PEACEFUL DAYS, YET SAD.
1816-1831
Visits the Baths of Geiss.--Watchfulness of the Allies.--The retreat of
Arenemberg.--The princes enter college.--Loveliness of Hortense.--Letter
from a visitor.--Social life at Arenemberg.--Scenery at
Arenemberg.--Pleasant neighbors.--An evening scene.--Theatric
entertainments.--Taste and culture.--Accomplishments of
Hortense.--Society at Arenemberg.--Amiability of Hortense.--The city
home of Hortense and her son.--Testimony of an English lady.--The
Duchess of St. Leu.--Pursuits of Prince Louis.--Madame Récamier meets
Hortense.--Interview with Madame Récamier.--Arrangements for
meeting.--Difficulty between Napoleon and Madame Récamier.--Banishment
of Madame de Staël.--Cause of Madame Récamier's banishment.--She returns
to Paris.--Hortense exiled.--Interview at the Coliseum.--Subsequent
meetings.--Letter from Hortense.--Disgrace of Chateaubriand.--Revolution
in France.--Attempt of the Italian patriots.--Escape of Louis
Napoleon.--They seek refuge in France.--The vicissitudes of
life.--Obligations of Louis Philippe to Hortense.--The Duchess of
Bourbon.--Letter to Hortense.
As the spring of the year 1816 opened upon Europe, Hortense was found
residing undisturbed, with her son, Louis Napoleon, in their secluded
home upon the shores of Lake Constance. The Allies seemed no longer
disposed to disturb her. Still, she had many indications that she was
narrowly watched. She was much cheered by a visit which she made to her
brother at Berg, on the Wurmsee, where she was received with that warmth
of affection which her wounded heart so deeply craved. Her health being
still very frail, she, by the advice of her physicians, spent the heat
of summer at the baths of Geiss, among the mountains of Appenzell. Her
son, Louis Napoleon, was constantly with her. Nearly the whole attention
of the mother was devoted to his education.
She had the general superintendence of all his studies, teaching him
herself drawing and dancing, often listening to his recitations and
guiding his reading. Her own highly-cultivated mind enabled her to do
this to great advantage. The young prince read aloud to his mother in
the evenings, the selections being regulated in accordance with his
studies in geography or history. Saturday Hortense devoted the entire
day to her son, reviewing all the reading and studies of the week. In
addition to the Abbé Bertrand, another teacher was employed, M. Lebas, a
young professor of much distinction from the Normal School of Paris.
Thus the summer and autumn of 1816 passed tranquilly away. But the eagle
eye of the Bourbons was continually upon Hortense. They watched every
movement she made, she could not leave her home, or receive a visit from
any distinguished stranger, without exciting their alarm. Their
uneasiness at length became so great that, early in the year 1817, the
Duke of Baden received peremptory orders that he must immediately expel
Hortense and her child from his territory. The Bourbons could not allow
such dangerous personages to dwell so near the frontiers of France.
Hortense was a feeble, heart-broken woman. Her child was but eight years
of age. But they were representatives of the Empire. And the Bourbons
were ever terror-stricken lest the French people should rise in
insurrection, and demand the restoration of that Empire, of which
foreign armies had robbed them.
In the extreme north-eastern portion of Switzerland, on the southern
shores of the Lake of Constance, there was the small Swiss canton of
Thurgovia. The gallant magistrates of the canton informed Hortense that
if she wished to establish herself in their country, she should be
protected by both the magistrates and the people. The ex-queen had
occasionally entered the canton in her drives, and had observed with
admiration a modest but very beautiful chateau called Arenemberg, very
picturesquely located on the borders of the lake. She purchased the
estate for about sixty thousand francs. This became a very delightful
summer residence, though in winter it presented a bleak exposure, swept
by piercing winds. Until the death of Hortense, Arenemberg continued to
be her favorite place of residence.
To add to this transient gleam of happiness, there was now a partial
reconciliation between Hortense and her husband; and, to the unspeakable
joy of the mother and Louis Napoleon, they enjoyed a visit of several
months from Napoleon Louis. It is not easy to imagine the happiness
which this reunion created, after a separation of nearly three years.
The judicious mother now thought it important that her sons should enjoy
the advantages of a more public education than that which they had been
receiving from private tutors at home. She accordingly took them both to
Augsburg, in Bavaria, where they entered the celebrated college of that
city. Hortense engaged a handsome residence there, that she might still
be with her sons, whom she loved so tenderly. A French gentleman of
distinction, travelling in that region, had the honor of an introduction
to her, and gives the following account of his visit:
"Returning to France in 1819, after a long residence in Russia, I
stopped at Augsburg, where the Duchess of St. Leu was then a resident. I
had hitherto only known her by report. Some Russian officers, who had
accompanied the Emperor Alexander to Malmaison in 1814, had spoken to me
of Hortense with so much enthusiasm, that for the first few moments it
appeared as if I saw her again after a long absence, and as if I owed my
kind reception to the ties of ancient friendship. Every thing about her
is in exact harmony with the angelic expression of her face, her
conversation, demeanor, and the sweetness of her voice and disposition.
"When she speaks of an affecting incident, the language becomes more
touching through the depths of her sensibility. She lends so much life
to every scene, that the auditor becomes witness of the transaction. Her
powers of instructing and delighting are almost magical; and her artless
fascination leaves on every heart those deep traces which even time can
never efface.
"She introduced me to her private circle, which consisted of the two
children and their tutors, some old officers of her household, two
female friends of her infancy, and that living monument of conjugal
devotion, Count Lavallette.[I] The conversation soon became general.
They questioned me about the Ukraine, where I long had resided, and
Greece and Turkey, through which I had lately travelled.
[Footnote I: Count Lavallette was one of the devoted friends of
Napoleon, who had long served in the armies of the Empire. For the
welcome he gave Napoleon on his return from Elba he was doomed, by the
Bourbons, to death. While preparations were being made for his
execution, his wife and daughter, with her governess, were permitted to
visit him. Very adroitly he escaped in his wife's clothes, she remaining
in his place. Irritated by this escape, the Government held his wife a
prisoner until she became a confirmed lunatic.]
