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 LIBRARY 
 

MEMOIRS 
 
 OF 
 
 QUEEN HOKTENSE. 
 
 TOL. I. 
 
• t 
 
M E M 1 E S 
 
 OF 
 
 QUEEN HORTENSE, 
 
 att«en o: 
 
 MOTHER OF NAPOLEON III. 
 
 IV 
 
 COMPILED BY 
 
 r. GLASCELLES WRAXALL 
 
 AND 
 
 EOBEET WEHBHAN. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 HTJKST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHEES, 
 
 SUCCESSOES TO HENRY COLBUItN, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 1862. 
 
o 
 
 \ 
 
 JOHN CH1LDS AND SOX, PRINTERS. 
 
CONTEXTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. DATS OP CHILDHOOD 1 
 
 II. THE PEOPHECY 14 
 
 III. CONSEQUENCES OE THE BEVOLUTION . . 28 
 
 IV. GENEBAL BONAPABTE 42 
 
 V. THE MAEEIAGE 50 
 
 VI. BONAPABTE IN ITALY 59 
 
 VII. CHANCES AND CHANGES OF FOBTUNE . . 66 
 VIII. BONAPAETE'S BETUBN FE03I EGYPT . . 74 
 
 IX. A FIEST LOVE 87 
 
 X. LOUIS BONAPAETE AND DUEOC . . . . 96 
 
 XI. CONSUL OE KING ? 113 
 
 XII. THE CALUMNY 123 
 
 XIII. KING OE EMPEEOE? 137 
 
 xrv. napoleon's heie 152 
 
 100731 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 XV. PEE SENTIMENTS 162 
 
 XVI. THE KING OF HOLLAND 177 
 
 XVII. JUNOT, DUO D'ABBANTES 189 
 
 XVIII. LOUIS NAPOLEON AS A SELLEE OE VIOLETS 200 
 
 XIX. THE DATS OF ADVEBSITY. 212 
 
 XX. THE ALLIES IN TAEIS 224 
 
 XXI. QUEEN HOETENSE AND THE EMPEEOE 
 
 ALEXANDEE 253 
 
 XXII. DEATH OF THE EMPEESS JOSEPHINE . . 266 
 XXIH. THE EETUEN OF THE BOUEBONS . . . . 276 
 
 XXIV. THE BOUEBONS AND THE NAPOLEONS . . 291 
 
MEMOIRS OF 
 
 QUEEN HOBTENSE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DATS OF CHILDHOOD. 
 
 It has been written by a great German poet that 
 " death is not too high a price to pay for a mo- 
 ment of happiness," but a long life of torture and 
 sorrow is too heavy a requital for a brief span of 
 felicity. In the case of Hor tense, the daughter 
 of an Empress, and mother of an Emperor, it is 
 hard to say when she knew that moment of happi- 
 ness which was to reward her for life-enduring 
 suffering. She wept much and endured much : 
 from her earliest youth she learned to know tears 
 and misfortune, nor were they afterwards spared 
 to the maiden, the wife, and the mother. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
2 THE QUEEN OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Hortense is the member of the Napoleon 
 family who most attracts sympathy. This deli- 
 cate and yet haughty queen, when she descended 
 from the throne, when she had ceased to be a 
 queen, when she at length sought shelter in the 
 tonrb, weary of life and exhausted, still remained 
 among us as the queen of flowers. Flowers 
 have preserved the memory of Josejmine's 
 daughter, and they did not turn from her, as 
 so many of her friends did, when she was no 
 longer the daughter of the omnipotent Emperor, 
 but of the exile. She sUll lived among the 
 flowers, and Gavarny, the great poet of flowers, 
 has erected a most touching monument to the 
 queen in his jleitrs animees. On a hill of Hor- 
 tensias reposes the picture of Queen Hortense, 
 and in the distance, like a departing mirage, the 
 domes and towers of Paris may be seen. Soli- 
 tude prevails around, but in the air soars the 
 Imperial Eagle. The Imperial mantle with the 
 golden bees spreads out behind it like a comet's 
 tail, the dark red ribbon and cross of the Legion 
 of Honour are round its neck, and in its beak it 
 bears a richly- covered spray of Crown Imperial. 
 
 The Queen of Holland knew all the grandeur 
 
QUEEN OF HOLLAND. o 
 
 and magnificence of the earth, and saw it all fade 
 
 away into dust. But no, not all ; her songs and 
 
 poetry have survived, for genius needs no crown 
 
 to be immortal. When Hortense ceased to be a 
 
 queen by grace of Napoleon, she still remained 
 
 the poetess, Dei gratia. Her poems are pleasing 
 
 and graceful, full of tenderness, and of deep, 
 
 passionate fire, which, however, never exceeds 
 
 the limits of feminine delicacy ; while her musical 
 
 compositions are agreeable and melodious. Who 
 
 does not know the song Va fen guerrier, which 
 
 Hortense wrote and composed, and afterwards 
 
 transposed by Napoleon's desire to a military 
 
 march ? To the sound of this march the soldiers 
 
 of France formerly left their country to bear the 
 
 Gallic eagles to Russia ; to the sound of the same 
 
 march the soldiers of France so recently invaded 
 
 Russia once again. 
 
 Hortense's song has survived. At first the 
 
 whole world sang it loudly and joyfully, and when 
 
 the Bourbons had returned, the wounded, crippled 
 
 warriors at the Invalides hummed it softly, while 
 
 conversing among themselves in whispers, about 
 
 "la gloire de la belle France.'* Now the song 
 
 echoes proudly again through France^ it rises 
 
 l * 
 
VA T'EN GUERltlER. 
 
 jubilantly to the Vendome statue, and the bronze 
 countenance of the Emperor seems to smile. The 
 song has now a sacred significance for France, for 
 it is the anthem of a religion before which she 
 would wish all nations to fall down and worship, 
 "the religion of reminiscences." And the Va 
 fen guerrier that France now sings, echoes over 
 the tomb of the queen, like salvos over the grave 
 of a brave warrior. 
 
 The unhappy and amiable Queen fought a 
 terrible contest, but she constantly had, and 
 ever retained, the courage peculiar to women, of 
 smilina: through, her tears. Her father died on 
 the scaffold ; her mother, the doubly dethroned 
 Empress, of a broken heart ; her step-father, on 
 a solitary rock. Exiled and avoided, all these 
 uncrowned kings and queens wandered hither 
 and thither, banished from their home, and 
 scarce obtaining from the mercy of those to 
 whom they had once shown mercy a nook of land 
 where they could live in retirement, far from the 
 turmoil of the world, brooding over their great 
 recollections and great sorrows. Their past lay 
 far behind them, like a dazzling fairy tale, 
 which no one longer believed, and the present 
 
NAPOLEOX FAMILY. 5 
 
 seemed welcome to nations, that they might 
 irritate and torture the dethroned Napoleon 
 family. 
 
 And yet, in spite of all this sorrow and hu- 
 miliation, Queen Hortense had the courage not 
 to hate humanity, and to teach her children to 
 love their fellow-men and intreat them kindlv. 
 The heart of the dethroned queen bled from a 
 thousand wounds ; but she did not allow these 
 wounds to cicatrize, or her heart to harden be- 
 neath the broad scars of sorrow. She loved her 
 sufferings and her wounds, and kept them open 
 with her tears ; but the very fact of suffering so 
 fearfully., caused her to spare the sufferings of 
 others and try to appease their grief. Hence her 
 life was one incessant act of kindness, and when 
 she died she was enabled to sav of herself, as did 
 her mother, the Empress Josephine, " I have 
 wept greatly, but I never caused others to weep." 
 
 Hortense was the daughter of the Viscount de 
 Beauharnois, who, contrary to the wish of his 
 friends, married a young Creole lady, Mademoi- 
 selle Tascher de la Pagerie. The union, although 
 
6 DOMESTIC STORMS. 
 
 one of love, did not prove a happy one, for both 
 were young and inexperienced, passionate and 
 jealous, and both wanted the strength of character 
 and energy necessary to turn the turbulent 
 waves of their disposition into the channel of 
 quiet matrimony. 
 
 The viscount was too young to become to 
 Josephine more than a loving and affectionate hus- 
 band ; he could not be her mentor and friend, to 
 guide her in the difficult path of life ; and Jose- 
 phine was too inexperienced, too innocent, and too 
 lively to avoid those acts which her enemies could 
 use as a weapon against her, and misconstrue into 
 calumnies. 
 
 Thus it came to pass that the domestic happiness 
 of the young couple was soon troubled by violent 
 storms. Josephine was too amiable and beautiful 
 not to excite admiration and attention, and not yet 
 sufficiently experienced to conceal her satisfaction 
 at finding herself thus admired, nor was she pru- 
 dent enough to avoid exciting such admiration. 
 In the singleness and innocence of her heart she 
 thought her husband could not possibly feel any 
 disquietude or suspicion on account of her play- 
 ful coquetry, and she expected that he would 
 
DAYS OF CHILDHOOD. 7 
 
 repose implicit confidence in her fidelity. Her 
 pride revolted against his suspicions, as did his 
 jealousy against her seeming levity, and although 
 at heart truly attached to each other, they would 
 probably have dissolved their union, had not 
 their children been a tie that kept them to- 
 gether. 
 
 These children were a boy, Eugene, and a 
 daughter, Hortense, who was four years younger 
 than her brother. Both parents loved m these 
 children passionately, and whenever a quarrel 
 took place in their presence, an innocent word 
 of Eugene or a caress from Hortense would 
 effect a reconciliation between two persons whose 
 anger was nothing more than irritated love. 
 
 But these matrimonial storms became more 
 violent in the course of time, and unfortunately 
 Hortense was left alone to effect a reconciliation 
 between her unhappy parents. Eugene, at the 
 age of seven, had been sent to school, and little 
 Hortense, no longer assisted by her brother, 
 began to be unequal to the task of allaying the 
 storm that raged between her parents. In- 
 timidated by the violence of these domestic 
 quarrels, she fled to some remote corner of the 
 
8 AN INVITATION. 
 
 house, there to weep over a misfortune, the great- 
 ness of which her little childish heart was as yet 
 unable to comprehend. 
 
 At this sad and tempestuous period of her life 
 Josephine received a letter from Martinique, in 
 which Madame Tascher de la Pagerie described 
 her loneliness in a house whose extensive pre- 
 mises none but slaves and servants shared with 
 her, and she wrote with alarm of the sad change 
 that had taken place in the demeanour of the 
 latter. She therefore requested her daughter's 
 return home, to brighten by her presence the 
 last years of her mother's life. 
 
 Josephine regarded this letter as an intimation 
 from Heaven. Wearied of domestic discord, and 
 determined to escape from it for ever, she left 
 France with her little daughter to seek on the 
 other side of the ocean, and in the arms of her 
 mother, the happiness of a peaceful life. 
 
 But at that time peace seemed to have fled 
 from the world. All around storms were gather- 
 ing, and an awful presentiment of impending 
 danger, of horrors to come, seemed to hover over 
 the human race. It resembled the sullen thun- 
 der that shakes the bowels of the earth when the 
 
MARTINIQUE. 9 
 
 crater is about to open with volcanic eruptions, 
 and bury beneath, floods of burning lava the peace 
 and tranquillity of the human race. And the 
 crater did belch, forth its flames, scattering death 
 and destruction widely around, and sweeping 
 entire nations from the face of the earth. It was 
 the Revolution. 
 
 The first and most fearful explosion of that 
 awful crater took place in France, but its effects 
 were not restricted to that country. All the 
 earth trembled and seemed threatened with de- 
 struction. by the wild volcanic matter that was at 
 work beneath its surface. Martinique also felt 
 the mental earthquake, which in France had al- 
 ready produced that most hideous of the instru- 
 ments of revolution, the guillotine. The guillo- 
 tine had become the altar of so-called national 
 liberty, on which the mad, fanatic fury of the 
 people sacrificed to their new idols those who had 
 hitherto been their masters and lords, and by 
 whose death they thought to purchase their 
 eternal freedom. 
 
 Egalitt, fraternite, liberie, such was the battle 
 cry of the intoxicated, bloodthirsty people. The 
 words were written, as it were, in a spirit of cruel 
 
10 REVOLUTION. 
 
 jest, in letters of blood on the guillotine, and wit- 
 nessed the descent of the blood-stained knife as 
 it fell to sever the heads of the aristocrats, who, 
 in spite of the principles expressed by the three 
 words, were not allowed to enjoy the freedom of 
 thought and life, or recognised as brothers. 
 
 The revolutionary fury of France had found 
 its way to Martinique. It had roused the slaves 
 of that colony out of their sullen obedience, 
 and armed them against their masters. They 
 were resolved to have their share of that liberty, 
 equality, and fraternity which had just been pro- 
 claimed ; but the incendiary torch that was hurled 
 into the house of the white planters was an awful 
 light to welcome their new born freedom. 
 
 Madame de la Pagerie's house was burnt, like 
 that of many others. 
 
 One night Josephine was awakened by the 
 lurid light of flames, which had already pene- 
 trated into her bed-room. "With a cry of despair 
 she left her couch, and seizing Hortense, who was 
 peacefully sleeping in her little bed, she hurried 
 out of the burning house, and forced her way with 
 a mother's desperate courage through the crowd 
 of fighting soldiers and negroes that filled the 
 
ESCAPE. 11 
 
 yard. Dressed only in a thin night-robe, she 
 sped to the port, where the captain of a vessel, 
 just entering his boat to return on board his ship, 
 caught sight of the young woman with her infant 
 clasped to her bosom, as she sank down exhausted 
 by fear and exertion on 'the beach. Moved by 
 compassion he hastened to assist her, and lifting 
 both mother and child from the ground, he car- 
 ried them to his boat, which immediately quitted 
 the land and conveyed its fair burden on board 
 the merchantman. 
 
 The vessel was soon reached, and Josephine, 
 clasping her child to her bosom, and happy in the 
 thought of having saved what was dearest to her, 
 clambered up the dizzy ladder. All her thoughts 
 were still directed towards the child, and it was 
 not till Hortense had been placed in safety in the 
 cabin, that Josephine noticed how slightly herself 
 was dressed. When the mother had performed 
 her duty, her feelings as a woman were aroused, 
 and she looked fearfully and bashfully around 
 her. Only half dressed in a light, fluttering night- 
 dress, with no other covering for her neck and 
 bosom than her long floating hair afforded, which 
 enfolded her in a thick black veil, the youthful 
 
12 DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 Vicomtesse de Beauliarnois felt that she was at- 
 tracting upon herself the envious looks of the 
 crew and passengers. 
 
 Some ladies who happened to be a-board 
 kindly supplied her wants, and scarcely was her 
 toilette finished ere Josephine demanded to be 
 taken back to the shore, in order to inquire after 
 the fate of her mother. The captain of the vessel 
 refused to comply with her wishes, fearful lest 
 the young lady should fall into the hands of the 
 mutinous negroes, whose hideous yelling could be 
 distinctly heard. The whole of the coast, as far 
 as the eye was able to reach, seemed on fire, and 
 resembled a second sea, a sea of flames, the raging 
 waves of which appeared as it were to dash up 
 columns of fire. It was a scene horrible to be- 
 hold; and Josephine, no longer able to witness it, 
 sought refuge in the cabin, where, kneeling down 
 by the side of her slumbering child, she poured 
 out her soul in prayer, begging God to have 
 mercy on her poor mother. 
 
 After the ship had stood out to sea, Josephine 
 again came on deck, and once more looked on the 
 house under whose roof she had spent the days 
 of her childhood, and which now was sinking fast 
 
PROPHECY. IS 
 
 under the fury of the names. As it grew smaller 
 and smaller with increasing distance, and finally- 
 vanished, Josephine felt as if the star of her 
 youth had gone down, as if she had just finished 
 one life, a life of sweet dreaming and cruel dis- 
 appointment, and was about to commence another 
 with wholly different pursuits and feelings. The 
 past, like Cortez' vessels, had been destroyed by 
 fire, but the flames that devoured it seemed for a 
 moment to cast a magic light on the future. As 
 Josephine stood gazing on the disappearing 
 shores of her native island, she remembered the 
 words of an old negress, who a few days before 
 had whispered a strange prophecy in her ear. 
 
 " You will return to France," she said, (; and 
 will soon see that country at your feet. You 
 will become a queen, aye, even mightier than a 
 queen ! " 
 
14 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE PROPHECY. 
 
 It was towards the end of 1790 when Jo- 
 sephine, with her daughter Hortense, arrived' in 
 Paris and took up her abode in a modest hotel. 
 Here she soon afterwards heard that her mother 
 had been saved, and tranquillity restored to Mar- 
 tinique. In France, however, the Revolution 
 continued with increasing fury, and the guillotine 
 and the banner of the reign of terror, the red 
 flag, threw their ghastly shadow over Paris. 
 Pear and dismay had token possession of every 
 heart ; no one was able to say at night whether 
 
VISCOUNT BEAUHARNOIS. 15 
 
 the next morning he should be free, or whether 
 he would live to see another sun set. Death was 
 lurking at every door, and found an abundant 
 harvest in every house, almost in every familv. 
 Amidst such horrors Josephine forgot the quar- 
 rels and humiliations of the past; the old love 
 to her husband awoke again, and as perhaps to- 
 morrow she might be no more, she wished to 
 employ to-day in a reconciliation with her hus- 
 band, and in once more embracing her son. 
 
 But all attempts to bring about such a recon- 
 ciliation seemed to be futile. The viscount had 
 considered her flight to Martinique so great an 
 insult, so deliberate an act of cruelty, that he ap- 
 peared unwilling ever again to receive his wife 
 into his arms. Some sympathizing friends of the 
 young people, however, at last brought about 
 an interview, though without consulting Mon- 
 sieur de Beauharnois. His anger was very great, 
 therefore, when, on entering the drawing-room 
 of Count Montmorin, he caught sight of his wife, 
 Josephine, whom he had so obstinately and angrily 
 avoided. He was about to leave the salon, when 
 a little girl with outstretched arms ran towards 
 him, calling out "papa.'* The viscount stood 
 
16 RE-UNION. 
 
 as if spell-bound, and found it impossible to be 
 angry any longer. He took up little Hortense 
 and pressed her to his heart. She innocently 
 asked him to kiss mamma as he had kissed her. He 
 looked at his wife, whose eyes were filled with 
 tears ; and when his father approached him, and 
 said, u My son, be reconciled to my daughter, for 
 Josephine is my daughter, and I should not call 
 her so were she unworthy," — when he saw 
 Eugene run to the arms of his mother — he could 
 resist no lonsrer. With Hortense in his arms he 
 advanced towards his wife, who hid her face 
 weeping on his breast, and burst into a cry of 
 
 Thus peace was concluded, and the re-united 
 couple loved each other more tenderly than ever 
 they had done before. It seemed as if their ma- 
 trimonial storms had passed, never to return, and 
 as if from this instant they were to experience no 
 more bitterness. But the Revolution was destined 
 soon to blight their newly-born happiness. 
 
 The Viscount de Beauharnois had been chosen 
 by the nobility of Blois to represent them in the 
 States-general, but had resigned this dignity to 
 serve his country with the sword instead of the 
 
ANARCHY. 17 
 
 tongue. With tears and prayers Josephine saw 
 him depart for the army of the Xorth, in which 
 he held the rank of adjutant-general. There was 
 a voice in her breast that told her she would 
 never see him again, and this voice did not de- 
 ceive her. The spirit of anarchy and rebellion 
 prevailed not only among the people, but also in 
 the army which was under its sway. The aris- 
 tocrats, who at Paris fell victims to the guillotine, 
 were looked upon with suspicious, hateful glances 
 by the soldiers ; and thus it happened that the 
 Viscount de Beauharnois, who, on account of his 
 bravery in the battle of Soissons, had been pro- 
 moted to the rank of commander-in-chief, was 
 soon afterwards accused by his own officers of 
 being an enemy to his country, and hostile to the 
 new regime. He was arrested and sent as prisoner 
 to Paris, where he was lodged in the dungeons 
 of the Luxembourg, along with numerous other 
 victims of the Revolution. 
 
 Josephine soon learned the melancholy fate 
 of her husband, and the sad tidings roused her 
 energy and love to action. She resolved either 
 to free her husband, the father of her children, 
 or to die with him. Regardless of danger, she 
 
 VOL. I. 2 . 
 
18 CONFISCATIOX. 
 
 braved every peril, every fear of suspicion that 
 might well have deterred her from the enter- 
 prise, and used every means in her power to 
 obtain an interview with her husband, and offer 
 him consolation and comfort. 
 
 But at that time even love and fidelity were 
 looked upon as crimes deserving of death, and 
 thus, being doubly guilty — first, because she was 
 an aristocrat herself; and, secondly, because she 
 loved a nobleman, a traitor to his country — Jo- 
 sephine was arrested and sent to the prison of 
 St Pelagie. 
 
 Eugene and Hortense might now be con- 
 sidered orphans, for at that time the prisoners 
 of the Luxembourg and St Pelagie never left 
 their dungeons on any other journey but that to 
 the scaffold. Isolated and deprived of all help, 
 shunned by those who in former days had been 
 their friends, the two children were exposed to 
 hunger and misery. The fortune of their pa- 
 rents had been confiscated at the same hour that 
 Josephine was dragged to prison, and the doors 
 of their house had been put under the seal of the 
 government, so that the poor children had not 
 even a roof under which to find shelter. How- 
 
THE REPUBLIC. 19 
 
 ever, they were not altogether forsaken ; for a 
 friend of Josephine's, a Madame Holstein, had 
 the courage to assist the children, and to take 
 them into her own house. 
 
 But it was necessary to proceed with great 
 caution, in order not to excite the suspicion and 
 hatred of those who, from the very dregs of the 
 nation, had risen to be the rulers of France, and 
 who dyed the purple of their power in the blood 
 of the aristocracy. An inconsiderate word, a 
 look, might have been sufficient to make Madame 
 Holstein an object of their suspicion, and con- 
 sign her to the guillotine. It was considered a 
 crime in itself to adopt the children of " traitors," 
 and therefore it was absolutely necessary that 
 everything should be done to lull the suspicions 
 of the men who were in power. Hortense was 
 obliged to join with her protectress in the solemn 
 processions that took place upon each Ci decade " 
 in honour of the Republic " one and indivisible ; " 
 but she was never called upon to take an active 
 part in these festivities. She was considered 
 unworthy to rank with the daughters of the 
 people ; they could not yet forgive her being the 
 
 offspring of a viscount, of an imprisoned ci-devant. 
 
 2 * 
 
20 ST PELAGIE. 
 
 Eugene was apprenticed to a carpenter, and the 
 son of the nobleman might frequently be seen 
 passing along the streets dressed in a blouse, and 
 carrying a piece of board on his shoulder, or a 
 saw under his arm. 
 
 Whilst the children thus enjoyed a life of 
 momentary security, the prospects of their parents 
 grew darker and darker, for not only the life of 
 the General de Beauharnois, but that of his wife 
 also was seriously threatened. Josephine had 
 been removed from her prison in St Pelagie, to 
 the convent of the Carmelites, and thus advanced 
 another step towards the scaffold. But she did 
 not tremble for her own fate, she only thought of 
 her children and her husband. To the former 
 she wrote affectionate letters, which she managed 
 to convey to them by means of a gaoler whom she 
 had bribed, but all efforts to open a communica- 
 tion with the Marquis proved vain. 
 
 Suddenly she received intelligence that he had 
 been carried before the tribunal of the Revolution. 
 In awful suspense Josephine waited from hour to 
 hour to receive further information. Had the 
 tribunal acquitted her husband ? Or had he been 
 sentenced to death ? "Was he free ? Or was he 
 
ILLUSTRIOUS PRISONERS. 21 
 
 liberated already in a higher sense — was he dead ? 
 If he were free he would have found means to in- 
 form her of his safety ; if executed, why was not 
 his name on the list of the condemned ? Jose- 
 phine passed a day of agony, and when night 
 came she was unable to sleep. She, therefore, 
 sat up in company with her companions in mis- 
 fortune, who all like her expected soon to die. 
 
 The persons assembled in this prison were of 
 high rank and birth. There were the Dowager- 
 Duchesse de Choiseul, the Vicomtesse de Maille, 
 whose son, though only seventeen years of age, 
 had just died on the guillotine, — the Marchioness 
 de Crequi, that witty woman who has often been 
 called the last Marquise of the old regime, and 
 who has left us in her Memoirs, although they are 
 written with the prejudices of an aristocrat, the 
 history of France during the eighteenth century. 
 There was also that Abbe Texirer, who, when 
 called upon by the messengers of terrorism to 
 take an oath of fidelity to the new government, 
 and threatened upon refusal with hanging from a 
 lantern-post, asked his assailants, "Will you see 
 better, think you, if you hang me up at that 
 lantern ?" Besides these persons there was in 
 
22 STRANGE SCENE. 
 
 the prison a M. Duvivier, a pupil of Cagliostro, 
 who, like his master, was able to divine the future, 
 and could read the mysterious enigmas of destiny 
 by the aid of a decanter filled with water, and a 
 " dove," that is to say, an innocent girl under 
 seven years of age. To him, as the Grand Cophta, 
 Josephine applied after this day of agonizing un- 
 certainty, and demanded to know her husband's 
 fate. 
 
 It was a strange scene that took place in the 
 stillness of night, within the walls of the dark and 
 lonely prison. The turnkey, bribed with a fifty- 
 franc assignat, whose current value, however, did 
 not exceed forty sous, had consented to his little 
 daughter's playing the part of the <: dove," and 
 made all necessary preparations. In the middle 
 of the room stood a table, on which was a de- 
 canter filled with water, while three candles, 
 forming a triangle, were placed round it. These 
 candles were stationed as close*; as possible to the 
 decanter, in order to enable the u dove" to see 
 more plainly. The little girl, just taken from her 
 bed, and attired in her night-dress only, sat on a 
 chair close to the table, and behind her stood the 
 tall imposing figure of the seer. The Duchesses 
 
MESMERISM. 23 
 
 and Marchionesses, who a short time ago had 
 been the ladies of a brilliant court, and who pre- 
 served even now the etiquette and manners of 
 Versailles, had duly arranged themselves around. 
 Those who in the Tuileries had enjoyed the 
 proud privilege of the tabouret, had the prece- 
 dence, and were treated with all possible respect. 
 On the other side of the table stood the unfortun- 
 ate Josephine, pale, her eyes fixed in awful sus- 
 pense on the features of the little girl, and in the 
 background the gaoler and his wife were visible. 
 
 The seer now laid both his hands on the child's 
 head and said in a loud voice : " Open thy eyes 
 and look ! " 
 
 The child grew pale and shuddered as she 
 looked at the decanter. 
 
 "What dost thou see?" the Cophta asked. 
 " I command thee to look into the prison of Ge- 
 neral de Beauharnois ; what seest thou ?" 
 
 u I see," the child replied, in an excited man- 
 ner, " a young man sleeping on a camp-bed. At 
 his side there is another man, who is writing 
 something on a sheet of paper that is lying on a 
 great book." 
 
 "Canst thou read?" 
 
24: REVELATIONS. 
 
 " No, citizen ! Oh, look ! the gentleman cuts a 
 lock from his hair and puts it in the paper." 
 
 (i The one that sleeps ? " 
 
 " No, no, the one who was writing just now. 
 He begins writing again, he writes something on 
 the paper in which he put his hair ; and now he 
 takes out a small red pocket-book, he opens it, he 
 counts something. There, he shuts it again and 
 walks noiselessly, oh so noiselessly — " 
 
 " How so noiselessly, child 1 didst thou hear 
 the slightest noise before 1 " 
 
 " No, but he walks on his toes." 
 
 " What dost thou see now ?" 
 
 " He covers his face with both hands, I think 
 he weeps." 
 
 " Where does he leave his pocket-book?" 
 
 " Oh, parbleu, he puts it in the pocket of the 
 sleeping man's coat, and the letter too." 
 
 il Of what colour is the coat ? " 
 
 i( I cannot see exactly, but I think it is red or 
 brown, and it has shining buttons." 
 
 u That will do, child," said the seer ; " return 
 to bed." 
 
 He stooped to the girl and breathed on her 
 
DUCHESSE D'ANVILLE. 25 
 
 foiehead. She seemed as if awaking from a 
 dream, and hastened to her parents, who led her 
 away. 
 
 " General de Beauharnois is still alive/' the 
 Grand Cophta said, turning to Josephine. 
 
 "Yes, he lives," she said, sadly, "but he is 
 making preparations for death." 
 
 She was right. A few days afterwards the 
 Duchesse d'Anville received a letter, accompanied 
 by a parcel, sent her by a prisoner in la Force, 
 whose name was de Segrais. He had been im- 
 prisoned in the same room with the Marquis de 
 Beauharnois, and had found, on the morning of 
 the General's execution, the letter and parcel ad- 
 dressed to the Duchess in the pocket of his coat. 
 
 Beauharnois in this letter begged the Duchesse 
 d'Anville to deliver to his wife the packet, which 
 contained a lock of his hair and the farewell 
 lines addressed to her and the children. 
 
 This was the sole inheritance the unfortunate 
 General left to his family. When Josephine re- 
 ceived the tokens of affection, she was so much 
 overpowered by grief that she fainted, and a 
 stream of blood poured from her lips. 
 
26 TRIBUNAL OF TERROR. 
 
 Her companions in misfortune hastened to 
 assist her as far as was in their power, and be- 
 sought the gaoler to go and call in a physician. 
 
 " What is the good of a physician ? " the man 
 asked indifferently. "Death is the best doctor. 
 This very day it cured the General, and in a day 
 or two it will have cured his wife as well. ,, 
 
 This prophecy nearly proved true. Josephine 
 had hardly recovered a little, ere she received the 
 act of accusation from the Tribunal of Terror. 
 This was a sure sign of approaching death, and 
 Josephine began to prepare to meet it courage- 
 ously, though thinking sorrowfully on her orphan 
 children. 
 
 An unexpected event saved her life. The 
 leaders of the terrorist government had reached 
 the height of their power, and since there was no 
 standing still in a career like theirs, they were 
 precipitated from that height and hurled into the 
 abyss which they had themselves dug. 
 
 The downfal of Kobespierre opened the 
 prison-doors of thousands who had already been 
 doomed to fall victims to the monster Revolution. 
 The Viscountess de Beauharnois amongst the rest 
 
ARISTOCRATS. £7 
 
 was liberated, and allowed to join her beloved 
 children; but she left the prison a widow, and 
 penniless, for her fortune, as well as that of her 
 husband and all other aristocrats, had been con- 
 fiscated by the Eepublic " one and indivisible." 
 
28 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CONSEQUENCES OF THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 France once more breathed freely. The reign of 
 terror had passed by, and a milder and juster go- 
 vernment held the reins of the poor quivering coun- 
 try. It was no longer a crime deserving of death 
 to bear a noble name, to be better clothed than 
 the sansculottes, to abstain from wearing a red cap, 
 or to be related to an emigre. The guillotine, 
 which for two years past had brought sorrow 
 and tears to Paris, was allowed to rest after its 
 horrible activity, and the Parisians once more 
 found leisure to think of something else besides 
 making their wills and preparing for death. 
 
CONSEQUENCES OF THE REVOLUTION. 2& 
 
 As the Parisians were allowed to call the 
 present moment, at any rate, their own, they 
 wished to enjoy it before it had passed away; 
 before new days of anxiety should come to startle 
 them out of their newly- acquired security. They 
 had wept so much that they wanted to have a 
 laugh; had lived so long in fear and mourning 
 that they longed for some amusement. The fair 
 ladies of Paris, whom the guillotine and reign 
 of terror had deprived of their authority, and 
 driven from their throne, found courage sufficient 
 to take up again the sceptre that had dropped 
 from their hands, and to re- occupy the seat 
 whence the tornado of the Revolution had swept 
 them. Madame Tallien, the all-powerful wife of 
 one of the five directors who now stood at the 
 head of the French nation, Madame de Recamier, 
 the friend of all the distinguished men of her 
 age, and Madame de Stael, the daughter of 
 Necker, and wife of the ambassador of Sweden, 
 which country alone had acknowledged the re- 
 public of Prance, — these three ladies gave back 
 to Paris her salons and reunions, her splendour 
 and her fashions. 
 
 Paris looked quite different from what it had 
 
SO RELIGION. 
 
 been a short time previously. Although the 
 Church had not yet publicly been re-instated in 
 her former authority, yet some persons began 
 again to believe in the existence of a God. 
 Robespierre had possessed the courage to place 
 over the altars of the churches which had been 
 transformed into temples dedicated to Reason, 
 the inscription, " There is a Supreme Being ' 
 (im etre supreme), and he was soon in his own 
 person to experience that he had not been mis- 
 taken. Betrayed by his own companions, ac- 
 cused of wishing to raise himself to the rank of a 
 Dictator, to be a new Csesar to the new republic, 
 Robespierre stood as a prisoner before that very 
 tribunal of terror himself had called into exist- 
 ence. He was busy signing sentences of death 
 at the town-hall, when a number of Jacobins and 
 national guards forced the door of the Hotel de 
 Ville and arrested him. He tried to blow out his 
 brains with a pistol, but the attempt was unsuc- 
 cessful, and only ended in the shattering of one 
 of his jaw-bones. 
 
 Bleeding profusely, he was dragged before 
 Fouquier Tainville to hear his doom, and then 
 to be delivered into the hands of the executioner. 
 
ROBESPIERRE. 31 
 
 In observance of the customary forms, however, 
 he was first taken to the Tuileries, where the 
 committee for public safety were sitting in the 
 bed-room of Marie Antoinette. To this room 
 Robespierre was dragged, and insultingly thrown 
 on a great table that stood in the centre. The 
 day before he had been sitting at this table, 
 with power over the life and property of every 
 Frenchman ; but yesterday he had been signing 
 sentences of death there. They lay still scat- 
 tered about, and these papers were now the only 
 bandage the suffering man had to staunch the 
 blood which profusely flowed from his wound. 
 It was strange to see how they greedily drank 
 up the blood of the man who had signed them. 
 A sansculotte, who stood by, was moved with 
 compassion, and gave Robespierre a rag from an 
 old tricolour-flag, that he might cover the wound 
 in his face. As the ex- dictator lay groaning 
 amidst the blood-stained sentences, an old na- 
 tional guard raised his arm, and, pointing to the 
 fearful spectacle, exclaimed, " Robespierre was 
 right, there is a Supreme Being ! " 
 
 The time of terror and blood had now passed. 
 Robespierre was dead, Theroigne de Mericourt 
 
REVOLUTIONARY FASHIONS. 
 
 was no longer the goddess of reason, and Made- 
 moiselle Maillard had ceased to typify liberty 
 and virtue. The ladies were tired of playing 
 the part of goddesses, and representing symbol- 
 ical figures ; they wished to be themselves again, 
 and erect once more in the drawing-room, through 
 their wit and grace, that throne which the Revo- 
 lution had shattered into fragments. 
 
 Madame Tallien, and Mesdames de Recamier 
 and de St'ael were the restorers of society at Paris, 
 and every one was anxious to obtain admission 
 into their salons. These parties and reunions 
 were certainly of a strange and fanciful nature. 
 It seemed as if fashion, who had so long yielded to 
 the Carmagnole and the red cap, was determined 
 to have her revenge for a long exile by indulging 
 all her caprices and extravagances, and she some- 
 times assumed quite a political and reactionary 
 mien. The ladies no longer dressed their hair 
 a la Jacobine, but a la victime and au rcpentir. 
 To show a good classical taste they adopted the 
 statuesque dress of ancient Greece and Rome. 
 Greek festivals were held, in which the black 
 broth of Lycurgus conspicuously figured, while 
 at the Roman banquets a luxury and profusion 
 
BANQUETS. SB 
 
 were displayed, that made them worthy rivals of 
 the feasts of Lucullus. 
 
 These Roman banquets took place generally 
 in the Luxembourg, where the five directors of 
 the republic had taken up their quarters, and 
 where Madame Tallien made regenerated French 
 society acquainted with the new marvels of luxury 
 and fashion. Too proud herself to wear the 
 generally adopted dress of the Greek republic, 
 Madame Tallien selected that of a patrician 
 Roman lady. The flowing purple robes, em- 
 broidered with gold, and the glittering diadem 
 that crowned her raven tresses, imparted to the 
 beautiful republican the imposing appearance of 
 an Imperatrix. She also assembled a brilliant 
 court around her, for every one was eager to 
 pay homage to the powerful wife of the power- 
 ful Tallien, and thus gain her favour. Her house 
 became the gathering place of all who held an 
 important post in Paris, or who were desirous to 
 get into office. Whilst in the salon of Madame 
 de Recamier, who in spite of the republic had 
 continued to be a royalist, people whispered of 
 the happy time of the Bourbons, and made sar- 
 castic remarks on the republic, — whilst at Ma- 
 vol. i. 3 
 
34 MADAME TALLIEN. 
 
 dame de St'ael's house an asylum for the arts and 
 sciences had been opened, — in the drawing-room 
 of Madame de Tallien the present hour, and the 
 splendour with which an exalted station sur- 
 rounded the dictators, were alone enjoyed. 
 
 Josephine de Beauharnois and her children 
 meanwhile lived in seclusion. The day came, 
 however, when she was obliged to give up even 
 the consolation of the wretched reflections on their 
 misfortunes, for poverty tapped at her door, and 
 her children must be protected from hunger and 
 misery. The viscountess was forced to seek as a 
 petitioner those who had the power of granting 
 as a favour what was simply her right, and who 
 might grant a partial restoration of her fortune. 
 Josephine had known Madame Tallien when 
 this lady was yet Madame de Fontenay. She 
 now remembered this acquaintance for the sake 
 of her children, for through her they might per- 
 haps recover the inheritance of their father. 
 Madame de Tallien, la merveilleuse de Luxem- 
 bourg, whom her admirers also used to call Notre 
 dame de Thermidor, felt highly flattered that a 
 real viscountess, who had occupied a distinguish- 
 ed place at the court of King Louis, came to seek 
 
PRIVATIONS. 85 
 
 her patronage ; she received her with great kind- 
 ness and endeavoured to make her her friend. 
 
 However it was no easy task to recover a 
 confiscated fortune. The republic was ever ready 
 to take, whilst it was not at all its custom to re- 
 store, and even the friendship of the powerful 
 Madame Tallien was unable to relieve Josephine 
 with the speed her distress required. The 
 viscountess suffered greatly ; she had to go with 
 her children through the hard school of want 
 and humiliation, which is the companion of po- 
 verty. But even in the midst of her misery she 
 had some friends who spread a table for her and 
 her children and provided for their necessities. 
 At that time it was hardly considered humiliating 
 to accept benefits from friends, for those who had 
 lost everything had lost it through no fault of 
 their own, and those who had been fortunate 
 enough to save their property in the general 
 shipwreck, knew that they had to thank chanGe, 
 and not their own merit and foresight for it. They 
 therefore considered it a sacred duty to share 
 with those who had been less fortunate than 
 themselves, and the latter might take, without 
 
 a blush, the offering of friendship. The Be- 
 
 3 * 
 
36 MADAME DUMOULIN. 
 
 volution had given birth to a species of com- 
 munism. 
 
