THE RELEASE FROM PRISON.
A.D. 1794-A.D. 1795
Robespierre.--M. Tallien.--Madame de Fontenay.--A lover's device.--
Execution of Robespierre decreed.--He is guillotined.--Singular mode
of conveying information.--Pantomimic representation of Robespierre's
fall.--Universal joy caused by the death of the tyrant.--Josephine
released from captivity.--Gloomy prospect.--Heartlessness of Marat.
--Eugene apprenticed to an artisan.--Kindness of Josephine's
friends.--She recovers her property.--A domestic scene.--A new order
of knighthood.--The Order of _Filial Love_.--Inauguration.--Decorations
of the room.--The oath.--New organisation of social society.--The
"Ball of the Victims."--Fashionable style of hair-dressing.--A new
insurrection.--The little Corsican.--Napoleon's authority established.
--The Tuilleries fortified.--Advance of the insurgents.--Napoleon
opens his batteries.--Defeat of the insurgents.--Rising fame of
Napoleon.--His first interview with Josephine.--His "seal."--Napoleon
disarms the populace.--The sword of Beauharnais.--Napoleon regards
Josephine with interest.--Her opinion of him.--Letter to a friend.--
Foresight of Napoleon.--His confidence.--His ambition unbounded.--His
moral principles.--Napoleon's estimate of the female sex.--Strength
of his attachment.
The overthrow of Robespierre, and the consequent escape of Josephine
from the doom impending over her, was in the following manner most
strangely accomplished. The tyranny of Robespierre had become nearly
insupportable. Conspiracies were beginning to be formed to attempt his
overthrow. A lady of great beauty and celebrity, Madame de Fontenay, was
imprisoned with Josephine. M. Tallien, a man of much influence with a
new party then rising into power, had conceived a strong attachment for
this lady, and, though he could not safely indulge himself in interviews
with her in prison, he was in the habit of coming daily to the Convent
of the Carmelites that he might have the satisfaction of catching a
glimpse of the one he loved through her grated window.
Madame de Fontenay had received secret intelligence that she was soon
to be led before the Convention for trial. This she knew to be but the
prelude of her execution. That evening M. Tallien appeared as usual
before the guarded casement of the Carmelites. Madame de Fontenay and
Josephine, arm in arm, leaned against the bars of the window, as if to
breathe the fresh evening air, and made a sign to arrest M. Tallien's
particular attention. They then dropped from the window a piece of
cabbage-leaf, in which Madame de Fontenay had inclosed the following
note:
"My trial is decreed--the result is certain. If you love me
as you say, urge every means to save France and me."
With intense interest, they watched the motions of M. Tallien until they
saw him take the cabbage-leaf from the ground. Roused by the billet to
the consciousness of the necessity of immediate action, he proceeded to
the Convention, and, with the impassioned energy which love for Madame
de Fontenay and hatred of Robespierre inspired, made an energetic and
fearless assault upon the tyrant. Robespierre, pale and trembling, saw
that his hour had come. A decree of accusation was preferred against
him, and the head of the merciless despot fell upon that guillotine
where he had already caused so many thousands to perish. The day before
Josephine was to have been executed, he was led, mangled and bleeding,
to the scaffold. He had attempted to commit suicide. The ball missed its
aim, but shattered his jaw. The wretched man ascended the ladder, and
stood upon the platform of the guillotine. The executioners tore the
bandage from his mangled face, that the linen might not impede the blow
of the ax. Their rude treatment of the inflamed wound extorted a cry of
agony, which thrilled upon the ear of the assembled crowd, and produced
a silence as of the grave. The next moment the slide fell, and the
mutilated head was severed from the body. Then the very heavens seemed
rent by one long, loud, exulting shout, which proclaimed that
Robespierre was no more!
The death of Robespierre arrested the ax which was just about to fall
upon the head of Josephine. The first intimation of his overthrow was
communicated to her in the following singular manner. Madame d'Aiguillon
was weeping bitterly, and sinking down with faintness in view of the
bloody death to which her friend was to be led on the morrow. Josephine,
whose fortitude had not forsaken her, drew her almost senseless
companion to the window, that she might be revived by the fresh air.
Her attention was arrested by a woman of the lower orders in the street,
who was continually looking up to the window, beckoning to Josephine,
and making many very singular gestures. She seemed to desire to call
her attention particularly to the _robe_ which she wore, holding it
up, and pointing to it again and again. Josephine, through the iron
grating, cried out _Robe_. The woman eagerly gave signs of assent, and
immediately took up a stone, which in French is _Pierre_. Josephine
again cried out _pierre_. The woman appeared overjoyed on perceiving
that her pantomime began to be understood. She then put the two
together, pointing alternately to the one and to the other. Josephine
cried out _Robespierre_. The woman then began to dance and shout with
delight, and made signs of cutting off a head.
