be different. In addition to these performances, by the
Comédie-Française, there were representations of Italian opera. The
plays were always tragedies, often Corneille, sometimes Racine, but
rarely Voltaire, whom Napoleon did not like. The whole Court was bored
to death by these interminable tragedies, and yawned or dozed. There
was never any applause, and the play was received in cold silence. The
Emperor himself either slept, or was buried in thought. For the opera,
the best Italian singers had been engaged, at large salaries, but they
were listened to without a sign of interest.
The fêtes and spectacles were nominally in charge of M. de Talleyrand,
the grand chamberlain, but the real work was done by the first
chamberlain, M. de Rémusat, to whom Talleyrand said one day: “I am
sorry for you, for you must amuse the _unamusable_!” The dreamy,
discontented disposition which the Emperor displayed on all occasions
cast a sombre veil over all the assemblies and balls at Fontainebleau.
About eight o’clock the Court in gala costume assembled in the
apartment where the entertainment was to be given that evening. While
awaiting the arrival of Their Majesties there was no conversation. The
Empress came first, gracefully traversed the salon, took her place, and
then, like the others, awaited in silence the entry of the Emperor.
Finally he came, and took his seat beside her. He watched the dancing
with a bored look, which was not conducive to pleasure, and naturally
no one enjoyed the evening. He soon took his departure, and almost
immediately the assembly broke up.
While the Court was at Fontainebleau the Emperor had an _affaire_
with a beautiful young woman named Gazzani. Talleyrand had found her
in Italy, and had persuaded the Emperor to give her a place in his
household as reader for the Empress, while her husband was made a
receiver general. She was tall, beautifully formed, with magnificent
dark eyes, and a very attractive face. In a Court where there were
many lovely women, she was generally considered the most beautiful of
all. She had a very sweet, submissive disposition, and yielded to the
desires of the Emperor from a kind of conviction that it was her duty
not to resist him. At the same time she displayed the greatest devotion
for the Empress, who closed her eyes to this little episode. As a
result, this liaison was of brief duration, and attracted very little
attention.
Another love affair which caused much talk, but was also very brief,
was the sudden passion which the new King of Westphalia conceived
for the charming young Duchesse of Baden. Jérôme had not even waited
until his honeymoon was over before beginning a violent flirtation,
and Catherine was very jealous. Stéphanie, who had not yet learned to
appreciate her husband, was gay and frivolous and naturally coquette.
Jérôme danced with her at all the balls, while Catherine, who had
inherited from her father a tendency to corpulence and did not dance,
was forced to look sadly on. Finally, one evening when Jérôme had been
more than usually attentive to Stéphanie, Catherine suddenly burst
into tears, and fell from her chair in a dead faint. The ball was
interrupted, and she was carried into an adjoining salon. The Emperor
addressed a few sharp words to his brother: Jérôme rushed after his
wife, threw himself on his knees by her side, and with a thousand
caresses endeavored to restore her to consciousness. A few minutes
later the young couple retired to their apartment.
The following day, Napoleon commanded Joséphine to have a plain talk
with her lively cousin, and bring her to reason. Stéphanie took the
reproof in good part, and both of the young people were too much afraid
of the Emperor to renew what had been after all an innocent flirtation.
At this time, the Emperor no longer showed his partiality for
Stéphanie. He seemed to have forgotten entirely the rules prescribed
for her as his adopted daughter before her marriage, and only accorded
her the rank and precedence of a princesse of the Confederation of the
Rhine, which placed her below the queens and the imperial princesses.
From that time on, Stéphanie was a model of decorum in her conduct.
She showed no regret on leaving for Baden with her husband, and this
seems to have been the beginning of the perfect accord which afterwards
united them.
In the meantime Hortense was living in the greatest possible seclusion.