 Josephine hence thankfully accepted without a 
 blush the kindnesses of her friends ; she allowed 
 Madame de Montmorin to clothe her and Hortense, 
 and she accepted the invitations which twice every 
 week gave her a seat at the table of Madame 
 Dumoulin. In the hospitable house of this lady 
 there met, on certain days, a number of persons 
 whom the Revolution had deprived of their for- 
 tunes. Madame Dumoulin, the wife of a wealthy 
 army contractor, prepared on such occasions a din- 
 ner for her friends, but each guest was expected to 
 bring his own bread with him, this article of food 
 being considered a great luxury at the time. Grain 
 was so scarce at Paris that the Republic passed a 
 law, according to which, in each section of the 
 town a certain number of loaves only was to be 
 baked daily, and each individual was allowed only 
 two ounces. Under these circumstances it had 
 become a customary thing to add to an invitation, 
 "You are requested to bring your own bread," 
 for sometimes it was altogether impossible to 
 procure a larger quantity of this article of food 
 
DEARXESS OF BREAD. 31 
 
 than was allowed by Government, and it was be- 
 sides extremely dear. Josephine Beauharnois, 
 however, could not afford to buy her two ounces. 
 She was the only one who came to the dinners of 
 Madame Dumoulin without any bread, but her 
 kind hostess always managed to find a loaf for her 
 and little Hor tense. 
 
 However, the time had now arrived when the 
 Viscountess de Beauharnois was to reach the end of 
 her distress. One day, when dining at the house 
 of jladame Tallien, the Dictator told her that 
 through his mediation " Government was willinsr 
 to make some concessions in favour of the widow of 
 a true patriot, who had fallen a victim to the pre- 
 judices of the time," and that he had received an 
 order from the administration of the domains, 
 according to which the seals were to be removed 
 at once from all her moveable property. The 
 republic also gave her an assignat, payable by the 
 treasury, and promised that the sequestration 
 should shortly be removed from her estates. 
 
 Josephine could not find words to express her 
 thanks ; she clasped her daughter to her heart, 
 and exclaimed amid her tears, " We shall be once 
 
38 MADAME TALLIEN. 
 
 more happy, for my children will no longer suffer 
 want!" These were the first tears of joy Jose- 
 phine had shed for many a year. 
 
 , Want and misery were now over. Josephine 
 was enabled to give her children an education be- 
 fitting their rank, whilst she herself was once 
 more allowed to occupy that station in society 
 which by birth, education, and amiability, she 
 was entitled to fill. She no longer came as a 
 mendicant to the house of Madame Tallien, but 
 was now the queen of that drawing-room, and 
 every one hastened to pay homage to the young 
 and beautiful viscountess, who was known to be 
 the intimate friend of Madame Tallien. But 
 Josephine preferred the company of her children 
 to the brilliant circles of the best societv: she 
 withdrew more and more from this noisy life to 
 devote herself to her beloved children, whose 
 characters became day by day more marked and 
 interesting. 
 
 Eugene was now a youth of sixteen, and since 
 his safety no longer demanded that he should 
 congeal his name and deny his rank, he quitted 
 the workshop of his master, and divested himself 
 of the blouse. Under the guidance of excellent 
 
GIRLHOOD OF HORTENSE. 89 
 
 masters he was preparing for the army, and 
 astonished his teachers by his zeal and unusual 
 talent. The war-like glory and the brave deeds 
 of the French swelled his bosom with enthusiasm, 
 and once, when one of his masters spoke of the 
 feats of Turenne, Eugene exclaimed with glisten- 
 ing eyes, "I too shall one day be a great ge- 
 neral." 
 
 Hor tense was by this time twelve years of age, 
 and lived with her mother, who was but a woman 
 of thirty, on the footing of a younger sister rather 
 than that of a daughter. They were always to- 
 gether. Nature had endowed Hortense with 
 beauty, and her mother combined sweetness and 
 grace with that beauty. Able teachers instructed 
 her mind, whilst Josephine educated the heart. 
 Early accustomed to care and distress, to want 
 and misery, the child did not possess that care- 
 lessness and levity of disposition commonly found 
 in girls of her age. She had seen too much of 
 the instability and vanity of earthly grandeur not 
 to despise those trifles that are generally so much 
 valued by young girls. It was not the object of 
 her ambition to dress handsomely, and to bend 
 her neck under the yoke of fashion. She knew 
 
40 
 
 HER HARP. 
 
 greater pleasures than those found in the gratifi 
 cation of vanity, and never was she happier than 
 when her mother excused her from going to the 
 parties of Madame Tallien or Barras. Then she 
 would amuse herself with her books and her harp, 
 and certainly these afforded her greater enjoy- 
 ment than was to be found in the drawing-rooms 
 of " good society." 
 
 Hortense had acquired in the school of mis- 
 fortune a premature ripeness of mind, which im- 
 parted to the girl of twelve the staidness and in- 
 dependence of feeling of a woman ; but her lovely 
 features still bore the expression of childhood, and 
 in her deep blue eye there was a heaven of peace 
 and innocence. 
 
 When in the hour of twilight she sat in the 
 window niche, with her harp by her side, — when 
 the last beams of the setting sun gilded her fea- 
 tures and shed a halo round her head, — she might 
 have been fancied one of those angels of innocence 
 and love whom the pencil of the artist and the 
 poet's song have brought before us. Josephine 
 used to listen with something like devotion to the 
 sweet melodies her daughter drew from her 
 harp, and to which, with a silvery voice, she 
 
VERSES. 41 
 
 sang lines written by herself, passionate, but full 
 of childlike innocence. These verses were the 
 faithful mirror of her innermost feelings, the true 
 image of the young innocent girl who had arrived 
 at the boundary 
 
 Where the brook and river meet, 
 Womanhood and childhood sweet." 
 
42 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 GENERAL BONAPARTE. 
 
 "Whilst Josephine, after many a year of misery 
 and privation, thus enjoyed sunny days, France 
 was still agitated by occasional blasts of that 
 storm which had thrown her into confusion, and 
 the country did not as yet enjoy a permanent 
 peace. The clubs, those hot-houses of revolution, 
 still exercised a pernicious influence over the in- 
 habitants of Paris, and continually instigated the 
 masses to discontent and rebellion. 
 
 But now at last the man emerged from the 
 crowd who was to crush these masses under his 
 
NAPOLEON. 4 
 
 Of 
 
 ircn heel, and to silence the orators of the clubs 
 with a flash of his commanding eye. This man 
 was Napoleon Bonaparte. 
 
 He was scarcely twenty-nine years of age, but 
 already all France was speaking of him as a 
 laurel-crowned hero, who had left a track of 
 brilliant victories behind him. As commandant 
 of a battalion he had distinguished himself by his 
 daring bravery at the re-capture of Toulon, and 
 after his promotion to the rank of general, he was 
 sent to Italy. When he returned as a victor to 
 France, the Government, hostile to the general of 
 twenty-five, and perhaps afraid of his genius, 
 wished to send him as a brigadier- general of in- 
 fantry to the Vendee. Bonaparte declined this 
 mission, because he wished to serve in the artil- 
 lery, whereupon the Republic deprived the young 
 general of his command and placed him on half- 
 pay. 
 
 Thus Bonaparte remained in Paris, waiting 
 until his star should rise. And his star did rise ; 
 it rose with such brilliant splendour that it daz- 
 zled the eyes of the world ! Had he already a 
 prevision of his future greatness ? 
 
 Bonaparte's days at Paris passed in mono- 
 
44 BOURIENNE. 
 
 tonous succession. They were spent in medi- 
 tation and in the society of a few faithful friends, 
 who assisted him with kind delicacy in his po- 
 verty. For Bonaparte was poor. He had lost dur- 
 ing the Revolution the little he had ; he possessed 
 nothing but the laurels he had won on the battle- 
 fields of Italy and his half-pay as a brigadier- 
 general. But, like Josephine, he had faithful 
 friends, who considered it an honour to see him 
 at their table, and who even provided him with 
 bread ; for he, too, like Josephine, was too poor to 
 buy it. He and his brother Louis took their 
 dinner frequently at the house of an early friend, 
 Bourienne, who afterwards became Napoleon's 
 secretary. The young general used to bring a 
 ration of ammunition bread with him, as did his 
 brother Louis, but Madame Bourienne always 
 took care that he found some white bread by his 
 plate. They had smuggled some flour into Paris 
 from Bourienne's country seat, and bribed a 
 pastry cook to bake bread for them, which pro- 
 ceeding, if detected, would undoubtedly have led 
 o the guillotine. 
 
 Bonaparte thus lived quietly in the midst of his 
 friends. He waited for a change in his fortunes, 
 
Bonaparte's moderation. 45 
 
 hoping that his wishes would be realized as soon 
 as the present Government should he superseded 
 by another. His wishes appear at that time to 
 have been very modest, for he once said to Bou- 
 rienne, " If I could live comfortably in Paris, 
 rent the little house opposite, with my friends for 
 a vis-a-vis, and keep a cabriolet, I should be the 
 happiest of men." 
 
 He seriously thought of renting "the little 
 house opposite," together with his uncle Fesch 
 (the future cardinal), when important events once 
 more agitated the capital of France and recalled 
 his attention to public affairs. The thirteenth 
 Vendemiaire, 1795, drew the young general from 
 his obscurity, and gave him back all his energy 
 and ambition. It was on this fifth day of Octo- 
 ber that the storm burst, which for a long time 
 had been gathering over Paris. The sections 
 rose in rebellion against the National Convention, 
 who had presented France with a new constitu- 
 tion, and decreed that two-thirds of their mem- 
 bers should enter the new legislative body. The 
 sections of Paris, however, were unwilling to ac- 
 cept the constitution, unless an entirely new elec- 
 tion should regulate the formation of the law- 
 
46 BARRAS. 
 
 giving assembly. The Convention resolved to 
 defend what they considered their right, and 
 called upon the representatives, who commanded 
 the armed forces, to protect the Republic. Barras 
 was chosen commander-in-chief of the army of 
 the interior, and Bonaparte received the second 
 command. It soon came to a sanguinary conflict 
 between the soldiery and the mutinous sections, 
 but as at that time the tactics of barricade-fighting 
 were still in their infancy, the insurgents were 
 soon obliged to fall back before the destructive 
 fire of a well-directed artillery. They retreated 
 into the church of St Boch and on the Palais 
 Boyal, fortifying their positions, but were again 
 dislodged, and the contest in the streets recom- 
 menced. 
 
 At the end of two days, during which blood 
 flowed in streams, Barras informed the victo- 
 rious Convention that peace had been restored, 
 and that the courage and caution of General 
 Bonaparte had considerably contributed to bring 
 about this happy result. 
 
 The National Convention rewarded Napo- 
 leon's zeal by confirming him in the post which 
 he had held provisionally in the hour of danger. 
 
EUGENE BEAUHARNOIS. 47 
 
 From this day Napoleon belongs to history; his 
 star had commenced to rise on the horizon of 
 fame. 
 
 Napoleon had now a position in the state, and 
 began to understand the voice in his heart that 
 spoke to him of proud victories and a great 
 future. He now felt that there was a high prize 
 before him for which he had to struggle ; and, 
 although he was as yet unable to give a name to 
 this prize, he was resolved to win it. 
 
 One day a youth came to the house of the 
 young general, who urgently demanded to speak 
 with him. Bonaparte allowed him to enter. 
 He was struck with the bold and noble bearing 
 of the young man, and kindly inquired what he 
 wished. 
 
 " General," the youth replied, " my name is 
 Eugene Beauharnois. I am the son of a ci-devmit, 
 the General Beauharnois who served the Republic 
 on the Rhine. My father was calumniated by 
 his enemies and handed over to the tribunal of 
 the Republic, which murdered him three days 
 before the fall of Robespierre." 
 
 " Murdered ? " said Napoleon, with a threat- 
 ening voice. 
 
48 EUGENE AND BONAPARTE. 
 
 " Yes, General, murdered ! " Eugene replied 
 boldly. iC I now come to ask you, in the name of 
 my mother, to exercise your influence with the 
 committee for the restoration of my father's sword. 
 I will use it to fight the enemies of my country, 
 and to defend the cause of the Republic." 
 
 This haughty language called a smile of ap- 
 probation to the pale cheek of the young 
 general, and his eye had an expression of 
 benevolence when he said — 
 
 " Well spoken, young man ! I like your 
 courage and your filial piety. You shall have 
 the sword of your father. Wait a moment." 
 
 Napoleon called one of his aides-de-camp, to 
 whom he gave the necessary orders, and the 
 officer soon returned with the sword of the 
 defunct General de Beauharnois. 
 
 Bonaparte himself handed it to Eugene. The 
 young man in deep emotion pressed it to his 
 heart, whilst tears silently welled from his eyes. 
 
 The general approached him, and, laying his 
 soft white hand on the youth's shoulder, said, in a 
 sympathizing voice — 
 
 c< My young friend, I should be happy if I 
 could do anything for you or your mother." 
 
ARTLESS REPLY. 49 
 
 Eugene wiped away his tears, and looked up 
 with an impression of childish astonishment. 
 
 (i You are very kind, General ; mamma and my 
 sister will pray for you." 
 
 The artless reply called a smile to the General's 
 face. He nodded kindly, and told Eugene to 
 give his compliments to his mamma, and visit him 
 again soon. 
 
 This meeting of Eugene with General Bona- 
 parte, was the beginning of the acquaintance of 
 Napoleon and Josephine. The sword of the 
 beheaded Marquis de Beauharnois placed an 
 imperial diadem on the brow of his widow, and 
 exalted his children to royalty. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
50 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE MARRIAGE. 
 
 A few days after this occurrence, Josephine met 
 the young general at one of the brilliant soirees 
 given by Barras, the commander-in-chief. She 
 asked Barras to introduce her to his colleague, 
 and then, offering her hand in the frank but 
 modest manner peculiar to her, she thanked 
 Bonaparte for the kindness he had shown her 
 son. 
 
 Bonaparte looked with astonishment upon 
 this beautiful young woman, who called herself 
 the mother of a grown-up son. Her features 
 
JOSEPHINE. 51 
 
 still possessed all the charms of youth, her dark 
 fiery eye bespoke a passionate disposition, whilst 
 the sweet, animated smile that played round her 
 lips indicated a kind heart and womanly modesty. 
 
 Napoleon never understood the art of flatter- 
 ing women in the easy and pleasing manner of a 
 petit maitre ; whenever he tried to do so he failed 
 most decidedly. His compliments were some- 
 times of the most awkward and ludicrous nature, 
 and might as well have been taken for insults. 
 When emperor, he once said to the beautiful 
 Duchesse de Chevreuse,* "How fine that red 
 hair of yours looks ! " " Very probably," the 
 lady replied, " but I assure you it is the first 
 time I was ever told such a thing. " On another 
 occasion he remarked to a belle whose fair arm 
 had attracted his attention, " Mon Dieu, que votre 
 bras est roux ! " and to another, " You have 
 really very beautiful hair, but your way of ar- 
 ranging it displays a horribly bad taste." 
 
 Bonaparte, we repeat, did not know how to 
 flatter with words, but he understood the lan- 
 
 * The Duchess of Chevreuse soon afterwards was banish- 
 ed to Tours, because she refused to serve the Queen of Spain 
 
 as a lady of honour. 
 
 4 * 
 
52 MARRIAGE. 
 
 guage of the eye, and Josephine had no difficulty 
 in translating that mute language. She knew 
 that from this hour she led the young lion captive, 
 and she was happy in the consciousness of it, for 
 her own heart, which she had long believed 
 dead, beat for the youthful hero. 
 
 They began to meet frequently, and soon Jo- 
 sephine heard the confession of Napoleon's love. 
 She returned his passion and promised him her 
 hand. In vain did her powerful friends, Barras 
 and Tallien, advise her not to marry the young, 
 poor general, who might be killed in one of the 
 next battles, and leave her a widow a second 
 time. She was resolved to follow her own in- 
 clination, and shook her little head with a 
 meaning smile. Did she remember the prophecy 
 of the old negress ? Did she read on Bonaparte's 
 lofty forehead and in his fiery eye that he was the 
 man who could realize it ? Or did she love him 
 so passionately as to prefer a humble lot by his 
 side to a more advantageous marriage ? 
 
 However this may have been, the counsels of 
 her friends proved ineffectual to shake her 
 resolution ; she had made up her mind to become 
 the wife of the poor officer. The day of their 
 
POVERTY. 53 
 
 marriage was fixed, and both began to make pre- 
 parations for the establishment of their house- 
 hold. Bonaparte had not yet been able to realize 
 his reve de bonheur ; he possessed neither horse 
 nor cabriolet, and Josephine too was without a 
 carriage. Thus they were obliged to walk through 
 the streets, but very probably they preferred it to 
 driving, since it allowed them an opportunity 
 for uninterrupted conversation, undisturbed by 
 the rattling of the carriages. He often enjoyed 
 the satisfaction of hearing Josephine's beauty 
 admired as they walked along. Then a smile would 
 glide over his face, and when the people gathered 
 to have a look at the hero of the 15th of Vende- 
 miaire and whispered his name as he passed, 
 his affianced bride would justly be proud of the 
 man she had chosen in spite of the opposition of 
 her friends, and to whom she looked for the real- 
 ization of the prophecy. 
 
 One day Bonaparte accompanied the Vis- 
 countess to Mons. Ragideau, the smallest man, 
 but the greatest lawyer, of Paris, who for a long 
 time had been the adviser of the Beauharnois 
 family, and who was now to procure her the 
 money for the furniture of her house. Bonaparte 
 
54 
 
 M. RAG IDEAL". 
 
 remained in the ante- chamber, whilst Josephine 
 entered the office. 
 
 " I have called to tell you that I intend to 
 marry again," Josephine said to M. Ragideau, 
 with her delicious smile. 
 
 The little solicitor nodded approvingly. 
 
 {C You do well," he replied, ci and I con- 
 gratulate you sincerely, for your choice cannot 
 fail to be a good one." 
 
 " Certainly it is a good one," Josephine 
 answered, with the happy pride of a loving* 
 woman; "my future husband is General Napoleon 
 Bonaparte." 
 
 The little lawyer started up with terror. 
 
 " What ! you, the Viscountess de Beauharnois, 
 mean to marry that little General Bonaparte, 
 that general of the Republic, which has already 
 dismissed him once, and that mav dismiss him 
 again to-morrow ? " 
 
 Josephine simply answered, " I love him." 
 
 " Yes, you may love him now," the man of 
 law replied, in his well-meant zeal, " still you 
 ought not to marry him, for you will one day 
 regret it. I say again, that you are making a 
 mistake, Viscountess, committing an act of folly, 
 
MARRIAGE OF BONAPARTE AND JOSEPHINE. 55 
 
 in marrying this man who has nothing he calls 
 his own but his sword and his cloak." 
 
 "But who has in addition a great future/' 
 Josephine replied joyfully; and changing the 
 conversation, she spoke about the matters that 
 had brought her to the office. 
 
 When the ^business with the solicitor was 
 terminated, Josephine returned to the ante-room, 
 where the General had been waiting for her. He 
 approached her with a smile, but he gave M. 
 E-agideau, who followed her, such a glance of 
 anger and contempt, that the little man started 
 back in dismay. Josephine also noticed that 
 Bonaparte's face was even paler than usual, and 
 that he spoke less than was otherwise his custom ; 
 but she had learned by this time that it was ad- 
 visable, in such cases, not to ask him any ques- 
 tions about the reason of his ill-temper ; she 
 therefore took no notice of it, and thus soon suc- 
 ceeded in dispersing the cloud on his brow. 
 
 The marriage of Bonaparte and Josephine 
 took place on the 9th of March, 1796, the wit- 
 nesses being, in addition to Eugene and Hor- 
 tense Beauharnois, Barras, Jean Lemarois, Tal- 
 lien, Calmelet, and Leclerq. 
 
56 MARRIAGE OF BONAPARTE AND JOSEPHINE. 
 
 The civil certificate contained a mistake that 
 must have been flattering to Josephine. Bona- 
 parte, in order to produce an equality between 
 his own age and that of his bride, had repre- 
 sented Josephine as four years younger than she 
 was, while he added more than a twelvemonth to 
 his own age. Bonaparte was not born on the 
 5th of February, 1768, as stated in the marriage 
 certificate, but on the 15th of August, 1769 ; and 
 Josephine's birthday was not the 23rd of July, 
 1767, but the 23rd of June, 1763. 
 
 Josephine rewarded Bonaparte in a princely 
 manner for his delicate flattery. On his wed- 
 ding-day he received the command-in-chief of the 
 army of Italy, for which promotion he was in- 
 debted to the interest his wife possessed with 
 Barras and Tallien. 
 
 Before the young husband went to the scene 
 of war, where he was to gain new laurels and 
 new fame, he spent a few happy weeks in the 
 arms of his wife. He lived with his family in a 
 small house in the Rue Chantereine, which he 
 had bought some time previously, and which had 
 been tastefully furnished by Josephine. 
 
 Thus one half of Bonaparte's reve de bonheur 
 
IMPERIAL GIFT. Oi 
 
 had become reality ; he possessed a house of his 
 own. The cabriolet was the only thing wanting 
 to make him " the happiest of men." 
 
 Unfortunately, a man's desires always in- 
 crease with their satisfaction ; and Bonaparte 
 soon ceased to be content with having a house 
 in Paris ; he wished to have a country-seat be- 
 sides. " Please to look out," he wrote to Bou- 
 rienne, who was then living in his estate near 
 Sens, "please to look out for some property in 
 your beautiful valley of the Yonne that might 
 suit me. I should like to retire, only mind I 
 will not have any national property." 
 
 As for the cabriolet, the peace of Campo 
 Formio gave the victorious general a magnificent 
 team of six white horses, which were a present 
 from the Emperor of Austria to the General of 
 the Republic. Did the emperor imagine for a 
 moment that this general ten years afterwards 
 would be his son-in-law ? 
 
 These six splendid horses, however, were the 
 only thing Bonaparte brought back from Italy, 
 if we except the laurels he gained at Arcole, 
 Marengo, and Mantua, and were the only present 
 the general did not refuse to accept. 
 
58 CARRIAGE HORSES. 
 
 The six white horses could not be harnessed 
 to a cabriolet, it is true ; but they looked very 
 stately when drawing the glittering carriage in 
 which the first consul, a year afterwards, made 
 his solemn entry into the Tuileries. 
 
59 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BONAPARTE IN ITALY. 
 
 Josephine, as we have said, spent some happy 
 weeks in Paris, bnt they were few in number. 
 After Bonaparte had set out for Italy she felt 
 very lonely ; the more so because she was not 
 only obliged to take leave of her husband, but 
 of her children too. Eugene accompanied his 
 step-father to Italy, and Hortense was sent to 
 school at the establishment of Madame Camp an. 
 
 This lady, who had once been woman of the 
 bed-chamber to Queen Maria Antoinette, had 
 established a pension at St Germain, and all the 
 
60 MADAME CAMPAN. 
 
 leading families of revolutionary France liked to 
 send their daughters to Madame Campan's that 
 they might acquire the manners and graceful 
 ease of old royalist France. 
 
 Hortense remained for several years at the 
 school at St Gfermain, where she had the com- 
 pany of her aunt Caroline, Bonaparte's sister 
 (the same who afterwards became Queen of 
 Naples), and of her cousin, the young Countess 
 Stephanie de Beauharnois. 
 
 These years were spent in study, and the 
 pleasant dreams of maidenhood. Hortense worked 
 hard ; she learned several languages, music, and 
 drawing, as well as history and geography, and 
 no inconsiderable part of her time was given to 
 the task of acquiring the manners of fashionable 
 society, and that aristocratic savoir vivre, of 
 which no one was a more perfect mistress than 
 Madame Campan. The young girl's education 
 was intrusted to the best masters ; Isabey taught 
 her drawing, Lambert singing, Coulon was her 
 dancing- master, and the celebrated Alvimara 
 gave her" lessons on the harp. There was an 
 amateur theatre at Madame Campan's establish- 
 
BONAPARTE IN ITALY. 61 
 
 ment, on whose boards Hortense performed 
 heroic and sentimental parts, and balls and con- 
 certs were frequently given by the directrice, to 
 parade before the elite of society the accomplish- 
 ments of her pupils. Thus Hortense was 
 educated as a lady. Very probably she did not 
 then think how important these apparently trivial 
 matters would prove some day, or the benefit 
 she would derive from having been at Madame 
 Campan's establishment, and learning there to 
 appear in society as a grande dame. 
 
 Josephine in the mean while progressed from 
 triumph to triumph. Her husband's star rose 
 higher and higher ; the name of Bonaparte was 
 re-echoed throughout the world, and made Europe 
 tremble with the presentiment of future mis- 
 fortune. Bulletin on bulletin of victories in 
 Italy arrived, while beneath Bonaparte's brazen 
 heel states crumbled away, and new states were 
 formed on their ruins. 
 
 The old Venetian republic, which had once 
 been the terror of the entire world, the victorious 
 Queen of the Mediterranean, was now forced to 
 bend its haughty neck, and it lay broken at the 
 
62 VENICE. 
 
 feet of the conqueror. The lion of St Mark no 
 longer made the world tremble with its roar, and 
 the lofty pillars that stand on the Piazetta, in 
 memory of victories of yore, were the only 
 trophies decaying Venice could save of her con- 
 quest of Candia, the Morea, and Cyprus. But 
 from the dust and ashes of the Venetian Republic 
 rose by Bonaparte's command a new state, which, 
 was called the Cisalpine Republic, and was the 
 first-born daughter of republican France. While 
 the last doge of Venice, Luigi Manin, had to lay 
 his pointed crown at the feet of Napoleon, and 
 fainted in the effort, another Venetian, of the 
 name of Dandolo, was placed at the head of the 
 new Republic. Dandolo sprang from a noble 
 family, which had given to Venice her greatest 
 and most illustrious doges, and was himself (i a 
 man," by Bonaparte's own testimony. " Mon 
 Dieu," said Napoleon one day to Bourienne, "how 
 rare it is to meet with men in this world ! There 
 are eighteen millions of souls living in Italy, but 
 I have only found two men amongst them, 
 Dandolo and Melzi." 
 
 But whilst despairing of men in the midst of 
 his victories, Bonarjarte preserved his ardent and 
 
Bonaparte's correspondence. 6 
 
 
 
 longing love for a woman, to whom, almost 
 daily, he wrote the tenderest letters, and whose 
 answers he awaited with the greatest impatience. 
 Josephine's letters alone did not suffer from 
 the strange and singular custom which Bonaparte 
 adopted during one period of his Italian campaign, 
 and which consisted in throwing all letters that 
 arrived, with the exception of those brought by 
 extraordinary couriers, into a large basket, where 
 they remained unopened until twenty-one days 
 had elapsed. Bonaparte was not quite so harsh 
 as the Cardinal Dubois, who burnt every letter 
 on the moment of its arrival, and used to say, 
 while looking with a sardonic smile at the flames 
 that were devouring the petition of a despairing 
 mother, perhaps, or of a disconsolate wife, " Vbila 
 ma correspondence faiie!" Bonaparte, we say, 
 was not quite so harsh. He at least read his 
 letters, although they had to wait for three weeks. 
 These three weeks saved him and his secretary 
 Bourienne a considerable amount of labour, for 
 when the letters were opened it turned out that 
 circumstances had rendered the answering of four- 
 fifths of them unnecessary, and that few only 
 remained to be replied to. Bonaparte heartily 
 
64 JOSEPHINE IN ITALY. 
 
 laughed at so unexpected a result, and was very 
 much pleased with his " happy idea." 
 
 Josephine's letters, however, had not to wait 
 for an hour, nor for a minute, to be read. Bona- 
 parte always received them with a beating heart, 
 and always answered them in such passionate ex- 
 pressions as could only be dictated by his hot 
 Corsican blood, and in comparison with which 
 Josephine's letters seemed cold and unimpas- 
 sioned. 
 
 Marmont tells us in his Memoirs, that at 
 Verona Bonaparte happened to break the glass 
 of Josephine's miniature : he turned pale and said, 
 " Marmont, my wife is either very ill or unfaith- 
 ful." 
 
 Bonaparte soon wished to see more of Jose- 
 phine than her letters. Scarcely had the fury of 
 war somewhat abated ere he summoned her to 
 Milan. She gladly obeyed the call, and hastened 
 to Italy to join her husband, with whom she 
 spent days of triumph and gratified love. All 
 Italy shouted " Welcome !" to the victorious 
 hero, all Italy paid homage to the woman who 
 bore his name, and whose loveliness and affa- 
 bility, whose beauty and grace, had won all 
 
JOSEPHINE. 65 
 
 hearts. Her life at that time resembled a glorious 
 triumphal procession, an intoxicating festival, a 
 legend from the Arabian Nights' Tales, that had 
 ceased to be fiction, and whose glistening fairy- 
 was Josephine. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
66 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CHANCES AKD CHANGES OF FORTUNE. 
 
 Bonaparte, on his return from Italy, made a 
 brilliant and triumphal entry into Paris. In 
 front of the Luxembourg where the corps legis- 
 Jatif used to hold their sittings, a large amphi- 
 theatre had been erected, in the midst of which 
 stood an altar of patriotism, surrounded by three 
 large statues, representing Liberty, Equality, and 
 Peace, and by all the notabilities of France. 
 
 When Bonaparte entered this square, all the 
 men who crowded the seats in the amphitheatre 
 rose and uncovered their heads to salute the 
 
FATAL ACCIDENT. 67 
 
 conqueror of Italy, whilst the open windows of 
 the palace were filled with handsomely- dressed 
 ladies, who welcomed the young hero with wav- 
 ing handkerchiefs. This solemn scene was 
 suddenly interrupted by a fatal accident. An 
 officer of the Directory, who, impelled by curi- 
 osity, had climbed to the top of the scaffolding 
 of the right wing of the Luxembourg, then 
 under repair, fell from his eminence and died at 
 Bonaparte's feet. A cry of horror rent the air ; 
 the ladies turned pale and withdrew from the 
 windows, and through the ranks of the corps legis- 
 latif there spread a sudden consternation. Here 
 and there a subdued whisper might be heard that 
 the fall of the official boded no good to the Di- 
 rectory whose servant he was, and that it soon 
 would lie like him at the feet of the victorious 
 general. 
 
 In spite of this presentiment of danger, how- 
 ever, the Directory eagerly honoured the victor 
 of Arcole with daily festivities. When Bonaparte 
 at the end of such banquets returned home, ex- 
 hausted with speeches and toasts, there was still 
 the people of Paris to be satisfied, who surrounded 
 
 him on his way, and whose shouts and congratula- 
 
 5 * 
 
68 PARISIAN AFFECTION. 
 
 tions he was obliged to return by nods and becks 
 and wreathed smiles. 
 
 The French nation seemed intoxicated with 
 joy. Everybody saw in Bonaparte his own glory, 
 everybody considered him the most brilliant in- 
 carnation of his own self, and therefore loved him 
 with a sort of enraptured delight. 
 
 Josephine enjoyed these glorious days with 
 her whole soul, while Bonaparte, as if shy and 
 embarrassed, evaded these ovations of the Paris- 
 ians. While, in the theatre, he endeavoured to 
 screen himself behind his wife's chair, Josephine 
 felt her heart dilate with pride and satisfaction, 
 and would thank the public for the proofs of 
 their love, and the homage they paid to her 
 "Achilles." 
 
 But Bonaparte did not let himself be blinded 
 by these ovations. One day, when the enthusiasm 
 of the public rose to an unusual height and the cries 
 of u Vive Bonaparte ! " seemed to be almost inter- 
 minable, Josephine turned to him and said, 
 
 " See how these good Parisians love you ! ' 
 
 "Pshaw!" Napoleon answered, "they would 
 press around me quite as eagerly were I on my 
 way to the guillotine." 
 
THE HERO AT HOME. 69 
 
 At last the festivities and demonstrations 
 -ceased, and life once more began to flow in a calm 
 and natural current. Bonaparte lived in his own 
 house in the Rue Chantereine, which had been 
 splendidly furnished by Josephine. This street 
 soon afterwards received the name of Rue de la 
 Victoire, in honour of the hero of Arcole and 
 Marengo. Here the hero now rested from his 
 triumphs in the arms of his wife, with whom he 
 spent days of the purest happiness. 
 
 This state of inactivity, however, soon weighed 
 heavily on his mind. He longed for new deeds, 
 new victories. He felt that he had only just be- 
 gun his career to greatness ; waking and in his 
 dreams he heard the war-trumpet sounding in his 
 ear, which seemed to call him to the battle-field. 
 Love might refresh his heart, but it was ever un- 
 able to fill it. Inactivity appeared to him like 
 the commencement of death. 
 
 " If I remain here much longer without doing 
 anything," he said, " I am lost. The Parisians 
 have a short memory for everything. In this 
 Babylon extraordinary things follow each other 
 in so rapid a succession that I soon shall be for- 
 gotten if I cannot show something new»" 
 
TO HORTENSE AT SIXTEEN. 
 
 So he undertook something new, something 
 unheard of, that excited the astonishment of all 
 Europe. He left France with an army to con- 
 quer for the Republic old Egypt, on whose 
 pyramids the dust of forgotten ages lay accu- 
 mulated. 
 
 Josephine did not accompany her husband, 
 but remained at Paris. Still she required consol- 
 ation and encouragement in her solitude, of which 
 Bonaparte had said that it might last six months, 
 or might last six years. Could there be a sweeter 
 consolation than the presence of her daughter ? 
 She had handed over the son to her husband, 
 who took him with him to Egypt, but the daugh- 
 ter was left to her, and she was now recalled from 
 school. 
 
 Hortense's education was by this time fin- 
 ished. The child who, two years ago, had en- 
 tered the establishment of Madame Campan, left 
 it as a lovely, blooming young woman, pos- 
 sessing all the charms of innocence and youth, of 
 grace and refinement. Hortense was sixteen 
 years of age, but she still had the childish gaiety, 
 the unsuspecting innocence of girlhood. Her 
 heart resembled the unsullied page on which no 
 
LOVE. 71 
 
 profane hand had dared as yet to inscribe an earthly 
 name. She only loved her mother, her brother, 
 the arts and flowers. She felt a sort of awe for 
 her young step-father. His fiery eye terrified 
 her, his imperious voice made her heart tremble ; 
 she looked up to him with too much veneration 
 to be able to love him. To her he was always 
 the hero, the lord, the father to whom she owed 
 implicit obedience, but never the object of tender 
 affection. 
 
 Hortense looked into the future with that 
 childish curiosity which makes the eye behold 
 the world through the rose-coloured light of 
 fancy. She expected some great and brilliant event 
 that should make her perfectly happy, without, 
 however, knowing, or endeavouring to know, 
 what it would be. She still loved all men, and 
 believed in their faithfulness and sincerity. No 
 sting had as yet wounded her heart, no blighted 
 hope, no illusion destroyed, had thrown a shade 
 of discontentedness upon her smooth forehead. 
 Her blue eye beamed with joy and happiness, 
 and her mirth was so hearty and innocent, that 
 it sometimes made her mother feel quite melan- 
 choly. She well knew that the happy period 
 
T2 AN ACCIDENT. 
 
 when life stands before us like the golden dream 
 of morn could not long endure. 
 
 Such was Hortense when her mother fetched 
 her from the 'pension at St Germain to go with her 
 to the watering-place of Plombieres. At this 
 place Hortense nearly lost her mother. 
 
 One day she was with Josephine and some 
 other ladies in the drawing-room. The window 
 opening on the balcony was thrown back, and ad- 
 mitted the warm air of a summer breeze. Hortense 
 was sitting near the window, occupied in drawing 
 a bouquet of field-flowers, which she had gathered 
 on the neighbouring mountains. Josephine 
 found the air in the room sultry, and proposed 
 to the ladies who were with her that they should 
 adjourn to the balcony. Suddenly there was a 
 loud crash and confused cries. Hortense started 
 up and beheld her mother precipitated into the 
 street, with the balcony and all the ladies that 
 were with her. Hortense, in the first intensity 
 of grief, would have thrown herself after her 
 mother, had she not been withheld by force. But 
 Providence had been merciful ; her mother suf- 
 fered no injury beyond the fright and a slight 
 
PROPHECY. 73 
 
 bruise on her arm. One of trie ladies broke both, 
 legs. 
 
 Josephine was not yet to die. The prophecy 
 of the fortune-teller had not been fulfilled. 
 Though she was the wife of a celebrated general, 
 it is true, she was not yet more than a queen ! 
 
■r« 
 
 4 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Bonaparte's return from egypt. 
 
 Bonaparte had returned from Egypt. The 
 victory of Aboukir had added a new leaf to the 
 laurel wreaths that encircled his brow. The 
 whole French nation hailed the returning hero. 
 Hor tense, for the first time, took an active share 
 in the festivities that were given by the city of 
 Paris to her step-father, for the first time she saw 
 the reverential homage that was paid to the 
 conqueror of Egypt by both sexes, by old and 
 
 young. 
 
 icr. 
 
 These festivities and ovations half alarmed 
 
DAYS OF SUNSHINE. 75 
 
 her, whilst at the same time they filled her heart 
 with delight. The young girl recollected the 
 prison wherein her mother had pined, remem- 
 bered the scaffold on which the head of her 
 father had fallen, and often, when looking at the 
 richly embroidered, glittering uniform of her 
 brother, did she think of the time when as a car- 
 penter's apprentice Eugene used to walk through 
 the streets of Paris, clothed in a blouse and with 
 a plank on his shoulder. 
 
 The remembrance of the sorrowful years of 
 her childhood prevented pride and haughtiness 
 springing up within Hortense's heart. She re- 
 tained that spirit of modesty and moderation 
 which kept her from being presumptuous in hap- 
 piness, and gave her courage and hope in mis- 
 fortune. She never persuaded herself to a belief 
 in the continuance of greatness, her early recol- 
 lections always kept her eyes open to sober 
 reality; and, therefore, when the storms of life 
 arrived she was prepared to meet and resist 
 them. 
 
 But for all that she enjoyed the days of sun- 
 shine ; she was happy to see her dearly be- 
 loved mother crowned with the diadem of 
 
76 ANOTHER REVOLUTION. 
 
 glory and love, and in the name of her murdered 
 father she felt the liveliest gratitude towards 
 General Bonaparte, who brightened the exist- 
 ence of a woman who during her first marriage 
 had suffered so much. 
 
 But, alas ! new clouds were soon to darken 
 their happiness, and to interrupt the pursuits of 
 peace and its enjoyments. Another revolution be- 
 came imminent; France once more was to be- 
 come the theatre of civil war, and Paris soon as- 
 sumed the aspect of a great camp, divided into 
 two hostile factions, who burned to annihilate one 
 another. On one side stood the democratic Re- 
 publicans, who regretted that the days of blood 
 and terrorism were past, because peace would 
 wrest the reins of dominion from their grasp, and 
 who therefore were resolved to consolidate their 
 power by the aid of terror. This party called 
 upon the sansculottes and Bed Republicans of the 
 clubs to defend their country. They declared 
 liberty and the constitution to be in danger, and 
 pointed with menacing hand at Napoleon as the 
 man who wished to overthrow the Republic, in 
 order to again fetter France with the chains of 
 tyranny. 
 
EIGHTEENTH BSUMAIBE. 77 
 
 On the other side were the cautious patriots, 
 the Republicans ^ar/orc?, who inwardly detested 
 the Republic, and had only taken the oath of 
 fidelity in order to preserve their necks from ac- 
 quaintance with the guillotine. They were the 
 men of genius, artists and poets, who looked for- 
 ward to a new era, because they knew that a 
 time of terrorism and a tyrannizing democracy are 
 quite as fatal to the cultivation of the muses as to 
 human life. On this side too were the merchants, 
 landowners, bankers, and tradespeople, who all 
 wished to see the Republic established on a 
 quieter and more moderate basis, in order that 
 they might be able to believe in its stability, and 
 recommence the pursuits of peace with a better 
 conviction of success. At the head of this moderate 
 party stood Bonaparte. 
 
 The 18th Brumaire, 1798, was the day for the 
 decision. On that day a fierce struggle took 
 place, though it was not a very sanguinary one. 
 Principles chiefly were killed, and not men. 
 
