THE CORONATION.
A.D. 1800-A.D. 1804
Josephine and Napoleon visit Lyons.--Josephine makes new friends.--
Return to Malmaison.--Anecdote of the writing-master.--Tour of the
northern provinces.--Enthusiasm of the people.--Josephine ever
solicitous in behalf of the comfort of others.--Benevolence of
Josephine's heart.--The palace of St. Cloud.--Napoleon's views of
Christianity.--Striking remarks.--Influence of Josephine in the
re-establishment of Christianity.--Religious ceremony at Notre
Dame.--Proclamation of Napoleon.--Christian charity recommended.--
Triumph of Christianity.--Madame Tallien disliked by Napoleon.--
Dissipation in Paris.--Incident at a masked ball.--Josephine and
Madame Tallien.--The stolen interview.--Eugene interrupts it.--
Ouvrard.--Rumors.--Apprehensions of Josephine.--Anecdote.--Introduction
of regal state.--Napoleon and Josephine occupy separate apartments.--
Josephine advocates the cause of the Bourbons.--A present.--Napoleon
takes to the whip.--Accident resulting from his unskillfulness.--
Napoleon's views of death.--Subsequent change of opinion.--Remonstrances
of Josephine.--Titled Englishmen in Paris.--Josephine invites them to
Malmaison.--Their reception.--Dissipation in Paris.--Napoleon declared
emperor.--Josephine's fears.--Grand levee.--Josephine's elevated
position.--Preparations for the coronation.--Dress of Josephine.--Dress
of Napoleon.--The imperial carriage.--A splendid pageant.--The throne.
--Napoleon crowns himself and Josephine.--A touching scene.--Pious
emotions of Josephine.--Impatience of Napoleon.--Josephine's forebodings
fulfilled.--Desires to forget her title.--Josephine's regrets.--
Corruption of the court of France.--Napoleon scrupulous in forming his
court.--The Duchess d'Aiguillon.--Letter from Josephine to the Duchess
d'Aiguillon.--Josephine not her own mistress.
Early in the year 1802 Josephine accompanied Napoleon in various
excursions to distant parts of the empire. She went with him to Lyons to
meet the Italian deputies, who had assembled there to confer upon him
the dignity of President of the Cisalpine Republic. The entertainments
in Lyons upon this occasion were arranged with regal magnificence.
Josephine, by her grace and affability, secured universal admiration,
and every tongue was eloquent in her praises. Each succeeding month
seemed now to bring some new honor to Josephine. Her position as wife of
the first consul, her known influence over her husband, and the almost
boundless popularity he had acquired over the minds of his countrymen,
who were ever conducting him by rapid strides to new accessions of
power, surrounded her with multitudes striving in every way to
ingratiate themselves into her favor.
From Lyons they returned to their beloved retreat at Malmaison, where
they passed several weeks. But place and power had already deprived them
of retirement. Napoleon was entirely engrossed with his vast projects
of ambition. The avenue to their rural mansion was unceasingly thronged
with carriages, and the saloon of Josephine was ever filled with the
most illustrious guests.
One day Josephine happened to be in the cabinet with her husband
alone. A man, whose coat was much the worse for wear, and whose whole
appearance presented many indications of the struggle with poverty, was
ushered into the room. He appeared greatly embarrassed, and at length,
with much confusion, introduced himself as the writing-master at Brienne
who had taught the first consul hand-writing. "And a fine penman you
made of me!" exclaimed Napoleon, in affected anger. "Ask my wife there
what she thinks of my writing." The poor man stood trembling in
trepidation, when Josephine looked up with one of her sweetest smiles,
and said, "I assure you, sir, his letters are perfectly delightful."
Napoleon laughed at the well-timed compliment, and settled upon the
writing-master a small annuity for life. It was a noble trait in the
character of the first consul that in his days of power he was ever
mindful of those who were the friends of his early years. All the
instructors of the school he attended at Brienne were thus remembered
by him.
Napoleon and Josephine now made the tour of the northern provinces of
France. They were every where received with unbounded enthusiasm. The
first consul had, indeed, conferred the greatest blessings on his
country. He had effectually curbed the Revolutionary fury. He had
established the reign of law. Thousands of exiles he had restored to
their homes rejoicing. The discomfited armies of France he had led to
new and brilliant victories. Under his administration every branch of
business had revived. From every part of the empire Napoleon received
the most enthusiastic expressions of gratitude and attachment. He now
began more seriously to contemplate ascending the throne of France.
