all of the ministers and grand officers of the State called at the
Tuileries to pay their homage to the Emperor. In the presence of this
distinguished assembly, Napoleon severely rebuked Talleyrand and
Fouché for the disgraceful intrigue which they had carried on during
his absence. This reproof was not the cause of their hostility to the
Emperor, as often stated, but it was the signal for the secret war
which they levied against him from that time on.
During the Campaign of Poland, in 1807, and again during the absence of
the Emperor in Spain, the following year, the possibility of his death,
and its effect on the dynasty, were seriously discussed at Paris. There
were well-founded rumors of a project to place Murat on the throne, in
case anything happened to Napoleon. Fouché and Talleyrand were in the
plot, and the warmest advocate, if not the real instigator of the plan,
was Napoleon’s ambitious sister Caroline.
In this connection there is a record in the _Journal_ of Stanislas
Girardin of a conversation which he had with Joséphine on the last day
of February 1809, after his return from Spain. The Empress said to him:
“While you were in Spain there were some curious _rapprochements_;
irreconcilable enemies [Fouché and Talleyrand] have suddenly become
reconciled; men who never saw each other have been seen together
frequently.... This clique is powerful, and braves us; Fouché is its
soul.
“When Murat was given the throne of Naples, all the journals under the
control of the police sang his praises.... Fouché said openly that
Murat was the only successor of the Emperor, the only one who could
inspire Europe with fear, and the only one who enjoyed the confidence
of the Army. He wrote a letter to the Emperor in which he stated
positively that France did not want any of his brothers as a successor.
Fortunately the eyes of Bonaparte are opened since his return. The
letter of which I speak is in existence: it is in the hands of Méneval
[the Emperor’s secretary].”
In spite of the assertions of Lanfrey and other historians, there is
little doubt of the existence of this plot, but the Austrian menace
probably had more weight in determining the Emperor to return from
Spain. Austria thought that the moment was opportune to attempt to
recover her lost possessions. The Archduke Charles, who was in command
of the army, had made a supreme effort to raise a force capable of
meeting Napoleon, and he had done his work well.
Late on the 12 April Napoleon was informed by a semaphore message that
the Austrian army had crossed the Inn and invaded the territory of his
ally the King of Bavaria. At daybreak the next morning, accompanied by
Joséphine, he started for Strasbourg, where he arrived in forty-eight
hours. He left the Empress there and immediately crossed the Rhine.
During the following week, in one of the most brilliant operations of
his career, the Emperor won two decisive victories, and completely
crushed the Austrian offensive. Eighteen days later he was once more
quartered in the palace of Schœnbrunn at Vienna.
On the 23 April, before Ratisbon, Napoleon was slightly wounded by
a spent bullet which struck him in the right heel. This is the only
wound he is ever known to have received, except a bayonet thrust in the
thigh at the siege of Toulon; but at the time of the autopsy, after
his death at Saint Helena, several scars were found on his body. This
seems to prove that he was hit on other occasions, but was successful
in concealing the fact.
Joséphine remained for several weeks at Strasbourg, where she was
visited by Hortense and her sons, by the Queen of Westphalia and the
Grand Duchess of Baden.
The story of the campaign is told in several brief letters from the
Emperor:
_To the Empress, at Strasbourg_
DONAUWŒRTH, 18 April 1809
I reached here at four o’clock this morning, and am leaving.
Everything is in motion. There is great activity in the military
operations. Up to this moment there is no news.
ENNS, Noon, 6 May 1809
I have received your letter. The ball which touched me, did not
wound me: it hardly grazed the tendon of Achilles. My health is
very good. You have no need for anxiety.
SAINT-POLTEN, 9 May 1809
To-morrow I shall be before Vienna--just a month from the day
that the Austrians crossed the Inn, and broke the peace. My
health is good, the weather superb, and the soldiers very gay.
VIENNA, 12 May 1809
I am sending the brother of the Duchesse de Montebello to tell
you that I am master of Vienna, and that all here is well. My
health is very good.
VIENNA, 27 May 1809
I am sending a page to inform you that Eugène has joined me with
his entire army; that he has performed perfectly the task that I
assigned him; that he has almost entirely destroyed the force of
the enemy which opposed him.
