gorgeous dresses, and sumptuous pomp. The Emperor in his gala dress, the
Empress in her Imperial splendor, the Princesses vying in luxury, the new
Queen of Naples staggering under her load of precious stones, the Princess
Louis covered with turquoises set in diamonds. Princess Caroline Murat
decked with a thousand rubies, Princess Pauline with all the Borghese
diamonds besides her own, the ambassadors, grand dignitaries, marshals,
generals, with their coats covered with gold and decorations, the
chamberlains in red, the master of ceremonies in violet, the masters of
the hounds in green, the equerries in blue, all the ladies in dresses with
long trains; the two fashionable women, Madame Maret and Madame Savary,
who each spent fifty thousand francs a year in dress; Madame de Canisy,
tall, black-haired, bright-eyed, with her aquiline nose and her impressive
air; Madame Lannes, with her gentle face like one of Raphael's Madonnas;
Madame Duchâtel, fair, with blue eyes; and that proud duchess of the
Faubourg Saint Germain, a lady of the palace in spite of herself, the
Duchess of Chevreuse, who, if not the most beautiful woman there, had
perhaps the grandest air. It was a most animated festivity, with its
flowers, lights, and splendor. The Hall of the Marshals was radiant with
its military portraits, its chandeliers, and air of triumph.... Now
consider the ruins of this palace of Caesar, this Olympus of Jupiter, this
sanctuary of glory, majesty, and dominion. See and reflect! Nothing is
left of all that pomp and grandeur! The proudest buildings have vanished!
Such is the end of human splendor!
XIX.
THE NEW QUEEN OF HOLLAND.
At the beginning of 1804, Napoleon regarded himself the absolute master of
fortune. His twofold title of Emperor of the French and King of Italy no
longer sufficed him; he yearned for that of Emperor of the West. He
created kings, grand dukes, sovereign princes. He made his brother Joseph
King of the Two Sicilies; his brother-in-law Murat Grand Duke of Berg and
Cleves; his sister Pauline Princess of Guastalla; he conferred the
principality of Massa upon his sister Elisa, who was already in possession
of the Duchy of Lucca; his Minister of Foreign Affairs, Talleyrand, became
Prince of Benevento; his Major-General, Berthier, Prince of Neufchâtel;
and his brother Joseph's brother-in-law, Bernadotte, Prince of Ponte
Corvo. He also elevated members of his wife's family as well as of his own
to high positions. Josephine's son was Viceroy and son-in-law of a king.
Josephine's daughter was about to become a queen.
France, which, fourteen years before, had wanted to convert every monarchy
into a republic, was now endeavoring to turn the oldest republics into
monarchies. The illustrious republics of Genoa and Venice had become an
integral part, the one of the French Empire, the other of the Kingdom of
Italy. The Batavian Republic was about to be transformed into the Kingdom
of Holland. When it became known in Paris that this new kingdom was to be
created by the Emperor's will, people wondered who was to fill the throne;
some were betting on Louis Bonaparte; others on his brother Jerome; still
others on Murat. The Emperor, however, had settled the question, and
without even consulting him, had decided that Louis was to be King of
Holland.
This new monarch, who was born September 2, 1778, was then twenty-seven
years old. Four years before he had married Josephine's daughter, Hortense
de Beauharnais, but the marriage had been an unhappy one. As he himself
wrote, his marriage was celebrated in sadness. The author of a very
remarkable study, _Holland and King Louis_, M. Albert Réville, says with
great truth: "Like Hortense, Louis had literary tastes; but there the
resemblance ceases. It was not that there was nothing romantic in
Hortense's character; she was among the first to become interested in the
Middle Ages, the Gothic revival, the imitation of the troubadours; but her
romanticism was wholly different from that of her husband. Her ideal was,
perhaps, a young and handsome soldier, pensive when away from the lady of
his thoughts, but not when in her company." M. Réville goes on: "Such a
character could not understand the sensitiveness, the shrinking, morbid
melancholy of the husband thrust upon her. Her gaiety, her devotion to
pleasure, the frivolity of her talk, could only pain more and more a man
of a gloomy temperament, who took the greatest care of his health, who
fretted himself over the most trivial details, and whose distrust amounted
to injustice."