Conscious of his own power, and ambitious of the glory of elevating his
country to the highest pinnacle of earthly greatness, and witnessing the
enthusiasm of admiration which his deeds had excited in the public mind,
he no longer doubted that his countrymen would soon be ready to place
the scepter of empire in his hands. He thought that the pear was now
ripe.
Josephine ever enjoyed most highly accompanying her husband on these
tours, and she, on such occasions, manifested, in the most attractive
manner, her readiness to sacrifice her own personal comfort to promote
the happiness of others. Napoleon was in the habit of moving with such
rapidity, and of setting out so unexpectedly upon these journeys, and he
was so peremptory in his injunctions as to the places where he intended
to halt, that often no suitable accommodations could be provided for
Josephine and her attendant ladies. No complaint, however, was ever
heard from her lips. No matter how great the embarrassment she
encountered, she ever exhibited the same imperturbable cheerfulness and
good humor. She always manifested much more solicitude in reference to
the accommodation of her attendants than for her own comfort. She would
herself visit their apartments, and issue personal directions to promote
their convenience. One night, just as she was about to retire to rest,
she observed that her waiting-woman had but a single mattress, spread
upon the floor, for her repose. She immediately, with her own hands,
took from the bed destined for herself another mattress, and supplied
the deficiency, that her waiting-woman might sleep more comfortably.
Whenever any of her household were sick, Josephine promptly visited
their bed-side, and with her own hands ministered to their wants. She
would remember them at her own table, and from the luxurious viands
spread out before her, would select delicacies which might excite a
failing appetite. It often happened, in these sudden and hasty journeys,
that, from want of accommodation, some of the party were compelled to
remain in the carriages while Napoleon and Josephine dined. In such
cases they were never forgotten. This was not policy and artifice on the
part of Josephine, but the instinctive dictates of a heart overflowing
with benevolence.
On Napoleon's return from this tour he took possession of the palace of
St. Cloud. This was another step toward the throne of the Bourbons.
This magnificent abode of ancient grandeur had been repaired and most
gorgeously furnished. The versatile French, weary of Republican
simplicity, witnessed with joy the indications of a return of regal
magnificence. A decree also granted to Josephine "four ladies, to assist
her in doing the honors of the palace." No occupant of these splendid
saloons ever embellished them more richly by the display of queenly
graces than did Josephine; and Napoleon, now constituted first consul
for life, reigned with pomp and power which none of his predecessors
had ever surpassed. The few remaining forms of the Republic rapidly
disappeared. Josephine exerted much influence over her husband's mind in
inducing him to re-establish the institutions of the Christian religion.
Napoleon at that time did not profess to have any faith in the divine
origin of Christianity. Infidelity had swept resistlessly over France,
and nearly every man of any note in the camp and in the court was an
unbeliever. He was, consequently, very bitterly opposed in all his
endeavors to reinstate Christianity. One evening he was walking upon the
terrace of his garden at Malmaison, most earnestly conversing with some
influential members of the government upon this subject.
"Religion," said he, "is something which can not be eradicated from the
heart of man. He _must_ believe in a superior being. Who made all that?"
he continued, pointing to the stars brilliantly shining in the evening
sky. "Last Sunday evening I was walking here alone, when the church
bells of the village of Ruel rang at sunset. I was strongly moved, so
vividly did the image of early days come back with that sound. If it be
thus with me, what must it be with others? Let your philosophers answer
that, if they can. It is absolutely indispensable to have a religion for
the people. In re-establishing Christianity, I consult the wishes of a
great majority of the French nation."
Josephine probably had very little religious knowledge. She regarded
Christianity as a sentiment rather than a principle. She felt the poetic
beauty of its revelations and its ordinances. She knew how holy were its
charities, how pure its precepts, how ennobling its influences, even
when encumbered with the grossest superstitions. She had seen, and
dreadfully had she felt, what France was without religion--with marriage
a mockery, conscience a phantom, and death proclaimed to all an eternal
sleep. She therefore most warmly seconded her husband in all endeavors
to restore again to desolated France the religion of Jesus Christ.