 The Council of the Aged, the Council of the 
 Five Hundred, the Directory, and the Consti- 
 tution of the Year III, all were overthrown, and 
 out of the ruins of the blood-stained Red demo- 
 
78 ETIQUETTE. 
 
 cratic Republic arose the moderate commonwealth 
 of 1798. At its head stood three consuls : Bona- 
 parte, Cambaceres, and Lebrun. 
 
 On the day after the 18th of Brumaire these 
 three consuls, amidst the acclamations of the 
 people, made their entrance into the Palais Lux- 
 embourg, and slept as victors in the beds which, 
 but yesterday, had been occupied by the mem- 
 bers of the Directory. 
 
 From this day a new era began to be formed. 
 Etiquette, which, during the time of the demo- 
 cratic Republic of France, had hidden itself in 
 the remotest corner of the Luxembourg, or of the 
 Tuileries, began to show itself again in open day- 
 light. It was no longer necessary to deny, in 
 homage to the principle of equality, all difference 
 of rank or education, by the use of the word 
 "citizen:" people were no longer compelled to 
 endure, in the name of fraternity, the insolent 
 familiarity of the hero of the street ; and it was 
 no longer expected that people should sacrifice 
 personal liberty and ease on the altar of freedom. 
 
 Etiquette, we repeat, left its hiding-place. It 
 received the three consuls with the word " Mon- 
 sieur ;" and Josephine, who came the next day to 
 
TITLES OF COURTESY. 79 
 
 occupy, with her daughter, the rooms that had 
 been prepared for them in the Luxembourg, 
 was addressed as <c Madame." A twelvemonth 
 before, the words Monsieur and Madame had 
 been the cause of risings and bloodshed. General 
 Augereau had addressed an order of the day to 
 his division, interdicting the use, either with lip 
 or pen, of the words Monsieur or Madame, and 
 had threatened transgressors with expulsion from 
 the army, as unworthy to serve under the banners 
 of the Republic. 
 
 These proscribed words now re-entered, with 
 the three consuls, the Luxembourg, which had 
 been freed from the democratic tyrants. 
 
 Josephine was now, at any rate, Madame 
 Bonaparte ; Hortense, Mademoiselle Beauharnois ; 
 and Madame Bonaparte was also permitted to 
 keep a greater number of servants, and to live 
 in a more brilliant manner generally, than had 
 hitherto been her wont. True, there was no such 
 thing, as yet, as a court, or ladies of honour, 
 and the Luxembourg was not a very spacious 
 residence : but the dav was near at hand when 
 Monsieur and Madame were to change their 
 humble title into " Your Majesty," and when 
 
80 THE TUILERIES. 
 
 the Tuileries were to receive the inmates of the 
 Luxembourg. 
 
 The latter palace soon proved too small for 
 the three consuls ; too small for Bonaparte's am- 
 bition, who disliked living in close proximity 
 with the men who shared the supreme power, 
 and too small for the gratification of wishes 
 which now rose distinctly in Bonaparte's heart, 
 and urged him onward in his career to greatness. 
 He now knew to what he aspired. What but a 
 short time ago had appeared to him like the fata 
 morgana of his dreams, had become the object 
 of sober reflection. However, it was no easy 
 task to open the way to the palace of the Bour- 
 bons ! Till then the representatives of the people 
 had held their sittings in the Tuileries. It was 
 impossible to turn out these men all on a sudden ; 
 such a measure would have roused at once the 
 suspicions of all true Republicans, from whom 
 the wish of restoring the monarchy must carefully 
 be hidden. It was necessary, before adjourning 
 to the Tuileries, to make the people believe that 
 a man might be a good republican, even though 
 he entertained a desire to sleep in the bed- 
 chamber of the Kin sr. 
 
Washington's death. 81 
 
 Before, therefore, the consuls changed their 
 residence, the palace of the Tuileries was orna- 
 mented and altered in a manner befitting its new 
 destiny. In one of its galleries the bust of the 
 elder Brutus was placed, which had been brought 
 by Napoleon from Italy ; and Monsieur David 
 was employed to add some more statues, repre- 
 senting heroes of Republican Greece or Rome, 
 and which were distributed through various 
 rooms. 
 
 A number of Republicans, who after the 13th 
 of Vendemiaire had been banished, received leave 
 to return to France; and as just then the news 
 of "Washington's death arrived, Napoleon ordered 
 that the army should mourn for ten days. Each 
 soldier had to wear a stripe of crape round his 
 arm, and the regimental colours and bugles were 
 wrapt up in the same stuff. "When these ten 
 days had passed away, when France and her 
 army had sufficiently manifested their grief for 
 the death of the great Republican, the three con- 
 suls made their entry into the Tuileries. They 
 entered by the great front-gate, on either side 
 of which stood a tree of liberty, that bore the 
 Republican inscriptions of 1792. On the tree on 
 
 VOL. I. 6 
 
82 STATE- CARRIAGES. 
 
 t 
 
 the right there was the date, " 10th of August," 
 whilst that on the left displayed the following 
 motto : IC Royalty has been prostrated in France, 
 and will never rise again ! " 
 
 Between these two suggestive trees Bonaparte 
 and his colleagues entered the Tuileries. A long 
 line of carriages followed them, and enlivened 
 the streets of Paris, but the splendour and mag- 
 nificence that afterwards characterized the solem- 
 nities of Imperial France were wanting on the 
 present occasion. There was but one brilliant 
 carriage'; it was that wherein the consuls were 
 seated, and which was drawn by the six white 
 horses that had been given to Napoleon by the 
 Emperor of Austria. Most of the other vehicles 
 were hackney-coaches, the numbers of which had 
 been covered over with paper. New France had 
 not yet had time to get her state-carriages built, 
 and those of Old France had been so horribly de- 
 filed that they had become valueless for ever. 
 In the September days of 1793 they had been 
 used as hearses for the carcases of dogs. 
 
 At that time there were thousands of masterless 
 dogs in Paris, which had formerly belonged to 
 the aristocracy, but now ran about the streets, 
 
CANINE MASSACRE. 83 
 
 feeding on the blood that flowed in torrents from 
 the guillotine, and discoloured the streets of Paris, 
 This horrible nourishment had given back to 
 these dogs all their innate ferocity and blood- 
 thirstiness. Those persons who had been lucky 
 enough to escape the guillotine were now in 
 danger of being torn to pieces by these furious 
 animals, and, since the dogs made no distinction 
 between aristocrats and Republicans, but attacked 
 both with equal impartiality, it became necessary 
 to destroy these new enemies of the Republic. 
 Consequently, an armed force surrounded the 
 Champs Elysees, drove their canine adversaries 
 through the Rue Royale to the Place Royal, and 
 there killed them by musketry discharges. Within 
 a single day upwards of 3000 dogs were de- 
 stroyed, whose bodies lay scattered about in the 
 streets. They there remained for three days, a 
 dispute having arisen amongst the authorities 
 as to whose business it was to remove them. 
 
 At last, compelled by necessity, the Conven- 
 tion took it upon themselves to look to the matter, 
 and gave orders to Monsieur Gasparin to take the 
 necessary measures. This gentleman contrived 
 to convert the burial of the dogs into a Republic- 
 
 6 * 
 
84 END OF THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 an demonstration. As the animals had belonged 
 to the ci-devants, they ought fairly to be carried to 
 their graves with aristocratic honours. 
 
 Gasparin collected all the state-carriages of 
 the murdered or exiled nobility, and in these 
 glittering vehicles, with their armorial bearings, 
 he placed the carcases of the dogs. Six royal 
 carriages opened the procession, and behind the 
 glistening window-panes could be seen the tails, 
 legs, and heads of the victims of the Place Royal, 
 piled up in wild disorder. 
 
 After this demonstration of Republican France 
 it was impossible ever again to use the carriages 
 of the nobility, and decent coaches therefore were 
 scarce on the day of the consuls' entry into the 
 Tuileries. 
 
 With this entrance of Napoleon into the 
 Tuileries the Revolution ended. Bonaparte laid 
 his victorious sword across the yawning, sanguin- 
 ary abyss, which had drunk up indifferently the 
 blood of aristocrats and democrats ; and he con- 
 verted this sword into a bridge, over which the 
 nation passed out of one century into the next, 
 and from the Republic into the Empire. 
 
 When Napoleon, on the morning after the re- 
 
NAPOLEON AND THE BUST OF BRUTUS. 85 
 
 moval to the Tuileries, walked with Josephine and 
 Hortense though the Gallery of Diana to inspect 
 the statues he had ordered to be placed there, he 
 stopped before the bust of the younger Brutus, close 
 to whom stood a statuette of Caesar. Bonaparte 
 gazed for a long time thoughtfully on these two 
 solemn, earnest forms. Then, as if awaking from 
 a dream, he proudly raised his head, and placing 
 his hand upon Josephine's shoulder, said in an 
 energetic tone, 
 
 • " It is not enough to be in the Tuileries, a 
 man must also understand how to remain there ! 
 How many have already dwelled within these 
 walls ! Yea, even highwaymen and Convention- 
 als. Did I not see with mine own eyes how the 
 wild Jacobins and the cohorts of the sansculottes 
 besieged good King Louis and carried him off a 
 prisoner ? But do not fear, Josephine, they may 
 come again, if they dare ! " 
 
 While Bonaparte stood thus and spoke before 
 the statues of Brutus and Julius Csesar, his voice 
 echoed like rolling thunder through the long gal- 
 lery, and made the forms of the heroes of the 
 ancient republics tremble again on their pedestals. 
 
 Napoleon raised his arm menacingly towar 
 
86 THE BUST OF BRUTUS. 
 
 the bust of Brutus, as if he meant to challenge in 
 this stern Republican, who murdered Caesar, Re- 
 publican France, to whom he intended to become 
 a Caesar and an Augustus at the same time. 
 
 The Revolution was at an end : Bonaparte, 
 with his wife and children, lived in the Tuileries. 
 The son and the daughter of that General Beau- 
 harnois whom the Republic murdered had found 
 a second father, who was destined to avenge this 
 murder on the Republic itself. 
 
 The Revolution was assuredly at an end. 
 
s 
 
 ~» 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A FIRST LOVE. 
 
 When the Revolution was ended, and Bonaparte 
 had taken possession of the Tuileries, there fol- 
 lowed a time of merry-making and rejoicing. 
 Josephine and Hortense were the nucleus of 
 these festivities, the two fairies that animated 
 them, and gave them splendour and significance. 
 
 Hortense was passionately fond of dancing, 
 and none of the ladies of Josephine's court 
 equalled her in gracefulness and taste. We see 
 that people spoke already of the " court ,: of 
 Madame Bonaparte. Was she not the wife of 
 
88 A COURT. 
 
 the first consul of France ? She gave audiences, 
 and possessed, as well as Hortense, a suite, who 
 approached her with the same humility as if they 
 
 « 
 
 had been princesses of the blood. 
 
 Madame Bonaparte drove now in a carriage, 
 drawn by six horses, through the streets of Paris, 
 and was surrounded by a detachment of cavalry. 
 Wheresoever the people caught sight of her or 
 Hortense, they hailed them enthusiastically. The 
 consul's coachmen and servants had assumed a 
 livery, for they appeared in great coats, richly 
 embroidered with gold and aiguilettes. He had 
 his chamberlains and footmen, his outriders and 
 grooms, splendid soirees and dinners were given, 
 and foreign ambassadors were received in solemn 
 audience. For by this time all the European 
 powers had recognized the Republic under the 
 Consulate ; and as Napoleon had now made peace 
 with England and Austria, both these countries 
 sent representatives to the court of the mighty 
 first consul. 
 
 "War with foreign foes was over. But a con- 
 test had still to be maintained within the very 
 walls of the Tuileries that still raged fiercely, and 
 it was the contest of etiquette and taste. Whether 
 
HORTENSE IN LOVE. 89 
 
 or not hair-powder should be worn was the great 
 question of fashion that filled every drawing-room, 
 and it was finally settled by Josephine saying, 
 that " people might come to court as they liked, 
 provided they consulted good taste in the choice 
 of their toilette." 
 
 For some time past, however, Hortense had 
 taken a less lively part than usual in the fetes 
 and amusements ; she no longer seemed to derive 
 great gratification from the festivities of the 
 court, but preferred retirement and seclusion in 
 her own apartments. The soft melancholy notes 
 of her harp seemed to charm her more than the 
 witty and polite conversation in her mother's 
 salons. 
 
 Hortense sought solitude, because to solitude 
 alone could she open her heart, to it only could 
 she whisper the fact that she loved with all the 
 innocence and fervency, all the energy and self- 
 denial, of a first love. How delightful did these 
 hours of wakeful dreaming appear to her ! The 
 future presented itself to her eye as one long and 
 glorious summer day, that was just dawning, and 
 whose sun she shortly expected to rise. 
 
 Hortense's choice had the secret sanction of 
 
90 DUROC. 
 
 her mother and Bonaparte, but both pretended 
 not to see anything of the attachment she had 
 formed for General Duroc, the first aide-de-camp 
 of her step-father. The only distinction was that 
 Josephine considered her daughter's love not very 
 deep-rooted ; she mistook it for the playful, 
 capricious liking of a child ; but Napoleon saw 
 more clearly, and seriously thought of uniting the 
 young couple. For that purpose it was neces- 
 sary to raise Duroc to a higher rank. And this 
 officer accordingly received the post of an am- 
 bassador, and was sent to St Petersburg, where 
 Alexander I. had just ascended the throne of his 
 fathers, to congratulate the new emperor on the 
 part of the first consul. 
 
 The lovers, constantly watched, and ever under 
 the eye of the now dominant etiquette, did not 
 even enjoy the melancholy consolation of bidding 
 each other farewell with a last unnoticed pressure 
 of the hand, or of vowing once more eternal love 
 and fidelity, when the hour of parting arrived. 
 But they reposed faith in the future ; they looked 
 forward to Duroc's return, and the grant of the 
 high prize which Bonaparte had hinted to his aide- 
 de-camp should be his own. This prize was 
 
BOURIENNE AND HORTENSE. 91 
 
 nothing less than Hortense's hand. Until this 
 joyful day arrived, the lovers were compelled to 
 content themselves with the consolation of all 
 separated lovers, with writing letters, which 
 reached their address by the aid of a man of dis- 
 cretion, a Monsieur de Bourienne, who was 
 Bonaparte's private secretary. 
 
 " I used to play with Mademoiselle Hortense 
 almost every morning," says Bourienne, in his 
 Mtmoires, " a game at billiards, for which she had 
 a particular liking. Whenever I said, in a whisper, 
 ' I have a letter for you, 5 the game immediately 
 ceased, she hastened to her room, and I followed 
 to give her the letter. Her eyes were frequently 
 filled with tears of joy and emotion, and not 
 until a considerable time had elapsed would she 
 return to the billiard-room, whither I had pre- 
 ceded her." 
 
 Thus Hortense was dreaming of future happi- 
 ness, indifferent to almost everything that passed 
 around her. She little thought how her young 
 heart was about to be crushed, and how she was 
 to be made the instrument of domestic and po- 
 litical intrigues. 
 
 Bonaparte's brothers, envious and jealous of 
 
92 JEALOUSY. 
 
 the influence the first consul's wife continued to 
 exercise over her husband, as in the early days of 
 their union, wished to separate Hortense from 
 her mother, for they considered her one of the 
 most important mainstays of Josephine's power. 
 By thus isolating Josephine, they thought they 
 would be able to acquire a greater influence over 
 their brother, for they well knew how strongly 
 attached Bonaparte was to the children of his 
 wife, and had not yet forgotten how, on a former 
 occasion, they alone had prevented a separation 
 between Bonaparte and Josephine. 
 
 When returning from Egypt, the consul's 
 jealousy had been roused by his brothers and 
 Junot, who artfully insinuated that Josephine 
 had not, during his absence, been altogether 
 faithful. Bonaparte had almost made up his mind 
 to separate from his wife, although he still loved 
 her passionately, when Bourienne succeeded in 
 persuading him at least to hear Josephine before 
 condemning her. This saved her. Bonaparte 
 replied to his secretary's intercession: 
 
 " It is impossible to forgive her ! I forgive 
 her ! If I do so, I will tear my heart out of my 
 breast and cast it into the fire !" and as Napoleon 
 
NAPOLEON AND JOSEPHINE. 93 
 
 thus spoke, in a voice trembling with passion, he 
 seized his breast with his hands, as if preparing 
 to rend it asunder. But on the morning after 
 this conversation, when Napoleon entered his 
 study, he smilingly, and in some embarrassment, 
 approached Bourienne, and said : 
 
 " Well, you will be satisfied with me, she is 
 here. But you must not suppose that I have 
 forgiven her ! Indeed I have not. On the con- 
 trary, I am very angry with her, and sent her 
 away. But when she left me in tears I went 
 after her ; and as she walked sobbing down the 
 stairs I saw Eugene and Hortense, who stood 
 weeping on the foot of the staircase. I had not 
 the heart to see tears now and remain unmoved. 
 Eugene accompanied me to Egypt ; I have accus- 
 tomed myself to look upon him as my adopted 
 son, and he is such a brave, such a noble-minded 
 young man! Hortense is just about to come out 
 in the world, and every one that knows her is full of 
 her praise. I confess, Bourienne, that the sight of 
 these children moved me deeply. I became sad 
 myself in seeing them weep, and I said to myself, 
 Shall they suffer for the guilt of their mother ? 
 I called Eugene back, Hortense followed him 
 
94 REMOVAL OF HORTENSE. 
 
 with Josephine ; could I prevent it ? It is im- 
 possible for man to be mortal and not have his 
 weak moments." 
 
 "Depend upon it, General," replied Bou- 
 rienne, " that your adopted children will show 
 themselves grateful for your kindness." 
 
 " I hope they will, I hope they will, for they 
 cost me a great sacrifice." 
 
 Josephine soon afterwards was enabled to 
 prove her entire innocence, and Bonaparte was 
 thus rewarded for his generosity by learning that 
 the accusations of his jealous brothers were un- 
 just. 
 
 Under these circumstances, Napoleon's brothers 
 were naturally anxious to place Hortense at a 
 distance from her mother. She was shifted with 
 so superior a mind, so much tact, and such an 
 acute and sober understanding, that she was a 
 perfect Mentor to her mother. Josephine, vain 
 and extravagant as she was, would, in spite of 
 her loveliness, have been no very formidable anta- 
 gonist if once deprived of the support of her 
 daughter. 
 
 Hortense once got out of the way, it would 
 have been comparatively easy to discard Jose- 
 
napoleon's brothers. 95 
 
 phine ; for discarded she was to be. She was 
 an obstacle and hindrance in the ambitious career 
 of Napoleon's brothers. They well knew they 
 could not ascend to the greatness thev coveted 
 through themselves, they knew that Napoleon 
 alone was capable of covering their brows with a 
 crown, and therefore it was necessary that he him- 
 self should wear the proud symbol of royalty. 
 Josephine was adverse to the project, she loved 
 her husband disinterestedly enough to fear the 
 dangers attending the usurpation of a crown, and 
 possessed too little ambition not to prefer her 
 present peaceful station to the more exalted but 
 more perilous seat on a throne. 
 
 It was necessary then that Josephine should 
 be removed. Bonaparte must choose another 
 wife, in whose veins the blood of legitimate roy- 
 alty flowed, and who on that account should not 
 object to her husband wearing the purple. 
 
96 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 LOUIS BONAPARTE AND DUROC. 
 
 The first thing Bonaparte's brothers busied 
 themselves with was the removal of Hor tense. 
 They represented to Bonaparte how pa's'sionately 
 she and Duroc loved each other, how they used 
 to keep up an intimate correspondence, and pro- 
 posed to send Duroc to Italy, where he might 
 hold a higher rank than that which he occupied 
 at present, and thus be in a station to receive 
 Hortense's hand. But secrecy, utter secrecy, was 
 to be observed in the carrying out of this plan, and 
 Josephine must remain ignorant of their intrigues. 
 
LOUIS BONAPARTE. 97 
 
 They, therefore, persuaded Napoleon (who in 
 little things was easily to be deceived, because 
 his mind was occupied with great ones) to keep 
 the projected marriage secret, so as agreeably to 
 surprise both the young couple and his wife. 
 
 But Josephine for once had seen through the 
 intrigues of her hostile brothers-in-law. She was 
 conscious that her whole future, her very exist- 
 ence, depended entirely on the possibility of her 
 acquiring friends and allies amongst her husband's 
 family. 
 
 There was but one of Napoleon's brothers 
 who was not hostile to her, who, on the contrary, 
 loved and esteemed Josephine, because she was 
 the wife of a dearly-beloved brother, and this 
 one was Louis, the youngest of Napoleon's bro- 
 thers. Louis was of a quiet, contemplative dis- 
 position, more a scholar than a soldier, and better 
 fitted for the study than for the council-hall or 
 the camp. But in this shy, modest, almost 
 effeminate form lurked an energy and a courage 
 that never failed to make "their appearance in the 
 hour of danger and decision, and which neither 
 entreaties nor threats were able to vanquish. 
 
 His outward appearance was somewhat ungrace- 
 yol. i. 7 
 
98 CHARACTER OF LOUIS BONAPARTE. 
 
 ful, even awkward, but he could assume dignity 
 wlien called upon to play, a prominent part. And 
 his large blue eyes, more accustomed to look 
 within than without, would, in such instances, be 
 lit up with a flash of high resolve. 
 
 His was one of those sterling, but apparently 
 insignificant characters, that are rarely understood 
 and valued, because in the bustle of life people 
 have no leisure to examine them carefully. A 
 mother or a sister is alone capable of appreciating 
 men like these, for long-continued intimacy and 
 close observation have enabled them to see the 
 bud of this sensitive plant expand, which in con- 
 tact with a rough world shuts itself up. Such 
 men will seldom find a woman to love them ; for 
 they are too shy to seek her, and appear too insig- 
 nificant to be sought after. 
 
 This young\k brother of her husband, who 
 was scarcely four and twenty years of age, seemed 
 to Josephine the best suited to become her ally of 
 a 11 the members of her husband's family. 
 
 Louis, next to her Napoleon, was the best- 
 beloved child of Madame Lsetitia, and the spoiled 
 favourite of all his brothers, who had nothing to 
 fear either from his ambition or his egotism. He 
 
/ 
 
 JEROME. 99 
 
 never crossed their plans or mixed in their affairs ; 
 he asked for nothinsr in return but to be allowed 
 the same liberty, and be left to follow his favourite 
 pursuits. He was the confidant of his sisters, 
 who always found in him a wise counsellor, who 
 never betrayed them hastily. He was particu- 
 larly liked by Napoleon, who esteemed him on 
 account of his noble qualities, and because he 
 was never importuned by him as he was by his 
 other brothers. For the ambition and avarice of 
 Jerome, Joseph, and Lucian were sources of con- 
 tinual vexation to Bonaparte. 
 
 " On hearing my brothers, and the impudence 
 with which they daily demand new sums, it 
 might really be supposed that I had spent their 
 patrimony," Napoleon said one day to Bourienne, 
 after a spirited scene he had had with Jerome, 
 which as usual ended with tl>e latter receiving 
 
 > 
 
 a fresh order on the private funds of the first 
 consul. 
 
 Jerome, the youngest of Napoleon's brothers, 
 
 - 
 
 was also the most reckless ; and we take from 
 the first volume of his recently-published Memoirs 
 a characteristic anecdote. 
 
 Jerome was at the age of fifteen the spoiled 
 
 7 * 
 
100 jerome's extravagance. 
 
 child of the first consul, whose paternal sur- 
 veillance was more than once routed by his 
 ardent and determined nature. 
 
 One day the young student escaped from the 
 Tuileries and took a walk on the Boulevards. 
 He selected the best-looking shop for toilet arti- 
 cles, and walked in to inspect them. Not find- 
 ing anything handsome enough to his taste, he 
 asked to be shown the best things they had, in 
 an artistic as well as a costly sense. The trades- 
 man, astonished at the lad's coolness, hesitated 
 ere showing him a dressing-case that cost 16,000 
 francs. 
 
 " That will do," said Jerome ; " send it to the 
 Tuileries, and the first consul's aide-de-camp will 
 pay." 
 
 He went out, and the case was really sent to 
 the Tuileries. Duroc, supposing that General 
 Bonaparte had purchased the article, paid for it, 
 and entered the amount on the list of payments 
 he daily laid before the first consul. The latter, 
 in amazement, asked what it meant ? Duroc re- 
 lated what had happened. The tradesman was 
 sent for, and all was explained. At dinner-time 
 Bonanarte entered the room, where everybody was 
 
AX EMPTY PURSE. 101 
 
 waiting. Taking Jerome by the ears, he said to 
 him: 
 
 " So it is you., sir, who think proper to buy a 
 dressing-case at 16,000 francs ? " 
 
 " Ah ! yes ! " the lad answered, without the 
 slightest embarrassment, " that is my way. I 
 only like handsome things." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Cochelet is responsible for 
 another capital anecdote about this young Prince. 
 
 Jerome happened one day to have an absolute 
 necessity for twenty-five louis, for his purse was 
 completely empty, although General Murat, the 
 Governor of Paris, who was most deeply attached 
 to him, frequently helped him with his. But this 
 time such a resource entirely failed, and the 
 quarter's pension he received from the Emperor 
 had been spent in advance. What was to be 
 done ? to whom should he apply ? to his other 
 brothers ? They were absent, Joseph and Louis 
 were with their regiments, and Lucien was Am- 
 bassador at Lisbon or Madrid. As for his 
 mother, she would not listen to reason in the 
 matter of money to be given to a young scape- 
 grace whom she dearly loved, but to whom she 
 was more prodigal of her lectures than of her 
 
102 CARDINAL FESCH. 
 
 money. The idea occurred to him of paying a 
 visit to his uncle, Cardinal Fesch. He went to 
 him, and was most kindly received, and as there 
 was a large dinner-party that day, he was invited 
 to stay. When dinner was over, the guests pro- 
 ceeded to the drawing-room, to drink their coffee. 
 At this moment Jerome saw the Cardinal go into 
 an adjoining room; he followed, and drawing into 
 a window this beloved uncle, whom he had fre- 
 quently cajoled, he made his request, but met 
 with a point-blank refusal. 
 
 The Cardinal, as everybody knows, was a 
 great admirer of pictures, and the room in which 
 he then was formed the commencement of his 
 splendid gallery. On hearing this positive refusal, 
 Jerome suddenly turned round — 
 
 " There is an old rogue," he said, " who 
 seems to be laughing at the affront I have just 
 endured ! I must avenge myself." 
 
 At the same time he drew his sabre, and 
 pointed it at the face of a noble old man, painted by 
 Vandyke, and prepared to dig out his eyes. We 
 can imagine in what a state the Cardinal was in 
 on seeing a chef-cV ceuvre on the point of being 
 transfixed ; he tried to take the young man by the 
 
JOSEPHINE S EXTRAVAGANCE. 103 
 
 arm, but he would not listen to reason till the 
 twenty-five louis were paid him. The uncle 
 capitulated, peace was made, and they embraced. 
 The joke was considered excellent, and the first 
 consul, when told of it a few days later, was 
 greatly amused at it. 
 
 Now Louis never asked for money. He was 
 always satisfied with what Bonaparte gave him on 
 his own accord, and his brother had never to pay 
 any debts for him, or any disputes to settle for 
 him with his tradesmen. 
 
 This last circumstance inspired Josephine 
 with a feeling approaching to awe for her young 
 brother-in-law. He was such a good manager, 
 he never had any debts ! Now she never could 
 avoid contracting them, for economy was a quality 
 unknown to her. How often and how disagree- 
 ably had these debts already embarrassed her; 
 how frequently had they already drawn upon her 
 the blame and displeasure of her husband; how 
 repeatedly had she promised never to buy again 
 without being able to pay ! Yet debts she con- 
 tracted, again and again. Josephine was of a 
 generous, rather careless, disposition ; she was un- 
 able to check herself in this one point, and how- 
 
104 FORTUNE-TELLERS. 
 
 ever much, she feared Napoleon's angry looks or 
 words, they were unable to restrain her from 
 prodigality, — the penitent sinner ever relapsed 
 into fresh sin. 
 
 Louis, with his economical disposition, ap- 
 peared to be a fit husband for the prudent, de- 
 liberate Hortense ; Josephine thought they would 
 live very happily together, and manage their 
 hearts as cleverly as they did their purses. She 
 therefore resolved to make Louis Bonaparte her 
 son-in-law, and at the same time he would be a 
 proper ally to uphold her influence in the family 
 of his brother. Josephine had already a painful 
 presentiment of her unhappy future ; she would 
 fancy the Imperial Eagle that soared above her 
 head an evil omen, and believed she could hear 
 awful lamenting voices in the stillness of the 
 night. 
 
 The negress at Martinique had said that she 
 was to be " even more than a queen," it is true, 
 but another fortune-teller, whom she had consulted 
 at Paris (the celebrated Madame Villeneuve), had 
 told her that although she was destined to wear a 
 crown, she " would wear it for a little while 
 only." 
 
FAMILY INTRIGUE. 105 
 
 For a little while only ? Why, she was too 
 young, too happy to believe death at hand, — what 
 then could the prophecy mean ? The danger 
 that threatened her must be a divorce. She had 
 borne Napoleon no children, and yet he would 
 have liked so much to have a son ! His brothers 
 told him daily it was a political necessity that he 
 should have an heir. 
 
 Josephine dared not think further on the 
 subject, she trembled for her future, and looked 
 anxiously around her to find a support that might 
 prevent her fall. With the selfishness of grief 
 she demanded of her daughter that she should 
 sacrifice the dream of her happiness to the real 
 welfare of her mother. 
 
 And yet Hortense loved. Her young heart 
 revolted at the thought of forsaking her love to 
 marry a man for whom she felt no affection, and 
 who himself had never paid the slightest atten- 
 tion to her. She considered it almost impossible 
 that any one should seriously expect her to give 
 up her pure and passionate love to benefit cold 
 calculation, to further a family intrigue. She 
 vowed to herself that she would die rather than 
 forsake her lover. 
 
106 DUROC AND HORTENSE. 
 
 M But Duroc has no fortune or prospects to 
 offer you, my child," Josephine objected ; " all he 
 is, he is through Bonaparte. He has no rank, 
 no name. If Napoleon were to cease interesting 
 himself for him, he must sink back into insignifi- 
 cance and obscurity. " 
 
 Hortense answered, smiling through her tears, 
 " that she loved him, and knew no other ambition 
 than that of being his wife." 
 
 " But he ! Do you think he too knows no 
 other ambition than being your husband ? Do 
 you believe he loves you for the sake of your own 
 self? " 
 
 " I know he does ! " the maiden replied, with 
 sparkling eyes, " Duroc has told me so many 
 times ; he loves me, and only me. He has 
 vowed to love me eternally. We two ask for 
 nothing better than to be allowed to belong to 
 each other." 
 
 Josephine shrugged her shoulders almost piti- 
 fully, as she answered : 
 
 "But I know that Duroc only wishes to 
 marry you because he is ambitious, and thinks, 
 that Napoleon will promote him all the more 
 rapidly for being your husband." 
 
DUROC's RETURN. 107 
 
 " That is a base calumny ! it is impossible that 
 it should be so," replied Hortense, with a flush of 
 anger on her cheek. " Duroc loves me, and his 
 noble soul is incapable of selfish calculation." 
 
 i( Suppose I could prove to you the con- 
 trary ! ' Josephine persisted, exasperated by the 
 resistance of her daughter, and cruel in her fears 
 for her own happiness. 
 
 Hortense turned pale, and her enthusiastic, 
 glorious confidence was changed into sickly ap- 
 prehension. 
 
 " If this be in thy power, mother," she said, 
 in a scarcely audible voice, " if Duroc really 
 only loves me as an instrument of his ambition 
 — then I am ready to forget him and marry 
 whomsoever you like." 
 Josephine triumphed. 
 
 " To-day/' she said, <l Duroc returns from 
 his journey; within three days I shall have 
 proved to you that he does not love you, but 
 merely wishes to be related to Bonaparte." 
 
 Hortense heard nothing but the first words 
 of her mother's reply, " To-day Duroc returns." 
 "What did she care for the rest ? She was to see 
 him again, to derive new confidence and faith from 
 
108 Josephine's deception. 
 
 a glance at his handsome, manly face. But she 
 required no strengthening of her faith in him, 
 for she believed in him. How could she suffer 
 the slightest distrust to arise in her mind and 
 disturb the blessed happiness of their meeting ? 
 
 Josephine's beautiful hands meanwhile were 
 busily engaged in drawing more closely together 
 the net of her intrigue. She required an ally from 
 amongst her husband's family to maintain herself 
 in her position, and hence Louis must become 
 Hortense's husband. 
 
 Bonaparte himself was opposed to a union of 
 his brother with his step- daughter, and was 
 firmly resolved to give Hortense to Duroc. But 
 Josephine understood how to shake his resolution. 
 She wept and implored, caressed and pouted, 
 until he promised her that, if what she said was 
 true, if Duroc only wanted to marry Hortense 
 because he considered the match an advantageous 
 one, he would not object to the girl's being married 
 to his brother. However, he first meant to test 
 his aide-de-camp. 
 
 Shortly after his conversation with Josephine, 
 Napoleon returned to his study, where Bourienne, 
 as usual, was sitting at the writing-table. 
 
napoleon's arrangements. 109 
 
 " Where is Duroc ? " trie first consul asked 
 abruptly. 
 
 "He has gone out. I believe he is at the 
 Opera." 
 
 " As soon as he returns, tell him that, in ac- 
 cordance with my promise, he can marry Hor- 
 tense. But it must be done within two days. 
 I will give my step-daughter a dowry of 500,000 
 francs. I nominate Duroc commander of the 8th 
 division, but the day after his wedding he 
 must go with his wife to Toulon, and we 
 shall always live separated. I should not 
 like to have a 'son-in-law in my house. As I 
 wish to bring this affair to a close, once for all, 
 you will let me know this very night whether or 
 not Duroc accepts my conditions." 
 
 " I don't think he will, General." 
 
 "Very good. In that case, Hortense will 
 marry my brother Louis." 
 
 " But will she consent to do so ? " 
 
 " She will be obliged to consent, Bourienne." 
 
 Late in the evening Duroc returned, and 
 Bourienne communicated to him, word for word, 
 the ultimatum of the first consul. 
 
 Duroc listened attentively, and without in- 
 
110 SELFISHNESS OF DUROC. 
 
 terrupting the speaker, but his face became more 
 and more overcast as the secretary proceeded to 
 deliver his message. 
 
 " If such be the case/' he replied, when 
 Bourienue had finished, " if Bonaparte can do 
 no more for his son-in-law, I shall be obliged to 
 renounce the idea of marrying Hortense. It wiU 
 grieve me deeply to be obliged to do so, but I 
 will not 20 to Toulon. I want to remain at 
 Paris." 
 
 And without the slightest emotion or sign of 
 grief, Duroc took his hat and left the room. 
 
 The same evening Josephine received her 
 husband's consent to the union between her 
 daughter and Louis Bonaparte. 
 
 The same evening, too, Josephine informed 
 Hortense that Duroc had failed to stand the test, 
 that he had renounced her through ambitious 
 motives, just as he had loved her through a 
 selfish motive. 
 
 Hortense looked fixedly at her mother. Not 
 a tear was in hec eye, no word of complaint 
 passed her lips, she felt no other consciousness 
 than that of a lightning flash having struck her 
 
HOB/TENSE AND LOUIS BONAPARTE. Ill 
 
 and destroyed her love, her hope, her happiness 
 eternally. 
 
 But she had no longer the courage and 
 energy to flee from the fate that threatened her, 
 and she quietly submitted. As love itself had 
 betrayed her, she no longer cared what shape 
 her future assumed. She knew that happiness 
 was irrevocably lost. For he, the only man she 
 ever loved, had deceived her, and life's perfume 
 was crushed under foot for ever. 
 
 The next morning Hortense composedly, 
 even smilingly, entered Josephine's room, and 
 declared her willingness to fulfil her mother's 
 wishes. She no longer objected to marry Louis 
 Bonaparte. 
 
 Josephine joyfully embraced her daughter. 
 She little thought what a night of agony, what a 
 night of prayer and despair, Hortense had passed. 
 She little suspected that her daughter's seeming 
 composure was nothing but the despairing re- 
 signation of a broken heart. 
 
 Hortense smiled, for Duroc must not see 
 how she suffered. Her love for him was dead, 
 but the pride of a betrayed woman still lived 
 
112 HORTENSE AXD LOUIS BONAPARTE. 
 
 within her. It was this pride that wiped away 
 her tears, and summoned up a smile to her pale 
 lip. t 
 
 Josephine had gained her object. A bro- 
 ther of Bonaparte thus became her son-in-law. 
 There was one doubt left only. Would this son- 
 in-law protect her against her husband's two 
 remaining brothers ? 
 
113 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 CONSUL OR KING ? 
 
 Two days only elapsed between the engagement 
 and the marriage of the young couple. On the 7th. 
 of January, 1802, Hortense became the wife of 
 Louis Bonaparte. Napoleon, who himself had pre- 
 ferred a civil ceremony, and had never given his 
 marriage with Josephine the consecration of the 
 Church, wished that his brother and Hortense 
 should be united by a mere sacred tie. And never 
 did marriage more require the blessing of Heaven 
 than in their case ! Perhaps, Napoleon thought that 
 the consciousness of an irrevocable union would 
 
 VOL. I. 8 
 
114 MARRIAGE. 
 
 stimulate the newly-married people to an honour- 
 able and conscientious endeavour to produce a 
 mutual affection ; perhaps, though, he merely 
 intended to remove every possibility of a divorce. 
 However this may have been, the Cardinal 
 Caprera, after the civil contract had been signed, 
 was summoned to the Tuileries to bestow the 
 blessing of the Church on the young couple. 
 
 Not a word, not a look, was exchanged be- 
 tween husband and wife. Silently they entered 
 the carriage which was to take them to their 
 home. They resided in the same small house, in 
 the Rue de la Yictoire, which during the first weeks 
 of their union had served Bonaparte and Jose- 
 phine as a domicile. 
 
 At that time a happy couple had crossed its 
 threshold, but the couple that now took possession 
 of it brought no love and no happiness with 
 them. Josephine had entered it with a face 
 radiant with joy, Hortense's cheek was pale, and 
 in her eye a tear trembled. 
 
 Louis, too, had been adverse to the marriage. 
 He did not love his wife. They both disliked 
 each other. Hortense could never forgive him 
 for having accepted her hand, knowing, as he did, 
 
A LOVELESS MARRIAGE. 115 
 
 that her heart belonged to another, and Louis 
 thought it wrong of her to have consented to be- 
 come his wife, although he never had told, her 
 that he loved her. 
 
 They both had obeyed that iron will which 
 laid down laws, not only for France, but for the 
 family. Both had married from obedience, not 
 from love, and the consciousness of this compul- 
 sion stood between the two proud, independent 
 characters as an insurmountable barrier. 
 
 They did not even attempt to like each other, 
 did not endeavour to find in their hearts that 
 happiness which they were not allowed to seek 
 elsewhere. Brilliantly attired, but pale and 
 melancholy, Hortense appeared at the festivities 
 that took place in honour of her marriage. With 
 a gloomy countenance Louis received the con- 
 gratulations of friends and courtiers. While every 
 one seemed to be joyous, while singing and 
 dancing, laughing and merrymaking, were kept 
 up, the young couple alone were sad and taciturn. 
 Louis avoided speaking to his wife, and she 
 turned from him that he misrht not see the cold 
 indifference imprinted on her face. 
 