EBERSDORF, 29 May 1809
I have been here since yesterday; I am stopped by the river. The
bridge has been burned: I shall cross at midnight. Everything
goes as I would desire, that is to say very well. The Austrians
have been struck by a thunderbolt.
It would be impossible for any one reading the last two letters to
imagine that they were written a week after the terrible two-days’
battle of Aspern-Essling, in which Napoleon received one of the worst
reverses in his career. In his next letter he alludes to a visit of
Hortense and her sons, without his permission, to the baths of Baden;
and also to the death of his old companion-in-arms, Lannes, who was
mortally wounded just at the end of the battle of Essling.
_To the Empress, at Strasbourg_
(EBERSDORF), 31 May 1809
I have your letter of the 26. I have written you that you may
go to Plombières. I do not care to have you go to Baden: you
must not leave France. I have ordered the two princes to return
to France. I have been much afflicted by the loss of the Duc de
Montebello, who died this morning. Thus all comes to an end!! If
you can help to console his poor wife, do so.
(VIENNA) 9 June 1809
I am glad to learn that you are going to the waters of
Plombières; they will do you good. I am well, and the weather
is very fine. I note with pleasure that Hortense and her son
are in France.
SCHŒNBRUNN, 16 June 1809
I am sending a page to announce that the 14, anniversary of
Marengo, Eugène gained a battle against the Archduke John at
Raab, in Hungary; that he has taken 3000 men, several cannon,
four flags; and has pursued them very far on the road to Bude.
Early in June, Hortense left her mother to go to the baths in the
Pyrenees, and Joséphine went to Plombières. Here she received the news
of the great victory of Wagram, and of the armistice of Znaïm. On
the 13 July the Emperor was again back at Vienna, where he remained
until the final peace was signed on the 14 October. It is rather
remarkable to note that, although he had Madame Walewska with him, his
brief letters are more tender than for several years. In one he says:
“Good-bye, mon amie, you know my feelings for Joséphine: they are
unchangeable.” Two letters written from Vienna in August, and one in
September, are even more notable. At this time Joséphine had gone from
Plombières to Malmaison. “I have heard,” he writes on the 26 August,
“that you are fat, fresh, and looking very well. I assure you that
Vienna is not an amusing town. I should much like to be back again in
Paris.” Five days later he says: “I have received no letters from you
for several days. The pleasures of Malmaison, the beautiful hothouses,
the fine gardens, cause the absent to be forgotten. That is the way
with you all, they say.” Finally, on the 25 September: “I have your
letter. Do not be too sure. I warn you to look after yourself well at
night; for one of these early ones you will hear a great noise!”
From Munich on the 21 and 22 October 1809, the Emperor sent Joséphine
the last letters he wrote during the Campaign of Wagram, the last also
which she was to receive from him before the divorce.
_To the Empress, at Malmaison_
NYMPHENBOURG, near MUNICH, 21 October 1809
I have been here since yesterday, in good health. I do not
expect to start to-morrow. I shall stop a day at Stuttgart. You
will be notified twenty-four hours in advance of my arrival at
Fontainebleau. It will be a treat for me to see you again, and I
await the moment with impatience.
I embrace you.
Ever yours
NAPOLEON
MUNICH, (22 October 1809)
Mon amie, I start in an hour. I shall arrive at Fontainebleau
the 26 or 27; you can go there with some ladies.
NAPOLEON
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
1809
RETURN OF THE EMPEROR
Napoleon Arrives at Fontainebleau--He Informs Cambacérès of
the Coming Divorce--His Cold Reception of Joséphine--She
Finds the Door of Communication Closed--Hesitation of the
Emperor--Joséphine at Forty-six--Napoleon Breaks the Fatal
News--The Scene of the 30 November--A Comic Episode--The Verdict
of History--Napoleon’s Sincere Regret--His Interview with
Hortense--The Final Fêtes--An Unfortunate _Contretemps_ at
Grosbois
The Emperor reached Fontainebleau on his return from Vienna at nine
o’clock on the morning of the 26 October. He had travelled with such
rapidity that he arrived a day sooner than he was expected, and found
no one to receive him except the concierge. To pass away the time he
inspected the new apartments in the château which he had had furnished
with great magnificence.
A little later Cambacérès appeared, in advance of the other courtiers.
