuated his former deeds, and covered his name withthe splendid glory and well-deserved honor which he had before achieved.
But now even his transcendent genius and glorious deeds of valor are to be tarnished by grievous mistakes, and even crime.
The first false step taken, his downfall was as terrible and rapid as his uprising had been sudden and glorious.
Already evil counsellors are whispering in his ear their diabolical advice. Just here, with all our admiration for Napoleon, we are amazed at him. That a man possessing such great genius, and with such far-reaching intuitions, should have allowed his mind and deeds to be influenced by the base flatterers who surrounded him, is strange indeed. That Napoleon should not have discovered the Mephistopheles, in Fouché, is surprising; equally amazing, that he should have become so blinded as to turn from his truest friends and most unselfish advisers, and have bared his breast to the poisonous fangs of the wily serpents, who hissed around him like a nest of rattlesnakes.
That steadfastness of purpose which made Napoleon so invincible in overcoming the most stupendous difficulties when his cause was righteous, and which made him the wonder of the world, became the greatest obstacle in his way when his cause was wrong and his resolves pernicious.
The very element in his nature which made him transcendent for good, rendered him also powerful for evil, when his resolution had once been taken in a wrong direction. His unconquerable will, which bore him upward through the most overwhelming difficulties, and crowned him with well-merited success, when his aspirations were inspired by true patriotism and the laudable desire tobenefit his country,—that same unconquerable will became his bane, and led him into the most lamentable errors when his former high aspirations had been supplanted by personal ambition and inordinate desire for power.
We cannot give a consecutive history of Napoleon’s errors and downfall in this sketch, but they will appear from time to time, as we trace a short outline of the life of Josephine. We do not pretend to say that Josephine always consciously guided Napoleon’s career and moulded the events of his life. His own genius raised him to his exalted position, we admit; but we do contend that with Josephine he prospered, and without her he fell.
And according to many authorities, it was Josephine’s bridal gift to him that gave him the command of the army of Italy; for it was Barras who recommended Bonaparte to the convention; and it was Barras who assured Madame de Beauharnais that if she married General Bonaparte he would contrive to have him appointed to that command.
We have space but to give two scenes in the life of Josephine before she became Madame Bonaparte. The former occurred upon the island of Martinique, when Josephine was a young girl; the latter, after she had become Vicomtesse de Beauharnais.
One day, when Josephine was about fifteen years of age, she was walking through the spacious grounds of her uncle’s West Indian plantation, in the island of Martinique, when she observed a number of negro girls gathered around an old woman who was engaged in telling their fortunes. Josephine, with girlish curiosity, drew near; whereupon, the old sibyl seized her hand, and, reading the lines there, appeared to be greatly moved.
“What do you see?” inquired Josephine.
“You will not believe me if I speak,” answered the fortune-teller.
“Speak on, good mother,” said Josephine; “what have I to fear or hope?”
“On your own head be it then; listen,” said the old sibyl.
“You will be married soon; that union will not be happy; you will become a widow, and then,—you will be queen of France! Some happy years will be yours; but you will die in a hospital, amid civil commotion;” after saying which, the old woman speedily disappeared.
Josephine thought little of this matter at the time, and only laughed about it with her friends; and when she was residing at Navarre, after the divorce, she thus commented upon it:—
“On account of the seeming absurdity of thisridiculous prediction, I thought little of the affair. But afterwards, when my husband had perished on the scaffold, in spite of my better judgment this prediction forcibly recurred to my mind; and though I was then myself in prison, the transaction assumed a less improbable character, and when I, myself, had been also condemned to die, I comforted my companions, who were weeping around me, by smilingly exclaiming:—
“‘That not only should I not die, but that I should becomeQueen of France’.
“‘Why then do you not appoint your household?’ asked Madame d’Aiguillon, who was also one of the prisoners of the Revolution.
“‘Ah! that is true,—I had forgotten. Well, my dear, you shall be maid of honor; I promise you the situation.’
“Upon this the tears of those ladies flowed more abundantly;for they thought, on seeing my coolness at such a crisis, that misfortune had affected my reason. Such, ladies, is the truth about this so celebrated prophecy. The end gives me but little inquietude. I live here peacefully in retirement; I have no concern with politics; I endeavor to do all the good in my power; and thus I hope to die calmly in my bed.”
After the death of the Vicomte de Beauharnais on the scaffold, his wife Josephine, who had also been imprisoned by the Jacobins, was at length condemned to die.
A few days before her terrible doom was to have been sealed, Josephine and Madame de Fontenay, also a prisoner, were standing together at the barred window of their prison. M. Tallien, a man of much influence with the rising power which was opposing the tyranny of Robespierre, was in love with Madame de Fontenay, and daily walked past the convent of the Carmelites, where Josephine and the other ladies of high birth were imprisoned.
Observing M. Tallien, Madame de Fontenay made a sign for him to draw near, and she then dropped from the window a piece of cabbage-leaf, in which she had enclosed the following note:—
“My trial is decreed; the result is certain. If you love me as you say, urge every means to save France and me.”
Roused by the danger of her whom he loved, M. Tallien proceeded to the convention, and making an impassioned and eloquent speech, denouncing Robespierre, he turned the tide of popular opinion against the tyrant, and in a short time Robespierre’s head fell under the bloody guillotine, where he had already caused so many thousands to perish.
The manner in which Josephine received the news ofher enemy’s death was strange and interesting. It was the day before that upon which it had been decreed that Madame de Beauharnais should be put to death. Josephine was standing at the window of her prison, calmly gazing upon the outward world, while her fellow-prisoners were weeping around, overcome with the thought of the terrible doom which awaited their loved friend. But Josephine’s fortitude did not desert her, and she was endeavoring to comfort her mourning companions, when her attention was arrested by a woman in the street below, who seemed trying to give her some information by various strange signs.
At first the woman held up her robe, pointing to it several times. Josephine called out through the grated window, “Robe?” and the woman eagerly made a sign of assent; and picking up a stone, which in French ispierre, she held it up. Josephine cried out, “Pierre?” and the woman joyfully nodded, and then pointed first to her robe and then to the stone. Whereupon Josephine wonderingly exclaimed, “Robespierre?” and the woman again assented with every mark of delight, and continued to draw her hand around her throat, making the signs of cutting off a head. The glad cry soon resounded through the prison, “Robespierre is dead!”
Thus was the axe lifted from the neck of Josephine, and she soon walked forth free, saying smilingly to her friends:—
“You see I am not guillotined; andI shall yet be queen of France!”
Thus not only had the life of the future empress of France, but the fate of that great kingdom itself, depended at one time upon a tiny cabbage-leaf, thrown by the hand of a feeble woman.
