John Lothrop Motley - "History of the United Netherlands, 1586"

Louis Antoine Fauvelet de Bourrienne - "Memoirs of Napoleon Bonaparte, v6"

Rudyard Kipling - "The Phantom 'Rickshaw and Other Ghost Stories"

Charles Dickens - "Mudfog and Other Sketches"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
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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




That Madame de Montesson might have a striking proof of Bonaparte's
good-will, he renewed her yearly pension of one hundred and eighty
thousand francs, which the duke had donated to her in his will, and
which Bonaparte restored to her as the property which the revolution
had confiscated for the nation's welfare. She manifested her
gratitude to the first consul for this liberal pension by opening
the saloons to the "parvenues of the Tuileries;" and leading the
aristocrats of the Faubourg St. Germain into the drawing-rooms of
Josephine, and then assisting her to form out of these elements a
court whose lofty and brilliant centre was to be Josephine herself.
The ladies of the Faubourg St. Germain were no longer ashamed to
appear at the new court of the Tuileries, but excused themselves by
saying: "We flatter Josephine, so as to keep her on our side, and to
strengthen her loyalty to the king. She will, by her entrancing
eloquence, persuade the consul to recall our King Louis XVIII., and
give him his crown."

But too soon, alas! were they made aware of their error. It was not
long before they became convinced that, if Bonaparte's hands were
busy in raising a throne, in lifting up from the earth the fallen
crown of royalty, he was not doing this to place it on the brow of
the Count de Lille; he had a nearer object in view--he considered
his own head better suited to wear it.

The conqueror of terrorism and of the revolution was not inclined to
be defeated by the enemies of the republic, who were approaching the
frontiers of France, to restore the Bourbons. He took up the glove
which Austria had thrown down--for she had made alliance with
England.

On the 6th of May, 1800, Bonaparte left Paris, marched with his army
over Mount St. Bernard, and assumed the chief command of the army in
Italy, which recently had suffered so many disastrous defeats from
Suwarrow and the Archduke Charles.

At Marengo, on the 14th of June, Bonaparte obtained a brilliant
triumph. Soon after, at Hohenlinden, Moreau also defeated the
Austrians. These two decisive victories forced Austria to make peace
with France, to abandon her alliance with England--that is to say,
with the monarchical principles; and, at the peace ratified in the
beginning of the year 1801 at Limeville, to concede to France the
grand-duchy of Tuscany.

In July, Bonaparte returned in triumph to France, and was received
by the people with enthusiastic acclamations. Paris was brilliantly
illuminated on the day of his return, and round about the Tuileries
arose the shouts of the people, who with applauding voices demanded
to see the conqueror of Marengo, and would not remain quiet until he
appeared on the balcony. Even Bonaparte was touched by this
enthusiasm of the French people; as he retreated from the balcony
and retired into his cabinet, he said to Bourrienne. "Listen! The
people shout again and again; they still send their acclamations
toward me. I love those sounds; they are nearly as sweet as
Josephine's voice. How proud and happy I am to be loved by such a
people!" [Footnote: Bourrienne, vol. v., p. 35.]




CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE INFERNAL MACHINE.


The victory of Marengo, which had pleased the people, had filled the
royalists with terror and fear, and destroyed their hopes of a
speedy restoration of the monarchy, making them conscious of its
fruitless pretensions. With the frenzy of hatred and the bitterness
of revenge they turned against the first consul, who was not now
their expected savior of the monarchy, but a usurper who wanted to
gain France for himself.

The royalists and the republicans united for the same object. Both
parties longed to destroy Bonaparte: the one to re-establish the
republic of the year 1793, and the other the throne of the Bourbons.
Everywhere conspiracies and secret associations were organized, and
the watchful and active police discovered in a few months more than
ten plots, the aim of which was to murder Bonaparte.

Josephine heard this with sorrow and fear, with tears of anxiety and
love. She had now given her whole heart and soul to Bonaparte, and
it was the torment of martyrdom to see him every day threatened by
assassins and by invisible foes, who from dark and hidden places
drew their daggers at him. Her love surrounded him with vigilant
friends and servants, who sought to discover every danger and to
remove it from his path.

When he was coming to Malmaison, Josephine before his arrival would
send her servants to search every hiding-place in the park, to see
if in some shady grove a murderer might not be secreted; she
entreated Junot or Murat to send scouts from Paris on the road to
Malmaison to remove all suspicious persons from it. Yet her heart
trembled with anxiety when she knew him to be on the way, and, when
he had safely arrived, she would receive him with rapture, as if he
had just escaped an imminent danger, and would make him laugh by the
exclamations of joy with which she greeted him as one saved from
danger.