The next morning after the issuing of the proclamation announcing the
re-establishment of public worship, a grand religious ceremony took
place in honor of the occasion in the church of Notre Dame. Napoleon, to
produce a deep impression upon the public mind, invested the occasion
with all possible pomp. As he was preparing to go to the Cathedral, one
of his colleagues, Cambaceres, entered the room.
"Well," said the first consul, rubbing his hands in fine spirits, "we go
to church this morning; what say they to that in Paris?"
"Many people," replied Cambaceres, "propose to attend the first
representation in order to hiss the piece, should they not find it
amusing."
"If any one takes it into his head to hiss, I shall put him out of the
door by the grenadiers of the consular guard."
"But what if the grenadiers themselves take to hissing like the rest?"
"As to that, I have no fear. My old mustaches will go here to Notre Dame
just as at Cairo they would have gone to the mosque. They will remark
how I do, and, seeing their general grave and decent, they will be so
too, passing the watchword to each other, _Decency_!"
In the noble proclamation which the first consul issued upon this great
event, he says, "An insane policy has sought, during the Revolution, to
smother religious dissensions under the ruins of the altar, under the
ashes of religion itself. At its voice all those pious solemnities
ceased in which the citizens called each other by the endearing name of
brothers, and acknowledged their common equality in the sight of Heaven.
The dying, left alone in his agonies, no longer heard that consoling
voice which calls the Christian to a better world. God himself seemed
exiled from the face of nature. Ministers of the religion of peace! let
a complete oblivion veil over your dissensions, your misfortunes, your
faults. Let the religion which unites you bind you by indissoluble cords
to the interests of your country. Citizens of the Protestant faith! the
law has equally extended its solicitude to your interests. Let the
morality, so pure, so holy, so brotherly, which you profess, unite you
all in love to your country and respect for its laws; and, above all,
never permit disputes on doctrinal points to weaken that universal
charity which religion at once inculcates and commands."
This, surely, is a great triumph of Christianity. A man like Napoleon,
even though not at the time a believer in its divine origin, was so
perfectly satisfied of its beneficial influence upon mankind, that, as a
matter of state policy, he felt compelled to reinstate its observances.
Josephine cherished emotions of the deepest gratitude toward all those
who had proved friendly to her in the days of her adversity. Napoleon,
with his strong prejudices, often took a dislike to those whom Josephine
loved. Madame Tallien, the companion of Josephine in her captivity
and her benefactor after her release, was, for some unknown reason,
peculiarly obnoxious to Napoleon. She was extremely beautiful and very
ambitious, and her exclusion from the splendors of the new court, now
daily becoming more brilliant, mortified her exceedingly. Josephine also
was greatly troubled. She could not disregard the will of her husband,
and her heart recoiled from the thought of ingratitude toward one who
had been her friend in adversity. At this time, in Paris, pleasure
seemed to be the universal object of pursuit. All the restraints of
religion had been swept away, and masked balls, gambling, and every
species of dissipation attracted to the metropolis the wealthy and the
dissolute from all parts of Europe. Napoleon never made his appearance
in any of these reckless scenes of revelry. He ever was an inveterate
enemy to gambling in all its forms, and had no relish for luxurious
indulgence. Josephine, however, accompanied by Eugene, occasionally
looked in upon the dancers at the masked balls. On one of these
occasions a noble lady witnessed an incident which she has recorded in
the following words:
"Chance rendered me witness of a singular scene at one of
these balls. It was near two o'clock in the morning, the
crowd immense, and the heat overpowering. I had ascended for
a few moments to the apartments above, and, refreshed by the
cool air, was about to descend, when the sound of voices in
the adjoining room, in earnest conversation, caught my
attention. Applying my ear to the partition, the name of
Bonaparte, and the discovery that Josephine and Madame
Tallien were the speakers, excited a real curiosity. 'I
assure you, my dear Theresina,' said Josephine, 'that I
have done all that friendship could dictate, but in vain. No
later than this morning I made a new effort. Bonaparte would
hear of nothing. I can not comprehend what can have
prejudiced him so strongly against you. You are the only
woman whose name he has effaced from the list of my
particular friends; and from fear lest he should manifest
his displeasure directly against us have I now come hither
alone with my son. At this moment they believe me sound
asleep in my bed at the Tuilleries; but I determined on
coming to see, to warn, and to console you and, above all,
to justify myself.'
