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PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

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Books: The Empress Josephine

L >> Louise Muhlbach >> The Empress Josephine



Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team




THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE

AN HISTORICAL SKETCH OF THE DAYS OF NAPOLEON

BY L. MUHLBACH

AUTHOR OF DAUGHTER OF AN EMPRESS, MARIE ANTOINETTE, JOSEPH II AND
HIS COURT, FREDERICK THE GREAT AND HIS FAMILY BERLIN AND SANS-SOUCI,
ETC.


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY REV. W. BINET, A M.




CONTENTS.

BOOK I.

THE VISCOUNTESS BEAUHARNAIS.

I. Introduction
II. The Young Maid
III. The Betrothal
IV. The Young Bonaparte
V. The Unhappy Marriage
VI. Trianon and Marie Antoinette
VII. Lieutenant Napoleon Bonaparte
VIII. A Page from History
IX. Josephine's Return
X. The Days of the Revolution
XI. The 10th of August and the Letter of Napoleon Bonaparte
XII. The Execution of the Queen
XIII. The Arrest
XIV. In Prison
XV. Deliverance

BOOK II.

THE WIFE OF GENERAL BONAPARTE.

XVI. Bonaparte in Corsica
XVII. Napoleon Bonaparte before Toulon
XVIII. Bonaparte's Imprisonment
XIX. The 13th Vendemiaire
XX. The Widow Josephine Beauharnais
XXI. The New Paris
XXII. The First Interview
XXIII. Marriage
XXIV. Bonaparte's Love-Letters
XXV. Josephine in Italy
XXVI. Bonaparte and Josephine in Milan
XXVII. The Court of Montebello
XXVIII. The Peace of Campo Formio
XXIX. Days of Triumph

BOOK III.

THE EMPRESS AND THE DIVORCED.

XXX. Plombieres and Malmaison
XXXI. The First Faithlessness
XXXII. The 18th Brumaire
XXXIII. The Tuileries
XXXIV. The Infernal Machine
XXXV. The Cashmeres and the Letter
XXXVI. Malmaison
XXXVII. Flowers and Music
XXXVIII. Prelude to the Empire
XXXIX. The Pope in Paris
XL. The Coronation
XLI. Days of Happiness
XLII. Divorce
XLIII. The Divorced
XLIV. Death




BOOK I.

THE VISCOUNTESS BEAUHARNAIS.


CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTION.


"I win the battles, Josephine wins me the hearts." These words of
Napoleon are the most beautiful epitaph of the Empress Josephine,
the much-loved, the much-regretted, and the much-slandered one. Even
while Napoleon won battles, while with lofty pride he placed his
foot on the neck of the conquered, took away from princes their
crowns, and from nations their liberty--while Europe trembling bowed
before him, and despite her admiration cursed him--while hatred
heaved up the hearts of all nations against him--even then none
could refuse admiration to the tender, lovely woman who, with the
gracious smile of goodness, walked at his side; none could refuse
love to the wife of the conqueror, whose countenance of brass
received light and lustre from the beautiful eyes of Josephine, as
Memnon's statue from the rays of the sun.

She was not beautiful according to those high and exalted rules of
beauty which we admire in the statues of the gods of old, but her
whole being was surrounded with such a charm, goodness, and grace,
that the rules of beauty were forgotten. Josephine's beauty was
believed in, and the heart was ravished by the spell of such a
gracious, womanly apparition. Goethe's words, which the Princess
Eleonore utters in reference to Antonio, were not applicable to
Josephine:

"All the gods have with one consent brought gifts to his cradle,
but, alas! the Graces have remained absent, and where the gifts of
these lovely ones fail, though much was given and much received, yet
on such a bosom is no resting-place."

No, the Graces were not absent from the cradle of Josephine; they,
more than all the other gods, had brought their gifts to Josephine.
They had encircled her with the girdle of gracefulness, they had
imparted to her look, to her smile, to her figure, attraction and
charm, and given her that beauty which is greater and more enduring
than that of youth, namely loveliness, that only real beauty.
Josephine possessed the beauty of grace, and this quality remained
when youth, happiness, and grandeur, had deserted her. This beauty
of grace struck the Emperor Alexander as he came to Malmaison to
salute the dethroned empress. He had entered Paris in triumph, and
laid his foot on the neck of him whom he once had called his friend,
yet before the divorced wife of the dethroned emperor the czar, full
of admiration and respect, bowed his head and made her homage as to
a queen; for, though she was dethroned, on her head shone the crown
in imperishable beauty and glory, the crown of loveliness, of
faithfulness, and of womanhood.