[Illustration: THE PANTOMIME.]
This pantomime excited emotions in the bosom of Josephine which cannot
be described. She hardly dared to believe that the tyrant had actually
fallen, and yet she knew not how else to account for the singular
conduct of the woman. But a few moments elapsed before a great noise
was heard in the corridor of the prison. The turnkey, in loud and
fearless tones, cried out to his dog, "Get out, you cursed brute of
a Robespierre!" This emphatic phraseology convinced them that the
sanguinary monster before whom all France had trembled was no longer to
be feared. In a few moments the glad tidings were resounding through the
prison, and many were in an instant raised from the abyss of despair to
almost a delirium of bliss. Josephine's bed was restored to her, and she
placed her head upon her pillow that night, and sank down to the most
calm and delightful repose.
No language can describe the transports excited throughout all France by
the tidings of the fall of Robespierre. Three hundred thousand captives
were then lingering in the prisons of Paris awaiting death. As the
glittering steel severed the head of the tyrant from his body, their
prison doors burst open, and France was filled with hearts throbbing
with ecstasy, and with eyes overflowing with tears of rapture. Five
hundred thousand fugitives were trembling in their retreats,
apprehensive of arrest. They issued from their hiding-places frantic
with joy, and every village witnessed their tears and embraces.
The new party which now came into power with Tallien at its head,
immediately liberated those who had been condemned by their opponents,
and the prison doors of Josephine were thrown open to her. But from the
gloom of her cell she returned to a world still dark and clouded. Her
husband had been beheaded, and all his property confiscated. She found
herself a widow and penniless. Nearly all of her friends had perished in
the storms which had swept over France. The Reign of Terror had passed
away, but gaunt famine was staring the nation in the face. They were
moments of ecstasy when Josephine, again free, pressed Eugene and
Hortense to her heart. But the most serious embarrassments immediately
crowded upon her. Poverty, stern and apparently remediless, was her lot.
She had no friends upon whom she had any right to call for aid. There
was no employment open before her by which she could obtain her
subsistence; and it appeared that she and her children were to be
reduced to absolute beggary. These were among the darkest hours of her
earthly career. It was from this abyss of obscurity and want that she
was to be raised to a position of splendor and of power such as the
wildest dreams of earthly ambition could hardly have conceived.
Though Robespierre was dead, the strife of rancorous parties raged with
unabated violence, and blood flowed freely. The reign of the mob still
continued, and it was a mark of patriotism demanded by the clamors of
haggard want and degradation to persecute all of noble blood. Young
girls from the boarding-schools, and boys just emerging from the period
of childhood, were beheaded by the guillotine. "We must exterminate,"
said Marat, "all the _whelps_ of aristocracy." Josephine trembled for
her children. Poverty, and the desire of concealing Eugene among
the mass of the people, induced her to apprentice her son to a
house-carpenter. For several months Eugene cheerfully and laboriously
toiled in this humble occupation. But the sentiments he had imbibed
from both father and mother ennobled him, and every day produced new
developments of a lofty character, which no circumstances could long
depress.
Let such a woman as Josephine, with her cheerful, magnanimous,
self-sacrificing, and generous spirit, be left destitute in any place
where human beings are congregated, and she will soon inevitably meet
with those who will feel honored in securing her friendship and in
offering her a home. Every fireside has a welcome for a noble heart.
Madame Dumoulin, a lady of great elevation of character, whose large
fortune had by some chance escaped the general wreck, invited Josephine
to her house, and freely supplied her wants. Madame Fontenay, also,
who was a woman of great beauty and accomplishments, soon after her
liberation was married to M. Tallien, to whom she had tossed the note,
inclosed in a cabbage-leaf, from her prison window. It was this note
which had so suddenly secured the overthrow of the tyrant, and had
rescued so many from the guillotine. They both became the firm friends
of Josephine. Others, also, soon became strongly attracted to her by the
loveliness of her character, and were ambitious to supply all her wants.
Through M. Tallien, she urged her claim upon the National Convention for
the restoration of her confiscated property. After a long and tedious
process, she succeeded in regaining such a portion of her estate as to
provide her amply with all the comforts of life. Again she had her own
peaceful home, with Eugene and Hortense by her side. Her natural
buoyancy of spirits rose superior to the storms which had swept so
mercilessly over her, and in the love of her idolized children, and
surrounded by the sympathies of appreciative friends, days of serenity,
and even of joy, began to shine upon her.
