While Bonaparte with the French fleet was sailing toward the East,
there, in the wide valley of the Nile, to win a new fame, Josephine
started for Plombieres, where she had requested her daughter Hortense
to meet her. The splendid scenery and pleasant quietude of Plombieres
offered at least some comfort and satisfaction to Josephine, whose
heart was not yet healed from the anguish of separation. Her greatest
consolation was the thought that in a few months she would go to her
husband; that the Pomona would bear her to him who now possessed her
whole soul, and surrounded her whole being with an enchantment which was
to cease only with her life.
She counted the days, the weeks, which separated her from the wished-for
journey; she waited with impatient longing for the news that the Pomona,
which needed a few repairs, was ready and all prepared for the distant
but welcome voyage.
Her sole recreation consisted in the company of, and in the cordial
fellowship with Hortense, now grown up a young lady, and the
companionship of a few intimate ladies who had followed her to
Plombieres. Surrounded by these, she either sat in her drawing-room,
busy with some manual labor, or else, followed by a single servant, she
and Hortense made long walks in the wonderfully romantic vicinity of
Plombieres.
One morning she was in the drawing-room with her friends, working with
the needle, conversing, and finding recreation in stepping through the
wide-open folding-doors upon the balcony, from which a most enchanting
view could be had of the lovely valley, and the mountains which stood
round about it. While there, busily embroidering a rose, one of her
friends, who had gone to the balcony, called her to come quickly to
admire a remarkably small greyhound which was passing down the street.
Josephine, whose love for dogs had made Napoleon pass many a restless
hour, hastened to obey her friend’s call, and went out upon the balcony,
whither the rest of the ladies followed her, all curious to see the
greyhound which had set Madame de Cambis into such an excitement. But
the weight of these six ladies, gathered close together on the balcony,
was too heavy for the plank and joist-work loosely put together. A
fearful crash was heard; and as Hortense, who had remained in the
drawing-room, busy with her painting, looked out, she saw neither the
ladies nor the balcony. All had disappeared--nothing but a cloud of
dust arose from the street, amidst a confusion of cries of distress, of
shouts for help, and groans of pain.
The balcony, with the ladies, had been precipitated into the street, and
all those who were on it were more or less severely injured. Josephine
recognized it as a providential protection that she had not paid
with broken limbs, like her friends, for the curiosity of seeing the
beautiful little greyhound, but had only received violent contusions and
sprained joints. For weeks she had to suffer from the consequences of
this fall, and was confined to her bed, not being able to lift herself
up, nor with her bruised, swollen hands to bring the food to her mouth
during this time. Hortense had to wait upon her mother as she had waited
upon her when she was only a small, helpless child.
While Josephine was thus for these weeks suffering, the Pomona,
fully equipped, was sent to sea, for she was intrusted with important
instructions for the commanding general Bonaparte, and could not
possibly be detained for Josephine’s recovery. She received this news
with bitter tears, and resolutely declared that no sooner should she be
recovered than she would sail for Egypt in any kind of vessel; that she
was firmly decided to follow her husband and share his dangers.
She had, however, twice received letters from Bonaparte. In the first of
these he had, full of tender solicitude, entreated her not to undertake
the fatiguing and dangerous voyage; in the second he had commanded
her with all the earnestness of love to give up the enterprise, and
requested as a proof of her affection and faithfulness, that she would
listen to reason, remain in Paris, and watch over his interests, and be
his guardian angel.
Josephine read this last letter with a sorrowful smile, and, as she
handed it to her friend Madame de Chateau-Renaud, she said, sighing:
“The days of happiness are over. While in Italy, Bonaparte required that
I should bid defiance to all dangers, so as to be at his side, for his
letters then demanded my presence. Now he orders me to avoid dangers,
and to remain quietly at home.”
“But it is out of pure love he does this!” exclaimed her friend. “See
how affectionate and how tender his letter is! Certainly no man can love
his wife more warmly than Bonaparte loves you.”
“Oh, yes,” sighed Josephine, “he loves me yet, but I am no longer
absolutely necessary--he can live without me; once love ruled over his
reason, now his reason rules over his love. It will be as I fear: I
shall day by day love him more fondly and more passionately, for he is
my last love, but he will every day love me less, for perhaps I am his
first love, and his heart will be young long after he reads upon my face
that I am six years older than he.”
