Duroc, who was appointed governor of the palace, had a table for the
officers, the aides de camp, and the ladies on duty. The First Consul
took his meals alone with his wife, but gave formal dinners twice a
week for important officials of the government. The military household
was composed of the four generals commanding the Consular Guard,
Lannes, Bessières, Davout and Soult, and the seven aides de camp, among
whom were Caulaincourt, Rapp and Savary. There were four prefects and
the same number of ladies of the palace, of whom the best known were
M. de Rémusat, and his wife, the author of the celebrated memoirs.
The usages of the Court of Versailles had been copied so closely that
there was even a serious idea of reviving the custom of powdered hair,
but Napoleon could not bring himself to this, so hair was worn _au
naturel_.
For the first time since the Revolution, religious practices were
renewed; the First Consul insisted that on Sunday every one should go
to Mass, and the Chapel at Saint-Cloud recalled that at Versailles.
The last of October Napoleon and Joséphine made a fortnight’s trip
to Normandie. The first day they went over the field of battle where
Henry the Fourth gained the victory of Ivry. Then they passed a
week at Rouen, where the First Consul visited all of the principal
manufactories, and held a review of the National Guard. Another
week was spent at Havre and Dieppe, inspecting the ports, the
fortifications, and the ships under construction. On the evening of the
14 November the party was again back at Saint-Cloud.
The following ten weeks were spent at Saint-Cloud, except one day, the
first week in December, when the First Consul went to the Tuileries
to receive the English ambassador, Lord Whitworth, who presented his
credentials. On the 23 January 1803 Napoleon and Joséphine returned to
the Tuileries for the winter.
In 1803 Joséphine was forty years of age. Her beauty was somewhat
faded, but she was so adroit in the use of cosmetics, she dressed with
so much taste, that with her charm of manner and her air of distinction
she could still be called a very attractive woman. No sovereign was
ever more to the manner born. She received so well; she possessed in
so high a degree the art of saying something appropriate and pleasant
to every one; she had so much tact, and so much presence of mind, that
any one would have thought she was born on the steps of a throne. She
was popular with all parties and all factions. Fouché, who represented
the element of the Revolution, was her friend, and all the personages
of the Ancien Régime regarded her as their ally. She had done much good
in her life, and had never injured anybody; even the severest critics
of Bonaparte had only words of praise for his wife. All classes of
society united in rendering her homage. She was not only popular, but
she deserved her popularity. She was so much loved and admired that
even the most rigid moralists had no words of reproach for her past
indiscretions.
No woman ever justified better than Joséphine the saying that the eyes
are the mirror of the soul. Her own, of a deep blue color, were almost
always half-closed by her long eyelids fringed with the most beautiful
eyelashes in the world; and her glance was absolutely irresistible.
Another of her great charms was her voice, which was soft and musical,
with the slightest Creole accent. She read well, and loved to read
aloud. Napoleon preferred her to all other readers.
All who knew Joséphine unite in speaking of her kindness. Madame de
Rémusat says: “She had a remarkable evenness of temper, much good-will,
and the faculty of forgetting any wrong done her.” Constant, the valet
de chambre of Napoleon, bears the same testimony. “Kindness,” he
writes, “was as inseparable from her character, as grace was from her
person; generous to the point of prodigality, she made every one around
her happy. No woman was ever more loved by those near her, or more
deserved to be.”
Without having great intelligence, Joséphine possessed the most perfect
_savoir faire_. She always found, without searching, the exact
word for the occasion, the expression which touched and charmed, and
this is better than _esprit_, because it comes, not from the
head, but the heart. She was also a good listener, a trait both rare
and remarkable. She never forgot a name or a face, and on meeting some
one whom she had not seen in years, could always recall some pleasant
incident connected with him.
As nearly always happens, Joséphine had the defects of her qualities:
she was generous and charitable to a fault, but she was also prodigal
to excess. As we shall see later, only the revenues of Imperial France
could ever have sufficed to pay her debts.
At this time the First Consul and his wife made quite a happy
household. At Saint-Cloud they always occupied the same chamber.
About eight o’clock Napoleon arose, and went to his cabinet, where
he breakfasted alone. Then he began his day’s work, which generally
occupied him until six o’clock, when he went for a drive with
Joséphine. They dined together, and he usually remained for a short
chat afterwards. Then he returned to his cabinet, while Joséphine
played cards, to finish the evening. Between ten and eleven, a
chamberlain came to announce, “Madame, the First Consul has retired.”