A domestic scene occurred in the dwelling of Josephine on the
anniversary of the death of M. Beauharnais peculiarly characteristic of
the times and of the French people. Josephine called Eugene to her room,
and presented to him a portrait of his father. "Carry it to your
chamber, my son," she said, "and often let it be the object of your
contemplations. Above all, let him whose image it presents be your
constant model. He was the most amiable of men; he would have been the
best of fathers."
Eugene was a young man of that enthusiastic genius which is the almost
invariable accompaniment of a noble character. His emotions were deeply
excited. With the characteristic ardor of his countrymen, he covered the
portrait with kisses, and wept freely. Josephine folded her noble boy in
her embrace, and they mingled their tears together.
In the evening, as Josephine was sitting alone in her parlor, her son
entered, accompanied by six young men, his companions, each decorated
with a copy of the portrait of M. Beauharnais suspended from the neck by
a black and white ribbon. "You see," said Eugene to his mother, "the
founders of a new order of knighthood. Behold our tutelary saint,"
pointing to the portrait of his father. "And these are the first
members." He then introduced his youthful companions to his mother.
"Ours," he continued, "is named the Order of _Filial Love_; and, if you
would witness the first inauguration, pass with these gentlemen into the
small drawing-room."
Josephine entered the drawing-room with the youthful group, and found it
very tastefully ornamented with garlands of ivy, roses, and laurels.
Inscriptions, taken from the printed discourses or remarkable sayings of
M. Beauharnais, were suspended upon the walls. Girandoles, with lighted
tapers, brilliantly illuminated the room. An altar was erected, hung
with festoons of flowers, and upon this altar was placed the full-length
portrait of M. Beauharnais. Three crowns of white and red roses were
suspended from the picture-frame, and in front were placed two vases
with perfumes.
The young gentlemen ranged themselves about the altar in perfect
silence, and, at a concerted signal, eagerly unsheathed the swords
which they wore at their sides, and, clasping hands, solemnly took the
oath, "_To love their parents, succor each other, and to defend their
country_." At this moment, Eugene, unfurling and waving a small banner,
with its folds shaded the head of his father. "We then embraced each
other," says Josephine, "mingling tears with smiles, and the most
amiable disorder succeeded to the ceremonial of inauguration."
The fascination of Josephine's person and address drew multitudes of
friends around her, and her society was ever coveted. As time softened
the poignancy of her past sorrows, she mingled more and more in the
social circles of that metropolis where pleasure and gayety ever reign.
The terrible convulsions of the times had thrown the whole fabric of
society into confusion. Great efforts were now made to revive the
festivities of former days. Two centers of society were naturally
established. The first included that in which Josephine moved. It was
composed of the remains of the ancient nobility, who had returned to
Paris with the fragments of their families and their shattered fortunes.
Rigid economy was necessary to keep up any appearance of elegance.
But that polish of manners which almost invariably descends from an
illustrious ancestry marked all their intercourse. The humiliations
through which the nobles had passed had not diminished the exclusiveness
of their tastes. The other circle was composed of merchants and bankers
who had acquired opulence in the midst of the confiscations and storms
of revolution. The passion for display was prominent in all their
assemblies, as is necessarily the case with those whose passport to
distinction is wealth.
At the theaters and all the places of public festivity, there were
presented studied memorials of the scenes of horror through which
all had recently passed. One of the most fashionable and brilliant
assemblies then known in Paris was called _The Ball of the Victims_. No
one was admitted to this assembly who had not lost some near relative by
the guillotine. The most fashionable style of dressing the hair was
jocosely called "a la guillotine." The hair was arranged in the manner
in which it had been adjusted by the executioner for the unimpeded
operation of the ax. And thus, with songs, and dances, and
laughter-moving jokes, they commemorated the bloody death of their
friends.
A new insurrection by the populace of Paris was at this time planned
against the Convention. The exasperated people were again to march upon
the Tuilleries. The members were in extreme consternation. The mob could
bring tens of thousands against them, well armed with muskets and heavy
artillery. There were but five hundred regular troops with which to
resist the onset. Menou, the officer in command, acknowledged his
inability to meet the crisis, and surrendered his power to Barras. This
general immediately, as by a sudden thought, exclaimed, "I know the man
who can defend us! He is a little Corsican, who dares do any thing, and
is perfectly reckless of consequences!"