Hortense was expansive, merry, ardent, enthusiastic, young in heart and
mind, a thoroughly open nature. Her husband, on the other hand, was of a
morose, sombre, melancholy, reserved nature. In spite of her superior
intelligence Hortense had a sort of childlike air; but Louis, though young
in years, had the character and appearance of an old man. As much as
Hortense loved liberty, her suspicious husband wished to hold firmly the
reins of conjugal authority. He was prematurely afflicted with various
infirmities, almost always morbidly nervous and impressionable, disposed
to take a dark view of everything, and bore no resemblance to the type of
hero which Hortense had imagined. Moreover, the unhappy husband endured a
hidden anguish which he had to conceal from every one and which tortured
his heart; he imagined that his rival with his wife was his own brother,
Napoleon. Thiers says in discussing this delicate subject: "Louis, ill,
puffed-up with pride, assuming virtue and really upright, pretended that
he was sacrificed to the infamous necessity of covering, by his marriage,
the weakness of Hortense de Beauharnais for Napoleon,--an odious calumny,
invented by the émigrés, spread abroad in a thousand pamphlets, about
which Louis did wrong to betray such anxiety that he seemed to believe it
himself."
In a word, there existed between husband and wife a real incompatibility
of temper, and the constraint of their position only added to the mutual
repulsion which they felt for each other in private, though they did not
dare confess it through fear of Napoleon's reproaches. They were married
January 4, 1802, and had a son born the next October, whom their enemies
asserted was the son of the Emperor, and the greater the interest and
affection the Emperor showed to this child, the more freely were calumnies
circulated. Louis Bonaparte imagined his honor tainted, and suffered
tortures.
As for Hortense, she was unhappy, but she had consolations. Her mother's
love, the society of her old schoolmates, her interest in art, worldly
successes, the distractions of Paris life, made her forget some of her
domestic troubles. The thought of leaving that congenial spot to live
alone with her husband in the cold dampness of Holland filled her with
gloom. She did not care for a throne, for she felt that a royal palace
would be for her nothing but a prison.
Louis, too, seemed devoid of ambition for the crown that was held before
him. Annoyed at not being consulted in the negotiations on which depended
his call to the throne, he maintained a passive attitude. But as he was
accustomed to comply with every wish of a brother who had taken charge of
his education, and thereby acquired special authority over him, he
invariably obeyed his orders. The Batavian deputation, of which the most
important member was Admiral Verhuel, had just arrived in Paris, and with
it the Emperor was settling the fate of Holland. Baron Ducasse, in an
interesting paper In the _Revue Historique_ for February, 1880, has
recounted all the unfortunate Louis Bonaparte's attempts to escape having
royalty forced upon him. He gave as a pretext, for his reluctance, the
rights of the old Stadtholder. The Batavian deputation in reply announced
to him the death of that official, "The hereditary Prince," they said,
"has received in compensation Fulda; hence you can have no reasonable
objection. We come, in accordance with the votes of nine-tenths of the
nation, to beg of you to ally your fate with ours, and to prevent our
falling into other hands." Napoleon used even plainer language. He
declared to his brother without beating the bush that he had accepted for
him, and that, even if he had not consulted him, a subject could not
refuse obedience.
A few days later, Talleyrand, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, went to
Saint Cloud and read to Louis and Hortense the treaty with Holland, and
the constitution of that country. It was of no use for the King to say
that he could not judge such important documents from a simple reading, he
was not granted a moment's reflection. In vain he pleaded his health,
which could not fail to suffer from the damp climate of Holland. Napoleon
was inflexible, and said, "It is better to die on a throne than to live a
French Prince." There was nothing for him to do but to give his consent.
