Nansouty; the chamberlain who introduced the ambassadors was M. de
Beaumont; there were four ordinary chamberlains, MM. d'Aubusson-
Lafeuillade, de Galard-Béarn. de Coutomer; de Gavre; a First Equerry,
Senator de Harville; two equerries, Colonel Fowler and General Bonardy de
Saint Sulpice; a private secretary, M. Deschamps. The Council of the
Empress's household was composed of the Maid of Honor, the Lady of the
Bedchamber, the First Chamberlain, and the First Equerry. The private
secretary was also the secretary of the Council. The Chief Steward of the
household was also a member.
The Lady of the Bedchamber had under her orders a first woman of the
bedchamber, Madame Aubert, who had whole charge of the wardrobe. Madame
Saint-Hilaire held this place under Josephine, as Madame Campan had done
under Marie Antoinette. Madame Saint-Hilaire's duties consisted in
supervising the chamberwork, in receiving the Empress's orders about the
hours of her rising, and of her morning and evening toilet. The first
woman of the Bedchamber had what were called the honors of the service
when the Maid of Honor and the Lady of the Bedchamber were absent. The
Empress had also ushers and women who discharged the same duties, six
ordinary chambermaids, a reader, the beautiful Madame Gazani; four
ordinary valets de chambre, and two footmen, trusted men always in the
ante-chamber. The ushers, who remained without the drawing-room where the
Empress was, never opened both the doors to their full width except for
the Princes and Princesses of the Imperial family; and they could not
leave their posts except to ask the Maid of Honor the names of those who
were waiting to be presented. There were two pages in the Empress's
service; the older carried the train of her dress when she left her
apartments, and got in or out of a carriage; the other walked before her.
The Empress's apartment consisted of an apartment of honor and an inner
apartment. The first consisted of an ante-chamber, the first drawing-room,
the second drawing-room, the dining-room, the music-room, the other, of
the bedroom, the library, dressing-room, boudoir, bath-room. The entrance
to the Empress's apartment was controlled by etiquette like that to the
Emperor's.
Josephine played her part as sovereign as easily as if she had been born
on the steps of the throne. "One of her charms," says the Duchess of
Abrantès, "was not merely her graceful figure, but the way she held her
head, and the gracious dignity with which she walked and turned. I have
had the honor of being presented to many real princesses, as they are
called, in the Faubourg Saint Germain, and I can truly say that I have
never seen one more imposing than Josephine. She combined elegance and
majesty. Never did any queen so grace a throne without having been trained
to it."
Josephine had all the qualities that are attractive in a sovereign:
affability, gentleness, kindliness, generosity. She had a way of
convincing every one of her personal interest. She had an excellent
memory, and surprised those with whom she talked by the exactness with
which she recalled the past, even to details they had themselves nearly
forgotten. The sound of her gentle, penetrating, and sympathetic voice
added to the courtesy and charm of her words. Every one listened to her
with pleasure; she spoke with grace and listened courteously. She wanted
no one to go away from her annoyed. She always appeared to be doing a
kindness, and thus inspired affection and gratitude. Her courtiers and her
suite were her friends. Madame de Rémusat, who was never too favorable,
was forced to recognize the charm which Josephine exercised over the court
by her tact, intelligence, and dignity. "The Empress," she says, "is
enchanted to be surrounded by a large suite, and it gratifies her vanity.
Her success in attaching Madame de La Rochefoucauld to her person, her
pleasure in counting MM. d'Aubusson, de Lafeuillade among her
chamberlains, Madame d'Arbry, Madame de Ségur, and the wives of the
marshals among the ladies of the palace, turned her head a little, but
even this feminine joy did not lessen her usual graciousness; she always
succeeded in maintaining her rank, even when most deferential to those men
and women who lent it a new lustre by their brilliant names." She was very
kind, extremely soft-hearted, and always overwhelming her companions with
attentions and regards. Mademoiselle Avrillon, her reader, says: "I do not
believe that there ever lived a woman with a better character, or with a
less changeable disposition." She never dared to utter a word of blame or
reproach. "If one of her ladies," said Constant, the Emperor's valet de
chambre, "ever gave her cause for dissatisfaction, the only punishment she
inflicted was to maintain absolute silence for one, two, three days, a
week, more or less, according to the seriousness of the case. Well! this
punishment, apparently so slight, was for most of them very severe. The
Empress knew so well how to make herself beloved!"