The little Corsican, Napoleon Bonaparte, the day-star of whose fame was
just beginning to rise over the smouldering ruins of Toulon, was invited
to meet the Convention. His fragile form was almost feminine in its
proportions, but an eagle eye calmly reposed in his pallid and emaciate
countenance. He had been severely sick, and the Convention looked with
amazement and incredulity upon this feeble youth, as the one presented
to rescue them from their impending peril.
The president fixed his eye upon him doubtingly, and said, "Are you
willing to undertake our defense?"
"Yes!" was the calm, laconic, and almost indifferent reply.
"But are you aware of the magnitude of the undertaking?"
"Fully!" said Napoleon, fixing his piercing eye upon the president; "and
I am in the habit of accomplishing that which I undertake."
From that moment his authority was established. Every member of the
Convention felt the mysterious fascination of his master mind. Barras
surrendered the whole command into his hands. He instantly called into
the city all the national forces which were around Paris, and disposed
fifty pieces of heavy artillery, under the command of Murat, so as to
rake all the avenues to the Convention. His calm and almost superhuman
energy sought no repose that night. The delay of but a few moments would
have placed this very park of artillery, which secured his victory, in
the hands of the insurgents. When the morning dawned, the Tuilleries, as
if by magic, had assumed the aspect of a fortified camp. The little
Corsican was silently and calmly awaiting the onset, as secure of
triumph as if the victory were already achieved.
But in every quarter of Paris, during the night, the insurgents had
been mustering their forces, and the mutterings of the approaching storm
were dismally echoed through the streets of the metropolis. Above thirty
thousand men, all well armed with musketry and artillery, in regular
military array, and under experienced generals, came pouring down upon
the feeble band which surrounded the Convention.
Will the little Corsican dare to fire upon the people? Will this pale
and slender youth, who had hardly yet entered upon the period of
manhood, dare to deluge the pavements of Paris with the blood of her own
citizens? Will he venture upon a conflict so unequal, when failure is
his certain death?
Napoleon, with his colorless cheek, his flashing eye, and his air of
mysterious melancholy, stood in silence, as the gathering thousands
crowded down upon him. He offered no parley; he uttered not a word of
warning; he condescended to no threats. The insurgents, believing that
he would not dare to fire upon them, advanced within fifty yards of
his masked battery, when he opened his columns, and, in the roar of
artillery shotted to the muzzle, the voice of Napoleon was for the first
time heard in the streets of Paris. The thunder of his tones was
preceded by the lightning's bolt. The merciless storm of grape-shot,
sweeping the streets, covered the ground with the dead and the dying. No
mortal could withstand such a conflict. The advancing foe wavered for an
instant, and then, in the utmost consternation, took to flight. Napoleon
commanded immediately the most rapid discharge of blank cartridges. Peal
upon peal, their loud reverberations deafened the city, and added wings
to the flight of the terror-stricken crowd. But a few moments elapsed
ere not even a straggler could be seen in the deserted streets. The
little Corsican, pale and calm, stood, with folded arms, as unperturbed
as if no event of any moment had occurred. During the whole day,
however, the conflict continued in different parts of the city, but
before nightfall the insurgents were every where entirely discomfited.
Paris was now filled with the name of Napoleon. Some regarded him as
a savior, protecting the Convention; others considered him a demon,
deluging the capital with blood. One evening, Josephine was visiting at
the house of a friend, and sitting by a window examining some beautiful
violets, when _Bonaparte_ was announced. Josephine had never yet met
him, though, of course, she had heard much of one whose rising fame
filled the metropolis.
She says that she trembled violently at the announcement of his name.
His entrance seemed to excite general interest, and all eyes were turned
toward him, though most of the company regarded him in silence. He
approached Josephine, and the subject of the recent conflict in the
streets of Paris was introduced.
"It seems to me," said Josephine, "that it is only with regret that we
should think of the consternation you have spread through the capital.
It is a frightful service you have performed."
"It is very possible," he replied. "The military are only automata, to
which the government gives such motions as it pleases. They have no duty
but to obey. Besides, I wished to teach the Parisians a little lesson.
_This is my seal which I have set upon France._"
This he said in such calm, quiet, imperturbable tones, so expressive of
his perfect confidence in himself, and of his indifference to the
opinions of others, that Josephine was quite piqued, and replied
politely, but yet in a manner which indicated her displeasure.
"These light skirmishes," the young general rejoined, "are but the
first coruscations of my glory."
"If you are to acquire glory at such a price," Josephine answered, "I
would much rather count you among the victims."