After Josephine de Beauharnais was betrothed to General Bonaparte, on one occasion she requested him to accompany her to the residence of M. Raguideau, an old lawyer, who had long been her confidential friend and adviser, that she might inform him of her coming marriage. On arriving at the lawyer’s office, Josephine withdrew her hand from the arm of Bonaparte, and requested him to wait for her in the outer apartment until she had spoken with her old friend alone. Neglecting, however, to close the door which separated the two offices, Bonaparte was able to overhear the conversation between his intended bride and the old lawyer.
“M. Raguideau,” said Madame de Beauharnais, “I have come to inform you of my approaching marriage.”
“And with whom, madame?” exclaimed the astonished lawyer.
“I am about to marry General Bonaparte, sir.”
“General Bonaparte, do you say? Pshaw, madame! a soldier of fortune, who has his way to make.”
“He will make it, my good friend!” replied Josephine, with flushed cheeks.
“When, and how?” was the incredulous retort. “But first, what is he worth at present?”
“Nothing, save his house in the Rue Chantereine.”
“Ashed!A likely fortune, indeed! And so you are really resolved to marry this adventurer?”
“I am.”
“So much the worse for you, madame.”
“Explain yourself, sir!” said Josephine, with offended dignity.
“Because, madame, you had much better remain a widow than marry a paltry general, without either name or prospects. You must assuredly be mad! Will yourBonaparte ever be a Dumouriez or a Pichegru? Will he ever be the equal of our great republican generals? I have a right to doubt it. Moreover, let me tell you that the profession of arms is worthless now; and I would much rather know that you were about to marry an army-contractor than General Bonaparte.”
“Every one to his taste, monsieur,” disdainfully replied Josephine, stung to the quick by the contemptuous tone of the old man, who had always heretofore been fatherly to her. “You, sir, it would appear, regard marriage merely as an affair of finance;” and she rose with queenly dignity to take her leave.
“And you, madame,” broke in the excited and angry old man, “you see in it only a matter of sentiment, and what you, no doubt, call love. Again I repeat, all the worse for you, madame! all the worse for you! I had given you more credit for good sense than to suspect that you would allow yourself to be dazzled by a pair of gold epaulets. Reflect before you make such a sacrifice; for rest assured, that if you are rash enough to persist in this foolish scheme, you will repent your folly all the days of your life. Who ever heard of a rational woman throwing herself away upon a man whose whole fortune consists in hisswordand hisgreat-coat?”
General Bonaparte had listened to this extraordinary conversation with rising excitement; and when he heard the words “sword” and “great-coat” so contemptuously uttered, he sprang from his chair, with blazing eyes, forgetting the presence of the astonished clerks; but, recovering himself instantly, he sat down again, determined not to expose himself to ridicule.
Josephine soon appeared, looking highly annoyed and indignant, followed by the irate old lawyer; but Bonaparte,giving him no time for further insult, drew the hand of his betrothed within his arm, and, making a silent and contemptuous bow, withdrew.
Josephine had no idea that Bonaparte had been an unwilling listener; but she noticed his marked increase of kind and courtly attention on the way home; and not until the day of the coronation did either Josephine or Raguideau entertain the slightest suspicion that their conversation had been overheard by Bonaparte. On the day of the coronation, when the emperor and empress were about to proceed to the palace of the archbishop, Napoleon sent one of his chamberlains to M. Raguideau, with the command that the emperor desired his immediate presence at the Tuileries. The astonished lawyer, arriving with breathless haste, overwhelmed with mingled feelings of fear and hope at such unexpected summons, was ushered into the grandsalon, where Napoleon, attired in his royal robes, was conversing with Josephine, who was also arrayed in her gorgeous coronation costume.
“Ah! here you are at last, M. Raguideau!” said Napoleon, with a quizzical smile upon his imposing countenance; “I am very happy to see you!”
“Sire,” began the trembling old man, not knowing whether that august smile betokened promotion or decapitation.
“My good sir,” continued the emperor, not giving him time to reply, “do you remember a day in 1796, when I accompanied to your house Madame de Beauharnais, nowempressof the French?”—emphasizing the word “empress” with all the depth of his magnetic voice. “Do you remember the eulogy which you uttered on the military profession, and the personal panegyric of which I was the object? Well, what say younow?Were you a trueprophet? You declared that my fortune would always consist of my sword and my great-coat; that I should never make a name nor position, like Dumouriez or Pichegru; and that Madame de Beauharnais was insane to sacrifice herself to a ‘mere general.’ I have made my way, nevertheless, as you perceive, and in despite of your sagacious predictions. Think you that the ‘army-contractor’ would have bestowed a brighter boon upon his wife, after eight years of marriage, than acrown, and that crown theimperial diadem of France?”
As he ceased speaking, Napoleon lovingly raised the hand of Josephine to his lips, while she looked with amazement upon this bewildering scene. The poor old lawyer, overwhelmed with consternation, stood trembling in dumb despair; his eyes were cast upon the floor, and his limbs shook as with an ague fit; while the emperor gazed upon him with an amused smile, highly enjoying his discomfiture. At last the frightened man stammered:—
“Sire, I could not foresee. Sire, did you really overhear?”
“Every word, M. Raguideau. You are aware that walls have ears, and I owe you a severe reprisal; for, if my excellent Josephine had listened to your advice, it would have cost her a throne, and me the best of wives. You are a great culprit, M. Raguideau!”
At those terrible words “reprisal” and “culprit,” the poor old man turned pale as a corpse; his tottering limbs almost refused to support his agitated form.
“How could I tell? how could I imagine?” he gasped out; “I thought only of her, of her fatherless children. I had loved them for years. I was anxious to see them once more restored to prosperity and happiness.”
“I believe you,” said the emperor, touched by the emotion of the gray-haired old man, who had been a friend to his wife in her days of need; “you could not tell; you could not foresee;” and for a moment Napoleon paused, and then continued in more solemn tones, “the future is beyond the grasp of any living man.” Then, resuming his bantering way: “So, now, we will return to the present; and, as I cannot altogether overlook the injury which you sought to inflict upon me, I condemn you to go this day to Nôtre Dame, and to witness the ceremony of my coronation. Not in a corner, not behind a pillar, which will prevent my having ocular evidence of your obedience, but in the seat that I shall cause to be retained for you. Do you hear, sir? I must see you both in the cathedral and in the line of the procession.”
Transported with the overwhelming relief and the ecstatic joy of such an honor, the poor old lawyer was hardly able to express his gratitude, and could scarcely maintain his dignity as he bowed himself from the royal presence, and hastened to prepare for the coming august ceremony.