The failure of the Empress to meet him, which was in no way her fault,
seemed to have put Napoleon in very bad humor, and he openly declared
to the arch-chancellor his fixed intention of repudiating Joséphine,
and espousing either a Russian or an Austrian princess. Cambacérès,
who was devoted to the Empress, ventured some timid and respectful
remonstrances, but was immediately silenced.
At this time Napoleon was truly the “spoilt child of Fortune.” More
absolute and more imperious than ever, he no longer allowed even a
suggestion from his family or his ministers: every one obeyed and kept
silent. In the words of Monsieur Thiers: “His all-powerful nature had
completely blossomed out, and it was to fade away like his fortune, for
nothing stands still.”
Next came Fouché, and the wily Minister of Police was not slow to take
advantage of the Emperor’s feeling to make an indirect attack on the
absent Joséphine. “There is not one of your marshals,” he said, “who is
not considering how to dispose of your estate if we have the misfortune
to lose you. It is a case of Alexander’s lieutenants eager for their
kingdoms.”
After these conversations with his ministers, the Emperor went to his
library and began to write. Late in the afternoon he heard the noise of
a carriage arriving in the court, and rushed down stairs. But it was
not the Empress, and he returned to his work.
An hour later Joséphine finally arrived. She had made all possible
haste to come from Saint-Cloud as soon as she was informed of the
return of the Emperor. Seeing that Napoleon did not come to meet her,
with a heavy heart she mounted the stairway, and entered the library,
where she found Napoleon seated at his writing-table. “Ah! there you
are at last,” he exclaimed. “You did well to come, for I was about to
leave for Saint-Cloud.” At this brutal welcome, after a separation of
six months, the eyes of Joséphine filled with tears, and she swayed
as though she were about to fall. Napoleon at once relented, took her
in his arms, and tenderly embraced her. Joséphine then went to her
apartment to change her toilette for dinner.
An hour and a half later she reappeared, resplendent in a new gown
which became her marvellously. To avoid the embarrassment of a
tête-à-tête meal, the Emperor invited two of his ministers, who were
working with him, to dine with them. Forgetting his bad humor, he
showed himself quite amiable.
But the evening was not to end without another rude shock to Joséphine.
On going to her rooms for the night she discovered for the first time
that, during the recent alterations to the château, the inner door
which communicated with the Emperor’s suite had been closed. This was
a significant fact which she did not fail to appreciate. She did not
dare to ask the Emperor for an explanation, but the next morning she
questioned M. de Bausset, the prefect of the palace. He professed his
ignorance of the change, and Joséphine said: “You may be sure that
there is some mystery attached to it.” To a woman of her intelligence,
however, there was very little mystery about the matter. She fully
understood that the divorce was now only a question of days. Yet when
they left Fontainebleau for Paris on the 14 November, the Emperor had
not spoken, and Joséphine again began “to hope against hope.”
At Paris there was soon a regular assembly of crowned heads. The
King of Saxony was already there, and a few days later there arrived
the kings of Naples, Westphalia and Holland, and the princes of the
Confederation of the Rhine. Ségur, the grand-master of ceremonies,
had difficulty in finding suitable quarters for so many exalted
personages, and complained that he was troubled by an “embarras de
rois.” It was surely an irony of fate that the imperial Court had never
been so brilliant and so attractive as when the gracious Joséphine was
about to leave it forever.
Napoleon, usually so prompt to put his plans into execution, did not
seem to be able to make up his mind to sever finally the tie which
bound him to the woman who for fourteen years had been associated with
his destiny, and who recalled the most brilliant days of his youth and
his glory. M. de Bausset draws this sketch of Joséphine at the time of
the divorce:
“The Empress was forty-six years old. No woman could have more grace
of manner and bearing. Her eyes were enchanting, her smile full of
charm, her voice of an extreme softness, her form noble, supple,
perfect. Her toilette, always elegant and in perfect taste, made her
appear much younger than she really was. But all this was as nothing
beside the goodness of her heart. Her spirit was amiable; never did she
wound the self-love of any one, never had she anything disagreeable to
say. Her disposition was always even and placid. Devoted to Napoleon,
she communicated to him, without his perceiving it, her kindness and
goodness.”