 However, they were both compelled to accept 
 
 8 * 
 
116 PRIDE OF HORTENSE. 
 
 their fate. They were chained to each other, 
 and must try at least to endure living together. 
 Hortense, although apparently gentle, flexible, 
 and maidenly, had yet a stout and energetic 
 heart. She was too proud to allow any one to 
 pity her ; she only wept when alone, and forced 
 herself to smile whenever she entered society — 
 for Duroc must not see the traces of tears on 
 her cheek. 
 
 But although Hortense had banished love 
 from her heart, the wound caused by so doing 
 remained. Though she no longer hoped to be 
 happy, her youth and her womanly self-esteem 
 revolted at the idea of being henceforth nothing 
 but a slave. She said to herself, " It must be 
 possible to live happily without being happy. I 
 will try it." 
 
 She did try. She laughed again and danced, 
 she attended the festivities that took place at St 
 Cloud, Malmaison, and in the Tuileries, and 
 which seemed to be the swan's song of the dying 
 Republic — or the cradle-song of the new-born 
 monarchy — which you will. 
 
 The day was fast approaching when the 
 French nation would have to choose between a 
 
BONAPARTE CONSUL. 117 
 
 sham republic and a real monarchy. France had 
 ceased already to be a Republic in reality. 
 Monarchy, it is true, was as yet nothing more 
 than a newly-born, naked infant, but all that was 
 wanting was a bold hand, possessing sufficient 
 courage, to clothe it with the purple, and the 
 infant would then become a strong, powerful 
 man. 
 
 Bonaparte had the courage to do so. He 
 had the still greater courage to do it slowly and 
 with deliberation. He allowed the infant " Mon- 
 archy," that lay naked and helpless at his feet, to 
 wither for some time longer ; and to keep it from 
 perishing of cold he covered it with the cloak of a 
 " life- consulate." Beneath this mantle the child 
 miarht rest warm, and slumber for a few weeks 
 until its purple swaddling-clothes were ready. 
 
 Bonaparte, by the will of the nation, had be- 
 come consul for life. Like General Monk, he 
 stood at the foot of the throne, and he had the al- 
 ternative of restoring it to an exiled king, or ascend- 
 ing it himself. Napoleon's brothers wished the 
 latter, Josephine prayed that the contrary should 
 take place. She was too much a loving wife to 
 nourish hopes of headlong ambition, too anxious 
 
118 LOUIS XVIII. 
 
 to secure her domestic happiness to be willing" 
 to risk it. If Bonaparte placed a crown on his 
 head, he would be obliged to think of becoming 
 the founder of a new dynasty, and strengthening 
 his throne, and would therefore wish to have a 
 son. But Josephine had given him no children, 
 she knew that Jerome and Lucien had already 
 more than once proposed to their brother a dis- 
 solution of his barren marriage ; to her, therefore, 
 Napoleon's coronation signified — divorce. 
 
 She loved her husband too selfishly to be 
 willing to sacrifice her happiness to his greatness. 
 Besides, at the bottom of her heart she was a 
 Royalist, and called the Count de Lille, who had 
 found an asylum at Hartwell, the legitimate King 
 of France. 
 
 The letters which the Count de Lille (after- 
 wards Louis XVIII.) had written to Bonaparte 
 deeply affected her. She besought her husband 
 to reply kindly and in a conciliatory manner to 
 the unfortunate brother of the beheaded king ; 
 she even ventured to beg that Bonaparte should 
 do what Louis demanded from him, and restore 
 to the exile the throne of his fathers. Napoleon 
 had regarded her proposals as a jest; he consider- 
 
BONAPARTE AND LOUIS XVIII. 119 
 
 ed it impossible that any one should expect him 
 to lay down his laurels at the foot of a throne 
 which was to be occupied by a Bourbon instead of 
 himself. 
 
 Louis had written to Bonaparte as follows : 
 
 " I cannot believe that the hero of Lodi, 
 Castiglione, and Arcole, that the conqueror of 
 Italy and Egypt, should not prefer real glory to 
 vain celebrity. But by hesitation you lose pre- 
 cious time. We might now secure the greatness 
 of France. I say ice, because I require a Bona- 
 parte to do it, and because he would be incapable 
 of accomplishing it without me." 
 
 Bonaparte was of opinion that he might put 
 " I " instead of " we;" he felt himself quite equal 
 to the task of securing the greatness of France, 
 and therefore returned the following answer : 
 
 " You cannot wish to return to France, since 
 you would be obliged to pass over the dead bodies 
 of a hundred thousand Frenchmen. Sacrifice 
 your interest to the peace and welfare of your 
 country. History will know how to appreciate it." 
 
 Louis, in his letter to Napoleon, had said : 
 " You are at liberty to choose your post and that 
 of your friends." Napoleon made use of the per- 
 
120 JOSEPHINE. 
 
 mission, but unfortunately he selected the post 
 the Count de Lille had meant to reserve for him- 
 self. 
 
 Josephine, we repeat, would have been glad 
 to see the king return to France, if by doing so 
 she could keep her husband. She desired no 
 crown, she was admired and honoured enough 
 without it. Bourienne one day said to her : 
 
 " You will hardly be able to avoid becoming a 
 queen or an empress/' 
 
 When Josephine heard these words she wept, 
 and said : 
 
 " But I have no ambition to be a queen. If I 
 can always be the wife of Bonaparte, the first con- 
 sul, I am perfectly satisfied. Tell him that, 
 Bourienne; beseech him not to make himself a 
 king." 
 
 Nor did Josephine stop here. She herself 
 had the courage to try and dissuade her husband 
 from his ambitious plan. 
 
 One day, when Bonaparte had shown himself 
 particularly good-humoured at breakfast, she en- 
 tered his study, without having announced her 
 coining, and noiselessly approaching him from be- 
 
bonaparte's ambition. 121 
 
 hind, put her arm round his neck, and then sat 
 down on his lap. She looked full in his pale face, 
 and affectionately stroking his hair, said : 
 
 " I implore you, Bonaparte, do not make your- 
 self a king. I know your wicked brother Lucien 
 would fain persuade you to it, but do not listen 
 to him." 
 
 Bonaparte laughed. " You see ghosts where 
 there are none, my poor Josephine. Your old 
 widows from the Faubourg St Germain, and be- 
 fore all your La Rochefoucauld, have told you 
 these fables. But they annoy me, so do not 
 trouble me with them again." 
 
 Bonaparte, who had answered his wife's ad- 
 vice with an evasive jest, now began to speak 
 seriously to his confidential councillors on the 
 subject of placing a crown on his head. In the 
 course of a conversation on this matter, Bourienne 
 said to him : 
 
 " As first consul you are the most celebrated 
 man in Europe ; but if you ascend a throne, you 
 will be the youngest king, and rank behind every 
 one of them." 
 
 Bonaparte's eyes glistened as he heard this 
 
122 THE YOUNGEST KING. 
 
 reply, and with that peculiar expression which 
 was called to his features in the moment of im- 
 portant decision, he answered : 
 
 " The youngest king ! — well, then, I will drive 
 all the princes from their thrones, and then I 
 must surely be recognised as the oldest ! " 
 
123 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE CALUMNY. 
 
 Hortense's marriage with Bonaparte's brother 
 did not produce the results for which Josephine 
 had hoped. She had made a bad choice; for 
 Louis, of all the first consul's brothers, was the 
 least desirous to interfere in politics or intrigues. 
 Moreover, Louis no longer felt the same friend- 
 ship as before for Josephine. His open and 
 honest heart accused her of having acted basely 
 and selfishly in sacrificing her daughter's happi- 
 ness to her own interests. He was angry with 
 her for having obliged him to marry without love, 
 
124 HORTEXSE AND HER HUSBAND. 
 
 and although he did not, as yet, place himself in 
 the ranks of Josephine's enemies, he had already- 
 ceased to he her friend. 
 
 The life led by the newly-married couple was 
 a strange and unusual one. They openly con- 
 fessed to each other their mutual dislike ; they 
 acknowledged that force only had united them. 
 In this strange open-heartedness they went so far 
 as to pity each other as friends, on account of the 
 misery they experienced as man and wife. They 
 repeatedly expressed their conviction that they 
 should never be able to love ; but their compas- 
 sion for each other gradually became so intense 
 that it might have easily been converted into 
 affection. 
 
 Already would Louis sit for hours with his 
 wife, endeavouring to amuse her by a witty con- 
 versation ; and Hortense began to consider it her 
 most sacred and sweetest duty to make her hus- 
 band forget, by kindly showing him all possible 
 attention, how miserable he was at her side. 
 They both hoped that the child they expected 
 would indemnify them for an unhappy union and 
 the freedom they had lost. 
 
 " If I should give you a son," Hortense said 
 
CALUMNY. 125 
 
 with a smile, "when he first addressed you by 
 the sweet title of father you would perhaps for- 
 give me for being his mother." 
 
 " And in pressing that son to your heart, in 
 feeling how dearly you love him, you might for- 
 get that it is I who am his father. You will at 
 least cease to hate me, for I shall be the father 
 of your beloved child." 
 
 Very probably, if the young people had been 
 left to themselves they would have learned to 
 understand each other — would have overcome 
 misfortune — and hatred would have been changed 
 into love. But the world treated them cruelly ; 
 it crushed with a merciless hand the germ of 
 affection that had begun to develope itself in 
 Hortense's heart. 
 
 Josephine had married her daughter to her 
 brother-in-law, in order to retain her by her side. 
 Her enemies knew this, and therefore made this 
 daughter the object of incessant attacks and ma- 
 licious calumnies. They wanted to try another 
 way by which to separate Hortense from her 
 mother. As it had been impossible to effect the 
 desired result by a marriage, it was now to be at- 
 tempted whether calumny would serve their turn. 
 
126 HORTENSE SLANDERED. 
 
 For that purpose a rumour was set afloat that 
 Bonaparte had married Hortense to his brother, 
 only because himself loved her, and because 
 he had been jealous of Duroc. Many pushed 
 these abominable calumnies so far as to insinuate 
 that the child Hortense bore under her heart 
 was related more closely to Napoleon than as the 
 offspring of his brother. 
 
 This was an infamous calumny, but it was one 
 that was well calculated. They well knew how 
 much Napoleon hated even the rumour of such 
 things, how strict he was in his principles, and 
 how offensive therefore it must be to him to find 
 himself the object of such suspicions. 
 
 They thought that, in order to silence similar 
 rumours, he would remove Louis and Hortense 
 from Paris. Then Josephine would have been left 
 alone, and it would have been more easy to deprive 
 her of her influence, and to separate Napoleon 
 from the guardian angel who said to him, " Do 
 not make yourself a king ! Be satisfied with being 
 the greatest man of your age ! Do not place a 
 crown on your head ! " 
 
 In Paris these calumnies were only whispered, 
 but abroad they were repeated in a more open 
 
NEWSPAPER ATTACK. 127 
 
 manner. Bonaparte's enemies seized this oppor- 
 tunity to wound him as a man ; since as hero he 
 was proof against all their attacks. 
 
 One morning Napoleon was reading an Eng- 
 lish newspaper which had always been hostile to 
 him, and which, as he well knew, was the organ 
 of the Count of Artois, who lived at HartwelL 
 All at once an angry cloud covered his forehead. 
 With an indignant gesture he crumpled the 
 paper in his hand. Then his face brightened 
 again, and a proud smile appeared on it. He 
 rose, ordered the master of the ceremonies to wait 
 on him, and commanded that the necessary in- 
 vitations for a ball should be issued, which was to 
 take place the next day at St Cloud. This being 
 done, Bonaparte went to Josephine to inform her 
 of the arrangements he had just made, and to tell 
 her that she must prevail on Hortense to appear 
 at the ball, however indisposed she might be. 
 
 Hortense was too much accustomed implicitly 
 to obey the commands of her step-father to attempt 
 any opposition. She rose from her chaise longue, 
 where, for some weeks past, she had been in the 
 habit of resting, and commanded her ladies to 
 dress her for the ball. She felt ill and uneasy in 
 
128 bonaparte's answer. 
 
 her gorgeous attire, which so little suited her 
 frame of mind and her figure, but the kind 
 yielding woman dared not even complain, in 
 thought of the constraint her step-father's order 
 imposed on her. 
 
 At the appointed hour she was in the ball- 
 room at St Cloud ; Bonaparte came to meet her 
 with a courteous smile, but instead of thanking 
 her for having appeared at all, he at once asked 
 her to dance. 
 
 Hortense, in great astonishment, looked up to 
 his face. She knew that Napoleon, generally 
 speaking, disliked the sight of an enceinte woman : 
 he had often remarked that he thought it ex- 
 cessively offensive to the eye, and indecent, to see 
 a woman dance when in such a condition, and 
 now he himself asked her to do so ? 
 
 Hortense hence refused to comply with the 
 first consul's wish, but Bonaparte became more 
 and more pressing in his demand. 
 
 "You know how much I like to see you 
 dance, Hortense," he said with the most engaging 
 smile ; " do just dance for once, I should consider 
 it a particular favour, if it only be a qua- 
 drille." 
 
POEM TO HORTENSE. 129 
 
 And Hortense, although, with reluctance, and 
 deeply blushing at such an exposure, obeyed her 
 step -father. 
 
 This scene took place at night; how great 
 therefore was Hortense' s astonishment to read in 
 the next morning's newspaper a piece of poetry, 
 which applauded in the most flattering terms her 
 amiability for having danced a quadrille, in spite 
 of her expectation of being confined within a few 
 weeks. 
 
 Hortense did not feel at all flattered, but, on 
 the contrary, offended by the poet's emphatic 
 lines. She hastened to the Tuileries to complain 
 of it, and to inquire of her mother how it was 
 that the newspaper could print in the morning 
 what had occurred upon the previous night. 
 Bonaparte, who was with Josephine when Hor- 
 tense entered, and to whom she addressed herself 
 first, replied with a smile and in an evasive man- 
 ner, and left the room. Hortense now turned to 
 her mother, who, downcast, and with tears in her 
 eyes, was reclining on a sofa. Josephine knew 
 how matters stood, for Napoleon had told the 
 truth, and her heart was yet too full of grief and 
 resentment to be able to keep the secret. 
 
 VOL. I. 9 
 
130 MALICIOUS RUMOUR. 
 
 She told her daughter that Bonaparte had 
 only asked her to dance a quadrille because he 
 had already ordered Monsieur Esmenard to write 
 a panegyric on it, and that the whole ball had 
 simply been arranged in order that Hortense 
 might dance, and the poem relating to her appear 
 in the newspaper. 
 
 When Hortense inquired the reasons of all 
 these intrigues, Josephine had the cruel courage 
 to inform her daughter of the malicious rumour 
 that had been set afloat ; had the cruelty to tell 
 her that Napoleon had ordered poem, quadrille, 
 and ball, because he had lately read in an 
 English newspaper the calumnious statement that 
 Madame Louis Bonaparte had been delivered of 
 a strong healthy boy, several weeks previously, 
 and he was determined to give this article the 
 lie. 
 
 Hortense received this new wound with a 
 smile of contempt. She had no word of indigna- 
 tion for this infamous calumny ; she did not weep, 
 did not complain; but as she rose to leave her 
 mother she fainted, and fell heavily to the ground. 
 It took hours before she could be restored to per- 
 fect consciousness. 
 
A CHANGE. 131 
 
 A few weeks afterwards Hortense was de- 
 livered of a son. The child was dead born. 
 Thus her last dream of happiness was gone, there 
 was no longer any hope of a reconciliation be- 
 tween husband and wife. 
 
 Hortense rose from her illness with an ener- 
 getic and resolute heart. During the long lonely 
 days she had passed in bed, she had found leisure 
 to think over many things, and to discover the in- 
 trigues that had been spun around her. She 
 formed a right appreciation of her position. She 
 had been a mother, and although she had not a 
 child, the courage of a mother remained with her. 
 The young dreaming, soft-hearted girl had sud- 
 denly ; become an energetic and strong-minded 
 woman, who was no longer willing patiently to 
 bend her neck under the yoke of misfortune, but 
 meant to face it boldly. Her fate was sealed, 
 nothing could alter it, but instead of being ruled 
 by it, Hortense now resolved to make it sub- 
 servient to her own will. Since she was not 
 allowed to be happy through the heart, she meant 
 to be happy through the mind. Since a peace- 
 ful home was refused her, her house was to be a 
 
 gathering-place for science and genius. Poets 
 
 9 * 
 
132 SOIREES OF HORTENSE. 
 
 and artists, singers and sculptors, were to make 
 it a temple of art. 
 
 Before long all Paris was talking about the 
 salon of Madame Louis Bonaparte, the festivities 
 that took place there, and the concerts which were 
 given. The most distinguished operatic singers 
 sang melodies composed by Hortense, and Talma, 
 with his full sonorous voice, might be heard re- 
 citing the poetry she had written. Every one was 
 ambitious to be invited to these soirees, where the 
 performers and the audience mixed with each 
 other, and where, instead of slandering and criticis- 
 ing, they enjoyed a liberal conversation, and felt 
 with pleasure the revival of literary and scientific 
 taste. 
 
 Hortense seemed to have reconciled herself to 
 life, and to enjoy it. She turned from the dis- 
 agreeable and repulsive things it contained, she 
 shut her eyes against them or met them with cold 
 contempt. She never alluded, by a single word, to 
 the calumny with which her mother had acquainted 
 her; she considered it as altogether beneath herself 
 to attempt a vindication of her honour. She felt 
 that there are accusations which are best answered 
 by silence, which a mere reply endows with the 
 
RUMOURS AGAINST NAPOLEON. IBS 
 
 advantage of possibility. The charge which had 
 been infamously hurled against her fell so short, 
 was so far beneath her, that she would have been 
 unable to reach it, even had she condescended to 
 stoop. 
 
 Bonaparte, however, still felt hurt by the 
 calumny, the more so because those insulting ru- 
 mours continued to keep afloat. His enemies 
 diligently endeavoured again and again to revive 
 them, for they wished to disgrace the laurels Na- 
 poleon had won by accusing him of an ignomini- 
 ous crime. 
 
 " They still persist in spreading the rumours 
 of a liaison between me and Hortense," he said 
 one day to Bourienne ; " and they have even gone 
 so far as to throw out miserable inuendos about the 
 legitimacy of her child. I first thought the ru- 
 mour had only found an echo, because the nation 
 wished me to have a child, but I think people 
 still talk about an intimate acquaintance, do they 
 not ? " 
 
 " They do, General. I confess I never would 
 have thought the calumny could find so much 
 credit." 
 
 " It is really abominable," Napoleon replied, 
 
134 INFAMOUS RUMOURS 
 
 with a trembling voice ; " you, Bourienne, know 
 best whether it has any foundation or not. You 
 see and hear everything. Nothing that passes in 
 my house can escape your observation. You 
 were Hortense's confidant in her love-affair with 
 Duroc ; I therefore expect that, if you should ever 
 write anything about me, you will cleanse me of 
 this infamous accusation. I do not wish it to fol- 
 low me to posterity. I reckon on you, Bourienne, 
 for I know you have never believed in it? ,; 
 
 " Never, General ! " 
 
 " Well, I count on you. Not only for my 
 own sake, but also on behalf of poor Hortense. 
 She is already unhappy enough, and so is my 
 brother. I am sorry for them, for I love them 
 both. You will remember what I have said 
 when you are writing about me." 
 
 iS I will remember it, General. I shall speak 
 the truth, only it is unfortunately beyond my 
 power to make every one believe it." 
 
 Bourienne has kept his word. He has 
 spoken the truth. He speaks with indignation of 
 the miserable calumny with which, for a long 
 time, Napoleon's enemies tried to brand the Em- 
 peror's and Hortense's memory. In his righteous 
 
AGAINST NAPOLEON. 135 
 
 anger he even forgets the moderate and polite 
 language of the diplomatist, which otherwise he 
 uses without exception. 
 
 ei It is an abominable falsehood,' ' Bourienne 
 writes, ' ' to assert that Bonaparte had other feel- 
 ings for Hortense than those of a father. Hor- 
 tense felt a respectful awe for him. She never 
 spoke to the first consul without trembling, she 
 never dared to ask him for anything. She would 
 address herself to me, and I was obliged to ask 
 for what she wanted, and it was not until I met 
 with a refusal that I mentioned the name of the 
 petitioner. 
 
 " l The~stupid little thing V the first consul 
 would reply, f why does she not speak for her- 
 self?' Napoleon always felt for her as a father, 
 and, from the first day of her marriage, he loved 
 her as he would have loved his own child. I, 
 who for years have been the constant witness of 
 his actions and his private life, solemnly declare 
 that I never saw or heard anything that could 
 justify the suspicion of a criminal intimacy. 
 This calumny is one of those which are begotten 
 by envy towards a man, who by his own merit 
 raised himself to an exalted station, and which 
 
1-36 bouhienne's testimony. 
 
 are but too willingly believed by the jealous and 
 malicious. If I had the least doubt in regard to 
 this horrible accusation, I should openly confess 
 it. Bonaparte is dead now. Impartial history 
 shall not, must not, frivolously accuse the father 
 and friend of having been a voluptuous lover. 
 Partial and hostile writers have told the world, 
 without having any proofs for their accusation, 
 that a culpable intimacy existed between Bona- 
 parte and Hortense. It is a lie, a miserable lie ! 
 And yet the calumny has for a long time found 
 an echo, not only in France, but throughout 
 Europe. Alas ! I am afraid it is but too true 
 that calumny exercises so powerful a spell, that if 
 once mistress of a man she never loses hold of 
 her victim again." 
 
13 
 
 w 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 KING OR EMPEROR ? 
 
 Josephine's entreaties had proved unavailing. 
 Although, literally speaking, Napoleon had done 
 as she wished, yet he had not taken her advice. 
 " Do not make yourself a king," she had said. 
 Bonaparte did not make himself a king, but he 
 made himself Emperor. As he was unwilling to 
 pick up the crown which had fallen from the 
 head of the Bourbon, he shaped himself a new 
 diadem, which was offered by the nation and the 
 senate. The people of France still fancied they 
 saw the phantom of Revolution standing behind 
 
138 END OF THE REPUBLIC. 
 
 them; they feared the repetition of a reign of 
 terror, and since the discovery of the plot of 
 Georges, Moreau, and Pichegru, they had anxious- 
 ly asked each other what would become of France 
 if the malcontents were to succeed in taking- 
 Bonaparte's life ? 
 
 The vessel of the Republic, deprived of its 
 helmsman, would once more have been at the 
 mercy of a tempestuous sea. The nation demand- 
 ed stability and fixed institutions ; a monarchical 
 form of government only, a dynasty alone could 
 offer this guarantee, and it became necessary that 
 the consulate for life should be converted into a 
 hereditary empire. Bonaparte used to say, " A 
 man can be the Emperor of a Republic, but not its 
 King, for the two words are too hostile to each 
 other." It seems as if many Frenchmen flattered 
 themselves that the Republic would continue to 
 exist even after Napoleon had become Emperor. 
 
 On the 18th of May, 1804, the long and care- 
 fully prepared plan was carried out. On that day 
 the senate, in a body, proceeded to St Cloud to 
 beg Bonaparte, in the name of the nation and the 
 rmy,to accept the Imperial power, and thus ex- 
 change the consular seat for a throne. 
 
CAMBACERES. 139 
 
 Cambaceres, who until recently had been 
 second consul, stood at the head of the senate, and 
 it was he who had to inform Bonaparte of the 
 wishes of the French nation. Cambaceres, who, 
 when one of the members of the Convention, had 
 voted for the execution of Louis the Sixteenth, in 
 order that Royalty might be banished from 
 France, was now the first who addressed Bona- 
 parte with the title " Imperial Majesty," and the 
 simple, but significant, word iC sire." The new 
 Emperor showed himself grateful, for the first act 
 of his sovereign power was the nomination of 
 Cambaceres to the post of Lord Treasurer and 
 Lord Hisrh Chancellor. This deed of nomination 
 was the first document which Bonaparte signed 
 with the simple " Napoleon." The Emperor, 
 however, adhered to the customary Republican 
 style. He addressed Cambaceres as i( citizen con- 
 sul," and retained the chronology of the Revolu- 
 tion, for his letter bore the date, " 28th Floreal of 
 the year 12." 
 
 In a second decree, issued like the other on 
 the first day of his Imperial power, 'the Emperor 
 conferred new dignities on the members of his 
 family. They were all made princes and prin- 
 
140 JOSEPHINE EMPRESS. 
 
 cesses of France, and received the title of Im- 
 perial Highness. In addition, Napoleon's bro- 
 ther Joseph was nominated Elector, and Louis 
 Connetable. In his new office, Louis had on the 
 same day to introduce to the Emperor all the 
 general officers of the army, and these officers 
 were also presented to the " Empress Josephine." 
 
 Thus the prophecy of the negress was ful- 
 filled : Josephine was le more than a queen." 
 But in the midst of the splendour and glory of 
 her new station, she remembered with a shrinking 
 heart the words of the Parisian fortune-teller, who 
 had said that " although she should wear a crown, 
 yet it would only be for a little while." She felt 
 that the fabulous good fortune she had experienced 
 could not be enduring, and that the Emperor would 
 be obliged to imitate the kings of antiquity, who 
 sacrificed the best, the dearest of their possessions 
 to conciliate the demon of envy and revenge. It 
 was she who would fall a victim to the Emperor's 
 ambition, and the weal of his dynasty. 
 
 Under these circumstances it was but natural 
 that the Empress should be apprehensive and 
 unsettled in mind. Her own greatness inspired 
 her with terror. Trembling she entered on pos- 
 
Josephine's libeeality. 141 
 
 session of the new dignities and titles that were 
 dealt out to her with a bountiful hand from the 
 cornucopia of fortune. It was with something 
 like shame and fear that she heard herself ad- 
 dressed by the same proud titles which in by- 
 gone years she had in these very rooms bestowed 
 on the Queen of France. Then the Marchioness 
 de Beauharnois paid homage to Marie An- 
 toinette. Marie Antoinette died on a scaffold, 
 and Josephine became the i: majesty " enthroned 
 in the Tuileries, whilst the legitimate King of 
 France was leading a humble life in some obscure 
 corner of England. 
 
 Josephine was still a Royalist. Even as Em- 
 press she lamented the fate of the Bourbons, and 
 considered it a sacred duty to advise and assist 
 those who, faithful to their oath and their prin- 
 ciples, had followed the royal exiles, or had emi- 
 grated to escape the new order of things. Her 
 purse was always open to the emigrants, and 
 Josephine's considerable debts, so repeatedly in- 
 curred in spite of the enormous sums she re- 
 ceived every month, were not altogether the work 
 of her prodigality, but also the result of her 
 generous liberality. One half of her income was 
 
142 HORTENSE A PRINCESS. 
 
 always reserved for assisting emigrants, and how- 
 ever great her embarrassment might sometimes 
 be, however impatient her creditors, she would 
 never suffer this sum to be touched, which was 
 destined to misfortune and fidelity alone. 
 
 Josephine was now an Empress, and her 
 daughter, the wife of the Conne table of France, 
 occupied the second place at the brilliant court of 
 the Emperor. The daughter of the beheaded 
 Viscount de Beauharnois had become a princess 
 of Erance, an "Imperial Highness," who was 
 approached with the deepest respect only, and 
 who had her ladies of honour. But, alas ! her 
 personal freedom and ease had been banished by 
 a tyrannical etiquette, which the Emperor thought 
 proper to introduce at his court. 
 
 Neither Josephine nor Hortense allowed her- 
 self to be dazzled or blinded by the splendour of 
 her new station. Josephine's influence had not 
 been augmented bv her wearing a crown, and 
 Hortense's proud titles were unable to enhance 
 the charms nature had bestowed on her. She 
 would have been happy in a modest station of 
 life by the side of a beloved husband, but her 
 
napoleon's dynasty. 143 
 
 exalted position could not compensate her for the 
 loss of her dearest hopes. 
 
 But fate seemed to take compassion on poor 
 Hortense, on the lovely, innocent being who 
 bore both her greatness and her misfortune with 
 the same smiling dignity, for it afforded her a 
 compensation for the destruction of her first ma- 
 ternal happiness, and new hopes were stirring 
 beneath her heart. 
 
 Josephine was delighted with the news, for 
 her daughter's hope was a hope for her. If Hor- 
 tense were to give birth to a son, the impending 
 blow might be averted from the head of the 
 Empress, for through this son the dynasty of the 
 Napoleons would be secured, and he might be 
 the heir of the imperial throne. Napoleon might 
 fairly adopt a child who was at once his nephew 
 and grandson. He had even promised Josephine 
 as much, had told her that he would be satisfied 
 with an adopted son, in whose veins flowed the 
 blood of the Emperor and the Empress, rather 
 than separate from his beloved wife. 
 
 Napoleon still loved Josephine. Everything 
 that seemed to him fair and beautiful he com- 
 
144 THE POPE IN PARIS. 
 
 pared with her, who, clothed in loveliness, stood 
 by his side, and shed a mild, conciliatory light 
 around his usurped greatness. 
 
 When, after he had become Emperor, Napo- 
 leon was welcomed with thundering cheers by 
 the people, he turned to his companions, with a 
 face beaming with satisfaction, and said, " What 
 a delightful music this is ! these acclamations 
 sound as sweet as Josephine's voice. I am proud 
 to be beloved by such a nation." 
 
 But Napoleon's ambition was not yet satisfied. 
 He had formerly said, " It is not enough to be in 
 the Tuileries, it is necessary also that a man 
 should know how to remain there." In like 
 manner he was now of opinion that " it was not 
 sufficient to have been elected Emperor by the 
 nation, but he must be anointed by the Pope." 
 
 Napoleon was sufficiently powerful already to 
 dictate laws to the world ; not only Prance bowed 
 before him, but foreign sovereigns also. 
 
 Napoleon wished to be anointed by the Pope, 
 and the head of the Church left his holy city, and 
 came to Paris to bestow, in the cathedral of Notre- 
 Dame, the blessing of the Church on the Em- 
 peror. 
 
TRIUMPHAL PROGRESS. 145 
 
 Thus was a new ray of glory added to Napo- 
 leon's diadem, it was a new and splendid triumph 
 the Emperor enjoyed, a triumph over the world 
 and its prejudices, over all its princes who 
 reigned " by the grace of God." 
 
 The Pope come to crown the Emperor ? Why, 
 the German Emperors had been obliged humbly 
 to proceed to Rome to receive the blessing of the 
 holy father, but now the Pope set out on a pil- 
 grimage to Paris to anoint the Emperor of the 
 French, to adopt the offspring of a revolution as 
 the eldest son of the Church ! 
 
 All France was, so to say, intoxicated with 
 joy. All France worshipped the hero, who 
 changed fables into realities, who stood at so 
 exalted an eminence that the holy see of Pome 
 even became the footstool of his greatness ! Na- 
 poleon's progress through France, on which 
 Josephine accompanied him, resembled one tri- 
 umphal procession. Everywhere the people re- 
 ceived him with enthusiastic acclamations, the 
 Church sang her Sanctus I Sanctus ! and the 
 clergy welcomed him at the portals of the churches 
 with their blessings, saluting him as the saviour 
 of France. Everywhere the imperial couple met 
 
 VOL I. 10 
 
146 FONTAINEBLEAU. 
 
 with cheers, triumphal arches, and speeches, — the 
 latter being sometimes rather overstrained, I con- 
 fess, and often very ridiculous. 
 
 When the Emperor arrived at Arras, the Pre- 
 fect of that town received him with an enthusiastic 
 address, in the course of which he said, c< God 
 created Bonaparte and then rested !" Count Louis 
 de Narbonne, who stood close by, and who at 
 that time had not yet been gained over to the 
 party of the Emperor, or appointed Grand-Mar- 
 shal of the Imperial Court, said, pretty distinctly, 
 " God would have done better had He rested a 
 little sooner." 
 
 At last all Erance was electrified by the intel- 
 ligence that the incredible, that what no one had 
 dared to believe, had come to pass, that Pope 
 Pius VII. had crossed the frontiers of France, and 
 was approaching the capital. The holy father 
 was everywhere received with the greatest dis- 
 tinction. The Church emerged victoriously from 
 amongst the ruins beneath which the Revolution 
 had buried it for a while. The old royal castle 
 of Fontainebleau had, by order of the Emperor, 
 been fitted up to receive the Pope. They had 
 the tasteful consideration to furnish the bed-room 
 
EMPEROR AND POPE. 147 
 
 after the model of that of the holy father in the 
 Quirinal at Rome. The Emperor and Josephine 
 therefore proceeded to Fontainebleau to welcome 
 Pius VII. 
 
 The ceremonial of the reception had been set- 
 tled beforehand; and all the points of etiquette 
 had been taken into consideration. It had been 
 agreed upon that on the couriers bringing intel- 
 ligence of the Pope's approach, the Emperor 
 should go out hunting, and meet the holy father, 
 as if by accident, on the road. The imperial car- 
 riages and the court had been ordered to the 
 forest of Nemours. Napoleon, in a hunting-dress, 
 followed by a few only of his attendants, rode up 
 a little hill, and at the same moment the carriage 
 of the Pope reached its summit. The holy father 
 ordered his servants to stop, and the Emperor, 
 with a movement of his hand, commanded his 
 followers to remain behind. There was a deep, 
 solemn silence. Every one of the by-standers 
 was conscious that an important scene of history 
 was being played at this moment. They all 
 looked in mute expectation on the two principal 
 actors, — on the Emperor, who in a simple hunting 
 
 dress was sitting on his charger, and on the Pope 
 
 10 * 
 
148 MEETING OF EMPEROR AND POPE. 
 
 who reclined in his glittering carriage drawn by 
 six horses. 
 
 When Napoleon had dismounted, the Pope 
 hastened to leave his carriage ; when on the point 
 of putting his foot on the ground he hesitated 
 for a moment ; but there was no time to be lost, 
 Napoleon was already on foot, and Pius stepped 
 out of his carriage, although his gold- embroidered 
 slippers of white satin were ill adapted for the 
 mud of the road, which had been considerably 
 softened by previous rain. The Emperor's hunt- 
 ing-boots were doubtlessly much fitter for a meet- 
 ing on the highway than his Holiness's slippers. 
 
 The Emperor and the Pope approached and 
 embraced each other. But all at once the horses 
 of an imperial carriage, as if by some neglect on 
 the part of the driver, sprang forward and separ- 
 ated the affectionate couple. It seemed to happen 
 accidentally too that Napoleon stood on the right 
 side of the carriage, whilst the Pope was on the other 
 side of the road. At this moment both doors of 
 the imperial equipage were thrown open by the 
 footmen, and Napoleon and Pius VII. entered it 
 simultaneously. They sat side by side, the Em- 
 peror in the place of honour, the Pope on his 
 
CORONATION. 149 
 
 left. Thus the observances of etiquette had been 
 satisfied, and neither of them had had the pre- 
 cedence. 
 
 On the 2nd of December, 1804, the solemn 
 coronation of the Imperial couple took place in 
 Notre Dame. Not merely all Paris, but all France 
 was astir on that day. There was a tremendous 
 crowd thronging the streets of the capital, every 
 window was occupied by richly-dressed ladies, 
 the bells were ringing joyous peals, and the 
 sound of martial music mingled with the thun- 
 der of the artillery and the loud cheers of the 
 multitude. 
 
 For an instant, however, the enthusiastic 
 cheers of the people gave place to a hearty laugh. 
 It was at the moment when the approaching 
 Papal procession was seen to open (according to 
 an old Roman custom) with a she-ass. Whilst 
 the Pope, accompanied by the high dignitaries of 
 ' the Cathedral, went to the Cathedral, there to 
 await the arrival of the Imperial couple, Na- 
 poleon was ornamenting himself with the emblems 
 of sovereign power. He wore a green velvet 
 mantle, studded with diamonds and golden bees, 
 and embroidered with ermine. 
 
150 M. RAGIDEAU. 
 
 When about to leave the Tuileries, and after 
 the Empress, already fully dressed, had joined 
 him, Napoleon suddenly ordered that the soli- 
 citor, Ragideau, should be fetched without a mo- 
 ment's delay. Messengers were immediately de- 
 spatched, a court carriage accompanied them, and 
 within a quarter of an hour Monsieur Ragideau 
 stood before the Emperor. 
 
 " I have sent for you, sir," Napoleon ad- 
 dressed him, i( because I was desirous to ask you 
 whether General Bonaparte really does not possess 
 anything besides his sword and his cloak, or if 
 to-day you will forgive the Viscountess de Beau- 
 harnois for having married me ? " 
 
 Ragideau looked astonished, and Josephine 
 asked what was meant by these mysterious words. 
 Napoleon now told them how in the ante-room of 
 the notary he had overheard their conversation, 
 and what Ragideau said to dissuade Josephine 
 from marrying the General who ' ' possessed no- 
 thing save his cloak and his sword." 
 
 The solicitor's words had then entered Na- 
 poleon's ambitious heart like the blade of a dagger, 
 and deeply wounded it. He had never mentioned 
 the circumstance, although he had never forgotten 
 
A CHANGE. 151 
 
 it. At the moment when he arrived at the height 
 of human greatness, he allowed himself the 
 triumph of reminding the little lawyer how he 
 advised Josephine not to marry him on account 
 of his poverty. 
 
 The poor General Bonaparte had become a 
 powerful Emperor. Formerly he had nothing 
 but his sword and his cloak, to-day the Pope was 
 waiting for him at Notre Dame to place a crown 
 upon his head. 
 
152 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 napoleon's heir. 
 
 Houtense had not been able to perform an active 
 part in the festivities that took place on the 
 occasion of the Emperor's coronation. However, 
 she had her share of the general happiness, for 
 she had given birth to a son. The sight of the 
 child inspired the young mother with new hope 
 and energy. 
 
 Josephine, who only accepted the Imperial 
 diadem reluctantly, received the news of her 
 grandson's birth with the greatest joy. She 
 thought that the clouds, which for some time had 
 been gathering over her head, were now dispelled, 
 
XAPOLEON CHARLES. 153 
 
 that the sun of her good fortune was again shin- 
 ing with undiminished splendour. Hortense, by 
 giving birth to a son, had secured her mother's 
 future ; for now that the Emperor was no longer 
 without an heir to his newly-founded dynasty, 
 a divorce would not be necessary. 
 
 Napoleon seemed willing to realize Josephine's 
 hopes, and evinced an inclination to adopt his 
 brother's son. He begged the Pope to delay his 
 departure for a few days, in order to baptize the 
 child. The vicar of Christ complied with the 
 Emperor's wishes, and the baptism took place at 
 St Cloud. Napoleon himself held the little 
 prince over the font, while Madame Lastitia 
 Bonaparte was the other witness. 
 
 Thus Hortense had at last found a being 
 whom she might love with all the passionate 
 affection which hitherto she had been obliged to 
 conceal within her bosom. Little Napoleon 
 Charles was the first happy love of Hortense, and 
 she enjoyed it freely and with all her soul. 
 
 Henceforth her house was her favourite resort, 
 and she valued it doubly now, because she was 
 no longer obliged to share it with her husband. 
 She considered it a favour of Heaven not to be 
 
154 SON OF HORTENSE. 
 
 compelled to give up to him any part of the love 
 she bore her child. Louis Bonaparte, the Con- 
 netable of France, had been appointed governor 
 of Piedmont, and Hortense was indebted to her 
 bad health for the permission to remain behind. 
 She did not accompany her husband to Italy, 
 but stayed at her hotel in Paris, which, at the 
 beginning of summer, she exchanged for the 
 castle of St Leu, which had lately been purchased 
 by her husband. 
 
 But Hortense was not allowed to enjoy her 
 solitude and healthy rustic life for a lengthened 
 period. The Emperor's brother and the lady 
 who at once was Napoleon's sister-in-law and 
 daughter, could not hope to be suffered to live in 
 obscurity. They were rays of the sun that 
 dazzled the eyes of the world, they had to fulfil 
 their destination, and must enhance the brilliancy 
 of that sun. 
 