Napoleon having jested with his wife over the abject terror of the trembling culprit, the emperor and empress entered their carriage, and proceeded to the archbishopric. As they left the cathedral after the magnificent ceremony of the coronation, Napoleon recognized the old lawyer in the crowd; and as their eyes met the Emperor smiled graciously upon his former enemy. The smile was answered by so profound a bow, that Napoleon afterwards laughingly declared to Josephine, “that for several seconds he was in doubt whether the sage prophet of 1796 would ever be able again to assume the perpendicular.”
During Napoleon’s campaigns, Josephine was at alltimes in receipt of news from the army, brought to her by couriers from Bonaparte. No matter at what time the despatches arrived, day or night, she always received them with her own hands, and made inquiries of the courier of all in the army whom she knew. She would always say some pleasant thing to him, and reward him with a more or less costly gift, according to the importance of the news received.
At one time, when Bourrienne had remarked to Josephine, “Madame, I really believe that in spite of yourself you will be made queen or empress,” Josephine exclaimed: “Bourrienne, such ambition is far from my thoughts. That I may always continue the wife of the First Consul, is all that I desire.”
During the Prussian campaign, nothing was talked of throughout Germany but Napoleon’s generous conduct with respect to Prince Hatzfeld. Among the letters seized at Berlin, and delivered to Napoleon, was one from the prince to the king of Prussia, in which he revealed the condition and strength of the French army. The prince was arrested, and tried as a spy, and condemned to death. The remainder of the scene is described in Napoleon’s letter to Josephine, which is as follows:—
“I have received your letter, in which you seem to reproach me for speaking ill of women. It is true that I dislike female intriguers above all things. I am used to kind, gentle, and conciliatory women. I love them, and if they have spoiled me, it is not my fault, but yours. However, you will see that I have done an act of kindness to one deserving woman. I allude to Madame de Hatzfeld. When I showed her her husband’s letter, she stood weeping, and in a tone of mingled grief and ingenuousness, said, ‘It is indeed his writing!’ This went to my heart,and I said: ‘Well, madame, throw the letter into the fire, and then I shall have no proof against your husband.’ She burned the letter, and was restored to happiness. Her husband now is safe; two hours later, and he would have been lost. You see, therefore, that I like women who are simple, gentle, and amiable; because they alone resemble you.”
Josephine’s kindness and consideration for the comfort of every one in her household, even down to the lowest menial, was proverbial. When travelling with Napoleon, a picket-guard was appointed by the emperor for her service. One cold night, in the early dawn, she heard marching and coughing under her window. She wondered who could be out so late in the chill of that hour; and upon inquiry, she learned that it was the sentinel posted there. She thereupon sent for the officer of the guard, and said to him, “Sir, I have no need of a sentinel at night; these brave men have endured enough in the army when they followed it to the wars; they must rest while in my service. I don’t want them to catch cold.” The officer, smiling at the apprehensive solicitude of the empress, and touched by her unexpected kindness, dismissed the sentinel, and his place was not supplied.
Napoleon is said to have talked but little. When out of his own house, if he chanced to stop and speak with any one, it was considered of enough importance to be remarked and reported. The following is Josephine’s portrait of Napoleon at home: “He had a fine intellect, a sensible and grateful heart, simple tastes, and the qualities of an amiable man; to the sentiments of an honest man, he united a prodigious local memory.”
When Josephine spoke of her husband, she always said, “The emperor says,” “the emperor wishes,” “the emperororders,” etc. She very rarely called him by name in public, and in private she called him Bonaparte; while her tender name for him wasmon ami. When speaking of her, Napoleon usually called herthe empress, or he would say, “I am going to seemy wife”; but in addressing her he called herJosephine, unless he spoke with severity or on some serious occasion, when he called herMadame, without other title or name.
It cannot be denied that Josephine had a great weakness for extravagant jewels and adornments; but as she dressed always with perfect taste and elegance, and as she was as lavish in her bounties as she was in her personal expenditures, she may be pardoned this feminine weakness. She at least never offended the eyes of admirers of good taste, and her pleasing person, so becomingly adorned, was one of the most charming sights of the court of the empire.
This was another cause of the jealousy of her sisters-in-law; and even Pauline, the Bonaparte beauty, was often most sorely chagrined to find her own boasted charms thrown in the shade by the refined elegance and queenly bearing of the emperor’s wife.
An amusing story is told of the mortification of this proud beauty upon one grand occasion, when she had resolved for once to outshine her hated sister-in-law.
Pauline, Madame Le Clerc, after wearing her widow’s weeds for as short a time as possible after the death of her first husband, General Le Clerc, had wedded a real prince, and was accordingly to make herdébutat court as Princess Borghèse.
NAPOLÉON.
NAPOLÉON.
Pauline has kept her own counsel about hergrande toilettefor that momentous occasion; but the rumor is afloat that she intends to make agrand coupwith hergorgeous appearance, and quite extinguish her august sister-in-law.
Josephine, having heard that she was to be crushed into utter insignificance by the vain beauty, quietly determined a little stratagem of her own. Confident of being mistress in the art of dress, she accordingly resolved to assume a costume which should delight by its very simplicity. But a simplicity so artistically arranged that the very splendor of her rival should but heighten the effect of her own toilet. Her dress was of the finest Indian muslin, bordered with gold and embroidery, and gracefully draped to show the perfect elegance of her figure. Her hair was dressedà la grecque, and banded with pearls, while antique gems and pearls formed her sole ornaments.
“Ravissante!” exclaimed her ladies, as she entered thesalon;and even Napoleon’s usual gravity relents, as he cries:—
“Josephine, je suis jaloux! Tu es divine!” and he kisses her on the forehead, pinching her ear laughingly, which was his favorite manner of bestowing a gracious caress.
The time passes, but no princess. Napoleon impatiently retires from thesalon;his time is too precious to wait longer the “official visit,” as he calls it, of the prince and princess.
At length the clatter of horses’ hoofs is heard. A carriage grand enough, with its gilding and emblazonry, to have borne theGrand Monarquehimself, dashes into theCour d’Honneurof St. Cloud.
Six gayly caparisoned horses are harnessed to this gorgeous vehicle, and a large retinue of outriders surround it, bearing torches. On the grand staircase are stationed the entire staff of domestics to receive their princely guests.
Presently thehuissieropens the doors of thesalon, and announces with becoming grandiloquence:—
“Monseigneur le Prince, and Madame la Princesse Borghèse.”
Thegrande entréeis made with imposing hauteur, and Pauline sees with satisfaction that she has made a sensation. But her vain heart is ruffled because she is obliged to cross the room to Josephine, instead of being met by her, asla grande princessehad of course expected.
But she comforted her wounded pride with the thought that this promenade would give her the opportunity to display her velvet train embroidered with diamonds.