[Illustration: EMPRESS JOSÉPHINE]
A still more intimate observer, Mlle. Avrillon, gives us another view
of Joséphine at this same time. She says: “The Empress, constantly in
tears, endeavored to hide them from the persons around her; but it
did not take a very discerning eye to perceive that her happiness was
destroyed forever, for she lived in a state of continual agitation.
It is really impossible for me to say whether she was rendered more
unhappy by the blow she received than by all the preliminaries of
the event itself. As, notwithstanding the conviction of her future, she
still preserved, if not hope, at least a vague feeling of uncertainty,
every time that a minister or a grand dignitary of the Empire came to
see her, she pressed him with indirect questions, tormented equally by
the desire to know her fate and the fear to learn it.”
Finally, on the last day of November, Napoleon found the courage to
break the fatal news. “What a scene for a tragedy!” he said himself, in
speaking later of the events of that evening at the Tuileries.
Joséphine dined alone with the Emperor in a room adjoining his chamber
on the first floor. She wore a large white hat which partly concealed
her face. Not a word was spoken, and neither of them touched the
courses which were placed before them, and then silently removed.
After dinner they went into the salon on the other side of the palace,
between the Throne Room and the Gallery of Diana. After a moment of
silence, Napoleon began to speak. He said that the safety of the
Empire demanded a momentous resolution, and that he counted on all of
her courage and devotion to consent to a step upon which he himself,
with the greatest reluctance, had decided--the dissolution of their
marriage. Joséphine made no reply. She burst into tears, and then fell,
apparently in a dead faint, upon the floor.
Greatly agitated, the Emperor opened the door of the salon, and
called M. de Bausset, who was on duty that evening. After closing the
door, Napoleon asked the prefect if he was strong enough to lift the
Empress, and carry her by the interior staircase to her apartment
on the ground floor. Bausset, a large, stout man, took Joséphine in
his arms, and followed Napoleon, who led the way, holding a candle in
his hand. When the staircase was reached, Bausset saw that it was too
narrow for him to descend with such a burden. The Emperor thereupon
called an attendant, gave him the candle, and told him to light the
way. Then he relieved Bausset of the Empress’ legs, allowing him to
support her body. In this manner, the descent was begun, Napoleon
walking backwards and Bausset following, supporting Joséphine with his
arms around her waist and her head resting on his shoulder. Suddenly he
heard her voice, whispering to him softly: “Take care! you hurt me; you
are holding me too tight.”
The descent was finished without other incidents, and Joséphine, still
in a swoon, was placed upon a sofa, and her maids called. The Emperor
then left her in their care, and withdrew from the room, with his eyes
filled with tears, and every sign of the deepest agitation. It would be
difficult to believe this little episode of the stairway if the story
were not related by such a devoted servant of the Empress as M. de
Bausset.
If there is anything certain in this world, it is that Napoleon from
the first always loved Joséphine with a devotion which far exceeded her
attachment for him, and that he continued to love her until his life’s
end. Yet History will never forgive him for finally allowing his duty
to the Empire to overcome his affections. It is easy to condemn his
action as heartless, or as dictated by ambition, but nothing is gained
by calling names. If it were not for the fantastic connection which
has been imagined between the fortunes of Napoleon and the “guiding
star of his life,” we should not have heard so much in condemnation of
his divorce, which certainly was dictated by the most powerful reasons
of State. The case is not altered by the fact that his second marriage
was a dismal failure; or, as he himself once expressed it, that the
Austrian alliance was “an abyss covered with flowers.” It is a striking
instance of the shortness of human foresight that a step taken to
assure the safety of the Empire was to be the principal cause of its
fall.
In his trouble, after this trying scene with Joséphine, Napoleon opened
up his heart to Bausset. In a voice broken by emotion he said: “The
interests of France and of my dynasty have forced my heart; the divorce
has become for me a rigorous duty.... I am all the more afflicted by
the scene which I have just had with Joséphine because for three days
she must have known through Hortense the unfortunate obligation which
condemns me to seek a separation from her.... I pity her from the
bottom of my heart; I thought that she had more character, and I was
not prepared for the manifestation of her grief.” After each sentence
he paused to catch his breath, and displayed every sign of the most
poignant emotion.
