Josephines prophetic heart had not deceived her. Bonaparte lived! But
his was a life of danger, of constantly renewed battles and hardships--a
life in which he had constantly to guard against not only enemies, but
also against sickness.
Bonaparte had traversed the deserts with his army, visited the pyramids,
conquered Cairo, and, in warmly-contested and fearful combats, had
defeated and subdued the Mussulman. But these numerous victories had
been followed by some defeats, and all his successes were more than
counterbalanced by the fruitless storming of the impregnable Acre, and
the failure to conquer Syria. The English admiral, Sidney Smith, with
his vessels, anchored in the harbor of Acre, protected the besieged,
and constantly provided them with provisions and ammunition, and so
efficiently supported the pacha and his mercenary European soldiers,
that Bonaparte, after two months of fruitless efforts, abandoned the
siege on the 10th of May, 1799, and retreated into Egypt.
This is not, however, the place to recall the stupendous enterprises of
Bonaparte, which remind one of the deeds of the heroes and demi-gods of
ancient Greece, or the nursery tales of extraordinary beings.
His heroic deeds are engraven on history’s page: there can be read
the wondrous events of his Egyptian campaign, of his march through
the wilderness, of the capture of Cairo, of his successful battles of
Aboukir and Tabor, which led the heroic General Kleber, forgetting all
rivalry, to embrace Bonaparte, exclaiming: “General Bonaparte, you are
as great as the world, but the world is too small for you!”
There, also, one can read of the cruel massacre of three thousand
captive Mussulmen, of the revolt of Cairo; there are depicted the
blood-stained laurels which Bonaparte won in this expedition, the
original plan of which seems to have been conceived in the brain of one
who was at once a demi-god and an adventurer.
We leave, therefore, to history the exclusive privilege of narrating
Bonaparte’s career as a warrior; our task is with something
superior--with his thoughts, feelings, and sufferings, in the days of
his Egyptian campaign. It is not with the soldier, the captain, or his
plans of battle, that we have to do, but with the man, and especially
with the husband of Josephine--the woman who for his sake suffered,
was full of solicitude, contended for him, and struggled with love and
loyalty, while he fought only with sword and cannon.
It is true, Bonaparte also had to suffer, and his anxieties for the
success of his plans did not alone hang heavily on his heart, while with
his army he besieged the impregnable Acre. At this very time his heart
received a deep wound from his friend and confidant Junot, who drove
the sting of jealousy into his sensitive heart. It is the privilege of
friendship to pass by in silence nothing which calumny or ill-will may
imagine or circulate, but truly to make known to our friend every thing
which the public says of him, without regard to the sufferings which
such communications may entail upon his heart. Junot made full use of
this privilege. Bourrienne in his memoirs relates as follows:
“While we were in the vicinity of the springs of Messoudiah, I saw one
day Bonaparte, with his friend Junot, pacing to and fro, as he often
did. I was not very far from them, and I know not why during this
conversation my eyes were fixed on him. The face of the general was
paler than usual, though I knew not the cause. There was a strange
nervousness; his eyes seemed bewildered, and he often struck his head
with his hand.
“After a quarter of an hour, he left Junot and came toward me. I had
noticed his angry, thoughtful expression. I went to meet him, and as I
stood before him, Bonaparte, with a harsh and severe tone, exclaimed:
‘You have no affection for me. The women! ... Josephine! ... Had you any
affection for me, you would long ago have given me the information which
Junot has now told me: he is a true friend! Josephine! ... and I am six
hundred miles away! ... You ought to have told me! ... Josephine! ...
so to deceive me! ... You! ... “Woe to you all! I will uproot
that detestable race of seducers and blondins! As regards
her--separation!--yes: divorce, public separation before the eyes
of all! ... I must write! I know every thing! ... It is her fault,
Bourrienne! You ought to have told me.’
“These vehement, broken utterances, the strange expression on his face,
and his excited tone of voice, revealed only too clearly what had been
the subject of the conversation he had had with Junot. I saw that Junot
had been drawn into a fatal indiscretion, and that if he had really
believed that charges could be made against Madame Bonaparte, he had
exaggerated them in an unpardonable manner. My situation was one of
extreme delicacy: I had, however, the good fortune to remain cool, and
as soon as his first excitement had subsided, I began to tell him that
I knew nothing about what Junot had told him; that if even such rumors,
which often were circulated only by slander, had reached me, and if I
had thought it my duty to communicate them to him, I should certainly
not have chosen the moment when he was six hundred miles away from
France to do so. I did not hesitate to tell him how blameworthy Junot’s
conduct appeared to me, and how ungenerous it was to accuse a woman
thoughtlessly, when she was not present to justify or to defend herself;
I told him that it was no proof of affection for Junot to add domestic
troubles to the grave anxieties which already overburdened him.
