The Court of the Empress Josephine Part 12

From September 21 to November 15, 1807, the great general had commanded that there should be amus.e.m.e.nt in the Palace of Fontainebleau. Pleasure was ordered, but it does not come at call. The Emperor, accustomed to have his every wish obeyed, was surprised to see that not every face was radiant. "Strange," he said, "I have gathered a good many people here at Fontainebleau; I want them to amuse themselves, I have arranged their pleasures, yet every one seems tired and sad." The Italian songs, even when sung by the best singers, in costume and with all the scenery, produced but a feeble impression. The tragedies seemed to induce slumber.

The little b.a.l.l.s, or, more exactly, the little hops in the apartment of the Maid of Honor, Madame de la Rochefoucauld, were very dull. Sometimes little games were played there; they gave a flash of gaiety, but as soon as the Emperor appeared, every one a.s.sumed a serious, composed air. Might one not say once more what La Bruyere said when speaking of the court of Louis XIV.: "Who would believe that this eagerness for shows, that meals, hunts, ballets, tilting-matches, crowned so many anxieties, pains, and diverse interests, so many fears and hopes, so many lively pa.s.sions, and serious affairs?" A palace is not built for ease. All its formalities hang heavy on every guest; the whole of every day is spent in playing a part.

Amid all these empty pleasures and hollow joys there was no lack of sorrow. It was there that the wretched Queen Hortense, spitting blood, mourning the past and dreading the future, said to Napoleon: "My reputation is tainted, my health ruined, I expect no more happiness in life; banish me from your court; if you wish, lock me up in a convent, I desire neither throne nor fortune. Give peace to my mother, glory to Eugene, who deserves it, but let me live a calm and solitary life." She had been happier as an unknown schoolgirl at Madame Campan's, just as her mother, the Empress of the French and the Queen of Italy, must have often sighed for the island of Martinique, where she would have preferred the splash of the waves to the courtiers' murmur of obsequious flattery.

Napoleon, himself, at the height of human glory, had lost the peace of heart which he enjoyed in his boyhood, and never found again.

The Empress Josephine naturally held the highest place in this brilliant court of Fontainebleau, and was the object of untiring homage; few, however, suspected the anxieties that tormented her, so calm happy did she appear, with a kind word and a gracious smile for every one.

M. de Metternich, the Austrian Amba.s.sador who was then at Fontainebleau, took pains to ascertain the causes of her secret sorrow, and sent the details to his government. He wrote to von Stadion: "In many of my previous reports I have had the honor of speaking to Your Excellency about the long current rumors regarding the approaching divorce of the Emperor.

After circulating vaguely in the last two months, they have become the subject of general and public discussion. It is true of these rumors, as of all not stamped out at their birth, that they rest on some foundation of truth, or they would be promptly silenced, if they were not directly tolerated." Then the clear-sighted amba.s.sador reported in the same despatch what he had learned, thanks to his relations with persons to whom the Empress had made revelations: "Since his return from the army, the Emperor's bearing towards his wife has been cold and embarra.s.sed. He no longer lives in the same apartment with her, and many of his daily habits have undergone a change. Rumors of the Empress's divorce began at that moment to a.s.sume a more serious form; when they reached her ears she simply waited for some direct information, without letting the Emperor see the slightest anxiety."

Josephine was sorely stricken, and her sufferings were all the more intense because she had to hide them from every one, especially from her husband, and they made a marked contrast, by the irony of fate, with the pleasures and amus.e.m.e.nts that surrounded her. She was too clear-sighted and intelligent to proceed to question the Emperor. She feared light and dreaded the truth. She hesitated before the abyss that awaited her, and shuddered before the Emperor's glance. She suffered on the throne, as if it were an instrument of torture. It was then that Fouche took some steps which doubled her anguish. The incident is thus recounted, by Prince Metternich in the despatch already cited: "One day the Minister of Police visited her at Fontainebleau. and after a short preamble, told her that the public good, and, above all, the strengthening of the existing dynasty requiring that the Emperor should have children, she ought to ask the Senate to join with her in demanding of the Emperor a sacrifice most painful to his heart. The Empress, who was prepared for the question, asked Fouche, with great coolness, if he took this step by the Emperors orders. 'No,' he replied: 'I speak to Your Majesty as a minister charged with a general supervision, as a private citizen, as a subject devoted to his country's glory,' 'In that case I have nothing to say to you,'

interrupted the Empress; 'I regard my union with the Emperor as written in the book of Fate, I shall never discuss the matter with any one but him, and never will do anything but what he orders,'" Josephine, when she mentioned this conversation to her confidant, M. de Lavalette, who had married a Mademoiselle de Beauharnais, said to him in great perplexity; "Is it not clear that Fouche was sent by the Emperor and that my fate is settled? Alas! To leave the throne is nothing to me. Who knows better than I do how many tears I have shed there? But to lose at the same time the man to whom I have given my best love, that sacrifice is beyond my strength."