Her only fault was extravagance. She had an unbounded love of luxury and
dress. The jewel-case which had belonged to Marie Antoinette was too small
for Josephine. One day when she wanted to show some ladies all her jewels,
a great table had to be arranged to hold the cases, and, since that was
not enough, much more of the furniture was covered by them. Josephine had
the fault that accompanies this quality, for generous persons are commonly
lavish. Her extravagant expenditures came from her kindliness. She had not
the heart to dismiss a tradesman without buying something of him, and it
never entered her head to try to beat him down. Often she bought for vast
sums things she did not want, simply to oblige the dealers. There was no
limit to her liberality. She would have liked to own all the treasures of
the earth in order to give them all away. She sought for opportunities for
alms-giving. Many of the émigrés lived entirely on her bounty. She was
always in active correspondence with the sisters of charity. She was the
Providence of the poor, and did good with delicacy, tact, and discretion.
Giving is not all; the art lies in knowing how to give. She seemed to be
the debtor of those to whom she made gifts. Naturally, with this
disposition, she got into debt. But Napoleon was there to help her; and
since he was economical by nature, he grew angry and scolded his
extravagant wife, and ended by paying.
In fact, Napoleon could refuse Josephine nothing, and she was really the
only woman who had any influence over him. If he opposed her, she had an
infallible resource in her tears. She knew thoroughly her husband's
character. She knew how to speak to that mind and heart. She busied
herself with seeking what could please, with divining his wishes, with
anticipating his slightest desires. If he was the least ailing or annoyed
she was literally at his feet, and then he could not live without her. He
felt that when misfortune came Josephine alone would be able to console
him. She had brought him happiness with her gentleness, her tenderness,
her devotion; she had well deserved to receive the crown from his hands.
X.
NAPOLEON'S GALLANTRIES.
Josephine appeared to have every wish, satisfied; her good fortune
exceeded her wildest dreams; never had a more wonderful romance actually
happened, and yet the Empress of the French, the Queen of Italy, was not
happy. A cruel passion which brings no pleasures, but only cruel
sufferings, disturbed her happiness and tormented her heart. This passion,
jealousy, which had tortured Napoleon in the early days of his wedded
life, now Josephine in her turn had to endure with all its keen anguish.
She felt that for her, a woman of forty-one, to hold fast the affections
of a man of thirty-five, covered with glory and full of charm, was a
difficult task; but this reflection, far from consoling her, only
disturbed her the more, and she made desperate efforts to triumph in an
almost hopeless contest. As was said by Mademoiselle Avrillon, her reader,
she seemed not to understand that if the highest rank is a safeguard for a
woman, because few men are bold enough to pursue her, the same is not true
of a sovereign whose glory dazzles the inexperience of the young, and
whose slightest attention arouses coquetry and flatters vanity.
Josephine had not a moment's peace. In the hope of pleasing her, many
women of the court, who were, so to speak, on the watch for the Emperor's
attentions, hastened to torture her with their interested revelations. For
several years now her beauty had been fading. Napoleon, on the other hand,
had never been better looking. His health, which formerly had been
delicate, had much improved. He had grown stouter, and this was very
becoming. His head was like that of a Caesar. Full of self-confidence,
fortunate, flattered on every side, at the height of power, he imagined
that in love, as in war, he had but to appear to say, _veni, vidi, vici_,
"I came, I saw, I conquered." Many of the beauties of the time did their
best to confirm him in this good opinion of himself, and as Madame de
Rémusat says of him, he in his court was not unlike the Grand Turk in his
harem.
"The Emperor," we read in Constant's Memoirs, "used to say that a good man
was to be known by the way he treated his wife, his children, and his
servants. He added that immorality was the most dangerous vice a sovereign
could have, because it established a precedent for his subjects. What he
meant by immorality, was giving scandalous publicity to relations which
should have been kept secret; these relations he was by no means disposed
to refuse when they presented themselves before him." The faithful valet
de chambre goes on in an attempt to defend his master: "Others perhaps
would have succumbed oftener. Heaven forbid that I should undertake to
apologize for him; I will even acknowledge that he did not always practise
what he preached, but it was none the less a good deal for a sovereign to
hide his distractions from the public, to prevent scandal, and, what is
worse imitation; and from his wife, to save her pain."