She was not witty in the special sense of a so-called "witty woman."
She composed no verses, she wrote no philosophical dissertations,
she painted not, she was no politician, she was no practising
artist, but she possessed the deep and fine intuition of all that
which is beautiful and noble: she was the protectress of the arts
and sciences. She knew that disciples were not wanting to the arts,
but that often a Maecenas is needed. She left it to her cousin, the
Countess Fanny Beauharnais, to be called an artist; hers was a
loftier destiny, and she fulfilled that destiny through her whole
life--she was a Maecenas, the protectress of the arts and sciences.

As Hamlet says of his father, "He was a man, take him for all in
all, I shall not look upon his like again;" thus Josephine's fame
consists not that she was a princess, an empress anointed by the
hands of the pope himself, but that she was a noble and true wife,
loving yet more than she was loved, entirely given up in unswerving
loyalty to him who rejected her; languishing for very sorrow on
account of his misfortune, and dying for very grief as vanished away
the star of his happiness. Thousands in her place, rejected,
forgotten, cast away, as she was--thousands would have rejoiced in
the righteousness of the fate which struck and threw in the dust the
man who, for earthly grandeur, had abandoned the beloved one and
disowned her love. Josephine wept over him, lamented over his
calamities, and had but a wish to be allowed to share them with him.
Josephine died broken-hearted--the misfortunes of her beloved, who
no more loved her, the misfortunes of Napoleon, broke her heart.

She was a woman, "take her for all in all"--a noble, a beautiful
woman, a loving woman, and such as belongs to no peculiar class, to
no peculiar nation, to no peculiar special history; she belongs to
the world, to humanity, to universal history. In the presence of
such an apparition all national hatred is silent, all differences of
political opinion are silent. Like a great, powerful drama drawn
from the universal history of man and represented before our eyes,
so her life passes before us; and surprised, wondering, we gaze on,
indifferent whether the heroine of such a tragedy be Creole, French,
or to what nation she may owe her birth. She belongs to the world,
to history, and if we Germans have no love for the Emperor Napoleon,
the tyrant of the world, the Caesar of brass who bowed the people
down into the dust, and trod under foot their rights and liberties--
if we Germans have no love for the conqueror Napoleon, because he
won so many battles from us, yet this does not debar us from loving
Josephine, who during her lifetime won hearts to Napoleon, and whose
beautiful death for love's sake filled with tears the eyes of those
whose lips knew but words of hatred and cursing against the emperor.

To write the life of Josephine does not mean to write the life of a
Frenchwoman, the life of the wife of the man who brought over
Germany so much adversity, shame, and suffering, but it means to
write a woman's life which, as a fated tragedy or like a mighty
picture, rises before our vision. It is to unfold a portion of the
world's history before our eyes--and the world's history is there
for our common instruction and progress, for our enlightenment and
encouragement.

I am not afraid, therefore, of being accused of lacking patriotism,
because I have undertaken to write the life of a woman who is not a
German, who was the wife of Germany's greatest enemy and oppressor.
It is, indeed, a portion of the universal drama which is unfolded in
the life of this woman, and amid so much blood, so much dishonor, so
many tears, so much humiliation, so much pride, arrogance, and
treachery, of this renowned period of the world's history, shines
forth the figure of Josephine as the bright star of womanhood, of
love, of faithfulness--stars need no birthright, no nationality,
they belong to all lands and nations.




CHAPTER II.

THE YOUNG MAID.


On the 23d of July, 1763, to the Chevalier Tascher de la Pagerie,
ex-lieutenant of the royal troops, a resident of the insignificant
spot of the Trois Islets, on the island of Martinique, was borne by
his young, rich, and beautiful wife, a first child.

The loving parents, the relatives and friends had longed for this
child, but now that it was come, they bade it welcome without joy,
and even over the brow of the young father hung the shadow of a
cloud as he received the intelligence of the birth of his child. For
it was a girl, and not the wished-for boy who was to be the
inheritor of the valuable family-plantation, and the inheritor also
of the ancient and respectable name of Tascher de la Pagerie.

It was, however, useless to murmur against fate. What was
irrevocable had to be accepted, and welcome made to the daughter,
who, instead of the expected heir, would now lay claim to the rights
of primogeniture. As an inheritance reserved for him who had not
come, the daughter received the name which had been destined to the
son. For two hundred years the name of Joseph had been given to the
eldest son of the family of Tascher de la Pagerie, but now that
there was none to whom the Chevalier, Ex-lieutenant Joseph de la
Pagerie could leave his name as a legacy, the family had to be
satisfied to give the name to his daughter, and consequently she
received at baptism the name of Joseph Marie Rosa.

