Fontainebleau were much less ceremonious than under the first. All the
guests of Napoleon III. breakfasted and dined at his table,--in the
morning in frock-coat, in the evening in black coat and knee breeches; no
uniforms were to be seen. Women appeared at breakfast in morning dress;
they wore no especial dress at the hunt. Before dinner the Empress used to
receive a few specially invited guests to drink tea. All day the Emperor
left the company perfectly free. In the evening there was dancing to the
music of a piano like a hand-organ, of which a chamberlain turned the
handle. The Emperor was treated with great deference, but no one feared
him, because his words were always marked by great affability. Napoleon
I., on the other hand, was perhaps more feared than admired. Those who
were charged with organizing his entertainments were perfectly happy if he
was silent; for he almost never gave a word of praise and often
criticised. It was a conspicuous and rare honor, even for Princes, to dine
with him. There were besides at Fontainebleau, in 1807, several distinct
tables: those of the Princes and Princesses of the Imperial family, who
often gave grand dinners; that of the Grand Marshal of the Palace, with
twenty-five places; that of the Empress's Maid of Honor, with the same
number; and, finally, a last table for all those who had received no
special invitation. The Princesses paid the cost--of installing themselves
there out of their own purses, while under Napoleon III., at
Fontainebleau, or at Compiègne, all the expenses were defrayed by the
Emperor. Under the first Empire only those holding high official position
were invited to the Imperial, residences; under the second, many were
invited who were famous only for their elegance. Under Napoleon I., where
everything was formal, scarcely anything but tragedy was played at the
court; under Napoleon III., lighter plays were often given. The hunts were
very simple under the second Emperor and very magnificent under the first,
In 1807 Napoleon had ordered that women who went to the coursing should
wear a special costume; that of the Empress and of all the ladies of her
household was of amaranthine velvet, embroidered with gold, and a cap with
white feathers; that of the Princesses, blue for the Queen of Holland,
pink for the Princess Murat, lilac for the Princess Borghese, all adorned
with silver embroidery. The Emperor and all his guests wore the same
hunting-dress for coursing: a green coat with gold, buttons and lace,
breeches of white cassimere, Hessian boots without tops; for shooting, a
green coat, with no other ornament than white buttons, on which were
carved hunting emblems. Under the first Empire, etiquette was most rigid;
under the second, it hardly existed. At every moment of day and evening,
Napoleon I. wore a twofold air as commander-in-chief and sovereign;
Napoleon III. was like a man of the world receiving his friends in his own
castle.
From September 21 to November 15, 1807, the great general had commanded
that there should be amusement in the Palace of Fontainebleau. Pleasure
was ordered, but it does not come at call. The Emperor, accustomed to have
his every wish obeyed, was surprised to see that not every face was
radiant. "Strange," he said, "I have gathered a good many people here at
Fontainebleau; I want them to amuse themselves, I have arranged their
pleasures, yet every one seems tired and sad." The Italian songs, even
when sung by the best singers, in costume and with all the scenery,
produced but a feeble impression. The tragedies seemed to induce slumber.
The little balls, or, more exactly, the little hops in the apartment of
the Maid of Honor, Madame de la Rochefoucauld, were very dull. Sometimes
little games were played there; they gave a flash of gaiety, but as soon
as the Emperor appeared, every one assumed a serious, composed air. Might
one not say once more what La Bruyère said when speaking of the court of
Louis XIV.: "Who would believe that this eagerness for shows, that meals,
hunts, ballets, tilting-matches, crowned so many anxieties, pains, and
diverse interests, so many fears and hopes, so many lively passions, and
serious affairs?" A palace is not built for ease. All its formalities hang
heavy on every guest; the whole of every day is spent in playing a part.
Amid all these empty pleasures and hollow joys there was no lack of
sorrow. It was there that the wretched Queen Hortense, spitting blood,
mourning the past and dreading the future, said to Napoleon: "My
reputation is tainted, my health ruined, I expect no more happiness in
life; banish me from your court; if you wish, lock me up in a convent, I
desire neither throne nor fortune. Give peace to my mother, glory to
Eugene, who deserves it, but let me live a calm and solitary life." She
had been happier as an unknown schoolgirl at Madame Campan's, just as her
mother, the Empress of the French and the Queen of Italy, must have often
sighed for the island of Martinique, where she would have preferred the
splash of the waves to the courtiers' murmur of obsequious flattery.
