(1807-1808.)
I THINK it well to devote a separate chapter to the events which were
taking place at Fontainebleau in connection with the Emperor’s divorce
at this time. Although Bonaparte had not spoken to his wife on the
subject for some years, except on occasions when he had some quarrel
with her, and those occasions had become exceedingly rare in consequence
of the amiability and self-control of the Empress, it is nevertheless
probable that he never entirely lost sight of the idea. The death of the
eldest son of Louis had deeply impressed him. His victories, while
increasing his power, had also expanded his ideas of greatness; and his
policy, as well as his vanity, was concerned in an alliance with a
European sovereign. The rumor was at first spread that Napoleon had cast
his eyes on the daughter of the King of Saxony; but an alliance with
that Princess would not have procured him any valuable support for his
continental authority. The King of Saxony reigned only because France
authorized him to reign. Besides this, his daughter was now at least
thirty years of age, and by no means handsome. Bonaparte, on his return
from Tilsit, spoke of her to his wife in a manner which set Josephine’s
mind completely at ease.
The conferences at Tilsit very reasonably inflated Napoleon’s pride. The
admiration which the young Czar felt for him, the assent which he
yielded to certain of his projects, especially to the dismemberment of
Spain, the complaisance of his new ally with regard to his wishes, all
combined to lead Napoleon to form designs of a closer alliance. No doubt
he spoke openly of these to M. de Talleyrand, but I do not think that
anything was said about them to the Czar; the whole matter was referred
to a future, more or less near, according to circumstances.
The Emperor returned to France. On rejoining his wife, he once more
yielded to that sort of affection with which she always inspired him,
and which was sometimes a trouble to him, because it rendered him
uncomfortable when he had deeply grieved her.
On one occasion, when he was talking with her about the quarrels of the
King of Holland and his wife, the death of the young Napoleon, and the
delicate health of the only child remaining to the ill-assorted pair, he
spoke of the obligation which might one day be imposed upon himself of
taking a wife who should give him children. He approached the subject
with some emotion, and added: “If such a thing should happen, Josephine,
it will be for you to help me to make the sacrifice. I shall count upon
your love to save me from all the odium of a forced rupture. You would
take the initiative, would you not? You would enter into my position,
and you would have the courage to withdraw?” The Empress knew her
husband’s character too well to facilitate beforehand, by one imprudent
word, the step which she repelled as much as she could; so that during
this conversation, far from leading him to hope that she would
contribute to soften the effect of such a proceeding by her conduct, she
assured him that she would obey his orders, but that she would never
anticipate them. She made this reply in that calm and dignified tone
which she always did well to assume toward Bonaparte, and it was not
without effect. “Sire,” said she (it should be remarked that from the
beginning of his reign she always addressed him, even when they were
alone, with the forms of ceremonious respect), “you are the master, and
you shall decide my fate. If you should order me to quit the Tuileries,
I will obey on the instant; but the least you can do is to give me that
order in a positive manner. I am your wife; I have been crowned by you
in the presence of the Pope. Such honors, at least, demand that they
should not be voluntarily renounced. If you divorce me, all France shall
know that it is you who send me away, and shall be ignorant neither of
my obedience nor of my profound grief.” This manner of replying, which
was always the same, did not annoy the Emperor, and even seemed
occasionally to touch him; for, when on several occasions he recurred to
the subject, he frequently wept, and was genuinely agitated by
contending feelings.
Mme. Bonaparte, who retained her self-control so admirably while in his
presence, gave way to excessive emotion on relating to me all that had
passed. Sometimes she wept bitterly; at other moments she would dwell on
the ingratitude of such conduct. She recalled to mind that when she
married Bonaparte he had considered himself highly honored by her
alliance, and she asserted that it was an odious deed to repudiate her
in his greatness, after she had consented to share his low fortunes.