Joséphine immediately dismissed her company, and went to rejoin her
husband.
After their return to the Tuileries this year, Napoleon decided to
have his own room, separate from his wife. In this connection Madame
de Rémusat recounts a scene which constitutes one of the strangest
episodes in her interesting, but not always trustworthy, memoirs. That
season a new actress, named Mlle. Georges, had made her début. She
had very little talent, but great beauty, and Napoleon was seduced by
her charms. Joséphine was informed that the young actress, on several
evenings, had been secretly conducted to a quiet apartment in the
Château. One night Joséphine kept Madame de Rémusat later than usual,
and talked of her grievances. At one o’clock in the morning, they
were alone in her salon, and the most complete silence reigned over
the Tuileries. Suddenly Joséphine exclaimed: “I cannot keep quiet any
longer. Mlle. Georges is certainly upstairs, and I am going to surprise
them. Follow me; we will go up together.” The lady of the palace
protested, and tried, but in vain, to turn Joséphine from her purpose.
They silently ascended the private staircase which led to the suite of
Napoleon on the first floor. Suddenly they heard a slight noise, and
stopped in their course. “It may be Roustan, who is guarding the door,”
said Joséphine. “The wretch is capable of cutting both our throats.”
Pale with terror, at these words Madame de Rémusat rushed back to the
salon, carrying the candle which she held in her hand, and leaving
Joséphine in the dark. She followed, after a few minutes, and burst
into laughter at the sight of her maid’s discomposed countenance. After
this they abandoned their enterprise.
Before adopting this change in his habitudes Napoleon one day asked
Madame de Rémusat if she thought a husband should yield to the caprices
of a wife who wished always to share his bed. The lady of the palace
returned an evasive answer. Bonaparte began to laugh, and, pulling
her ear, a favorite trick of his when in good humor, said: “You are a
woman, and you are all in league together.”
* * * * *
A recent biographer tells us that there is a pretty picture of
Joséphine at this time, as she appeared at the wedding of Napoleon’s
sister Pauline: “With her short sleeves, bare arms, and her hair
enclosed in a gilt net, she looked like a Greek statue.” The first
Consul led her to a mirror, that he might see her on all sides at once,
and, kissing her shoulder, said: “Ah, Joséphine, I shall be jealous.
Why are you so beautiful to-day?” It is really a pity to destroy so
idealistic a picture, but as a matter of fact Napoleon was not present
at his sister’s wedding.
The first day of January 1803, Pauline returned from the disastrous
expedition to Saint-Domingue, where her husband, Leclerc, had succumbed
to the unhealthy climate. She herself was suffering from a grave
malady, from which she never entirely recovered. For two months after
her return to Paris, Pauline lived with Joseph at his town house,
but in April she purchased for four hundred thousand francs the
magnificent Hôtel Charost in the Faubourg-Saint-Honoré, a few doors
from Joseph’s Hôtel Marbeuf.
At this same time there arrived in Paris the Prince Camillo Borghèse,
the chief of one of the richest and most illustrious Roman families.
At a house party at Mortefontaine in June he was presented to Pauline.
By this time the young widow, who was not yet twenty-three, had
somewhat recovered from her real grief over the loss of Leclerc, and
was tired of wearing mourning, which did not become her style of
beauty. She was much attracted by the personality of Borghèse, but
perhaps even more by the idea of being a real princesse, and taking
the _pas_ over her dear sisters Bacciochi and Murat, as well as
her sisters-in-law, Joséphine and Hortense. A few days after their
first meeting, she authorized Joseph to make overtures to the prince.