 An order of Napoleon's recalled to Paris the 
 Connetable, who had returned from Piedmont, 
 and hastened to St Leu to see his son, and Hor- 
 tense was commanded to join him. The Emperor 
 had prepared a brilliant lot for his brother, and 
 the Connetable was about to become a king. 
 
KINGDOM OF HOLLAND. 155 
 
 Envoys from Holland, which state was now called 
 the Batavian Republic, had arrived in Paris to 
 ask their powerful neighbour, the Emperor 
 Napoleon, to give them a king, who might unite 
 their country to France by the ties of relationship. 
 Napoleon was willing to comply with their 
 wishes, and his youngest brother was selected as 
 their sovereign. 
 
 But Louis heard of the proposal with terror, 
 and refused to accept the honour that frightened 
 him instead of dazzling his eyes. And for once 
 he acted in harmony with Hortense, who 
 strongly urged him to persist in his refusal. 
 They both felt that the crown which was to be 
 placed on their heads would be nothing but a 
 golden burden, that Holland would not be 
 suffered to be anything else but a dependency of 
 France. And besides, personal reasons might 
 be added to these political motives for declining 
 the crown of Holland. 
 
 In Paris both husband and wife might forget 
 the fetters that chained them to each other, for 
 there they were in the midst of their friends 
 and relations. They could avoid meeting. The 
 numerous court and large family of the Emperor 
 
156 WILL OF THE EMPEROR. 
 
 stood between the two young people, who could 
 never forgive each other having consented to 
 their marriage. In Paris they had society, had 
 all sorts of amusements and diversions, but in 
 Holland they would be left to themselves, and 
 would always hear the rattling of their odious 
 chains. Could they but stay in Paris, they 
 might continue the pilgrimage of life without 
 open hostility, but the quiet life of Holland, by 
 compelling them to live together, must inevitably 
 transform them into actual enemies. 
 
 They were both aware of this, and therefore 
 united their efforts in trying to avert the new 
 misfortune which was hovering over their heads 
 in the shape of a crown. 
 
 But, alas ! whence could they derive the 
 power successfully to resist the will of the 
 Emperor ? Hortense had never dared address 
 herself directly to Napoleon, and Josephine had 
 already begun to feel that her wishes and 
 entreaties no longer possessed their former 
 influence over the Emperor. She therefore 
 carefully avoided asking him for anything, unless 
 she had the certainty of being successful in her 
 demand. 
 
LOUIS KING OF HOLLAND. 157 
 
 Louis, however, had sufficient courage to 
 attempt opposition. He openly told his brother 
 that he felt no inclination to accept the proffered 
 crown. But Napoleon's glance of anger pros- 
 trated Louis' resolution, and he silently obeyed. 
 
 In the presence of the deputies of the 
 Batavian Republic, who had come to ask for a 
 sovereign, Napoleon called on his brother 
 Louis to accept the crown of Holland, and 
 exhorted him to be a good king to his country, 
 and to respect and protect the laws and religion 
 of his subjects. 
 
 Louis, in a voice that faltered with emotion, 
 declared his willingness to accept the crown, and 
 then took an oath faithfully to fulfil his duties as 
 a sovereign. 
 
 From this moment it was his earnest and 
 constant endeavour to prove himself faithful to 
 that oath. He devoted all his energies and 
 talents to the conscientious discharge of his 
 duty. As the Dutch had chosen him for their 
 king, he wished to show them that he was not 
 unworthy of their confidence. As he had been 
 forced to leave his native country, and to cease 
 being a Frenchman, he meant to direct all his 
 
158 HORTENSE A QUEEN. 
 
 thoughts towards his new fatherland, and to 
 become a thorough Dutchman. 
 
 The weak and sickly scholar exhibited an 
 energy and activity of which no one could have 
 thought him capable ; the contemplative, re- 
 served brother of Napoleon had suddenly been 
 changed into a man, who was conscious of his 
 own dignity, who had set himself a great task, 
 and meant to accomplish it through his own un- 
 aided efforts. 
 
 The King of Holland considered it of primary 
 importance to be liked by his subjects. He there- 
 fore neglected nothing which could gain him the 
 hearts of the Dutch nation. He studied their 
 language and manners with indefatigable perse- 
 verance, and endeavoured to discover the sources 
 whence the wealth or misery of nations springs, 
 in order that he might be able to enlarge the 
 former, whilst stopping the latter. 
 
 He was always at work, and constantly ex- 
 erted himself in order to gain the affection and 
 esteem of his subjects. 
 
 Hortense also endeavoured to fill her new 
 sphere properly; as she too was compelled to wear 
 a crown, she wished to wear it with dignity. In 
 
HORTENSE A QUEEN. 159 
 
 her drawing-room she assembled the old aristo- 
 cracy and young nobility of Holland, and taught 
 the stiff and prejudiced society of that country 
 the easy grace and fine tact of the French salons. 
 The arts and sciences made their appearance with 
 Hortense, and were introduced by her into the 
 houses of the high aristocracy of Holland, to 
 which they imparted new lustre and life. 
 
 But Hortense was not only a protectress of 
 art and science., she was also the benefactress of 
 the poor, and an angel of consolation to misery. 
 She dried the tears and alleviated the sufferings 
 of many. Both the king and the queen were 
 adored by the nation; both understood how to 
 spread happiness around them, but they were 
 unable to find it for themselves. They were kind 
 and yielding to others, but they treated each other 
 with anger and obstinacy. Nothing, not even 
 the birth of a second and a third son, was capable 
 of filling up the gulf that lay between them. 
 
 This gulf was destined to be made wider still 
 by another blow dealt to them by ruthless fate. 
 The eldest of Hortense's sons, the adopted child 
 and heir presumptive of Napoleon, with whom 
 the Emperor had been seen playing for hours 
 
160 A DREADFUL BLOW. 
 
 together on the terrace at St Cloud, and whose 
 birth had first made Hortense acquainted with 
 the blissful feelings of a mother — little Napoleon 
 Charles suddenly died of the measles. 
 
 This was a dreadful blow, a blow that pros- 
 trated not only the parents, but the Imperial 
 couple of France as well. "When the sad intelli- 
 gence reached the Emperor he wept, and Jose- 
 phine exclaimed in agony : 
 
 " Now I am lost ! my fate is decided, he will 
 forsake me." 
 
 But after this first selfish outbreak of her 
 grief she thought of her poor daughter, and 
 hastened to the Hague to weep with her, and 
 remove her from the scene of her misfortune. 
 
 Hortense, in mute despair, followed her mo- 
 ther to St Cloud, while her husband, whose 
 health was much shaken by the death of the 
 child, went to the watering-places of the 
 Pyrenees. The royal castle at the Hague was 
 once more deserted; death had banished mirth 
 and joy from it, and although the king and 
 queen did after some time return to it, peace 
 and happiness remained absent for ever. 
 
 King Louis was gloomier than before, after 
 
HORTENSE UNHAPPY. 161 
 
 his return from the Pyrenees. An unnatural dis- 
 trust of everything and everybody, an odious 
 irritability, had taken possession of his whole 
 person, and his wife was no longer willing to put 
 up with his capriciousness and ill-temper. As 
 husband and wife were totally unlike each other 
 in their wishes, opinions, and inclinations, their 
 children, far from being the means of conciliation, 
 were but the sources of discord ; for each of the 
 parents wished to possess them exclusively, and 
 educate them according to his or her views. 
 
 Unhappy as Hortense was, there was another 
 misfortune that made her forget her own wretch- 
 edness, because it seemed greater than hers, as it 
 crushed the happiness of her mother. Josephine, 
 in a letter which was nothing but a deep wail of 
 agony, summoned her daughter to her side, and 
 Hortense, without delay, set out for Paris. 
 
 VOL. I. 11 
 
162 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 PRESENTIMENTS. 
 
 Josephine's evil forebodings, and the words of 
 the fortune-teller, were now about to be fulfilled. 
 The crown which she had accepted with so much 
 reluctance, but which, after once having received 
 it, she had worn with so much affability and 
 grace, so much dignity and ease, was about to 
 fall from her head. Napoleon had the courageous 
 cruelty, now that he was great, to forsake the 
 woman who had loved and chosen him when he 
 possessed nothing but doubtful prospects. Jose- 
 phine, who had shared his poverty, his dangers, 
 
Josephine's danger. 163 
 
 and humiliations, was now to be banished from 
 his side, was to experience the miserable hope- 
 lessness of a widow. 
 
 Napoleon had courage sufficient to determine 
 this, but he shrunk from telling Josephine him- 
 self what he intended. He was about to sacrifice 
 to his ambition the woman whom he had often 
 called his " guardian angel/' but he, who had 
 never trembled on the field of battle where death 
 surrounded him, trembled at the thought of wit- 
 nessing her tears, and avoided meeting her re- 
 proachful eye. 
 
 Josephine, however, was conscious of the 
 whole greatness of the danger that threatened 
 her. She read it in the gloomy, downcast look of 
 the Emperor (who, since his return from Vienna, 
 had ordered the communication between his 
 rooms and those of the Empress to be closed, 
 without informing her ' of the fact) ; she read it 
 in the faces of the courtiers, who began to ap- 
 proach her with less humility, and to substitute 
 for the respect of former days a sort of good- 
 natured compassion ; she heard it in the whisper 
 that died away as soon as she approached a dis- 
 tant group in her drawing-room, and in the hints 
 
 11 * 
 

 164 Josephine's misery. 
 
 which were thrown out by the journals, which all 
 attached great political importance to the Em- 
 peror's visit to Vienna. 
 
 Josephine knew that her destiny was about to 
 be fulfilled. She felt that she was too weak to 
 offer any effectual resistance, but she was de- 
 termined to play her part as woman and empress 
 to the very last with becoming dignity. She dis- 
 played no tears, for they were all wept in the 
 stillness of nicrht. She concealed her sisrh under 
 a smile, and hid the paleness of her cheek under 
 the rosy hue of paint. But she longed for a 
 sympathetic heart to whom she might speak of 
 her grief and reveal her agony. This was the 
 reason why she called Hortense to Paris. 
 
 The meeting of mother and (laughter was a 
 sad one. Many a tear was shed, and Hortense's 
 ear heard many a tale of woe. 
 
 ' ' Oh, if you knew," said Josephine, " what I 
 have suffered during these last weeks, when I 
 had ceased to be his wife and still had to appear 
 as such ! What looks, Hortense, what looks are 
 those which courtiers bestow upon a deserted 
 wife ! In what uncertainty, what continual fear 
 have I lived, expecting every moment that the 
 
MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 165 
 
 destroying flash, which has for a long time 
 glowed in Napoleon's eye, should descend on my 
 head!" 
 
 Hortense heard her mother's complaints in 
 silence, but she felt her own heart contracted by 
 bitterness and 'grief. She remembered how she 
 had been obliged to sacrifice her happiness to 
 that of her mother ; how she had been condemned 
 to marry without love, in order that the grandeur 
 of Josephine might be secured ; and see ! the sa- 
 crifice had been in vain, and it had not availed to 
 avert her mother's fate. Here Josephine stood, 
 awaiting the blow that was to prostrate her, 
 and Hortense could do. nothing to parry it. She 
 was a queen, and yet she was a helpless, unhappy 
 woman, who envied the beggar in the street her 
 freedom and the humbleness of her lot. Both 
 mother and daughter stood on the topmost round 
 of the ladder of human greatness, and yet this 
 empress and this queen both felt so wretched 
 and lonely, that they looked back with regret to 
 the days of the Revolution, to the time when, in 
 poverty and want, they had led a humble and 
 obscure life. Then, although poor, they had been 
 rich in hopes and wishes, while, now that they 
 
166 A GREAT SACRIFICE. 
 
 possessed everything brilliant that life is capable of 
 offering, now that millions bowed before them and 
 honoured them with the proud title of iC Majesty,' 
 they had nothing to hope for, nothing to look for ; 
 all the sweet illusions and dreams of former days 
 had faded away, and there was nothing left but 
 the cold, stern reality. 
 
 But, no ! one consolation remained ; they had 
 one thing left they might enjoy, — they were al- 
 lowed to weep in each other's arms. 
 
 A few days after her arrival Hortense was 
 summoned to the Emperor's study. Napoleon 
 rose with great animation, but as he met Hor- 
 tense's eyes, which were red with weeping, he 
 hesitated. 
 
 " Hortense," he said at last, " we are on the 
 eve of a great sacrifice, from which I must not 
 shrink. France has done so much for me and 
 my family, that I am in duty bound to comply 
 with what she wishes. The peace and welfare of 
 this country demand that I should choose a wife 
 who may give the nation an heir to the throne. 
 For six months Josephine has been living in fear 
 and uncertainty, and this must end. You, Hor- 
 tense, are her dearest friend, her confidante, you. 
 
THE EMPEROR OPPOSED. 16T 
 
 she loves more than any one else in this world. 
 Will you undertake to prepare your mother for 
 the fate that awaits her ? By complying with my 
 wishes you would remove a heavy burden from 
 my heart." 
 
 Hortense had sufficient strength of mind to 
 repress her tears, and to look fixedly on the face 
 of the Emperor. Again he involuntarily fell 
 back a step, and his eye sought the ground, just 
 as the lion retires before the flashing, angry 
 glance of a pure and innocent maiden. 
 
 Hortense had the courage to refuse compli- 
 ance with the Emperor's wishes. 
 
 " What ! Hortense ! " Napoleon said in a 
 sorrowful voice, (S do you refuse to fulfil my 
 request ? " 
 
 " Sire," she replied, hardly able to repress her 
 tears any longer, " I have not the strength to 
 bury the dagger in my mother's breast." And, 
 disregarding all etiquette, Hortense turned round 
 and quitted the room. 
 
 Napoleon made one more attempt to apprize 
 Josephine of her fate through a third person. He 
 begged Eugene, the viceroy of Italy, to come to 
 Paris, and acquainted him with his intentions and 
 
168 MELANCHOLY DINNER. 
 
 his wishes. Eugene, like Hortense, heard the 
 Emperor's resolution with silent sorrow, but he 
 too declared his unwillingness to be the bearer of 
 a message that must destroy the happiness of his 
 mother. The Emperor was consequently com- 
 pelled to deliver the mournful message himself. 
 
 It was on the 30th of November, 1809. The 
 Emperor, as usual, took his dinner with the Em- 
 press. The gloomy look with which he entered 
 the room, made Josephine's heart quake. She 
 read on his features that the moment of decision 
 had arrived. But she repressed her tears ; she 
 only cast an imploring glance at Hortense, who, 
 pale and downcast, sat on the opposite side of the 
 table. 
 
 Not a word was spoken during that melan- 
 choly dinner. The oppressive, convulsive sighs 
 that rose in the breast of the Empress could be 
 distinctly heard. Outside, the wind howled and 
 groaned, and drove the rain fiercely against the 
 clattering windows. In the dining-room there 
 reigned a deep, unbroken silence. The fierce 
 contest of the elements without contrasted 
 strangely with the silence within. Once only 
 was the monotony of the dinner interrupted. It 
 
A TERRIBLE SILEXCE. 169 
 
 was when Napoleon asked one of the servants in 
 a harsh voice what time it was. Then all was 
 silent again. 
 
 At last Napoleon rose. He took his coffee 
 standing. He emptied the cup hastily, and as he 
 put it aside his hands trembled and made the 
 vessel clatter. Then, with an abrupt movement 
 of the hand, he ordered all present to retire. 
 
 <( Sire," Josephine asked in a voice that was 
 scarcely audible, " may Hortense stay with 
 me?" 
 
 "No!" the Emperor replied, impatiently. 
 Hortense bowed respectfully, and giving a com- 
 passionate glance to her mother, left the room. 
 All the court followed her. 
 
 The Emperor and the Empress were left by 
 themselves. They were both silent. What a 
 terrible silence it was ! How sadly they stood op- 
 posite each other ! What a melancholy look that 
 was the Emperor cast on his wife ! She saw in 
 his convulsively agitated features what an awful 
 struggle was going on in his breast, and knew 
 she was about to fall. 
 
 At length he approached her. He stretched 
 forth his hand. It trembled. Josephine felt as 
 
170 Josephine's distress. 
 
 if about to be suffocated, and a feverish beat 
 coursed through her veins. 
 
 Napoleon took her hand and placed it on his 
 heart. She offered no resistance, but a groan of 
 agony escaped her as he did so. Napoleon, with 
 a mournful but steady glance, looked her full in 
 the face. 
 
 " Josephine, 55 he said in a voice that trembled 
 with emotion, " my dear Josephine, you know that 
 I love you. To you alone I am indebted for the 
 few moments of happiness that have fallen to my lot. 
 But fate is stronger than my will. My dearest 
 inclinations must yield to the interests of France." 
 
 " Say no more ! " Josephine said, angrily with- 
 drawing her hand from his grasp. i( Say no 
 more ! I understand you and expected it. But 
 the blow is not the less deadly for that reason ! ' 
 
 She could speak no more. Her voice failed 
 her, for she was overcome by utter despair. The 
 storm that had been spell-bound so long, had 
 broken loose and now raged with the utmost 
 violence. 
 
 She wept, she wrung her hands, and would 
 have cried out in the bitterness of her agony 
 had not the voice failed her. At last a deep 
 
HER ILLNESS. 171 
 
 swoon took compassion upon her, and freed her 
 from the consciousness of her misery. 
 
 When she awoke she found herself in bed. 
 Hortense and the court physician stood by her 
 side. Josephine stretched her arms towards her 
 daughter, who, passionately weeping, sank on 
 the bosom of her mother. Corvisart retired, for 
 he knew that he could afford no further assistance. 
 He had been able to recall Josephine to the con- 
 sciousness of her wretchedness ; but it was be- 
 yond his power to remove the cause of her 
 misery. The sympathy and tears of Hortense 
 were the only balsam the Empress had to soothe 
 the pain of her heart. 
 
 Josephine wept long and abundantly in her 
 daughter's arms, but when Napoleon came to 
 inquire after the state of her health — when he sat 
 down at her bed-side — she shrunk from him, her 
 tears ceased to flow, and those eyes, which had 
 always been accustomed to look kindly on him, 
 were animated by a flash of anger and contempt. 
 But love soon vanquished her anger. She 
 stretched out her feverish hand to the Emperor, 
 and her lips bore the angelic smile of a forgiving 
 woman as she said : 
 
172 THE DIVORCE. 
 
 " "Well, my friend, was I not right in shrinking 
 from becoming an empress ? " 
 
 Napoleon made no reply. He turned away 
 and wept. But these valedictory tears of his 
 love could no longer influence the fate of the 
 unfortunate Josephine. It had for some time 
 been irrevocably fixed by the Emperor. Napoleon 
 had already received at Vienna the consent to a 
 marriage with the Archduchess Marie Louise, the 
 daughter of the Emperor of Austria. Nothing 
 remained to be done but to remove Josephine, in 
 order that a legitimate empress might take pos- 
 session of her throne. 
 
 The Emperor would not, could not, alter his 
 resolution. He assembled around him all his 
 brothers, all the kings, dukes, and princes who had 
 been created by his potent will, and before the 
 Imperial family, the court, and the senate, who 
 were all assembled in the Tuileries, he declared, 
 with a firm voice, his intention to separate from 
 his wife. Josephine, who for the last time appear- 
 ed in the Imperial robes, stood by the side of 
 Napoleon and repeated his words. Her speech 
 was broken and interrupted by frequent sobs. 
 The Lord High Chancellor Cambaceres then 
 
A FAREWELL. 173 
 
 ordered one of the secretaries of state, present on 
 the occasion, to read out the law of the code civile 
 treating on divorce, spoke a few words about its 
 being applicable to the present case, and declared 
 the union of the Emperor with the Empress dis- 
 solved. 
 
 Thus the ceremony was finished, the demands 
 of the law had been satisfied, and Josephine had 
 now to bid farewell to her husband and the court. 
 She did so with an angelic kindness, with that 
 sweet, heart- winning smile which she could com- 
 mand better than almost any other woman. 
 Pale, but apparently composed, she bowed to 
 Napoleon; the Emperor spoke some hurried, 
 indistinct words, and an expression of agonizing 
 pain flashed across his features. At the moment 
 when, led by her two children, she left the room, 
 nodding a last farewell to all assembled, sobbing 
 and weeping could be heard on all sides. Her 
 enemies, even those who rejoiced in her fall, 
 because they hoped to derive advantage from the 
 new marriage, felt moved as they beheld this 
 melancholy scene. There were very few present 
 whose eyes were not bedimmed with tears. 
 
 The victim had been offered up. Napoleon 
 
174 MALMAISON. 
 
 had sacrificed to his ambition what, next to 
 his ambition, he loved best on earth. He was 
 separated from Josephine. 
 
 On the same day Josephine left the Tuileries 
 to retire to Malmaison, and live in the mansion 
 which had once been the Paradise, but was now 
 the purgatory, of her love. 
 
 Josephine left the court, but the hearts of its 
 members continued devoted to her. During the 
 first few weeks of her retirement the road from 
 Paris to Malmaison was literally covered with the 
 carriages of all the kings and princes, all the dig- 
 nitaries and noblemen, who were at Paris. There 
 was an uninterrupted procession between the 
 capital and the residence of the ex-Empress. 
 Even the Faubourg St Germain, which still pre- 
 served its sympathies for the Bourbons, and had 
 its secret representatives in Paris, went to Mal- 
 maison. And it was not only the rich and ex- 
 alted who condoled Josephine, for the poor and 
 lowly did so as well. Every one, no matter 
 whether poor or rich, high or low, was desirous 
 of showing the ex-Empress how much she was 
 still beloved and revered, and she continued to 
 
MARIE LOUISE. 175 
 
 reign over the hearts of her people, although she 
 had ceased to sit on a throne. 
 
 The whole French nation mourned with Jose- 
 phine and her children. There was a general 
 belief that the Emperor's star was about to set, 
 that with Josephine his good genius had deserted 
 him, and that fate would not fail to avenge the 
 tears of the deserted Empress. 
 
 Metternich, who believed that the alliance of 
 Austria and France would be beneficial to the in- 
 terests of the former country, and enable him to 
 settle the Eastern question satisfactorily and in 
 defiance of Russia, suggested that the Archduchess 
 Marie Louise should be given in marriage to the 
 victorious soldier of France. 
 
 When Lord Castlereagh heard of the mar- 
 riage, he said with a smile, " A virgin must now 
 and then be sacrificed to the Minotaur." The 
 Viennese formed even a more malicious judgment 
 about this act of desperation on the part of their 
 Emperor. They said of Napoleon, " Now it is all 
 up with him, now we have him, for he has been 
 vaccinated with the Austrian misfortune and Aus- 
 trian stupidity." To a certain extent this simple 
 
176 PROPHECY. 
 
 prophecy was correct. The alliance with Aus- 
 tria became Napoleon's misfortune, in so far as it 
 led him into further errors as to the greatness of 
 his power. 
 
177 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE KING OF HOLLAND. 
 
 "While Josephine lamented the dissolution of 
 her marriage, Hortense wished and prayed that 
 her unhappy union with Louis Bonaparte might 
 come to a similar solution. Hortense, although 
 still living with her husband, had never felt any 
 attachment for him. She now again besought 
 the Emperor, as did her husband, to sanction a 
 divorce. 
 
 But Napoleon was inexorable. His family 
 was not to set the country the bad example of 
 disregarding the sanctity of matrimony. His 
 
 VOL. I. 12 
 
178 AN UNFORTUNATE COUPLE. 
 
 own divorce had been dictated by political con- 
 siderations, and equally through, political con- 
 siderations he was unwilling that his brother 
 should dissolve his marriage. 
 
 Thus the unfortunate couple were compelled 
 to continue dragging their chains. They both 
 did it with revolting hearts ; and since they had 
 no one they could reproach for their misfortune, 
 they reproached each other and grew more and 
 more hostile. 
 
 Louis returned to Holland, more gloomy than 
 ever. Hortense, with her two sons, stayed for 
 some time longer at Paris. Napoleon had order- 
 ed her to do so, for she was to be present at his 
 marriage with the Archduchess Marie Louise, 
 which was soon to take place. The daughter of 
 the divorced Empress, together with the sisters 
 of the Emperor, was destined to bear the train of 
 the new Empress on her wedding-day. Napoleon 
 meant to prove to the world that his relations 
 knew no other law but his will, and that the 
 daughter of Josephine had never ceased to be his 
 obedient child. Besides, Napoleon wished to at- 
 tach the Queen, who had inherited the grace and 
 loveliness of Josephine, to the person of his young 
 
SECOND MARRIAGE. 179 
 
 wife. She would be a model to all the court, and 
 an amiable and considerate mentor to the Em- 
 press. 
 
 Hortense silently obeyed Napoleon. On the 
 1st of April, 1810, the day on which the Arch- 
 duchess Marie Louise became Empress of France, 
 she bore her train, together with the Emperor's 
 sisters. She alone did so without opposition, for 
 Napoleon's sisters, Queen Caroline of Naples, the 
 Duchess of Guastalla, and Eliza, Grand-duchess 
 of Tuscany, strongly protested before they obeyed 
 their brother's command, and followed the new 
 Empress with an angry flush on their cheek, and 
 tears in their eyes. 
 
 There were other persons, besides the Em- 
 peror's sisters, who felt dissatisfied on Napo- 
 leon's wedding-day. They were the majority of 
 the high clergy. But few of the dignitaries of 
 the Church had followed the invitation of the 
 master of ceremonies, who had orders to ask 
 them to be present at the marriage of the Imperial 
 couple, which took place in the chapel of the 
 Tuileries. 
 
 Napoleon could not punish his sisters on 
 account of their tears, but he chastised the dis- 
 
 12 * 
 
180 THE AUSTRIAN. 
 
 obedience of the Cardinals, who had not made 
 their appearance in the chapel. The next morn- 
 ing they were all banished from the capital, and 
 forbidden to wear the purple robe appertaining 
 to their rank. They were obliged to adopt the 
 black dress of penitents. 
 
 The Parisians too were dissatisfied with the 
 Emperor's choice. They received Marie Louise 
 with an artificial enthusiasm. They looked upon 
 the Austrian as being ominous to France. When, 
 soon after the Emperor's marriage, at a ball given 
 by Prince Metternich in honour of the alliance, 
 that terrible conflagration took place which 
 destroyed so many human lives, the mob were 
 inclined to ascribe it to the presence of the new 
 Empress. They remembered the sad accident 
 during Marie Antoinette's entry into Paris, and 
 called the fire the precursor of the misfortunes 
 which the " Austrian " would bring upon France 
 and her Emperor. 
 
 Whilst Hortense attended the festivities at 
 the Imperial court, a storm was gathering over 
 the head of her husband, which was soon to 
 threaten both his life and his crown. 
 
 When Louis, obedient to the Emperor's will, 
 
THE KING OF HOLLAND. 181 
 
 accepted the crown of the Netherlands, he 
 solemnly vowed to himself to be a faithful 
 sovereign to his people, and to devote all his 
 energies to the welfare of Holland. He was too 
 honest a man not to fulfil this oath. He only- 
 thought of adopting such measures and issuing 
 such edicts as might serve to make the country 
 thrive, and in doing so never cared whether the 
 path he pursued crossed the interests of France. 
 He was unwilling to look upon Holland as a 
 province of France, for he thought he was more 
 than a viceroy of the Emperor. He considered 
 the Netherlands a free country, and himself a 
 free king. But Napoleon did not at all look at 
 matters in this light, and it appeared to him an 
 unheard-of sacrilege that Holland wished to 
 deny the supremacy of France. 
 
 When the Emperor invested his brother with 
 the crown of Holland, he exhorted him to be a 
 good king to his people, but never to cease being 
 a Frenchman, and to consult the interests of 
 France in his policy. Louis, however, had 
 striven to become a thorough Dutchman, and 
 therefore, when the interests of the two countries 
 became hostile, he did not hesitate for one 
 
182 FRENCH INTERESTS. 
 
 moment to side with the nation whose king he 
 was, and to think and act as a Dutchman. He 
 was of opinion that Holland owed her wealth to 
 nothing but her commerce, and that she could 
 only be great by her mercantile importance. 
 Consequently he reduced the army and navy, 
 changed the men-of-war into merchant vessels, 
 and converted the marines into peaceful sailors. 
 
 Napoleon, however, regarded these pro- 
 ceedings with dismay, and severely blamed the 
 king for disarming whole fleets and disbanding 
 the army. " Holland," he said, u was in a 
 defenceless state, for merchants and shopkeepers 
 were incapable of consolidating a power. A 
 still greater crime was the re-opening of com- 
 mercial intercourse with England. Holland 
 disregarded the blockade Napoleon had pro- 
 claimed against Great Britain, and the American 
 flag, which was banished from all French ports, 
 fluttered safely in the harbours of Holland. 
 
 The Emperor demanded of King Louis that 
 he should consult nothing but the interests of 
 France. He insisted that Holland should break 
 off all commercial intercourse with England, 
 equip a fleet of forty line-of-battle ships, seven 
 
NAPOLEON THREATENS. 183 
 
 frigates, and seven brigs, and raise the army to 
 25,000 men. In addition, all the ^privileges of 
 the nobility, that were contrary to the constitu- 
 tion, were to be abolished. 
 
 King Louis had courage enough to refuse, in 
 the name of Holland, compliance with these 
 demands. He disregarded the orders of the 
 Emperor, in a case where execution could only 
 destroy the prosperity of Holland. 
 
 Napoleon answered this refusal by a declara- 
 tion of war. The Dutch ambassador at Paris 
 received his passports, and a French corps d'armee 
 began moving towards the Netherlands to chastise 
 the obstinacy of the king. 
 
 However, the misfortune by which Holland 
 was threatened had roused all Louis's energy. 
 Threats and angry letters seemed unable to curb 
 the will of the king. At last the Duke of 
 Reggio, the commander-in-chief of the army of 
 invasion, approached Amsterdam, to force the 
 king, by a siege of that important town, into 
 compliance with the Emperor's wishes. Louis, 
 seeing that further resistance was useless, but 
 determined not to depart from his line of conduct, 
 resolved upon descending from the throne. 
 
184 ABDICATION OF 
 
 In a proclamation addressed to his people, 
 he told them that, " feeling convinced he was un- 
 able to do the cause of Holland any further good, 
 but, on the contrary, considering himself an 
 obstacle to a reconciliation with France, he had 
 resolved upon abdicating in favour of his two 
 sons, Napoleon Louis, and Charles Louis Na- 
 poleon." Until their majority, their mother, agree- 
 ably to the Constitution, was to stand at the head 
 of the regency. After having thus settled the 
 question of succession, he addressed a few touch- 
 ing farewell words to his subjects, and then left 
 the country incognito, and under the name of the 
 Count de St Leu. Passing through the dominions 
 of his brother Jerome, the King of Westphalia, 
 and through Saxony, he went to Toplitz, where 
 he stopped to drink the waters. 
 
 It was here that he first heard how Napoleon, 
 far from being willing to acknowledge his abdi- 
 cation, had incorporated Holland with the empire 
 of France. Louis published a protest against his 
 brother's proceedings, and called the Emperor's 
 measure an act of violence, which nothing could 
 justify. In the name of his son, Napoleon Louis, 
 he demanded the restoration of Holland, its an- 
 
THE KING OF HOLLAND. 185 
 
 nexation to France being contrary to the sacred 
 law of nations, and declared the incorporation of 
 the Netherlands void. 
 
 Xapoleon replied to the king's protest, by 
 commanding the French ambassador at Vienna 
 to tell Louis to return to France before the 1st of 
 December, 1810, and a non-compliance with this 
 order would be regarded in the light of high 
 treason. The king was to be considered a rebel 
 against the constitution of France and the head 
 of his family, and treated accordingly. 
 
 Louis took no notice of this summons. He 
 retired to Gratz in Styria, and lived there as a 
 private gentleman. He was beloved and ad- 
 mired, not only by those who were near his per- 
 son, but almost by the whole of Europe. People 
 could net help feeling esteem for a king who had 
 so nobly sacrificed his own greatness to the wel- 
 fare of his people. His enemies even, and those 
 of his family, could not but acknowledge that he 
 had acted magnanimously, and Louis XVIII. 
 said, in speaking of him, li Louis Bonaparte has 
 become a real king by his abdication. By lay- 
 ing down his crown he has shown himself worthy 
 of wearing it. He is the first monarch who has 
 
186 LOUIS, AS COUNT DE ST LEU, 
 
 offered up such a sacrifice, actuated by love of 
 his country only. Others have resigned the pur- 
 ple before him, but they did it because they were 
 tired of power. In the King of Holland's way 
 of acting there is something which has not as yet 
 been rightly appreciated, but which, if I am not 
 very much mistaken, will command the admiration 
 of posterity." 
 
 At Gratz Louis Bonaparte spent, as Count de 
 St Leu, a few peaceful and quiet years. They 
 were the first and perhaps the only years of hap- 
 piness he had enjoyed amid the storms and disap- 
 pointments of a tempestuous life. His days were 
 spent in study and meditation, and he did not at 
 all seem to regret the loss of his exalted station. 
 As he had formerly endeavoured to be a good 
 king, now it was his ambition to become a distin- 
 guished author. He published a novel, which 
 bore the title of " Marie," and, encouraged by the 
 success it met with amongst his friends, he had 
 some of his poetry printed as well. The deep, 
 passionate feeling that characterized his verses 
 proved that his heart, so often misunderstood, and 
 thence shy, wounded, and suspicious, was never- 
 theless capable of a pure, disinterested love. 
 
RETURNS TO FRANCE. 187 
 
 Maria Pascal, the beautiful and accomplished 
 harp-player, is thought not to have resisted it. 
 
 But the day came when Louis Bonaparte 
 closed his ear against the sweet voice of peace 
 and love,, and listened to duty only, which com- 
 manded him to return to France and to the side 
 of his brother. So long as the sun of success 
 shone brightly over Napoleon, the ex-king of 
 Holland, who had voluntarily descended from his 
 throne, remained distant and in obscurity, but no 
 sooner did misfortune break in over the Emperor 
 than he returned to him. In the hour of danger 
 there was but one place for Napoleon's brave and 
 faithful brother — it was that by the side of the 
 Emperor. 
 
 " On the day when Austria so unexpectedly 
 broke her alliance with France," says Madame de 
 St Elme, who was at Gr'atz at the time, and wit- 
 nessed the farewell scene that took place between 
 Louis Bonaparte and the inhabitants of that town, 
 " King Louis felt the necessity of leaving an 
 asylum, for which henceforth he could only have 
 been indebted to the enemies of France. He 
 hastened to [demand from his great but unjust 
 brother the only place that was worthy of the 
 
188 DEPARTURE FROM GRATZ. 
 
 dignity of his character, a place by the Emperor's 
 side. 
 
 " But what a source of regret was his de- 
 parture to the inhabitants of Gr'atz, indeed of 
 all Styria. For there was no pious or charitable 
 foundation in the country that had not received 
 help from his hands. And yet it was well known 
 that the means of the monarch who had de- 
 scended from the throne so hurriedly and unpre- 
 pared were but slender, and that he denied him- 
 self many a pleasure in order to assist others. 
 They begged, they besought him not to go from 
 amongst them. When they saw him persist in 
 his resolution, when the horses, which at first 
 had been withheld, were brought at last to bear 
 him away, the people of Gratz unharnessed them, 
 and themselves drew the carriage as far as the 
 gate of the town. His voluntary departure re- 
 sembled a triumphal march. The banished, home- 
 less king left his exile amongst sincere demonstra- 
 tions of love, such as had hardly been shown 
 on the occasion of his ascension to the throne." 
 
189 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 JTJNOT, DUC D'ABRAXTES. 
 
 While all his faithful friends hurried up to collect 
 round Napoleon, and offer the hero, threatened 
 by Fate and man, their help and support — while 
 even his brother Louis, forgetting all insults and 
 humiliations, hastened to him^one of his most 
 honest and devoted friends, one on whom the 
 Emperor might have reckoned in need and in 
 death, was kept far from him by destiny. 
 
 This one was the friend of his youth, and 
 comrade in arms, Junot, who, issuing from a poor 
 family, had raised himself by his heroic courage 
 
190 JUNOT. 
 
 and merits to the rank of a Due d'Abrantes. 
 He alone remained behind when the trumpets of 
 war summoned all Napoleon's generals, with 
 their ill-omened clang, to Paris. But he remained 
 away, not because he wished it, but because his 
 destiny decreed it. 
 
 Junot, the hero of so many battles, the chevalier 
 sans peur et sans reproche, the former Governor 
 of Madrid, the present Governor of Istria and 
 Illyria, was afflicted by the worst and most awful 
 of diseases, — his brain was sick ! The scars that 
 covered his head and brow, and afforded such 
 noble testimony of his bravery, at the same time, 
 revealed the source of his sufferings ; his head, 
 so frequently assailed by sabre strokes, might be 
 externally cured, but the wounds had left their 
 mental mark behind. 
 
 The hero of so many actions had changed into 
 a poor lunatic. And yet this lunatic was still 
 the omnipotent and unchecked ruler of Istria and 
 Illyria. Napoleon, on appointing him for the second 
 time Governor of these provinces, had invested 
 him with truly regal authority. As he knew the 
 noble temper, fidelity, and devotion of his brother- 
 in-arms, he endowed him with the attributes of 
 
A HOYAL MANIAC. 191 
 
 a despotic sovereign, and allowed him to govern 
 in his stead. Hence, no one had the power to 
 deprive the madman of his authority, or wrest the 
 sceptre from his grasp. Napoleon had placed it 
 in his hand, ! and he alone could demand its return. 
 Even the Viceroy of Italy, to whom the estates 
 of Istria applied for help in their terror and de- 
 spair, even Eugene was unable to assist them; he 
 could only say to them, " Send a courier to the 
 Emperor, and await his reply.' ' 
 
 But at that day it was not such an easy 
 matter to send couriers a distance of a thousand 
 miles : at that day there were no railways, no tele- 
 graphs, and the power of electricity and magnetism 
 had not vet been rendered slaves of the human 
 will. The Illyrians at once sent off a courier to 
 the Emperor, to demand an alleviation of their 
 sufferings ; but the Russian proverb, (i The sky is 
 
 ugh and the Emperor far away," was applicable 
 to them. Weeks must elapse ere the courier would 
 return with the Emperor's answer, and until then 
 there was no help, and they had no other orders 
 to obey but those of the Due d'Abrantes, the 
 
 poor maniac. 
 
 No power, no institution, had the right to 
 
192 MADEMOISELLE PERMONT, 
 
 place itself in his stead, or to invest itself for a 
 moment with his omnipotence, without insulting 
 the authority with which a Napoleon had invested 
 the governor of his own choosing. 
 
 Napoleon, whose crown was already beginning 
 to tremble on his head, and who was already so 
 near his downfal, still possessed such a gigantic 
 might, that its reflection sufficed to cover, at a 
 distance of a thousand miles from the French 
 frontier, the irresponsible actions of a man who 
 had lost his senses and the mastery of his judg- 
 ment and will. 
 
 How handsome, how amiable, and chivalrous 
 had Junot been in his earlier days ; how gloriously 
 had he enchanted the pretty women in the salons 
 and the soldiers on the battle-field ! In all chi- 
 valrous arts he had been the master, everywhere 
 and ever the undoubted victor and hero. As such 
 he had won the heart of Mademoiselle de Per- 
 mont : and, in spite of her mother's horror, the 
 daughter of the haughty Baroness of the Faubourg 
 <- St Germain had willingly resolved on becoming 
 
 the wife of the soldier of the Republic, the 
 brother-in-arms of Napoleon. Although Junot 
 possessed no other fortune but his pay, no other 
 
 
duchess d'abrantes. 193 
 
 nobility than his sword and his renown, these 
 sufficed to win the heart of the daughter of 
 a stern legitimist mother, however proud that 
 daughter might be of calling herself the last 
 descendant of the Comneni. 
 
