LOUIS BONAPARTE AND DUROC.
The brothers of Bonaparte went diligently to work then, above all
things, to get Hortense out of the way. They told Bonaparte of the
burning love of the young couple, of the letters which they sent to each
other, and proposed to him that Duroc should be transferred to the
Italian army with a higher command, and that Hortense should then be
given to him. They persuaded the unsuspecting, magnanimous hero, who was
easy to deceive in these minor matters and thus easy because he was
occupied with grand designs and grand things; they persuaded him to keep
the proposed union a secret for the present, and then on Duroc's early
return to surprise the young couple and Josephine alike.
But Josephine had, this time, seen through the plans of her hostile
brothers-in-law. She felt that her whole existence, her entire future,
was imperilled, should she not succeed in making friends and allies in
the family of Bonaparte itself. There was only one of Bonaparte's
brothers who was not hostile to her, but loved her as the wife of his
brother, to whom he was, at that time, still devoted with the most
enthusiastic and submissive tenderness.
This one was Bonaparte's brother Louis, a young man of serious and
sedate disposition, more of a scholar than a warrior, more a man of
science than fit for the council-chamber and the drawing-room. His was
a reserved, quiet, somewhat timid character, which, notwithstanding its
apparent gentleness, developed an inflexible determination and energy at
the right, decisive moment, and then could not be shaken by either
threats or entreaties. His external appearance was little calculated to
please, nay, was even somewhat sinister, and commanded the respect of
others only in moments of excitement, through the fierce blaze of his
large blue eyes, that seemed rather to look inward than outward.
Louis Bonaparte was one of those deep, self-contained, undemonstrative,
and by no means showy natures which are too rarely understood, because,
in the noisy bustle of life, we have not the time and do not take the
pains to analyze them. Only a sister or a mother is in a position to
comprehend and love men of this stamp, because the confidential home
relations of long years have revealed to them the hidden bloom of these
sensitive plants which shrink back and close their leaves at every rude
contact of the world. But rarely, however, do they find a loving heart
outside, for, since their own hearts are too timid to seek for love, no
one gives himself the trouble to discover them.
The young brother of her husband, now scarcely twenty-four, was the one
who seemed destined in Josephine's eyes to afford her a point of support
in the Bonaparte family.
Madame Letitia loved him more tenderly than she did any of them, next to
her Napoleon, since he was the petted darling of the whole family of
brothers, who had no fear of him, because he was neither egotistical nor
ambitious enough to cross their plans, but quietly allowed them to have
their way, and only asked that they would also leave him undisturbed to
follow out his own quiet and unobtrusive inclinations. He was the
confidant of his young and beautiful sisters, who were always sure to
find in him a discreet counsellor, and never a betrayer. Finally, he was
the one of the whole circle of brothers toward whom Napoleon felt the
sincerest and warmest inclination, because he could not help esteeming
him for his noble qualities, and because he was never annoyed by him as
he was by his other brothers; for the ambition and the avarice of
Jerome, Joseph, and Lucien, were even then a source of displeasure and
chagrin to Bonaparte.
"Were any one to hear with what persistency my brothers demand fresh
sums of money from me, every day, he would really think that I had
consumed from them the inheritance their father left," said Bonaparte,
one day, to Bourrienne, after a violent scene between him and Jerome,
which had ended, as they all did, in Jerome getting another draft on the
private purse of the first consul.
Louis, however, never asked for money, but always appeared thankfully
content with whatever Bonaparte chose to give him, unsolicited, and
there never were any wranglings with tradesmen on his account, or any
debts of his to pay.
This last circumstance was what filled Josephine with a sort of
respectful deference for her young step-brother. He understood how to
manage his affairs so well as never to run up debts, and this was a
quality that was so sorely lacking in Josephine, that she could never
avoid incurring debt. How many bitter annoyances, how much care and
anxiety had not her debts cost her already; how often Bonaparte had
scolded her about them; how often she had promised to do differently,
and make no more purchases until she should be in a condition to pay
at once!
But this reform was to her thoughtless and magnanimous nature an
impossibility; and however greatly she may have feared the flashing eyes
and thundering voice of her husband when he was angered, she could not
escape his wrath in this one point, for in that point precisely was it
that the penitent sinner continually fell into fresh transgression--and
again ran into debt!
Louis, however, never had debts. He was as cautious and regular as her
own Hortense, and therefore, thought Josephine, these two young,
careful, thoughtful temperaments would be well adapted to each other,
and would know how to manage their hearts as discreetly as they did
their purses.
So she wished to make a step-son of Louis Bonaparte, in order to
strengthen her own position thereby. Josephine already had a premonitory
distrust of the future, and it may sometimes have happened that she took
the mighty eagle that fluttered above her head for a bird of evil omen
whose warning cry she frequently fancied that she heard in the stillness
of the night.
The negress at Martinique had said to her, "You will be more than a
queen." But now, Josephine had visited the new fortune-teller, Madame
Villeneuve, in Paris, and she had said to her, "You will wear a crown,
but only for a short time."
Only for a short time! Josephine was too young, too happy, and too
healthful, to think of her own early death. It must, then, be something
else that threatened her--a separation, perhaps. She had no children,
yet Bonaparte so earnestly desired to have a son, and his brothers
repeated to him daily that this was for him a political necessity.
Thus Josephine trembled for her future; she stretched out her hands for
help, and in the selfishness of her trouble asked her daughter to give
up her own dreams of happiness, in order to secure the real happiness of
her mother.
Yet Hortense was in love; her young heart throbbed painfully at the
thought of not only relinquishing her own love, but of marrying an
unloved man, whom she had never even thought of, and had scarcely
noticed. She deemed it impossible that she could be asked to sacrifice
her own beautiful and blessed happiness, to a cold-blooded calculation,
an artificial family intrigue; and so, with all the enthusiasm of a
first love, she swore rather to perish than to forego her lover.
