HORTENSE AND DUROC.
1799-1804
Calumnies.--Testimony of the Berkeley men.--Remarks of Napoleon at St.
Helena.--The voice of slander.--Testimony of the Duchess of
Abrantes.--Portrait of Hortense.--Testimony of Bourrienne.--Napoleon at
the Tuileries.--Beauty of Josephine.--Malmaison.--Remarkable testimony
of Napoleon.--The infernal machine.--The royalist conspiracy.--Letter
from Josephine.--Michel Duroc.--General Duroc at Bautzen.--Death of
Duroc.--Grief of Napoleon.--Affecting scene.--Quotation from J. T.
Headley.--Character of Duroc.--Family complications.--The divorce
suggested.--Character of Louis Bonaparte.--Testimony of
Bourrienne.--Disappointed lovers.
It is a very unamiable trait in human nature, that many persons are more
eager to believe that which is bad in the character of others than that
which is good. The same voice of calumny, which has so mercilessly
assailed Josephine, has also traduced Hortense. It is painful to witness
the readiness with which even now the vilest slanders, devoid of all
evidence, can be heaped upon a noble and virtuous woman who is in her
grave.
In the days of Napoleon's power, he himself, his mother, his wife, his
sisters, and his stepdaughter, Hortense, were assailed with the most
envenomed accusations malice could engender. These infamous assaults,
which generally originated with the British Tory press, still have
lingering echoes throughout the world. There are those who seem to
consider it no crime to utter the most atrocious accusations, even
without a shadow of proof, against those who are not living. Well do the
"Berkeley men" say:
"The Bonapartes, especially the women of that family, have always been
too proud and haughty to degrade themselves. Even had they lacked what
is technically called moral character, their virtue has been intrenched
behind their ancestry, and the achievements of their own family. Nor was
there at any time an instant when any one of the Bonapartes could have
overstepped, by a hair's-breadth, the line of decency, without being
fatally exposed. None of them pursued the noiseless tenor of their way
along the vale of obscurity. They were walking in the clear sunshine, on
the topmost summits of the earth, and millions of enemies were watching
every step they took. The highest genius of historians, the bitterest
satire of dramatists, the meanest and most malignant pen of the
journalists have assailed them for half a century. We have written these
words because a Republican is the only man likely to speak well of the
Bonaparte family. It was, and is, and will be the dynasty of the people,
standing there from 1804, a fearful antagonism against the feudal age
and its souvenirs of oppression and crime."
Napoleon at St. Helena said: "Of all the libels and pamphlets with which
the English ministers have inundated Europe, there is not one which
will reach posterity. When there shall not be a trace of those libels to
be found, the great monuments of utility which I have reared, and the
code of laws which I have formed, will descend to the remotest ages; and
future historians will avenge the wrongs done me by my contemporaries.
There was a time when all crimes seemed to belong to me of right. Thus I
poisoned Hoche, strangled Pichegru in his cell, I caused Kleber to be
assassinated in Egypt, I blew out Desaix's brains at Marengo, I cut the
throats of persons who were confined in prison, I dragged the Pope by
the hair of his head, and a hundred similar abominations. And yet I have
not seen one of those libels which is worthy of an answer. These are so
contemptible and so absurdly false, that they do not merit any other
notice than to write _false_, _false_, on every page."
It is well known, by every one acquainted with the past history of our
country, that George Washington was assailed in the severest possible
language of vituperation. He was charged with military inability,
administrative incapacity, mental weakness, and gross personal
immorality. He was denounced as a murderer, and a hoary-headed traitor.
This is the doom of those in power. And thousands of men in those days
believed those charges.
It is seldom possible to prove a negative. But no evidence has ever been
brought forward to substantiate the rumors brought against Hortense.