Sometimes she became so excited that she even yielded to apprehensions
concerning her personal safety. “I will never give in to him; I will
demean myself entirely as his victim; but, if I stand too resolutely in
his way, who can tell of what he would be capable, or whether he would
resist the necessity of getting rid of me!” When she spoke thus, I made
every effort to calm her imagination, which no doubt led her too far.
Whatever I might think of the facility with which Bonaparte yielded to
political necessity, I did not believe for a moment that he would be
capable of conceiving and executing the black designs of which she then
suspected him. But he had acted in such a way on several occasions, and
he had used such language, that it was not wonderful that misery such as
hers should inspire her with suspicions of the sort. And, although I
solemnly declare that in my conscience I did not believe he had ever
contemplated such a means of getting out of his difficulty, I was unable
to make any other reply to the Empress than, “Madame, be quite sure that
he is not capable of going so far.”
For my own part, I was astonished that a woman so completely
disenchanted concerning her husband, tortured by a dreadful suspicion,
detached from every affection, and indifferent to fame, should hold so
strongly to the enjoyment of such a precarious royalty; but, seeing that
nothing availed to disgust her with it, I contented myself with
entreating her, as I had always done, to keep silence, and to maintain
her calm, sorrowful, but determined attitude in the presence of the
Emperor, for I knew well that by these means only could she turn aside
or delay the storm. He knew that his wife was generally beloved. Day by
day public opinion was becoming alienated from him, and he was afraid of
incensing it.
When the Empress confided her sorrows to her daughter, she did not, as I
have already said, find her very capable of understanding her. Since the
death of her child, the sorrows of vanity had appeared more than ever
inexplicable to Queen Hortense, and her sole answer to her mother always
was, “How can any one regret a throne?”
Mme. de la Rochefoucauld, to whom Mme. Bonaparte also spoke, was, as I
have said, somewhat frivolous, and passed over everything as lightly as
she could. The burden of the Empress’s confidence fell, therefore, upon
me. The Emperor was aware of the fact, but did not at that time resent
it to me. I know he even said to M. de Talleyrand, “It must be
acknowledged that the Empress is well advised.” When his passions gave
his intellect a chance, he could estimate fairly and wisely enough
conduct which embarrassed him, provided it only embarrassed him a
little, because he always knew that when he chose he could surmount the
light obstacles that were opposed to him; and he allowed one to play
one’s own cards, because he knew that in the end he should none the less
surely win the game.
Meanwhile we went to Fontainebleau, and the fêtes, the presence of
foreign princes, and above all the drama which Bonaparte was preparing
for Spain, diverted his mind from the question of the divorce, and at
first everything went smoothly enough.
My friendship with Talleyrand became confirmed, and the Empress was
rejoiced at this, because she hoped that when occasion arose it would be
useful, or at least convenient, to herself. I have said that just then
the sovereigns of the duchy of Berg and Fouché the Minister of Police
were scheming in concert. Mme. Murat always contrived to quarrel with
anybody who was about the Empress, and spared no pains for that end.
Talleyrand and Fouché were jealous and distrustful of each other, and at
this period the great importance of the former gave umbrage to all.
About two or three weeks before the end of our sojourn at Fontainebleau
the Minister of Police arrived one morning. He remained a long time in
the Emperor’s cabinet, and was afterward invited to dine with him, an
honor rarely accorded to any one. During dinner Bonaparte was in high
spirits. Some sort of amusement, I forget what, filled up the evening.
Toward midnight, when every one had retired, one of the Empress’s
attendants knocked at my door. My maid told him I had gone to bed. The
man replied that I need not get up, but that the Empress begged my
husband would come to her at once.