However, she conformed to the wishes of her husband; she was resigned,
and gave up the thought of going to Egypt. At first she did it only
with tears, but soon after there came news which made her accept her
husband’s wishes as the commands of Fate.
The Pomona, the vessel which had once brought her from Martinique to
France, and on board of which she was to go to Egypt, had been captured
by an English man-of-war, and all her passengers sent as prisoners to
England.
The fall from the balcony had therefore saved Josephine from being
carried into captivity to England. To this fall she owed her liberty!
With all the levity and superstition of a creole, Josephine looked upon
this fortunate mishap as a warning from Fate, and it seemed to her as if
this had taken place to hinder her journey to Egypt. She therefore dried
her tears and submitted to the orders alike of Fate and of her husband.
She remained in France, and accepted her mission to watch, as a true
friend and beloved one, over the interests of her husband, to observe
his friends and foes, and to send him news of every thing which it was
important for him to know.
Once her fate decided, and she resolved to remain in France, she
determined to make her life comfortable and pleasant; she wished to
prepare for herself and her children a joyous existence, and procure
also for her returning husband a gift which she knew would meet a
long-cherished wish of his.
She bought a residence, situated not far from Paris, the Castle
Malmaison, if the name of castle can be properly given to a pretty,
tastefully-built country residence, tolerably large and plain, but
surrounded by a beautiful park.
Their wishes and wants were yet simple, and the country residence,
Malmaison, was amply sufficient to receive the family and the friends of
General Bonaparte and his wife; it became too small and too narrow only
when it had to accommodate the Emperor Napoleon, the empress, and their
court-attendants and suite.
But if the Castle Malmaison was not large, the park which surrounded
it was all the larger and handsomer, and, with its shady walks, its
wondrous beds of flowers, its majestic avenues, its splendid groves and
lawns, it had for Josephine pleasures and joys ever new and fresh; and
it furnished her, moreover, with the welcome opportunity of following
the inclinations of her youth amidst the flowers, birds, trees, and
plants.
Josephine loved botany; it was natural that she should endeavor to
collect together in Malmaison the most beautiful plants and flowers, and
to arrange them in this her little earthly paradise. She enlisted the
most able architects and the most skilful gardeners, and, under their
direction, with the hands of hundreds of workmen, there soon arose one
of the most beautiful hot-houses, wherein all these glories of earth,
splendid flowers, and fruits of distant climes, would find a home!
Josephine herself, with her fine taste and her deep knowledge of botany,
directed all these arrangements and improvements; the builders as well
as the gardeners had to submit their plans for her approbation, and it
was not seldom that her keen, practised eye discovered in them defects
which her ingenuity at once found means to correct.
In Malmaison, Josephine created around her a new world, a quiet paradise
of happiness, where she could dream, with blissful cheerfulness and
with all the youthful energy of her heart, of a peaceful future, of
delightful contentment, in the quiet enjoyment of Nature and of home.
But the old world outside did not cease its own march; it fought its
battles, spun its intrigues, and continued its hostilities. Josephine
could not withdraw herself from this old world; she dared not place the
paradise of Malmaison as a wall of partition between her and the
wild stir and tumult of Paris; she had to rush away from the world of
innocence, from this country-life, into the whirlpool of the agitated,
restless life of Paris.
Bonaparte had made it a duty for her to watch his friends as well as his
foes, and there were then happening in Paris events which appeared to
the wife of General Bonaparte worthy of close observation. His long
absence had diminished the number of his friends, and at the same time
gave strength to and increased his enemies, who were ever busy to
defame and vilify his heroic deeds, and to turn them into a crime; they
represented that the expedition to Egypt, notwithstanding the glorious
exploits of the French army, should have had more striking results, and
the louder they cried out, the more feeble and timid were the voices
of his friends. The latter daily found their position becoming more
precarious, for they were the moderate republicans, the supporters of
the actual order of things, and of the constitution which France had
adopted. Against this constitution arose, with loud cries, two hostile
parties, which increased every day, and assumed toward it a more and
more threatening attitude.