Notwithstanding my observations, to which, however, he listened with
composure, the word ‘separation’ fell often from his lips, and one must
understand to what a pitch the excitement of his feelings could carry
him, to be able to imagine how Bonaparte appeared during this painful
scene. I did not, however, give up the point; I came back to what I had
said. I reminded him with what carelessness men received and circulated
such reckless stories, suited only to the idle curiosity of gossips, and
unworthy the attention of strong minds. I spoke to him of his fame: ‘My
fame?’ cried he, ‘ah, I know not what I would give if what Junot has
told me is not true--so much do I love this woman ... if Josephine
is guilty, I must be divorced from her forever. ... I will not be
the ridicule of the idle babblers of Paris! I must write to Joseph to
procure this separation.’
“Though he was still much excited, yet he was somewhat more quiet. I
took advantage of a moment’s pause to combat this idea of separation
which seemed to overrule him. I called his attention to the
unreasonableness it would be, on such vague and probably false rumors,
to write to his brother. ‘If you send a letter,’ said I, ‘it will
bear the impress of the excitement which has dictated it; as regards
a separation, it will be time, after mature consideration, to speak of
it.’
“These last words made an impression on him which I had not expected so
soon to see; he became perfectly calm, and listened to me as if he
felt the need of receiving words of encouragement, and after this
conversation he never again alluded to the subject. Fourteen days after,
before Acre, he manifested to me the most violent displeasure against
Junot, complained of the sufferings which such indiscreet revelations
had caused him, and which he now considered as purely an invention
of malice. I afterward noticed that he did not forgive Junot this
stupidity. It is easy to understand why Josephine, when she learned from
Napoleon this conduct of Junot, never could feel for him a very warm
interest, or intercede in his favor.” [Footnote: Bourrienne, “Memoires,”
vol. ii., p. 212.]
It will be seen that the very sensitive heart of Bonaparte had again
been kindled into jealousy, as it so often had happened before in Italy.
Absence--a momentary separation--was enough to enkindle these flames. We
have seen in the letters which Bonaparte wrote to Josephine during the
Italian campaign, how her silence--the least delay in her answering
his letters--was enough for him to incriminate her, on account of his
jealous affections; how, because she does not constantly write, he
threatens to rush in some night unexpectedly, and with the rage of
jealousy force the doors open, and murder “the young lover of eighteen,
and curse Josephine because he must love her without bounds.”
Now he swears to root out this detestable race of seducers and blondins
who have beguiled from him the heart of his Josephine. Full of passion
and jealousy, he believes in the calumnies which Junot, with all the
cruel inconsiderateness of a trusty friend, has whispered to him, and at
once Josephine is guilty! She has had a love-correspondence with Charles
Botot, the blond private secretary of Barras, for Charles Botot comes
sometimes to Malmaison, and has often been seen near Josephine and her
daughter Hortense in her loge! But by degrees comes reflection, and a
fortnight after he believes that malice alone can have invented these
calumnies. This noble conviction, however, was soon to be shaken by the
enemy, for Josephine had enemies quite near Bonaparte, who longed to
draw away from her a husband’s heart and to drive him into a divorce.
First of all there were the whole family of Bonaparte, who had seen with
unwillingness Napoleon’s marriage, for he was thereby much less under
their influence, and they had wished that he would at all events have
married Desiree Clary, the sister of Joseph’s wife, and thus have been
more closely united to the family.
But, while he was in Egypt, another powerful enemy had been added to
these. This was a young and beautiful woman, Madame Foures, the beloved
of the ardent general.
While Bonaparte, with all the madness of jealousy at a mere groundless
calumny, which had come across the sea distorted and magnified,
wished to be divorced from Josephine; while he complained of woman’s
faithlessness, frivolity, and inconstancy; while he cursed all women as
coquettes, he himself was guilty of faithlessness. Forgetting his vows
and his protestations of love for his wife, he had abandoned himself to
a new affection without any regard to public opinion, and even made no
secret of his intrigues.
Unfortunate Josephine! The fears she had anticipated and dreaded before
accepting Bonaparte’s proffered hand were too soon to be realized. His
heart began to grow cold while her love increased every day with deeper
intensity; he had perchance already read in her amiable countenance the
first signs of age, and he thought it might well be allowed to the young
general not to maintain so strict a fealty to that faithfulness which he
claimed from her.