Pauline was indeed magnificent. Her costume was a pale green velvet embroidered with gold, and thickly sprinkled with flashing brilliants. The front of her dress was atablierof diamonds, with diamond stomacher, and the same glistening jewels upon her sleeves. Her handsome head was adorned with a diadem of emeralds and diamonds, and the same gems sparkled upon snowy arms, wrists, and throat. In fact, she was loaded with the entire wealth of diamonds possessed by the princely family of Borghèse; and as it was reported that when she came back from St. Domingo, where her former husband died, she had guarded carefully a coffin, containing the supposed remains of her late husband, but in reality filled with diamonds and other precious stones. If this was true, Pauline doubtless had diamonds of her own to add to the vaunted store of the family of her second princely husband.
Be that as it may, Pauline flashed in diamonds from head to foot; nay more, even to the end of her gorgeous train, where the same rich jewels also sparkled.
She was indeed dazzling!
Josephine and Pauline are at length seated side by side. The proud princess is forced to acknowledge that Josephine’s toilet is charming; and all beholders are confirmed in their opinion that Madame Bonaparte’s taste is faultless.
But horrors! What has happened? Pauline,la princesse, has grown pale as death. Is she ill? Oh! worse than that. Oh, awful catastrophe! Pauline, gazing into a large mirror before her, expecting to be ravished with her own beauty, perceives this dreadful fact. The furniture and draperies of the newly furnishedsalon, while giving full effect to Josephine’s costume, actually transform herself into a hideous spectacle. Wearing agreen velvet gown, she has seated herself upon ablue velvet sofa!It is positivelytoo shockingfor her nerves to endure. Had her boasted triumph encountered such ignominious defeat? Hastily rising, she made her adieus, and departed to weep in mortified chagrin and baffled pride. Poor Pauline! kind-hearted Josephine had not intended to achieve such an unexpected triumph.
The Empress Josephine was very generous to her attendant ladies, often making them costly presents. As she frequently gave them handsome costumes and pretty novelties which she had worn but once or twice, the ladies at length entered into quite a trade with certain Jews, who came to the court to display their merchandise. As the robes of the empress were often too rich for the ladies who received them to wear themselves, they exchanged them for piece-goods, which the Jewish merchants brought for sale. These garments of the empress became quite the rage; and at one ball, Josephine might have beheld the ladies in an entire quadrille, arrayed in her cast-off robes. Even princesses were frequently the purchasersof these gowns from the Jews, who had obtained them in exchange for the merchandise with which they had supplied the ladies of Josephine’s court.
At one time an ambassador arrived from Persia, bringing very magnificent presents to the Emperor Napoleon and costly cashmeres to Josephine. For some time his Persian Excellency was all the rage, and the ladies of the French court vied with each other in endeavoring to show attention to these eastern guests. The parties given by the Persian ambassador and his suite, at their residences, were largely attended, and much curiosity was evinced to partake of the foreign tea and queer cakes offered by their Persian hosts.
The empress at length determined to attend one of their parties incognito, being accompanied by several of her ladies. On being introduced to the ambassador, Josephine received a gracious smile, and the Persian presented her with a small bottle of attar of roses, a kind of present which, among the Persians, denoted a mark of high honor and respect.
Josephine tasted several mysterious Persian dishes, and expressed admiration of his Excellency’s pipe, which was brought to him by two slaves, who kneeled when they offered it to their august master. Josephine noticed that the tips of his Excellency’s finger-nails were colored with different tints.
The ambassador being impressed with the manner and grace of the empress, invited her to be seated by his side on his divan. She graciously declined the attention, saying that such an honor belonged only to privileged persons, fearing that her identity would be made known. The Persian then asked, through his interpreter, if she would be willing to go and reside with him in Persia, promising that he would give her a high position.
Scarcely restraining her mirth, Josephine replied that she was married and had two children, and that her duty and interests would keep her in France. And with as much haste as courtesy would allow, the empress and her ladies retired from the presence of their Persian host.
On the day of the ambassador’s public presentation at court, Josephine, arrayed in all her imperial magnificence, received him with a gracious smile. The poor, dumfounded Persian, who recognized in the empress the woman whom he had vainly tried to captivate, was completely amazed, and his manner and attitude expressed his astonished mortification.
But Josephine, with winning smile, quickly relieved him of his embarrassment, saying, in her sweet persuasive tones:—
“You must admit, Monsieur l’Ambassadeur, that I had good reason for telling you that I preferred to remain in France. If you think well of me, you will remain faithful to that beautiful wife of yours.” And with a sign of respect, the humiliated Persian withdrew.
At Josephine’s early receptions as wife of the First Consul, the costumes of the guests were very heterogeneous in style. The fashions of the Republic had been copied after ancient Greek and Roman styles; and the ladies of the Republic flaunted their Grecian tunics and Roman sandals with great pride. But after a time it was remarked “that military boots and pantaloons, clanking swords and cockades, were in a considerable minority, and that silk stockings, shoes with buckles, dress swords, andchapeaux sous le braswere the rule. Some of the company had, however, endeavored to spare their feelings too complete a shock, by an attempt to unite the past and the present. While returning to powder and embroidery,lace ruffles and cravats, they contrived to retain in their costumes some reminiscence of the fast vanishing and much regretted ‘sans-culottism’ of the Republic. This resulted in amusing and startling incongruities.”
But during the empire, Napoleon was particular about the etiquette of his court. He regarded it as the chief barrier of the throne, and of great importance. He caused an exact account of all the ceremonies in use at the courts of Louis XIV. and Louis XV. to be drawn up, and he directed the most scrupulous attention to be paid to their performance. Josephine was sufficiently a daughter of the Revolution to smile at too strict etiquette; she said: “It was perhaps appropriate for princesses, born to the throne and accustomed to the restraints it imposes; but she, who had lived so many years as a private person, ought, she considered, to be less exacting, less severely punctilious in her intercourse with those who knew and remembered the circumstances of her former life.” “And although she learned to wear her crown and mantle of state and to sit on her throne right royally, she was ever unfailingly indulgent in the matter of etiquette, and always pleased to throw aside its restraints.”
After the imperial decree had ennobled many to whom the mysteries of the court had hitherto been sealed books, very amusing incidents occurred. The Faubourg St. Germain resented the indignity which had been offered to their patrician prejudices; and the newly created nobles were often treated with superb disdain by those entitled to such rank from birth.