The matter was quickly arranged, and on the 21 June Borghèse formally
announced to Joseph his desire to marry Pauline. He only asked that
the proposed alliance should remain a secret until he had time to
obtain his mother’s consent. At the same time Pauline wrote the First
Consul to ask his approval. The mother of the prince was delighted
with the alliance, and on the first day of August the engagement was
announced by the Paris journals. On the 23 August the marriage contract
was signed, only by Pauline and Borghèse, at the Hôtel Charost. On
the 14 August, and again a week later, the banns were published at
Mortefontaine. It was generally anticipated that the marriage would
take place on the 28 August, but just then a difficulty arose: they had
forgotten Leclerc! He had died on the second day of November 1802, and
the social rules, reëstablished and formally promulgated by the First
Consul himself, forbade a widow to remarry during a period of one year
and six weeks after the death of her husband. In this dilemma Madame
Bonaparte, who was as domineering and imperious as her great son, took
charge of affairs, and ordered the marriage to take place. On the 28
August, or perhaps four days later, the ceremony was performed at
Mortefontaine by an Italian priest, who may have been Cardinal Caprara
himself. The exact date is uncertain, as the certificate was never
filed.
This “marriage of conscience” was known only to the mother, and two of
the brothers of the bride, Joseph and Lucien. Napoleon was so ignorant
of the matter that on the 25 September he gave Pauline a dinner of
two hundred _converts_ at the Tuileries, and afterwards took her
to Saint-Cloud to pass several days with him. A month later, the 23
October, he gave another large dinner to his sister, to which Borghèse
was invited. Napoleon intended on this occasion to announce formally
the date of the marriage. He was still ignorant of the fact that a
religious ceremony had taken place, without a previous civil contract
as required by law.
The official marriage was finally celebrated at Mortefontaine on the
6 November, but the First Consul was not present. He had left for
Boulogne three days before, to inspect the fleet, and did not return
to Saint-Cloud until after the middle of the month. This absence was
intentional: Napoleon was enraged at having been thus deceived by his
favorite sister, by his mother and his brothers, in short, by everybody.
At the wedding there were present all the members of the family except
Napoleon, and Lucien, who ten days before had secretly contracted
another alliance, which was to disgrace him with his brother. The
wedding of Pauline was announced by only two lines in the official
journal: “Madame Leclerc has married Prince Borghèse; the marriage was
celebrated at Mortefontaine.” Napoleon pressed the departure of the
newly married couple, and several days before his return from Boulogne
they were on their way to Italy.
The marriage of Pauline had wounded the heart of Napoleon, but almost
at the same time there occurred two other weddings in the family which
brought other cares; which disturbed the family harmony, and exercised
a decisive influence on the fortunes of two of the brothers.
In May or June 1802, Lucien had met, while on a visit in the country,
a young woman with whom he became desperately enamored. Her name was
Alexandrine de Bleschamp, and at the age of nineteen she had married
a certain Monsieur Jouberthou. Later she had been abandoned at Paris,
almost without resources, when her husband sailed for Saint-Domingue
to try and retrieve his fortunes. A few months later she met Lucien.
Affairs moved quickly, and in August Madame Jouberthou was installed in
Lucien’s mansion at Plessis. When he returned to Paris she was lodged
in a house which communicated by a subterranean passage with Lucien’s
hôtel in the Rue Saint-Dominique. There, on the 23 May 1803, was born
a child who was declared before the municipality under the name of
Jules-Laurence-Lucien. This eldest son of Lucien was subsequently
legitimized by the marriage of his parents, and he was later called
Charles after his grandfather. This ceremony, however, was not
performed until the 23 October 1803, after Lucien had finally succeeded
in obtaining a certificate of the death of Jouberthou at Port-au-Prince
the 15 June 1802.
If the affair of Lucien was serious, in the eyes of Napoleon that of
his youngest brother was worse. In February 1802, Jérôme sailed with
the French fleet for the West Indies. Born the 15 November 1784, he
was then only seventeen years of age. Two months later he returned to
Paris as bearer of despatches from Leclerc. Promoted to the rank of
ensign, he sailed again on the 18 September for Martinique. Soon tiring
of his naval career, Jérôme decided to return to France by way of New
York, and sailed for Virginia on an American pilot boat. He landed at
Norfolk the 20 July 1803, and a week later he was in Washington. During
his stay there he met at Baltimore a very attractive girl of about his
own age, named Elizabeth Patterson, the daughter of a wealthy merchant,
and on the 24 December they were married. The chargé d’affaires at
Washington, Pichon, had done everything in his power to prevent the
marriage. He wrote Mr. Patterson and Jérôme to point out that any
marriage contracted without the consent of Madame Bonaparte, during
her lifetime, under the French law would be absolutely null and void.
Jérôme was too much in love to hesitate, and the young lady and her
father were willing to take a chance.