"'My dear Josephine,' Madame Tallien replied, 'I have never
doubted either the goodness of your heart or the sincerity
of your affection. Heaven is my witness that the loss of
your friendship would be to me much more painful than any
dread of Bonaparte. In these difficult times, I have
maintained a conduct that might, perhaps, render my visits
an honor, but I will never importune you to receive me
without his consent. He was not consul when Tallien followed
him into Egypt, when I received you both into my house, when
I shared with you--' Here she burst into tears, and her
voice became inaudible.
"'Calm yourself, my dear Theresina,' Josephine rejoined; 'be
calm, and let the storm pass. I am paving the way for a
reconciliation, but we must not irritate him more. You know
that he does not love Ouvrard, and it is said that he often
sees you.'
"'What, then,' Madame Tallien replied, 'because he governs
France, does he expect to tyrannize over our hearts? Must we
sacrifice to him our private friendships?'
"At that moment some one knocked at the door, and Eugene
Beauharnais entered. 'Madame,' said he to his mother, 'you
have been now more than an hour absent. The council of
ministers is perhaps over. What will the first consul say,
should he not find you on his return?' The two ladies then,
arm in arm, descended the stairs, conversing in earnest
whispers, followed by Eugene."
This Ouvrard, to whom allusion is made above, was a famous banker in
Paris, of enormous wealth, and engaged in the most wild and extravagant
speculations.
It now began to be rumored that Napoleon would soon be crowned as king.
Very many of the nation desired it, and though there was as yet no
public declaration, vague hints and floating rumors filled the air.
Josephine was greatly disquieted. It seemed more and more important that
Napoleon should have an heir. There was now no prospect that Josephine
would ever become again a mother. She heard, with irrepressible anguish,
that it had been urged upon her husband that the interests of France
required that he should obtain a divorce and marry again; that alliance
with one of the ancient royal families of Europe, and the birth of a
son, to whom he could transmit his crown, would place his power upon an
impregnable foundation. Josephine could not but perceive the _apparent_
policy of the great wrong. And though she knew that Napoleon truly and
tenderly loved her, she also feared that there was no sacrifice which
he was not ready to make in obedience to the claims of his towering
ambition.
One day she softly entered the cabinet without being announced.
Bonaparte and Bourrienne were conversing together. The day before, an
article appeared in the Moniteur, evidently preparing the way for the
throne. Josephine gently approached her husband, sat down upon his knee,
affectionately passed her hand through his hair and over his face, and,
with moistened eyes and a burst of tenderness, exclaimed, "I entreat
you, mon ami, do not make yourself a king. It is Lucien who urges you
to it. Do not even listen to him."
Bonaparte, smiling very pleasantly, replied, "Why, my dear Josephine,
you are crazy. You must not listen to these tales of the old dowagers.
But you interrupt us now. I am very busy."
During the earlier period of Napoleon's consulship, like the humblest
citizen, he occupied the same bed-chamber with his spouse. But now that
more of regal ceremony and state was being introduced to the consular
establishment, their domestic intercourse, to the great grief of
Josephine, assumed more of cold formality. Separate apartments were
assigned to Josephine at a considerable distance from those occupied by
her husband, and it was necessary to traverse a long corridor to pass
from one to the other. The chambers of the principal ladies of the court
opened upon this corridor from the right and the left. The splendor with
which Josephine's rooms were furnished was no compensation to her for
the absence of that affectionate familiarity for which her heart ever
yearned. She also suspected, with anguish, that this separation was
but the prelude of the divorce she so fearfully apprehended. Whenever
Napoleon passed the night in the apartment of Josephine, it was known to
the whole household. Josephine, at such times, always appeared at a
later hour in the morning than usual, for they generally passed half the
night in conversation.
"I think I see her still," writes one of the ladies of her household,
"coming in to breakfast, looking quite cheerful, rubbing her little
hands, as she was accustomed to do when peculiarly happy, and
apologizing for having risen so late. On such occasions she was, if
possible, more gracious than usual, refused nobody, and we were sure
of obtaining every thing we asked, as I have myself many times
experienced."
