received the great bodies of the State. It would be hard to form an exact
idea of the flatteries addressed to him. Let us quote a few taken at
random. M. Séguier, First President of the Court of Appeal, said to the
hero of Friedland: "Napoleon is above admiration; only love can rise to
him." The Cardinal Archbishop of Paris, speaking in the name of his
clergy, was perhaps even more enthusiastic: "The God of armies," he said,
"has dictated and directed all your plans; nothing could resist the
swiftness of so many wonders.... Have confidence, Sire, in our zeal, and
instruct the people in the submission and obedience they owe to all of
Your Majesty's decrees and orders." But it was Councillor of State
Trochot, Prefect of the Seine, who deserves the prize in this competition
of adulation. Here is a fragment of his speech: "Sire, now that at last
Paris receives you once more after so long an absence and such prodigious
feats, it would gladly express to you all its intense admiration, and yet
it can only speak to you of its love. And, indeed, if it tried to
contemplate in you the conqueror of so many kings, the law-maker of so
many peoples, the controller of so many events, the arbiter of so many
destinies, how could it dare to approach Your Majesty, and in what
language could it address you? Should it speak to you of triumphs? But can
any one but a Caesar himself speak of what Caesar has done? Of glory? but
for ten years it has been impossible to speak of all you have won. Of
genius? but who can speak of all the marvels yours has wrought, before
which we are dumb and confounded. Sire, all these things are beyond us,
and since they command admiration, even silence, the silence of
astonishment which admiration imposes seems to be our sole manner of
expressing it." More had not been said, to Louis XIV., the Sun King.
In allusion to the illuminations in Paris the evening before, the Prefect,
of the Seine added: "Why could not you, Sire, have been an eye-witness of
the joy which the announcement of Your Majesty's return spread yesterday
throughout the capital of your Empire! Why could not you have heard the
applause with which your faithful subjects rent the welkin daring the
festivity which they gave on this occasion until well into the night!" The
Prefect closed by a prophecy, alas! not too accurate: "The august Emperor
Napoleon will render war between nations impossible, and the world's
happiness will date from his reign."
The hero of Austerlitz, of Jena, of Friedland, then thought nothing
impossible. His direct or indirect sway extended from the Straits of
Gibraltar to the Vistula, from the mountains of Bohemia to the North Sea.
Charlemagne was outstripped. Josephine saw her husband again with joy, but
also with anxiety and terror. He returned so infatuated by his wonderful
fortune, he was so flattered and deified by his courtiers, in his whole
Imperial and royal person there was something so formidable and majestic,
that his gentle and timid wife was, as it were, dazzled by the rays of a
sun, too brilliant for her to look at.
Josephine had now become afraid to address him as thou, and to call him
simply Bonaparte as she had done before. When she spoke to him, she often
called him Sire. She did not dare to reproach him with his infidelities at
Warsaw or the Castle of Finkenstein, or to show that she noticed his
attentions to many ladies of the court, notably to a beautiful Italian
woman, a friend of Talleyrand's, who was one of her readers and a
prominent object of Napoleon's attentions. She saw rising before her the
vision of divorce, the phantom which had haunted her imagination since the
expedition to Egypt. Fearful of giving her husband the slightest pretext
for discontent or annoyance, she was humbler, more submissive, more
obedient than ever.
So long as the oldest son of Louis and Hortense had lived, Josephine felt
comparatively secure, because she knew that this boy, a special favorite
of Napoleon's, was intended by his uncle to be the heir of his Empire. But
his surviving brother, the little Napoleon Louis, born October 11, 1804,
did not give the Empress the same confidence. The Emperor was less
intimate with this child; he had not played with him as he had done with
the other; he had not become attached to him. The little Napoleon Louis
was staying with Josephine when the Emperor returned. She did all she
could to make him love him.