These vile slanderers have even gone so far as to accuse Napoleon of
crimes, in reference to the daughter of Josephine and the wife of his
brother, which, if true, should consign him to eternal infamy. The
"Berkeley men," after making the most thorough historic investigations
in writing the life both of Louis Bonaparte and Hortense, say:
"Louis was a little over twenty-three years of age at the time of his
marriage. Hortense was nineteen. In his memoirs Louis treats with scorn
and contempt the absurd libels respecting his domestic affairs,
involving the purity of his wife's character and the legitimacy of his
children. Napoleon, also, in his conversations at St. Helena, thought
proper to allude to the subject, and indignantly to repel the charges
which had been made against Hortense, at the same time showing the
entire improbability of the stories about her and her offspring. _We
have found nothing, in our investigations on this subject to justify
even a suspicion against the morals or integrity of Louis or Hortense;
and we here dismiss the subject with the remark that, there is more
cause for sympathy with the parties to this unhappy union than of
censure for their conduct._"
The Duchess of Abrantes, who was intimately acquainted with Hortense
from her childhood and with the whole Bonaparte family, in her
interesting memoirs writes: "Hortense de Beauharnais was fresh as a
rose; and though her fair complexion was not relieved by much color, she
had enough to produce that freshness and bloom which was her chief
beauty. A profusion of light hair played in silky locks round her soft
and penetrating blue eyes. The delicate roundness of her slender figure
was set off by the elegant carriage of her head. Her feet were small and
pretty, her hands very white, with pink, well-rounded nails. But what
formed the chief attraction of Hortense was the grace and suavity of her
manners. She was gay, gentle, amiable. She had wit which, without the
smallest ill-temper, had just malice enough to be amusing. A polished
education had improved her natural talents. She drew excellently, sang
harmoniously, and performed admirably in comedy. In 1800 she was a
charming young girl. She afterwards became one of the most amiable
princesses in Europe. I have seen many, both in their own courts and in
Paris, but I have never known one who had any pretensions to equal
talents. Her brother loved her tenderly. The First Consul looked upon
her as his child. And it is only in that country so fertile in the
inventions of scandal, that so foolish an accusation could have been
imagined, as that any feeling less pure than paternal affection actuated
his conduct towards her. The vile calumny met the contempt it merited."
The testimony of Bourrienne upon this point is decisive. Bourrienne had
been the private secretary of Napoleon, had become his enemy, and had
joined the Bourbons. Upon the downfall of the Emperor he wrote a very
hostile life of Napoleon, being then in the employment of the Bourbons.
In those envenomed pages, Bourrienne says that he has written severely
enough against Napoleon, to have his word believed when he makes any
admission in his favor. He then writes:
"Napoleon never cherished for Hortense any feeling but a real paternal
tenderness. He loved her, after his marriage with her mother, as he
would have loved his own child. For three years at least I was witness
to all their most private actions. I declare that I never saw any thing
which could furnish the least ground for suspicion or the slightest
trace of culpable intimacy. This calumny must be classed with those
which malice delights to take with the character of men who become
celebrated; calumnies which are adopted lightly and without reflection.
"I freely declare that, did I retain the slightest doubt with regard to
this odious charge, I would avow it. But it is not true. Napoleon is no
more. Let his memory be accompanied only by that, be it good or bad,
which really took place. Let not this complaint be made against him by
the impartial historian. I must say, in conclusion, on this delicate
subject, that Napoleon's principles were rigid in the extreme; and that
any fault of the nature charged neither entered his mind, nor was in
accordance with his morals or taste."
Notwithstanding this abundant testimony, and notwithstanding the fact
that no contradictory testimony can be adduced, which any historian
could be pardoned for treating with respect, there are still men to be
found who will repeat those foul slanders, which ought long since to
have died away.
Napoleon remained but two months in the palace of the Luxembourg. In the
mean time the palace of the Tuileries, which had been sacked by
revolutionary mobs, was re-furnished with much splendor. In February the
Court of the Consuls was transferred to the Tuileries. Napoleon had so
entirely eclipsed his colleagues that he alone was thought of by the
Parisian populace. The royal apartments were prepared for Napoleon. The
more humble apartments, in the Pavilion of Flora, were assigned to the
two other consuls. The transfer from the Luxembourg was made with great
pomp, in one of those brilliant parades which ever delight the eyes of
the Parisians. Six thousand picked soldiers, with a gorgeous train of
officers, formed his escort. Twenty thousand troops with all the
concomitants of military parade, lined the streets. A throng, from city
and country, which could not be numbered, gazed upon the scene. Napoleon
took his seat in a magnificent carriage drawn by six beautiful white
horses. The suite of rooms assigned to Josephine consisted of two large
parlors furnished with regal splendor, and several adjoining private
rooms. Here Hortense, a beautiful girl of about eighteen, found herself
at home in the apartments of the ancient kings of France.