"In return, they spoke of Bavaria, St. Leu, the Lake of Constance, and,
by degrees, of events deriving their chief interest from the important
parts played by the narrators themselves. We dined at five. I afterwards
accompanied the duchess into the garden, and, in the few moments then
enjoyed of intimate conversation, I saw that no past praises had ever
been exaggerated. How admirable were her feelings when she recalled the
death of her mother, and in her tragic recital of the death of Madame
Broc.
"But when she spoke of her children, her friends, and the fine arts, her
whole figure seemed to glow with the ardor of her imagination. Goodness
of heart was displayed in every feature, and gave additional value to
her other estimable qualities. In describing her present situation it
was impossible to avoid mentioning her beloved France.
"'You are returning,' said she, 'to your native country;' and the last
word was pronounced with a heartfelt sigh. I had been an exile from my
cradle, yet my own eager anxiety to revisit a birth-place scarcely
remembered, enabled me to estimate her grief at the thoughts of an
eternal separation. She spoke of the measures adopted for her banishment
with that true resignation which mourns but never murmurs. After two
hours of similar conversation, it was impossible to decide which was the
most admirable, her heart, her good sense, or her imagination.
"We returned to the drawing-room at eight, where tea was served. The
duchess observed that this was a habit learned in Holland, 'though you
are not to suppose,' she added, with a slight blush, 'that it is
preserved as a remembrance of days so brilliant, but now already so
distant. Tea is the drink of cold climates, and I have scarcely changed
my temperature.'
"Numerous visitors came from the neighborhood, and some even from
Munich. She may, indeed, regard this attention with a feeling of proud
gratification. It is based upon esteem alone, and is far more honorable
than the tiresome adulation of sycophants while at St. Cloud or the
Hague. In the course of the evening we looked through a suite of rooms
containing, besides a few master-pieces of the different schools, a
large collection of precious curiosities. Many of these elegant trifles
had once belonged to her mother; and nearly every one was associated
with the remembrance of some distinguished personage or celebrated
event. Indeed, her museum might almost be called an abridgment of
contemporary history. Music was the next amusement; and the duchess
sang, accompanying herself with the same correct taste which inspires
her compositions. She had just finished the series of drawings intended
to illustrate her collection of _romances_. How could I avoid praising
that happy talent which thus personifies thought? The next day I
received that beautiful collection as a remembrance.
"I took my leave at midnight, perhaps without even the hope of another
meeting. I left her as the traveller parts from the flowers of the
desert, to which he can never hope to return. But, wherever time,
accident, or destiny may place me, the remembrance of that day will
remain indelibly imprinted alike on my memory and heart. It is pleasing
to pay homage to the fallen greatness of one like Hortense, who joins
the rare gift of talents to the charms of the tenderest sensibility."
[Illustration: HORTENSE AT ARENEMBERG.]
The residence of Hortense in Augsburg was in a mansion, since called
Pappenheim Palace, in Holy Cross Street. After the graduation of her
children, Hortense, with Louis Napoleon, spent most of their time at
Arenemberg, interspersed with visits to Rome and Florence. The beautiful
chateau was situated upon a swell of land, with green lawns and a thick
growth of forest trees, through which there were enchanting views of the
mountain and of the lake. The spacious grounds were embellished with the
highest artistic skill, with terraces, trellis-work woodbines, and rare
exotics.
"The views," writes an English visitor, "which were in some places
afforded through the woods, and in others, by their rapid descent,
carried over them, were broken in a manner which represented them doubly
beautiful. From one peep you caught the small vine-clad island of
Reichman, with its cottage gleams trembling upon the twilighted lake.
From another you had a noble reach of the Rhine, going forth from its
brief resting-place to battle its way down the Falls of Schaffhausen;
and beyond it the eye reposed upon the distant outline of the Black
Forest, melting warmly in the west. In a third direction you saw the
vapory steeples of Constance, apparently sinking in the waters which
almost surrounded them; and far away you distinguish the little coast
villages, like fading constellations, glimmering fainter and fainter,
till land and lake and sky were blended together in obscurity."
Not far distant was the imposing chateau of Wolfberg, which had been
purchased by General Parguin, a young French officer of the Empire of
much distinction. He had married Mademoiselle Cochelet, and became one
of the most intimate friends of Louis Napoleon.
Prince Eugene had also built him a house in the vicinity, that he might
be near his sister and share her solitude. Just as the house was
finished, and before he moved into it, Eugene died. This was another
crushing blow to the heart of Hortense. She was in Rome at the time, and
we shall have occasion to refer to the event again.
Hortense, in her retirement, was no less a queen than when the diadem
was upon her brow. Though at the farthest possible remove from all
aristocratic pride, her superior mind, her extraordinary attainments,
and her queenly grace and dignity, invested her with no less influence
over the hearts of her friends than she enjoyed in her days of regal
power. A visitor at Wolfberg, in the following language, describes a
call which Hortense made upon Madame Parguin and her guests at the
chateau:
"One fine evening, as we were all distributed about the lawn at
Wolfberg, there was an alarm that Hortense was coming to visit Madame
Parguin. As I saw her winding slowly up the hill, with all her company,
in three little summer carriages, the elegance of the cavalcade, in
scenes where elegance was so rare, was exceedingly striking.
"The appearance of Hortense was such as could not fail to excite
admiration and kind feeling. Her countenance was full of talent, blended
with the mild expression of a perfect gentlewoman. Her figure, though
not beyond the middle height, was of a mould altogether majestic. She
lamented that she had not sooner known of the purposed length of our
stay in that part of Switzerland, as, having conceived that we were
merely passing a few days, she had been unwilling to occupy our time.
She then spoke of her regret at not being able to entertain us
according to her wishes. And, finally, she told us that she had in
agitation some little theatricals which, if we could bear with such
trifles, we should do her pleasure in attending. All this was said with
simple and winning eloquence."
The room for this little theatric entertainment was in a small building,
beautifully decorated, near the house. Many distinguished guests were
present; many from Constance; so that the apartment was crowded to its
utmost capacity. There were two short plays enacted. In one Hortense
took a leading part in scenes of trial and sorrow, in which her peculiar
powers were admirably displayed. Even making all suitable allowance for
the politeness due from guests to their host, it is evident that
Hortense possessed dramatic talent of a very high order.