Moreover, it was not an easy thing to hold the affections of a man like
Napoleon. Six years younger than his wife, he was but thirty-eight, and in
all the flower and prime of his Caesar-like beauty. He liked to make a
conquest of beauties as well as of provinces. The thought of resistance
exasperated him. In everything he demanded success, triumph, dominion. The
celebration of his birthday, August 15, 1807, which was accompanied with
unusual pomp and splendor, was of the nature of a deification. He made
Josephine share his triumph, and held her by the hand when he appeared on
a balcony of the Tuileries, in the enclosure, amid the applause of the
multitude assembled in the gardens.
King Jerome's marriage with the young Princess Catherine of Würtemberg
added to the animation of the already brilliant court. The annulment of
the young Prince's marriage with Miss Paterson had caused Napoleon much
difficulty. When this marriage had been contracted at Baltimore, December
8, 1803, he had been only First Consul, and Jerome, a simple naval
officer, was in no way under the control of the decree of the Senate,
which was later to determine the civil conditions of the new Imperial
family. But in his haste to marry the young and beautiful American girl,
Jerome, who was but nineteen years old, had neglected, in spite of the
advice of the French Consul, to demand the permission of his mother,
Madame Letitia Bonaparte. This omission had not prevented the Bishop of
Baltimore from celebrating the marriage. Napoleon, however, regarded it as
null and void. It was not till February 22, 1805, that he obtained his
mother's protest, and the 21st of the next March, by an Imperial decree,
he annulled the marriage which displeased him, by his own authority. Yet,
in the eyes of religion, this union still existed. The Emperor asked the
Pope to pronounce it null, but Pius VII. gave the request a formal
refusal, writing in June, 1805: "It is beyond our power in the present
state of things, to pronounce it null. If we should usurp an authority we
do not possess, we should render ourselves guilty of an abuse abominable
before the throne of God; and Your Majesty himself, in his justice, would
blame us for pronouncing a sentence contrary to the testimony of our
conscience, and to the invariable principles of the church.... That is why
we earnestly hope that Your Majesty will be convinced that the desire with
which we are always animated to second his designs, so far as depends on
us, particularly in a matter so closely concerning his august person, has
been rendered idle by the absolute absence of power, and we entreat him to
receive this sincere declaration as testimony of our really paternal
affection." This was the beginning of the quarrel between the Pope and the
Emperor. Pius VII. would not yield; but Napoleon found greater servility
in the metropolitan officialty of Paris; and October 6, 1806, he secured a
sentence pronouncing the nullity of his brother Jerome's marriage with
Miss Paterson.
The King of Würtemberg, in the hope that a close alliance with the
Imperial family would strengthen his throne, and procure him accession of
land and power, had prepared to give to the Emperor's young brother the
hand of his daughter, Princess Catherine. As soon as the King had formed
this decision, he would not listen to a word of criticism from his family,
who were already accustomed never to discuss his ideas. The King of
Würtemberg was a real giant. He was so stout that a broad, deep hollow had
to be cut out of his dining-table; for otherwise he would not have been
able to reach his plate. He was fond of riding, but it was not easy to
find a horse strong enough to carry his enormous weight. The horse had to
be gradually accustomed to it, and to accomplish this, the equerry who had
to prepare the royal steed used to wear a band full of lead, to which he
would add new pieces every day, until he was as heavy as the King. This
monarch, who was highly respected, though greatly feared, by ids subjects,
had some eccentricities. Thus he demanded that his wife should be up and
fully dressed by seven in the morning; and insisted that at whatever hour
of the day or evening it should please him to enter her apartment, he
should find her ready to accompany him wherever he might want to go. The
Queen, who was his second wife,--Princess Catherine was a child by his
first marriage,--was a daughter of the King of England, and consequently
she was averse to seeing her step-daughter marry the brother of England's
greatest enemy; but she took good care not to make any objections. The
King of Würtemberg was severe to his family and to his subjects, but he
was well educated, intelligent, and energetic. Napoleon set great store by
him, and regarded him as a loyal and faithful ally.