“The Duchesse de Chevreuse desired her waiting-woman to inform her laundress that she should no longer intrust her with her linen, until she became a countess; and the Comte de Brissac addressed a note to his boot-maker as follows:—
“‘My dear baron! do not fail to bring me my boots to-morrow.’ And when on the next day the astonished tradesman assured him that he had been the recipient of no such title, De Brissac exclaimed with elegant impertinence: ‘Can this be possible? You really astonish me! Console yourself, however, Maizenat; for rest assured that you will be included in the next baking.’”
But it was hardly to be wondered at, perhaps, that the old nobles sneered at some of these new-titled persons, whose own presumptuous pride made them fit subjects for mirth. This throng of new courtiers, most of whom had sworn eternal hatred to kings and royalty, now danced attendance at thelevéesof the emperor, and vied with each other to obtain a look or word from his imperial highness, that they might repay him for it with the pompous titles of “Sire,” and “Your Majesty,” which they did with an air of self-gratulation, which appeared as if the individual considered himself to be ennobled by the privilege of merely uttering the magic words. Among the strange actions related of some of these “newly baked dignitaries,” one or two are quite amusing.
The wife of a marshal purchased several dresses of old brocade, such as were worn at the Court of Louis XV., and kept them spread out upon chairs in the hall leading to her bedroom, as if placed there to air. When her curious visitors asked her what she was going to do with them, she replied with apparent carelessness, under which lurked much pompous pride: “Do with them? Oh! nothing at all; but they belonged to my grandmother, and I wish to keep them as long as I can for her sake.”
Books on heraldry brought fabulous prices; and the father behind his counter, and the mother at her wash-tub,were entertained by their pretty daughters, endeavoring to master the high-bred French titles of theancien régime.
One soap-dealer, whose daughter had married an officer in the army, and had embellished the panels of her carriage with a gloved hand grasping a sword,—the military crest of her husband,—innocently thanked his daughter for having tried to copy the golden arm which figured above his shop-door; though he regretted that she should have had it painted to look like iron, and generously stated that had he known of it, he would willingly have paid the difference of cost himself.
The return to Paris of severalgrandes damespromised a gradual reorganization of “la bonne compagnie,” and several of the contractors’ wives were ambitious to be received in the Faubourg St. Germain; and one of them, Madame Privas, who was desirous of opening hersalonto thebeau monde, having read Madame de Genlis’ work, “Adèle et Théodore,” at once exclaimed to her husband: “Privas! this is the lady for us.” Whereupon Madame Privas arrayed herself in resplendent robes, and attended by a negro servant in Moorish costume, she entered her gorgeous carriage and proceeded to take Madame de Genlis by storm.
She had not the least doubt of the success of her errand, which was no less than the attempt to secure Madame de Genlis, who had returned to Paris in pinched circumstances, to come to her magnificent hotel in the Rue St. Dominique, and as a lady, receive for her: in short, put her in the way of learning the old etiquette with which she should honor people who were quitecomme il faut. And so with pompous brusqueness she announces the object of her visit to Madame de Genlis. She would give her a salary of twelve thousand francs. She would promisenot to tyrannize over her, and even if she had a dear friend she also would be welcome. What more could she require?
“Madame, I thank you for your obliging offer, which I have the honor to inform you it is not in my power to accept,” replied Madame de Genlis, rising with the courtly manner of agrande dameof the court of theGrand Monarque.
“You refuse it!” cried Madame Privas in astonishment. “Why, I offer much more than you can get for your books. And besides, you would have friends in us;—friends with a fortune of five millions.C’est beau, ca! eh?”
“Madame,” replied Madame de Genlis, “I have answered you. It is impossible.”
“Well, adieu then, mybonne dame. Privas and I made sure you would jump at the offer. In case you should change your mind, I’ll leave you my address. Write me, if you think better of it.” And with her plumes waving in ruffled pride, and her velvets and satins rustling in their gorgeous costliness, Madame Privas bounced out of the room, forgetting her assumed elegance of manner at the affront offered to her darling dollars.
Josephine’s manners, “en representation,” were charming. She appeared a very queen at the emperor’s public receptions. Her air and attitude were dignified, graceful, and yet natural. She conversed with ease and fluency, employing the choicest terms of expression; and the spectator could not resist a pleased astonishment at the gracious bearing which charmed all classes of society, and at her alluring tact which enabled her to address crowds of persons in quick succession, and yet with a pleasing and appropriate word to each, turning with equal ease from a tradesman to a monarch.
The emperor was one day about to undertake some important business, when Josephine besought him to put it off for a time, remarking that it was Friday, which was regarded as an unlucky day. Napoleon replied: “’Tis so perhaps to you, Madame, but it is the most fortunate in my life. I never shall forget that it was the day of our marriage.” The empress was deeply touched at this mark of devotion from her husband, and she ceased to enforce her request.
The time for the coronation ceremony had arrived. Josephine felt the solemnity as well as the grandeur of the occasion, as is evinced from these few lines written to Pope Pius VII. at this time:—
“Ah! truly do I feel, that in becoming empress of the French, I ought also to become to them as a mother at the same time. What would it avail to bear them in my heart, if I proved my affections for them only by my intentions?Deedsare what the people have a right to demand from those who govern them.”
And truly, Josephine exemplified her words by her actions.
On the 2d of December, 1804, all was stir in Paris and the Tuileries from an early hour.
“On this morning, which was to witness the completion of her greatness, Josephine rose about eight o’clock, and immediately commenced her momentousgrande toilette. The body drapery of the empress was of white satin, beautifully embroidered in gold, and ornamented on the breast with diamonds. The mantle was of crimson velvet, lined with satin and ermine, studded with golden bees, and fastened by an aigrette of diamonds.
“The coronation jewels consisted of a crown, a diadem, and a ceinture. The first used for the actual crowning,and worn only on state occasions, consisted of eight branches, four wrought in palm, and four in myrtle leaves of gold, incrusted with diamonds; round the circlet ran a corded fillet set with eight very large emeralds, and the bandeau which immediately enclosed the head, shone with resplendent amethysts.
“The diadem worn before the coronation, and on the more ordinary state occasions, was composed of four rows of the finest pearls interlaced with foliage of diamonds, the workmanship of which equalled the materials; in front were several brilliants, the largest weighing one hundred and forty-nine grains. The ceinture was of gold, so pure as to be quite elastic, enriched with thirty-nine rose-colored diamonds.
“Napoleon’s coronation robes were equally magnificent. His close dress was of white velvet, embroidered in gold, with diamond buttons; his stockings of white silk, the gussets wrought in gold, harmonized with the buskins of white velvet laced and bordered with gold; his upper garment, as also the short mantle, were of crimson velvet, richly embroidered in gold, with diamond fastenings. This mantle was similar to that of the empress, but much heavier, weighing upwards of eighty pounds.