In the evening a brilliant assembly was gathered in the saloons of
Josephine. As she entered, with queenly grace, leaning upon the arm of
Talleyrand, a murmur of admiration rose from the whole multitude. She
wore a robe of white muslin. Her hair fell in ringlets upon her neck and
shoulders, through which gleamed a necklace of priceless pearls. The
festivities were protracted until a late hour in the morning. It was
said that Josephine gained a social victory that evening, corresponding
with that which Napoleon had gained in the pageant of the day. In these
scenes Hortense shone with great brilliance. She was young, beautiful,
graceful, amiable, witty, and very highly accomplished. In addition to
this, she was the stepdaughter of the First Consul, who was ascending in
a career of grandeur which was to terminate no one could tell where.
During Napoleon's absence in Egypt Josephine had purchased the beautiful
estate of Malmaison. This was their favorite home. The chateau was a
very convenient, attractive, but not very spacious rural edifice,
surrounded with extensive grounds, ornamented with lawns, shrubbery, and
forest-trees. With the Tuileries for her city residence, Malmaison for
her rural retreat, Napoleon for her father, Josephine for her mother,
Eugene for her brother; with the richest endowments of person, mind, and
heart, with glowing health, and surrounded by admirers, Hortense seemed
now to be placed upon the very highest pinnacle of earthly happiness.
Josephine and Hortense resided at Malmaison when Napoleon made his ten
months' campaign into Italy, which was terminated by the victory of
Marengo. They both busily employed their time in making those
improvements on the place which would create a pleasant surprise for
Napoleon on his return. Here they opened a new path through the forest;
here they spanned a stream with a beautiful rustic bridge; upon a gentle
eminence a pavilion rose; and new parterres of flowers gladdened the
eye. Every charm was thrown around the place which the genius and taste
of Josephine and Hortense could suggest. At midnight, on the second of
July, Napoleon returned to Paris, and immediately hastened to the arms
of his wife and daughter at Malmaison. He was so pleased with its
retirement and rural beauty that, forgetting the splendors of
Fontainebleau and Saint Cloud, he ever after made it his favorite
residence. Fortunate is the tourist who can obtain permission to saunter
through those lovely walks, where the father, the wife, and the
daughter, for a few brief months, walked almost daily, arm in arm, in
the enjoyment of nearly all the happiness which they were destined on
earth to share. The Emperor, at the close of his career, said upon his
dying bed at St. Helena,
"I am indebted for all the little happiness I have enjoyed on earth to
the love of Josephine."
Hortense and her mother frequently rode on horseback, both being very
graceful riders, and very fond of that recreation. At moments when
Napoleon could unbend from the cares of state, the family amused
themselves, with such guests as were present, in the game of "prisoners"
on the lawn. For several years this continued to be the favorite pastime
at Malmaison. Kings and queens were often seen among the pursuers and
the pursued on the green sward.
It was observed that Napoleon was always solicitous to have Josephine on
his side. And whenever, in the progress of the game, she was taken
prisoner, he was nervously anxious until she was rescued. Napoleon, who
had almost lived upon horseback, was a poor runner, and would often, in
his eagerness, fall, rolling head-long over the grass, raising shouts of
laughter. Josephine and Hortense were as agile as they were graceful.
On the 24th of December, 1800, Napoleon, Josephine, and Hortense were
going to the opera, to hear Haydn's Oratorio of the Creation. It was
then to be performed for the first time. Napoleon, busily engaged in
business, went reluctantly at the earnest solicitation of Josephine.