"But Duroc has no fortune and no future to offer you," said Josephine.
"What he is, he is only through the friendship of Bonaparte. He has no
estate, no importance, no celebrity. Were Bonaparte to abandon him he
would fall back into nothingness and obscurity again."
Hortense replied, smiling through her tears: "I love him, and have no
other ambition than to be his wife."
"But he? Do you think that he too has no other ambition than to become
your husband? Do you think that he loves you for your own sake alone?"
"I know it," said the young girl, with beaming eyes; "Duroc has told me
that he loved me, and me only. He has sworn eternal fidelity and love to
me. Both of us ask for nothing more than to belong to each other."
Josephine shrugged her shoulders almost compassionately.
"Suppose," she rejoined, "that I were to affirm that Duroc is willing to
marry you, only because he is ambitious, and thinks that Bonaparte would
then advance him the more rapidly?"
"It is a slander--it is impossible!" exclaimed Hortense, glowing with
honest indignation; "Duroc loves me, and his noble soul is far from all
selfish calculation."
"And if I were to prove the contrary to you?" asked Josephine, irritated
by her daughter's resistance, and made cruel by her alarm for her
own fortunes.
Hortense turned pale, and her face, which had been so animated, so
beautiful, a moment before, blanched as though the icy chill of death
had passed over it.
"If you can prove to me," she said, in a hollow tone, "that Duroc loves
me only through ambitious motives, I am ready to give him up, and marry
whom you will."
Josephine triumphed. "Duroc gets back to-day from his journey," she
replied, "and in three days more I will give you the proof that he does
not love you, but the family alliance which you present."
Hortense had heard only the first of her mother's words: "Duroc returns
to-day." What cared she for all the rest? She should see him again--she
should read consolation and love's assurance in his handsome manly face;
not that she needed this to confirm her confidence, for she believed in
him, and not the shadow of a doubt obscured her blissful greeting.
Meanwhile, Josephine's pretty hands were busy drawing the meshes of this
intrigue tighter every moment. She absolutely required a supporting ally
in the family, _against_ the family itself; and for this reason Louis
must become the husband of Hortense.
Bonaparte himself was against this union, and was quite resolved to
marry Duroc to his step-daughter. But Josephine managed to shake his
resolve, by means of entreaties, representations, caresses, and little
endearments, and even succeeded in such eloquent argument to show that
Duroc did not cherish any love whatever for Hortense, but wanted to make
an ambitious speculation out of her, that Bonaparte resolved, at least,
to put his friend to the test, and, if Josephine turned out to be right,
to marry Hortense to his own brother.
After this last interview with Josephine, Bonaparte went back into his
office, where he found Bourrienne, as ever, at the writing-desk.
"Where is Duroc?" he hastily asked.
"He has gone out--to the opera, I think."
"So soon as he returns tell him that I have promised him Hortense--that
he shall marry her. But I want the wedding to take place in two days, at
the farthest. I give Hortense five hundred thousand francs, and I
appoint Duroc to the command of the eighth military division. On the day
after his wedding he shall start with his wife for Toulon, and we shall
live apart. I will not have a son-in-law in my house; and, as I want to
see these matters brought to an end, at last, let me know to-day whether
Duroc accepts my propositions."
"I don't think that he will, general."
"Very good! Then, in that case, Hortense shall marry my brother Louis."
"Will she consent?"
"She will have to consent, Bourrienne."
Duroc came in at a late hour that evening, and Bourrienne told him, word
for word, the ultimatum of the first consul.
Duroc listened to him attentively; but, as Bourrienne went on with his
communication, his countenance grew darker and darker.
"If such be the case," he exclaimed at last, when Bourrienne had got
through, "if Bonaparte will do nothing more than that for his
son-in-law, I must forego a marriage with Hortense, however painful it
may be to do so: and then, instead of going to Toulon, I can remain in
Paris." And, as he ceased to speak, Duroc took up his hat, without a
trace of excitement or concern, and departed.
That same evening, Josephine received from her husband his full consent
to the marriage of her daughter to Louis Bonaparte.
On that very evening, too, Josephine informed her daughter that Duroc
had not withstood the test, and that he had now relinquished her,
through ambition, as, through ambition, he had previously feigned
to love her.
Hortense gazed at her mother with tearless eyes. She had not a word of
complaint or reproach to utter; she was conscious merely that a
thunder-bolt had just fallen, and had forever dashed to atoms her love,
her hopes, her future, and her happiness.
But she no longer had the strength and the will to escape the evil that
had flung its meshes around her; she submitted meekly to it. She had
been betrayed by love itself; and what cared she now for her future, her
embittered, bloomless, scentless life, when _he_ had deceived her
--_he_, the only one whom she had loved?
The next morning Hortense stepped, self-possessed and smiling, into
Josephine's private cabinet, and declared that she was ready to fulfil
her mother's wishes and marry Louis Bonaparte.
Josephine clasped her in her arms, with exclamations of delight. She
little knew what a night of anguish, of wailing, of tears, and of
despair, Hortense had struggled through, or that her present smiling
unconcern was nothing more than the dull hopelessness of a worn-out
heart. She did not see that Hortense smiled now only in order that
Duroc should not observe that she suffered. Her love for him was dead,
but her maidenly pride had survived, and it dried her tears, and
conjured up a smile to her struggling lips; it, too, enabled her to
declare that she was ready to accept the husband whom her mother might
present to her.
Thus, Josephine had accomplished her purpose; she had made one of
Bonaparte's brothers her son. Now there remained the question whether
she should attain her other aim through that son, and whether she should
find in him a support against the intrigues of the other brothers of the
first consul.