The Bourbons had been for some time in correspondence with Napoleon,
hoping, through his agency, to regain the throne. He assured them that
their restoration could not possibly be accomplished, even by the
sacrifice of the lives of a million of Frenchmen. Josephine, who had
suffered so much from anarchy, was a decided Royalist, and she exerted
all her powers to induce Napoleon to make the attempt to reinstate the
Bourbons. When her friends congratulated her upon the probability that
she would soon be Empress of France, with heartfelt sincerity she
replied, "To be the wife of the first consul fulfills my highest
ambition. Let me remain so." The Bourbons expressed much gratitude at
the time in view of Josephine's known intercessions in their behalf.
About this time a serious accident happened to the first consul, which
also exposed Josephine to much danger. The inhabitants of Antwerp had
made Napoleon a present of six magnificent bay horses. With four of
these spirited steeds harnessed to the carriage, Napoleon was one day
taking an airing, with Josephine and Cambaceres, the second consul, in
the park. Napoleon, taking a fancy to drive four in hand, mounted the
coach-box, and Caesar, his favorite coachman, was stationed behind. The
horses soon discovered that they had a new and inexperienced driver, and
started off at the top of their speed. Napoleon lost all control over
them, and the frightened animals, perfectly ungovernable, dashed along
the road at a fearful rate. Caesar kept shouting to Napoleon, "Keep in
the middle!" Cambaceres, pale with fright, thrust his head out of the
window, and shouted "Whoa! whoa!" Josephine, greatly alarmed, sank back
in her seat, and in silent resignation awaited the issue. As they
approached the avenue to St. Cloud, the imperial driver had not
sufficient skill to guide them safely through the gateway. The coach
struck against one of the pillars, and was overturned with a terrible
crash. Josephine and Cambaceres were considerably bruised. Napoleon was
thrown from his seat to the distance of eight or ten paces, and was
taken up insensible. He, however, soon recovered. On retiring at night,
they amused themselves in talking over the misadventure. "Mon ami," said
Josephine, laughing, "you must render unto Caesar the things that be
Caesar's. Let him keep his whip. Each to his vocation." The conversation
was continued for some time in a tone of pleasantry. Gradually Napoleon
became more serious. He seemed to be reflecting deeply, and said that he
never before came so near to death. "Indeed," said he, "I was for some
moments virtually dead. But what is death? what is death? It is merely a
sleep without dreams."
Such were probably, at this time, the views of Napoleon upon
immortality. He subsequently professed himself a sincere believer in the
divine origin of Christianity, and wished to die within the pale of the
Christian Church. That mind which can contemplate death with levity must
be either exceedingly weak or hopelessly deranged.
While nearly all who surrounded the first consul were contemplating with
the utmost satisfaction his approaching elevation to the throne, the
subject awakened in the bosom of Josephine the most agitating emotions.
She saw in the splendor of the throne peril to her husband, and the risk
of entire downfall to herself. "The real enemies of Bonaparte," said she
to Roederer, "are those who put into his head ideas of hereditary
succession, dynasty, divorce, and marriage." Again she is represented
as saying, "I do not approve the projects of Napoleon. I have often told
him so. He hears me with attention, but I can plainly see that I make no
impression. The flatterers who surround him soon obliterate all that I
have said. The new honors which he will acquire will augment the number
of his enemies. The generals will exclaim that they have not fought so
long merely to substitute the family of the Bonapartes for that of the
Bourbons."
The peace ratified by the treaty of Amiens in 1802 threw open the
Continent to travelers from England. There were thousands in that
country who were great admirers of Napoleon. The Tuilleries, St. Cloud,
and Malmaison were consequently ever thronged with illustrious strangers
from the island with which France had so long been engaged in war. The
celebrated statesman, Mr. Fox, with Lord and Lady Holland, Lord Erskine,
and several others of the most distinguished of the English nobility,
were visiting Paris, and one morning were at a breakfast party at Madame
Recamier's. Breakfast was nearly concluded, when the sounds of a
horseman galloping into the court-yard were heard. Eugene Beauharnais
was immediately after announced. After a few words of regret expressed
to the lady of the house for having arrived so late, he turned to Mr.