These parties were, on the one hand, the royalists, who saw their hopes
increase every day, because the armies of the European powers, allied
against France, were approaching nearer and nearer the French
frontiers; and, on the other, the republicans of the past, who hoped to
re-establish the old days of the Convention and of the red republic.
Both parties tried to undermine society and the existing authorities;
they organized conspiracies, seditions, and tumults, and were constantly
inventing new intrigues, so as to destroy the government, and set
themselves up in its place.
The royalists trusted to the combined powers of the princes of Europe,
with whom the exiled Bourbons were approaching; and in La Vendee the
guerilla warfare had already begun against the republic.
The red republicans dreamed of re-establishing the guillotine, which was
to restore France to health by delivering her from all the adversaries
of the republic and bring back the glorious days of 1793; they left
nothing untried to excite the people into dissatisfaction and open
rebellion.
Against both parties stood the Directory, who in these days of tumult
and sedition, were themselves feeble and without energy, seeking only to
prolong their existence. They were satisfied to live on day by day, and
shrank from every decided action which might increase the wrath of the
parties or destroy the brilliant present of the mighty directors, in
whose ears the title of “the five monarchs” sounded so sweetly.
In the interior of France, anarchy, with all its horrors and confusion,
prevailed, and, on the frontier, its enemies were taking advantage of
this anarchy to give to the republic its mortal stroke.
Turkey, Russia, the Kings of Sardinia, Naples, and Sweden, were allied
with Austria, England, and Prussia, and they had begun to make immense
preparations. A Russian army, led by Suwarrow, was marching toward
Italy, to the help of Austria--to reconquer Lombardy. The Rastadt
congress, from which a universal peace had been expected, had dissolved,
and the only result was an increased enmity between Germany and
France, the deputies of the latter, as they were returning home, being
shamefully murdered in the open street, immediately before the gates of
Rastadt, at the instigation of the Austrian Count Lehrbach.
The murder of these ambassadors became the signal for the renewal of
war, which was now to be prosecuted with increased bitterness.
At this important, critical moment, when all Europe was buckling on
its armor against France, which so much needed the guidance of her
victorious general--at this moment, Bonaparte was not only away from
Paris, but no news had been received from him for some months. Only
a vague rumor was spread through Paris: “Bonaparte had fallen at the
desperate attack on Acre,” and this sufficed to discourage entirely his
friends, and to make his enemies still more audacious and overbearing.
At first Josephine was entirely cast down by the terrible news; but
afterward came the reflection, the doubt, the hope, that all this
might be a rumor spread by his enemies. She hastened to Paris to obtain
information from the Directory, so as to find out if there were any
foundation for the report of Bonaparte’s death. But the Directory had
as uncertain news as Josephine herself, and the absence of information
seemed to confirm its truth.
As she came one day to Barras to ask him if there were any news from
the army, she heard him say to Rewbell, one of the five directors: “Here
comes the wife of that hypocrite Bonaparte! If he is not dead to Europe,
he is at least dead to France.”
This expression proved to her that Barras himself did not believe in his
death, and gave to Josephine all her energy and presence of mind. She
busied herself in endeavoring to find a clew to this horrible rumor; and
she found that Bonaparte’s enemies had spread it, and that only those
to whom his death would be welcome, and his return be objectionable, had
circulated this report.
Her heart again beat with hope; she now felt, in the blissful joy which
penetrated her whole being, that Bonaparte was not dead; that he lived
still; that he would return home, to her great delight and to the terror
of his foes. A cheerful assurance sustained her whole nature. While
all those, who in the days of her happiness had rivalled each other in
assuring her of their friendship and devotedness, the Directory, the
ministers, the majority of the generals, turned away from her, cold and
indifferent; and her few true friends, low-spirited and depressed, bowed
their heads, while her foes and those of Bonaparte scornfully said in
their joy, “Now the new King of Jerusalem and Cyprus has fallen under
the blows of a new savage Omar.” While every thing was against her,
Josephine alone was cheerful, and confidingly looked into the future,
for she felt and knew that the future would soon bring back her husband,
her beloved.