THE ALLIES IN PARIS.
The anxiety of motherly love had effected what neither the departure of
the empress nor the news of the approach of the Cossacks could do.
Hortense had taken her departure. She had quitted Paris, with her
children and suite, which had already begun to grow sensibly smaller,
and arrived, after a hurried flight, endangered by bands of marauding
Cossacks, in Novara, where the Empress Josephine, with tears of sorrow
and of joy alike, pressed her daughter to her heart. Although her own
happiness and grandeur were gone, and although the misfortunes of the
Emperor Napoleon--whom she still dearly loved--oppressed her heart,
Josephine now had her daughter and dearest friend at her side, and that
was a sweet consolation in the midst of all these misfortunes and cares.
At Novara, Hortense received the intelligence of the fall of the empire,
of the capitulation of Paris, of the entrance of the allies, and of the
abdication of Napoleon.
When the courier sent by the Duke of Bassano with this intelligence
further informed the Empress Josephine that the island of Elba had been
assigned Napoleon as a domicile, and that he was on the point of leaving
France to go into exile, Josephine fell, amid tears of anguish, into her
daughter's arms, crying: "Hortense, he is unhappy, and I am not with
him! He is banished to Elba! Alas! but for his wife, I would hasten to
his side, to share his exile!"
While the empress was weeping and lamenting, Hortense had silently
withdrawn to her apartments. She saw and fully appreciated the
consequences that must ensue to the emperor's entire family, from his
fall; she already felt the mortifications and insults to which the
Bonapartes would now be exposed from all quarters, and she wished to
withdraw herself and children from their influence. She formed a quick
resolve, and determined to carry it out at once. She caused Mademoiselle
de Cochelet, one of the few ladies of her court who had remained
faithful, to be called, in order that she might impart to her her
resolution.
"Louise," said she, "I intend to emigrate. I am alone and defenceless,
and ever threatened by a misfortune that would be more cruel than the
loss of crown and grandeur--the misfortune of seeing my children torn
from me by my husband. My mother can remain in France--her divorce has
made her free and independent; but I bear a name that will no longer be
gladly heard in France, now that the Bourbons are returning. I have no
other fortune than my diamonds. These I shall sell, and then go, with my
children, to my mother's estate in Martinique. I lived there when a
child, and have retained a pleasant remembrance of the place. It is
undoubtedly hard to be compelled to give up country, mother, and
friends; but one must face these great strokes of destiny courageously.
I will give my children a good education, and that shall be my
consolation."
Mademoiselle de Cochelet burst into tears, kissed the queen's extended
hand, and begged so earnestly that she might be permitted to accompany
her, that Hortense at last gave a reluctant consent. It was arranged
between them that Louise should hasten to Paris, in order to make the
necessary preparations for the queen's long journey; and she departed on
this mission, under the protection of the courier, on the
following morning.
How changed and terrible was the aspect Paris presented on her arrival!
At the gate through which they entered Cossacks stood on guard; the
streets were filled with Russian, Austrian, and Prussian soldiery, at
whose side the proud ladies of the Faubourg St. Germain were to be seen
walking, in joyous triumph, bestowing upon the vanquishers of France as
great a devotion as they could have lavished upon the beloved Bourbons
themselves, whose return was expected in a few days.
A Swedish regiment was quartered in the queen's dwelling; her servants
had fled; her glittering drawing-rooms now sheltered the conquerors of
France; and in the Tuileries preparations were already being made for
the reception of the Bourbons.
No one dared to pronounce the name of Napoleon. Those who were formerly
his most zealous flatterers were now the most ready to condemn him.
Those upon whom he had conferred the greatest benefits were now the
first to deny him, hoping thereby to wipe out the remembrance of the
benefits they had received. The most zealous Napoleonists now became the
most ardent royalists, and placed the largest white cockades in their
hats, in order that they might the sooner attract the attention of the
new rulers.
But there was still one man who pronounced the name of Napoleon loudly,
and with affectionate admiration, and publicly accorded him the tribute
of his respect.
This one was the Emperor Alexander of Russia. He had loved Napoleon so
dearly, that even the position of hostility which policy compelled him
to assume could not banish from his heart friendship for the hero who
had so long ruled Europe.