In the anxiety of her watchful love she made herself acquainted with
all the details of the discovered conspiracies of both the Jacobins
and royalists. She knew there were two permanent conspiracies at
work, though their leaders had been discovered and led into prison.

One of these conspiracies had been organized by the old Jacobins,
the republicans of the Convention; and these bands of the "enraged,"
as they called themselves, numbered in their ranks all the enemies
of constitutional order, all the men of the revolution of 1789; and
all these men had sworn with solemn oaths to kill Bonaparte, and to
deliver the republic from her greatest and most dangerous enemy.

The other conspiracy, which had its ramifications throughout France,
was formed by the royalists. "The Society of the White Mantle" was
mostly composed of Chouans, daring men of Vendee, who were ever
ready to sacrifice their lives to the mere notion of royalty, and
who like the Jacobins had sworn to murder Bonaparte.

Chevalier, who, with his ingenious infernal machine, sought to kill
Bonaparte on his way to Malmaison, belonged to the Society of the
White Mantle. But he was betrayed by his confidant and associate
Becyer, who assisted the police to arrest him. To the conspiracy of
the "enraged" belonged the Italians Ceracchi, Arena, and Diana, who
at the opera, when the consul appeared in his loge, and was greeted
by the acclamations of the people, were ready to fire their pistols
at him. But at the moment they were about to commit the deed from
behind the side-scenes, where they had hidden themselves, they were
seized, arrested, and led to prison by the police. Josephine, as
already said, knew all these conspiracies; she trembled for
Bonaparte's life, and yet she could not prevent him from appearing
in public, and she herself, smiling and apparently unsuspecting, had
to appear at Bonaparte's side at the grand parades, in the national
festivities, and at the theatrical performances; no feature on her
face was to betray the anxiety she was enduring.

One day, however, not only Bonaparte's life but also that of
Josephine, was imperilled by the conspirators; the famous infernal
machine which had been placed on their way to the opera, would have
killed the first consul and his wife, if a red Persian shawl had not
saved them both.

At the grand opera, that evening, was to be performed Joseph Haydn's
masterpiece, "The Creation." The Parisians awaited this performance
with great expectation; they rushed to the opera, not only to hear
the oratorio, the fame of which had spread from Vienna to Paris, but
also to see Bonaparte and his wife, who it was known would attend
the performance.

Josephine had requested Bonaparte to be present at this great
musical event, for she knew that the public would be delighted at
his presence. He at first manifested no desire to do so, for he was
not sufficiently versed in musical matters for it to afford him much
enjoyment; and besides, there was but one kind of music he liked,
and that was the Italian, the richness of whose melody pleased him,
while the German and French left him dissatisfied and weary.
However, Bonaparte gave way to the entreaties of Josephine, and
resolved to drive to the opera. The dinner that day had been
somewhat later than usual, for besides Josephine, her children, and
Bonaparte's sister Caroline, Murat, the Generals Bessieres and
Lannes, as well as Bonaparte's two adjutants, Lebrun and Rapp, had
been present. Immediately after dinner they wanted to drive to the
opera; but as Josephine lingered behind, busy with the arrangement
of her shawl, Bonaparte declared he would drive in advance with the
two Generals Bessieres and Lebrun, while Rapp was to accompany the
ladies in the second carriage. With his usual rapidity of action he
seized his hat and sword, and, followed by his companions, left the
room to go to the carriage, which was waiting.

Josephine, who imagined that Bonaparte was waiting for her at the
carriage, hurriedly put on, without troubling herself any longer
about the becoming arrangement of the folds, a red Persian shawl,
which Bonaparte had sent her as a present from Egypt. She was going
to leave, when Rapp, with the openness of a soldier, made the remark
that she had not put on her shawl to-day with her accustomed
elegance. She smiled, and begged him to arrange it after the fashion
of Egyptian ladies. Rapp laughingly hastened to comply with her
wishes; and while Josephine, Madame Murat, and Hortense, watched
attentively the arrangement of the shawl in the hands of Rapp,
Bonaparte's carriage was heard moving away.

This noise put a speedy end to all further movements, and Josephine,
with the ladies and Rapp, hastened to follow Bonaparte. Their
carriage had no sooner reached the Place de Carrousel, than an
appalling explosion was heard, and a bright flame like a lightning-
flash filled the whole place with its glare; at the same moment the
windows of the carriage were broken into fragments, which flew in
every direction into the carriage, and one of which penetrated so
deep into the arm of Hortense, that the blood gushed out. Josephine
uttered a cry of horror--"Bonaparte is murdered!" At the same moment
were heard loud shrieks and groans.