M. de Rémusat, who had not yet left my room, immediately repaired to the
Empress’s apartment. He found her half undressed, pale, and in great
agitation. She sent away her women, and, exclaiming that she was lost,
placed in my husband’s hands a long letter, written upon large paper,
and signed by Fouché himself. In this letter Fouché began by protesting
that his former devotion to her was quite unaltered, and assuring her
that it was in consequence of that sentiment he ventured to ask her to
consider her position and the Emperor’s. He represented the Emperor as
all-powerful, depicted him at the height of his glory, sovereign master
of France, but accountable to that same France for the present and for
the future which were confided to him. “We must not disguise from
ourselves, Madame,” said he, “that the political future of France is
compromised by the want of an heir to the Emperor. As Minister of
Police, I am placed in a position to judge of public opinion, and I know
that the succession to such an empire gives rise to public uneasiness.
Picture to yourself what would be the strength of his Majesty’s throne
to-day, if it were supported by the existence of a son.” This advantage
was dwelt upon skillfully and at length, as indeed it might well be.
Fouché then spoke of the opposition between the conjugal affection of
the Emperor and his policy. He foresaw that he would never bring himself
to prescribe so grievous a sacrifice, and he therefore ventured to
advise Mme. Bonaparte to make a courageous effort on her own part, to
resign herself, to immolate herself for France; and he drew a very
pathetic picture of the _éclat_ which such an action would cast upon her
now and in the future. Lastly, the letter ended with a declaration that
the Emperor was quite ignorant of its having been written, that the
writer knew it would be displeasing to him, and earnestly entreated the
Empress to keep it a profound secret.
We may easily imagine all the oratorical phrases that adorned this
letter, which had every appearance of having been written with care and
reflection. The first thought of M. de Rémusat was that Fouché had not
attempted such a proceeding without an understanding with the Emperor;
he, however, took good care not to indicate this conviction to the
Empress, who was making visible efforts to repel the same suspicions on
her own part, while her tears and agitation proved that she dared not
count upon the Emperor on this occasion. “What shall I do?” asked she.
“How shall I avert this storm?” “Madame,” said M. de Rémusat, “I
strongly advise you to go this instant to the Emperor’s room, if he has
not yet retired, or, at all events, to go to him very early to-morrow.
Remember that you must seem to have consulted nobody. Make him read that
letter; watch him if you can, but at any rate show him that you are
angry at this side-winded advice, and declare to him anew that you will
only obey positive orders pronounced by himself.”
The Empress adopted this advice. She begged my husband to tell M. de
Talleyrand all that had occurred, and to report to her what he said;
then, as it was late, she put off her conversation with the Emperor
until next morning. When she showed Bonaparte the letter, he affected to
be extremely angry, and declared that he was totally ignorant of this
proceeding; that Fouché had exhibited quite uncalled-for zeal, and that,
if he had not set out for Paris, he should have been severely
reprimanded. The Emperor added that he would punish the Minister of
Police if the Empress wished it, and would even go so far as to remove
him from the Ministry, should she exact such a reparation. He
accompanied this declaration with many caresses; but his manner did not
convince the Empress, who told me the same day that she was aware he was
greatly embarrassed during this explanation.
In the mean time the matter was discussed between my husband and myself.
We saw very clearly that Fouché had been induced to take this step by a
superior order, and we said to each other that, if the Emperor was
seriously thinking of divorce, it was exceedingly unlikely Talleyrand
would be opposed to the step. What was our surprise to find that at this
moment he was so! Talleyrand listened to us very attentively, and like a
man who was totally unaware of what had happened. He considered Fouché’s
letter improper and ridiculous, and added that the idea of the divorce
appeared to him utterly mistaken. He took my view, and that vehemently;
advised that the Empress should take a very high tone with the Minister
of Police, and should tell him that he had no business to interfere in
such a matter. He added that, if the affair were ever arranged, it ought
to be settled without any go-between. The Empress was delighted with
this advice, and she and I together composed a cold and dignified reply
to Fouché’s letter. Talleyrand read and approved of this, and desired us
to show it to the Emperor, who, he said, would not venture to find fault
with it. He was right; and Bonaparte, who had not yet made up his mind,
continued to play the same part, to exhibit increasing anger, to indulge
in violent threats, and to declare with so much iteration that he would
dismiss the Minister of Police if she wished it, that the Empress,
tranquillized by degrees and deceived anew, ceased to feel any
resentment toward Fouché, whom she no longer feared, and refused the
offered reparation, telling her husband that she would not on any
account have him deprive himself of the services of a man who was useful
to him, and that it would be enough if he “scolded him well.”