Three gentlemen rode with Napoleon in his carriage. Josephine, with
Hortense and other friends, followed in her private carriage. As the
carriages were passing through the narrow street of St. Nicaire, a
tremendous explosion took place, which was heard all over Paris. An
infernal machine, of immense power, had been conveyed to the spot,
concealed beneath a cart, which was intended, at whatever sacrifice of
the lives of others, to render the assassination of the First Consul
certain. Eight persons were instantly killed; more than sixty were
wounded. Several buildings were nearly demolished. The windows of both
carriages were dashed in, and the shattered vehicles were tossed to and
fro like ships in a storm. Napoleon almost miraculously escaped
unharmed. Hortense was slightly wounded by the broken glass. Still they
all heroically went on to the opera, where, in view of their
providential escape, they were received with thunders of applause.
It was at first supposed that the Jacobins were the authors of this
infamous plot. It was afterwards proved to be a conspiracy of the
Royalists. Josephine, whose husband had bled beneath the slide of the
guillotine, and who had narrowly escaped the axe herself, with
characteristic humanity forgot the peril to which she and her friends
had been exposed, in sympathy for those who were to suffer for the
crime. The criminals were numerous. They were the nobles with whom
Josephine had formerly lived in terms of closest intimacy. She wrote to
Fouché, the Minister of Police, in behalf of these families about to be
plunged into woe by the merited punishment of the conspirators. This
letter reflects such light upon the character of Josephine, which
character she transmitted to Hortense, that it claims insertion here.
"CITIZEN MINISTER,--While I yet tremble at the frightful event which has
just occurred, I am disquieted and distressed through fear of the
punishment necessarily to be inflicted on the guilty, who belong, it is
said, to families with whom I once lived in habits of intercourse. I
shall be solicited by mothers, sisters, and disconsolate wives, and my
heart will be broken through my inability to obtain all the mercy for
which I would plead.
"I know that the clemency of the First Consul is great; his attachment
to me extreme. But the crime is too dreadful that a terrible example
should not be necessary. The chief of the Government has not been alone
exposed. It is that which will render him severe, inflexible. I conjure
you, therefore, to do all in your power to prevent inquiries being
pushed too far. Do not detect all those persons who may have been
accomplices in these odious transactions. Let not France, so long
overwhelmed in consternation by public executions, groan anew beneath
such inflictions. It is even better to endeavor to soothe the public
mind than to exasperate men by fresh terrors. In short, when the
ringleaders of this nefarious attempt shall have been secured, let
severity give place to pity for inferior agents, seduced, as they may
have been, by dangerous falsehoods or exaggerated opinions.
"When just invested with supreme power, the First Consul, as seems to
me, ought rather to gain hearts, than to be exhibited as ruling slaves.
Soften by your counsels whatever may be too violent in his just
resentment. Punish--alas! that you must certainly do--but pardon still
more. Be also the support of those unfortunate men who, by frank avowal
or repentance, shall expiate a portion of their crime.
"Having myself narrowly escaped perishing in the Revolution, you must
regard as quite natural my interference on behalf of those who can be
saved without involving in new danger the life of my husband, precious
to me and to France. On this account do, I entreat you, make a wide
distinction between the authors of the crime and those who, through
weakness or fear, have consented to take part therein. As a woman, a
wife, a mother, I must feel the heart-rendings of those who will apply
to me. Act, citizen minister, in such a manner that the number of these
may be lessened. This will spare me much grief. Never will I turn away
from the supplications of misfortune. But in the present instance you
can do infinitely more than I, and you will, on this account, excuse my
importunity. Rely on my gratitude and esteem."
There was a young officer about twenty-nine years of age, by the name of
Michel Duroc, who was then a frequent visitor at the Tuileries and
Malmaison. He was a great favorite of Napoleon, and was distinguished
alike for beauty of person and gallantry upon the field of battle. Born
of an ancient family, young Duroc, having received a thorough military
education, attached himself, with enthusiastic devotion, to the fortunes
of Napoleon. He attracted the attention of General Bonaparte during his
first Italian campaign, where he was appointed one of his aides.