Napoleon, himself, at the height of human glory, had lost the peace of
heart which he enjoyed in his boyhood, and never found again.
The Empress Josephine naturally held the highest place in this brilliant
court of Fontainebleau, and was the object of untiring homage; few,
however, suspected the anxieties that tormented her, so calm happy did she
appear, with a kind word and a gracious smile for every one.
M. de Metternich, the Austrian Ambassador who was then at Fontainebleau,
took pains to ascertain the causes of her secret sorrow, and sent the
details to his government. He wrote to von Stadion: "In many of my
previous reports I have had the honor of speaking to Your Excellency about
the long current rumors regarding the approaching divorce of the Emperor.
After circulating vaguely in the last two months, they have become the
subject of general and public discussion. It is true of these rumors, as
of all not stamped out at their birth, that they rest on some foundation
of truth, or they would be promptly silenced, if they were not directly
tolerated." Then the clear-sighted ambassador reported in the same
despatch what he had learned, thanks to his relations with persons to whom
the Empress had made revelations: "Since his return from the army, the
Emperor's bearing towards his wife has been cold and embarrassed. He no
longer lives in the same apartment with her, and many of his daily habits
have undergone a change. Rumors of the Empress's divorce began at that
moment to assume a more serious form; when they reached her ears she
simply waited for some direct information, without letting the Emperor see
the slightest anxiety."
Josephine was sorely stricken, and her sufferings were all the more
intense because she had to hide them from every one, especially from her
husband, and they made a marked contrast, by the irony of fate, with the
pleasures and amusements that surrounded her. She was too clear-sighted
and intelligent to proceed to question the Emperor. She feared light and
dreaded the truth. She hesitated before the abyss that awaited her, and
shuddered before the Emperor's glance. She suffered on the throne, as if
it were an instrument of torture. It was then that Fouché took some steps
which doubled her anguish. The incident is thus recounted, by Prince
Metternich in the despatch already cited: "One day the Minister of Police
visited her at Fontainebleau. and after a short preamble, told her that
the public good, and, above all, the strengthening of the existing dynasty
requiring that the Emperor should have children, she ought to ask the
Senate to join with her in demanding of the Emperor a sacrifice most
painful to his heart. The Empress, who was prepared for the question,
asked Fouché, with great coolness, if he took this step by the Emperors
orders. 'No,' he replied: 'I speak to Your Majesty as a minister charged
with a general supervision, as a private citizen, as a subject devoted to
his country's glory,' 'In that case I have nothing to say to you,'
interrupted the Empress; 'I regard my union with the Emperor as written in
the book of Fate, I shall never discuss the matter with any one but him,
and never will do anything but what he orders,'" Josephine, when she
mentioned this conversation to her confidant, M. de Lavalette, who had
married a Mademoiselle de Beauharnais, said to him in great perplexity;
"Is it not clear that Fouché was sent by the Emperor and that my fate is
settled? Alas! To leave the throne is nothing to me. Who knows better than
I do how many tears I have shed there? But to lose at the same time the
man to whom I have given my best love, that sacrifice is beyond my
strength."
But to return to Prince Metternich's despatch: "Many days passed without
incident, when suddenly the Emperor began to share again the Empress's
apartment and took a favorable moment to ask why she had been so sad for
some days. The Empress then told him of her interview with Fouché. The
Emperor confirmed his statement that he had never given him any such
orders. He added that she ought to know him well enough to be sure that he
had no need of any go-between to manage matters with her, and made her
promise to report to him anything further she might hear about the
matter." Josephine was not at all comforted. Napoleon's explanation was
very embarrassed, and who could think that so crafty and ambitious a man
as Fouché could assume the responsibility of such a negotiation if he
supposed that thereby he exposed himself to his master's wrath?
The Minister of Police did not confine himself to mere spoken words. A few
days after his interview with the Empress, he wrote to her a long letter
on large paper, in which he set forth all the arguments he had already
brought forward, to urge upon her the spontaneous sacrifice which would be
the more meritorious, the more painful it was. Josephine, who received
this letter in the evening, summoned M. de Rémusat at midnight to show it
to him. "What shall I do," she asked, "to ward off this storm?" "Madame,"
replied the First Chamberlain, "my advice is to go this very moment to the
Emperor, if he has not gone to bed, or else the very first thing to-morrow
morning. Remember, you must seem to have consulted no one. Make him read
this letter; watch him as closely as you can; but, whatever happens, show
that you hate these roundabout methods, and tell him again that you will
never listen to anything but a direct order from him."