 Napoleon, who was very fond of seeing his 
 generals and young nobility ally themselves 
 with the legitimate aristocracy of France, amply 
 rewarded the daughter of the Faubourg St 
 Germain for the sacrifice she made to his brother- 
 in-arms by giving up her armorial bearings and 
 glorious name, to become the wife of a general 
 without ancestry or fortune. He made his friend 
 a Duke, and the Duchess d'Abrantes had no 
 longer to be ashamed of her title : the descendant 
 of the Comneni could be satisfied with the homage 
 rendered her as the wife of the Governor of 
 Lisbon, and with the laurels that adorned her 
 husband's brow — to which he added a fresh spray, 
 but also fresh wounds, on every battle-field. 
 
 The consequences of these wounds covered 
 
 the hero's laurels with a dark mourning veil, and 
 
 annihilated the domestic happiness of the Duchess. 
 
 She perceived sooner than others the sorrowful 
 
 condition of her husband, but kept it a secret from 
 vol. i. 13 
 
194 A MAD GOVERNOR. 
 
 everybody. She refused, however, to accompany 
 the Due d'Abrantes to his Illyrian government, 
 and remained behind in Paris, still hoping that a 
 change of climate and circumstances might re- 
 store her husband's health. 
 
 But Junot's mind was and remained diseased. 
 The attacks of insanity and frenzy, which had 
 formerly been isolated and rare, now became more 
 frequent, and could no longer be kept secret. 
 All Illyria knew that their governor was a 
 maniac, and yet no one dared to oppose his will or 
 refuse obedience to his orders, but humbly 
 awaited the return of the courier who had been 
 sent to the Emperor in Paris. 
 
 Ci But heaven is high and the Emperor afar ! ' 
 and much that was wrong could and did occur ere 
 the courier returned to Trieste, where Junot re- 
 sided. The sufferings of the poor duke daily 
 increased, his outbreaks became more frequent 
 and violent, and were produced by the slightest 
 irritation. 
 
 On one occasion, a nightingale that sang in 
 the bushes under his window disturbed him in 
 his sleep ; the next morning Junot called out all 
 the troops, and two battalions of Croats were 
 
ROYAL FANCIES. 195 
 
 told off to begin a campaign against the poor 
 nisrhtinsrale which, had dared to disturb the slum- 
 bers of the duke. 
 
 Another time Junot fancied he had discovered 
 a great conspiracy formed by all the sheep in 
 Illyria, and he directed the entire attention of 
 the police, and all the severity of the law, against 
 the harmless animals. 
 
 Then, again, he formed a sudden and ro- 
 mantic passion for a young Greek girl who was a 
 member of his household. As the maiden sought 
 to oppose the pride of her virtue to his solicita- 
 tions, Junot became desperate, and resolved to fire 
 his palace, and destroy his heart and his love in 
 the flames. Fortunately, his purpose was dis- 
 covered betimes, and the fire he had lighted was 
 extinguished. 
 
 Next he was affected by a passionate dislike of 
 all the noise and splendour that surrounded him, 
 and he longed to retire from the bustle of festivi- 
 ties, and the brilliancy of his position, to the silent 
 and unpretending existence of a poor peasant. 
 
 He continued to desire a life in a cabin, and 
 
 as there was no one who possessed the right to 
 
 divest him of his exalted dignity and gratify his 
 
 13 * 
 
196 THE ICEPIT. 
 
 wishes, he resolved, of his own authority, to 
 throw off the trammels that so oppressed his poor 
 sick heart, and withdraw from the annoyances 
 which his position entailed on him. 
 
 Under the pretext of making a tour of in- 
 spection through the provinces, he quitted Trieste, 
 in order to lead for a few weeks a fresh existence, 
 which appeared for- a moment to soothe his ex- 
 citement. Almost incognito he arrived at the 
 little town of Goritzia, and inquired at the inn 
 where he lodged for the most modest and insig- 
 nificant house, dedicated to the harmless and 
 innocent revelry of honest workmen. He was 
 told that the house known as the " Icepit " was of 
 that nature, where the labourers were wont to 
 refresh themselves, after the fatigues of the day, 
 over a social pitcher of the lightest beer or wine. 
 
 The Governor of Illyria took up his abode at 
 the li Icepit." He rarely left it, either by day 
 or night, and with the most harmless merriment 
 he took part there, like the great Haroun al 
 Raschid, in the innocent amusements of happy 
 and contented poverty. Here this poor heart, once 
 so great and benevolent, found its last consolation, 
 its last joy ; for here the duke found a friend ! 
 
AN AMUSING IDIOT. 197 
 
 This last friend of the Due cPAbrantes, this 
 Pylades of the poor mad Orestes, was a lunatic ! a 
 poor idiot of good family, and so good-tempered 
 and harmless that he was allowed to go about un- 
 watched, and people only laughed at his follies, 
 which inflicted injury on none. But in spite of 
 his good humour he possessed a biting wit and 
 clever buffoonery, which spared no rank or 
 station. 
 
 The half-droll, half-sarcastic " Lazzi " of this 
 Istrian Diogenes were soon alone able to dis- 
 tract the gloomy sorrow of the wandering hero ; 
 and it afforded him unending pleasure to hear 
 the grandeur and brilliancy of society which he 
 had gained so dearly, and yet enjoyed so slightly, 
 turned into ridicule. The idiot possessed a pe- 
 culiar talent for imitating, in the most burlesque 
 fashion, the. pomp of the Governor, and the 
 French elegance of his officials, and when he did 
 this, the delight of his poor princely friend knew 
 no bounds. 
 
 After a scene of this description the Due 
 d'Abrantes once threw himself into the arms of 
 his friend, and invested him with the noble 
 insignia of the Legion of Honour, by placing on 
 
198 STRANGE PAIR. 
 
 his neck the Grand Cross of this order, which he 
 himself wore. 
 
 The Emperor had given Junot full powers to 
 grant this order in the provinces of Illyria and 
 Istria; and hence no one was justified to deprive 
 the lunatic Diogenes of the honours the governor 
 himself had bestowed on him. For weeks, there- 
 fore, the mad fool would be seen walking about 
 the streets of Goritzia, pluming himself like a 
 peacock, on the Grand Cross of Napoleon's noble 
 and honourable order ; and at the same time 
 making the most sarcastic and biting jokes about 
 his own decoration. The Due d'Abrantes fre- 
 quently accompanied him on his wanderings ; at 
 one moment laughing loudly at the jokes of the 
 lunatic, at another listening to them with breath- 
 less attention, as if they were the oracular sayings 
 of a wise seer. Thus the strange pair walked 
 through the streets, or sat down arm in arm upon 
 a stone by the road-side, making strange remarks 
 about the passers-by, or philosophizing about the 
 vanity of reason and grandeur, the littleness and 
 wickedness of the world, and thus realized the 
 heart-rending and affecting scenes between Lear 
 and his fool, which Shakspeare wrote for us. 
 
DUKE OF 0TRANT0. 199 
 
 After weeks of expectation, Napoleoir's mes- 
 sage at length arrived, which removed poor suf- 
 fering Junot from his post and dignities, and 
 appointed the Duke of Otranto in his stead. 
 
 The Due d'Abrantes left Illyria and returned 
 to France, where, after a long and painful strug- 
 gle, he found in the little town of Maitbart a sad 
 and solitary end to a life full of glory, heroic 
 courage, and unstained honour. 
 
200 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 LOUIS NAPOLEON AS A SELLER OF VIOLETS. 
 
 The sun, which, had so long dazzled the eyes 
 of Europe, was about to set — Napoleon's star 
 began to be obscured by clouds. Fortune had 
 bestowed on him everything which can be given 
 to mortal man. She had laid nearly all Europe's 
 crowns at his feet, she had made him the lord 
 and master of numerous monarchies and nations. 
 At Erfurt as well as at Dresden the Emperor's 
 antechamber was the meeting-place of most of 
 the legitimate or illegitimate princes of Europe. 
 England alone had never covered her hostile face 
 
CONGRESS OF ERFURT. 201 
 
 with the mask of friendship. England alone had 
 never bowed before a dreaded and hated neigh- 
 bour. Napoleon, the lord of continental Europe, 
 whom emperors and kings called " brother/' and 
 in doing so felt flattered, — Napoleon might now 
 begin to look back upon his past. He had risen 
 so high that he needed no longer to deny 'the 
 lowly sphere whence he sprung. 
 
 During the time the Congress of Erfurt was 
 assembled, all the emperors and kings present 
 were one day assembled round Napoleon's table. 
 He sat between the Russian Czar, his enthusiastic 
 friend, and the Emperor of Austria, his father- 
 in-law, whilst opposite to him were the King of 
 Prussia, his ally, from whom he had taken West- 
 phalia and the Rhenish provinces, and the Kings 
 of Bavaria and Wurtemberg, who had received 
 their regal crowns from Napoleon's hand, and 
 who had given their children in marriage to the 
 Emperor's family ; the former having married his 
 daughter to Eugene Beauharnois, and the latter 
 being father-in-law of Jerome Bonaparte. 
 
 There were also present the King of Saxony, 
 and the Grand- duke of Baden (who had married 
 Josephine's niece, Stephanie de Beauharnois). 
 
202 HUMBLE BEGINNING. 
 
 They all were legitimate princes, whose pedigrees 
 might show proud dynasties, and in the midst of 
 them sat the son of a Corsican lawyer, who was 
 now Emperor of the French, and to whom they 
 all looked with respect and admiration. 
 
 The conversation turned on Napoleon's mar- 
 vellously good memory, and the Emperor was 
 willing to explain to his guests how he had ac- 
 quired it. 
 
 " While still a lieutenant," he began ; but im- 
 mediately the looks of his audience were fixed on 
 their plates, shame and confusion seemed to have 
 seized the guests, and on the brow of the Austrian 
 Emperor appeared a cloud of anger at this allusion 
 to the low origin of his son-in-law. 
 
 Napoleon noticed it and threw an angry 
 glance round the table. Then, after a slight 
 pause, he took up his narrative again and began 
 once more, and with marked accentuation, " When 
 I had the honour to be a lieutenant — " 
 
 Alexander of Russia alone remained unem- 
 barrassed, he placed his hand on Napoleon's 
 shoulder, and smilingly nodded. He was the 
 only one who listened with pleasure to the story 
 
KIXG OF ROME. 20a 
 
 about the time when Bonaparte ei had the honour 
 of being a lieutenant." 
 
 Napoleon had risen so high that hardly any- 
 thing was left him to desire, for Fortune had 
 granted him even what he had wished most ar- 
 dently for, an heir. On the 20th of May, 1811, 
 his wife, Marie Louise, had given birth to a son, 
 and the little King of Home was welcomed by 
 the whole nation as the heir of his srreat father. 
 Napoleon's dynasty seemed consolidated. Nu- 
 merous festivities took place in celebration of the 
 happy event. 
 
 There were balls and banquets given by the 
 Queen of Naples, in the house of the Grand- 
 duchess of Guastalla, and by all the Dukes of the 
 empire, as well as the Queen of Holland. 
 
 Hortense felt ill and suffering ; a nervous 
 headache had tormented her for some time, and 
 betrayed the secret of her sufferings, which she 
 tried to conceal within her breast. 
 
 The roses on her cheek had faded away, her 
 eyes were less bright than formerly. At Mal- 
 maison her mother was bewailing her unhappy 
 fate, and after Hortense had endeavoured to dry 
 
204 CARNIVAL. 
 
 her tears and soothe the pang of her heart, she was 
 compelled to hasten to the Tuileries, to display a 
 smiling face to her who was {: her Empress," and 
 the happy rival of her mother. 
 
 But Hortense had made up her mind to take 
 life as it was ; she meant io play her part in a 
 manner worthy of her and her mother. Accord- 
 ingly she endeavoured to be a true and faithful 
 friend to the Empress, and to meet the wishes of 
 her stepfather, who desired her to see society in 
 her house, and to take part in the festivities of the 
 court. 
 
 " The Emperor wishes it, the Emperor said 
 so," — this was sufficient for all who surrounded 
 him, and for Hortense not the less than the rest. 
 Her mother lived in retirement because the Em- 
 peror willed it, Hortense had remained at court 
 because it was his wish that she should do so, and 
 she now saw society because the Emperor de- 
 manded it. 
 
 But the parties of the Carnival of 1818 were 
 of a sad and gloomy character. How many crip- 
 ples and invalids had not the last year made ! 
 There was a terrible scarcity of dancing young 
 men at the balls ; continual wars had made them 
 
OMINOUS YEAR. 205 
 
 old before their time, and most of them were lame 
 and crippled. 
 
 But the conqueror's ambition was not yet 
 satiated. There were still a few crowns he had 
 not yet weighed in his hand. Russia was one of 
 them, and he had as yet been unable to break a 
 gem out of her diadem^ Napoleon, therefore, 
 marched to Russia, to seek the crown of the czars 
 in the Kremlin. 
 
 But his star grew pale amidst the flames of 
 Moscow, the sun of his glory and renown was un- 
 able to melt the snow and ice that destroyed his 
 splendid army on the banks of the Beresina and 
 at Wilna. Fortune had deserted the conqueror ; 
 and, stripped of his glory and his legions, Napo- 
 leon returned from Russia. 
 
 The year 1813 began in an ominous manner. 
 Superstitious and timid people considered the 
 very number 13 indicative of misfortune, and 
 beheld with dismay that the year opened with a 
 Friday. New-year's day was nevertheless wel- 
 comed with the customary merry-making. People 
 tried to drown the warning voice of presenti- 
 ment in the sounds of joyous music. The Empe- 
 ror ordered that balls should be given at court, 
 
206 NEW AMUSEMENTS. 
 
 and by the members of trie Imperial family. He 
 wished to prove to the Parisians that his confi- 
 dence in the future was undiminished. Napoleon 
 did not wish the campaign of 1812 to be regarded 
 as a great national misfortune. Those who had 
 been robbed of their fathers or brothers in the 
 ice-fields of Russia, without even the satisfaction 
 of having lost them through death in battle, were 
 obliged to conceal their tears, and those whose 
 relations had returned crippled and broken in 
 health were expected to celebrate this return with 
 rejoicing and festivities. 
 
 The Emperor had ordered that balls should 
 be given, and Hortense obeyed. She arranged 
 quadrilles "en costume" for which she herself 
 designed the dresses and composed the music, and 
 since able-bodied young men were so scarce that 
 dancing could not be enjoyed to any considerable 
 extent, she introduced new pastimes and amuse- 
 ments. Charades were acted and tableaux vivants 
 represented. 
 
 But whilst Hortense was thus the soul of 
 court festivity, whilst seemingly she heartily en- 
 joyed the fleeting hour, her mind was troubled by 
 gloomy presentiments of the misfortune which she 
 
HORTENSE AT A BALL. 207 
 
 well knew was not to be averted. She meant 
 to prepare for the days of trial in regard to her- 
 self, and wished to impress her two beloved sons 
 with a deep sense of the instability and vanity of 
 earthly grandeur, and with a manly contempt of 
 danger. She had no compassion for the tender 
 age of the boys of eight and six, because she 
 loved them too well to wish to bring them up 
 effeminately. She possessed the sterling affection 
 of an energetic mother, who does not indulge her 
 child, but subjects it to a severe course of training, 
 that it may be able to sustain the struggle with 
 adversity and resist the arrows of fate. Hortense, 
 in the midst of her splendour, never missed an 
 opportunity of speaking to her sons of days of 
 misfortune which they ought to face without 
 shrinking. 
 
 One day the Duchess of Bassano gave a ball 
 in honour of the Queen, and Hortense, although 
 sad and suffering, left her conssin, and allow- 
 ed herself to be dressed. Her fair hair, 
 which when unfastened reached down to her 
 feet, was arranged in the ancient Greek fashion 
 and ornamented with a garland of flowers. These 
 were no natural ones, however, but made of 
 
208 COURT BALL. 
 
 diamonds. She wore a dress of rose-coloured 
 crape, embroidered with a garland of large silver 
 hortensias. The skirt of her dress and her train 
 were garnished with violets and roses, made of 
 precious stones, and on her bosom glistened a 
 bouquet of diamonds and hortensias. Necklace 
 and bracelets were of the same costly material, and 
 represented similar flowers. 
 
 In this splendid dress (it was a present, sent 
 to her, on the previous day, by her mother) she 
 entered the drawing-room, followed by the richly- 
 attired ladies and gentlemen of her Court, who 
 were to follow her to the ball. 
 
 It was a fine sight offered by this room full of 
 ladies glittering with diamonds, and of officers in 
 rich uniforms. The sons of Hortense, who at 
 this moment entered the salon to take leave of 
 their "bonne petite maman," stopped short, as if 
 dazzled for the moment by so much splendour, 
 and then approached their mother almost timidly. 
 She seemed to appear before them like one of 
 the genii in the Arabian Nights. The Queen 
 guessed the thoughts of her boys, whose ingenu- 
 ous faces resembled an open book, wherein every 
 
SENSE OF HOB/TENSE. 209 
 
 one of their feelings might be read. She stretched 
 out a hand to each of the children, and proceeded 
 to a chair, on which she sat down. The younger, 
 Louis Napoleon, who was then six years of age, 
 she took on her lap, whilst Napoleon Louis, two 
 years older than his brother, remained standing at 
 his mother's side, resting his curly head on her 
 shoulder, and looking up with a thoughtful eye 
 to her pale cheek. " Well, Napoleon," said Hor- 
 tense, as she laid her white, elegant hand on the 
 head of her eldest son, " do you not think I am 
 very beautifully dressed to-day ? Should you 
 love me less'if I were poor, if I wore no diamonds, 
 but only a simple black dress ? should you like me 
 less then ? " 
 
 " No, mamma," replied the boy, almost colour- 
 ing with anger ; and little Louis Napoleon, who 
 was sitting on his mother's lap, repeated with his 
 tender voice the words of his brother, " No, 
 mamma ! " 
 
 The Queen smiled, and said : 
 
 u Diamonds and fine dresses do not make 
 people happy. We three should love each other 
 quite as well if we possessed none, but were poor. 
 
 VOL.' I. 14 U 
 
210 A SELLER OF VIOLETS. 
 
 But tell me, Napoleon, what should you do, if 
 you had nothing, and were left alone in the world ? 
 what should you do to maintain yourself? " 
 
 " I should become a soldier,'' replied Na- 
 poleon with glistening eyes, " and fight so 
 valiantly that they should be obliged to promote 
 me!" 
 
 " And you, Louis ? "What should you do to 
 earn your bread ? " 
 
 The little boy had attentively listened to what 
 his brother said, and seemed still to be thinking 
 about it. It appeared he considered the knap- 
 sack and the musket too heavy for him. He 
 thought he was too young to be a soldier. 
 
 u I," he said after a pause, — ee I should sell 
 bouquets of violets, like the poor little boy that 
 stands at the gate of the Tuileries, and to whom 
 you always give something when passing." 
 
 The ladies and gentlemen, who had listened 
 to the children's talk, burst out laughing at little 
 Louis's answer. 
 
 u Do not laugh, ladies," the Queen said, with a 
 serious face, " it was no jest. I intended to give 
 my sons a lesson, as I saw they were dazzled by 
 the splendour of our diamonds. It is generally 
 
ADVERSITY. 211 
 
 the misfortune of princes to imagine that they 
 are made of a different material from other men, 
 and therefore have no obligations towards them. 
 They rarely know anything about human suffer- 
 ings and want, and think it almost impossible 
 that these should ever assail them. As soon, 
 therefore, as adversity befalls them, they are so 
 surprised and disconcerted that they cannot find 
 the strength to resist, but are crushed. From 
 such a fate I will preserve my sons !" 
 
 Hortense kissed the two boys, and went with 
 her suite to the Tuileries. The two little princes 
 continued to discuss for a long time whether it 
 would be easier to earn one's bread by becoming 
 a soldier or by selling violets at the gate of the 
 Tuileries. 
 
 14 * 
 

 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE DAYS OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 The banquets and balls amongst which the 
 Parisians tried to forget approaching danger 
 were soon to come to a close. The thunder of 
 the cannon that roared on the battle-fields of 
 Hanau and Leipzig had drowned the sounds of 
 the ball music in the Tuileries, and the saloon of 
 Queen Hortense, where people had been accus- 
 tomed to sing and to play, now saw the hands of 
 the ladies occupied with making lint for the 
 wounded, who daily poured from the army into 
 the hospitals of Paris. 
 
THE CRISIS IN FRANCE. 213 
 
 Austria's and Russia's declaration of war had 
 startled France out of her sweet dream of security, 
 and battles lost had announced to her the sinking 
 of the star which so long had shone over the 
 Emperor's armies. Everybody felt the proximity 
 of a crisis, everybody was preparing to fill the 
 place which honour or duty should assign him in 
 the hour when the storm, which hung in threaten- 
 ing clouds over Prance, should burst. It was at 
 this time that Louis Xapoleon returned from 
 Gr'atz. He had heard the thunder-peals of 
 Leipzig, and hastened to the defence of his 
 brother. Hortense heard of his return with the 
 feelings of a patriot, rather than those of a wife. 
 
 " I rejoice," she said, u that my husband has 
 come back. His return at the moment when all 
 Europe rises against our country shows that he 
 is a good Frenchman. He is a man of honour, 
 and if we have been unable to sympathize with 
 each other, it was because we both possessed 
 faults that could not be reconciled. 
 
 " I," she added with a melancholy smile, after 
 a pause, * I was too proud. They had spoilt me. 
 I thought too much of myself, and that is a poor 
 way to win a suspicious and suffering heart. He 
 
214 MARIA LOUISA. 
 
 shows himself worthy of his character as a king 
 by returning to join with all Frenchmen in the 
 defence of his country. In this way alone we can 
 show our gratitude for what the nation have done 
 for our family." 
 
 In the first days of January, 1814, all Paris 
 was seized by a panic. The rumour spread that 
 the enemy had crossed the frontiers of France, 
 and that the Russians, Austrians, and Prussians 
 were marching on the capital. For the first time 
 after many a year of triumph, France trembled 
 for her army, and believed in the possibility of a 
 defeat. 
 
 In the Tuileries there reigned a gloomy appre- 
 hension. When in former days the Emperor had 
 departed for the army, they had always asked: 
 " When shall we hear of the first victory ? ,: On 
 the present occasion they beheld with dismay the 
 pale, careworn countenance of Napoleon. 
 
 The Emperor left Paris on the 24th of January, 
 to take the command of the army. The Empress 
 Maria Louisa was nominated Regent, and had a 
 council at her side, that was composed of the Em- 
 peror's brothers and ministers. The Empress 
 bid her husband adieu amidst tears, and Hortense r 
 
THE COSSACKS IN FRANCE. 215 
 
 ■who was present at the farewell meeting, was 
 obliged to stay with her for a long time in order 
 to console her. 
 
 Hortense was far from really feeling the con- 
 fidence she displayed to the Empress and her 
 own court. She never had been able to believe 
 in the stability of Napoleon's triumph and great- 
 ness/ she had always been secretly preparing for 
 the approaching danger, and therefore felt cour- 
 ageous now that the hour of adversity had 
 actually arrived. She was ready to stand up in 
 defence of her children, and showed composure 
 and equanimity, whilst all the imperial family 
 trembled and despaired, and whilst the capital 
 was terrified by the message, (e The Cossacks 
 are coming !" 
 
 The Grand-duke Constantine was said to have 
 promised his troops that they should warm them- 
 selves with the ashes of Paris, and the Emperor 
 Alexander to have taken an oath that he would 
 not rest until he had slept in the Tuileries. 
 
 In the capital people talked about nothing but 
 pillage, murder, and outrage. They trembled 
 not only for their lives but for their property also, 
 and hastened to conceal money, jewellery, and 
 
216 PARISIAN JOKES. 
 
 plate, to prevent them falling into the hands of 
 the rapacious Cossack hordes. 
 
 Such hiding-places were constructed in the 
 cellars or in the walls. The Duchess of Bassano 
 ordered all her valuable moveables to be brought 
 into a small and remote cabinet, the door to 
 which she had bricked up and covered with 
 paper. But unfortunately, amongst other things, 
 several clocks were placed there, which they had 
 forgotten to stop, and their striking the hours 
 revealed for a whole week the place of conceal- 
 ment, which had been prepared with so much 
 secrecy. 
 
 On Feb. 9, Macon was captured, and the 
 Parisians, who will laugh and make jokes even 
 on the day of judgment, declared that Macon was 
 unable to hold out, because it was attacked by 
 pieces de vingt-quatre, and could only oppose to 
 them pieces de vingt mis. Then it was added : 
 
 <e The sovereigns will make their entry by the 
 Barrier des Trone, the Emperor will depart by 
 that of Enfer, the Empress by that of des Vertus, 
 the Senators by the Barrier des Bons-hommes, the 
 Councillors of State by Bicetre, and the legislative 
 corps and the national guard by Pantin." 
 
MADAME DU CAYLA. 217 
 
 The cry, "The Cossacks are coining !" how- 
 ever, was not the only one that startled the Paris- 
 ians. There was another shout, which had not 
 been heard for a long time, and whose sounds 
 were unknown to Imperial France. That shout 
 was " The Count of Lille ! " or in the mouth of 
 the Royalists, "King Louis the Eighteenth." 
 
 The legitimists no longer mentioned that 
 name in a whisper, but pronounced it with loud 
 enthusiasm. Even those Royalists who had paid 
 homage to the Emperor, and accepted kindnesses 
 and distinctions from him, began to remove their 
 masks and to show their natural countenance. 
 
 Madame du Cayla was one of the latter de- 
 scription : although one of the most enthusiastic 
 Royalists, she had frequently mixed with the 
 society of the Imperial court. This lady now 
 went to Hartwell, to convey to the Comte de Lille 
 the assurance of the Parisian Royalists that they 
 would remain faithful to him, and were longing 
 to see him return to his country. They were 
 preparing, she said, to accelerate the Count's 
 restitution to the throne of his fathers. 
 
 Madame du Cayla returned with full powers 
 to organize the conspiracy of the Royalists, and to 
 
218 TALLEYRAND. 
 
 sanction, in the name of the king, all their steps. 
 Talleyrand, Napoleon's minister, that talented 
 weathercock of politics, had already begun to ex- 
 perience a change of opinion. When the Countess 
 du Cayla entered the cabinet of the premier, to 
 whom she had to deliver some secret messages 
 from Louis XVIII., she said with a loud voice, 
 
 " I have just come from Hartwell, I have seen 
 the king, and he sends me to say — " 
 
 But Talleyrand interrupted her, by calling out 
 in an angry voice, 
 
 (i Are you mad, madam ? You dare to confess 
 such a crime ? " 
 
 A moment afterwards he added in a whisper : 
 
 " So you have seen him 1 "Well, you know I 
 am his most humble and devoted servant." 
 
 The Royalists now began to hold their con- 
 ferences and meetings pretty openly. The min- 
 ister of police, Fouche, the Duke of Otranto, 
 whose eyes and ears were everywhere, who re- 
 ceived information of all that passed in Paris, — 
 Fouche was not ignorant of these plots of the 
 Royalists, but he did not try to prevent them. 
 On the contrary, he advised the legitimists to be 
 cautious in their proceedings, in order to show 
 
QUEEN HORTENSE. 219 
 
 how much interest he himself took in the fate of 
 the unfortunate royal family. 
 
 Queen Hortense, amidst all these dangers and 
 disturbances, preserved her presence of mind and 
 her usual courage. Far from concealing her dia- 
 monds, money, and papers, as others had done, 
 she continued to live in the same style as before. 
 She wished to show the Parisians what unshaken 
 confidence the Imperial family felt, and how firm 
 was their belief in victory. Accordingly, she 
 lived in her usual regal manner, although for a 
 long time nothing had been paid her out of the 
 exhausted treasury. But she little cared for 
 money ; the high-minded, unselfish heart of the 
 Queen was occupied by other thoughts than those 
 about hiding her gold, or securing her pecuniary 
 interests. 
 
 She wished to inspire the Empress Maria 
 Louisa, whom the Emperor had nominated Re- 
 gent of France, with the courage she herself pos- 
 sessed. She besought her that in these days of 
 danger and anxiety she would show herself 
 worthy of the high confidence the Emperor had 
 reposed in her, by adopting bold and energetic 
 measures. When, on the 28th of March, the ru- 
 
220 THE EMPRESS. 
 
 mour spread that the allies were no further than 
 five leagues distant from Paris, when thousands 
 of fugitives left the capital, Hortense hastened 
 to the Tuileries to advise the Empress not to 
 leave Paris, but courageously to remain at the 
 post where her husband had placed her. In the 
 name of Napoleon and of the little king of Rome 
 she implored Maria Louisa not to heed the reso- 
 lution of the Council of Regency, who had de- 
 clared " that Paris was incapable of defence, and 
 that therefore the Empress, her son, and the Coun- 
 cil of Regency should leave the capital." 
 
 However, Maria Louisa would not listen to 
 Hortense's high-minded advice ; the Queen was 
 unable to inspire her young sister-in-law with the 
 energy by which she herself was animated. 
 
 " My sister," she said, " you cannot be ignor- 
 ant of the consequences of your leaving Paris. 
 No defence of the capital will be attempted, and it 
 may be your fault if you lose your crown. But I 
 see you are ready to resign yourself to such a loss 
 very easily." 
 
 " You are right," Maria Louisa answered; " I 
 ought to act differently, but it is too late now. 
 
GENERAL LAVALETTE. 221 
 
 The Council of Eegency have decided, and what 
 can I do ? " 
 
 Hortense, very much grieved, returned to her 
 hotel, where Lavalette, the wife of the Marshal 
 Ney, and the ladies of her court had been anx- 
 iously awaiting her. 
 
 te All is lost ! " she said, with so sad an expres- 
 sion on her face, as had never been remarked on 
 it before. " Yes, all is lost ! The Empress is 
 bent upon leaving Paris. She seems to give up, 
 without much regret, the Emperor and France. 
 She is about to start." 
 
 w If such be the case," General Lavalette re- 
 plied, ({ then indeed all is lost ! And yet her 
 courage and energy might this day save the Em- 
 peror, who is hastening towards Paris. So they 
 have deliberated until they have chosen the very 
 worst line of conduct. Well, it cannot be helped ! 
 But what will your Majesty do?" 
 
 " I remain in Paris," replied the Queen. 
 et Since I am^allowed to be mistress of my actions, 
 I shall stay with the Parisians, and share their 
 good or evil fortune. That is better, at all events, 
 than being made a prisoner on the high road." 
 
COURAGE OF HORTENSE. 
 
 As soon as the Queen had formed this resolu- 
 tion, she displayed the greatest calmness and 
 composure. With unflinching courage she waited 
 to see what the future would bring. She sent a 
 messenger to Malmaison, to her poor mother, 
 who had been forgotten by almost every one, im- 
 ploring her to retreat to Navarre, and as it was 
 already late at night she retired to her bed- 
 room. 
 
 In the middle of the night she was awakened 
 in a melancholy manner. Her husband, who 
 since his return to France had never come near 
 her, desired to exercise in the hour of danger 
 his rights as head of the family. He wrote to 
 the Queen, and demanded that she should follow, 
 with her two sons, the Empress Maria Louisa. 
 
 Hortense refused compliance with his wishes. 
 A second categorical message was the result, 
 in which Louis told her that, unless she fulfilled 
 his commands immediately, and followed, with 
 her children, the Empress, to whom his brother 
 had confided the Regency, he would make use of 
 his paternal rights, and take the two princes with- 
 out delay out of her hands. At this threat the 
 Queen started up from her bed like an irritated 
 
HER OBEDIENCE. 223 
 
 lionness. Her cheeks were feverish, her eyes 
 burning ; with a loud voice she ordered her two 
 sons to be brought to her, clasped the boys 
 passionately to her bosom, and said : 
 
 u Tell the king that I will depart this very 
 hour." 
 
224 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE ALLIES IN PARIS. 
 
 What the departure of the Empress and the 
 approach of the Cossacks had been unable to 
 bring about, maternal love had effected. The 
 ^Queen left the capital. With her children and 
 her suite (which already began to grow very thin) 
 she left Paris, and arrived, after a long and fa- 
 tiguing flight, already rendered unsafe by the fly- 
 ing cavalry of the Russians, at the castle of Na- 
 varre, where Josephine received her in her arms. 
 Although everything else was lost, although her 
 greatness had vanished, and her heart was still 
 
XAVARRE. 225 
 
 oppressed by Napoleon's misfortune, Josephine 
 possessed at least her daughter. Her most faith- 
 ful friend stood by her side, and that was no small 
 consolation in this time of sorrow and appre- 
 hension. 
 
 At Navarre Hortense learned the fall of the 
 empire, the surrender of the capital, its occupa- 
 tion by the allies, and the abdication of the Em- 
 peror. 
 
 "When the courier whom the Duke of Bassano 
 had despatched with these news arrived at Navarre 
 to tell Josephine that Napoleon had been ordered 
 to Elba, and was about to leave France for this 
 place of exile, she threw herself on Hortense's 
 breast, and said : 
 
 ci Oh, Hortense, he is unhappy, and I cannot 
 be with him ! He has been banished to Elba. Oh, 
 if it was not for his wife I should hasten to him 
 and share his exile." 
 
 Whilst Josephine wept and sighed, Hortense, 
 who had retired to her apartments, thought of 
 the consequences Napoleon's fall must have for 
 the members of the Imperial family. She fore- 
 saw all the humiliations and persecutions that 
 were to befall them, and resolved to escape them 
 
 VOL. i. 15 
 
226 EMIGRATION. 
 
 with her children. Her resolution was a sudden 
 one, and suddenly was it to be carried into execu- 
 tion. She called Mademoiselle de Cochelet her 
 reader, who was one of the few ladies who had 
 remained by her side, and addressed her as 
 follows : 
 
 " Louisa, I shall emigrate. I stand alone in 
 the world, without any one to protect me, always 
 menaced by a blow which is more terrible than 
 the loss of greatness and crowns, — I mean the 
 danger of being deprived of my children. My 
 mother can remain in France, for divorce has 
 given her back her liberty, but I bear a name 
 which henceforth will be a crime in this coun- 
 try. Remember the Bourbons are returning. 
 I have no other property but my diamonds. 
 I shall sell them and go with my children to 
 Martinique, where my mother possesses a plant- 
 ation. I have been there when a child, and still 
 remember the island with pleasure. It is doubt- 
 less a hard lot to be obliged to leave my country, 
 my mother, and my friends, but in the presence 
 of great events we must have great courage. 
 I shall educate my children carefully, and that 
 will be my consolation." 
 
A CHANGE. 227 
 
 Mademoiselle de Coclielet shed tears of emo- 
 tion as she bowed to the Queen, and then asked 
 permission to accompany her. She implored it so 
 earnestly that Hortense at last granted her wish. 
 They agreed that Louisa should proceed to Paris, 
 to make, with all possible secrecy, the necessary 
 preparations for the voyage of the Queen. 
 Mademoiselle set out accordingly on the following: 
 day, accompanied by a courier. 
 
 What a terrible change had been going on at 
 Paris ! What a frightful picture the capital pre- 
 sented ! The gates were guarded by Cossacks, 
 and in the streets nothing could be seen but 
 Russian, Austrian, or Prussian uniforms, fre- 
 quently in the company of the ladies of the 
 Faubourg St Germain. These Eoyalists now 
 enjoyed their triumph, and in their ecstacy 
 treated the conquerors of France with the same 
 devoted affection as they would have bestowed 
 on the Bourbons, w T ho were to return within a 
 few days. 
 
 Hortense's former hotel was occupied by a 
 Swedish regiment of foot, and all the servants 
 had fled. The brilliant and elegant reception- 
 rooms now served to lodge the soldiery of a vic- 
 
 15 * 
 
228 ALEXANDER OF RUSSIA. 
 
 torious enemy. At the Tuileries preparations 
 were being made for the reception of the king. 
 
 Nobody dared to pronounce the name of Na- 
 poleon. Those who once had flattered him most 
 were the first to desert him ; those on whom he 
 had bestowed the greatest kindnesses were most 
 ready to condemn him, that they might, as they 
 thought, cause the benefits they had received from 
 him to be forgotten. The most enthusiastic Na- 
 poleonists suddenly turned zealous Royalists, and 
 stuck the largest white cockades on their hats, 
 the better to attract the attention of the new 
 masters. 
 
 But there was one man who still loved and 
 admired the fallen Csesar, and openly manifested 
 the esteem he felt for Napoleon. It was Alex- 
 ander, the Emperor of Russia. 
 
 He loved Napoleon so much, that even the 
 political enmity, which had been forced upon 
 him, was unable to extinguish his feelings of 
 friendship and admiration for the hero, who for 
 so many years had been the master of Europe. 
 
 Napoleon's fate had already been sealed. To 
 the generous efforts of the Czar alone he was 
 indebted for the allies having granted his wish, 
 
NESSELRODE. 229 
 
 and sriven him the island of Elba as a sovereign 
 kingdom. Alexander could do no more for 
 Napoleon, but he now turned to the Emperor's 
 family, and endeavoured to be useful to them. 
 
 The Empress Maria Louisa had no need of 
 his assistance ; she had not availed herself of the 
 permission of the allies to foUow her husband to 
 Elba, but had placed herself and her son under 
 the protection of her father, the Emperor of 
 Austria. 
 
 Alexander therefore bestowed all his sym- 
 pathy on Napoleon's first wife, and her two 
 children, the Viceroy of Italy, and the Queen 
 of Holland. His interest in the Queen was so 
 great, that he said he was resolved to visit Hor- 
 tense at Navarre (if she should refuse coming to 
 Paris), in order to hear from her own lips in what 
 manner he might be useful to her, and how she 
 should like to see her fate decided. 
 
 The Emperor's minister, Nesselrode, was 
 anxious to preserve these benevolent feelings in 
 the breast of his master, and no one was more 
 anxious to serve the Queen than he. Count 
 Nesselrode, who had for a long time been inti- 
 mately acquainted with Mademoiselle de Coche- 
 
230 PRAISE OF HORTENSE. 
 
 let, wished to give this lady proof of his sincerity, 
 and he well knew that the best way of doing so 
 would be the endeavour to assist Hortense and 
 her children. Mademoiselle de Cochelet ac- 
 quainted her friend with the Queen's intention 
 of leaving France and emigrating to Martinique. 
 The Count smiled sadly on hearing this desperate 
 resolution of a brave maternal heart, and com- 
 missioned Mademoiselle to beg the Queen to let 
 him know all her wishes and demands, in order 
 that he might communicate them to the Em- 
 peror. 
 
 The sympathy with Hortense's fate was- 
 general. In one of the conferences held by the- 
 ministers of the allies, where the fate of France, 
 and that of the Bourbons and the Napoleonists 
 was to be decided, the question was asked, What 
 should be done for the family of the Emperor ? 
 The Prince of Benevento said : 
 
 " I plead for Queen Hortense alone ; she is 
 the only one I esteem in the Imperial family." 
 
 Count Nesselrode added : 
 
 i( Who would not be proud to call her his 
 country-woman ? She is a pearl to France ! " 
 
 And Metternich too had praises for her. 
 
HER LETTER. 231 
 
 However, neither the favourable reports of 
 Mademoiselle de Cochelet, nor yet her remon- 
 strances and entreaties, could induce the Queen 
 to come to Paris. She was not to be prevailed 
 upon to leave her place of retirement. 
 