The new King's proclamation was delivered at the Palace of the Tuileries
in the Throne Room, June 5, 1806. Early in the same day, the Emperor had
formally received Mahib Effendi, Ambassador of the Sultan Selim. The
Oriental diplomatist had greeted him as "the first and greatest of
Christian monarchs, the bright star of glory of the western nations, the
one who held in a firm hand the sword of valor and the sceptre of
justice." Napoleon had replied: "Whatever good or bad fortune may befall
the Ottomans will be fortunate or unfortunate for France. Report, I beg of
you, my words to the Sultan Selim. Bid him never to forget that my
enemies, who are also his, would like to get at him. He has nothing to
fear from me; united with me, he need not fear the power of any of his
enemies." When the audience was over, the Ambassador made three deep bows
and withdrew, but stopped in the next room, where the presents of the
Grand Porte were set out on a table; they consisted of an aigret of
diamonds, and a costly box set with gems and adorned with the monogram of
the Sultan. Mahib Effendi, after offering the presents to the Emperor,
showed him those sent to the Empress. They were a pearl necklace,
perfumes, and Oriental stuffs. Napoleon examined them, and then went to
the window to see some superbly harnessed Arabian horses, presented to him
in the name of the Sultan.
The proclamation of the King of Holland was read a few moments later.
Admiral Verhuel took the floor and began to speak of the happiness assured
to his country when it should have made fast the ties that bound it to the
"immense and immortal Empire." The Emperor said to the Dutch
representatives: "France has been so generous as to renounce all the
rights over you which were given it by the events of the war, but I cannot
confide the fortresses that guard my northern frontiers to any unfaithful
or even uncertain hands. Representatives of the Batavian people, I grant
the prayer you present to me, and proclaim Prince Louis King of Holland."
Then turning to his brother, he said: "You, Prince, reign over this
people; their fathers acquired their independence only by the constant aid
of France. Since then Holland was the ally of England; it was conquered;
and still owes its existence to us. She will owe to us the kings who
protect its laws, its liberties, its religion! But do not ever cease to be
a Frenchman. The dignity of Constable of the Empire will ever belong to
you and to your descendants; it will define for you your duties towards me
and the importance I attach to the guard of the fortresses protecting the
north of my states, which I confide to you. Prince, maintain among your
troops that spirit which I have seen in them on the field of battle.
Encourage in your new subjects the feelings of union and love which they
ought always to have for France. Be the terror of evil-doers and the
father of the upright; that is the character of a great king."
The vassalage of the new monarch was thus definitely established; he
remained Constable of the Empire; he was ordered to be French and not
Dutch. His first duties were to the Emperor, his brother and suzerain. He
respectfully approached the throne, and said with evident emotion: "Sire,
I have made it my highest ambition to sacrifice my life to Your Majesty's
service. I have made my happiness consist in admiring all those qualities
which make you so dear to those who, like me, have so often witnessed the
power and the effects of your genius; I may then be permitted to express
my regrets in leaving, but my life and my wishes belong to you. I shall go
to reign over Holland, since that nation desires it and Your Majesty
commands it. I shall be proud to reign over it; but, however glorious may
be the career thus opened to me, the assurance of Your Majesty's constant
protection, the love and patriotism of my new subjects, can alone inspire
me with the hope of healing the wounds of the many wars and events that
have crowded into a few years." After the royal speech the usher threw
open the door, and as in the time of Louis XIV., at the acceptation of the
Spanish accession, the new King was announced to the assembled crowd.
As M. Albert Réville says, no one in France regretted the Batavian
Republic when it was stricken from the roll of history by the will of a
despot; or, rather, the Parisians, in their occasionally exaggerated
infatuation, fancied that the Dutch would be overjoyed to have a French
court.
The next day, after breakfast, the Emperor was playing with the new King's
oldest son, the little Napoleon, who was only three years and a half old,
but was very bright for his age, and already knew by heart La Fontaine's
fables. The Emperor made him recite the fable about the frogs who wanted a
king, and listened to it, laughing loudly. He pinched the Queen's ear, and
asked her, "What do you say to that, Hortense?" The allusions to the poor
king and to his poor people were only too clear. The melancholy monarch,
or rather, the crowned monarch, was to be, according to the Emperor's
plan, a mere tool in the hands of his powerful brother. He was condemned
to discharge the functions of receiver of dues and of recruiting officer
in the Emperor's service. He had a presentiment of this degraded position,
and took his departure with much anxiety.
For Hortense, leaving was sadder. No exile ever turned towards foreign
parts with heavier sorrow. Her diadem was a crown of thorns. Her mother's
grief augmented her own. Without her children, Josephine, naturally
unambitious, found no consolation in the thought that her son was a
Viceroy, her daughter a Queen. Before she left Paris Hortense, in terror
before the thought that the Emperor would no longer be near to defend her,
told her all her domestic unhappiness, and said that if her husband
treated her too ill, she would abandon her throne for a convent.