From the theatre the guests returned to the chateau, where preparations
had been made for dancing. In the intervals between the dances there was
singing, accompanied by the piano. "Here, again," writes one of the
guests, "Hortense was perfectly at home. She sang several songs, of
which I afterwards found her to be the unacknowledged composer. Among
these was the beautiful air, _Partant pour la Syrie_, which will be a
fair guaranty that I do not say too much for the rest."
At the close of the evening, as the guests began to depart, the
remainder were dispersed through the suite of rooms, admiring the
various objects of curiosity and of beauty with which they are
decorated. There were some beautiful paintings, and several pieces of
exquisite statuary. Upon the tables there were engravings,
drawing-books, and works of _belles-lettres_.
"I chanced," writes the visitor from whom we have above quoted, "to
place my hand upon a splendid album, and had the further good-fortune to
seat myself beside a beautiful young _dame de compagnie_ of the duchess,
who gave me the history of all the treasures I found therein. Whatever I
found most remarkable was still the work of Hortense. Of a series of
small portraits, sketched by her in colors, the likeness of those of
which I had seen the subjects would have struck me, though turned upside
down. She had the same power and the same affectionate feeling for
fixing the remembrance of places likewise.
"The landscapes which she had loved in forbidden France, even the
apartments which she had inhabited, were executed in a manner that put
to shame the best amateur performances I had ever seen. There was a
minute attention to fidelity in them, too, which a recollection of her
present circumstances could not fail to bring home to the spectator's
heart.
"I know not when my interest would have cooled in this mansion of taste
and talent. Towards morning I was obliged to take my leave; and I doubt
if there were any individual who returned home by that bright moonlight,
without feeling that Hortense had been born some century and a half too
late. For an age of bigots and turncoats she, indeed, seemed unsuited.
In that of true poetry and trusty cavaliers, she would have been the
subject of the best rhymes and rencontres in romantic France.
"After this I saw her frequently, both at her own house and at Wolfberg,
and I never found any thing to destroy the impression which I received
on my introduction. Independently of the interest attached to herself,
she had always in her company some person who had made a noise in the
world, and had become an object of curiosity. At one time it was a
distinguished painter or poet; again, it was a battered soldier, who
preferred resting in retirement to the imputation of changing his
politics for advancement; then a grand duke or duchess who had undergone
as many vicissitudes as herself; and, finally, the widow of the
unfortunate Marshal Ney.
"There was something in the last of these characters, particularly when
associated with Hortense, more interesting than all the others. She was
a handsome, but grave and silent woman, and still clad in mourning for
her husband, whose death, so connected with the banishment of the
duchess, could not fail to render them deeply sympathetic in each
other's fortunes. The amusements provided for all this company consisted
of such as I have mentioned--expeditions to various beautiful spots in
the neighborhood, and music parties on the water. The last of these used
sometimes to have a peculiarly romantic effect; for on _fête_ days the
young peasant girls, all glittering in their golden tinsel bonnets,
would push off with their sweethearts, like mad things, in whatever
boats they could find upon the beach. I have seen them paddling their
little fleet round the duchess's boat with all the curiosity of savages
round a man-of-war.
"At length the time arrived for me to bid adieu to Switzerland. It was
arranged that I should set out for Italy with a small party of my
Wolfberg friends. An evening or two before we departed we paid a
leave-taking visit to the duchess. She expressed much polite regret at
our intention, and gave us a cordial invitation to renew our
acquaintance with her in the winter at Rome. Her care, indeed, to leave
a good impression of her friendly disposition upon our minds, was
exceedingly gratifying. She professed to take an interest in the plans
which each of us had formed, and, when her experience qualified her,
gave us instructions for our travels.
"When we rose to depart, the night being fine, she volunteered to walk
part of the way home with us. She came about a quarter of a mile to
where she could command an uninterrupted view of the lake, above which
the moon was just then rising, a huge red orb which shot a burning
column to her feet. 'I will now bid you adieu,' she said; and we left
her to the calm contemplation of grandeur which could not fade, and
enjoyments which could not betray. This was the last time I saw, and
perhaps shall ever see Hortense; but I shall always remember my brief
acquaintance with her as a dip into days which gave her country the
character of being the most polished of nations."
Hortense, with her son Louis Napoleon, had been in the habit of passing
the severity of the winter months in the cities of Augsburg or Munich,
spending about eight months of the year at Arenemberg. But after the
death of her brother Eugene, the associations which those cities
recalled were so painful that she transferred her winter residence to
Rome or Florence. An English lady who visited her at Arenemberg writes:
"The style of living of the Duchess of St. Leu is sumptuous, without
that freezing etiquette so commonly met with in the great. Her household
still call her _Queen_, and her son _Prince_ Napoleon or _Prince_ Louis.
The suite is composed of two ladies of honor, an equerry, and the tutor
of her younger son. She has a numerous train of domestics, and it is
among them that the traces are still observable of bygone pretensions,
long since abandoned by the true nobleness of their mistress. The former
queen, the daughter of Napoleon, the mother of the Imperial
heir-apparent, has returned quietly to private life with the perfect
grace of a voluntary sacrifice.
"The duchess receives strangers with inexpressible kindness. Ever
amiable and obliging, she is endowed with that charming simplicity which
inspires, at first sight, the confidence of intimate affection. She
speaks freely of the brilliant days of her prosperity. And history then
flows so naturally from her lips, that more may be learned as a
delighted listener, than from all the false or exaggerated works so
abundant everywhere. The deposed queen considers past events from such
an eminence that nothing can interpose itself between her and the truth.
This strict impartiality gives birth to that true greatness, which is a
thousand times preferable to all the splendors she lost in the flower of
her age.
"I have been admitted to the intimacy of the Duchess of St. Leu, both at
Rome and in the country. I have seen her roused to enthusiasm by the
beauties of nature, and have seen her surrounded by the pomp of
ceremony; but I have never known her less than herself; nor has the
interest first inspired by her character ever been diminished by an
undignified sentiment or the slightest selfish reflection.