But to return to Prince Metternich's despatch: "Many days pa.s.sed without incident, when suddenly the Emperor began to share again the Empress's apartment and took a favorable moment to ask why she had been so sad for some days. The Empress then told him of her interview with Fouche. The Emperor confirmed his statement that he had never given him any such orders. He added that she ought to know him well enough to be sure that he had no need of any go-between to manage matters with her, and made her promise to report to him anything further she might hear about the matter." Josephine was not at all comforted. Napoleon's explanation was very embarra.s.sed, and who could think that so crafty and ambitious a man as Fouche could a.s.sume the responsibility of such a negotiation if he supposed that thereby he exposed himself to his master's wrath?

The Minister of Police did not confine himself to mere spoken words. A few days after his interview with the Empress, he wrote to her a long letter on large paper, in which he set forth all the arguments he had already brought forward, to urge upon her the spontaneous sacrifice which would be the more meritorious, the more painful it was. Josephine, who received this letter in the evening, summoned M. de Remusat at midnight to show it to him. "What shall I do," she asked, "to ward off this storm?" "Madame,"

replied the First Chamberlain, "my advice is to go this very moment to the Emperor, if he has not gone to bed, or else the very first thing to-morrow morning. Remember, you must seem to have consulted no one. Make him read this letter; watch him as closely as you can; but, whatever happens, show that you hate these roundabout methods, and tell him again that you will never listen to anything but a direct order from him."

The Empress did as he said, Napoleon, to use a common expression, was "cornered." He pretended to be much surprised, and very angry; promised "to comb Fouche's head," and even added that if she desired he would take away his portfolio; and to calm her he went so far as to write to the Minister of Police this letter, dated Fontainebleau, November 5, 1807:--

"MONSIEUR FOUCHe: In the last fortnight I have heard of your foolish actions; it is time for you to put an end to them, and to stop interfering, directly or indirectly, in a matter which in no way concerns you; that is my wish."

Fouche was not at all disturbed by his master's reproach. He was at heart convinced that he had not displeased him; he kept his portfolio, and was sure that the divorce, though postponed, was irrevocably decided on by the Emperor. Josephine had no more illusions. It was in vain that Napoleon spoke to her kindly, and tried to console her with kisses and even tears, --for Napoleon used to cry sometimes,--after Fouche had made his overtures she had no more peace of mind. The end of the stay at Fontainebleau was very gloomy. All became tired of this life of empty show, of the perpetual constraint, of the pleasures which by dint of repet.i.tion became dull and monotonous. Every one longed for home, to escape from this master's glances; for his presence inspired an admiration tempered with dread. The women had spent vast sums in their dress. The men had indulged in ambitious plans almost always futile. The German princelings had suffered in their lordly pride and German patriotism by having to bow their heads before the formidable man whose humble va.s.sals they were, and these men, vain of their coat-of-arms, had not seen without a secret spite the crushing superiority of a poor Corsican gentleman. This great conqueror himself was not happy in all his splendor. Although he was no longer in love with his wife, it was not without sadness that he had seen her uneasiness and grief. Anxiety about the condition of Spain, which was so fatal to him, cast a cloud on his brow. When hunting in the forest, he was often seen to lose himself in thought and to let his horse wander as he pleased. At the theatrical performances it was noticed that, absorbed and distracted, he appeared to think less of the play than of his vast plans.

Not long since I visited the palace and the forest of Fontainebleau, in one of those cold but bright autumn days when the half bare trees have a strange appearance, when some leaves are as red as blood, others as yellow as gold, and nature wears all the countless hues which defy the artist's brush. The forest is wonderfully beautiful with its marvellous combination of trees and rocks. All the kings of France since Louis VII. have inhabited this palace. The holy head of Louis IX. appears there with his aureola on his head, In the gallery of Francis I., with its nymphs and fauns, amid garlands, fruits, and emblems, one recalls that King and Charles V. who entered the palace by the glided door, and who took part in the great festival in the forest, when nymphs, fauns, and G.o.ds seemed to issue from the trunks of oaks to the sound of tambourines, and a band of maidens flung flowers before the feet of the Spanish court. One recalls, too, Catharine de' Medici with her squadron, of young and brilliant amazons--Catharine de' Medici who In this palace brought forth her two sons, Francis II, and Henry III. At the end of the oval court is a dome of rich and picturesque construction, called the baptistery of Louis XIII, because that king was baptized there. Then there are the apartments of the queen mothers; Catharine de' Medici, Maria de' Medici, Anne of Austria, and those of Pius VII., a captive at Fontainebleau, In the bedroom of the queen mothers an altar was raised where the Vicar of Christ said ma.s.s. The hangings of embroidered satin in this room were a wedding-gift from the city of Lyons to Marie Antoinette. The room is a model of luxury and elegance, and is called the Chamber of the Five Maries because it has been inhabited by five sovereigns bearing that name, Maria de' Medici, Maria Theresa, Marie Antoinette, Marie Louise, and Marie Amelie. It was also the Empress Eugenie's chamber.