When the news reached France, the First Consul sent his brother
peremptory orders to return, but owing to various causes Jérôme did not
reach Europe until over a year later.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
1803–1804
THE ROYALIST PLOTS
Rupture of the Peace of Amiens--The Celebrated Scene with the
English Ambassador--The Visit to Belgium--An Unfortunate Episode
at Mortefontaine--First Suggestions of the Empire--Magnificent
Reception at Brussels--The Royalist Conspiracies--Cadoudal and
Pichegru Reach Paris--Joséphine’s Pacific Counsels--Petty Vanity
of Mme. Moreau--Her Husband’s Jealousy of Bonaparte--Arrest,
Trial and Exile of Moreau--Deaths of Pichegru and Cadoudal--The
Execution of the Duc d’Enghien
On the 27 March 1802, the long war between England and France had
been ended by the Treaty of Amiens, which was very popular in both
countries. Unfortunately the peace was to last only a year. On the
13 March 1803 at the Tuileries occurred the celebrated scene between
Bonaparte and the English ambassador, which presaged the renewal of the
struggle.
Once a month the First Consul was accustomed to receive the ambassadors
and their wives in Joséphine’s apartment. This audience was always a
very ceremonious affair. The ministers were conducted to a salon, and
when all were present the First Consul and his wife appeared, followed
by a prefect and a lady of the palace. After the formal presentations
had been made, Napoleon and Joséphine carried on a short conversation,
and then withdrew.
On the present occasion, Madame de Rémusat entered Joséphine’s room
a few minutes before the hour fixed for the reception. She found
Bonaparte there, sitting on the floor, and playing gaily with the baby
Napoleon, the child of Louis and Hortense, who was then only five
months old. At the same time he amused himself by commenting on the
toilettes of the two ladies, and giving his advice about their dresses.
He laughed continuously, and seemed to be in the best possible humor.
In a few minutes he was notified that the ambassadors had all arrived.
Getting up, his whole expression suddenly changed; the laughter left
his lips, and his features became very severe. Exclaiming, “Let us
go, ladies!” he rushed from the room, and entered the salon. Without
saluting any one, he walked directly to the English minister, and
immediately began to complain of the measures of his Government. His
anger seemed to increase from moment to moment, and rose to a point
which terrified the whole assembly. The harshest words, the most
violent menaces, issued from his trembling lips. No one dared to
make a movement, and Joséphine looked on mute with astonishment. The
phlegmatic Englishman was so disconcerted that he could hardly find a
word to reply.
Leaving the dumfounded ambassador, Bonaparte spoke to two of the other
ministers, then returned to Lord Whitworth, and made a few polite
personal remarks. Suddenly his anger seemed to return. “You are then
decided on war?” he exclaimed; “we have already had it for ten years;
you wish to have it for ten years more; and you force me into it....
Why these armaments? If you arm, I shall arm too. You can perhaps
destroy France, but intimidate her, never!” At this moment his face was
red with anger, and he seemed in a paroxysm of fury.
Two months later Lord Whitworth demanded his passports, and the long
contest was resumed, which was only to end on the field of Waterloo.
Napoleon immediately began his preparations, and as a preliminary
to the gigantic struggle decided to visit in state the northern
departments, and in particular the great port of Antwerp, “that pistol
pointed at the heart of England.”
The First Consul decided that the journey should be made with the
greatest magnificence, and that his wife should accompany him, in
order to make use of her well-known powers of attraction. He had the
Crown jewels taken out of the safe deposits where they were stored,
and gave them to Joséphine, who, we may be sure, was not reluctant to
employ them. Two of the ladies of the palace, Mesdames de Rémusat and
Talhouet, were chosen to accompany the party, and the First Consul
gave each of them thirty thousand francs for the expenses of their
toilettes. On the 24 June 1803 they left Saint-Cloud, with a cortège of
several carriages, two generals of the Guard, the aides de camp, Duroc,
and two prefects of the palace, of whom M. de Rémusat was one.
The first night was passed at the country home of Joseph,
Mortefontaine, where nearly the whole Bonaparte family was reunited.