"It is impossible to be a more ardent and tasteful admirer of the fine
arts than is the duchess. Every one has heard her beautiful _romances_,
which are rendered still more touching by the soft and melodious voice
of the composer. She usually sings standing; and, although a finished
performer on the harp and piano, she prefers the accompaniment of one of
her attendant ladies. Many of her leisure hours are employed in
painting. Miniatures, landscapes, and flowers are equally the subjects
of her pencil. She declaims well, is a delightful player in comedy, acts
proverbs with uncommon excellence, and I really know no one who can
surpass her in every kind of needle-work.
"The Duchess of St. Leu never was a regular beauty, but she is still a
charming woman. She has the softest and most expressive blue eyes in the
world. Her light flaxen hair contrasts beautifully with the dark color
of her long eyelashes and eyebrows. Her complexion is fresh and of an
even tint; her figure elegantly moulded; her hands and feet perfect. In
fine, her whole appearance is captivating in the extreme. She speaks
quickly with rapid gestures, and all her movements are easy and
graceful. Her style of dress is rich, though she has parted with most
of her jewels and precious stones."
Hortense was almost invariably accompanied by her son, Louis Napoleon,
whether residing in Italy or in Switzerland. When at Arenemberg, the
young prince availed himself of the vicinity to the city in pursuing a
rigorous course of study in physics and chemistry under the guidance of
a very distinguished French philosopher. He also connected himself, in
prosecuting his military studies, with a Baden regiment garrisoned at
Constance. He was here recognized as the Duke of St. Leu, and was always
received with much distinction. At Rome, the residence of Hortense was
the centre of the most brilliant and polished society of the city. Here
her son was introduced to the most distinguished men from all lands, and
especially to the old friends of the Empire, who kept alive in his mind
the memory of the brilliant exploits of him whose name he bore. Pauline
Bonaparte, who had married for her second husband Prince Borghese, and
who was immensely wealthy, also resided in the vicinity of Rome, in
probably the most magnificent villa in Europe. Hortense and her son were
constant visitors at her residence.
Madame Récamier, who had ever been the warm friend of the Bourbons, and
whom Hortense had befriended when the Bourbons were in exile, gives the
following account of an interview she had with Queen Hortense in Rome,
early in the year 1824. The two friends had not met since the "Hundred
Days" in 1815. We give the narrative in the words of Madame Récamier:
"I went one day to St. Peter's to listen to the music, so beautiful
under the vaults of that immense edifice. There, leaning against a
pillar, meditating under my veil, I followed with heart and soul the
solemn notes that died away in the depths of the dome. An
elegant-looking woman, veiled like myself, came and placed herself near
the same pillar. Every time that a more lively feeling drew from me an
involuntary movement my eyes met those of the stranger. She seemed to be
trying to recognize my features. And I, on my side, through the obstacle
of our veils, thought I distinguished blue eyes and light hair that were
not unknown to me. 'Madame Récamier!' 'Is it you, madame?' we said
almost at the same moment. 'How delighted I am to see you!' said Queen
Hortense, for she it was. 'You know,' she added, smiling, 'that I would
not have waited until now to find you out; but you have always been
ceremonious with me.'
"'Then, madame,' I replied, 'my friends were exiled and unfortunate. You
were happy and brilliant, and my place was not near you.'
"'If misfortune has the privilege of attracting you,' replied the queen,
'you must confess that my time has come and permit me to advance my
claims.'
"I was a little embarrassed for a reply. My connection with the Duke de
Laval, our ambassador at Rome, and with the French Government in
general, was a barrier to any visiting between us. She understood my
silence.
"'I know,' she said, sadly, 'that the inconveniences of greatness follow
us still, when even our prerogatives are gone. Thus, with loss of rank,
I have not acquired liberty of action. I can not to-day even taste the
pleasures of a woman's friendship, and peaceably enjoy society that is
pleasant and dear to me.'
"I bowed my head with emotion, expressing my sympathy only by my looks.
"'But I must talk to you,' said the queen, more warmly. 'I have so many
things to say to you. If we can not visit each other, nothing prevents
us from meeting elsewhere. We will appoint some place to meet. That will
be charming.'
"'Charming indeed, madame,' I replied, smiling; 'and especially for me.
But how shall we fix the time and place for these interviews?'
"'It is you,' Hortense replied, 'who must arrange that; for, thanks to
the solitude forced upon me, my time is entirely at my own disposal. But
it may not be the same with you. Sought for as you are, you mix, no
doubt, a great deal in society.'
"'Heaven forbid!' I replied. 'On the contrary, I lead a very retired
life. It would be absurd to come to Rome to see society, and people
everywhere the same. I prefer to visit what is peculiarly her own--her
monuments and ruins.'
"'Well, then, we can arrange every thing finely,' added Hortense; 'if it
is agreeable to you I will join you in these excursions. Let me know
each day your plans for the next; and we will meet, as if by accident,
at the appointed places.'
"I eagerly accepted this offer, anticipating much pleasure in making the
tour of old Rome with so gracious and agreeable a companion, and one
who loved and understood art. The queen, on her side, was happy in the
thought that I would talk to her of France; whilst to both of us the
little air of mystery thrown over these interviews gave them another
charm.
"'Where do you propose to go to-morrow?' asked the queen.
"'To the Coliseum.'
"'You will assuredly find me there,' Hortense replied. 'I have much to
say to you. I wish to justify myself in your eyes from an imputation
that distresses me.'
"The queen began to enter into explanations; and the interview
threatening to be a long one, I frankly reminded her that the French
ambassador, who had brought me to St. Peter's, was coming back for me;
for I feared that a meeting would be embarrassing to both.
"'You are right,' said the queen. 'We must not be surprised together.
Adieu, then. To-morrow at the Coliseum;' and we separated."