Rapp, seized with fear, and only thinking that Bonaparte was in
danger, sprang out of the carriage, and, careless of the wounded and
bleeding, who lay near, ran onward to the opera to find out if
Bonaparte had safely reached there. While the ladies, in mortal
agony, remained on the Place de Carrousel, not knowing whether to
return to the Tuileries or to drive forward, a messenger arrived at
full speed to announce that the first consul had not been hurt, and
that he was waiting for his wife in his loge, and begged her to come
without delay. Meanwhile Rapp had reached the opera, and had
penetrated into the box of the first consul. Bonaparte was seated
calmly and unmoved in his accustomed place, examining the audience
through his glass, and now and then addressing a few words to the
secretary of police, Fouche, who stood near him. No sooner did
Bonaparte see Rapp, than he said hastily, and in a low voice--
"Josephine?"

At that moment she entered, followed by Madame Murat and Hortense.
Bonaparte saluted them with a smile, and with a look of unfathomable
love he extended his hand to Josephine. She was still pale and
trembling, although she had no conception of the greatness of the
danger which had menaced her.

Bonaparte endeavored to quiet her by stating that the explosion was
probably the result of some accident or imprudence; but at this
moment the prefect of the police entered who had been on the spot,
and had come to give a report of the dreadful effects of the
explosion. Fifteen persons had been killed, more than thirty had
been severely wounded, and about forty houses seriously damaged.
This was all the work of a so-called infernal machine--a small
barrel filled with powder and quicksilver--which had been placed in
a little carriage at the entrance of the Hue St. Nicaise.

Until now Josephine did not realize the extent of the danger which
had threatened her and her husband. Had the explosion taken place a
few moments before, it would have killed the consul; if it had been
one minute later, Josephine and her companions would have been
involved in the catastrophe. It was the shawl which Rapp was
arranging on her shoulders according to the rules of art, which
caused them to retard their departure, and thus saved her life.

An inexpressible horror now seized her and made her tremble; her
looks, full of love and deep anguish, were fixed on Bonaparte, who,
in a low voice, entreated her to compose herself, and not to make
her distress public. Near Josephine sat Hortense, pale and agitated,
like her mother; around her wounded arm was wrapped a handkerchief,
stained here and there with blood. Madame Murat was quiet and
composed, like Bonaparte, who was then giving instructions to the
prefect of police to provide immediate assistance for the
unfortunate persons who had been wounded.

No one yet in the audience knew the appalling event. The thundering
noise had been heard, but it was presumed to have been an artillery
salute, and no evil was suspected, for Bonaparte, with his usual
guards, had entered his box, and, advancing to its very edge, had
saluted the public in a friendly way. This act of the first consul
had its ordinary effect: the audience, indifferent to the music,
rose and saluted their hero with loud acclamation and applause. Not
till Josephine entered the loge had the acclamations subsided, and
the music begun again. A few minutes after, the news of the fearful
event spread all over the house: a murmur arose, and the music was
interrupted anew.

The Duchess d'Abrantes, who was present at this scene, gives a
faithful, eloquent, and graphic picture of it:

"A vague noise," says she, "began to spread from the parterre to the
orchestra, and from the amphitheatre to the boxes. Soon the news of
the occurrence was known all over the house, when, like a sudden
clap of thunder, an acclamation burst forth, and the whole audience,
with a single undivided look of love, seemed to desire to embrace
Bonaparte. What I am narrating I have seen, and I am not the only
one who saw it. ... What excitement followed this first explosion of
national anger, which at this moment was represented by the
audience, whose horror at the dark plot cannot be described with
words! Women were seen weeping and sobbing; men, pale as death,
trembled with vengeance and anger, whatever might have been the
political standard which they followed; all hearts and hands were
united to prove that difference of opinion creates no difference in
the interpretation of the code of honor. During the whole scene my
eyes were fixed on the loge of the consul. He was quiet, and only
seemed moved when public sentiment gave utterance to strong
expressive words about the conspiracy, and these reached him. Madame
Bonaparte was not fully composed. Her countenance was disturbed;
even her attitude, generally so very graceful, was no longer under
her control. She seemed to tremble under her shawl as under a
protecting canopy, and in fact it was this shawl which had saved her
from destruction. She was weeping; however much she endeavored to
compose herself, she could not repress her tears; they would flow,
against her will, down her pale cheeks, and, whenever Josephine
fixed her eyes upon her husband, she trembled again. Even her
daughter seemed extremely agitated, and Madame Murat alone preserved
the family character, and seemed entirely herself." [Footnote:
Duchess d'Abrantes, "Memoires," vol. ii., p. 66.]