Fox and said, "I hope, sir, soon to indemnify myself for the loss of
your society which I have this morning sustained. I am commissioned by
my mother to attend you to Malmaison. The carriages will be here in a
few moments which are for the accommodation of you and your friends,
when you can resolve on leaving so many charms as must detain you here.
I shall, with much pleasure, act as your guide."
The carriages of the first consul soon arrived, and the whole party
proceeded to Malmaison. Josephine received her guests with that courtesy
and refined cordiality in which she was unrivaled. Bonaparte, knowing
the powerful influence of the illustrious English statesman, was very
desirous that he should receive a favorable impression from his visit.
It required but little effort on the part of Josephine to excel in the
art of pleasing. She banished all parade, and received her guests as
family friends. The day was spent at Malmaison, and Mr. Fox afterward
stated that he retired from the visit enchanted with the elegance and
grace of all that he saw and heard.
Ten years had passed, during which France had been in a state of
constant warfare. The short peace which succeeded the treaty of
Amiens filled Paris with the best society of Europe. Extravagance
and dissipation reigned in the metropolis. But in those scenes of
dissipation neither Napoleon nor Josephine ever made their appearance.
His mind was ever engrossed with the magnificent plans he was forming
and the deeds he was achieving. Josephine was equally engaged in
watching over the interests of her husband, and in gaining and
confirming friends to his cause.
On the 18th of May, 1804, by a decree of the senate, Napoleon was
declared Emperor of France. The decree was sent out to the various
departments for the action of the people. The result was, that 3,572,329
voted in the affirmative, while but 2569 were in the negative. A more
unanimous expression of a nation's will history never has recorded. The
day after his elevation to the imperial throne, the emperor held a grand
levee at the Tuilleries, and Josephine, with many fears darkening this
hour of exultation, made her first appearance as the Empress of France.
The decree announcing Napoleon Bonaparte to be the emperor of France
also declared that the imperial dignity should be _hereditary_ in his
family. The empress struggled against her fears, but her heart was
heavy, and she found but little joy upon this high pinnacle of power.
She also plainly foresaw that the throne of her husband, apparently so
gorgeous and massive, was erected upon a very frail foundation.
At the grand levee held upon this occasion, the assembly was the most
brilliant and numerous that had ever yet been witnessed in Paris. The
renown of Napoleon now filled the world, and noted men from every land
thronged his saloons. Josephine found herself elevated to the position
of the most illustrious of the queens of Europe. The power of her
husband was superior to that of any of the surrounding monarchs, and she
received the homage of all as occupying an elevation such as no queen
had ever attained before.
The second of December, 1804, was appointed for the ceremony of
coronation. The pageant was to take place in the church of Notre Dame.
The pope came from Rome to place the crown upon this lofty, though
plebeian brow. For ten centuries such an honor had not been conferred
upon any monarch. The day was clear and brilliant, but intensely cold.
The venerable walls of Notre Dame had never before witnessed such luxury
and such magnificence as was now displayed. Carriages glittering with
gold and purple trappings; horses proudly caparisoned; officers in the
richest uniforms, and in court dresses sumptuously embroidered; servants
in most gorgeous liveries; and a waving sea of ostrich plumes,
bewildered the multitude with the unwonted splendor.
The empress appeared in a robe of white satin, embroidered with gold,
and profusely ornamented with diamonds. A mantle of crimson velvet,
lined with white satin and ermine, floated over her shoulders, and
golden bees were clustered over the dress. The coronation jewels
consisted of a crown, a diadem, and a girdle. The coronation crown
consisted of eight golden branches, four in imitation of palm, and four
of myrtle leaves. The dew-drops glittering upon this foliage were
brilliant diamonds. A golden-corded band surrounded the crown,
embellished with eight very large emeralds. The bandeau inclosing the
head glittered resplendent with amethysts. This was the coronation
crown, which was used only upon state occasions. The diadem, which was
for more ordinary service, was composed of four rows of pearls
interlaced with diamonds. In front were several very large brilliants,
one of which weighed one hundred and forty-nine grains. The ceinture or
girdle was of pure gold, so pure as to be quite elastic, embellished
with thirty-nine rose-colored diamonds.