“‘All very fine, Monsieur le Drôle,’ said Napoleon, to his favorite valet, playfully pinching his ear; ‘all very fine; but we shall see the accounts.’
“At eleven precisely the cavalcade moved from the Tuileries towards Nôtre Dame. The imperial carriage, drawn by eight bays, had been constructed with the entire panelling of glass, a circumstance which accounts for the mistake made by their Majesties, who first seated themselves, like criminals, with their backs to the horses. Josephine was the first to discover this error, which sheinstantly rectified by lightly assuming the proper position saying at the same time to the emperor:—
“‘Mon ami, unless you prefer ridingvis-à-vis, this is your seat,’ pointing to the rich cushion on the right. Napoleon, laughing heartily at his blunder, moved to the place indicated.
“The procession advanced, attended by ten thousand horsemen, the flower of ‘Gallic chivalry,’ who defiled between double lines of infantry, selected from the bravest soldiers, and extending above a mile and a half; while more than four hundred thousand spectators filled up every space whence a lance could be obtained.
“The thunders of innumerable artillery, the acclamations of the assembled multitude, expressed the general enthusiasm; and, as if to light up the gorgeous spectacle, the sun suddenly broke through the mists which till then had hung heavily over the city. Thecortègestopped at the archiepiscopal palace, whence a temporary covered gallery, hung with the banners of the sixteen cohorts of the Legion of Honor, conducted into the interior of the cathedral and to the throne.
“To this latter was an ascent of twenty-two semicircular steps, covered with blue cloth, gemmed with golden bees, and crowded with the grand officers of the empire.
“On the throne itself, hung with crimson velvet, under a canopy of the same, appeared Napoleon, with Josephine on his left, attended by the princesses of the empire, and on his right his two brothers, with the archchancellor and archtreasurer.
“The religious ceremony continued nearly four hours, enlivened by music composed for the occasion, and sung by more than three hundred performers. The martialband was still more numerous, which executed in the intervals marches afterwards adopted and still used in the armies of France.
“Napoleon, in the midst of the ceremony, stood up and laid his hand upon the imperial crown,—a simple diadem of gold wrought into a chaplet of interwoven oak and laurel,—and placed it on his own head. Afterward, Napoleon took the crown destined for the empress, and, first putting it for an instant on his own, placed it upon his consort’s brow, as she knelt before him on the platform of the throne.
“The appearance of Josephine was at this moment most touching. Even then she had not forgotten that she was once an ‘obscure woman’; tears of deep emotion fell from her eyes; she remained for a moment kneeling, with hands crossed upon her bosom, then, slowly and gracefully rising, fixed upon her husband a look of gratitude and tenderness. Napoleon returned the glance. It was a silent but conscious interchange of the hopes, the promises, and the memories of years.
“Cardinal Fesch, as grand almoner of France, now placed the Gospels on the throne; Napoleon stood up, laid his hand on the sacred volume, and in his deep and solemn tones pronounced the oaths with such firmness and elevation of voice, that each word was distinctly heard by the vast assembly.
“Shouts of ‘Long live the emperor! God bless the empress!’ resounded through the cathedral, and were caught and repeated by the multitude without; the organ pealed forthTe Deum, and the imposing ceremony was over.
“Thecortègere-entered the palace at half-past six in the evening. Josephine retired to her closet to give ventin secret to the fulness of her heart, and to implore the protection of Him by whom kings reign.”
Josephine’s mode of life after she became empress is thus described: “At the Tuileries, at St. Cloud, and during the grand journeys of the court, her habit was to rise at eight in the morning, and commence her toilet. While her hair was being dressed, she would glance over half a dozen journals, and receive hermodistes, or such other persons as she could not admit into thesalon. When she was fully dressed, which operation lasted ordinarily about an hour, she would pass into thesalonat ten or eleven o’clock, where she found thedames de serviceand those whom she had invited to breakfast with her. At noon she sat at table at least an hour. Breakfast was in some sort her only meal, for, on leaving her bed, she was in the habit of taking nothing but a cup of tea with a little citron. I do not speak of her breakfasting with the emperor; for he was always so engaged that he scarcely had time to eat. After breakfast, if the weather was good, she would ride out in a calèche, and go to Malmaison or on a hunting party.
“In case she did not go out, she received calls from all such persons as had obtained the promise of a meeting, of which she was advised either by thedame d’honneur, or thechamberlain de service. These two functionaries could introduce only such persons as the empress was unacquainted with, or knew but slightly, whilst all the ladies who were admitted to her court came whenever they pleased, without a card of invitation, unless there was a concert or a spectacle,—a matter appertaining to the emperor’s chief chamberlain.
“From breakfast until four o’clock, Josephine would receive two or three private visits in her separate apartment,or repose upon a sofa; at four she retired to her cabinet, undressed, went to reading, and took a little refreshment. This lasted till five, when a second toilet commenced. She rarely received a call at this time, because it was the hour at which the emperor came, unless engaged in council.”
M’lle Avrillion,femme de chambreof the Empress Josephine, tells several amusing stories regarding these visits of Napoleon while his wife was making hergrande toilette;and the many suggestions he made as to the becomingness of certain attire, and his marked antipathy to some styles. The poorfemme de chambredreaded these visits as much as Josephine enjoyed them, for the emperor would always turn the entire wardrobe topsy-turvy in making the selections of his favorite costumes, and the jewel-caskets would suffer equal disarrangement. On one occasion, when Josephine had unconsciously donned an attire displeasing to the taste of her husband, he ruthlessly spattered ink upon the obnoxious gown, so that the amiable empress was obliged to remove the offending robe, and array herself to please her particular lord.
The emperor and empress usually dined together alone at six o’clock, and afterwards Josephine again entered thesalon, where she found thedames de service. In the evening, the ministers, marshals, generals, and others made their calls. Josephine conversed with ease with every one, now and then playing a game of backgammon or whist. If the emperor came in, which was never before nine o’clock, he remained only about a quarter of an hour, unless he wished to form a party at play, and then he would appoint the persons to compose it. His party always consisted of ladies, never of gentlemen. But woe betide his partner! for such was the preoccupationof his mind that he paid no attention to the card he was playing, and did not notice his mistakes. No one dared to make any remark upon his mode of playing. After going through with this kind of game, the emperor left the apartment, Josephine meanwhile remaining in thesalonuntil it was time to retire.
At Malmaison, the only difference in her mode of life was that she saw somewhat less company, and spent much time in walking through the delightful grounds of this rustic retreat. She had established at Malmaison a botanical garden, a menagerie, and a school of agriculture. Josephine preserved her simple tastes and her love for rural life even after she became empress. One of her greatest delights was the embellishment of her beautiful gardens. She was well versed in botany and natural history, and France and Europe are indebted to her for the camellia. Napoleon’s happiest days were spent at Malmaison; and after the divorce, he continued to visit Josephine at this retreat. He would lead her into the park, remain an hour or two, bring her back to thesalon, and then get into his carriage. She received him with perfect politeness and dignity of manner, going forward to meet him; and when he left, accompanying him to the door of the vestibule.