Her health was very delicate, and the memory of her lost child was
always with her. The Emperor displayed for her much affection and
esteem. At the bottom of his heart he undoubtedly had more love for
her than for his brother, but the family spirit was too strong for him
to take any active part in their quarrels. He had consented to her
remaining in Paris until after her confinement, but he continued to
speak of her return to Holland. For her part, Hortense was equally firm
in her determination never to return to this bleak country where she
had experienced so much trouble and sorrow. She said to the Emperor:
“My reputation is tarnished, my health is lost, I look for no more
happiness in life; banish me from your Court if you wish; shut me up
in a convent; I desire neither throne nor fortune. Give peace to my
mother, distinction to Eugène who deserves it, but let me live tranquil
and alone.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
1807
PROJECTS OF DIVORCE
The Question of Divorce First Seriously Considered--Napoleon
Asks Joséphine to Take the Initiative--She Refuses--Fouché’s
Letter to the Empress--Napoleon Pretends Ignorance--He Writes
Fouché to Cease Meddling--Talleyrand’s Attitude--Fouché
Influences Public Opinion--End of the Fêtes--Death of
Joséphine’s Mother--Napoleon’s Trip to Italy--His Interview with
Lucien--He Adopts Eugène--His Letters to Joséphine
During the two months that the Court was at Fontainebleau the question
of divorce was broached seriously for the first time. Talleyrand, who
was more familiar than any one else with the projects of the Emperor,
was very quietly working to bring the matter about; but he wished, at
the same time, to have the Emperor make a great alliance, and above
all to be himself the one to negotiate it. Caroline and Murat were
also laying their plans to overcome the lingering affection which
still bound Napoleon to Joséphine, and which alone kept her on the
throne. Allied with them were Joséphine’s former friend, Fouché, and
the Secretary of State, Maret, who was secretly jealous of the great
and well-deserved European reputation of Talleyrand, whom he hoped to
supplant in the councils of the Emperor.
As stated above, the death of the little crown-prince had made a change
in the plans of the Emperor; his victories, in increasing his power,
had extended his ideas of grandeur, and both his vanity and his policy
dictated an alliance with one of the European royal families. At the
time of his return from Tilsit there was some talk of the daughter of
the King of Saxony in this connection, but this princesse was at least
thirty years old, and far from beautiful; her father only reigned by
the grace of Napoleon, and such an alliance would not have increased
the prestige of the Emperor.
The conferences at Tilsit had justly increased the pride of Napoleon.
The fascination he had exercised over the young Czar, the ready assent
given to all his projects, had produced in his mind the thought of a
still more intimate alliance. But on his return to Joséphine, after a
separation of ten months, the old ties which so firmly bound him to her
had been again renewed.
In speaking one day to the Empress of the quarrels of Louis and
Hortense, and the delicate health of their only remaining child,
Napoleon said that some day he might perhaps be constrained by the
demands of public policy to take a wife who could give him an heir. In
broaching the subject he displayed much emotion. “If such a thing comes
about, Joséphine,” he said, “you must aid me to make such a sacrifice.
I shall count upon all your affection for me to take the responsibility
for this forced separation. You will assume the initiative, will you
not, and, realizing my position, have the courage to decide yourself
upon this rupture?”
The Empress understood too well the character of her husband to fall
into this trap, and precipitate by an imprudent word the catastrophe
which she so much dreaded. Therefore, so far from giving him the hope
that by her action she would assume the odium of such a rupture, she
assured him that, while she was always ready to obey his orders, she
never would take the initiative. She made this reply in the calm and
dignified manner which she knew how to assume with Napoleon, and which
was always effective with him.
Even in her private intercourse with the Emperor, Joséphine for some
time past had abandoned the old familiar _tutoiement_, and she now
said:
“Sire, you are the master, and you will decide upon my fate. When you
command me to leave the Tuileries, I shall instantly obey; but at
least you must order it in a positive manner. I am your wife: I have
been crowned by you in the presence of the Pope; such honors impose
the obligation of not resigning them voluntarily. If you divorce me,
all France will know that it is you who drives me away, and will be
ignorant neither of my obedience nor my profound grief.”
This form of reply, which was always the same, did not offend the
Emperor, and often moved him to tears: in fact he was torn by many
conflicting emotions. On the one hand he sincerely felt that State
policy demanded an heir to the throne; on the other, he knew that
Joséphine was loved by the people, and he hesitated to brave public
opinion by repudiating her.
When Joséphine confided her doubts and fears to Hortense, she was far
from finding a sympathetic listener. Her daughter’s only reply was:
“How can one regret a throne?”