Napoleon wore a close dress of white velvet, embroidered in gold, with
diamond buttons. His stockings were of white silk. The robe and mantle
were of crimson velvet, richly embroidered in gold and embellished with
diamonds. Napoleon seemed to regret the vast expense attending this
display, while at the same time he was conscious of its importance to
impress the minds of the Parisians. The emperor was profuse in
expenditure to promote the grandeur and glory of the nation, but very
frugal in his personal expenses.
The imperial carriage, constructed expressly for the occasion, was the
most exquisite piece of workmanship Parisian ingenuity could devise. It
was drawn by eight bay horses. The paneling was entirely of glass. As
the emperor and empress entered the carriage, they both, by mistake, sat
down with their backs toward the horses. Josephine, immediately
perceiving the error, lightly changed her seat, at the same time saying
smilingly to her husband, as she pointed to the rich cushion at her
side, "Mon ami! unless you prefer riding vis-a-vis, this is your seat."
Napoleon laughed heartily at the blunder, and changed his seat. Double
files of infantry lined the route of more than a mile and a half,
extending from the Tuilleries to Notre Dame. Ten thousand horsemen, in
most gorgeous uniforms, attended the carriages. Half a million of
spectators thronged the way, crowding the windows and balconies,
clustered upon the house-tops, and filling up every space from whence
any view of the cortege could be gained. The air was filled with the
martial strains of a thousand bands, with the thunders of innumerable
pieces of artillery, and with the enthusiastic acclamations of the vast
multitude. A pageant more sublime this world perhaps has never
witnessed.
[Illustration: THE CORONATION.]
The throne, which was hung with crimson velvet, was overarched with a
canopy of the same rich material. It was ascended by twenty-two circular
steps, which were covered with blue cloth, studded with golden bees.
The most illustrious officers of the empire crowded the stairs. Napoleon
and Josephine sat, side by side, upon the throne. The religious
ceremony occupied nearly four hours. It was interspersed with the most
soul-stirring music from martial bands and from more than three hundred
vocal performers. When the pope was about to place the crown upon the
brow of the emperor, Napoleon took it from him, and placed it, with his
own hands, upon his head. He then took it off and crowned the empress,
also with his own hands, fixing his eye proudly, yet most tenderly, upon
her. The heavy crown was soon after laid upon a cushion, while a smaller
diadem was placed upon the head of Josephine. She kneeled before her
illustrious consort as he placed the crown of France upon her brow.
After remaining for a moment in silence in the posture of prayer, with
her hands folded over her bosom, she then gracefully rose, her eyes
swimming in tears, and turned to her husband with a look of gratitude
and of love which the emperor feelingly recognized. It was a touching
scene, and in that moment were clustered the memories of years.
But the day was not without its moments of anguish for Josephine. In the
brief speech which the emperor made upon the occasion, he said, "_My
descendants will long sit upon this throne._" These words were as a
dagger to the heart of the empress. She knew Napoleon's intense desire
for an heir. She knew how strong the desire in France was that he should
have a son to whom to transmit his throne. She knew how much had been
said respecting the necessity of a divorce. The most infamous proposals
had been urged upon her by pretended friends, even by one of the
brothers of Napoleon, that she might, by unfaithfulness to him, obviate
the necessity of Napoleon's seeking another bride. This sentiment,
uttered upon the day of coronation, filled her heart with fear and
anguish.
The shades of evening had fallen upon the swarming city, and all the
streets of the metropolis and the broad facade of the Tuilleries were
glittering with illuminations when the emperor and empress returned to
the palace. Josephine, overcome with the conflicting emotions which the
day had excited, retired to her apartment, and, falling upon her knees,
with tears implored the guidance of the King of kings. Napoleon hastened
to his room, exclaiming impatiently to an attendant as he entered, "Off,
off with these confounded trappings!" He threw the mantle into one
corner of the room, and the gorgeous robe into another, and, thus
violently disencumbering himself, declared that hours of such mortal
tediousness he had never encountered before.