Following Napoleon to Egypt, he gained renown in many battles, and was
speedily promoted to the rank of chief of battalion, and then to general
of brigade. At Jaffa he performed a deed of gallantry, which was
rewarded by the applauding shouts of nearly the whole army. At Jean
d'Acre he led one of the most bloody and obstinate assaults recorded in
the military annals of France, where he was severely wounded by the
bursting of a howitzer. At the battle of Aboukir he won great applause.
Napoleon's attachment to this young officer was such, that he took him
to Paris on his return from Egypt. In the eventful day of the 18th
Brumaire, Duroc stood by the side of Napoleon, and rendered him eminent
service. The subsequent career of this very noble young man brilliantly
reflects his worth and character. Rapidly rising, he became grand
marshal of the palace and Duke of Friuli.
The memorable career of General Duroc was terminated at the battle of
Bautzen, in Germany, on the 23d of May, 1813. He was struck by the last
ball thrown from the batteries of the enemy. The affecting scene of his
death was as follows:
"In the early dawn of the morning of the 23d of May, Napoleon was on
horseback directing the movements of his troops against the routed foe.
He soon overtook the rear-guard of the enemy, which had strongly posted
its batteries on an eminence to protect the retreat of the discomfited
army. A brief but fierce conflict ensued, and one of Napoleon's aides
was struck dead at his feet. Duroc was riding by the side of the
Emperor. Napoleon turned to him and said, 'Duroc, fortune is determined
to have one of us to-day.' Hour after hour the incessant battle raged,
as the advance-guard of the Emperor drove before it the rear-guard of
the Allies. In the afternoon, as the Emperor, with a portion of the
Imperial Guard, four abreast, was passing through a ravine, enveloped in
a blinding cloud of dust and smoke, a cannon-ball, glancing from a tree,
killed one officer, and mortally wounded Duroc, tearing out his
entrails. The tumult and obscurity were such that Napoleon did not
witness the casualty. When informed of it, he seemed for a moment
overwhelmed with grief, and then exclaimed, in faltering accents,
"Duroc! gracious Heaven, my presentiments never deceive me. This is a
sad day, a fatal day."
Immediately alighting from his horse, he walked to and fro for a short
time absorbed in painful thoughts, while the thunders of the battle
resounded unheeded around him. Then turning to Caulaincourt, he said,
"Alas! when will fate relent? When will there be an end of this? My
eagles will yet triumph, but the happiness which accompanies them is
fled. Whither has he been conveyed? I must see him. Poor, poor Duroc!"
The Emperor found the dying marshal in a cottage, still stretched upon
the camp litter by which he had been conveyed from the field. Pallid as
marble from the loss of blood, and with features distorted with agony,
he was scarcely recognizable. The Emperor approached the litter, threw
his arms around the neck of the friend he so tenderly loved, and
exclaimed, in tones of deepest grief, "Alas! then is there no hope?"
"None whatever," the physicians replied.
The dying man took the hand of Napoleon, and gazing upon him
affectionately, said, "Sire, my whole life has been devoted to your
service, and now my only regret is that I can no longer be useful to
you." Napoleon, in a voice almost inarticulate with emotion, said,
"Duroc, there is another life. There you will await me."
"Yes, sire," the marshal faintly replied, "but that will be thirty years
hence. You will then have triumphed over your enemies, and realized the
hopes of our country. I have lived an honest man. I have nothing to
reproach myself with. I have a daughter, to whom your Majesty will be a
father."
Napoleon was so deeply affected that he remained for some time in
silence, incapable of uttering a word, but still affectionately holding
the hand of his dying friend.
Duroc was the first to break the silence. "Sire," he said, "this sight
pains you. Leave me."
The Emperor pressed his hand to his lips, embraced him affectionately,
and saying sadly, "Adieu, my friend," hurried out of the room.
Supported by Marshal Soult and Caulaincourt, Napoleon, overwhelmed with
grief, retired to his tent, which had been immediately pitched in the
vicinity of the cottage. "This is horrible," he exclaimed. "My
excellent, my dear Duroc! Oh, what a loss is this!"
His eyes were flooded with tears, and for the moment, forgetting every
thing but his grief, he retired to the solitude of his inner tent.