Nevertheless she had to obey. June 15, 1806, Louis started from Saint Leu
to go to his kingdom. He was accompanied by his wife and his two sons, the
elder, Charles Napoleon, who died in Holland the 5th of the next May, and
the other, Louis Napoleon, who died at Forte, in 1831, in the insurrection
of the States of the Church against the Pope. His third son, later
Napoleon III., was born in 1808. The new King entered The Hague June 23,
1806. He countermanded a body of French troops which the Emperor had
designed for his escort at his entrance into the capital, being unwilling
to appear before his subjects as a sovereign imposed upon them by actual
force. "You may be sure," he said to them, "that from the moment I set
foot on the soil of this kingdom, I became a Dutchman." The same day
General Dupont Chaumont, French Minister at The Hague, wrote to Prince
Talleyrand: "To-day, June 23, His Majesty made his formal entrance into
his capital. He went to the Assembly where he received the oath of the
representatives of the people and made a speech which was much applauded.
The French camp obtained permission from the Governor of the Palace to
surprise Their Majesties by fireworks and military music. These
festivities naturally put a stop to all business, except for His Majesty,
who finds time to examine and decide the most urgent matters, the ease
with which he works greatly surprising a nation unaccustomed to such
activity. Already the King and Queen are spoken of most enthusiastically
by those who have had the honor to be presented to Their Majesties. The
satisfaction will be general, when many shall have had the opportunity to
approach the throne."
In spite of the optimisms of this despatch, the new King was to have an
unhappy reign. His loyal and upright intentions were to be shattered
against the inflexible will of his formidable brother. Louis was a just
man and sincerely devoted to his people. He was called, and is still
called, "the good King Louis": but the Emperor, who ironically reproached
him with trying to win the affection of shopkeepers, was to write to him
in 1807: "A monarch who is called a good king, is a king that's ruined."
As for Queen Hortense, more and more tormented by her husband's
suspicions, with her health impaired by the moist climate, and her ever-
growing melancholy, she was to feel like a condemned exile in her kingdom.
No woman ever gave a complete lie to the expression, "As happy as a
queen."
XX.
THE EMPRESS AT MAYENCE.
In spite of all the honors that encompassed her, the Empress was ever more
and more unhappy. The departure of her daughter Hortense left a void in
her life that nothing could fill. She wrote to the new Queen from Saint
Cloud, July 15, 1806: "Since you left I have been ill, sad, and unhappy; I
have even been feverish and have had to keep my bed. I am now well again,
but my sorrow remains. How could it be otherwise when I am separated from
a daughter like you, loving, gentle, and amiable, who was the charm of my
life?... How is your husband? Are my grandchildren well? Heavens, how sad
it makes me not to see them! and how is your health, dear Hortense? If you
are ever ill, let me know, and I will hasten to you at once.... Good by,
my dear Hortense, think often of your mother, and be sure that never was a
daughter more loved than you are. Many kind messages to your husband; kiss
the children for me. It would be very kind of you to send me some of your
songs."
Josephine was about to have another cause for grief. A new war was
imminent, but the Empress hid her uneasiness in order not to distance
Hortense. "All your letters," she wrote to her, "are charming, and you are
kind to write so often. I have heard from Eugene and his wife; they are
evidently very happy, and so am I, for I am going with the Emperor, and am
already packing. I assure you, that even if this war breaks out, I have no
fear; the nearer I am to the Emperor, the less I shall care, and I feel
that I should die if I stayed here. Another joy to me is our meeting at
Mayence. The Emperor has bidden me tell you that he has just given to the
King of Holland an army of eighty thousand men, and his command will
extend to Mayence. He thinks that you can come then and stay with me. Is
not that an agreeable bit of news for a mother who loves you so dearly?
Every day we shall have news of the Emperor and your husband; we will be
happy together. The Grand Duke of Berg spoke to me about you and the
children; kiss them for me till I can kiss them for myself, as well as my
daughter; this will be soon, I hope. My best regards to the King."