The appearance of Josephine after she became empress, is thus described: “Her features were small and finely modelled, the curves tending rather to fulness and the profile inclining to Grecian, but without any statue-like coldness of outline. The habitual character of her countenance was a placid sweetness, which perhaps would have given at first an impression of lack of energy. But this could have been for an instant only, for the real charm of this mild countenance resided in its power ofvaried expression, changing with each vicissitude of thought and sentiment. ‘Never’ says a very honest admirer, ‘did any woman better justify the saying, The eyes are the mirror of the soul.’ Josephine’s were of a deep blue, clear and brilliant, even imposing in their expression when turned fully upon any one; but in her usual manner they lay half concealed beneath their long and silky eyelashes. She had a habit of looking thus with a mild, subdued glance upon those she loved, throwing into her regard such winning tenderness as might not easily be resisted; and even in his darkest moods, Napoleon confessed its tranquillizing power. Josephine’s long hair ‘was glossy chestnut brown,’ whose sunny richness harmonized delightfully with a clear and transparent complexion and neck of almost dazzling whiteness. Her eyebrows were a shade darker, arching regularly, and pencilled with extreme delicacy. The perfect modulation of her voice constituted one of her most pleasing attractions, and rendered her conversation extremely captivating.”
It was difficult for Napoleon ever to resist the persuasive voice of Josephine.
On the eve of Napoleon’s departure for Germany, in April, 1809, having taken leave of Josephine, she had retired to her apartment, and thrown herself upon her bed in deep distress, because she could not obtain his consent to allow her to accompany him to Strasburg.
The emperor, returning unexpectedly to her room at the last moment, said to Josephine:—
“You have played the part of empress long enough; you must now become again the wife of a general. I leave immediately; you will accompany me to Strasburg.”
Josephine herself thus tells the story:—
“I was not at all prepared for the journey, for only afew days before he had refused to permit me to accompany him on the campaign. At three o’clock in the morning we were travelling speedily on the Alsace road. My husband scarcely gave me time to throw on a night-cloak, and all my women had left the châteauen déshabillé;so that when morning came, the officers who accompanied us could scarcely preserve their gravity at seeing us in such a plight. Napoleon was extreme in every thing, and it was never until the decisive moment came that he expressed his final resolution. I had been so long accustomed to his singular character, that I ceased to be astonished at the striking contrasts which it exhibited. Our journey was full of gayety; we met sundry original characters on the way, who furnished us abundance of amusement. We arrived at Strasburg. My husband had a secret presentiment that he should return victorious. He said to me, on leaving me:—
“‘Josephine watches over all that I love, and my guardian angel will never cease to utter her prayers for the safety and success of her husband.’
“He knew me well, that mortal whose astonishing destiny had opened to him the road to the most splendid throne on earth. I cherished not a thought, I formed not a wish, which was not directed to his glory. If certain political drones have dared accuse me of levity in my conduct, let those unjust censors remember that it was under the mask of sincere friendship that I sought to overawe certain powerful personages. Had I regarded them with an eye of indifference, they might have surrounded Napoleon with perils from which no human prudence could have rescued him. Often did I, in concert with him, carry on a correspondence. I flattered all parties, for I love to do justice to all. When Napoleon supposedhe had grounds of complaint against any of his military officers, I warmly pleaded their cause. He would tell me:—
“‘It depends only on me whether I will be rid of that officer. I have only to pronounce his doom.’
“‘You are right,’ I would reply; ‘you are right; but such language does not become your generous and noble nature.’
“‘And who can oppose me in it!’ was his quick reply.
“‘Yourself, Napoleon. ’Twould arm against your person a multitude of brave men who are necessary to you. Certainly, a great man should fear nothing; but he captivates all hearts when he pardons. The first function of kings and the firmest pillar of a throne is justice.’”
Thus Josephine’s influence was always on the side of mercy and justice. She possessed the most perfect tact, which rendered her address irresistibly winning when partisans were to be gained for Napoleon. She was entirely engrossed in the welfare and glory of him to whom her heart was most unselfishly devoted and loyal. She gained for him friends on every side; as Napoleon himself acknowledged, saying, “I conquer empires; but Josephine wins hearts.” Bonaparte was never so prosperous, so well-served, and so well-beloved, as during the years when he was blessed with the counsels and aided by the adoring love of the faithful woman, who was always his best adviser and most constant friend.
When on one occasion Josephine warned Napoleon to be on his guard against the advice which might be given him by his flatterers, he replied:—
“You are right, Madame, I know how to guard myself against all their influences. You are mywifeandfriend.I want none other. Your lot is bound to mine forever; and woe to that one of us who shall be the first to break our oath.”
And yet in 1809, he could not guard himself against the “bees” of his court, who hummed in his ears:—
“You must separate from the Empress Josephine. A princess of the blood of the Cæsars will esteem it a glory to give heirs to the great Napoleon. Then will his dynasty be established forever.”
The divorce in 1809 was brought about by the joint efforts of all the members of the Bonaparte family, aided by some of Napoleon’s most confidential servants, whom Josephine, either as Madame Bonaparte, or empress, had failed to make her friends, notwithstanding her ceaseless endeavors to harmonize all the hostile elements around her. Even as early as the time when Napoleon was in Egypt, these intriguers first tried to lay snares for the unsuspicious and magnanimous Josephine, and various scandals were originated and reported to the absent Bonaparte.
Junot was made their tool either willingly or unwillingly, and the evil whispers became louder and louder. During the first months of the Egyptian expedition, Bonaparte’s letters to his wife were affectionate and confiding. But the poison was soon at work, and the rumors which Junot had repeated to Bonaparte roused his jealous anger.
Poor Josephine knew naught of these dread scandals, until the letters received from her husband, accusing her of errors of which she was guiltless, stabbed her to the heart. Her appeals against these injurious aspersions were in accordance with her own noble nature. We can only quote a few lines from her letter to Napoleon:—
“Can it be possible, my friend? Is the letter indeedyours which I have just received? Scarcely can I give it credence, on comparing the present with those now before me, and to which your love gave so many charms! My eyes cannot doubt that those pages which rend my heart are too surely yours; but my soul refuses to admit that yours could have dictated those lines, which to the ardent joy experienced on hearing from you have caused to succeed the mortal grief of reading the expressions of a displeasure, the more afflicting to me that it must have proved a source of fearful pain to you.