The squares of the Old Guard, sympathizing in the anguish of their
commander and their sovereign, silently encamped around him. Napoleon
sat alone in his tent, wrapped in his gray great-coat, his forehead
resting upon his hand, absorbed in painful musings. For some time none
of his officers were willing to intrude upon his grief. At length two of
the generals ventured to consult him respecting arrangements which it
seemed necessary to make for the following day. Napoleon shook his head
and replied, "Ask me nothing till to-morrow," and again covering his
eyes with his hand, he resumed his attitude of meditation. Night came.
One by one the stars came out. The moon rose brilliantly in the
cloudless sky. The soldiers moved with noiseless footsteps, and spoke in
subdued tones. The rumbling of wagons and the occasional boom of a
distant gun alone disturbed the stillness of the scene.
"Those brave soldiers," says J. T. Headley, "filled with grief to see
their beloved chief bowed down by such sorrows, stood for a long time
silent and tearful. At length, to break the mournful silence, and to
express the sympathy they might not speak, the band struck up a requiem
for the dying marshal. The melancholy strains arose and fell in
prolonged echoes over the field, and swept in softened cadences on the
ear of the fainting, dying warrior. But still Napoleon moved not. They
changed the measure to a triumphant strain, and the thrilling trumpets
breathed forth their most joyful notes till the heavens rang with the
melody. Such bursts of music welcomed Napoleon as he returned, flushed
with victory, till his eye kindled with exultation. But now they fell on
a dull and listless ear. It ceased, and again the mournful requiem
filled all the air. But nothing could rouse him from his agonizing
reflections. His friend lay dying, and the heart that he loved more than
his life was throbbing its last pulsations. What a theme for a painter,
and what a eulogy was that scene! That noble heart, which the enmity of
the world could not shake, nor the terrors of the battle-field move from
its calm repose, nor even the hatred nor the insults of his at last
victorious enemies humble, here sank in the moment of victory before the
tide of affection. What military chieftain ever mourned thus on the
field of victory, and what soldiers ever loved their leader so!"
Before the dawn of the morning Duroc expired. When the event was
announced to Napoleon, he said sadly, "All is over. He is released from
his misery. Well, he is happier than I." The Emperor ordered a monument
to be reared to his memory, and, when afterwards dying at St. Helena,
left to the daughter of Duroc one of the largest legacies bequeathed in
his will. That Duroc was worthy of this warm affection of the Emperor,
may be inferred from the following testimony of Caulaincourt, Duke of
Vicenza:
"Marshal Duroc was one of those men who seem too pure and perfect for
this world, and whose excellence helps to reconcile us to human nature.
In the high station to which the Emperor had wisely raised him, the
grand marshal retained all the qualities of the private citizen. The
splendor of his position had not power to dazzle or corrupt him. Duroc
remained simple, natural, and independent; a warm and generous friend, a
just and honorable man. I pronounce on him this eulogy without fear of
contradiction."
It is not strange that Hortense, a beautiful girl of eighteen, should
have fallen deeply in love with such a young soldier, twenty-nine years
of age. It would seem that Duroc was equally inspired with love and
admiration for Hortense. Though perhaps not positively engaged, there
was such an understanding between the young lovers that a brisk
correspondence was kept up during one of Duroc's embassies to the north.
[Illustration: THE LOVE-LETTER.]
Bourrienne, at that time the private secretary of Napoleon, says that
this correspondence was carried on by consent through his hands. With
the rapidly rising greatness of the family, there was little retirement
to be enjoyed at the Tuileries or at Malmaison. The saloons of the First
Consul were every evening crowded with guests. Youthful love is the same
passion, and the young heart throbs with the same impulses, whether in
the palace or in the cottage. When Bourrienne whispered to Hortense that
he had a letter for her from Duroc, and slipped it unperceived into her
hand, she would immediately retire to her room for its perusal; and the
moistened eyes with which she returned to the saloon testified to the
emotions with which the epistle from her lover had been read.