Napoleon was about to begin a gigantic war against Prussia and Russia. In
spite of his confidence in his star, he was not without some
apprehensions, and he left reluctantly. A cloud seemed to hang over Saint
Cloud. "Why are you so gloomy?" the Emperor asked Madame de Rémusat, whose
husband, the First Chamberlain, had just been sent to Mayence to prepare
the Emperor's quarters. "I am gloomy," she replied, "because my husband
has left me." And as Napoleon sneered at her conjugal devotion, she added:
"Sire, I take no part in heroic joys, and for my part, I had placed my
glory in happiness." Then the Emperor burst out laughing and said:
"Happiness? Oh yes, happiness has a great deal to do with this century!"
The Empress hoped to accompany her husband as far as Mayence, and remain
there during the war, with her daughter. At the last moment she came near
missing even this. Napoleon wanted to go off alone, but she wept so much,
besought him so earnestly, that he took pity on her and gave her leave to
enter his carriage; she had but a single chambermaid with her. Her
household was to join her some days later.
Napoleon and Josephine left Saint Cloud in the night of September 24,
1806. After stopping for some hours at Metz, they reached Mayence the
28th. The Emperor started again, October 2, at nine in the evening, for
the head of the army. At this moment he had an access of affection and a
revival of his old tenderness for the woman who long since had inspired
him with much love. Seeing that she was weeping bitterly, he, too, shed
tears, and was even attacked by convulsions. They made him sit down and
gave him a few drops of orange-flower water. In a few moments he
controlled his emotion, gave Josephine a farewell kiss, and said: "The
carriages are ready, are they not? Tell those gentlemen and let us be
off."
The Empress remained at Mayence. Napoleon wrote to her October 5, 1806:
"There is no reason why the Princess of Baden should not go to Mayence. I
don't know why you are so distressed; it is wrong of you to grieve so
much. Hortense is inclined to pedantry; she is liberal with advice. She
wrote to me, and I answered her. She should be happy and gay. Courage and
gaiety, that is the recipe." It is plain that the Emperor's gloom had been
of brief duration. When he was once more at war, in his element, he had
quickly resumed his customary eagerness. He wrote to his wife from
Bamberg, October 7: "I leave this evening for Kronach. The whole army is
in motion. All goes on well; my health is perfect. I have not yet received
any letters from you, but I have heard from Eugene and Hortense. Stephanie
ought to be with you. Her husband [the Prince of Baden] wishes to take
part in the war; he is with me. Good by. A thousand kisses and good
health!" Again, October 18: "Today I am at Gera. Everything goes on as
well as I could hope. With God's aid, the poor King of Prussia will be in
a lamentable state, I think. I am personally sorry for him, because he is
a good man. The Queen is at Erfurt with the King. If she wants to see a
battle, she will have that cruel pleasure. I am wonderfully well, and have
gained flesh since I left; and yet I go twenty or twenty-five leagues
every day, on horseback or in a carriage,--in every possible way. I go to
bed at eight and get up at midnight, sometimes, I think, before you have
gone to bed. Ever yours."
In these campaigns Napoleon was not yet surrounded by the comforts which
later made war less fatiguing for him, perhaps too easy. He endured all
the toil and privation of a private soldier. In five minutes his table,
his coffee, his bed were prepared. Often in less time than that the bodies
of men and horses had to be removed to make room for his tent. His longest
meal lasted no more than eight or ten minutes. The Emperor would then call
for horses and leave in company with Berthier, one or two riders, and
Roustan, his faithful Mameluke. At night, when lying on his little iron
bed, he took but little rest. Hardly had he fallen asleep when he would
call his valet de chambre who slept in the same tent: "Constant!" "Sire."
"See what aide-de-camp is on duty." "Sire, it is so-and-so." "Tell him to
come and speak to me." The aide-de-camp would arrive: "You must go to such
a corps, commanded by Marshal so-and-so; you will tell him to place such a
regiment in such a position; you will ascertain the position of the enemy,
then you will report to me." The Emperor seemed to fall asleep again, but
in a few moments he was calling again: "Constant!" "Sire." "Summon the
Prince of Neufchâtel." The Major-General would appear in a great hurry,
and Napoleon would dictate some orders to him. That is the way his nights
were passed.