Napoleon's fate was decided; and it was attributable to the zealous
efforts of the czar that the allies had consented to the emperor's
demands, and appointed him sovereign of the island of Elba. Now that
Alexander could do nothing more for Napoleon, he desired to make himself
useful to his family, at least, and thereby testify the admiration which
he still felt for the fallen Titan.
The Empress Marie Louise and the little King of Rome had no need of his
assistance. The empress had not availed herself of the permission of the
allies to accompany her husband to Elba, but had placed herself and son
under the protection of her father, the Emperor of Austria.
The Emperor Alexander therefore bestowed his whole sympathy upon
Napoleon's divorced wife and her children, the Viceroy of Italy and the
Queen of Holland. He took so great an interest in the queen, that he
declared his intention, in case Hortense should not come to Paris, of
going to Novara to see her, in order to learn from her own lips in what
manner he could serve her, and how she desired that her future should
be shaped.
Count Nesselrode, the emperor's minister, was also zealous in his
endeavors to serve the queen. The count had long been the intimate
friend of Louise de Cochelet; and, desirous of giving her a further
proof of his friendship, he knew of no better way of doing so than by
rendering a service to Queen Hortense and her children. Louise informed
the count of the queen's intended departure for Martinique. Count
Nesselrode smiled sadly over this desperate resolve of a brave mother's
heart, and instructed Louise to beg the queen to impart to him, through
her confidante, all her wishes and demands, in order that he might lay
them before the emperor.
The queen's fate was the subject of great sympathy in all quarters.
When, in one of the sessions of the ministers of the allies, in which
the fate of France, of the Bourbons, and of the Bonapartes, was to be
the subject of deliberation, the question of making some provision for
the emperor's family came up for consideration, the prince of Benevento
exclaimed: "I plead for Queen Hortense alone; for she is the only one
for whom I have any esteem." Count Nesselrode added: "Who would not be
proud to claim her as a countrywoman? She is the pearl of her France!"
And Metternich united with the rest in her praise[25].
[Footnote 25: Cochelet, vol. i., p 279.]
But it was in vain that Louise de Cochelet imparted this intelligence to
the queen; the entreaties and representations of her friends were
powerless to persuade Hortense to leave her retirement and come
to Paris.
The following letter of the queen, written to Louise, concerning her
affairs, will testify to her beautiful and womanly sentiments. This
letter is as follows:
"My dear Louise,--You and all my friends write me the same questions:
'What do you want? What do you demand?' I reply to all of you: I want
nothing whatever! What should I desire? Is not my fate already
determined? When one has the strength to form a great resolution, and
when one can firmly and calmly contemplate the idea of making a journey
to India or America, it is unnecessary to demand any thing of any one. I
entreat you to take no steps that I should be compelled to disavow; I
know that you love me, and this might induce you to do so. I am really
not to be pitied; it was in the midst of grandeur and splendor that I
have suffered! I shall now, perhaps, learn the happiness of retirement,
and prefer it to all the magnificence that once surrounded me. I do not
believe I can remain in France; the lively interest now shown in my
behalf might eventually occasion mistrust. This idea is annihilating; I
feel it, but I shall not willingly occasion sorrow to any one. My
brother will be happy; my mother can remain in her country, and retain
her estates. I, with my children, shall go to a foreign land, and, as
the happiness of those I love is assured, I shall be able to bear the
misfortune that strikes only at my material interests, but not at my
heart. I am still deeply moved and confounded by the fate that has
overtaken the Emperor Napoleon and his family. Is it true? Has all been
finally determined? Write me on this subject. I hope that my children
will not be taken from me; in that case I should lose all courage. I
will so educate them that they shall be happy in any station of life. I
shall teach them to bear fortune and misfortune with equal dignity, and
to seek true happiness in contentment with themselves. This is worth
more than crowns. Fortunately, they are healthy. Thank Count Nesselrode
for his sympathy. I assure you there are days that are properly called
days of misfortune, and that are yet not without a charm; such are those
that enable us to discern the true sentiments people hold toward us. I
rejoice over the affection which you show me, and it will always afford
me gratification to tell you that I return it. HORTENSE[26]."
[Footnote 26: Cochelet, vol. i., pp. 275-277.]