 May we be allowed to cite one of the letters 
 which Hortense wrote to Mademoiselle de Coche- 
 let on this subject ? It will serve to illustrate the 
 noble and truly woman-like feelings of the Queen. 
 
 This letter runs as follows : 
 
 "My dear Louise, 
 
 "All my friends ask me the same question as 
 yourself. "WTiat do you wish ? what do you want ? 
 and to every one of them I reply as I do to you, ( I 
 want nothing.' For what should I wish ? Is my 
 fate not already settled ? And, besides, a woman 
 who has the courage to take a great resolution, 
 who boldly faces the idea of a voyage to India or 
 America, what need has she to ask anything from 
 any one ? Pray do not take any steps I should 
 be obliged to disown. I know you love me, and 
 that might carry you away, but if you look at it 
 closely I am not so very much to be pitied after 
 all. I suffered much in the midst of that splen- 
 
£32 QUEEN HORTENSE. 
 
 dour I have lost, and perhaps I shall now at last 
 find that rest which is far preferable to the proud 
 bustle that once surrounded me. I do not think 
 I can remain in France, for the lively interest the 
 people take in my fate might beget suspicion. 
 This thought is depressing, I feel it. But never 
 fear, I shall not bring any one into trouble. My 
 brother will be happy enough, and my mother 
 can remain in France, and in possession of her 
 estates. I shall go abroad with my children, and 
 as the happiness of those I love will then be 
 secured, I shall very well be able to bear a mis- 
 fortune that only affects my position, not my 
 heart. I am still trembling and quite confused, 
 from what I heard of the fate of the Emperor 
 and his family. So it [is really true ? All is 
 settled already ? Do write me all about it ! I 
 hope they will at least leave me my children ; 
 if they should be taken from me, my heart would 
 fail me. I will educate them in such a manner 
 that they shall feel happy in all situations of life. 
 I will teach them to bear greatness or misfortune 
 with equal dignity, and to find true happiness in 
 beins: satisfied with themselves. That is more 
 precious than all the crowns of the world. They 
 
HER FAITHFUL FRIEND. 233 
 
 are quite well, I am thankful to say. Please to 
 thank Nesselrode for the interest he takes in me. 
 I assure you there are days which must be called 
 unhappy ones, but which yet possess a peculiar 
 charm, I mean those during which one is enabled 
 to see the true feelings of others towards oneself. 
 I enjoy the affection you show me, and it shall 
 always give me pleasure to tell you how much I 
 return it. 
 
 " HORTENSE." 
 
 Hortense remained with her mother at the 
 castle of Navarre. She was determined not to 
 issue from the obscurity of her retirement, but 
 continued to bewail the fall of the Imperial house, 
 and felt almost indifferent about her own future. 
 
 Her friends, however, thought and acted for 
 her. For Hortense had friends in her misfor- 
 tune even. Mademoiselle de Cochelet, the most 
 zealous and devoted of these friends, was rest- 
 lessly endeavouring to save some valuables out of 
 the wreck of Imperial France. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Cochelet was still in Paris. 
 The letters she wrote daily to the Queen, and 
 in which she related everything that passed in 
 
234 INTEREST IN HORTEXSE. 
 
 the capital, are a faithful and interesting picture 
 of that strange and unsettled time, and it would 
 be wrong not to quote some of them. 
 
 In one of her first letters, the lady relates a 
 conversation she had with Count Nesselrode con- 
 cerning the fate of the Queen. 
 
 " The Bourbons," she writes, " there is no 
 longer any doubt, will return. I asked Count 
 Nesselrode, from whom I have just returned, 
 e whether the Queen would be allowed to remain in 
 France. Will the new masters approve of it V 
 
 " e Surely,' he replied, f I am certain of it, for 
 we shall make it one of our conditions, and with- 
 out us they can never hope to reign. It is not 
 the Bourbons, it is we, it is Europe, who manage 
 matters in France, i" trust they will never violate 
 the treaty. You may rest assured that the Em- 
 peror Alexander will always uphold the just 
 cause.' " 
 
 " All the strangers here speak with great 
 enthusiasm of you, Madame. Monsieur de 
 Metternich, who doubtless remembers the great 
 kindness you showed his wife and children, has 
 repeatedly inquired after you. Prince Leopold 
 of Saxe Coburg feels the most devoted affection 
 
ARRANGEMENTS. 235 
 
 for you and the Empress Josephine, wishing no- 
 thing so much as to be able to serve you both. 
 Count Nesselrode is of opinion that it would be 
 well if you were to write to the Emperor Alex- 
 ander. He takes great interest in your personal 
 welfare. 
 
 " The old nobility are already very much dis- 
 satisfied. They believe themselves encanailles at 
 seeing so many new elements mixed with them." 
 
 A few days afterwards Mademoiselle de 
 Cochelet writes : 
 
 " Come to Malmaison with the Empress Jose- 
 phine ; the Czar will go and see you there, with- 
 out delay. He is impatient to make your ac- 
 quaintance, and you ought to feel a little indebted 
 to him, since he takes care of your interests as if 
 they were his own. The Duke of Vicenza, who 
 behaves so nobly in this crisis, has commissioned 
 me to tell you that the happiness of your children 
 depends on your coming to Malmaison. 
 
 l( The Emperor Napoleon has signed a treaty, 
 which settles the fate of his family. They are all 
 allowed to remain in France, and their titles are 
 left them. You have for yourself and your chil- 
 dren an annuity of 400,000 francs. 
 
£36 COUNT NESSELRODE. 
 
 " It is said that the Faubourg St Germain is 
 furious about the Imperial family being so well 
 provided for. They do not show themselves very 
 grateful for the kindnesses they have received at 
 the hands of the Emperor. 
 
 " You wish to sro and live in Switzerland ? 
 Count Nesselrode thinks it is no bad idea. 
 That country was always a good place of retire- 
 ment, but he is of opinion that you ought not to 
 give up the asylum you have found here. At all 
 events you must preserve yourself the right of 
 returning to France. 
 
 "Just fancy, Madame, Count Nesselrode wants 
 me to see his Emperor. I have not yet con- 
 sented, because I do not like to do anything 
 without your sanction; however, I confess I should 
 like to make his acquaintance. They speak so 
 much good of you ! I am quite happy to hear 
 it. 
 
 " Count Nesselrode said to me yesterday : 
 * Tell the Queen that I shall be happy to fulfil 
 all her wishes, and that I am able to do it. I 
 have sufficient power.' He would like to make 
 for your additional protection, a particular clause 
 independent from the treaty I mentioned. I do 
 
THE EMPEKOll OF RUSSIA. 237 
 
 not know what to answer, you mast advise me, 
 but I entreat you ask for something." 
 
 The Queen, however, answered this letter by 
 simply sending a letter for the Emperor Napo- 
 leon, begging Count Nesselrode to forward it to 
 its address. 
 
 i! It is strange," writes Mademoiselle de 
 Cochelet injeference to it, (e that all my efforts to 
 serve you have no other result than your begging 
 Count Nesselrode to forward to Fontainebleau a 
 letter addressed to the Emperor. At first he 
 thought I was bringing him the letter for his 
 master for which he had begged. But he knows 
 how to appreciate all that is noble and great. 
 He possesses a wonderfully delicate tact, and thinks 
 that the letter cannot well be transmitted to the 
 Emperor by him. He will send it to Fontaine- 
 bleau, addressed to the Duke of Vicenza, who is 
 to give it to Napoleon." 
 
 Another letter of Mademoiselle de Cochelet 
 runs as follows : — 
 
 " I have just seen Count Nesselrode. He 
 inquired after you. The Emperor of Russia has 
 taken up his quarters in the Elysee Bourbon. 
 The Count told me an anecdote that circulates 
 
238 MARIA LOUISA. 
 
 here, and relates to a scene which is said to have 
 taken place between the Empress Maria Louisa 
 and the kings, her brothers-in-law. They intend- 
 ed to lift her forcibly into a carriage, in order to 
 continue her flight. She resisted, and the King 
 of Westphalia is said to have become so angry as 
 to beat her a little bit. She cried out for assist- 
 ance, and General Caftarelli, who commanded the 
 escort, came to her rescue. The next day she 
 was made prisoner, and all the crown diamonds 
 she carried with her were taken from her. It 
 seems that being caught was just what she 
 wanted. 
 
 " The allies are furious against the Duke of 
 Bassano. I have taken his part, for you know 
 how much attached I am to his wife. 
 
 " The Queen of Westphalia has arrived at 
 Paris, and the Emperor Alexander, her cousin, 
 immediately went to see her. They think she 
 will return to her father. 
 
 '* The fate of your brother will assume a 
 fortunate shape, but it is not quite settled yet. 
 There are many intrigues at work regarding it, 
 Count Nesselrode tells me. As regards the 
 kingdom of Naples, no one speaks about it. 
 
THE KING OF ROME. 239 
 
 From the details Nesselrode communicates to me 
 concerning the last campaign, I can see that many 
 of our ministers and generals are very guilty, and 
 looked upon with contempt. He tells me that 
 but a week previous to the fall of Paris, the allies 
 did not think they would conquer us, and so late 
 as the 10th of March they thought peace had 
 been concluded with Prussia. 
 
 " Do not feel uneasy about the fate of the 
 Emperor at Elba. Napoleon himself has chosen 
 the island, though the allies would have preferred 
 any other place. 
 
 t€ All the couriers who have lately arrived 
 here have been stopped. Amongst the letters 
 they brought, there was one from the Empress 
 Maria Louisa to her husband. She informs him 
 that her son was well and had slept soundly ; but 
 when he awoke, he cried and said he had dreamed 
 of papa. They wanted to know what he had 
 dreamed, but neither promises nor toys could 
 make him speak. The Empress felt uneasy 
 about it. 
 
 " There is a rumour afloat that one of the 
 marshals had asked the Emperor Alexander what 
 rank his wife should occupy at the new court. 
 
240 PRINCE LEOPOLD. 
 
 He then expressed his astonishment that the army 
 had not been consulted or the question of the 
 Constitution. Alexander answered that he was 
 accustomed to give orders to the army, but not to 
 receive any from them. 
 
 te Prince Leopold lives in the same house with 
 the Countess Tascher. His thoughts are con- 
 tinually occupied with you and your mother. 
 He at least is not forgetful of the kindness you 
 both have shown him. I understand he wilt 
 speak to the Emperor of Russia and then write 
 to you. 
 
 "All your friends are of opinion that you 
 ought to think of your children, and accept the 
 lot they have shaped out here for you. Monsieur 
 de Lavalette and the Duke of Vicenza share this 
 opinion. You lose quite enough as it is, and you 
 may fairly permit your conquerors to give back to 
 you part of what they took from you, and what 
 is your lawful property. 
 
 " All your friends demand is that you should 
 come to Malmaison as soon as Napoleon has left 
 Fontainebleau. I am assured that the Emperor 
 Alexander would go to see you at Navarre if you 
 should decline coming to Malmaison. You see 
 
DUKE OF DALBERG. 241 
 
 the meeting is not to be avoided, and besides you 
 ought to bear in mind that the fate of your chil- 
 dren lies in your hand. In the treaty of Fon- 
 tainebleau they have mentioned you together with 
 your sons. This is a certain guarantee to you, 
 and shows the high esteem every one feels for 
 you. All are anxious to arrange matters so as to 
 gladden your maternal heart. 
 
 " To the Emperor of Russia, above all, you 
 are indebted for this protection. When the Duke 
 of Vicenza laid this treaty before Xapoleon to 
 receive his signature, the Emperor expressed his 
 full approbation. Thus your unconditional right 
 over your children has been acknowledged, and 
 nothing but your consent is wanted to offer you 
 assistance. You have no right to reject the gifts 
 offered to your sons. I think very few would 
 prove so difficult to persuade into an acceptance 
 of kindnesses. 
 
 w Madame Tascher, who proves herself so 
 faithful a relation to you, has been to see the 
 Duke of Dalberg, who is one of the members of 
 the provisional government. She turned the con- 
 versation to you, and I will give you the Duke's 
 answer literally. ( We consider her as not at all 
 
 VOL. i. 16 
 
24c2 PERSONAL MERITS OF HORTENSE. 
 
 belonging to the family of the Bonapartes, for 
 she has separated from her husband. She will 
 be the support of her children ; it is well they 
 have been left her. She might be very happy, 
 beloved and esteemed as she is. She can remain 
 in France and do whatever she pleases ; but it is 
 necessary she should now come to Paris.' 
 
 u As soon as the Countess had left the Duke 
 of Dalberg, she came to tell me the substance of 
 their conversation. 
 
 f< Now you know what friend and enemy think 
 about you. Those who do not rejoice in the 
 favour shown to you are wicked people. Almost 
 every one says, ' As to the Queen, what has she 
 to regret ? The good she has done I Now, at 
 last people will dare to love her and say so. Her 
 wishes are so modest, she is so gentle ! ' 
 
 "You see it seems as if they considered it 
 advantageous to you to have fallen from your 
 height. They think your personal merits will 
 now stand out to full advantage. ( Her value lies 
 in herself/ they say ; ( she will appear much 
 greater without the encumbrance of a court.' 
 
 " Yesterday I saw the gentlemen who have 
 just arrived from Fontainebleau, Messieurs de 
 
NAPOLEON AT FONTAINEBLEAU. 243 
 
 Lascour and de Lavoestine. They called on me 
 to know where they might find you. They mean 
 to join you immediately, either at Navarre or 
 Malmaison. You will find them two devoted 
 knights. 
 
 " e It does not matter what becomes of her/ 
 they say, ' we shall at all events be enabled to 
 show our attachment, and have the advantage of 
 not being accused of hypocrisy.' 
 
 " This last fortnight has been an interesting 
 one to Fontainebleau. All these young men 
 wished to accompany the Emperor, even Mes- 
 sieurs Labedoyere and Montesquieu. The Em- 
 peror, however, has declined their offer, and in 
 dismissing them said : ( They ought never to cease 
 serving France zealously.' 
 
 " Lascour and Lavoestine, as well as a great 
 many other officers, are very angry with the 
 generals who left Fontainebleau without taking 
 leave of the Emperor. 
 
 " There is a rumour of the Emperor having 
 said, when speaking of Josephine : c She was right, 
 my giving her up has brought me bad luck.' 
 
 " They say that the Duchess of Montebello is 
 
 going to leave the Empress Maria Louisa." 
 
 16 * 
 
244 DECISION OF HORTENSE. 
 
 Entreaty and flattery proved ineffectual to 
 curb the noble pride of the Queen ; her resolution 
 was not to be shaken. She was still of opinion 
 that she was playing a more dignified part in 
 staying away from Paris than if she were to resort 
 to the capital, where the ladies of the Faubourg 
 St Germain were celebrating with foreign officers 
 the victory of Royalism. 
 
 Instead of complying with the wishes of 
 Mademoiselle de Cochelet, the Queen wrote the 
 following letter : 
 
 "My dear Louisa, 
 
 " You are dissatisfied with my resolution. 
 You all accuse me of being childishly obstinate. 
 You treat me unjustly. My mother can follow 
 the advice of the Duke of Vicenza, she may go to 
 Malmaison, but I shall remain here. I have 
 good reasons for doing so. I cannot separate my 
 cause from that of my children. It is they and 
 their nearest relations who are the sufferers in 
 everything that is done. I will therefore keep 
 aloof from those who overthrow our fortune. The 
 more patiently I bear these blows of fate, which 
 have changed my whole situation (and perhaps 
 
RETIREMENT. 245 
 
 made it a more peaceful one), the less must I show 
 it. I must be affected by our misfortune, and will 
 appear to be so, without approaching those who 
 would consider me a suppliant, even were I not 
 to ask for anything. 
 
 " I believe you, that the Emperor of Russia 
 wishes me well. I have heard much that is to 
 his advantage, even from Napoleon, but if form- 
 erly I was desirous of making his acquaintance, I 
 dislike in this moment the very idea of seeing him. 
 Is he not our vanquisher ? All your friends must 
 in their heart applaud my resolution, whatever 
 they may say. Retirement and solitude alone be- 
 come me. After having been with your friends 
 sufficiently long you will return to me. Then, 
 perhaps, I shall go to a watering-place, for my 
 chest is very weak. I do not know whether it is 
 the fault of the air of Navarre, but since I have 
 been here I can hardly breathe. People here 
 think that the great events with their exciting 
 influence are the cause of it, but they are mis- 
 taken. Death has spared us all, and the loss of a 
 lofty station in life is not the greatest trial a per- 
 son can experience. What happiness have I lost 1 
 My brother, I hope, will be properly treated. 
 
246 MARIA LOUISA. 
 
 Henceforth he will no longer be exposed to dan- 
 ger. He must feel very uneasy on our score. I 
 dare not write to him, for my letters would be in- 
 tercepted. If you should have occasion to see him, 
 tell him that we are no longer in danger. Adieu ! 
 I command you once more not to do anything for 
 me. I fear your liveliness and your affection, and 
 yet I like to rely on them. My children are per- 
 fectly well. My mother opposes all my plans, 
 but nevertheless I shall go to her who is still 
 more unhappy than we are. 
 
 " HoRTENSE." 
 
 She of whom Hortense thought she was still 
 more unhappy, was Napoleon^s wife, Maria 
 Louisa, who now had left Blois, the seat of the 
 Regency, and gone to E-ambouillet, there to wait 
 until the allies should have decided her fate and 
 that of her son. In this eventful time it was cer- 
 tainly not the least surprising spectacle to see al- 
 most all the sovereigns of Europe, as well as the 
 ex-rulers of France and those who were about to 
 re-assume the government, collected within the 
 narrow circle of Paris and its v immediate neisrh- 
 bourhood. In the Tuileries there was a Bourbon, 
 
DUTY. 247 
 
 Bom/parte was at Fontainebleau, his wife and son 
 at Rambouillet, the divorced Empress stayed at 
 Navarre, while the Emperors of Russia and Aus- 
 tria, as well as the King of Prussia, had taken up 
 their quarters in Paris. Besides these there were 
 to be found a number of petty German sove- 
 reigns, and the Napoleonistic kings and dukes, 
 who all lived in the capital or its neighbour- 
 hood. 
 
 The Queen of Holland thought it her duty in 
 these days of danger and anxiety to repair to the 
 side of her whom Napoleon had wished to be 
 looked upon as the head of the family. Hortense 
 desired to be faithful to Maria Louisa, and re- 
 solved to go to Rambouillet, where the Empress 
 was then staying. 
 
 This resolution filled the friends of the Queen 
 with sorrow. As soon as Mademoiselle de 
 Cochelet had received Hortense's letter which 
 contained the information, she hastened to write 
 in reply, and to beseech the Queen to desist from 
 it. Monsieur de Marmold, Hortense's equerry, 
 undertook to be the bearer of this letter, and 
 immediately set out to meet the Queen at Louis, 
 where she meant to stop for the night. This 
 
248 
 
 A SACRIFICE. 
 
 gentleman intended to represent to his mistress 
 the consternation of all her friends, and to unite 
 his entreaties with those of Mademoiselle de 
 Cochelet to dissuade Hortense from going to 
 Rambouillet. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Cochelet wrote as follows : 
 
 " Monsieur de Marmold brings you this letter 
 if he be in time to meet you at Louis. If you go 
 to Rambouillet you will destroy all your pros- 
 pects and those of your children. This is the 
 painful conviction of all your friends. 
 
 " I was so glad ; for Prince Leopold had writ- 
 ten to you in the name of Alexander to beg you 
 to come to Malmaison. You could not but 
 have accepted this invitation, since he was will- 
 ing even to go and see you at Navarre. But 
 instead of returning with the Empress Josephine, 
 you go to join a family who have never sent for 
 you. You will experience nothing but disap- 
 pointment, and no one will thank you for the 
 sacrifice you think you owe them. You certainly 
 will repent that step, but not until it is too late. 
 I beseech you, I ask it as a favour, do not go to 
 Rambouillet. 
 
MADAME DE CAULAINCOURT. 249 
 
 " Those whom you are going to see will be 
 indifferent to your devotion, whilst the allies will 
 hear of your step with displeasure. 
 
 " The Empress is thoroughly Austrian ; they 
 take care she does not see anybody belonging 
 to her husband's family. I tell you this in the 
 name of Prince Leopold and of Madame de Cau- 
 laincourt. The latter, in spite of her old age, 
 will go to you if you refuse much longer to join 
 us. She has charged me to say that she be- 
 seeches you not to proceed to Panibouillet. As 
 your lady of honour, and in virtue of her being 
 the friend of your mother, she even commands you 
 to desist from doing it. 
 
 " When I informed Prince Leopold of your 
 intention to join Maria Louisa, tears started to his 
 eyes. * It is all very well to be proud,' he said, 
 ' but she cannot draw back now. She is already 
 under obligation to the Emperor of Russia, who 
 is the author of the treaty of the 11th of April. I 
 expect her answer, to give it to the Emperor. 
 She owes him an answer.' 
 
 " I have spent an hour with Monsieur de Lava- 
 lette this morning. This excellent man knew no- 
 thing of the efforts we are making to induce you to 
 
250 EMPEROR OF RUSSIA. 
 
 return. He said to me : i How well it would be 
 for her and her children, if Alexander should 
 wish to see her/ Oh come ! Do come ! You 
 must grant this as a favour to your friends. We 
 should all despair if you were to go to Ram- 
 bouillet. 
 
 " Prince Leopold intends writing you a few 
 lines. He really could not take more interest in 
 you or the Empress Josephine if he were a brother 
 or a son. Count Tschernitscheff came to see me. 
 To-morrow the Emperor of Austria will arrive. 
 The new French princes and the king will soon 
 be here as well. What a change ! 
 
 " You really must see the Emperor of Russia ; 
 he wishes it"; so much. I implore you on my 
 knees to show me that favour. This Alexander 
 behaves so nobly that he commands every one's 
 esteem. We forget he is our victor, and look 
 upon him as a protector only. He seems to be 
 the helper of those who have lost everything. 
 His conduct is exemplary. He only receives 
 visitors on business-matters. The fair ladies of 
 the Faubourg St Germain cannot boast that he 
 seeks them very much. This speaks highly for 
 
hortense's family. 251 
 
 him, for they say he is very fond of ladies. He 
 told Prince Leopold that he intended going to 
 Navarre. * You know I love and esteem that 
 family/ he added ; f Eugene is the very model of 
 chivalry. I admire the bearing of Josephine, 
 Queen Hortense, and Eugene. It is infinitely 
 nobler than that of many others who ought to 
 have exhibited greater devotion towards the Em- 
 peror/ Can you wonder at my liking the man 
 who shows so much nobility of character ? I hope 
 you will soon be able to judge for yourself. Eor 
 God's sake, return ! 
 
 " Louisa." 
 
 All these entreaties were in vain. Monsieur 
 de Marmold met the Queen in Louis, he gave 
 her the letter, and added all he could to induce 
 her not to go to Eambouillet. Hortense's reso- 
 lution remained unshaken. 
 
 " You are right," she answered. " Every 
 word you say is true — yet I shall, nevertheless, 
 go to the Empress. It is my duty. If diffi- 
 culties should arise out of it I shall disregard 
 them ; I shall think of nothing but my duty. 
 
252 RAMB0U1LLET. 
 
 Maria Louisa must be more unhappy than all of 
 us. She stands most in need of consolation, at 
 Rambouillet therefore I shall be most useful. 
 Nothing can alter my resolution." 
 
253 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 QUEEN HORTENSE AND THE EMPEROR ALEX- 
 
 ANDER. 
 
 Queen Hortense, in spite of the entreaties of 
 her friends, went to Rambouillet. Maria Louisa 
 received her with embarrassment, and told her 
 she expected her father, the Emperor of Austria, 
 and feared he would not like her presence. Be- 
 sides, the young Empress, although sad and 
 downcast, did not appear so much affected by the 
 Emperor's downfal as had been expected by 
 Hortense. Her husband's melancholy fate had 
 
251 HORTENSE IN PARIS. 
 
 not wounded her heart as deeply as it had that of 
 Josephine. 
 
 Hortense felt she was not wanted, she saw the 
 presence of the Austrian Emperor would be quite 
 sufficient to console the Empress of France. She 
 thought of Josephine, who had been so deeply 
 affected by Napoleon's misfortune, and as she 
 found she was an embarrassment to Maria Louisa, 
 instead of a consolation, she hastened to free her 
 of her presence. 
 
 Now at last Hortense bent her proud neck, 
 now at last she yielded to the wishes and petitions 
 of her friends and her mother, who had returned 
 to Malmaison, and went to Paris. They had told 
 her so often that the interest of her sons de- 
 manded her presence at the capital, that she over- 
 came her reluctance, and considered compliance 
 with their wishes a duty. 
 
 So she went for several days to Paris, and 
 stayed at her former hotel, whose desolate solitude 
 reminded her with awful eloquence of the great- 
 ness she had lost. 
 
 Those rooms which once had been the meet- 
 ing-place of kings and princes stood empty, and 
 bore on their soiled parquets the footmarks of the 
 
THE CZAR AND HORTEXSE. 255 
 
 hostile soldiery, who for some time had occupied 
 the Queen's palace. By order of the Czar the 
 Swedes had left it, but none of the servants had 
 returned. Cowardly and ungratefully they had 
 turned away from their sun, as it sank, and fled 
 before the storm that shattered Hortense's crown. 
 
 When Alexander, informed of the arrival of 
 the Queen, hastened to see her at her house, Hor- 
 tense received him in the ante-room alone. 
 
 " Sire," she said, with a melancholy smile, " I 
 have no one left to receive you with the customary 
 ceremonies. My reception-rooms are deserted." 
 The sight of this helpless woman, of this Queen 
 without crown or subjects, without followers or 
 pretensions, but who, nevertheless, stood before 
 him in all the loveliness of womanly pride, and 
 with a smile on her lips, made^ a deep impression 
 on the Emperor. Tears rushed into his eyes. 
 
 The Queen saw it, and hastened to add, — 
 
 "But what does it matter? I do not think 
 ante-chambers, filled with laced liveries, can make 
 those who come to see me happier. And as to 
 myself, I am proud to receive you. So you see I 
 am a gainer by the change." 
 
 " Alas ! " the Emperor said, " I am partly the 
 
£56 CLEMENCY OF THE CZAR. 
 
 cause of this sudden change in your fortunes, and 
 cannot console myself for it ; but at any rate allow 
 me to arrange your existence in the manner most 
 pleasing to yourself. You love France, you have 
 friends here, and must desire to remain; allow 
 me to settle matters so that this may be effected." 
 
 " Do not speak about that," the Queen said, 
 " we must follow destiny under all circum- 
 stances." 
 
 " Certainly," the Emperor continued, " I can 
 no longer offer you a crown, but I wish you to 
 hold an independent position in your own coun- 
 try, near your mother." 
 
 The Queen interrupted him, u I cannot at 
 present remain with propriety in France, and 
 must have the courage to regard at once the most 
 painful side of my position." 
 
 " No ! " the Emperor exclaimed, " you belong 
 to your mother, and, besides, do you imagine that 
 we, who are giving a crown to the Bourbons, will 
 not insist on them respecting those with whom we 
 have formed an alliance, r and whom ourselves re- 
 spect? "With the Emperor Napoleon there was 
 no longer a hope of peace ; but while rendering 
 him powerless to do us an injury, we do not the 
 
IMPERIAL GENEROSITY. 257 
 
 less recognise that lie is a great man, whom I 
 loved as a friend, and who wounded me to the 
 heart by breaking our treaties ; but I do not the 
 less desire to know him happy as well as his 
 family. I was for a Regency, and especially for 
 the country being consulted ; but my colleagues 
 eagerly recalled the Bourbons, without any guar- 
 antee. All the worse for the French if they are 
 injured by it ; they desired it, and not I. I wi 11 
 always cause your family to be respected. You 
 see by the treaties that they can reside in France, 
 or wherever they please. If Russia agreed with 
 you, I should be only too happy to offer you a 
 palace ; but you would find our climate too severe 
 for your delicate health, and in offering it I 
 should not think sufficiently of you. You are so 
 beloved in France ! Why will you not remain in 
 it ? Everywhere I hear nothing but praises of 
 you, even among those who appear enemies of 
 your family : remain then where you are comfort- 
 able. You must arrange your existence here ; it 
 will not be worthy of you, but you will live tran- 
 quilly among your friends with your children. I 
 know that is your sole desire, so let us settle the 
 
 manner in which your position should be ar- 
 TOL, i. 17 
 
258 A STRUGGLE. 
 
 ranged. Mademoiselle, come here, and persuade 
 the Queen to tell me what I can do for her." 
 
 The Emperor forced Mademoiselle de Coche- 
 let to express her opinion, and she pleaded in his 
 presence the interest of the Queen's children, for 
 she knew that was her most sensitive side. She 
 told the Queen she ought to think of them, that 
 by keeping them in their own country she would 
 leave them among their friends, wiil^ their name 
 would probably be regarded everywhere as that 
 of an enemy ; she added, that the Queen, for their 
 sake, could not refuse the Emperor's kindness, 
 and that since through their mother they could 
 have a destiny, a fortune, and a country, she 
 would be culpable if she oppossd it by refusing 
 so obstinately. , 
 
 The Queen gave a deep sigh ; tears stood in 
 her eyes, but then she overcame her emotion, and 
 said to the Emperor : 
 
 " I am really touched, sire, by the interest 
 you testify in me ; you wish to force me to have 
 obligations toward you ; but am I not already too 
 greatly indebted? Up to the present I had 
 made up my mind to misfortune, I felt resigned : 
 I never thought anything fortunate could happen 
 
MADAME DU CAYLA. 259 
 
 to me, so I know not what to ask ; still I am re- 
 solved not to accept anything unbecoming either 
 to myself or my child. 'en." 
 
 (i Very well, then, trust to me," the Emperor 
 said, and soon after left the room. 
 
 The same evening Hortense remained at 
 home with her brother, and the Dake de Vicenza 
 and Madame du Cayla joined them. The Em- 
 peror Alexander, who knew that the Queen 
 would not return to Malmaison till the next 
 morning, came to drink tea with her. He seemed 
 considerably embarrassed on seeing Madame du 
 Cayla, for he had fled from a brilliant party 
 -where every effort was made to keep him, and 
 was not pleased at meeting a person who could 
 tell how unceremoniously he had treated her so- 
 ciety, as, instead of the business he had made an 
 excuse of, he had come to repose with the brother 
 and sister whom that society feared so greatly. 
 Hence he said nothing to Madame du Cayla, but 
 conversed with the Queen and the Duke de 
 Vicenza. 
 
 On the other hand, Prince Eugene, with that 
 
 moderate and frank tone that renders all disunion 
 
 possible, conversed with Madame du Cayla in a 
 
 17 * 
 
260 BOURBONS. 
 
 manner that embarrassed her cruelly ; in spite of 
 all her wit she knew not how to answer him. 
 
 u I can conceive," the Prince said, " one dy- 
 nasty being preferred to another ; women espe- 
 cially do not inquire which system is more usefu 1 
 to their country, for they are guided by their 
 affections; but, in the presence of an enemy, to 
 forget themselves as well-bred ladies and French 
 women, to go and meet a foreign army, fete it, 
 and embrace it while still covered with French 
 blood ! Ah, Madame, tell me that you had lost 
 your head, and then I could understand it." 
 
 " Why," Madame du Cay la said, " we did not 
 go to meet enemies, they became our friends by 
 restoring us the sovereigns we always loved." 
 
 " They were the enemies of France," Prince 
 Eugene replied; "your sovereigns must not de- 
 sire to separate themselves from the country they 
 are once more called upon to govern : and you 
 compromised them, while seeking a support in 
 the conqueror, while the conquered are your 
 brothers." 
 
 " Still," Madame du Cayla said with a smile, 
 "we might not have succeeded in getting our kings 
 back without that : the end justifies the means : 
 
MALMAISON. 261 
 
 and be assured that had it not been for us, and 
 the demonstrations which the people would not 
 make, and which we made by becoming the 
 people for the nonce, the sovereigns would not 
 have declared themselves ,• we gained our cause 
 at the expense of our persons." 
 
 " It is pleasant to me," the Prince retorted, 
 " to have your assurance that the people counted 
 for nothing in these acclamations, and that the 
 Bourbons are solely indebted to you young and 
 pretty ladies for their crown." 
 
 Malmaison, whither, after a short stay at Paris, 
 Hortense returned, and where Josephine was also 
 living, became a sort of sociable meeting-place of 
 the sovereigns then assembled at Paris. Every 
 one of these kings and princes was anxious to 
 show his respect to the fallen Empress and her 
 daughter, and thus testify the esteem they still 
 felt for Napoleon. 
 
 One day the King of Prussia and his two 
 sons, Frederic William and William, announced 
 their intention to visit Malmaison. The Empress 
 Josephine sent them an invitation for dinner, and 
 asked Alexander and his two brothers to join 
 them. 
 
26& AN IMPERIAL PARTY. 
 
 The Emperor accepted the invitation. When 
 he and the yonng Grand-dukes entered the draw- 
 ing-room^ where the Duchess of St Leu was 
 present at the time, he took the princes by the 
 hand, and introducing them to Hortense, said : 
 
 " Madam, I give my two brothers into your 
 charge ; they appear in the world for the first 
 time. My mother is afraid the fair French ladies 
 will turn their heads. But perhaps I am ful- 
 filling my promise to watch over them very 
 badly in bringing them to Malmaison, where so 
 many beautiful ladies are assembled." 
 
 "Fear nothing," the Queen replied with 
 gravity, " I will be their Mentor, and promise 
 you to watch over them with the eye of a mother." 
 
 The Emperor laughed, and pointing to Hor- 
 tense's two sons, who just entered the room, said : 
 
 " Madam, it would be better for my brothers 
 f they were no older than, these boys." 
 
 He approached the children, and in shaking 
 hands addressed them with " Monseigneur " and 
 et Imperial Highness." 
 
 The boys looked up to him with astonishment, 
 for the Russian Emperor was the first who ad- 
 dressed little Napoleon and his brother with these 
 
RUSSIA AND PRUSSIA. 263 
 
 proud titles. Their mother, the Queen, had 
 never suffered their attendants to call them 
 otherwise than by their Christian names. She 
 wished to preserve them from vain pride in their 
 exalted rank, and teach them to derive import- 
 ance from themselves only. 
 
 Shortly afterwards the King of Prussia and 
 his sons were announced, and the Emperor left 
 the children to meet them. 
 
 Whilst Alexander and the King of Prussia 
 saluted each other, Hortense's sons inquired of 
 their governess who the gentlemen were that had 
 just entered. 
 
 " It is the King of Prussia," whispered the 
 lady, " and the gentleman who is now speaking to 
 him is the Emperor of Pussia." 
 
 Little Louis Napoleon looked for an instant 
 attentively at the tall figures of the foreign po- 
 tentates, whose proud names did not at all seem 
 to awe him. He .was accustomed to see kings in 
 his mother's drawing-room. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," he said after a little pause, 
 " are these two gentlemen our uncles as well ? 
 Must we call them so ? " 
 
 " No, Louis, you must call them Sire." 
 
264 A GENEROrS ENEMY. 
 
 " But why are they not our uncles?" 
 
 The governess withdrew with the children 
 into a corner of the room, and told them that the 
 King of Prussia and Alexander, far from being 
 their uncles, were their conquerors. 
 
 " Then they are the enemies of our uncles ? M 
 Louis Napoleon asked angrily. " "Why did this 
 Emperor of E-ussia embrace me ? " 
 
 " Because he is a generous enemy. Without 
 his assistance you would possess nothing in the 
 world, and the fate of your uncles would be still 
 worse than it is already." 
 
 " Then we must be fond of that Emperor 
 there ? " asked the little boy. 
 
 " Certainly, for you owe him much." 
 
 The young prince made no reply, but he cast 
 a penetrating look at the Emperor, who was just 
 speaking with Josephine. 
 
 When, on the day after this conversation, 
 Alexander again came to Malmaison and was sit- 
 ting by the side of the Queen in the summer- 
 house, little Louis Napoleon approached him 
 noiselessly and behind his back, then put some- 
 thing glittering in the Emperor's hand, and hastily 
 ran away. 
 
A PRESENT. 265 
 
 The Queen called him back, and asked in a 
 severe tone what he had done ? 
 
 The little Prince returned hesitatingly, with 
 his eyes bent to the ground, and then said with a 
 blush : 
 
 " Oh, mamma, it was the ring uncle Eugene 
 gave me. I wanted to make the Emperor a pre- 
 sent of it, because he is so^kJnd to you." 
 
 .Alexander drew little Louis Napoleon to him^ 
 and, greatly moved, placed him on his lap. 
 
 He complied with the boy's wishes to accept 
 the ring. He fastened it to his watch-chain, and 
 vowed that he would carry this keepsake about 
 with him as long as he lived. 
 
266 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 DEATH OF THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE. 
 
 Since Napoleon's star had gone down, since the 
 Emperor had been obliged to leave France as an 
 exile, Josephine's life seemed as if darkened by 
 a cloud of deep melancholy. She felt that day 
 had passed away and night had appeared, but she 
 carefully concealed this feeliig within her bosom; 
 no tear, no sigh revealed to her affectionate 
 daughter how much she suffered. She only la- 
 ented the Emperor's fate, and the misfortune of 
 her children and grandsons. She seemed to have 
 forgotten her own melancholy lot, she wished 
 
KEEPSAKE. 267 
 
 nothing for herself. With the same easy grace 
 that had distinguished her in former years, she 
 performed the honours of her house at Malmaison, 
 and in the society of the foreign princes showed a 
 composure that was a stranger to her heart. 
 
 She wculd have preferred remaining alone 
 with her sorrow in ^ha interior of her palace, had 
 she not thought that the welfare of her daughter 
 and grandsons required her seeing society. The 
 affectionate mother undertook to do that to which 
 the proud Hortense was unable to stoop ; she 
 begged Alexander to have compassion on the 
 Queen and her children. 
 
 Hence, so soon as the Czar had succeeded in 
 obtaining the title-deeds which secured Hortense 
 the Duchy of St Leu, he hastened to Malmaison 
 to apprize the Empress of his success. 
 
 Josephine thanked him, not with words, 
 but with tears, and grasping his hand, she begged 
 him with charming simplicity to accept a keep- 
 sake from her. 
 
 The Emperor pointed to a cup on which 
 Josephine's portrait was painted, and asked to be 
 allowed to take it. 
 
 " No, sire," she said, " such a cup you may 
 
268 MAGNIFICENT CAMEO. 
 
 buy anywhere. I wish to give you something 
 which is not to be found an v where else, and 
 which sometimes will make you think of me. It 
 is a present which I received from Pope Pius VII. 
 on the day of my coronation. You have this day 
 brought my daughter a ducal coronet, and I will 
 show my gratitude by giving you this present, 
 which will remind you at once of mother and 
 daughter — of the fallen Empress and the fallen 
 Queen. " 
 
 The present which Josephine now handed 
 over to the Emperor was an antique cameo of 
 enormous size, which was of such beautiful and 
 masterly workmanship that the Empress was 
 fally just^ued in saying that nothing better of the 
 kind could be found. 
 
 On this cameo were represented, side by side, 
 the heads of Alexander the Great and his father, 
 Philip of Macedonia. The perfection of the 
 workmanship, as well as the size of the gem, made 
 it extremely valuable. Alexander therefore at 
 first declined to accept this truly princely present, 
 and only complied with the Empress's wishes 
 when he saw that his refusal offended Josephine, 
 who appeared that day unusually pale and 
 
INSULT. 269 
 
 excitable. The Empress had reason to be sad. 
 The Bourbons had pierced her heart with another 
 arrow. Josephine had read in the newspapers an 
 article which spoke in the most cruel and con- 
 temptuous terms of the Queen of Holland's eldest 
 son being buried in Notre Dame, and added that 
 the minister Blacas had given orders for the body 
 being removed thence, and interred in one of the 
 public churchyards. 
 