Madame Récamier, the bosom-friend of Chateaubriand, was in entire
political sympathy with the illustrious poet. She regarded legitimacy as
a part of her religion, and was intensely devoted to the interests of
the Bourbons. She was one of the most beautiful and fascinating women
who ever lived. Napoleon at St. Helena, in allusion to this remarkable
lady, said:
"I was scarcely First Consul ere I found myself at issue with Madame
Récamier. Her father had been placed in the Post-office Department. I
had found it necessary to sign, in confidence, a great number of
appointments; but I soon established a very rigid inspection in every
department A correspondence was discovered with the Chouans, going on
under the connivance of M. Bernard, the father of Madame Récamier. He
was immediately dismissed, and narrowly escaped trial and condemnation
to death. His daughter hastened to me, and upon her solicitation I
exempted M. Bernard from taking his trial, but was resolute respecting
his dismissal. Madame Récamier, accustomed to obtain every thing, would
be satisfied with nothing less than the reinstatement of her father.
Such were the morals of the times. My severity excited loud
animadversions. It was a thing quite unusual. Madame Récamier and her
party never forgave me."[J]
[Footnote J: Abbott's "Napoleon at St. Helena," p. 94.]
The home of Madame De Staël, who was the very intimate friend of Madame
Récamier, became, in the early stages of the Empire, the rendezvous of
all those who were intriguing for the overthrow of the government of
Napoleon. The Emperor, speaking upon this subject at St. Helena, said:
"The house of Madame De Staël had become quite an arsenal against me.
People went there to be armed knights. She endeavored to raise enemies
against me, and fought against me herself. She was at once Armida and
Clorinda. It can not be denied that Madame de Staël is a very
distinguished woman. She will go down to posterity. At the time of the
Concordat, against which Madame de Staël was violently inflamed, she
united at once against me the aristocrats and the republicans. Having at
length tired out my patience, she was sent into exile. I informed her
that I left her the universe for the theatre of her achievements; that I
reserved only Paris for myself, which I forbade her to approach, and
resigned the rest of the world to her."
The banishment of Madame de Staël from Paris excited as much bitterness
in the soul of Madame Récamier as it was possible for a lady of such
rare amiability and loveliness of character to feel. Madame Récamier, in
giving an account of this transaction, says:
"I had a passionate admiration for Madame de Staël; and this harsh and
arbitrary act showed me despotism under its most odious aspect. The man
who banished a woman, and such a woman,--who caused her such
unhappiness, could only be regarded by me as an unmerciful tyrant; and
from that hour I was against him."
The result was that Madame Récamier was forbidden to reside within one
hundred and twenty miles of Paris. The reason which Napoleon assigned
for these measures was, that Madame de Staël, with the most
extraordinary endowments of mind, and Madame Récamier, with charms of
personal loveliness which had made her renowned through all Europe, were
combining their attractions in forming a conspiracy which would surely
deluge the streets of Paris in blood. Napoleon affirmed that though the
Government was so strong that it could certainly crush an insurrection
in the streets, he thought it better to prohibit these two ladies any
further residence in Paris, rather than leave them to foment rebellion,
which would cost the lives of many thousands of comparatively innocent
persons.
When the Bourbons, at the first restoration, returned to Paris, in the
rear of the batteries of the Allies, Madame Récamier again took up her
residence in Paris. Her saloons were thronged with the partisans of the
old regime, and she was universally recognized as the queen of fashion
and beauty. She was in the enjoyment of a very large income, kept her
carriage, had a box at the opera, and on opera nights had receptions
after the performances. The wheel of fortune had turned, and she was now
in the ascendant. Lord Wellington was among her admirers. But the
brusque, unpolished duke disgusted the refined French lady by his boast
to her, "I have given Napoleon a good beating."
Still the wheel continued its revolution. Napoleon returned from Elba.
The Bourbons and their partisans fled precipitately from France. But, in
the interim, Madame Récamier and Madame de Staël had dined with the
Duchess of St. Leu, at her estate a few leagues from Paris. The return
of Napoleon plunged Madame Récamier and her friend into the utmost
consternation. She was very unwilling again to leave Paris. In this
emergency, Hortense, who was then at the Tuileries, wrote to her under
date of March 23, 1815:
"I hope that you are tranquil. You may trust to me to take care of your
interests. I am convinced that I shall not have occasion to show you how
delighted I should be to be useful to you. Such would be my desire. But
under any circumstances count upon me, and believe that I shall be very
happy to prove my friendship for you.
"HORTENSE."
The "Hundred Days" passed away. The Bourbons were re-enthroned. Madame
Récamier was again a power in Paris. Hortense, deprived of the duchy of
St. Leu, was driven an exile out of France. Fifteen years had rolled
away, and these two distinguished ladies had not met until the
accidental interview to which we have alluded beneath the dome of St.
Peter's Cathedral. They were friends, though one was the representative
of aristocracy and the other of the rights of the people.
According to the arrangement which they had made, Hortense and Madame
Récamier met the next day at the Coliseum. Though it is not to be
supposed that Madame Récamier would make any false representations, it
is evident that, under the circumstances, she would not soften any of
the expressions of Hortense, or represent the conversation which ensued
in any light too favorable to Napoleon. We give the narrative, however,
of this very interesting interview in the words of Madame Récamier:
"The next day, at the Ave Maria, I was at the Coliseum, where I saw the
queen's carriage, which had arrived a few minutes before me. We entered
the amphitheatre together, complimenting each other on our punctuality,
and strolled through this immense ruin as the sun was setting, and to
the sound of distant bells.
"Finally we seated ourselves on the steps of the cross in the centre of
the amphitheatre, while Charles Napoleon Bonaparte and M. Ampère, who
had followed us, walked about at a little distance. The night came
on--an Italian night. The moon rose slowly in the heavens, behind the
open arcades of the Coliseum. The breeze of evening sighed through the
deserted galleries. Near me sat this woman, herself the living ruin of
so extraordinary a fortune. A confused and undefinable emotion forced me
to silence. The queen also seemed absorbed in her reflections.
[Illustration: INTERVIEW IN THE COLISEUM.]
"'How many events have contributed to bring us together,' she said
finally, turning towards me, 'events of which I often have been the
puppet or the victim, without having foreseen or provoked them.'
"I could not help thinking that this pretension to the rôle of a victim
was a little hazardous. At that time I was under the conviction that she
had not been a stranger to the return from the island of Elba. Doubtless
the queen divined my thoughts, since it is hardly possible for me to
hide my sentiments. My bearing and face betray me in spite of myself.