Here a very unpleasant scene occurred. Just before dinner, Joseph
notified Napoleon that he intended to take in their mother, and place
her at his right hand, with Joséphine at his left. The First Consul
was offended at this arrangement, which put his wife in second place,
but Joseph refused to yield. When the dinner was announced, Napoleon
gave his arm to Joséphine, entered unceremoniously before every one,
and placed her by his side. The whole party was so disarranged that
poor meek Madame Joseph found herself at the foot of the table, as if
she did not belong to the family. During the dinner Napoleon occupied
himself exclusively with his wife, and did not address a word to any
one else.
The second night was passed at Amiens, where the First Consul was
received with enthusiasm impossible to describe. The people detached
the horses and drew the carriage themselves. Joséphine was moved to
tears by the cries of joy, the garlands of flowers which crowned the
route, the triumphal arches erected in honor of the restorer of France,
the benedictions which were too general not to have been absolutely
spontaneous.
In several of the cities of Flanders the mayors in their addresses
ventured to suggest that the First Consul should replace his precarious
title by one more in accord with the high destiny to which he was
called. Bonaparte could hardly conceal his pleasure at these words, but
interrupted the orator to say in a tone of assumed anger that he could
not think of changing the Republic: like Cæsar he rejected the crown
which nevertheless he was not reluctant to have presented to him.
After these receptions the First Consul usually mounted his horse,
and showed himself to the people, who received him with cheers;
then he visited the public buildings and the manufactories, in his
usual hurried manner. In the evening he attended the dinner offered
him, which was the most tiresome part of his day’s work, for, as he
expressed it: “I am not made for pleasure.”
Everywhere in old France the party was received with the same
enthusiasm, but in Flanders there was not so much warmth. On arriving
at Antwerp the First Consul showed great interest in this important
port, and gave orders for the great works which were afterwards carried
out.
The entry into Brussels was magnificent. At the gate of the city,
the First Consul was received by several regiments of troops; he
mounted his horse, and Joséphine found a superb carriage placed at her
disposal. The whole city was decorated; the artillery fired salutes;
all the church bells were rung; the streets were thronged by the
people; and the July day was perfect. During the week there was a
succession of fêtes. It was on one of these occasions that Talleyrand
replied in a manner so adroit and so flattering to a sudden question of
Bonaparte, who demanded how he had made his large fortune so quickly.
“Nothing easier,” replied the minister, “I bought government securities
on the day before the 18 Brumaire, and sold them the day after!”
From Brussels the party returned by way of Liège and Sedan to
Saint-Cloud, where they arrived on the 11 August after an absence of
seven weeks. Joséphine was delighted with this trip, during which she
left everywhere recollections of her charm and grace, which were never
to be effaced.
This triumphal progress of Bonaparte through the northern departments
excited to the highest degree the rage of the Royalists, and plots were
immediately formed for his removal. The heads of this conspiracy were
the Chouan leader, Georges Cadoudal, and the former Republican general,
Pichegru. Moreau, the victor of Hohenlinden, considered by many as the
second soldier of France, was also gravely implicated.
Not far from Dieppe there is a cliff two hundred and fifty feet high:
this was the point where Cadoudal entered France on the night of the
22 August 1803. It was a place well known to smugglers, who nightly
climbed the rock with the aid of a ship cable hung from the top. By
the same route Pichegru and several other conspirators arrived several
weeks later. Walking by night, and hiding by day, they all eventually
arrived at Paris, where under different disguises they eluded for a
long time the vigilance of the police.
On a dark night in January Pichegru had an interview with Moreau on
the Boulevard de la Madeleine. The two generals had not met since the
days that on the borders of the Rhine they were gloriously fighting the
battles of France. The meeting was not entirely harmonious, and the
Comte d’Artois was deceived by false reports when he exclaimed with
joy: “Now that our two generals are in accord I shall soon be back in
France!”
During this time Bonaparte was far more nervous and uneasy than on
the field of battle, where he always displayed the greatest calm.
He directed the movements of the secret police and stimulated their
zeal. In the midst of these hidden perils Joséphine showed great
courage. With her usual kindness of heart, she urged her irritated
husband not to confound the innocent with the guilty, and not to hold
the whole royalist party responsible for the acts of a few fanatics.
Unfortunately Napoleon did not listen to these wise counsels. In the
state of excitement to which his nerves had been wrought up by the
renewal of these infamous attempts on his life, he decided on a policy
of vengeance which should strike terror to the hearts of his foes.