Two or three weeks before the end of the visit of the Court to
Fontainebleau, Fouché arrived one morning from Paris. After a long
private interview with the Emperor in his cabinet, he was invited to
dinner--a most unusual honor. Towards midnight, when all the guests in
the château had gone to their rooms, M. de Rémusat was summoned to the
apartment of the Empress. He found her half-undressed, her hair down,
and her face discomposed. She dismissed her attendants, and, crying
that she was lost, shoved into the hands of the chamberlain a long
letter signed by Fouché. In this communication he began by protesting
his former devotion for her, and assured her that it was on account
of this feeling that he ventured to face her situation and that of
the Emperor. He pictured the Emperor as at the zenith of his power,
sovereign-master of France, but responsible to that same France for
the present, and for the future which she had confided to him. “It is
useless to try to dissimulate the fact, Madame,” he continued, “that
the political future of France is compromised by the lack of an heir to
the Emperor. As Minister of Police, I am in a position to know public
opinion, and I know that there is much disquietude over the matter
of the succession to such an empire. Figure to yourself, Madame, the
stability which the throne of His Majesty would possess to-day if it
were founded upon the existence of a son!”
[Illustration: FOUCHÉ, DUC D’OTRANTE]
This advantage was ably developed at length, as indeed it might well
be. Then he spoke of the conflict between the conjugal tenderness of
the Emperor and his public policy; he foresaw that the Emperor would
never make up his mind to dictate so grievous a sacrifice; he therefore
ventured to advise Her Majesty to make herself a courageous effort,
and to immolate herself for France. He drew a most pathetic picture of
the glory that such an action would give her now and in the future. The
letter ended with the assurance that the Emperor was ignorant of this
step; that the writer feared it would displease him; and the Empress
was solicited to keep the matter a profound secret.
It was obvious that Fouché would never have ventured to write such a
letter without the knowledge of the Emperor. “What shall I do?” cried
Joséphine; “how shall I meet this storm?” Rémusat advised her to see
the Emperor, either that night or the first thing in the morning, ask
him to read the letter, and observe his face while he did so. Also, to
express her indignation at this uncalled-for advice, and to reiterate
her determination never to accept anything but a positive command from
the Emperor himself.
Joséphine adopted this advice, and, as the hour was late, deferred her
interview with the Emperor until morning. When she showed Napoleon
the letter, he pretended to be very angry. He assured her that he was
entirely ignorant of this step; that Fouché had displayed a zeal most
uncalled-for; that if the minister had not already left for Paris he
would have taken him sharply to task; that he would punish Fouché if
she so desired, and even dismiss him from his position in the ministry.
He was very affectionate with Joséphine, but she was far from being
reassured by his explanation and promises.
Talleyrand, when informed of this matter, expressed the opinion that
the letter of Fouché was ridiculous and improper, and advised that the
Empress should reply, in a very dignified tone, to the effect that she
did not require his services as an intermediary between herself and
the Emperor. She wrote such a letter, which was read and approved by
Talleyrand, and then submitted to the Emperor, who did not venture to
censure it.
When Fouché returned a few days later, the Empress treated him very
coldly, but he did not appear to notice her manner. Napoleon said to
Joséphine: “He acted from an excess of zeal: you must not treasure
it up against him. It is enough that we are determined to reject his
advice, and that you know well that I cannot live without you.”
On the 5 November the Emperor wrote Fouché: “For a fortnight past you
have made foolish blunders: it is time that they came to an end, and
that you ceased to meddle, directly or indirectly, with a matter which
does not in any way concern you. Such is my wish!”
The outcome of the whole affair was a temporary renewal of the former
close relations between Napoleon and Joséphine. He displayed for
her all of his old affection, and little by little her fears were
dissipated.
During all this period, the Empress was guided by the advice of
Talleyrand. When Madame de Rémusat expressed her surprise at his
course, he replied: “There is no one here in the palace who should
not wish to have this woman remain by the side of the Emperor. She is
kind and good; she has the art of calming him; she takes an interest
in the affairs of everybody. If we see a princesse arrive here, you
will see the Emperor break with the entire Court, and we shall all be
crushed.” These were wise words and true, and almost convince one that
Talleyrand at the moment was sincere.