"'I see plainly,'she said earnestly, 'that you share an opinion that has
injured me deeply; and it was to controvert it that I wanted to speak to
you freely. Henceforth you will justify me, I hope; for I can clear
myself of the charge of ingratitude and treason, which would abase me in
my own eyes if I had been guilty of them.'
"She was silent a moment and then resumed. 'In 1814, after the
abdication of Fontainebleau, I considered that the Emperor had renounced
all his rights to the throne, and that his family ought to follow his
example. It was my wish to remain in France, under a title that would
not give umbrage to the new Government. At the request of the Emperor of
Russia, Louis XVIII. gave me authority to assume the title of Duchess of
St. Leu, and confirmed me in the possession of my private property. In
an audience that I obtained to thank him, he treated me with so much
courtesy and kindness that I was sincerely grateful; and after having
freely accepted his favors I could not think of conspiring against him.
"'I heard of the landing of the Emperor only through public channels,
and it gave me much more annoyance than pleasure. I knew the Emperor too
well to imagine that he would have attempted such an enterprise without
having certain reasons to hope for success. But the prospect of a civil
war afflicted me deeply, and I was convinced that we could not escape
it. The speedy arrival of the Emperor baffled all my previsions.
"'On hearing of the departure of the king, and picturing him to myself
old, infirm, and forced to abandon his country again, I was sensibly
touched. The idea that he might be accusing me of ingratitude and
treason was insupportable to me; and, notwithstanding all the risk of
such a step, I wrote to him to exculpate myself from any participation
in the events which had just taken place.
"'On the evening of the 20th of March, being advised of the Emperor's
approach by his old minister, I presented myself at the Tuileries to
await his coming. I saw him arrive, surrounded, pressed, and borne
onward by a crowd of officers of all ranks. In all this tumult I could
scarcely accost him. He received me coldly, said a few words to me, and
appointed an interview for next day. The Emperor has always inspired me
with fear, and his tone on this occasion was not calculated to reassure
me. I presented myself, however, with as calm a bearing as was possible.
I was introduced into his private room; and we were scarcely alone when
he advanced toward me quickly, and said brusquely,
"'"Have you then so poorly comprehended your situation that you could
renounce your name, and the rank you held from me, to accept a title
given by the Bourbons?"
"'"My duty sire," I replied, summoning up all my courage to answer him,
"was to think of my children's future, since the abdication of your
Majesty left me no longer any other to fulfill."
"'"Your children," exclaimed the Emperor, "your children! Were they not
my nephews before they were your sons? Have you forgotten that? Had you
the right to strip them of the rank that belonged to them?" And as I
looked at him, all amazed, he added, with increasing rage, "Have you not
read the Code, then?"
"'I avowed my ignorance, recalling to myself that he had formerly
considered it reprehensible, in any woman, and especially in members of
his own family, to dare to avow that they knew any thing about
legislation. Then he explained to me with volubility the article in the
law prohibiting any change in the state of minors, or the making of any
renunciation in their name. As he talked he strode up and down the room,
the windows of which were open to admit the beautiful spring sun. I
followed him, trying to make him understand that, not knowing the laws,
I had only thought of the interests of my children, and taken counsel of
my heart. The Emperor stopped all of a sudden, and turning roughly
towards me, said,
"'"Then it should have told you, Madame, that when you shared the
prosperity of a family, you ought to know how to submit to its
misfortunes."
"'At these last words I burst into tears. But at this moment our
conversation was interrupted by a tremendous uproar which frightened me.
The Emperor, while talking, had unconsciously approached the window
looking upon the terrace of the Tuileries, which was filled with people,
who, upon recognizing him, rent the air with frantic acclamations. The
Emperor, accustomed to control himself, saluted the people electrified
by his presence, and I hastened to dry my eyes. But they had seen my
tears, without the slightest suspicion of their cause. For the next day
the papers vied with each other in repeating that the Emperor had shown
himself at the windows of the Tuileries, accompanied by Queen Hortense,
and that the Queen was so moved by the enthusiasm manifested at the
sight of her that she could scarcely restrain her tears.'
"This account," adds Madame Récamier, "had an air of sincerity about it,
which shook my previous convictions, and the regard I felt for the Queen
was heightened. From that time we became firm friends. We met each other
every day, sometimes at the Temple of Vesta, sometimes at the Baths of
Titus, or at the Tomb of Cecilia Metella; at others, in some one of the
numerous churches of the Christian city, in the rich galleries of its
palaces, or at one of the beautiful villas in its environs; and such was
our punctuality, that our two carriages almost always arrived together
at the appointed place.
"I found the queen a very fascinating companion. And she showed such a
delicate tact in respecting the opinions she knew I held, that I could
not prevent myself saying that I could only accuse her of the one fault
of not being enough of a Bonapartist. Notwithstanding the species of
intimacy established between us, I had always abstained from visiting
her, when news arrived of the death of Eugene Beauharnais. The Queen
loved her brother tenderly. I understood the grief she must feel in
losing her nearest relation and the best friend she had in the world,
and came quickly to a decision. I immediately went to her, and found her
in the deepest affliction. The whole Bonaparte family was there, but
that gave me little uneasiness. In such cases it is impossible for me to
consider party interests or public opinion. I have been often blamed for
this, and probably shall be again, and I must resign myself to this
censure, since I shall never cease to deserve it."
Hortense, immediately upon receiving the tidings of the dangerous
sickness of her brother, had written thus to Madame Récamier. The letter
was dated,
"Rome, Friday morning, April, 1824.
"MY DEAR MADAME,--It seems to be my fate not to be able to enjoy any
pleasures, diversions, or interest without the alloy of pain. I have
news of my brother. He has been ill. They kindly assure me that he was
better when the letter was sent, but I can not help being extremely
anxious. I have a presentiment that this is his last illness, and I am
far from him. I trust that God will not deprive me of the only friend
left me--the best and most honorable man on earth. I am going to St.