The Empress did as he said, Napoleon, to use a common expression, was
"cornered." He pretended to be much surprised, and very angry; promised
"to comb Fouché's head," and even added that if she desired he would take
away his portfolio; and to calm her he went so far as to write to the
Minister of Police this letter, dated Fontainebleau, November 5, 1807:--
"MONSIEUR FOUCHÉ: In the last fortnight I have heard of your foolish
actions; it is time for you to put an end to them, and to stop
interfering, directly or indirectly, in a matter which in no way concerns
you; that is my wish."
Fouché was not at all disturbed by his master's reproach. He was at heart
convinced that he had not displeased him; he kept his portfolio, and was
sure that the divorce, though postponed, was irrevocably decided on by the
Emperor. Josephine had no more illusions. It was in vain that Napoleon
spoke to her kindly, and tried to console her with kisses and even tears,
--for Napoleon used to cry sometimes,--after Fouché had made his overtures
she had no more peace of mind. The end of the stay at Fontainebleau was
very gloomy. All became tired of this life of empty show, of the perpetual
constraint, of the pleasures which by dint of repetition became dull and
monotonous. Every one longed for home, to escape from this master's
glances; for his presence inspired an admiration tempered with dread. The
women had spent vast sums in their dress. The men had indulged in
ambitious plans almost always futile. The German princelings had suffered
in their lordly pride and German patriotism by having to bow their heads
before the formidable man whose humble vassals they were, and these men,
vain of their coat-of-arms, had not seen without a secret spite the
crushing superiority of a poor Corsican gentleman. This great conqueror
himself was not happy in all his splendor. Although he was no longer in
love with his wife, it was not without sadness that he had seen her
uneasiness and grief. Anxiety about the condition of Spain, which was so
fatal to him, cast a cloud on his brow. When hunting in the forest, he was
often seen to lose himself in thought and to let his horse wander as he
pleased. At the theatrical performances it was noticed that, absorbed and
distracted, he appeared to think less of the play than of his vast plans.
Not long since I visited the palace and the forest of Fontainebleau, in
one of those cold but bright autumn days when the half bare trees have a
strange appearance, when some leaves are as red as blood, others as yellow
as gold, and nature wears all the countless hues which defy the artist's
brush. The forest is wonderfully beautiful with its marvellous combination
of trees and rocks. All the kings of France since Louis VII. have
inhabited this palace. The holy head of Louis IX. appears there with his
aureola on his head, In the gallery of Francis I., with its nymphs and
fauns, amid garlands, fruits, and emblems, one recalls that King and
Charles V. who entered the palace by the glided door, and who took part in
the great festival in the forest, when nymphs, fauns, and gods seemed to
issue from the trunks of oaks to the sound of tambourines, and a band of
maidens flung flowers before the feet of the Spanish court. One recalls,
too, Catharine de' Medici with her squadron, of young and brilliant
amazons--Catharine de' Medici who In this palace brought forth her two
sons, Francis II, and Henry III. At the end of the oval court is a dome of
rich and picturesque construction, called the baptistery of Louis XIII,
because that king was baptized there. Then there are the apartments of the
queen mothers; Catharine de' Medici, Maria de' Medici, Anne of Austria,
and those of Pius VII., a captive at Fontainebleau, In the bedroom of the
queen mothers an altar was raised where the Vicar of Christ said mass. The
hangings of embroidered satin in this room were a wedding-gift from the
city of Lyons to Marie Antoinette. The room is a model of luxury and
elegance, and is called the Chamber of the Five Maries because it has been
inhabited by five sovereigns bearing that name, Maria de' Medici, Maria
Theresa, Marie Antoinette, Marie Louise, and Marie Amélie. It was also the
Empress Eugénie's chamber.
This marvellously picturesque palace of Fontainebleau is full of
interesting reminiscences, but of all the figures it recalls, no figure is
more impressive than that of Napoleon. There is much gorgeous furniture in
the palace of various sorts, in the style of the renaissance, of Louis
XIV., Louis XV., and Louis XVI.; but no piece attracts more attention than
the plain mahogany table on which Napoleon signed his abdication. Then how
impressive is the bedroom where he spent terrible nights, unable to sleep,
and at last seeking in suicide a cure for his despair! Consider the
contrast between 1807 and 1814! Meanwhile there had been changes of face,
many apostasies. "Ah! Caulaincourt, mankind, mankind!" exclaimed the
deserted Emperor. Every one left him, promising him a speedy return, but
no one thought of it. Fontainebleau became a desert. If the sound of
wheels was heard, it was never of carriages arriving, but only of
carriages going away. It was at Fontainebleau that Napoleon's pride
triumphed, and there that his pride suffered its cruelest humiliations.