Such was the first interview between Josephine and Napoleon. It was
merely a casual meeting in an evening party between a widow, graceful
and beautiful, and a young man of boundless ambition. Though Josephine
was not pleased with Napoleon, he produced a very profound impression
upon her mind. Napoleon, being now in command of the troops in Paris, by
order of the Convention, executed the very unpopular office of disarming
the populace. In the performance of this order, the sword of M.
Beauharnais was taken. The next day, Eugene, who was then a boy twelve
years of age, of exceedingly prepossessing appearance, presented himself
before Napoleon, and implored the return of the sword which had belonged
to his father. Napoleon was deeply interested in the frankness and the
fervor of emotion manifested by the lad, and immediately complied with
his request. Josephine called upon him the next day to thank him for his
kindness to her son. He was at this interview as deeply impressed by
the fascinations of the mother as he had previously been struck by
the noble bearing of the child. After this they frequently met, and
Josephine could not be blind to the interest with which she was regarded
by Napoleon. Situated as he then was, it was social elevation to him to
be united with Madame de Beauharnais, and her rank, and influence, and
troops of friends would greatly aid him in his ambitious plans. It is
also unquestionably true that Napoleon formed a very strong attachment
for Josephine. Indeed, she was the only person whom he ever truly loved.
That he did love her at times most passionately there can be no doubt.
Josephine, however, had many misgivings respecting the expediency of the
union. She stated to her friends that he was the most fascinating man
that she had ever met; that she admired his courage, the quickness of
his judgment, the extent of his information. She, however, confessed
that she did not really love him--that she stood in awe of him. "His
searching glance," she says, "mysterious and inexplicable, imposes even
upon our Directors--judge if it may not intimidate a woman."
"Being now past the heyday of youth," she writes in a letter
to a friend, "can I hope long to preserve that ardor of
attachment which, in the general, resembles a fit of
delirium? If, after our union, he should cease to love me,
will he not reproach me with what he will have sacrificed
for my sake? Will he not regret a more brilliant marriage
which he might have contracted? What shall I then reply?
What shall I do? I shall weep. Excellent resource! you will
say. Alas! I know that all this can serve no end; but it has
ever been thus; tears are the only resource left me when
this poor heart, so easily chilled, has suffered. Write
quickly, and do not fear to scold me, should you judge that
I am wrong. You know that whatever comes from your pen will
be taken in good part.
"Barras gives assurance that if I marry the general, he will
so contrive as to have him appointed to the command of the
army of Italy. Yesterday, Bonaparte, speaking of this favor,
which already excites murmuring among his fellow-soldiers,
though it be as yet only a promise, said to me, 'Think they,
then, I have need of their protection to arrive at power?
Egregious mistake! They will all be but too happy one day
should I grant them mine. My sword is by my side, and with
it I will go far.'
"What say you to this security of success? Is it not a proof
of confidence springing from an excess of vanity? A general
of brigade protect the heads of government! that, truly, is
an event highly probable! I know not how it is, but
sometimes this waywardness gains upon me to such a degree
that almost I believe possible whatever this singular man
may take it in his head to attempt; and, with his
imagination, who can calculate what he will not undertake?"
It was now winter. The storm of Revolution had partially subsided. The
times were, however, full of agitation and peril. Europe was in arms
against France. There was no stable government and no respected laws.
The ambitious young general consecrated his days with sleepless energy
to his public duties, but each evening he devoted to Josephine. Napoleon
never manifested any taste for those dissipating pleasures which attract
and ruin so many young men. He had no moral principles which pronounced
such indulgences wrong, but the grandeur of his ambition absorbed all
his energies. He was, even at that time, a hard student. He was never
more happy than when alone with Josephine, engaged in conversation or
reading. His attachment for Josephine became very ardent and passionate.
The female character at this time, in France, was far from high.
Napoleon had but little respect for ladies in general. The circumstances
of his life had led him to form a low estimate of the sex. He often said
that all the rest of the sex were nothing compared with Josephine. He
frequently gave public breakfasts to his friends, at which Josephine
universally presided, though other ladies were invited.
In the pleasant mansion of Josephine, Napoleon was in the habit of
meeting a small circle of select friends, who were strongly attached to
Josephine, and who were able, and for her sake were willing to promote
his interests. Napoleon was a man of strong affections, but of stronger
ambition. Josephine was entirely satisfied with the singleness and the
ardor of his love. She sometimes trembled in view of its violence.
She often remarked to her friends that he was incomparably the most
fascinating man she had ever met. All have equally attested Napoleon's
unrivaled powers of pleasing, whenever it suited his purpose to make the
effort. The winter thus rapidly and pleasantly passed away.