Napoleon was by no means so indifferent to women as he professed to be. He
was averse to being ruled by them, but he was far from being insensible to
their charms. Opposition exasperated him; all his caprices found many
obsequious allies ready to further his suit, and more than one woman made
a deep, if brief, impression upon him. His disdain of woman has, we are
sure, been much exaggerated. At Saint Helena he declaimed against women,
but his remarks were mere paradoxes, not meant to be taken seriously.
Count Las Cases, in the _Memorial_, reports these remarks of the Emperor
to the ladies who shared, his captivity. "We Occidentals," he said, with a
smile full of malice, "have spoiled women by treating them too well. We
have made the mistake of raising them almost to an equality with
ourselves. The Orientals showed more intelligence and justice: they
declared they were men's property; and, in fact, nature has made them our
slaves, and it is only by our whimsicalness that they presume to be our
sovereigns; they abuse their advantages to mislead and control us. For one
who inspires us to our good there are a hundred who make us do stupid
things." Then he went on to praise polygamy in a very unchivalrous and
unsentimental way, saying ironically: "What cause of complaint do you
have, after all? Have we not acknowledged that you have a soul? You know
that there are philosophers who have weighed it. Do you claim equality?
But that is absurd; women are our property, we are not theirs; for she
gives us children, men give them none. So she is his property, as a fruit-
tree is a gardener's property. Nothing but a lack of judgment, of common
sense, and a defective education, can make a woman think that she is her
husband's equal. And there is nothing degrading in the difference; each
sex has its qualities and its duties: your qualities are beauty, grace,
charm; your duties are dependence and submission."
Napoleon was often malicious with women; often he teased them; but at
heart he honored faithful wives and good mothers. His ideas were far more
moral than those of the men of the Directory, and his court was far purer
than that of the kings of France. We will add that Josephine was the only
woman he ever loved for a long time and seriously. The others appealed to
his senses, not to his heart.
Fortunately for herself, Josephine had a shallow character; her
impressions were keen, but evanescent. The pleasures of sovereignty
outweighed the griefs. She felt that the crown was heavy at times, but it
adorned her and kept her young; and in spite of the jealousy it gave rise
to, the court satisfied her vanity and brought her sufficient consolation.
To the satisfaction of her pride she found another purer and more lasting
emotion, which she valued more, in the opportunity of doing good. She had,
besides, passed through so many vicissitudes in her life that nothing
could surprise her, and her soul, accustomed to suffering, was prepared
for the most violent emotions, the most terrible anguish. She wept
readily, but her tears were soon dried; the rainbow followed close upon
the storm, and Josephine would smile through her tears.
XI.
THE POPE AT THE TUILERIES.
While Napoleon, proud in the possession of his new empire, was exhibiting
at the Tuileries his vast power and grandeur, the same palace was
inhabited by a holy old man, whose humility presented a marked contrast
with the conqueror's haughty spirit. Pius VII., who was quartered in the
Pavilion of Flora, led the life of an anchorite, with all the modesty and
piety of an old monk, fasting every day as in his convent, and edifying
even the impious by the nimbus that shone around his pale and mystic face.
It was impossible to approach this worthy Vicar of Christ without a filial
feeling of tenderness. The crimes of the French Revolution--the massacre
or the execution of the priests, the profanation of the altars, the
persecutions and blasphemies--had imprinted the stamp of melancholy on his
face. It was easy to see that he lamented the barbarities of the times,
and that his life had been full of anguish. He embodied all the sufferings
of the Church. With his ascetic air, his deep-set eye, his complexion as
pallid as ivory, his white robes tinged with red, the Sovereign Pontiff
had in his whole person something strange and imposing. He occupied the
apartment on the first floor of the Pavilion of Flora, where Madame
Elisabeth had lived from October, 1789, to August 10, 1792. The Abbé
Proyart, the author of the letter to the prisoner of the Temple, came to
offer the Pope a copy of this same life of Madame Louise of France, which
he had long since offered to the sister of Louis XVI.