“I am entirely ignorant in what I have offended, to create an enemy so determined to ruin my repose by interrupting yours; but surely it must be a great reason which can thus induce some one unceasingly to renew against me calumnies of such a specious nature as to be admitted, even for a moment, by one who hitherto has deemed me worthy of his entire affection and confidence.
“Oh, my friend! in place of lending an ear to impostors, who, from motives which I cannot explain, seek to ruin our happiness, why do you not rather reduce them to silence by the recital of your benefits to a woman whose character has never incurred the suspicion of ingratitude? On hearing what you have done for me and for my children, my traducers would be silent. Your conduct, admired as it has been throughout the whole of Europe, has in my heart but awakened deeper adoration of the husband who made choice of me, poor as I was, and unhappy. Every step which you take adds to the splendor of the name I bear—and is such a moment seized to persuade you that I no longer love you? What absurdity, or rather what vileness, on the part of your companions, jealous as they are of your marked superiority! I tremble when I think of the dangers which surroundyou. God knows when or where this letter may reach you. May it restore to you a repose which you ought never to have foregone, and more than ever give you an assurance, that while I live you will be dear to me as on the day of our last separation. Farewell, my only friend! Confide in me, love me, and receive a thousand tender caresses.”
This touching letter, from which we have only quoted a few lines, was probably not received by Bonaparte until after his return to France. And Napoleon returning to Paris found Josephine absent, for she had started to meet him in wild impatience to welcome him; but missing him on the road, he arrived home first and found his house deserted: but his mother, sisters, and sisters-in-law, and in short every member of his family, except Louis, who had attended Madame Bonaparte to Lyons, came to him immediately, and insinuated the basest scandals about his devoted wife, who was only absent because she had flown to meet him. But the impression made upon him by his deserted home and the false accusations of his family were profound and terrible; and nine years afterwards, when the tie between himself and Josephine was broken, he showed that he had not forgotten that time. From not finding his wife with his family, he inferred that she felt herself unworthy of his presence and feared to meet the man she had wronged; and he considered her journey to Lyons a mere pretence,—so cruelly had these evil slanderers blackened her lovely and devoted character. After the reconciliation which followed, Bonaparte seemed for a time to have forgotten these evil lies; but his family were intensely chagrined.
Madame Pauline Le Clerc was most vexed at the pardon which Napoleon had granted his wife. Bonaparte’smother was also very ill-pleased, for she had never liked Josephine. Madame Bacchiocchi gave free vent to her ill-humor and disdain, and Bonaparte’s brothers were at open war with Josephine. No wonder that with such a host of evil-minded, envious relations, poor Josephine was most terribly maligned! Bonaparte’s brothers, desirous of obtaining entire dominion over Napoleon, strenuously endeavored to lessen the influence which Josephine possessed over him.
Napoleon would probably have adhered to his first idea of adopting Eugène de Beauharnais as his successor, had it not been for his own family, all eager for wealth and honors, all jealous of any favors shown to Josephine or her children, all of them constantly urging a divorce.
“Divorce her at once,” Joseph Bonaparte exclaimed; “you are not married to her. The woman may die, and it will then be said you have poisoned her,—that you found it to your interest to do so.”
Napoleon was staggered at these monstrous suggestions. His countenance became of a deathlike paleness as these terrible insinuations fell upon his ear. After a moment or two of silence he murmured:—
“You have forced on me an idea which would never have occurred to me, and with it the possibility of a divorce.”
Thus was the evil working, which should end in the cruel blow to Josephine and the downfall of Napoleon. Years elapsed before Napoleon was induced to act upon these suggestions, but the tempters had begun their diabolical work.
As Napoleon’s marriage with Josephine had at first been only a civil ceremony,—the religious service having been only performed at the time of the coronation, whenreligious worship had been reinstated in France,—Joseph Bonaparte basely insinuated that the tie between them was not binding; and as by some mistake the necessary witnesses had not been present at the after religious ceremony, and a signature was said to be wanting to make the certificate of marriage complete, these circumstances were afterwards laid stress upon, in declaring that their marriage had been irregular and could therefore be annulled. And either by evil intent or inadvertence a notice of the religious ceremony did not appear in theMoniteur, which described the coronation at great length. Thus was the web spun by the political spiders closer and closer around their poor innocent victim, Josephine, and she became the subject of their vilest plots.
Napoleon’s attachment to Josephine withstood all suggestions during the period preceding the Empire, and Josephine herself afterwards declared, “that unless urged by others, he would not of himself have thought of a separation.”
But at length, instigated by Fouché and his own relations and other evil advisers, Napoleon determined to divorce Josephine. This same wily Fouché hinted to Josephine her coming doom, and advised that she should first broach the subject to the emperor; but Josephine indignantly refused.
“It was on Sunday, on returning from church, that Fouché, the minister of the police, leading Josephine to the embrasure of a window in the château at Fontainebleau, gave her the first shock on the subject of the divorce, which did not take place until two years after.”
The family of Bonaparte became more openly hostile to Josephine. One of the writers of her memoirs says:—
“Joseph could not endure her, while on the other hand,his wife rendered her the fullest justice. As to Madame Murat, she was by no means careful to conceal her thoughts, and on many occasions sought to humiliate Napoleon’s wife. Madame Bacchiocchi, Napoleon’s eldest sister, considered Josephine as the earliest instrument of her brother’s greatness. ‘But,’ said she, ‘the moment her power becomes too great it must be broken down, and that without pity.’ She was one of the first to advise that unrighteous separation, which worked so much prejudice to the emperor and his whole family. Madame Letitia, Napoleon’s mother, occasioned real trouble and vexation to her daughter-in-law. Their feelings were in perpetual opposition. The one was remarkable for her acts of benevolence; the other for her extreme parsimony. The mother loudly disapproved of the luxury which reigned at her son’s court, and charged the fault to Josephine.”
When Joseph Bonaparte became king of Naples, his sister Caroline, then Grand Duchess of Berg, avoided as much as possible her modest sister-in-law, the queen of Naples. But finding herself obliged to give her the title of “Your Majesty,” she dared at length to complain to Napoleon that he had not yet given her a crown. Napoleon replied: “Your complaint astonishes me, madame! To hear you, one might suppose I had deprived you of your right of succession to the throne of yourancestor.”
No one of Napoleon’s evil advisers was more crafty, insidious, and unscrupulous than Fouché. Like a Mephistopheles, with sardonic smile he held his fingers on the keys which played the tune of politics. Through his minions, the police, he entered even the closed doors of his Majesty’s cabinet, and caught the rumors which dropped in idle gossip from the rosy lips of the beauties of the court.