There was, however, one being who gladly and willingly forgave the
fault of her birth, and who consecrated to the daughter the same
love she would have offered to the son. This being was the mother of
the little Joseph Marie Rosa.

"Contrary to all our wishes," writes she to her husband's sister,
the beautiful Madame Renaudin, in Paris--"contrary to all our
wishes, God has given me a daughter. My joy is not therefore
diminished, for I look upon my child as a new bond which binds me
still closer to your brother, my dear husband, and to you. Why
should I have such a poor and meagre opinion of the female sex, that
a daughter should not be welcomed by me? I am acquainted with many
persons of our sex who concentrate in themselves as many good
qualities as one would only with difficulty find in the other sex.
Maternal love already blinds me and fosters in me the hope that my
daughter may be like them, and if even I cannot enjoy this
satisfaction, yet I am thankful to my child that by means of her
existence I am gathering so much happiness."

Indeed, extraordinary joy, since the birth of the child, reigned in
the house of M. Tascher de la Pagerie; joy reigned all over
Martinique, for the long war between France and England was ended,
and a few months before the birth of little Joseph Marie Rosa, the
peace which secured to France the possession of her maritime
colonies had been signed. Martinique, so often attacked, bombarded,
besieged by English ships--Martinique was again the unconditional
property of France, and on the birthday of the little Marie Joseph
Rosa the French fleet entered into the harbor of Port Royal, landed
a French garrison for the island, and brought a new governor in the
person of the Marquis de Fenelon, the nephew of the famous Bishop de
Fenelon.

Joyously and quietly passed away the first years of the life of the
little Joseph, or little Josephine, as her kind parents called her.
Only once, in the third year of her life, was Josephine's infancy
troubled by a fright. A terrible hurricane, such as is known to
exist only in the Antilles, broke over Martinique. The historians of
that period know not how to depict the awful and calamitous events
of this hurricane, which, at the same time, seemed to shake the
whole earth with its convulsions. In Naples, in Sicily, in the
Molucca Islands, volcanoes broke out in fearful eruptions; for three
days the earth trembled in Constantinople. But it was over
Martinique that the hurricane raged in the most appalling manner. In
less than four hours the howling northwest' wind, accompanied by
forked lightning, rolling thunder, heavy water-spouts, and
tremendous earth-tremblings, had hurled down into fragments all the
houses of the town, all the sugar-plantations, and all the negro
cabins. Here and there the earth opened, flames darted out and
spread round about a horrible vapor of sulphur, which suffocated
human beings. Trees were uprooted, and the sugar and coffee
plantations destroyed. The sea roared and upheaved, sprang from its
bounds, and shivered as mere glass-work barks and even some of the
larger ships lying in the harbor of Port Royal. Five hundred men
perished, and a much larger number were severely wounded. Distress
and poverty were the result of this astounding convulsion of nature.

The estate of M. Tascher de la Pagerie was made desolate. His
residence, his sugar-plantations, were but a heap of ruins and
rubbish, and as a gift of Providence he looked upon the one refuge
left him in his sugar-refinery, which was miraculously spared by the
hurricane. There M. Tascher saved himself, with Josephine and her
younger sister, and there his wife bore him a third child. But
Heaven even now did not fulfil the long-cherished wishes of the
parents, for it was to a daughter that Madame de la Pagerie gave
birth. The parents were, however, weary with murmuring against fate,
which accomplished not their wish; and so to prove to fate that this
daughter was welcome, they named the child born amid the horrors of
this terrific hurricane, Desiree, the Desired.

Peaceful, happy years followed;--peaceful and happy, in the midst of
the family, passed on the years of Josephine's infancy. She had
every thing which could be procured. Beloved by her parents, by her
two sisters, worshipped by her servants and slaves, she lived amid a
beautiful, splendid, and sublime nature, in the very midst of wealth
and affluence. Her father, casting away all ambition, was satisfied
to cultivate his wide and immense domains, and to remain among his
one hundred and fifty slaves as master and ruler, to whom
unconditional and cheerful obedience was rendered. Her mother sought
and wished for no other happiness than the peaceful quietude of the
household joys. Her husband, her children, her home, constituted the
world where she breathed, in which alone centred her thoughts, her
wishes, and her hopes. To mould her daughters into good housekeepers
and wives, and if possible to secure for them in due time, by means
of a brilliant and advantageous marriage, a happy future--this was
the only ambition of this gentle and virtuous woman.