It is not difficult to understand the motives which actuated Fouché
and Talleyrand in this somewhat involved affair. Fouché had sufficient
perspicacity to realize that with the Emperor the question of policy
would in the end outweigh all other considerations. He had therefore
joined the party of Caroline, who detested all the Beauharnais, and,
for personal reasons also, wished to see her brother enter the family
of some European sovereign. Once committed to this undertaking, Fouché
used without scruples his position as minister of police to work up
public opinion. He instructed his secret agents to discuss in the cafés
and other public places the necessity of an heir to the Emperor. These
suggestions were reported by other agents to the minister, and by him
to the Emperor, who easily became convinced that the people were more
interested in the question than was probably the case.
With his usual shrewdness, Talleyrand took advantage of the sentiment
thus worked up by his rival, to turn it to his own personal benefit. At
the bottom of his heart Talleyrand may not have been in favor of the
divorce; but if it must be, he wished to bring it about in his own time
and in his own way, and above all to get the credit. The Murat coterie
favored strengthening the alliance already concluded with Russia by
a matrimonial connection. But Talleyrand, better informed regarding
foreign relations, knew that the mother of the Czar would never consent
to give the hand of one of her daughters to the “murderer” of the Duc
d’Enghien. Besides, the affair of Spain was about to come to the
front, and the time was not opportune to bring forward the question of
divorce. Moved, therefore, both by sentiment and by policy, Talleyrand
for the time being opposed and check-mated the efforts of Fouché.
Finally the fêtes at Fontainebleau came to an end, much to the
delight of every one. When the Emperor called for a statement of the
expenditures he was surprised to learn that the total did not exceed
150,000 francs. The last visit of Louis the Sixteenth had cost about
two millions. The imperial household, under Duroc, the grand-marshal of
the palace, was run with military discipline and economy. The servants
were always at their posts and scrupulous in the performance of their
duties: everything moved like clock-work. No detail was overlooked by
the marshal, and he reported directly to the Emperor, who personally
supervised and directed the work of the household.
While the Court was still at Fontainebleau Joséphine received the news
of the death of her mother, who passed away on the 2 June 1807, at the
age of seventy, at her residence in Martinique. Joséphine, who dearly
loved her mother, had done everything possible to persuade her to come
to live in France, where she would have received a warm welcome. But
this venerable lady preferred her modest and quiet home to all the
splendors of the imperial palaces.
On the 16 November the Emperor left Fontainebleau for Italy, and
Joséphine returned to Paris. She would have liked to make the trip with
him, to see her son Eugène and the little granddaughter who bore her
name, but this time Napoleon absolutely refused his consent. He said
that he would only be gone two or three weeks, that the weather would
be very cold, and that she had better await his return at the Tuileries.
On the 20 November the Emperor crossed Mont-Cenis in a raging snow
storm and reached Turin the same evening. The following day he
proceeded to Milan, where he was welcomed by Eugène. During the five
days that he passed in the city there were religious ceremonies at
the cathedral, reviews, and a gala performance at the Scala. On the
28 November he arrived at Venice, where he had with him his brother
Joseph, King of Naples; his sister Elisa, Princesse de Lucques; Prince
Eugène, Viceroy of Italy; the King and Queen of Bavaria; Murat and
Berthier.
After spending ten days at Venice, the Emperor went to Mantua, where
on the 13 December he had a long interview with his brother Lucien.
It will be remembered that Lucien, in opposition to the wishes of the
First Consul, had married his mistress, Madame Jouberthou. Napoleon
desired him to get a divorce, and marry Marie-Louise, daughter of King
Charles of Spain, and widow of the King of Etruria, but Lucien spurned
this brilliant alliance. In the spring of 1804, he went into voluntary
exile at Rome, where he was followed by his mother, who refused to
return to Paris even for the Coronation.
During the evening the Emperor sent his secretary, Méneval, to find
Lucien at the inn where he was staying, and conduct him to the palace.
Lucien greeted his brother very coldly, and with much dignity. After
once more reproaching Lucien for his marriage, and indulging in some
threats as to what he would do if his brother still refused to meet
his wishes, the Emperor made this proposition: He would recognize
as members of the Imperial family the daughters of Lucien by both
his marriages; he would consider his second marriage as legal, but
would not recognize his wife as an Imperial princesse, or consider as
legitimate the son born before their marriage. If Lucien would divorce
his wife, the Emperor would place him in the same position as his
brothers, in the Imperial family, and would give him a throne, probably
that of Portugal. He could continue to live quietly with Madame
Jouberthou, if he wished, but she could never participate in the honors
of royalty.