Fouché came back to Fontainebleau a few days afterward. In Mme.
Bonaparte’s presence her husband treated him with scrupulous coldness;
but the Minister did not seem to mind that in the least, which confirmed
me in my belief that the whole thing had been arranged. He repeated to
the Empress all that he had written. The Emperor told his wife that he
went over precisely the same ground with him. “It is an excess of zeal,”
said he. “We must not be angry with him for it; it is quite enough that
we are determined to reject his advice, and you know well that I could
not live without you.” Bonaparte repeated these same words to his wife
day and night. He was much more with her than he had recently been, was
really agitated, would take her in his arms and protest the most
passionate love; and in these scenes, which were at first, as I believe,
acted for a purpose, he involuntarily became quite carried away, and
ended by experiencing sincere emotion.
All that he said was confided to me, and I repeated it to Talleyrand,
who dictated the line of conduct to be observed. His advice steadily
tended to avert the divorce, and he guided Mme. Bonaparte very well. I
could not refrain from letting him see that I was somewhat astonished he
should oppose a project which had certainly a reasonable political
aspect, and that he should take so much interest in the purely domestic
side of the affair. He replied that it was not altogether so domestic as
I imagined. “There is nobody,” he said, “in the palace who ought not to
desire that this woman should remain with Bonaparte. She is gentle and
good, she has the art of keeping him quiet, and she enters quite
sufficiently into everybody’s position. She is a refuge for us on a
thousand occasions. If a Princess were to come here, we should find the
Emperor break with all the Court, and we should all be crushed.”
Giving me these reasons, Talleyrand convinced me that he was speaking
sincerely; but yet he was not telling me all his secret, for, while he
repeated to me that we must all unite to avert the divorce, he
frequently asked me what would become of me if by any chance the Emperor
carried the plan into effect. I replied that without hesitation I should
share the fate of my Empress. “But,” said he, “do you love her well
enough to do that?” “Certainly,” I replied, “I am attached to her;
nevertheless, as I know her well, as I know her to be frivolous and
hardly capable of a steady affection, it would not be the dictates of my
heart that I should follow on this occasion, so much as those of
propriety. I came to this Court through Mme. Bonaparte’s influence; I
have always passed in the eyes of the world as her intimate friend; I
have had the burden and the confidence of that friendship; and, although
she has been too much taken up with her own position to care much about
me, although she has thrown me aside and taken me up again, as it suited
her convenience, the public, who can not enter into the secrets of our
mutual relations, and to whom I shall not confide them, would, I am
sure, be astonished if I did not share her exile.” “But,” said
Talleyrand, “this would gratuitously put you into a position which might
be very unpleasant for yourself and your husband, and would perhaps
separate you. You would have to encounter many small difficulties, for
which assuredly she would not pay you.” “I know that as well as you,”
said I. “She is changeable and even whimsical. I can foresee that in
such a case she would be at first very grateful for my devotion, then
she would get used to it, and finally she would think no more about it.
But her character shall not prevent me from acting in accordance with my
own, and I will do what seems to be my duty without expecting the
smallest reward.”
In fact, when speaking, about this time, of the chances of the divorce,
I promised the Empress that I would leave the Court if she ever left it.
She seemed deeply touched by this declaration, which I made with tears
and sincere emotion. Assuredly she ought to have resisted the suspicions
which she afterward conceived against me, and of which I shall give an
account in due time. I placed only one restriction upon the promise
which I made: “I will not be Lady-in-Waiting to another Empress. If you
retire into some country place, I will follow you, being always happy to
share your solitude; and I will never leave you, except you should quit
France.”