But Bonaparte still loved Josephine, although he was unfaithful to her.
Surely this new love might well bear the guilt of the credulousness with
which he judged Josephine, and the word of separation might thus easily
come upon his lips, because the newly-loved one, amid the vows of her
affection, might have whispered it in his ear.
Madame Foures had an immense advantage over Josephine; she was barely
twenty years old, was bewitchingly beautiful, was a coquette, and--she
was there in Bonaparte’s immediate presence, while the Mediterranean
separated him from Josephine.
Bonaparte abandoned himself to this new love with all his passionate
nature. Not only did the whole army in Egypt know this, but his foes
also became acquainted with it; and Sir Sidney Smith made use of this
fact to attack his enemy in a way little known to the annals of warfare.
Bonaparte had removed from the Egyptian army Madame Foures’ injured
husband, who held there the rank of a cavalry officer, by sending him
with a message to the Directory. But the vessel in which he had sailed
for France was captured by the English, and Admiral Sidney Smith
undertook, with all the careless, open manner of an Englishman, to make
him fully acquainted with the relations existing between his wife and
General Bonaparte.
He then gave to M. Foures, who was beside himself with anger and wrath,
and who threatened bloody vengeance, his freedom, and exhibited his
good-will toward him so far as to have him landed near Cairo, where
Bonaparte then was with his beautiful mistress.
Enraged with jealousy, M. Foures rushed to his wife, to make to her the
most violent demonstrations. Perhaps too weak to part with an adored,
beautiful wife, he simply ordered her to return with him to France.
But Madame Foures made resistance. She called her mighty lover to her
help; she claimed a separation; and the war-commissioner Duprat, who
in the army was invested with the functions of a civil magistrate,
pronounced, at the request of Madame Foures and at the order of
Bonaparte, the decree of separation.
Madame Foures was free, but this did not satisfy the secret wishes of
her heart. The most important point was, that Bonaparte should be free
also, that he also should desire to be divorced. Josephine must be
removed from him and thrust aside, so that the beautiful Pauline Foures
might take her place.
No means, either of coquetry, tears, flatteries, or promises of enduring
love, remained untried to induce Bonaparte to take the decisive step.
Sometimes Pauline would pout; sometimes her eyes shed the tears of
repentance over her own faithlessness, and she vowed she would take
refuge in a cloister if Bonaparte would not restore her to honor by
exalting her to the position of being his wife; sometimes she sought by
her cheerful humor, her genial abandonment, to bind him to her, to amuse
him; and sometimes, when dressed as a general, on a fiery horse, and
surrounded by a vast number of adjutants, she would ride up to him and
win by her smiles and flatteries friends, who calumniated Josephine,
and represented to him the necessity of a separation from his inconstant
wife.
But, notwithstanding all the calumnies, and all the deceiving arts of
his beloved, there existed in Bonaparte’s heart something which spoke
in favor of the poor, slandered, and forgotten Josephine; and, amid
the exciting pleasures of his new passion, he remembered with longing,
sorrowful heart the charming, gracious woman whom he once had tenderly
loved, and whom he still so loved that he could not sacrifice her to
his beautiful mistress. Still he persevered in showing to the latter the
deepest, most tender, and undivided attention; and when the chances of
war kept him away from her for a long time, when he went to Syria and
left her in Cairo, Bonaparte wrote to her every day the most touching
letters, which were forwarded by a special courier.
This was occurring at the same time that Josephine in Paris was hoping
in vain with painful longing for letters from her husband, and was
watching over his interests with the kindest attention, while his
enemies were spreading news of his death.
Bonaparte had now no time to write to his wife, for the beautiful
Pauline Foures laid claim to the little leisure which remained to the
commanding general, and to her he addressed warm and glowing words of
love, such as while in Italy he had addressed to Josephine when he swore
to her never to love another woman.
Meanwhile Fate rendered fruitless all the efforts of the beautiful
Madame Foures to draw Bonaparte into a separation; Fate came to
Josephine’s rescue, and, strange to say, it came in the shape of the
Frankfort Journal.
The victorious battle of Aboukir, which Bonaparte, on the 25th of July,
1799, had with his army won over the enemy, gave occasion to parleying
negotiations between the French commander-in-chief and the English
admiral, Sidney Smith. Bonaparte sent a commissioner on board the
English flag-ship, and Sir Sidney Smith was cunning enough to send
through this commissioner to the French general a few newspapers
recently received from Europe. For ten months the French army and
Bonaparte were without news from France, and this present of the English
admiral was received by Bonaparte and his generals with the deepest joy
and curiosity.