Then he sent for his personal physician, Corvisart; also for Hortense,
Fouché, and Cambacérès. Before ascending to his own apartment, he
went again to see Joséphine, whom he found calm and more resigned. He
received the two ministers on their arrival, and afterwards had a long
talk with Hortense.
The interview with the Queen was very painful. He began in a tone of
simulated harshness:
“My decision is made,” he said. “Neither tears nor cries will affect
a resolution which has become unavoidable, a resolution absolutely
necessary for the safety of the Empire.”
“Sire,” replied Hortense, “you will have neither tears nor cries. The
Empress will not fail to submit to your wishes, and to descend from
the throne, as she mounted it, by your will. Her children, content to
renounce the grandeurs which have not made them happy, will willingly
consecrate their lives to consoling the best and most tender of
mothers.”
“That cannot be,” cried Napoleon, much moved by her words. “Such an
action would raise the suspicion of a veiled misunderstanding, either
on your part towards me, or on my part towards your mother and her
family.”
“In our exile,” continued Hortense, “we shall never forget all that we
owe to the Emperor.”
“Ah! you will abandon me?” cried the Emperor, bursting into tears.
“You, you, to whom I have been a father! No, you cannot do that! You
will remain with me; the future of your children demands it.... No
matter how great for us all is this cruel sacrifice, it must be carried
out with the dignity imposed by circumstances.”
The Emperor then outlined to Hortense his plans for Joséphine’s future:
palaces, châteaux, a magnificent income, the first rank after the
reigning Empress. Everything possible was to be done to dissemble the
change in her situation which would result from the divorce. He then
sent Hortense to see her mother and try to reconcile her.
The night which followed was one of the saddest in the life of
Napoleon. Several times he arose and descended to inform himself
personally of the condition of Joséphine. He did not sleep at all.
In the morning, when Mlle. Avrillon came, Joséphine called to her
to approach the bed, and told her confidentially what had occurred.
Seeing her air of consternation, Joséphine at once began to excuse the
Emperor, saying: “He is in despair over our separation; he also cried,
and assured me that it was the greatest sacrifice he could make for
France. Yes, I well know that he must have an heir for his glory, a
child who will consolidate his Empire.... He has told Hortense that
he will always be the same for her and Eugène, and that he will often
come to me in my retreat.... He has sworn that he will never compel me
to leave France. He allows me to live at Malmaison..... He wishes me
always to enjoy a position of consideration, and that I shall have an
adequate income.”
At that time there were no daily papers such as we have to-day, all
eager for news; but the journals would not have ventured to publish the
reports even if rumors of the coming event had leaked out. The secret
seems to have been well kept by the few persons who knew it, and the
Empress appeared as usual at several functions during the first two
weeks of December. At the fêtes of this trying fortnight Napoleon was
in public even more attentive to Joséphine than usual.
On the first day of December the Emperor and Empress went to Malmaison
where a fête was given in honor of the King of Saxony, at which were
present the kings of Naples, Holland and Würtemberg, who arrived in
Paris that day.
An elaborate program had been arranged, to celebrate the double
anniversary of the Coronation and the victory of Austerlitz, as well
as the conclusion of the Treaty of Vienna. The festivals were to be
prolonged over several days. On the third, in the morning, there was
a _Te Deum_ at Notre-Dame; in the afternoon, the formal opening
of the Corps Législatif; and in the evening, a State dinner at the
Tuileries. On the fourth, in the morning there was a grand review in
the court of the Tuileries, and in the evening the Emperor and Empress
were present at a fête given at the Hôtel-de-Ville in honor of the
Coronation. For this occasion the court of the Hôtel-de-Ville had been
transformed into an enormous ball-room. The kings and queens danced in
the quadrille d’honneur, after which the Emperor traversed the room,
and addressed a few courteous words to many of the ladies present.
On the seventh, there was a spectacle at the Tuileries, but this time
the Empress did not appear. It was given out that she was suffering
from a _migraine_: poor Joséphine had gone to the limits of her
endurance. She was also absent from the side of the Emperor, when on
the eighth he received in the Throne Room a deputation of the Corps
Législatif. In his reply to the address the Emperor used a phrase
which seemed to presage the coming event: “We shall always know how,
my family and myself, to sacrifice even our dearest affections to the
interests and the welfare of this great nation.”