No one could tell what was really passing in the Emperor’s mind, and he
had once said to his wife: “If you quit me, I would not have you lose
state or rank by it; you shall reign somewhere, perhaps even at Rome.”
It is to be remarked that when he was thus speaking the Pope was in that
same Rome, and that there was no reason to suppose he would have to
leave the city. But the most serious events seemed perfectly simple to
Napoleon; and from time to time, if one listened attentively, a word
dropped here and there sufficed to indicate the succession of projects
which he was forming.
M. de Rémusat thought with me respecting my proper line of conduct. He
was perfectly alive to the inconvenience which might possibly result
from it; but that consideration did not deter him, and he repeated to
the Empress that she might count upon my fidelity in her misfortunes,
should they ever fall upon her. We shall see that she was afterward
induced to place no reliance upon a promise which was given with perfect
sincerity.
It was at this period, and upon the subject of the divorce, that we had
certain conversations with Mme. de la Rochefoucauld, which brought about
the explanations to which I have previously referred, and that M. de
Rémusat became acquainted with what had passed respecting him on his
return from the Prussian campaign. These new lights added considerably
to the painful impression of our successive discoveries relating to the
Emperor’s character.
I will now tell what I learned of the motives which induced Talleyrand
and the Minister of Police to act in the manner which I have just
recorded. I have said that Fouché, who was fascinated by Mme. Murat, was
forced in consequence to break with what was called “the party of the
Beauharnais.” I do not know whether he really wished to do so; but, when
a man mixes himself up in certain intrigues in which women play a part,
he can not tell at what point he may be able to stop, because there are
so many little sayings, little denunciations, and little treacheries,
that in the end he gets lost among them. Mme. Murat, who detested her
sister-in-law, and did all in her power to drive her off the throne,
longed for an alliance with a European Princess for her own pride’s
sake, and plied the Emperor with flattery on this point. Fouché thought
that it would be useful to the new dynasty to be supported by a direct
heir. He knew Bonaparte too well not to foresee that, sooner or later,
policy would take precedence of every other consideration with him. He
was afraid that he himself might not be employed in this affair, which
seemed to be entirely in Talleyrand’s line, and he was anxious to
deprive him of the honor and the advantages of such a negotiation. With
this intention he broke the ice with the Emperor, and spoke to him on
the important point. Finding him disposed to entertain it, he dwelt upon
all the motives which were so easy to urge, and ultimately succeeded in
extracting from Bonaparte an order, or at least a proposal, that he
should play the part of mediator between the Emperor and the Empress in
all negotiations on the point. He went further; he made public opinion
declare itself! With the assistance of the police, he got speeches made
on the subject of the divorce at several places of general assembly in
Paris. The people began to discuss in the cafés the necessity of the
Emperor’s having an heir. These utterances, which were prompted by
Fouché, were reported by him and the rest of the police, who gave an
exact account of all that took place; and the Emperor believed that the
public were far more occupied with this subject than they really were.
On his return from Fontainebleau, Fouché told the Emperor that there was
great excitement in Paris, and that the populace might possibly assemble
under his windows and ask him to contract another marriage. The Emperor
was at first taken with this idea, from which M. de Talleyrand adroitly
contrived to turn him aside. Not that the latter had really any
repugnance to the divorce, but he wanted it to be effected in his own
way, at his own time, and with great utility and dignity. He was quick
to perceive that the zeal of Fouché tended to deprive him of the palm,
and he could not endure that any other scheme should take the place of
his on his own ground.