This marvellously picturesque palace of Fontainebleau is full of interesting reminiscences, but of all the figures it recalls, no figure is more impressive than that of Napoleon. There is much gorgeous furniture in the palace of various sorts, in the style of the renaissance, of Louis XIV., Louis XV., and Louis XVI.; but no piece attracts more attention than the plain mahogany table on which Napoleon signed his abdication. Then how impressive is the bedroom where he spent terrible nights, unable to sleep, and at last seeking in suicide a cure for his despair! Consider the contrast between 1807 and 1814! Meanwhile there had been changes of face, many apostasies. "Ah! Caulaincourt, mankind, mankind!" exclaimed the deserted Emperor. Every one left him, promising him a speedy return, but no one thought of it. Fontainebleau became a desert. If the sound of wheels was heard, it was never of carriages arriving, but only of carriages going away. It was at Fontainebleau that Napoleon's pride triumphed, and there that his pride suffered its cruelest humiliations.

What anguish he endured, this man of destiny, in that room where he wrote: "To finish my career by signing a treaty in which I have not been able to stipulate a single general interest, nor even one moral interest, such as the preservation of our colonies, or the maintenance of the Legion of Honor! To sign a treaty by which money is given to me!" What anguish tore his mind and body when, having taken too small a dose of poison, he said between his spasms: "How hard it is to die, and it is so easy on the battle-field! Why didn't I die at Arcis-sur-Aube!" Did he then recall the splendor of his return from Jena, from Friedland, from Tilsitt? Did he remember the crowd of courtiers who resembled priests whose G.o.d he was?

The only courtiers left were those to whom he had given neither money nor honors, the old soldiers of his guard, with, their gray mustaches, who could not restrain their sobs and tears when, in the Court of the White Horse, he bade them farewell, saying, "I should like to embrace you in my arms, but let me embrace this flag which represents you."

XXVI.

THE END OF THE YEAR, 1807.

While the court was still at Fontainebleau, the Empress received a piece of news, which had been kept back from her for some days, and which added materially to her sorrows. Her widowed mother, Madame Tascher de la Pagerie, whom she had not seen since September, 1790, had died June 2, 1807, at the age of seventy, in her home at Martinique. Josephine, who was much attached to her mother, had done her best to persuade her to come to France, where she would have been sure of the warmest welcome. But that venerable lady had perhaps chosen more wisely in preferring her modest and quiet home to all the splendor and excitement of an Imperial palace. From afar she thought of her daughter at the summit of human happiness; near her, she would often have seen her sad and downcast. By not approaching the throne which, at a distance, appears like a magic seat, but, to use the Emperor's expression, is in fact only an armchair covered with velvet, Napoleon's mother-in-law was spared the sight of much misery, and she died, as she had lived, in peace.

The Emperor left for Italy November 16. 1807, and this departure was for Josephine, already so afflicted, another source of anxiety and sadness, She would gladly have gone with him, and have seen once more Eugene and her granddaughter, who was named after her; but Napoleon had decided otherwise. He was no longer unable to live without his wife, and he no longer thought with La Fontaine that absence was the greatest of evils. He alleged as reason, the inclemency of the winter, said that he should be back early in December--in fact, he did not return to the Tuileries till January 1--and to the Empress's great despair set off without her, leaving her the prey of the liveliest anxiety, the cruelest fears.

In Italy Napoleon received the same ardent flattery as in France. He reached Milan November 22, before Prince Eugene had had time to ride out to meet him. After ovations, reviews, religious ceremonies at the Cathedral, grand performances at the Scala, he went to Venice. Here he was received with all the luxury that used to be displayed at the majestic marriage of the doge and the Adriatic. When he reached Fusina, he entered a gondola rowed by men in satin coats embroidered with gold. He entered the grand ca.n.a.l beneath an arch of triumph between a double line of boats adorned with festoons and garlands. At the Venice theatre he saw a grand performance representing Olympus, and then was played, amid applause, the popular air, _Napoleone it grande_. He had with him in Venice his brother Joseph, King of Naples; his sister, Elisa Bacciochi, Princess of Lucca; his step-son, Prince Eugene, Viceroy of Italy; the King and Queen of Bavaria, the father-in-law and mother-in-law of this Prince; Murat, Grand Duke of Berg, and Berthier, Prince of Neufchatel. He left Venice December 8, dining at Treviso. The 11th he was at Udine, and the 14th at Mantua.