Peter's to pray. That will comfort me perhaps, for my very anxiety
frightens me. One becomes weak and superstitious in grief. I can not
therefore go with you to-day, but I shall be happy to see you, if you
would like to join me at St. Peter's. I know that you are not afraid of
the unhappy, and that you bring them happiness. To wish for you now is
enough to prove to you my regard for you.
"HORTENSE."
Soon after the death of Prince Eugene, Hortense returned to Arenemberg.
From that place she wrote to Madame Récamier, under date of June 10th,
1824:
"You were kind enough, Madame, to wish to hear from me. I can not say
that I am well, when I have lost every thing on this earth. Meanwhile I
am not in ill health. I have just had another heart-break. I have seen
all my brother's things. I do not recoil from this pain, and perhaps I
may find in it some consolation. This life, so full of troubles, can
disturb no longer the friends for whom we mourn. He, no doubt, is happy.
With your sympathies you can imagine all my feelings.
"I am at present in my retreat. The scenery is superb. In spite of the
lovely sky of Italy, I still find Arenemberg very beautiful. But I must
always be pursued by regrets. It is undoubtedly my fate. Last year I was
so contented. I was very proud of not repining, not wishing for any
thing in this world. I had a good brother, good children. To-day how
much need have I to repeat to myself that there are still some left to
whom I am necessary!
"But I am talking a great deal about myself, and I have nothing to tell
you, if it be not that you have been a great comfort to me, and that I
shall always be pleased to see you again. You are among those persons to
whom it is not needful to relate one's life or one's feelings. The heart
is the best interpreter, and they who thus read us become necessary to
us.
"I do not ask you about your plans, and nevertheless I am interested to
know them. Do not be like me, who live without a future, and who expect
to remain where fate puts me; for I may stay at my country-place all
winter, if I can have all the rooms heated. Sometimes the wind seems to
carry the house off, and the snow, I am told, is of frightful depth. But
it requires little courage to surmount these obstacles. On the contrary,
these great effects of nature are sometimes not without their charms.
Adieu. Do not entirely forget me. Believe me, your friendship has done
me good. You know what a comfort a friendly voice from one's native
country is, when it comes to us in misfortune and isolation. Be kind
enough to tell me that I am unjust if I complain too much of my destiny,
and that I have still some friends left.
"HORTENSE."
Just about this time M. de Chateaubriand, the illustrious friend of
Madame Récamier, was quite insultingly dismissed from the ministry for
not advocating a law of which the king approved. The disgrace of the
minister created a very deep sensation. In allusion to it, Hortense
wrote to Madame Récamier, from Arenemberg, Sept. 11, 1824, as follows:
"I expected to hear from you on your return from Naples, and as I have
not heard, I know not where to find you. I have fancied that you were on
the road to Paris, because I always imagine that we go where the heart
goes, and where we can be useful to our friends. It is curious to think
what a chain the affections are. Why, I myself, secluded from the world,
stranger to every thing, am sorry to see so distinguished a man shut out
from public life. Is it on account of the interest you have made me take
in that quarter, or is it, rather, because, like a Frenchwoman, I love
to see merit and superiority honored in my country?
"At present I am no longer alone. I have my cousin with me, the Grand
Duchess of Baden, a most accomplished person. The brilliancy of her
imagination, the vivacity of her wit, the correctness of her judgment,
together with the perfect balance of all her faculties, render her a
charming and a remarkable woman. She enlivens my solitude and softens my
profound grief. We converse in the language of our country. It is that
of the heart, you know, since at Rome we understood each other so well.
"I claim your promise to stop on the way at Arenemberg. It will always be
to me very sweet to see you. I can not separate you from one of my
greatest sorrows; which is to say that you are very dear to me, and that
I shall be happy to have an opportunity to assure you of my affection.
"HORTENSE."
Madame Récamier, after leaving Rome, kept up her friendly relations and
correspondence with Queen Hortense.
The winter of 1829 Hortense spent with her sons in Rome. Chateaubriand
was then French ambassador in that city. Upon his leaving, to return to
Paris, Hortense wrote to Madame Récamier the following letter, in which
she alludes to his departure:
"Rome, May 10, 1829.
"DEAR MADAME,--I am not willing that one of your friends should leave
the place where I am living, and where I have had the pleasure of
meeting you, without carrying to you a token of my remembrance. I also
wish you to convey to him my sentiments. Kindnesses show themselves in
the smallest things, and are also felt by those who are the object of
them, without their being equal to the expression of their feelings. But
the benevolence which has been able to reach me has made me regret not
being permitted to know him whom I have learned to appreciate, and who,
in a foreign land, so worthily represented to me my country, at least
such as I always should like to look upon her, as a friend and
protectress.
"I am soon to return to my mountains, where I hope to hear from you. Do
not forget me entirely. Remember that I love you, and that your
friendship contributed to soothe one of the keenest sorrows of my life.
These are two inseparable memories. Thus never doubt my tender love, in
again assuring you of which I take such pleasure.
"HORTENSE."
The year 1830 came. Louis Napoleon was then twenty-two years of age. An
insurrection in Paris overthrew the old Bourbon dynasty, and established
its modification in the throne of Louis Philippe. This revolution in
France threw all Europe into commotion. All over Italy the people rose
to cast off the yoke which the Allies, who had triumphed at Waterloo,
had imposed upon them. The exiled members of the Bonaparte family met at
Rome to decide what to do in the emergency. Hortense attended the
meeting with her two sons. The eldest, Napoleon Louis, had married his
cousin, the daughter of Joseph Bonaparte. Both of the young princes,
with great enthusiasm, joined the patriots. Hortense was very much
alarmed for the safety of her sons. She could see but little hope that
the insurrection could be successful in Italy, for the "Holy Alliance"
was pledged to crush it. She wrote imploringly to her children. Louis
Napoleon replied,
"Your affectionate heart will understand our determination. We have
contracted engagements which we can not break. Can we remain deaf to the
voice of the unfortunate who call to us? We bear a name which obliges us
to listen."