Jerome, who had been made King of Westphalia by the treaty of Tilsitt, was
the youngest of the Emperor's brothers. He was born at Ajaccio, November
15, 1784, and was not yet twenty-three when he married Princess Catherine
of Würtemberg, who was nearly two years older than he, having been born
February 2, 1783. This Princess had much charm; she was tall, handsome,
her expression was noble and kindly; she inspired every one with sympathy
and respect. She was a woman remarkable for intelligence, virtue, and
affection. She was to be a model wife and mother. She it was who, in 1814,
refused to get a divorce and to abandon an unfortunate husband, a
dethroned king. She it was who wrote to her father this admirable letter,
without fear of his anger: "Having been forced, by reasons of state to
marry the King, my husband, it has been granted me by fate to be the
happiest woman in the world. I feel for my husband love, tenderness,
esteem, combined; at this painful moment would the best of desire to
destroy my domestic happiness, the only sort left to me? I venture to tell
you, my clear father, you and, all the family, that you do not know the
King, my husband. A time will come, I hope, when you will be convinced
that you have misjudged him and then you will always find him and me the
most respectful and most loving children." She was the courageous woman,
the faithful wife, the devoted mother, of whom Napoleon said at Saint
Helena: "Princess Catherine of Würtemberg has with her own hands written
her name in history."
Jerome's marriage was an event of great ceremony. It was first celebrated,
by proxy, at Stuttgart, the Princess's brother representing the
bridegroom. The Emperor sent presents to his future sister-in-law, among
other things a set of diamonds worth three hundred thousand francs. A
detachment from the Emperor's household and many of the Empress's ladies
of the bedchamber went to the frontiers to meet the Princess. She reached
the Castle of Raincy, August 20, 1807, and there saw her betrothed for the
first time, and the 21st, Napoleon received her at the Tuileries on the
first step of the great staircase. As she bowed before him, he folded her
in his arms, then he presented her to the Empress, before the whole court
and the deputies of the new kingdom of Westphalia, who had been summoned
to Paris to be present at the marriage of their young sovereign with a
Princess belonging to one of the oldest and most illustrious families of
Germany.
Saturday, August 22, the signature of the marriage contract and the civil
wedding took place at the Tuileries, in the Gallery of Diana, in presence
of the Emperor, the Empress, the ladies and officers of their households
and the great personages of the Empire. M. Regnault de Saint-Jean
d'Angély, Secretary of State of the Imperial family, read the marriage-
contract, which was then signed by the Emperor, the Empress, the young
couple, the Princes and Princesses, the Prince Primate of the
Confederation of the Rhine, the Prince's high dignitaries of the Empire,
and the witnesses of the marriage. The witnesses were, for the court of
France: Prince Borghese, Prince Murat, Grand Duke of Berg, and Marshal
Berthier, Prince of Neufchâtel; for the court of Würtemberg: the Prince of
Baden; the Prince of Nassau; and the Count of Winzingerode, the Minister
of Würtemberg. Prince Cambacérès, Arch-chancellor of the Empire, then
received the consent of the couple and pronounced the formula of the civil
marriage.
The next day, Sunday, August 23, 1807, at eight in the evening, the
religious marriage was celebrated in the chapel of the Tuileries, the
galleries being filled with the diplomatic bodies, the foreign princes and
noblemen and invited guests. The procession was brilliant. On entering the
chapel, Napoleon gave his hand to the Princess Catherine, and Jerome his
to the Empress. The Prince Primate of the Confederation of the Rhines,
Archbishop of Regensburg, Sovereign Prince of that city, of Aschaftenburg,
of Frankfort, etc., surrounded by his clergy and his court, stood at the
chapel door. He gave holy water to the Emperor and the Empress, who at
once went to their praying-chairs; then he gave the nuptial blessing to
the young couple, while the canopy was held by the Bishop of Ghent and the
Abbé of Boulogne, the Emperor's Almoners. After the ceremony, they all
went back from the chapel to the grand apartments, where followed a
concert, a ballet, and a reception in the Hall of the Marshals. Twice
Napoleon appeared on the balcony, showing the newly married pair the vast
throng filling the garden of the Tuileries. Unfortunately, a sudden storm
prevented the display of fireworks.