Above all things, it was necessary to procure to the daughters an
education suited to the claims of high social position, and which
would fit her daughters to act on the world's stage the part which
their birth, their wealth, and beauty, reserved for them. The tender
mother consented to part with her darling, with her eldest daughter;
and Josephine, not yet twelve years old, was brought, for completing
her education, to the convent of our Lady de la Providence in Port
Royal. There she learned all which in the Antilles was considered
necessary for the education of a lady of rank; there she obtained
that light, superficial, rudimentary instruction, which was then
thought sufficient for a woman; there she was taught to write her
mother tongue with a certain fluency and without too many blunders;
there she was instructed in the use of the needle, to execute
artistic pieces of embroidery; there she learned something in
arithmetic and in music; yea, so as to give to the wealthy daughter
of M. Tascher de la Pagerie a full and complete education, the pious
sisters of the convent consented that twice a week a dancing-master
should come to the convent to give to Josephine lessons in dancing,
the favorite amusement of the Creoles. [Footnote: "Histoire de
l'Imperatrice Josephine," par Joseph Aubenas. vol. i., p. 36.]

These dancing-lessons completed the education of Josephine, and,
barely fifteen years old, she returned to her parents and sisters as
an accomplished young lady, to perform the honors of the house
alongside of her mother, to learn from her to preside with grace and
ease over a large mansion, and above all things to be a good
mistress, a benefactress, and a protectress to her slaves. Under her
mother's guidance, Josephine visited the negro cabins to minister
unto the sick, to bring comfort and nourishment to the old and to
the weak, to pray with the dying, to take under her loving
guardianship the new-born babes of the negro women, to instruct in
the catechism the grown-up children, to excite them to industry, to
encourage them through kindness and friendliness, to protect them,
and to be a mediator when for some offence they were condemned to
severe punishment.

It was a wonderfully peaceful and beautiful life that of the young
Josephine, amid a bountiful nature, in that soft, sunny clime which
clothed her whole being with that tender, pleasing grace, that
lovely quietude, that yielding complacency, and at the same time
with that fiery, passionate nature of the Creoles. Ordinarily
dressed only with the "gaule," a wide, loose garment of white
muslin, falling loosely about the waist, where no belt gathered its
folds, the beautiful head wrapped up in the many-colored madras,
which around the temples was folded up into graceful knots holding
together her chestnut-brown hair--in this dress Josephine would
swing for hours in her hammock made of homespun silk and ornamented
with borders of feathers from the variegated iridescent birds of
Cayenne.

Round about her were her young female slaves, watching with their
brilliant dark eyes their young mistress, ever ready to read every
wish upon that dreamy, smiling countenance, and by their swarthy
tinge heightening the soft, tender whiteness of her own complexion.

Then, wearied with the stillness and with her dreams, Josephine
would spring up from the hammock, dart into the house with all the
lightness of the gazelle to enliven the family with her own
joyousness, her merry pleasantry, and accompanied by her guitar to
sing unto them with her lovely youthful voice the songs of the
Creoles. As the glowing sun was at its setting, away she hastened
with her slaves into the garden, directed their labors, and with her
own hands tended her own cherished flowers, which commingled
together in admirable admixture from all climes under the genial
skies of the Antilles. In the evening, the family was gathered
together in the light of the moon, which imparted to the nights the
brightness of day and streamed upon them her soft blue rays, upon
the fragrant terrace, in front of the house, where the faithful
slaves carefully watched the little group close one to another and
guarded their masters from the approaches of poisonous serpents,
that insidious progeny of the night.

On Sundays after Josephine had religiously and faithfully listened
to an early mass, she gladly attended in the evening the
"barraboula" of the negroes, dancing their African dances in the
glare of torches and to the monotonous sound of the tam-tam.

On festivals, she assisted her mother to put all things in order,
and to preside at the great banquets given to relatives and friends,
who afterward were visited in their turn, and then the slaves
carried their masters in hammocks, or else, what was far more
acceptable, the young maidens mounted small Spanish horses, full of
courage and daring, and whose firm, quick step made a ride to Porto
Rico simply a rushing gallop.

Amidst this dreamy, sunny, joyous existence of the young maiden
gleamed one day, as a lightning-flash, a prophetic ray of
Josephine's future greatness.