We have not here space to describe the conflict. The Italian patriots,
overwhelmed by the armies of Austria, were crushed or dispersed. The
elder of the sons of Hortense, Napoleon Louis, died from the fatigue and
exposure of the campaign, and was buried at Florence. The younger son,
Louis Napoleon, enfeebled by sickness, was in the retreat with the
vanquished patriots to Ancona, on the shores of the Adriatic. The
distracted mother was hastening to her children when she heard of the
death of the one, and of the sickness and perilous condition of the
other. She found Louis Napoleon at Ancona, in a burning fever. The
Austrians were gathering up the vanquished patriots wherever they could
be found in their dispersion, and were mercilessly shooting them.
Hortense was in an agony of terror. She knew that her son, if captured,
would surely be shot. The Austrians were soon in possession of Ancona.
They eagerly sought for the young prince, who bore a name which despots
have ever feared. A price was set upon his head. The sagacity of the
mother rescued the child. She made arrangements for a frail skiff to
steal out from the harbor and cross the Adriatic Sea to the shores of
Illyria. Deceived by this stratagem, the Austrian police had no doubt
that the young prince had escaped. Their vigilance was accordingly
relaxed. Hortense then took a carriage for Pisa. Her son, burning with
fever and emaciate from grief and fatigue, mounted the box behind in the
disguise of a footman. In this manner, exposed every moment to the
danger of being arrested by the Austrian police, the anxious mother and
her son traversed the whole breadth of Italy. As Louis Napoleon had,
with arms in his hands, espoused the cause of the people in their
struggle against Austrian despotism, he could expect no mercy, and there
was no safety for him anywhere within reach of the Austrian arm.
By a law of the Bourbons, enacted in 1816, which law was re-enacted by
the Government of Louis Philippe, no member of the Bonaparte family
could enter France but under the penalty of death. But Napoleon I., when
in power, had been very generous to the House of Orleans. Hortense,
also, upon the return of Napoleon from Elba, when the Royalists were
flying in terror from the kingdom, had protected and warmly befriended
distinguished members of the family. Under these circumstances,
distracted by the fear that her only surviving child would be arrested
and shot, and knowing not which way to turn for safety, the mother and
the son decided, notwithstanding the menace of death suspended over
them, to seek a momentary refuge, incognito, in France.
Embarking in a small vessel, still under assumed names, they safely
reached Cannes. At this port Napoleon had landed sixteen years ago, in
his marvellous return from Elba. The mother and son proceeded
immediately to Paris, resolved to cast themselves upon the generosity of
Louis Philippe. Louis Napoleon was still very sick, and needed his bed
rather than the fatigues of travel. It was the intention of his mother,
so soon as the health of her son was sufficiently restored, to continue
their journey and cross over to England.
Hortense, in her "Mémoires," speaking of these hours of adversity's
deepest gloom, writes:
"At length I arrived at the barrier of Paris. I experienced a sort of
self-love in exhibiting to my son, by its most beautiful entrance, that
capital, of which he could probably retain but a feeble recollection. I
ordered the postillion to take us through the Boulevards to the Rue de
la Paix, and to stop at the first hotel. Chance conducted us to the
Hotel D'Hollande. I occupied a small apartment on the third floor, _du
premier_, first above the entresol. From my room I could see the
Boulevard and the column in the Place Vendôme. I experienced a sort of
saddened pleasure, in my isolation, in once more beholding that city
which I was about to leave, perhaps forever, without speaking to a
person, and without being distracted by the impression which that view
made upon me."
Twenty-two years before, Hortense, in this city, had given birth to the
child who was now sick and a fugitive. Austria was thirsting for his
blood, and the Government of his own native land had laid upon him the
ban of exile, and it was at the peril of their lives that either mother
or son placed their feet upon the soil of France. And yet the birth of
this prince was welcomed by salvos of artillery, and by every
enthusiastic demonstration of public rejoicing, from Hamburg to Rome,
and from the Pyrenees to the Danube.
Louis Napoleon was still suffering from a burning fever. A few days of
repose seemed essential to the preservation of his life. Hortense
immediately wrote a letter to King Louis Philippe, informing him of the
arrival of herself and son, incognito, in Paris, of the circumstances
which had rendered the step necessary, and casting themselves upon his
protection. Louis Philippe owed Hortense a deep debt of gratitude. He
had joined the Allies in their war against France. He had come back to
Paris in the rear of their batteries. By French law he was a traitor
doomed to die. When Napoleon returned from Elba he fled from France in
terror, again to join the Allies. He was then the Duke of Orleans. The
Duchess of Orleans had slipped upon the stairs and broken her leg. She
could not be moved. Both Hortense and Napoleon treated her with the
greatest kindness. Of several letters which the Duchess of Orleans wrote
Hortense, full of expressions of obligation and gratitude, we will quote
but one.
_The Duchess of Orleans to Queen Hortense._
"April 19, 1815.
"MADAME,--I am truly afflicted that the feeble state of my health
deprives me of the opportunity of expressing to your majesty, as I could
wish, my gratitude for the interest she has manifested in my situation.
I am still suffering much pain, as my limb has not yet healed. But I can
not defer expressing to your majesty, and to his majesty, the Emperor,
to whom I beg you to be my interpreter, the gratitude I feel I am,
madame, your majesty's servant,
"LOUISE MARIE ADELAIDE DE BOURBON, DUCHESS D'ORLEANS."
The Emperor, in response to the solicitations of Hortense, had permitted
the Duchess of Orleans to remain in Paris, and also had assured her of a
pension of four hundred thousand francs ($80,000). The Duchess of
Bourbon, also, aunt of the Duke of Orleans, was permitted to remain in
the city. And she, also, that she might be able to maintain the position
due to her rank, received from the Emperor a pension of two hundred
thousand francs ($40,000). The Duchess of Bourbon had written to
Hortense for some great favors, which Hortense obtained for her. In
reply to the assurance of Hortense that she would do what she could to
aid her, the duchess wrote, under date of April 29th, 1815:
"I am exceedingly grateful for your kindness, and I have full confidence
in the desire which you express to aid me. I can hardly believe that the
Emperor will refuse a demand which I will venture to say is so just, and
particularly when it is presented by you. Believe me, madame, that my
gratitude equals the sentiments of which I beg you to receive, in
advance, the most sincere attestation."
Under these circumstances Hortense could not doubt that she might
venture to appeal to the magnanimity of the king.