Among these papers was a copy of the Journal de Frankfort of the 10th of
June, 1799. This was the first newspaper which furnished Bonaparte with
news from France for ten long months, and the natural consequence was
that he glanced over it with the most inquisitive impatience. Suddenly
he uttered a cry; the pallor of death overspread his face, and, fixing
his flaming eyes on Bourrienne, who at this moment was alone with
him--“My presentiments have not deceived me,” exclaimed Bonaparte.
“Italy is lost! The wretched creatures! All the results of our
victories have vanished! I must go to France at once--this very moment!”
[Footnote: Bourrienne, “Memoires,” vol. ii., p. 305.]
This newspaper informed Bonaparte of the late events in France. It told
him that the French Directory had experienced a change, that only one of
them, Barras, had remained in it, and that four new directors--Sieyes,
Grohier, Moulins, and Ducos--were now its members. It told him much
more--that the French army in Italy had suffered the most disastrous
reverses; that all Italy had been reconquered by the combined armies of
Russia and Austria under Suwarrow and the Archduke Charles, who were
now advancing upon France, which was on every side surrounded by the
revengeful enemies of the republic.
No sooner had Bonaparte read this news than his decision was taken.
Berthier was called into his tent, and under the seal of silence
Bonaparte communicated to him his unwavering resolution of going
immediately to France, but that this was to remain a secret to his
whole army as well as all the generals. Berthier, Gautheaume, Eugene
Beauharnais, Monge, and Bourrienne, were alone to accompany him, but the
last two were not to be made acquainted with their departure for Europe
before they had left Cairo with Bonaparte. As he noticed gleams of joy
in Berthier’s face at the news of returning to France, Bonaparte once
more impressed upon him the duty of preserving silence and not to betray
the secret by word or deed, and to do nothing which might induce friends
or acquaintances to believe that a voyage was contemplated. The secret
was indeed faithfully kept, and the few confidants intrusted with it
took great care to divulge nothing, for fear he might punish them by
leaving them in Egypt.
Bonaparte himself maintained the most absolute secrecy; neither his
beloved, the beautiful Pauline Foures, nor General Kleber, whom he had
chosen to be his successor in the chief command of the army of Egypt,
suspected any thing.
To his beloved, Bonaparte said he was leaving Cairo for the sake of
making a tour through the Delta, and that in a few weeks he would be
with her again. The news he had received from Europe had suddenly cooled
the glow of his passion, and, at the thought of returning to France,
rose up again before his mind the image of Josephine in all her grace
and loveliness. For a long time, while she was not at his side, he had
been unfaithful to her, but he did not wish, for his own sake, to add
scandal to faithlessness. He did not wish to bring to France with him,
as sole booty from Egypt, a mistress.
Pauline Foures, therefore, suspected as little of his plans as General
Kleber. It was only after Bonaparte, with his small suite of five
confidants and the Mameluke Roustan, had embarked at Alexandria, that
Pauline learned that he had deserted--that he had abandoned her. In
a short note which his master of the stall, Vigogne, handed to her,
Bonaparte took leave of her, and made her a present of every thing he
left behind in Cairo, including the house he occupied, with all its
costly and luxurious furniture. [Footnote: The departure of Bonaparte
made Madame Foures comfortless, and she now watched for an opportunity
to hasten back to him in France. Touched by her tears and prayers,
Junot furnished her with an opportunity, and Pauline reached Paris in
November, 1799. But Bonaparte would no longer see her; he now sacrificed
the mistress to the wife, as he had nearly sacrificed the wife to the
mistress. Pauline received orders to leave Paris immediately; at the
same time Bonaparte sent her a large sum of money, which he afterward
repeated.--See Saint Elsne, “Les Amours et Galanteries des Rois de
France,” vol. ii., p. 320.]
General Kleber learned Bonaparte’s departure, only through the orders
sent to him by the latter to assume the chief command of the army; his
troops learned his absence by the order of the day, in which Bonaparte
bade them farewell.
After four weeks of a long voyage against tempestuous and contrary
winds, the two frigates, upon one of which Bonaparte and Eugene and his
other followers had embarked, touched at Ajaccio. The whole population
had no sooner learned that Bonaparte was in the harbor, than they rushed
out to see him, and to salute him with enthusiastic demonstrations;
and it was in vain that their attention was drawn to the fact that both
frigates had come directly from Egypt, and had to observe quarantine
before any communication with the population could be allowed.