What anguish he endured, this man of destiny, in that room where he wrote:
"To finish my career by signing a treaty in which I have not been able to
stipulate a single general interest, nor even one moral interest, such as
the preservation of our colonies, or the maintenance of the Legion of
Honor! To sign a treaty by which money is given to me!" What anguish tore
his mind and body when, having taken too small a dose of poison, he said
between his spasms: "How hard it is to die, and it is so easy on the
battle-field! Why didn't I die at Arcis-sur-Aube!" Did he then recall the
splendor of his return from Jena, from Friedland, from Tilsitt? Did he
remember the crowd of courtiers who resembled priests whose God he was?
The only courtiers left were those to whom he had given neither money nor
honors, the old soldiers of his guard, with, their gray mustaches, who
could not restrain their sobs and tears when, in the Court of the White
Horse, he bade them farewell, saying, "I should like to embrace you in my
arms, but let me embrace this flag which represents you."
XXVI.
THE END OF THE YEAR, 1807.
While the court was still at Fontainebleau, the Empress received a piece
of news, which had been kept back from her for some days, and which added
materially to her sorrows. Her widowed mother, Madame Tascher de la
Pagerie, whom she had not seen since September, 1790, had died June 2,
1807, at the age of seventy, in her home at Martinique. Josephine, who was
much attached to her mother, had done her best to persuade her to come to
France, where she would have been sure of the warmest welcome. But that
venerable lady had perhaps chosen more wisely in preferring her modest and
quiet home to all the splendor and excitement of an Imperial palace. From
afar she thought of her daughter at the summit of human happiness; near
her, she would often have seen her sad and downcast. By not approaching
the throne which, at a distance, appears like a magic seat, but, to use
the Emperor's expression, is in fact only an armchair covered with velvet,
Napoleon's mother-in-law was spared the sight of much misery, and she
died, as she had lived, in peace.
The Emperor left for Italy November 16. 1807, and this departure was for
Josephine, already so afflicted, another source of anxiety and sadness,
She would gladly have gone with him, and have seen once more Eugene and
her granddaughter, who was named after her; but Napoleon had decided
otherwise. He was no longer unable to live without his wife, and he no
longer thought with La Fontaine that absence was the greatest of evils. He
alleged as reason, the inclemency of the winter, said that he should be
back early in December--in fact, he did not return to the Tuileries till
January 1--and to the Empress's great despair set off without her, leaving
her the prey of the liveliest anxiety, the cruelest fears.
In Italy Napoleon received the same ardent flattery as in France. He
reached Milan November 22, before Prince Eugene had had time to ride out
to meet him. After ovations, reviews, religious ceremonies at the
Cathedral, grand performances at the Scala, he went to Venice. Here he was
received with all the luxury that used to be displayed at the majestic
marriage of the doge and the Adriatic. When he reached Fusina, he entered
a gondola rowed by men in satin coats embroidered with gold. He entered
the grand canal beneath an arch of triumph between a double line of boats
adorned with festoons and garlands. At the Venice theatre he saw a grand
performance representing Olympus, and then was played, amid applause, the
popular air, _Napoleone it grande_. He had with him in Venice his brother
Joseph, King of Naples; his sister, Elisa Bacciochi, Princess of Lucca;
his step-son, Prince Eugene, Viceroy of Italy; the King and Queen of
Bavaria, the father-in-law and mother-in-law of this Prince; Murat, Grand
Duke of Berg, and Berthier, Prince of Neufchâtel. He left Venice December
8, dining at Treviso. The 11th he was at Udine, and the 14th at Mantua.
It was in this city that he had a secret interview with his brother
Lucien, with whom he wished to be reconciled, but on one absolute
condition, _sine qua non_. It will be remembered that Lucien, against the
First Consul's wishes, had married Alexandrine de Bleschamps, widow of M.