France had formed a close alliance with Russia, but M. de Talleyrand,
who was very able in the use he made of his knowledge of the actual
state of Europe, thought it necessary to keep a close watch on Austria,
and had already come to the conclusion that another tie between us and
that Power would be the most useful move for us. Besides, he knew that
the Empress-Mother of Russia did not share the Czar’s admiration for
Napoleon, and that she would refuse to give us one of her daughters for
an Empress. Again, it was possible that a hurried divorce might not be
quickly followed by a marriage, and the Emperor would in that case be
placed in a disagreeable position. The contest which might break out at
any moment in Spain would rouse the attention of Europe, and it was not
a moment to engage ourselves in two enterprises, both of which would
demand grave deliberation.
These were, no doubt, the considerations which led M. de Talleyrand to
thwart Fouché, and to espouse the interests of Mme. Bonaparte for the
time being. Neither she nor I was clever enough to see through his
motives at the time, and it was not until afterward that I became aware
of them. M. de Rémusat had not so much confidence in M. de Talleyrand’s
apparent acquiescence in what we desired, but he was of opinion that we
might turn it to account; so that, with various intentions, we were all
pursuing the same course.
While the Emperor was in Paris, in the short interval between his
journey to Italy and his journey to Bayonne, while Fouché was constantly
plying him with what he stated to be popular opinions, M. de Talleyrand
seized an opportunity of showing him that in this instance the Minister
of Police was misleading him. “Fouché,” he said to the Emperor, “is, and
always will be, a revolutionist. Look well to it, and you will see that
he would lead you, by factious means, to an act that should only be
accomplished with the parade and pomp befitting a monarch. He wishes
that a mob, collected by his orders, should come and vociferously demand
of you an heir, just as they forced concessions from Louis XVI., who was
never able to refuse them. When you have accustomed the people to meddle
with your affairs after this fashion, how do you know that it will not
occur to them to do so again, and how can you tell what they may
subsequently demand of you? And, after all, no one will be duped by
these gatherings, while you will be accused of having got them up.” The
Emperor was impressed by these observations, and imposed silence upon
Fouché.
From that moment the question of the divorce was no longer discussed in
the cafés, and the “national wish” remained unexpressed. The effect on
the Emperor of this silence was favorable to his wife, and she felt
somewhat reassured. He continued, however, to show great agitation at
times, and their intercourse was constrained and often interrupted by
long fits of silence; after which he would return to the subject,
dwelling upon the disadvantage of not having a direct posterity on which
to found his dynasty, and saying that he did not know what to do. He
suffered much from conflicting feelings at this time.
He was particularly confidential with M. de Talleyrand, who repeated to
me a portion of their conversations. “In separating myself from my
wife,” Bonaparte said, “I renounce all the charm which her presence
gives to my home-life. I should have to study the tastes and habits of a
young wife. This one accommodates herself to everything; she understands
me perfectly, and I should be making her an ungrateful return for all
she has done for me. The people care little for me as it is, and then it
would be much worse. She is a link between me and them, and especially
between me and a certain party in Paris, which I should have to give
up.” After regrets of this kind, he would dwell upon the reasons which
made it a state question; and M. de Talleyrand told my husband it was
his conviction that this creditable hesitation would one day give way
before political considerations—that the divorce might be delayed, but
that it was vain to hope that it could be ultimately avoided. He
concluded by saying that we might rely upon it he had no influence in
the matter, and that the Empress would do well to adhere to the course
which she had adopted.
M. de Rémusat and I agreed that we would say nothing to the Empress
about the first part of this statement, which would have so much
increased her apprehensions as perhaps to betray her into some false
step; and we saw no use in inspiring her with distrust of M. de
Talleyrand, who had at that time no interest in injuring her, but who
might have had such an interest had she allowed an imprudent word to
escape her. For my part, I resolved to await the future without trying
to foresee it, and to be guided by the prudence and dignity which should
always distinguish those who hold a prominent position, and who are
surrounded by a hundred eyes that watch, and a hundred mouths ready to
repeat all they say. It was at this period that the Emperor said to M.
de Talleyrand, “The Empress is well advised.”