“Pestilence sooner than the Austrians!” shouted the people, and hundreds
and hundreds of boats surrounded the French vessels. Every one wanted
to see the general, their famous countryman, Bonaparte. But Bonaparte’s
heart was sorrowful amid the general rejoicing, for in Ajaccio he had
learned of the great battle of Novi, where the Austrians had gained the
victory, and which had cost General Joubert’s life.
“It is too great an evil,” said he, with a sigh; “there is no help for
it.” But as he gave up Italy, all his thoughts were more strongly bent
upon Paris, and his desire to be there as soon as possible increased
more and more.
After a short stay in Ajaccio, the voyage to France, despite all
quarantine regulations, was continued, and the star of fortune, which
had hitherto protected him, still guided Bonaparte safely into the
harbor of Frejus, though the English fleet had watched and pursued the
French vessels. A courier was at once dispatched to the Directory in
Paris to announce the arrival of Bonaparte, and that he would, without
any delay, come to Paris.
Josephine was at a dinner at Gohier’s, one of the five directors, when
this courier arrived, and with a shout of joy she received the news of
her husband’s coming. Her longing was such that she could not wait for
him in Paris, in her house of the Rue de la Victoire. She resolved to
meet him, and to be the first to bid him welcome, and to show him her
unutterable love.
No sooner was this resolution taken than it was carried out. She began
her journey with the expectation of meeting her husband at Lyons, for
in his letter to the Directory he stated that he would come by way of
Lyons. In great haste, without rest or delay, Josephine travelled the
road to that city, her heart beating, her luminous eyes gazing onward,
looking with inexpressible expectancy at every approaching carriage, for
it might bring her the husband so long absent from her!
She little suspected that while she was hastening toward Lyons,
Bonaparte had already arrived in Paris. He had changed the plan of
his journey, and, entirely controlled by his impatient desires, he
had driven to Paris by the shortest route. Josephine was not there to
receive him in her house; she was not there to welcome the returning
one--and the old serpent of jealousy and mistrust awoke again within
him. To add to this, his brothers and sisters had seized the occasion to
give vent to their ill-will by suspicions and accusations against their
unwelcome sister-in-law. Bonaparte, full of sad apprehension at her
absence, perhaps secretly wishing to find her guilty, listened to the
whisperings of her enemies.
He therefore did not go to meet Josephine the next day on her return
from her unsuccessful journey. A few hours after, he opened his closed
doors and went to see her. She advanced toward him with looks full of
love and tenderness, and opened her arms to him, and wanted to press him
closely to her heart.
But he coldly held her back, and with deliberate severity and an
expression of the highest indifference, he saluted her, and asked if she
had returned happy and satisfied from her pleasure excursion with her
light-haired friend.
Josephine’s tears gushed forth, and, as if annihilated, she sank down,
but she had not a word of defence or of justification against the cruel
accusation. Her heart had been too deeply wounded, her love too
much insulted, to allow her to defend herself. Her tearful eyes only
responded to Bonaparte’s cruel question, and then in silence she retired
to her apartments.
For three days they did not see each other. Josephine remained in her
rooms and wept. Bonaparte remained in his rooms and complained. To
Bourrienne, who then was not only his private secretary but also his
confidant, he complained bitterly of the faithlessness and inconstancy
of Josephine, of the unheard-of indifference that she should undertake
a pleasure-journey when she knew that he was soon to be in Paris. It
was in vain that Bourrienne assured him that Josephine had undertaken no
pleasure-excursion, that she had left Paris only to meet him, and to
be the first to bid him welcome. He would not believe him, for in the
melancholy gloominess of his jealousy he believed in the slanders which
Josephine’s enemies, and his brothers and sisters, had whispered in his
ear, that Josephine had left Paris for a parti de plaisir with Charles
Botot, the beautiful blondin whom Bonaparte so deeply hated. How
profound his sadness was, may be seen by a letter which at this time he
wrote to his brother Joseph, and in which he says:
“I have a great deal of domestic sorrow ... your friendship to me is
very dear; to become a misanthrope, there was nothing further needed
than to lose her and to be betrayed by you. It is a sad situation indeed
to have in one single heart all these emotions for the same person.
“I will purchase a country residence either near Paris or in Burgundy;
I am thinking of passing the winter there and of shutting myself up;
I feel weary with human nature; I need solitude; I want to be alone;
grandeur oppresses me, my feelings are distorted. Fame appears insipid
at my twenty-nine years; I have tried every thing; nothing remains but
to become an egotist.” [Footnote: “Memoires du Roi Joseph.” vol. i., p.