"I am living here," said Pius VII., "in the apartments of another saint."
What singular vicissitudes! The same place occupied in turn by Madame
Elisabeth, the members of the Committee of Public Safety, and by the Vicar
of Christ!
The Pope had been very anxious before he started for Paris. His fears were
so great that just as he was leaving Rome, with a presentiment of the
captivity that awaited him, he had left his abdication in the hands of
Cardinal Consalvi, in case he should suffer any violence during his
journey. It was only with trembling and prayer that he had set foot on the
volcanic soil of France, which, from a distance, seemed alive with impiety
and terror. The unfailing respect with which he had been treated had
comforted him somewhat. Whenever he visited a church, the Parisians
followed him with mingled curiosity, sympathy, and veneration: they knelt
to him as he passed them, and received with all decorum his apostolic
benediction. Every day a large crowd gathered under his windows. He had
found his rooms arranged and furnished like those he occupied at the
Vatican, and he had been very grateful for this, which he called a really
filial attention.
General de Ségur, at that time captain and aide of the Grand Marshal of
the Palace, was entrusted with guarding the Pope's person. He says in his
Memoirs: "The same attention and respect was shown to the Pope as to the
Emperor himself. His rooms had been so arranged and furnished as to recall
Rome so far as possible, and to suit his tastes. As for Napoleon, we all
noticed his ever gentle and grateful gaiety, and his filial and
affectionate deference to his guest. When the Holy Father gave his
blessing from his window, and more especially at his audiences in the
gallery of the Louvre, which were always crowded, precautions were taken
against any outbreak of the indiscretion or levity to which the French are
prone. We saw the atheist Lalande himself fall at the Pontiff's feet and
kiss his slipper. In the public buildings which the Pope honored with his
presence he was received as a sovereign. No one dared to betray more
curiosity than piety; and it often happened to me to see this real saint,
the successor of the Apostles, whose venerable face bore the stamp of the
serenest gentleness, so frugal, simple, and austere for himself alone, and
so kindly indulgent to others, deeply moved by the intense and holy
impression he made."
Every day the long gallery of the Louvre was filled with two rows of men
and women who had come to ask his blessing. Preceded by the governor of
the Louvre, and followed by the Italian cardinals and nobles of his
household, Pius VII. advanced slowly between the two lines of the
faithful, often stopping to place his hand on some child's head, to say
some kind words to its mother, and to offer his ring to be kissed. One
day, when he was surrounded by a crowd of prostrate and respectful people,
he saw a man whose worn face bore traces of irreligious passion, who was
moving away as if to escape the apostolic benediction. The Holy Father
approached him, and said gently, "Do not run away; an old man's blessing
has never done any one any harm." This remark spread through Paris and
made a most favorable impression. Pius VII. was not only respected, but,
if we may use the worldly phrase, he became the fashion. Dealers in
rosaries and chaplets made much money all that winter. In January alone a
shopkeeper in the rue Saint Denis who sold those articles is said to have
cleared forty thousand francs. All who approached the Pope had chaplets
blessed for themselves, their relatives, and friends in Paris and the
provinces. "The prolonged stay of the Holy Father," says Bourrienne, "was
not without influence in the return to religious ideas, so great was the
respect inspired by the Pope's gentle appearance and kindly manners. When,
the time came for him to be persecuted, it would have been desirable that
Pius VII. had never come to Paris, for it was impossible to look upon him
otherwise than as a man whose holy gentleness was a matter of notoriety."
At Saint Helena, Napoleon spoke thus of this venerable Pope: "He was
really a lamb, a thoroughly good and upright man, whom I greatly esteem
and love, and who, I am sure, does not wholly hate me."