Jouberthon; who, after being a broker in Paris, had died in Saint Domingo,
whither he had followed the French expedition. Napoleon, who was anxious
to marry Lucien with Queen Marie Louise, daughter of Charles IV. of Spain,
and widow of Louis I., King of Etruria, wished to annul this marriage. But
this brilliant offer had been peremptorily declined by the man who
preferred a woman's love to a crown. In the spring of 1804 Lucien had
voluntarily left France to seek in Rome an asylum from his brother's
incessant reproaches and demands. His mother, Madame Letitia, who
thoroughly approved of him, had followed him to Rome, and the Emperor had
met with some difficulty in persuading her to return to Paris, which she
only did after the coronation. M. de Méneval went by night to fetch Lucien
from the inn where he was staying, and led him mysteriously to the palace
which the Emperor occupied. Laden, instead of falling in his brother's
arms, greeted him coldly, with dignified reserve.
Stanislas de Girardia, in his interesting "Journal," has recounted the
interview of the two brothers, as he heard it from Lucien himself. They
said very much what follows:--
"Well, sir, do you still told to Madame Jouberthon and her son?"
"Madame Jouberthon is my wife, and her son is my son."
"No, no, since it is a marriage which I do not recognize, and consequently
null."
"I contracted it lawfully, as citizen and as Christian."
"The civil act was illegal, and it is known that you gave a priest twenty-
five louis-d'or to persuade him to marry you."
"Doubtless Your Majesty, when he invited me here, did not do so for the
purpose of paining me; if that is his intention, I withdraw,"
"I have conquered Europe, and certainly I should not flinch before you.
You owe your peaceful life in Rome to my kindness; but you are acquiring
there a consideration which displeases me, and in time you will annoy me;
I will order you to go away, and I will make you leave Europe."
"And if I should not obey?" "I will have you arrested."
"And then?"
"I shall have you sent to Bicêtre and then if--"
"I should defy you to commit a crime!"
"Don't speak to me in that way; don't imagine you can impose on me, I
repeat, I have not conquered Europe to flinch before you. Leave the room."
Lucien did not leave, and Napoleon, after a few violent words, became a
little calmer. Lucien then renewed the stormy discussion, trying to pacify
his brother.
"I had no intention of displeasing Your Majesty by saying what should show
the high opinion I have of the greatness of his soul."
"Never mind that; cast your eyes on the map of the world then. Join us,
Lucien, and take your share; it will be a fine one, I promise you. The
throne of Portugal is empty; I have declared that the King shall cease to
reign. I will give it to you; take command of the army destined to make an
easy conquest of it, and I will make you a French Prince and my
lieutenant. The daughters of your first wife shall be my nieces; I will
establish them in life. I will marry the eldest to the Prince of the
Asturias; the King of Spain asks it of me as a favor; I can prove it by
this letter."
"My eldest daughter, Sire, is not yet thirteen; she is not old enough to
be married."
"I thought she was older."
"In a year or two, I will gladly let you dispose of her."
"Then there are no difficulties about the children of your first wife. You
have daughters by your second wife, I will adopt them; you have a boy too;
I shall not recognize him; his mother will have an important duchy, and he
can be her heir. As for you, go to Lisbon, leave your wife and your son in
Rome; I will look after them. Your ties are broken. I will find a way."
"That can only be by divorce."
"And why not? That is a frank and positive way which perfectly suits me. I
want to be reconciled with you, and you know the price attached to the
Portuguese crown."
"I see that to get it I should have to consent to make my wife a
concubine, my son a bastard. Your Majesty knows me ill if he has been able
to believe that the offer of a crown could tempt me to a dishonorable
action."
"He who is not for me, is against me; if you don't enter into my system,
you are my enemy; and thereby I have the right of persecuting you and I
shall persecute you."
"I do not want to be your enemy, Sire; I cannot become one by preserving
my honor and my virtue, by refusing to give up my reputation for a throne:
and that this disagreement may be unknown, let Your Majesty give me some
conspicuous proof of his kindness; give me the broad ribbon of the Legion
of Honor, I beg of you!"
"No; by taking my colors you would ruin your reputation; it is a great
thing to be opposed to me, and it is a fine part to play; you can continue
it for two years without inconvenience, but then you will have to leave
Europe."
"Much sooner, and I shall prepare to leave for America. Only the
entreaties of my mother and Josephine have kept me here so long."
"I don't ask that of you; my propositions are not too unreasonable to be
thought over; ponder them, with your wife, and let me know your answer
within eighteen days."