Lucien refused absolutely to divorce his wife, and declined to be
separated from his children: that was his last word. During this long
interview, which lasted more than six hours, Napoleon exhausted all
of his resources, both in the way of threats and of promises, in the
effort to frighten or persuade his brother to comply with his wishes,
but all in vain. At the end of the interview the brothers parted with
much emotion, and Lucien returned to Rome.
The next day the Emperor left for Milan, where on the 17 December he
issued the famous Decree declaring the British Isles in a state of
blockade both by land and by sea.
On the 20 December, in the grand hall of the Royal Palace, Napoleon
adopted Eugène as his son, and as his presumptive successor to the
crown of Italy. At the same time he gave to Eugène the title of Prince
of Venice, and to his daughter that of Princesse de Bologna.
On the 24 December the Emperor left Milan for Paris, where he arrived
on the night of the first day of January 1808. During this long absence
of nearly seven weeks Napoleon only wrote Joséphine three short letters:
_To the Empress, at Paris_
MILAN, 25 November 1807
I have been here, mon amie, for two days. I am very glad that
I did not bring you; you would have suffered terribly in the
passage of Mont-Cenis, where a storm detained me twenty-four
hours.
I found Eugène very well; I am well satisfied with him. The
princesse is ill; I have been to see her at Monza; she has had a
_fausse couche_, but is better.
Adieu, mon amie.
NAPOLEON
VENICE, 30 November 1807
I am in receipt your letter of the 22 November. I have been at
Venice for two days. The weather is very bad, which however
has not prevented me from traversing the lagoons to see the
different forts.
I am glad to hear that you are enjoying yourself at Paris.
The King of Bavaria, with his family, also the Princesse Élisa,
are here.
After the 2 December (anniversary of the Coronation), which I
shall pass here, I shall be on my way home, and very glad to see
you.
Adieu, mon amie.
NAPOLEON
UDINE, 11 December 1807
I have received, mon amie, your letter of the 3 December, from
which I see that you were much pleased with the Jardin des
Plantes. I am now at the most distant point of my trip; it is
possible that I shall soon be at Paris, where I shall be very
glad to see you again. The weather here has not yet been very
cold, but is very rainy. I have taken advantage of the last
moment of the season, for I suppose that by Christmas the winter
will have set in.
Adieu, mon amie.
Tout à toi
NAPOLEON
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
1808
THE EMPRESS AT BAYONNE
Joséphine’s Fear of Divorce--Irresolution of the Emperor--A
Remarkable Episode--Marriage of Mlle. de Tascher--The Spanish
Crisis--Abdication of King Charles--Murat Enters Madrid--The
Emperor Goes to Bayonne--His Sojourn at Marrac--Letters to the
Empress at Bordeaux--Birth of Louis-Napoleon--Joy of Napoleon
and Joséphine--Charles Cedes the Spanish Crown--Joseph Appointed
King--The Baylen Disaster--Return of the Emperor and Empress
When Napoleon arrived at the Tuileries at nine o’clock on the evening
of the first day of January 1808, Joséphine threw herself into his
arms and tenderly wished him a Happy New Year. Since the visit to
Fontainebleau the Empress had known little peace of mind; she lived in
the constant apprehension of a renewal of the projects for a divorce.
She no longer treated Napoleon with the familiarity of other days, but
addressed him as a sovereign rather than as a husband.
The winter season at Paris was never more brilliant. Every evening
there were concerts, balls, formal dinners. The Court of the Empress
was as well attended as formerly: in outward appearances nothing had
changed. Joséphine, who did the honors of the Tuileries with her usual
grace, was as much admired as ever. The Emperor, still undecided,
vacillated between the voice of his heart and the demands of State
policy. He said to Talleyrand: “If I separate from my wife I shall
renounce at once all the charm she brings to my private life. I must
study the tastes and habits of a new and young wife. This one adapts
herself in every way and knows me perfectly. Finally, I shall repay
with ingratitude all that she has done for me; for me she is a tie with
many people.”