This happened one afternoon as she was walking alone and thoughtful
through the plantation. A group of negresses, in the centre of which
was an old and unknown woman, attracted her attention. Josephine
approached. It was an old negro woman from a neighboring plantation,
and she was telling the fortune of the young negro women of M.
Tascher de la Pagerie. No sooner did the old woman cast her eyes on
Josephine than she seemed to shrink into one mass, whilst an
expression of horror and wonder stole over her face. She vehemently
seized the hand of the young maiden, examined it carefully, and then
lifted up her large, astonished eyes with a searching expression to
the face of Josephine.

"You must see something very wonderful in my face and in my hand?"
inquired Josephine, laughing.

"Yes, something very wonderful," repeated the negro woman, still
intently staring at her.

"Is it a good or a bad fortune which awaits me?"

The old prophetess slowly shook her head.

"Who can tell," said she, gravely, "what is a good or a bad fortune
for human beings? In your hand I see evil, but in your face
happiness--great, lofty happiness."

"Well," cried out Josephine, laughing, "you are cautious, and your
oracle is not very clear."

The old woman lifted up her eyes to heaven with a strange
expression.

"I dare not," said she, "express myself more clearly."

"Speak on, whatever the result!" exclaimed Josephine, whose
curiosity was excited by the very diffidence of the fortune-teller.
"Say what you see in my future life. I wish it, I order you to do
so."

"Well, if you order it, I must obey," said she, with solemnity.
"Listen, then. I read in your countenance that you are called to
high destinies. You will soon be married. But your marriage will not
be a happy one. You will soon be a young widow, and then--"

"Well, and then?" asked Josephine, passionately, as the old woman
hesitated and remained silent.

"Well, and then you will be Queen of France--more than a queen!"
shouted the prophetess, with a loud voice. "You will live glorious,
brilliant days, but at the last misfortune will come and carry you
to your grave in a day of rebellion."

Afraid of the pictures which her prophetic vision had contemplated
in the future, the old hag forced her way through the circle of
negro women around, and rushed away through the field as fast as her
feet could bear her on.

Josephine, laughing, turned to her astonished women, who had
followed with their eyes the flight of the prophetess, but who now
directed their dark eyes with an expression of awe and bewilderment
to their young mistress, of whom the fortune-teller had said she
would one day be Queen of France. Josephine endeavored to overthrow
the faith of her swarthy servants in the fortune-teller, and, by
pointing to the ridiculous prophecy in reference to herself, and
which predicted an impossible future, she tried to prove to them
what a folly it was to rely on the words of those who made a
profession of foretelling the future.

But against her will the prophetic words of the old woman echoed in
the heart of the young maiden. She could not return home to her
family and talk, laugh, and dance, as she had been accustomed to do
with her sisters. Followed by her slaves, she went into her garden
and sank in a hammock, hung amid the gigantic leaves of a palm-tree,
and, while the negro girls danced and sang round her, the young maid
was dreaming about the future, and her beating heart asked if it
were not possible that the prophecy of the negro woman might one day
be realized.

She, the daughter of M. Tascher de la Pagerie--she a future "Queen
of France! More than a queen!" Oh, it was mere folly to think on
such things, and to busy herself with the ludicrous prophecies of
the old woman.

And Josephine laughed at her own credulity, and the slaves sang and
danced, and against her will the thoughts of the young maiden
returned to the prophecy again and again.

What the old fortune-teller had said, was it so very ridiculous, so
impossible? Could not that prophecy become a reality? Was it, then,
the first time that a daughter of the Island of Martinique had been
exalted to grandeur and lofty honors?

Josephine asked these questions to herself, as dreaming and
thoughtful she swung in the hammock and gazed toward the horizon
upon the sea, which, in its blue depths and brilliancy, hung there
as if heaven had lowered itself down to earth. That sea was a
pathway to France, and already once before had its waves wafted a
daughter of the Island of Martinique to a throne.

Thus ran the thoughts of Josephine. She thought of Franchise
d'Aubigne, and of her wondrous story. A poor wanderer, fleeing from
France to search for happiness beyond the seas in a foreign land, M.
d'Aubigne had landed in Martinique with his young wife. There
Franchise was born, there passed away the first years of her life.
Once, when a child of three years old, she was bitten by a venomous
serpent, and her life was saved only through the devotion of her
black nurse, who sucked alike poison and death from the wound.
Another time, as she was on a voyage with her parents, the vessel
was in danger of being captured by a corsair; and a third time a
powerful whirlwind carried into the waves of the sea the little
Francoise, who was walking on the shore, but a large black dog, her
companion and favorite, sprang after her, seized her dress with its
teeth, and carried the child back to the shore, where sobbing for
joy her mother received her.