189.]
But, according to himself, “he cherished in his heart, at the same
time; all manner of emotions for the same person;” that is, he hated and
detested Josephine, but he also loved and admired her; was angry with
her, and yet longed for her; he found her frivolous and faithless, and
yet something in his heart ever spoke in her favor, and assured him that
she was a noble and faithful being.
Fortunately, there was one who confirmed into full conviction these low
whisperings of his heart; fortunately, Bourrienne ceased not to argue
against this jealousy of Bonaparte, and to assure him again and again
that Josephine was innocent, that she had committed nothing to excite
his anger.
Finally, after three days of complaints and dreary accusations, love
conquered in the heart of Bonaparte. He went to Josephine. She advanced
to meet him with tears in her eyes, but with a soft, tender smile. The
sight of her gracious appearance, her blanched cheeks, moved him, and,
instead of explanations and mutual recriminations, he opened his arms to
her, and she threw herself on his breast with a loud cry of exultation.
Then came the explanations. He now believed that she had left Paris
hurriedly for the sake of meeting him; and, as regarded the dangerous
“blond,” the private secretary of Barras, M. Charles Botot, Josephine
smilingly handed to her husband a letter she had received from him a
few days before. In this letter Charles Botot acknowledged his
long-cherished affection for her daughter Hortense, and he claimed her
hand in due form.
“And you have doubtless accepted his offer?” asked Bonaparte, his face
overcast again. “Since, unfortunately, you are married yourself, and he
cannot be your husband, then of course he must marry the daughter, so
as to be always near the mother. M. Charles Botot is no doubt to be your
son-in-law? You have accepted his hand?”
“No,” said she, softly, “we have refused it, for Hortense does not love
him, and she will follow her mother’s example, and marry only through
love. Besides,” continued Josephine, with a sweet smile, “I wanted him
no longer.”
“You wanted him no longer! How is this?” asked General Bonaparte,
eagerly.
“Barras has sent him his dismissal,” said she, looking at her husband
with an expression of cunning roguery. “M. Botot could no longer, as he
has hitherto been--without, however, being conscious of it--be my spy in
the Directory; I could no longer learn from him what the Directory were
undertaking against my Bonaparte, against the hero whom they envy and
caluminate so much, nor in what new snares they wished to entangle him!
What had I to do with Botot, since he could not furnish me news of the
intrigues of your enemies, nor afford me the chance of counteracting
them? Charles Botot was nothing more to me than a mere lemon, which I
squeezed for your sake; when there was nothing left in it I threw it
away.”
“And is such the truth?” asked Bonaparte, eagerly. “This is no invention
to raise my hopes, only to be cast down again?”
Josephine smiled. “I have daily taken notes of what Charles Botot
brought me,” said she, gently; “I always hoped to find a safe
opportunity to send this diary to you in Egypt, that you might be
informed of what the Directory thought, and what was the public opinion,
so that you might take your measures accordingly. But, for the last
eight months, I knew not where you were, and so I have kept my diary:
here it is.”
She gave the diary to Bonaparte, who, with impatient looks, ran over the
pages, and was fully convinced of her devotedness and care. Josephine
had well served his interests, and closely watched over his affairs.
Then, ashamed and repentant, he looked at her, who, in return, smiled at
him with gracious complacency.
“Josephine,” asked he, quietly, “can you forgive me? I have been
foolish, but I swear to you that never again will I mistrust you, I will
believe no one but you. Can you forgive me?”
She embraced him in her arms, and tenderly said: “Love me, Bonaparte; I
well deserve it!”
Peace, therefore, was re-established, and Josephine’s enemies had the
bitter disappointment to see that their efforts had all been in vain;
that again the most perfect unanimity and affection existed between
them; that the cloud which their enmity had conjured up, had brought
forth but a few tear-drops, a few thunderings; and that the love which
Bonaparte carried in his heart for Josephine was not scattered into
atoms.
The cloud had passed away; the sun of happiness had reappeared; but it
had yet some spots which were never to fade away. The word “separation”
which Bonaparte, so often in Egypt, and now in Paris, had launched
against Josephine, was to be henceforth the sword of Damocles, ever
suspended over her head: like a dark, shadowy spectre it was to follow
her everywhere; even amid scenes of happiness, joy, and glory, it was
to be there to terrify her by its sinister presence, and by its gloomy
warnings of the past!