It has been asserted that the Pope made such an impression in Paris that
the Emperor felt for the august old man a sort of secret jealousy. But
even granting, what is by no means certain, that he suffered from this, he
had at least skill to conceal it. Always the Pope was overwhelmed with
flattering attentions. The President of the Legislative Body, M. de
Fontanes, said to him November 30, 1804: "Everything else has changed;
religion alone knows no change. It sees the families of kings, and those
of subjects, perish; but resting on the ruins of thrones, it ever admires
the successive manifestations of the eternal designs and obeys them with
confidence. Never has the universe beheld a more imposing sight, never
have its people received more important lessons. This is no longer the
time of rivalry between the priesthood and the Empire. They have joined
hands to repel the fatal doctrines which threatened Europe with total
overthrow. May they yield forever to the double influence of politics and
religion combined! Doubtless this wish will not be disappointed; never in
France has there been so great a genius to control its policy, and never
has the pontifical throne presented to the Christian world a more worthy
and more touching model." The _Moniteur_, in its report of the coronation,
spoke with the same official enthusiasm "of the most venerable apostolic
virtues and of the most astounding political genius crowned by the highest
destinies." David, the artist, once a member of the Convention and a
regicide, then an Imperialist, painted the portrait of Pius VII., and the
_Moniteur_ in the number of March 30, 1805, thus praised the picture and
the sitter. "A large crowd gathered in the gallery of the Senate, to see
the portrait of His Holiness by M. David, member of the Institute and
first painter to the Emperor. This portrait is in every way worthy of the
master's reputation. If the first essential in a portrait is an exact
likeness, this one possesses it to a very high degree. The head, which is
admirably painted, expresses the indulgent and wise character, the
gentleness and reasonableness, that are so conspicuous in the model; the
eyes an expression, affectionate and paternal; the expression of the mouth
is most striking; one feels that it can utter only words of peace,
consolation, and truth."
Josephine had for Pius VII. a feeling of veneration full of gratitude. She
was most grateful to him for having persuaded Napoleon, to have the
religious marriage for which she had long yearned. She, who had preserved
her faith, in the midst of an irreligious society, was happy to inhabit
the same palace, to live under the same roof, with the Vicar of Christ,
and firmly hoped thereby to secure good fortune for herself and her
husband. For his part, Pius VII. appreciated Josephine's good qualities,
especially her charity: he treated her as an indulgent father treats his
child.
The second son of Louis Bonaparte and Hortense de Beauharnais was baptized
by the Pope himself at Saint Cloud, March 27, 1805. The ceremony was most
impressive. Eight Imperial carriages conveyed thither Pius VII. and his
suite. The gallery of the palace had been turned into a chapel. In one of
the Empress's drawing-rooms had been placed, on a platform, beneath a
canopy, a bed without posts. On the foot of the bed had been spread a
large cloak lined with ermine, to cover the child. In the same room were
two tables on which were placed what were called the child's _honors_;
that is to say, the candle, the chrisom-cap, and the salt-cellar, and the
_honors_ of the godfather and godmother,--the basin, the ewer, and the
napkin. The towel was placed on a square of golden brocade, and all the
other things, except the candle, on a gold tray. Preceded by the Grand
Master of Ceremonies, and followed by a colonel-general of the Guard, by
the Grand Almoner, the Grand Chamberlain, and the Master of the Hounds,
the Emperor, who was godfather, and the godmother, Madame Bonaparte, his
mother, went to the room where the ceremony was to be performed. The child
was uncovered by Madame de Villeneuve, Maid of Honor to Princess Louis
Bonaparte, and by Madame de Boubers, who was serving as governess. The
first one lifted up the baby and handed him to the godfather, who gave him
to Madame de Boubers to carry to the font. The Grand Master of Ceremonies
handed the salt-cellar to Madame de Bouillé, the chrisom-cap to Madame de
Montalivet, the candle to Madame Lannes, the towel to Madame de Sérant,
the ewer to Madame Savary, the basin to Madame de Talhouët. Then, they
went to the gallery, which had been turned into a chapel. Mesdames
Bernadotte, Bessières, Davout, and Mortier held the corners of the
Empress's cloak. The godmother was at the Emperor's left. After the
baptism the child was carried back to his room with the same procession.
That evening _Athalie_ was given, with choruses, at the court theatre. The
company on their way thither passed through the orange house, which was
aglow with colored lanterns.
All day the park of Saint Cloud had been open to the public; the fountains
had been playing; shows of all sorts amused the crowd; the road to Paris
was crowded with carriages and foot-passengers. In the evening there were
fireworks: the palace and gardens were illuminated; there were bands
playing, and rustic balls.