Josephine, in her remonstrances with Napoleon against assuming the
crown, predicted, with almost prophetic accuracy, the consequences which
would ensue. "Will not your power," she wrote to him, "opposed, as to
a certainty it must be, by the neighboring states, draw you into a
war with them? This will probably end in their ruin. Will not their
neighbors, beholding these effects, combine for your destruction? While
abroad such is the state of things, at home how numerous the envious and
discontented! How many plots to disconcert, and how many conspiracies to
punish."
Soon after the coronation, Josephine was one morning in her garden, when
an intimate friend called to see her. She saluted the empress by the
title of Your Majesty. "Ah!" she exclaimed, in tones deeply pathetic, "I
entreat that you will suffer me, at least here, to forget that I am an
empress." It is the unvarying testimony of her friends, that, while she
was receiving with surpassing gracefulness the congratulations of France
and of Europe, her heart was heavy. She clearly foresaw the peril of
their position, and trembled in view of an approaching downfall. The
many formal ceremonies which her station required, and upon which
Napoleon laid great stress, were exceedingly irksome to one whose warm
heart rejoiced in the familiarity of unrestrained friendship. She thus
described her feelings: "The nearer my husband approached the summit of
earthly greatness, the more dim became my last gleams of happiness. It
is true that I enjoyed a magnificent existence. My court was composed
of gentlemen and ladies the most illustrious in rank, all of whom were
emulous of the honor of being presented to me. But my time was no longer
at my command. The emperor was receiving from every part of France
congratulations upon his accession to the throne, while I myself sighed
in contemplating the immense power he had acquired. The more I saw him
loaded with the gifts of Fortune, the more I feared his fall."
The court of France had for ages been the scene of the most voluptuous
and unblushing vice. The whole nation had been corrupted by its
influence. Dissipation had been rendered attractive by the grace with
which it had been robed. The dissolute manners which had prevailed at
Versailles, the Tuilleries, and St. Cloud no pen can describe. Napoleon
determined that, at all hazards, his court should be reputable at least
in outward morality. He was more scrupulous upon this point even than
Josephine herself. Believing that the downfall of the Bourbons was
caused, in no inconsiderable degree, by the dissolute lives of the
nobles and the courtiers, he would give no one an appointment among the
royal retinue whose character was not, in his judgment, above reproach.
The Duchess d'Aiguillon had been a fellow-captive of Josephine, and,
after their liberation from prison, had greatly befriended her. During
the license of those times, in which all the restraints of Christian
morality had been swept away, her character had not remained perfectly
spotless. She and her husband had availed themselves of the facile
liberty of divorce which the laws had encouraged, and had formed other
unions. Josephine felt grateful for the many favors she had received
from the duchess, and wished to testify this gratitude by receiving her
at court. Napoleon peremptorily refused. Josephine wrote to her in the
following terms:
"MY DEAR FRIEND,--I am deeply afflicted. My former friends,
supposing that I am able to obtain the fulfillment of all
my wishes, must suppose that I have forgotten the past.
Alas! it is not so. I remember it too well, and my thoughts
dwell upon it more than I would have them. The more I think
of what my friends did for me, the greater is my sorrow at
being unable to do now what my heart dictates. The Empress
of France is but the first slave in the empire, and can not
pay the debts of Madame de Beauharnais. This constitutes the
torture of my life, and will explain why you do not occupy a
place near me. The emperor, indignant at the total disregard
of morality, and alarmed at the progress it might still
make, is resolved that the example of a life of regularity
and of religion shall be presented in the palace where he
reigns. Desirous of strengthening more and more the Church
re-established by himself, and unable to change the laws
appointed by her observances, his intention is, at least, to
keep at a distance from his court all who may have availed
themselves of the opportunity for a divorce. Hence the cause
of his refusing the favor I asked of having you with me. The
refusal has occasioned me unspeakable regret, but he is too
absolute to leave even the hope of seeing him retract. I am
thus constrained to renounce the pleasure I had promised
myself of being constantly with you, studying to make you
forget the sovereign in the friend. Pity my lot in being too
public a personage to follow my own inclination, and cherish
for me a friendship, the remembrance of which gives me now
as much pleasure as its reality afforded consolation in
prison. Often do I regret that small, dark, and dismal
chamber which we shared together, for there, at least, I
could pour out my whole heart, and was sincerely beloved in
return."