While the thunder was roaring and the rain pouring down, the Empress, at
her young brother-in-law's marriage, was the prey to sad reflections. She
thought of the deserted American wife, who, far away, was weeping, while
her husband, the father of her children was joyfully leading another wife
to the altar. Josephine doubtless thought that soon perhaps her lot would
he the same as that of the unhappy Miss Paterson; that she would he
sacrificed, abandoned, repudiated in the very same way.
The Empress had another cause of grief. At the Pyrenees her daughter
Hortense had become reconciled with Louis, and was soon to be the mother
of the child afterwards known as Napoleon III. But in a few weeks the
incongeniality of their dispositions, for a moment forgotten in their
common grief, asserted itself anew. On their return to Paris, at the end
of August, the discord between the King and the Queen of Holland was as
violent as ever. The King, more uneasy and suspicious than ever before,
wanted to carry his wife to Holland, but the Queen had an aversion to the
country where she had suffered so much, and to its fatal climate. She
feared that if she should return there she might lose her second son like
the first. Her health was wretched; she feared that her lungs were
affected. In France she felt that the Emperor protected her from her
husband's anger. Holland seemed to her a gloomy, damp, melancholy prison,
of which the King, her husband, would be the jailor. Louis Bonaparte was
furious at his wife's resistance, all the more that he was obliged to hide
his feelings. Napoleon, who held his family, like his Empire, in absolute
control, gave Louis, as well as his other brothers, orders which they had
to obey without a word or a murmur. The King of Holland returned to his
kingdom alone, his wife stayed in France, but in the gloomiest spirits,
with mind and body disordered, disenchanted about all human things. "From
that time," she said later, "I understood that my misfortunes were beyond
cure; I looked upon my life as destroyed; I conceived a horror of
grandeur, of a throne; I often cursed what so many called my good fortune;
I felt lost to all enjoyment of life, shorn of all Illusions, nearly dead
to everything going on about me." Under other conditions, the Empress
would have been delighted to have her daughter with her, but she found her
so dejected, so morose, and so unhappy, that her presence was quite as
much a grief as a comfort for her. These were the feelings of the Empress
of the French and of the Queen, of Holland when they went to Fontainebleau
with the court at the end of September, 1807. There the Emperor lived more
splendidly than ever, surrounding himself with all the pomp and majesty of
monarchy.
XXV.
THE COURT AT FONTAINEBLEAU.
The court arrived at the Palace of Fontainebleau September 21, 1807, and
stayed there until November 15. Napoleon felt the need of displaying
unprecedented luxury. He wanted to have the Diplomatic Corps send to
foreign powers the account of magnificent festivities. This splendid
palace, with its proud memories of the old French monarchy, was a
residence that pleased him. He liked to be surrounded by great persons,
whether foreigners or Frenchmen, who rivalled one another in flattery,
zeal, and homage towards him. In his opinion, festivities and battles
added to the glory of the throne. Desiring to be in everything first, he
was very anxious for his court to be esteemed the most brilliant in
Europe.
There were various types among the guests at Fontainebleau. There was
Napoleon's mother, rather Italian than French by birth, and in face and
accent. She recalled the characters of antiquity, unspoiled by prosperity,
austere in her life, simple in her taste, rigidly economical, less from
avarice than a distrust of the continuance of her son's good fortune.