Shortly before his departure for Bayonne, another explanation on the
subject of the divorce took place. This was the last at this time, and
it showed that the Emperor, willful as he was, was yet capricious in his
moods, and that he was sometimes carried away by genuine feeling.
M. de Talleyrand, coming out of the Emperor’s cabinet one morning, met
M. de Rémusat, and said to him, as they walked toward his carriage: “I
think your wife will have to meet the trial that she fears sooner than
she anticipates. The Emperor is again most eager on the subject of a
divorce; he has spoken to me of it as of a thing almost decided upon,
and we shall all do well to take it as such, and not vainly oppose it.”
My husband repeated these words to me; they caused me great pain. There
was to be a reception at Court that evening. I had just lost my mother,
and did not go into society. M. de Rémusat returned to the palace to
superintend the play that was to be performed. The apartments were
crowded. Princes, ambassadors, and courtiers were all assembled, and at
length the order was given to begin the play, without waiting for their
Majesties, who would not appear. The fête went off badly, and the guests
dispersed as soon as they could.
M. de Talleyrand and M. de Rémusat, before leaving the palace, went to
the private apartments of the Emperor, where they were told that he had
retired with his wife at eight o’clock, that he had ordered the door to
be closed, and that he should not be disturbed until the next day. M. de
Talleyrand went away in dudgeon. “What a devil of a man!” said he. “How
he yields to sudden impulses, as if he did not really know what he
wanted! Why can he not come to some decision, and cease making us the
puppets of his moods, not knowing what attitude we are to assume toward
him?”
The Empress received my husband the next day, and told him that at six
o’clock she had joined the Emperor at dinner; that he was then sad and
silent; that afterward she had left him to dress for the evening, and
while she was preparing for the reception an attendant came to fetch
her, saying that the Emperor was ill. She found him suffering from
severe spasms, and in a highly nervous state. On seeing her, he burst
into tears, and, drawing her toward the bed on which he had thrown
himself, without taking heed of her elegant attire, he folded her in his
arms, repeating again and again, “My poor Josephine, I can not leave
you.” She added that his state inspired her with more compassion than
tenderness, and that she kept saying to him time after time: “Sire, be
calm; make up your mind what you really want to do, and let us have an
end of these scenes.” Her words seemed only to add to his excitement,
which became so excessive that she advised him to give up the idea of
appearing in public, and to go to bed. He consented to this, but only on
condition that she would remain with him; and she was obliged at once to
undress and to share that bed, which, she said, he literally bathed with
his tears, repeating constantly, “They harass me, they torment me, they
make me miserable!” and the night was thus passed in alternate fits of
tenderness and intervals of agitated sleep. After this evening he gained
command over himself, and never again gave way to such vehement emotion.
The Empress alternated between hope and fear. She placed no reliance on
these pathetic scenes, and declared that Bonaparte passed too quickly
from tender protestations to quarreling with her about flirtations of
which he accused her, or to other subjects of complaint; that he wanted
to break down her resistance, to make her ill, or perhaps even
worse—for, as I have already said, her imagination pictured every
extreme. Sometimes she would say that he was trying to disgust her with
him by incessantly tormenting her. It is true that, either intentionally
or because of his own agitation, he kept her in a constant state of
unrest, which affected her health.
Fouché talked openly of the divorce, to the Empress, to me, and to every
one, saying that he might be dismissed, but that he should not be
prevented from offering good advice. M. de Talleyrand listened to him in
disdainful silence, and consented to being considered by the public to
be opposed to the divorce. Bonaparte saw through all this, without
blaming the conduct of the one or the other, or, indeed, that of any
one.
The Court observed even stricter silence than usual, for there was no
positive indication as to which of these great personages it would be
prudent to side with.
In the midst of these troubles the tragic event in Spain took place, and
the divorce question was for a time laid aside.