But Josephine had the strongest reasons which can well be imagined for
opposing the connection with Duroc. She was a very loving mother. She
wished to do every thing in her power to promote the happiness of
Hortense, but she probably was not aware how deeply the affections of
her daughter were fixed upon Duroc. Her knowledge of the world also
taught her that almost every young lady and every young gentleman have
several loves before reaching the one which is consummated by marriage.
She had another match in view for Hortense which she deemed far more
eligible for her, and far more promotive of the happiness of the family.
Napoleon had already attained grandeur unsurpassed by any of the ancient
kings of France. Visions of still greater power were opening before him.
It was not only to him a bitter disappointment but apparently it might
prove a great national calamity that he had no heir to whom he could
transmit the sceptre which France had placed in his hands. Upon his
downfall, civil war might ravage the kingdom, as rival chieftains
grasped at the crown. It was earnestly urged upon him that the interests
of France imperiously demanded that, since he had no prospect of an heir
by Josephine, he should obtain a divorce and marry another. It was urged
that the welfare of thirty millions of people should not be sacrificed
to the inclinations of two individuals.
Josephine had heard these rumors, and her life was embittered by their
terrible import. A pall of gloom shrouded her sky, and anguish began to
gnaw at her heart amidst all the splendors of the Tuileries and the
lovely retirement of Malmaison.
Napoleon's younger brother, Louis, was of nearly the same age with
Hortense. He was a young man of fine personal appearance, very
intelligent, of scholarly tastes, and of irreproachable character.
Though pensive in temperament, he had proved himself a hero on the field
of battle, and he possessed, in all respects, a very noble character.
Many of the letters which he had written from Egypt to his friends in
Paris had been intercepted by the British cruisers, and were published.
They all bore the impress of the lofty spirit of integrity and humanity
with which he was inspired. Napoleon was very fond of his brother Louis.
He would surely place him in the highest positions of wealth and power.
As Louis Bonaparte was remarkably domestic in his tastes and
affectionate in his disposition, Josephine could not doubt that he would
make Hortense happy. Apparently it was a match full of promise,
brilliant, and in all respects desirable. Its crowning excellence,
however, in the eye of Josephine was, that should Hortense marry Louis
Bonaparte and give birth to a son, Napoleon would recognize that child
as his heir. Bearing the name of Bonaparte, with the blood of the
Bonapartes in his veins, and being the child of Hortense, whom he so
tenderly loved as a daughter, the desires of Napoleon and of France
might be satisfied. Thus the terrible divorce might be averted.
It is not probable that at this time Napoleon seriously thought of a
divorce, though the air was filled with rumors put in circulation by
those who were endeavoring to crowd him to it. He loved Josephine
tenderly, and of course could not sympathize with her in those fears of
which it was impossible for her to speak to him. Bourrienne testifies
that Josephine one day said to him in confidence, veiling and at the
same time revealing her fears, "This projected marriage with Duroc
leaves me without support. Duroc, independent of Bonaparte's friendship,
is nothing. He has neither fortune, rank, nor even reputation. He can
afford me no protection against the enmity of the brothers. I must have
some more certain reliance for the future. My husband loves Louis very
much. If I can succeed in uniting my daughter to him, he will prove a
strong counterpoise to the calumnies and persecutions of my
brothers-in-law."
These remarks were repeated to Napoleon. According to Bourrienne, he
replied,
"Josephine labors in vain. Duroc and Hortense love each other, and they
shall be married. I am attached to Duroc. He is well born. I have given
Caroline to Murat, and Pauline to Le Clerc. I can as well give Hortense
to Duroc. He is as good as the others. He is general of division.
Besides, I have other views for Louis."
Josephine, however, soon won the assent of Napoleon to her views, and he
regarded with great satisfaction the union of Hortense with Louis. The
contemplated connection with Duroc was broken off. Two young hearts were
thus crushed, with cruelty quite unintentional. Duroc was soon after
married to an heiress, who brought him a large fortune, and, it is said,
a haughty spirit and an irritable temper, which embittered all his days.
Hortense, disappointed, heart-broken, despairing, was weary of the
world. She probably never saw another happy day. Such is life.
"Sorrows are for the sons of men,
And weeping for earth's daughters."