There was the beautiful Princess Borghese, Duchess of Guastalla, more
elegant, more fashionable, more attractive than ever; then Madame Murat,
rich in freshness and brilliancy, not satisfied with being a French
Princess and Grand Duchess of Berg, but yearning to be a Queen; the Queen
of Holland, on the other hand, in despair at having ascended the throne,
and plunged in a deep melancholy in marked contrast with the splendors
surrounding her in spite of herself. Then Joseph Bonaparte's wife, the
Queen of Naples, whose tastes were modest, and who preferred Paris to her
Italian kingdom. There were many Princes and great lords in the crowd of
courtiers, the satellites of the Imperial sun. In the Gallery of Henry II.
were to be distinguished a cluster of German Princes: the Grand Duke of
Würzburg,--who did not seem to sigh for his Grand Duchy of Tuscany,
finding ample consolation in singing Italian pieces, for music was his
passion; the Prince Primate of the Confederation of the Rhine, Archbishop
of Regensburg, Sovereign Prince of that city and of Frankfort, who, in
spite of his position in the church, joined the Emperor's hunt; Prince
William of Prussia, who hoped by his devotion to alleviate the troubles of
his country, and to modify the demands of the hero of Jena; the Prince of
Mecklenburg-Schwerin, conspicuous for his formal German politeness; the
young Prince of Mecklenburg-Strelitz. brother of the Queen of Prussia,
less interested in the patriotic grievances of his sister, than in his
assiduous court to the Empress Josephine, whose respectful platonic lover
he was; the Prince of Baden, who, although the brother-in-law of the
Emperor of Russia, the King of Bavaria, and the King of Sweden, was proud
to have married a Mademoiselle de Beauharnais, daughter of a simple
Senator of the Empire, with but one regret--that his wife did not love him
enough; Jerome, the young and brilliant King of Westphalia, apparently
forgetful of Elisabeth Paterson, and full of mad love for his new wife,
Princess Catherine of Würtemberg.
In the Gallery of Henry II. was also to be seen Murat, who, after his
triumphal entry into Warsaw, thought of nothing but crowns, anxiously
wondering whether he was to be King of Poland, or of Portugal, of Spain,
or of Naples. There were the high dignitaries of the Empire, the foreign
ambassadors, the marshals, the ministers; M. de Talleyrand with his
enormous salary, his high position as Grand Chamberlain and Vice-Elector,
his title of Prince of Benevento, always sparkling with the cold,
sceptical, politely contemptuous wit that distinguished those who belonged
to the old régime--Talleyrand, who, in the Emperor's closet possibly spoke
to him with a certain freedom, but in the Gallery of Henry II. resembled
the other courtiers and kept a profound silence as his master drew near.
Then the Count of Ségur, Grand Master of Ceremonies, as attractive in the
court of Napoleon as he had been in that of Catherine II. as ambassador of
Louis XVI.; Marshal Berthier, Grand Master of the Horse, Vice-Constable,
Sovereign Prince of Neufchâtel, as devoted to Madame Visconti as if he
were a youth of twenty; Count Tolstoi, the brilliant ambassador of the
Emperor Alexander; M. de Metternich, the fascinating and skilful Austrian
Ambassador, conspicuous by Ms admiration for Princess Murat.
When the Emperor entered, all eyes were turned towards him alone; about
him centred all interest, all intrigues, all ambitions. He appeared as the
dispenser of fortune, the arbiter of destiny, the exceptional being on
whom depended individuals, kingdoms, empires. He filled it all with his
presence; every one seemed to live only for and by the Emperor. A smile, a
word, the slightest mark of attention on his part, seemed a precious
reward, a marked honor, As soon as he entered, a quiver of admiration and
of terror seemed to run through the air. Every one bowed like a horse who
sniffs the approach of his master; they almost prostrated themselves
before him. Any one to whom he spoke, stammered, feared to reply, turned
pale and red; and he, rejoicing in their embarrassment, gloried in the
wide gulf he had set between himself and all other human beings. Even
foreigners seemed to be his subjects. Whatever their position, whatever
their coat-of-arms, by his side they were vulgar supernumeraries. His
power appeared to be limitless, like his genius; and believing everything
possible, looking upon himself as a prodigy, a living miracle, he exulted
proudly and majestically in his glory.