It was in this city that he had a secret interview with his brother Lucien, with whom he wished to be reconciled, but on one absolute condition, _sine qua non_. It will be remembered that Lucien, against the First Consul's wishes, had married Alexandrine de Bleschamps, widow of M.

Jouberthon; who, after being a broker in Paris, had died in Saint Domingo, whither he had followed the French expedition. Napoleon, who was anxious to marry Lucien with Queen Marie Louise, daughter of Charles IV. of Spain, and widow of Louis I., King of Etruria, wished to annul this marriage. But this brilliant offer had been peremptorily declined by the man who preferred a woman's love to a crown. In the spring of 1804 Lucien had voluntarily left France to seek in Rome an asylum from his brother's incessant reproaches and demands. His mother, Madame Let.i.tia, who thoroughly approved of him, had followed him to Rome, and the Emperor had met with some difficulty in persuading her to return to Paris, which she only did after the coronation. M. de Meneval went by night to fetch Lucien from the inn where he was staying, and led him mysteriously to the palace which the Emperor occupied. Laden, instead of falling in his brother's arms, greeted him coldly, with dignified reserve.

Stanislas de Girardia, in his interesting "Journal," has recounted the interview of the two brothers, as he heard it from Lucien himself. They said very much what follows:--

"Well, sir, do you still told to Madame Jouberthon and her son?"

"Madame Jouberthon is my wife, and her son is my son."

"No, no, since it is a marriage which I do not recognize, and consequently null."

"I contracted it lawfully, as citizen and as Christian."

"The civil act was illegal, and it is known that you gave a priest twenty- five louis-d'or to persuade him to marry you."

"Doubtless Your Majesty, when he invited me here, did not do so for the purpose of paining me; if that is his intention, I withdraw,"

"I have conquered Europe, and certainly I should not flinch before you.

You owe your peaceful life in Rome to my kindness; but you are acquiring there a consideration which displeases me, and in time you will annoy me; I will order you to go away, and I will make you leave Europe."

"And if I should not obey?" "I will have you arrested."

"And then?"

"I shall have you sent to Bicetre and then if--"

"I should defy you to commit a crime!"

"Don't speak to me in that way; don't imagine you can impose on me, I repeat, I have not conquered Europe to flinch before you. Leave the room."

Lucien did not leave, and Napoleon, after a few violent words, became a little calmer. Lucien then renewed the stormy discussion, trying to pacify his brother.

"I had no intention of displeasing Your Majesty by saying what should show the high opinion I have of the greatness of his soul."

"Never mind that; cast your eyes on the map of the world then. Join us, Lucien, and take your share; it will be a fine one, I promise you. The throne of Portugal is empty; I have declared that the King shall cease to reign. I will give it to you; take command of the army destined to make an easy conquest of it, and I will make you a French Prince and my lieutenant. The daughters of your first wife shall be my nieces; I will establish them in life. I will marry the eldest to the Prince of the Asturias; the King of Spain asks it of me as a favor; I can prove it by this letter."

"My eldest daughter, Sire, is not yet thirteen; she is not old enough to be married."

"I thought she was older."

"In a year or two, I will gladly let you dispose of her."

"Then there are no difficulties about the children of your first wife. You have daughters by your second wife, I will adopt them; you have a boy too; I shall not recognize him; his mother will have an important duchy, and he can be her heir. As for you, go to Lisbon, leave your wife and your son in Rome; I will look after them. Your ties are broken. I will find a way."

"That can only be by divorce."

"And why not? That is a frank and positive way which perfectly suits me. I want to be reconciled with you, and you know the price attached to the Portuguese crown."

"I see that to get it I should have to consent to make my wife a concubine, my son a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Your Majesty knows me ill if he has been able to believe that the offer of a crown could tempt me to a dishonorable action."

"He who is not for me, is against me; if you don't enter into my system, you are my enemy; and thereby I have the right of persecuting you and I shall persecute you."

"I do not want to be your enemy, Sire; I cannot become one by preserving my honor and my virtue, by refusing to give up my reputation for a throne: and that this disagreement may be unknown, let Your Majesty give me some conspicuous proof of his kindness; give me the broad ribbon of the Legion of Honor, I beg of you!"