 Hortense, who had read this article, hastened 
 to P .ris to claim the remains of the child for 
 whom she had wept so much, and to deposit them 
 in the church of St Leu. 
 
 Josephine trembled as she told the Emperor 
 of this new insult, and a deadly paleness covered 
 her cheek. 
 
 For the first time the strength failed her to 
 conceal her sufferings. Hortense was absent, 
 and she might allow herself the consolation of 
 banishing the artificial smile and colour from her 
 lip, and showing her face as it was, already 
 marked by the hand of approaching death. 
 
 " Your Majesty is ill ! " exclaimed the Em- 
 peror. 
 
 Josephine, with a smile that brought tears 
 
270 DEATH OF JOSEPHINE. 
 
 into Alexander's eyes, pointed to her heart and 
 whispered : — 
 
 "It is here, sire, I have received the fatal 
 stab." 
 
 She was but too right. Her heart had indeed 
 been fatally wounded. 
 
 The Emperor, startled by the appearance of 
 Josephine, immediately hastened to Paris, and 
 sent his own physician to Malmaison to receive 
 infDrmation about the state of Josephine's health. 
 When the physician returned he told the Em- 
 peror that Josephine was dangerously ill, and to 
 all appearance past recovery. 
 
 He was right. Alexander never saw the 
 Empress agarj. 
 
 Hortense and Eugene spent a melancholy 
 night at the bed-side of their mother. They em- 
 ployed the most skilful physicians, but they all 
 •confirmed the Russia i's opinion that the state of 
 the patient was hopeless. Josephine died broken- 
 hearted. With a strong ? hand she had held that 
 heart together as long as her life was useful to 
 her children, but now that Hortense's fate had 
 been sealed she took her hands off and — bled to 
 death. 
 
 < / 
 
NATIONAL SORROW. 271 
 
 The Empress Josephine died on the 29th of 
 March, 18 14, after an illness which apparently 
 only lasted two days. Hortense did not hear her 
 last sigh. When shs entered the sick-room after 
 the Abbe Bertrand had administered the last sa- 
 crament to the dying Empress, when Josephine 
 stretched out her arms and tried in vain to speak 
 to her children, grief overpowered her daughter, 
 who sank senseless to the ground. Josephine 
 died in the arms of her son. 
 
 The news of the Empress's death made a deep 
 impression on the Parisians. It seemed as if the 
 capital had forgotten that Napoleon was no longer 
 the sovereign of France, and that the Bourbons 
 had returned to the throne of their fathers. 
 Every one was sad, every one bewailed Josephine ; 
 the hearts of the Erench nation preserved the 
 memory of the woman, who had been a benefac- 
 tress to many, and of whom each one was enabled 
 to remember some act of benevolence or gener- 
 osity. 
 
 Josephine, when dead, was once more to re- 
 ceive homage, from thousands. Thousands went to 
 Malmaison to see " the Empress " for the last time. 
 Even the Faubourg St Germain participated in 
 
272 GOOD TASTE. 
 
 the general regret. The proud, overbearing Roy- 
 alists, who had returned with the Bourbons, re- 
 membered, perhaps, the kindnesses they had re- 
 ceived from the Empress, while she was still on 
 the throne and expended one half of her income 
 in relieving exiles. On returning to France along 
 with King Louis they had forgotten to thank 
 their benefactress; but now that she was dead, 
 they could not help esteeming and admiring 
 her. 
 
 u What an interesting woman that incompar- 
 able Josephine was ! 9 said Madame du Cayla, 
 the particular friend of the King, " what fine tact> 
 what kindness and moderation, she possessed. 
 Her very dying, just now, is a proof of her good 
 taste." 
 
 Eugene took Hortense from her mother's 
 death-bed almost by force, and immediately after 
 Josephine had breathed her last. She went with 
 her brother and children to St Leu. The Em- 
 press's two grandsons were the only members of 
 her family who followed the coffin when she was 
 buried at Malmaison. Grief had thrown her two 
 children on the sick-bed. Behind the little 
 princes, Napoleon and Louis Napoleon, came the 
 
POZZO DI BORGO. 273 
 
 Russian General de Sacken, who represented his 
 Emperor, and the carriages of all the kings and 
 potentates by whom Napoleon had been de- 
 throned. 
 
 The last night Alexander of Kussia passed on 
 French soil, before starting for England, he spent 
 at St Leu. In taking leave of Eugene and Hor- 
 tense, who on that occasion left her room for the 
 first time, he assured them both of his sincere and 
 unchangeable friendship. Knowing that the am- 
 bassador he left at Paris, Pozzo di Borgo,* w^as 
 an inveterate enemy of Napoleon and his family, 
 he gave him Baron Boutiakin as an attache, who 
 was selected by Mademoiselle de Cochelet her- 
 self, and was to receive and forward the Queen's 
 letters as well as those of her faithful com- 
 panion. 
 
 A few days after, Eugene also left St Leu and 
 his sister, to return with the King of Bavaria to 
 his new home, Germany. 
 
 Hortense followed him with a melancholy eye 
 
 * Pozzo di Borgo said on hearing the news of Napoleon's 
 death at St Helena, " I did not kill him, bnt I threw the last 
 handfnl of earth on his coffin, so that he could not rise 
 
 again." 
 
 vol. i. 18 
 
274 ST LEU. 
 
 as lie departed. Now for the first time she felt 
 how utterly lonely and forlorn she was. 
 
 She had shed no tears at seeing herself fall 
 from the exalted station she once occupied, she 
 had not complained when the hurricane of mis- 
 fortune hurled the crowns of her relatives from 
 their heads ; on the contrary, she had smiled in 
 the very midst of that storm, and offered her brow 
 to the tempest, that it might sweep off her royal 
 diadem ; but now that she stood in the lonely 
 halls of the castle of St Leu, alone and isolated, 
 with no one by her side but her two little sons 
 and a few faithful ladies, then Hortense wept. 
 
 u Alas ! " she exclaimed, stretching out her 
 hands to Mademoiselle de Cochelet, " my courage 
 is gone ! My mother is dead, my brother has left 
 me, Alexander will soon forget the promised pro- 
 tection, and then I shall have to struggle alone 
 with my two children against the hostilities people 
 will heap on me, for the sake of the name I bear. 
 I am afraid I shall have cause to repent not 
 having carried out my former plan. Will the 
 attachment I feel for my country make up for the 
 sorrows I can foresee ? " 
 
 The gloomy presentiments of the Queen were 
 
PRESENTIMENTS. 275 
 
 to be verified but too soon. In the hour of great 
 misfortune the mortal eye is gifted with the power 
 of beholding coming events ; but, like Cassandra, 
 we behold them without being able to avert 
 them. 
 
 18 * 
 
276 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE RETURN OF THE BOURBONS. 
 
 On the 12th of April the Count of Artois, who 
 was the precursor of the King, and whom Louis 
 XVIII. had nominated his lieutenant, made his 
 entry into Paris. At the gate of the capital he 
 was received by a newly-formed iC provisional 
 government/' on the head of which stood Mon- 
 sieur de Talleyrand. Artois's reply to this minis- 
 ter's speech was a short one. 
 
 " Nothing is changed in France," he said, 
 ec there is now one Frenchman more in this 
 country." 
 
RETURN OF THE BOURBONS. 577 
 
 The people received the king's lieutenant 
 with cold curiosity. Troops of the allies lined 
 his road to the Tuileries, where the ladies of the 
 Faubourg St Germain, ornamented with white 
 lilies and cockades, had prepared an enthusiastic 
 welcome. 
 
 The Countess du Cavla, who afterwards be- 
 came the noted favourite of the king, and who 
 had been one of the principal instruments of his 
 restoration, was the first to unfurl again the 
 white standard of the Bourbons. Accompanied 
 by a few of her friends she appeared, a few days 
 before the arrival of the Prince, in the streets of 
 Paris, and endeavoured to excite amongst the 
 people some enthusiasm for the family of their 
 legitimate master. 
 
 But the nation, as well as the army, still con- 
 tinued to preserve their old devotion to the Em- 
 peror, and it was with sullen indifference that 
 they listened to the proclamations of Prince 
 Schwarzenberg, read by Monsieur de Vauvineux. 
 The Koyalists, of course, shouted their " Vive le 
 Hoi ! " but the mass of the people remained silent. 
 
 This gloomy silence terrified the Countess 
 du Cayla ; she felt it to be a token of secret discon- 
 
278 ROYALIST STANDARD. 
 
 tent with the new order of things. She saw the 
 necessity of animating and exciting the sullen 
 crowd, that they might show their sentiments 
 and express themselves energetically. In vain 
 had it been tried to make the people enthusiastic 
 by words : it remained to be seen whether a visible 
 symbol would produce a greater effect. It was 
 resolved to show them the standard of the Bour- 
 bons. 
 
 Madame du Cayla presented her pocket- 
 handkerchief to her companion, and begged him 
 to wave it high in the air, and to display it the 
 more effectually she tied it to Count Montmo- 
 rency's stick. Thus, a walking-stick, with a 
 pocket-handkerchief fastened to it, was the first 
 Royalist standard, which, after a period of twenty- 
 six years, was again unfurled in the streets of 
 Paris. 
 
 The Parisians beheld the ensign with some- 
 thing like apprehensive veneration; they did not 
 hail it with acclamations or other tokens of joy ; 
 they continued to remain silent, but still they 
 followed the procession of the Royalists, who 
 tumultuously proceeded to the Boulevards, shout- 
 ing their enthusiastic " Vive le Roi! " They took 
 
FAUBOURG ST GERMAIN. 279 
 
 no part in the demonstration, it is true, but 
 neither did they do anything to prevent it taking 
 place. 
 
 Meanwhile, the joy of the Royalists, and of 
 the Royalist ladies in particular, attained such a 
 height as almost to overstep the limits of decency. 
 In the delirium of their fanatical loyalty they re- 
 ceived the hostile troops of the allies in a manner 
 that almost resembled a universal declaration of 
 love on the part of the fair ones of St Germain. 
 Labouring under a strange confusion of ideas, 
 these soldiers, although undeniably enemies of 
 France, appeared to them part and parcel of their 
 beloved Bourbons, and they received them with 
 an enthusiasm almost equal to that with which 
 they greeted the returning family of their king. 
 There was a period during which the hearts of 
 these ladies belonged to every nation, their own 
 countrymen excepted. 
 
 Louis XVIII. himself felt dissatisfied with 
 the boundless enthusiasm of the Faubourg St 
 Germain, and openly told the Countess du Cayla 
 how ridiculous and undignified appeared to him 
 the demeanour of the Royalist ladies on that 
 occasion. He even expressed his belief that it 
 
280 THE PARISIAN LADIES 
 
 might have been very injurious to his cause, con- 
 sidering that the nation had at the time not yet 
 expressed their will. 
 
 " It would have been better/' he said, " to 
 observe an imposing reserve towards the allies, 
 without any demonstration or show of affection. 
 A dignified, composed bearing would have in- 
 spired them with respect towards the nation, and 
 they would not have left Paris impressed with 
 the belief, which they entertained fifty years ago, 
 that the French were the most frivolous and 
 immoral of all nations. You, in particular, my 
 ladies, have laid yourselves open to reproach in that 
 respect. The allies, as a body, have appeared to 
 you en masse so amiable that you have incurred 
 the suspicion of having loved them en detail, and 
 consequently there are rumours afloat which do 
 not greatly honour the French ladies." 
 
 " Mais, mon Dieu ! " the Countess du Cayla 
 replied to her royal friend, " the ladies wished to 
 show the allies their gratitude for being put in 
 possession of your Majesty again. They have 
 offered to the allies as a free gift what could not 
 be obtained either by the tyrants of the Republic 
 or by the heroes of the Empire ; not one of us, 
 
AND THE ALLIES. 281 
 
 I am sure, will regret what she has done for our 
 good friends, the allies." 
 
 ' ' What had been done for the good friends, 
 the allies," nevertheless gave rise to much un- 
 pleasant misunderstanding ; and those husbands 
 that did not share the enthusiasm of their wives for 
 the foreign warriors soon thought they had cause 
 for complaint. 
 
 The Count de G * * *, among others, had 
 married, a few days previously to the Restoration, 
 a noble and handsome young lady. She herself, 
 in her youthful carelessness, was utterly indif- 
 ferent to the political crisis. Not so, however, her 
 mother-in-law, father-in-law, and husband, who 
 were royalists of the purest water. 
 
 On the day when the allies entered Paris these 
 three hastened like all other legitimists to welcome 
 the " good friends " and each one returned with 
 a stranger. The husband brought an Englishman, 
 the mother-in-law a Prussian, and the father-in- 
 law an Austrian. 
 
 All three zealously endeavoured to outshine 
 each other in fetes and festivities, given in honour 
 to their friends, whose presence was considered a 
 great cause of rejoicing. La petite Comtesse 
 
28£ GALLANTRY. 
 
 alone remained indifferent amidst the enthusiasm 
 of her family, and thus incurred the reproach of 
 taking too little interest in the good cause. She 
 was exhorted to do " all she could," effectually 
 to entertain the gallant soldiers who had restored 
 to France her legitimate king. 
 
 Hence it came about that the husband besrared 
 the Englishman to give the Comtesse a lesson in 
 reading ; the marchioness had a particular wish 
 that the Prussian should take her daughter-in- 
 law to the balls, in order to teach her the German 
 mode of waltzing, while the Marquis, who had 
 discovered that the Austrian was a great fancier 
 of paintings, asked her to visit the picture-gal- 
 leries with him. 
 
 In a word, they placed the young marchioness 
 in a position where it was easy to commit not 
 only one, but three faux pas ; for why should 
 she display a preference for any one of her 
 visitors ? 
 
 But she was young, and but little experienced 
 in similar combinations, and thus it came to pass 
 that her triple intrigue was speedily discovered 
 by her family. Husband, mother-in-law, and father- 
 in-law were beside themselves with anger. That 
 
LOYALTY. 2SB 
 
 was too much, even for the royalistic zeal of 
 the Legitimists, and they tumultuously reproached 
 the youthful offender. 
 
 w I'm sure it is not my fault/' the lady, amidst 
 tears, exclaimed. "You wished it yourself. Didn't 
 you tell me to do all I could to oblige the gentle- 
 men ; how then could I dare refuse them any- 
 thing ? " 
 
 But there were also cases in which the en- 
 thusiastic ladies of the Faubourg St Germain 
 found themselves rejected by those to whom they 
 offered themselves. Even the noble and proud 
 Marchioness de M * * had to experience this. 
 This lady placed herself in front of one of the 
 gloomy and dissatisfied-looking regiments of the 
 Imperial Guard, that had just allowed the Count 
 of Artois to ride past their files in silence. The 
 Marchioness loudly called upon them to show 
 their affection for the royal family, adding that 
 she would belong to him who first shouted " Vive 
 le Roi ! " The faithful soldiers of the Emperor, 
 however, remained unmoved by this promise, 
 there was not one willing to gain the offered 
 prize ; all were silent as before. 
 
 The princes who stood at the head of the 
 
284 EUGENE EEAUHARXOIS. 
 
 allied armies were naturally the chief object of 
 the ovations of the Royalists, although by them 
 they were least appreciated. The Austrian 
 Emperor was too much occupied with the future 
 of his daughter and grandson, the King of Prussia 
 too stern and serious to pay any attention to the 
 coquetries of the Bourbonist ladies ; all their 
 affections and efforts were therefore directed 
 towards Alexander, the youthful Emperor of 
 Russia. 
 
 But here also their enthusiasm was but ill-re- 
 quited. Alexander lived in a seclusion that al- 
 most seemed to imply want of confidence, and yet 
 the noble ladies of the Faubourg St Germain de- 
 cided the fate of France, by inducing him to give 
 his vote to the family of the Bourbons. For a 
 long time it remained undecided who was to oc- 
 cupy the vacant throne, for the person was not 
 yet fixed upon to whom the allies should confide 
 the reins of France. 
 
 It was the secret wish of the Emperor of 
 Russia to raise the noble-minded and universally 
 beloved viceroy of Italy, Eugene Beauharnois, to 
 the throne. The letter in which Eugene had 
 answered the offer of the allies who tempted him 
 
HIS FIDELITY. 285 
 
 with the duchy of Genoa, had procured Jose- 
 phine's son the Czar's lasting esteem. Alexander 
 himself had written to Eugene in the name of the 
 allies and promised him the duchy of Genoa if he 
 would leave Napoleon's -cause and join his ene- 
 mies. 
 
 Eusrene Beauharnois answered as follows : 
 
 " Sire, 
 
 " I have read the proposals of your Ma- 
 jesty ; they are doubtless very kind, but they 
 cannot shake my resolution. I am afraid I man- 
 aged to express my thoughts badly when I had 
 the honour of seeing you, if your Majesty can 
 believe for one moment that I am capable of 
 selling my honour for any prize, however high it 
 may be. Neither a duchy of Genoa, nor a king- 
 dom of Italy, can tempt me to treason. The ex- 
 ample of the King of Naples does not seduce me ; 
 I would sooner be an honest soldier than a 
 treacherous prince. 
 
 "The Emperor, you say, has wronged me. 
 If so, I have forgotten it. I only remember his 
 kindnesses. Everything I possess or am, I owe 
 to him ; my rank, my titles, my fortune, and, above 
 
%86 KING OF ROME. 
 
 all, what you kindly call my glory. Therefore, 
 I am determined to serve him as long as I live. 
 My heart and my arm are equally his. May my 
 sword shiver in my hand if ever I draw it against 
 the Emperor or my native country. I natter my- 
 self that my Well-founded refusal will at least se- 
 cure me your esteem. 
 
 " I am, &c. &c." 
 
 The Emperor of Austria, on the other hand, 
 wished his grandson, the King of Home, to as- 
 cend the throne of France, and his mother to be 
 at the head of the Regency during his minority. 
 But he shrunk from asking his allies openly to 
 adopt his plan, as he had promised them to sanc- 
 tion everything they should think proper to do. 
 In vain, therefore, did the Duke de Cadore, who 
 had been sent by Maria Louisa from Blois to the 
 allies to guard the Empress's interest, try to per- 
 suade her father to secure her son the throne of 
 France. 
 
 Francis told his daughter's messenger that he 
 thought he was justified in hoping much, but that 
 he was incapable of gaining his point by force. 
 
 " I love my daughter," the Emperor said, " I 
 
PROPOSED KING OF FRANCE. 287 
 
 love my son-in-law, and am ready to shed my 
 blood for them." 
 
 " But, sire," the Duke de Cadore replied, 
 " there is no necessity for such a sacrifice." 
 
 " I am ready to shed my blood for them," the 
 Emperor continued, li to sacrifice my life ; but I 
 repeat, I have promised my allies to sanction 
 everything they shall do, but to do nothing 
 without their advice. My minister, Monsieur de 
 Metternich, is even now at your house, and I shall 
 ratify anything he has signed." 
 
 Secretly, however, the Emperor continued 
 hoping that what Metternich was preparing for 
 his signature, would prove the King of Rome's 
 nomination to the throne of France. 
 
 The zeal of the Royalists was destined to 
 blight this hope. 
 
 The Emperor of Russia had taken up his 
 quarters in the hotel of Monsieur de Talleyrand. 
 He had yielded to the demonstrations and en- 
 treaties of the French diplomatist, who knew very 
 well how much easier it would be to secure the 
 services of this " Agamemnon of the holy alli- 
 ance," if he could hold him at each hour and 
 minute, as it were, in his hand. In hospitably 
 
288 TALLLEYRAND. 
 
 receiving the Emperor of Russia, Talleyrand 
 hoped to lead him captive, body and soul, and 
 be able to make the most of him. 
 
 Under these circumstances it was to Talley- 
 rand that the Countess du Cayla hastened, in 
 order to make with the Bonapartist of yesterday, 
 but the Royalist of to-day, the necessary prepara- 
 tions for the return of the Bourbons. 
 
 Talleyrand took upon himself to procure the 
 Countess an audience of the Emperor ; he was 
 successful. In leading the fair lady to the Czar's 
 room, he whispered in her ear, — 
 
 " You had better imitate Madame de Semalle. 
 Try to administer a heavy blow at once. The 
 Emperor is gallant, as you know, and he may 
 grant to the entreaties of a lady what he refuses 
 to diplomacy." 
 
 The hint was not thrown away. Hardly had 
 the Countess du Cayla been left alone, after en- 
 tering the Emperor's room, ere she extended her 
 arms beseechingly, and prostrated herself before 
 him. 
 
 The Emperor hastened immediately to raise 
 her in the politest manner. 
 
 " What are you doing ? " he asked, almost 
 
BOURBONS. 289 
 
 frightened, " a noble lady should never bow the 
 knee before a gentleman. " 
 
 " Sire," the Countess replied, " I kneel before 
 you because I am about to ask a favour of you, 
 which no one else is capable of granting. It will 
 be doubly a matter of rejoicing to see Louis 
 XVIII. return, and to see him led back by Alex- 
 ander I." 
 
 " It is true then that the French nation still 
 revere the House of Bourbon ? " 
 
 " Yes, sire ! They are our only hope, to them 
 alone our hearts belong." 
 
 " Oh, that is excellent," Alexander exclaimed ; 
 " and are all French ladies equally enthusiastic ? " 
 " Every French heart is beating for the Royal 
 family ! " 
 
 " Nay, if this be the case, if France herself 
 recall the King, the legislative bodies may pro- 
 nounce themselves, and all will be finished." 
 
 Now the Countess du Cavla was the very 
 woman to bring about such a manifestation of 
 opinion on the part of the "legislative bodies." 
 She hastened to promulgate throughout Paris the 
 Emperor's words, and on the evening following 
 her interview with the Emperor she gave a grand 
 
 VOL. I. 19 
 
290 LOUIS XVIII. 
 
 soiree, to which the most distinguished ladies of her 
 party and a great number of senators were invited. 
 
 "I wished/' says the Countess in her Memoirs, 
 " thus to tempt these gentlemen into a solemn 
 promise. Silly woman that I was ! Had not 
 most of them taken and broken at least a dozen 
 oaths ? " 
 
 On the day following this soiree the senate, in 
 an extraordinary sitting, proclaimed a provisional 
 government, composed of Talleyrand, the Duke 
 de Dalberg, the Marquis de Jancourt, Count 
 Bournonville, and the Abbe Montesquieu. The 
 senate, under the influence of these men, then 
 proceeded to declare the Emperor Napoleon de- 
 prived of the throne, and proclaimed Louis XVIII. 
 the new ruler of France. But whilst the senate 
 were thus manifesting in solemn sitting their legiti- 
 mistic sentiments, they at the same time showed 
 clearly their utter want of principle and patriotic 
 feeling. The senators, in an especial clause of the 
 treaty with the returning king, stipulated that the 
 customary salary should continue to be paid to 
 themselves as a pension for life. Thus the honour- 
 able senators in recalling Louis XVIII. took good 
 care to be rewarded for it. 
 
291 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE BOURBONS AND THE NAPOLEONS. 
 
 The allies, without any further investigation, took 
 the resolution of the senate for the voice of the 
 people, and recalled Louis XVIII., who under the 
 name of Count de Lille had suffered a protracted 
 exile at Hartwell, to the throne of his fathers. 
 
 The Emperor of Austria kept his word. He 
 did not object to the measures taken by his allies, 
 but suffered his grandson, the King of Rome, to 
 be deprived of his heritage, and consented to the 
 imperial diadem being taken from his daughter's 
 brow. The Emperor Francis, however, was quite 
 
 19* 
 
292 CARICATURE. 
 
 as much surprised at the unexpected turn matters 
 were taking, as Maria Louisa herself, for up to 
 the occupation of Paris the allies had held out to 
 him hopes of his daughter and grandson continu- 
 ing in power. 
 
 The Emperor's disappointment gave occasion 
 for a witty caricature, which on the day of 
 Louis's entering Paris, was seen posted on the 
 very walls on which was advertised Chateau- 
 briand's enthusiastic pamphlet on the return of 
 the Bourbons. In this caricature, of which 
 thousands of copies circulated in the capital, the 
 Emperor of Austria was seen in a handsome open 
 carriage ; Alexander, as coachman, was seated on 
 the box ; the Regent of England acted the part 
 of a post-boy, and the King of Prussia, arrayed as 
 a lacquey, stood behind. Napoleon, on foot, ran 
 by the side of the carriage, calling out to the 
 Emperor of Austria, (C Look here, papa-in-law, 
 they have kicked me out ! " " And taken me 
 in," was Francis's reply. Great was the re- 
 joicing of the ladies of the Faubourg St Ger- 
 main, when at last they were to see again their 
 king, and they were but too willing to evince 
 their gratitude to the Emperor of Russia. Alex- 
 
MALMAISON. 293 
 
 ander, however, appeared in this instance insensi- 
 ble to all their homage ; he even avoided being 
 present at the parties given by the new king in 
 the Tuileries. La haute volee and all the assem- 
 bled diplomacy were shocked to see the Emperor 
 manifest, quite openly, his sympathies for Napo- 
 leon's family, and go to Malmaison instead of at- 
 tending the fetes in the Tuileries. 
 
 Count Nesselrode at last besought his friend, 
 Mademoiselle de Cochelet, to make the Emperor 
 acquainted with the general dissatisfaction of the 
 Eaubourg St Germain, when Alexander should 
 again call on the companion of the Queen to 
 talk with her, as he would often do, about the 
 prospects of Hortense. 
 
 " Sire," said Mademoiselle de Cochelet, " in 
 the Faubourg St Germain they are jealous of the 
 zeal your Majesty shows on behalf of the Queen. 
 Count Nesselrode takes it much to heart. ' Our 
 Emperor,' he says, ( goes far too often to Mal- 
 maison. All the diplomatists feel astonished 
 about it, and society begins to murmur. They 
 fear lest he may succumb to influences which it is 
 not his policy to follow." 
 
 J ( In that I recognise my faithful Nesselrode," 
 
294 FRENCH LADIES, 
 
 the Emperor replied with a smile, " he easily 
 feels disquietude. What do I care for the Fau- 
 bourg St Germain? So much the worse for 
 these fair ladies if they do not count me amongst 
 their conquests ! I prefer the noble qualities of 
 the heart to all outward appearance, and I find 
 everything worthy of affection and admiration in 
 the company of Josephine, the Queen of Holland, 
 and the Prince Eugene. I prefer being with 
 them, in the familiarity of intimate friendship, to 
 the society of people who behave like lunatics, 
 and who, instead of enjoying the triumph we 
 have prepared for them, only think of ruining 
 their enemies, and in doing so begin with those 
 who formerly so generously protected them. I 
 have no patience with their extravagance !" 
 
 " The French ladies are coquettish," the Em- 
 peror said in another part of the conversation ; 
 " when I came here I was greatly afraid of them, 
 for I know to what degree they can be amiable, 
 but it strikes me their hearts are no longer theirs. 
 This is the reason I respond to their advances as 
 I do. I am on the look-out not to be deceived, 
 but I am afraid these ladies covet admiration so 
 much as to feel hurt at finding their lavishly-be- 
 
AND THE EMPEROR ALEXANDER. 295 
 
 stowed attentions repaid by customary politeness 
 merely. " 
 
 Mademoiselle de Cochelet undertook the de- 
 fence of the French ladies against the Emperor. 
 She told him he ought not to judge them by the 
 manner in which they behaved with respect to 
 him, since it was but natural that they should feel 
 enthusiastic for a young Emperor, who presented 
 himself in so favourable a light ! They might 
 wish to be noticed by him without being co- 
 quettish. 
 
 u But have your ladies really waited for my 
 coming," replied the Emperor, with the sad smile 
 peculiar to him, " to feel their hearts beat ? I 
 seek genius and wit, but I shun all those who 
 would fain exercise over me an influence derived 
 from my affection. I consider this nothing but 
 egotism, and am unwilling to serve it." 
 
 Whilst the Royalists and the ladies of the 
 Faubourg St Germain were entertaining the 
 allies with lavish hospitality, and flattering the 
 newly-returned king with tales of popular re- 
 joicing, the nation was already beginning tofeel 
 dissatisfied. The allies had done their work, 
 they had given back to France her legitimate 
 
296 HUMILIATION. 
 
 king, and crowned their enterprise by stipulating 
 in the treaty of peace that France should be re- 
 duced to her old boundaries of the ante-revolu- 
 tionary time. 
 
 France was obliged to submit to the will of 
 her conquerors, who took from the weakness of 
 Royalty what they had been obliged to grant to 
 the strength of imperialism. 
 
 All fortified frontier-places which had been 
 gained by a heavy sacrifice of blood, and were 
 now occupied by French garrisons, were to be 
 given back, — mighty and powerful France was to 
 shrivel into the France of thirty years ago ! 
 
 It was this that made the nation feel dissatis- 
 fied. Those very Frenchmen who had left 
 Napoleon's cause, because they were tired of his 
 continual wars, were yet proud of his conquests, 
 and most unwilling to consent to a cession that 
 wounded their national vanity. They felt angry 
 with the kins: for having submitted to such a 
 humiliation, and said that he had prized his 
 crown higher than the honour of France. 
 
 Louis XVIII. himself keenly felt the humili- 
 ation connected with the restitution of the old 
 
RIGHTS OF HORTEXSE. £97 
 
 French boundaries. He had tried, and tried hard, 
 to make the allies desist from their demands, but 
 they had given his diplomatists to understand 
 that if Louis did not fancy the newly-shaped 
 France, he was at liberty to cede it to Maria 
 Louisa. 
 
 Thus the king was forced to acquiesce in the 
 arrangement which had been made, but he did so 
 with great bitterness of heart, and whenever his 
 courtiers exalted the merits of the allies, he might 
 be heard to whisper, " Mes chers amis, les enne- 
 mis!" 
 
 With such feelings towards the allies, it was 
 with reluctance only, and not until after a long 
 and obstinate struggle, that Louis granted what 
 they asked for the family of Napoleon. But 
 the Emperor Alexander kept his word ; he stood 
 up for the rights of Queen Hortense and her 
 children, and defended her against the hatred of 
 the Bourbons, the ill-will of the Royalists, and 
 the indifference of the allies. To him alone, and 
 to his fortitude, did the family of the ex-Emperor 
 owe the clause in the treaty of the 11th of April, 
 in which Louis XVIII. solemnly pledged himself 
 
29$ DUCHESS OF ST LEU. 
 
 " that the titles and dignities of all the members 
 of the Imperial family should be recognised and 
 considered legitimate. " 
 
 Alexander by great efforts at last succeeded 
 in obtaining from Louis XVIII. a title and some 
 property for Hortense. It was owing to the 
 Czar's reiterated demands, and to them alone, 
 that Kins: Louis nominated Hortense Duchess of 
 St Leu, giving her at the same time her estates as 
 an independent duchy. 
 
 But these concessions were made reluctantly, 
 and through the pressure of the obligations Louis 
 XVIII. was under towards princes who had given 
 him back his throne. These obligations the Bour- 
 bons would have forgotten as gladly as they did 
 the Revolution or the Empire. 
 
 The Bourbons seemed to awake from a long 
 slumber, and felt astonished at the world having 
 moved onward during the time of their absence. 
 
 According to their opinion everything ought to 
 have remained as it was twenty years ago, and they 
 refused to recognise the legitimacy of events that 
 had taken place during this period. Consequently 
 Kins; Louis signed the first document laid before 
 him as given "in the nineteenth year of his 
 
HER INDIGNATION. 299 
 
 reign/' and tried in every respect to revert to 
 the year 1789. It was probably owing to this 
 extraordinary manner of viewing things that the 
 title deeds, in which Louis XVIII. nominated 
 Hortense Duchess of St Leu, were couched in 
 terms necessarily offensive to the Queen. They 
 ran : " The king raises Mademoiselle Hortense de 
 Beauharnois to the rank of Duchess de St Leu." 
 
 The Queen was very indignant on receiving 
 this communication, and at once protested. 
 
 " Is it possible," she said to Mademoiselle de 
 Cochelet as she rose with great animation, "that M. 
 de Nesselrode supposed I would consent to accept 
 such a title? Louis XVIII., now he is recognised as 
 King of France, has the power to sanction by any 
 document he pleases the possession of my estates 
 of St Leu : but I cannot consent to his adding to 
 it in this manner a title which I have the right to 
 take, and which, if accepted in this way, would 
 give me the appearance of denying tne validity of 
 the one that belonged to me. I received the 
 title of Queen without at all desiring it ; it did 
 not render me happy, and I lose it without re- 
 gret. What do I care, after all, for the title given 
 me ! but when I am called upon to stoop to a 
 
300 PRINCE EUGENE. 
 
 victorious party, I must not make any conces- 
 
 sion." 
 
 Then, walking about the room in increased 
 excitement, she added : 
 
 " The king has just signed the first act of the 
 nineteenth year of his reign, and it is a manifesta- 
 tion of his wish not to recognise the past. He is 
 certainly the master, if the nation consent to it : 
 but we owe it to the nation that raised us so high 
 never to disavow what they did for us ; hence I 
 consider it my duty never to let it be forgotten 
 that I have been a Queen, though I do not insist 
 upon being called so ; but I will only accept this 
 compensation offered for all my children have 
 lost, from persons who will recognise what they 
 were as well as what I was. 
 
 u Do not believe," the Queen continued, as 
 she drew nearer to Mademoiselle de Cochelet, 
 " that this change of title does not possess import- 
 ance. Has ft not been stated in the papers that 
 my brother, on arriving here, had himself an- 
 nounced to the king as the Marquis de Beauhar- 
 nois ? He thought it beneath his dignity to con- 
 tradict these falsehoods, and he was wrong ; but 
 those who invented them were well aware that 
 
QUEEN HORTEXSE. 301 
 
 they are false : they wish, to persuade the French 
 that the persons thus placed at their head have 
 recognised the slight validity of their claims, and 
 have come to lay their titles unceremoniously at 
 the feet of the Bourbons. Such are the conse- 
 quences of a system which wishes to annihilate 
 all the glories of the past, and in which I cannot 
 take part without insulting France and the Em- 
 peror. Peoples are as proud as kings ; they will 
 not allow those they have exalted to be abased, 
 and they adhere to what is of their own crea- 
 tion, until they think proper to destroy it again. 
 If feelings change, if the Bourbons become again 
 kings of France, if the nation consider it right 
 and dismiss us, we have nothing to say ; but our 
 dignity is too closely connected with the dignity 
 of France for us to consent to compromise our- 
 selves in such a fashion." 
 
 At the moment the Queen finished this sen- 
 tence Prince Eugene entered the room ; his sister 
 gave him the document to read, and he was as 
 much scandalized as she was. Both begged 
 Mademoiselle de Cochelet to tell Monsieur de 
 Nesselrode what they thought, and that the Queen 
 would accept nothing.. 
 
302 CHANGE OF TITLE. 
 
 o 
 
 The indefatigable lady returned to Paris and 
 saw Nesselrode, who was her intimate friend. 
 He listened to her, and then replied with an air 
 of annoyance : — 
 
 " What would you have me do ? nothing is to 
 be obtained from Monsieur de Blacas ; they aU 
 seem to have returned from another world, and I 
 really believe they are surprised to find the chil- 
 dren grown up whom they left in the cradle. I 
 was unable to obtain anything better from the 
 King's Minister. Louis XVIII. is certainly dis- 
 posed to treat kindly Prince Eugene, the Queen, 
 and the Empress ; but he would like only to be 
 obliged to treat them as he would have done in 
 1789, for the Court do not like to hear a word 
 about the new system, and the titles of Empress 
 and Queen would always stick in their throats." 
 
 "Bat you are well aware," Mademoiselle de 
 Cochelet returned to the charge, " that these 
 princesses intend to assume a more modest title, 
 as the Empress intends to take that of Duchess 
 de Navarre, and the Queen that of Duchess de 
 St Leu." 
 
 " Yes ! ' Monsieur de Nesselrode continued, 
 " if the only point is their assumption of the titles 
 
LETTERS PATENT. 303 
 
 that suit them, no one would have a word to 
 say; but our object is to establish a Duchy for 
 the Queen, granting her an independent fortune, 
 which she can leave to her children, — and for that 
 a decree of the new sovereign is required." 
 
 It was at length decided that the Duke of 
 Vicenza should be called into council, and Nessel- 
 rode left the lady, declaring that the unlucky 
 Duchy cost him more trouble than did the treaty 
 of Paris. 
 
 At the consultation that took place a few days 
 later, it was decided that it would be more ad- 
 vantageous both for the Queen and the entire 
 Imperial family, to establish the Duchy of St Leu 
 as the result of the treaty of April 11. Hence, 
 then, by inserting " Hortense Eugenie, designated 
 in the treaty of April 11," Louis would be forced 
 to recognise her as a Queen, as it was stated in 
 that treaty that all the members of the family 
 should retain their titles ; while at the same time 
 this name of Queen, which appeared to them so 
 hard of digestion, did not offend their eyes. 
 
 The letters patent were, therefore, drawn up 
 in this form, and although it was but a negative 
 and indirect recognition of the former royal title, 
 
304 THE VICEROY OF ITALY. 
 
 it was at any rate no longer an humiliation to 
 accept it. 
 
 The Viceroy of Italy, the high-minded and 
 universally beloved Eugene, who upon the Czar's 
 express wish had come to Paris to watch over his 
 interests, caused the Bourbons equally great em- 
 barrassment. 
 
 It was impossible for the King not to do some 
 justice to the merits of one of the most distin- 
 guished heroes of the empire, who at the same 
 time was the son-in-law of the King of Bavaria. 
 When Eugene expressed a wish to be pre- 
 sented to Louis, an audience was at once granted 
 him. 
 
 But how was he to be received ? What title 
 was to be given to Napoleon's step-son, the Vice- 
 roy of Italy. It would have been too ridiculous 
 to repeat the absurdity of Hortense's title-deed, 
 and to call Eugene "Vicomte de Beauharnois ; ' 
 but to accord him the title of royalty would have 
 compromised the legitimate dignity of the dy- 
 nasty. In this dilemma King Louis invented 
 what he thought a good expedient. When the 
 Duke d'Aumont introduced the prince, the King 
 
PRINCE EUGENE. 305 
 
 approached him with a gracious smile, and said, 
 " I rejoice, Monsieur, my Marshal of France, to 
 make your acquaintance." 
 
 Eugene, who had just been about to salute 
 the King, stopped short, and turned round to see 
 whom the sovereign might be addressing. Louis 
 smiled and continued, 
 
 " You, sir, are this Marshal of France, for I 
 raise you to that rank." 
 
 " Sire," Eugene replied, bowing low before 
 the King, " I feel obliged for your kind inten- 
 tions ; but the misfortune of holding a high rank, 
 to which fate has raised me, prevents my accept- 
 ing the proud title with which you have just 
 honoured me. I feel very grateful to you, sire, 
 but I must decline." 
 
 Thus the King's ruse proved a failure, and 
 
 Eugene went forth a conqueror from this first 
 
 interview with Louis. He did not stand in need 
 
 of assistance from the King of France, for his 
 
 father-in-law, the King of Bavaria, had raised 
 
 him to the rank of a prince of his family, and 
 
 given him the duchy of Leuchtenberg. Thither 
 
 Eugene retired, and lived to enjoy many a peace- 
 vol. i. 20 
 
306 DUKE OF LEUCHTENBERG. 
 
 ful year by the side of a loving wife and sur- 
 rounded by his children, till at last death over- 
 took him in 1824, and tore him from a family 
 that deeply lamented his loss. > 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 JOHN CHILDS AND SON, PRINTERS. 
 
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