At last, when the public excitement was somewhat abated, and the
music was again resumed, the audience turned its attention to
Hadyn's masterpiece. But Josephine had not the strength to bear this
effort, and to submit to it quietly. She entreated her husband to
retire with her and the ladies; and when at last he acceded to her
request, and had quietly left the loge with her, Josephine sat by
him in the carriage, opposite Caroline and Hortense, and, sobbing,
threw herself on Bonaparte's breast, and cried out in her anguish:

"What a life, where I must ever be trembling for you!"

The infernal machine did not kill the first consul, but it gave to
liberty and to the republic a fatal blow; it scattered into
fragments what remained of the revolutionary institutions from the
days of blood and terror. France rose up in disgust and horror
against the party which made of assassins its companions, and
consequently this conspiracy failed to accomplish what its
originators had expected. They wanted to destroy Bonaparte and ruin
his power, but this abortive attempt only increased his popularity,
enlarged his power, and deepened the people's love for him who now
appeared to them as a protecting rampart, and a barrier to the flood
of anarchy.

France gave herself up trembling, and without a will of her own,
into the hands of the hero to whom she was indebted for fame and
recognition by foreign powers, and through whom she hoped to secure
domestic peace. France longed for a strong arm to support her;
Bonaparte gave her this arm, but it not only supported France, it
bowed her down; and from this day he placed the reins on the wild
republican steed, and let it feel that it had found a master who had
the power and the will to direct it entirely in accordance with his
wishes.

Bonaparte was determined to put an end to the seditions and
conspiracies of the republicans, whom he hated because they had for
their aim the downfall of all legitimate authority; and in turn was
hated by them because he had abandoned their standard and turned
against the republic with the faithlessness of a son who attacks the
mother that gave him birth. Bonaparte maintained that it was the
republicans who had set the infernal machine on his path, and paid
no attention to the opinion of Fouche, who ascribed to the royalists
the origin of the plot. Bonaparte wished first to do away with his
most violent and bitter enemies, the republicans of the year 1789;
he desired to possess the power of punishing such, and to render
them harmless, and now the horror produced by this criminal act came
to his assistance in carrying out this plan.

The council of the state adopted the legislative enactment that the
consuls should have "the power to remove from Paris those persons
whose presence they considered dangerous to the public security, and
that all such persons who should leave their place of banishment
should be transported from the country!"

Under this law, George Cadoudal, Chevalier, Arena, Ceracchi, and
many others were executed; and one hundred and thirty persons, whose
only crime was that of being suspected of dissatisfaction toward the
administration of the consuls, and considered as Bonaparte's
enemies, were transported to Cayenne.

Such were for France the results of this infernal machine, the
object of which was to assassinate the Consul Bonaparte, instead of
which it had only the effect of destroying his enemies and
strengthening his power.




CHAPTER XXXV.

THE CASHMERES AND THE LETTER.


As mighty events always exercise an influence on minor ones, so this
fearful attempt at murder became the occasion for the introduction
into France of a new branch of industry, which had hitherto drawn
millions from Europe to the East.

Josephine, gratefully remembering her truly wonderful deliverance
through the means of her Persian shawl, wore it afterward in
preference to any other. Until then she had never fancied it, for
when Bonaparte sent it to her from Egypt, she wrote to him: "I have
received the shawl. It may be very beautiful and very costly, but I
find it unsightly. Its great advantage consists in its lightness. I
doubt, however, if this new fashion will meet with approbation.
Notwithstanding, I am pleased with it, for it is rare and warm."
[Footnote: "Memoires sur l'Imperatrice," par Mademoiselle Ducrest,
vol. iii., p. 227.]

But after it had saved her life, she no longer thought it unsightly,
she was fond of wrapping herself up in it, and the natural
consequence was, that these Persian shawls soon formed the most
fashionable and costly article of apparel.

Every lady of the higher classes considered it a necessity to cover
her tender shoulders with this valuable foreign material, and it
soon became "comme il faut" a duty of position, to possess a
collection of such Persian shawls, and to wear them at the balls and
receptions in the Tuileries.

The desire to possess such a precious article of fashion led these
ladies oftentimes to "corriger la fortune" and to obtain, by some
bold but not very creditable act, possession of such a shawl, which
had now become in a certain measure the escutcheon of the new French
aristocracy.

The Duchess d'Abrantes, in reference to this matter, relates two
thefts which at that time troubled the aristocratic society of the
Tuileries, which prove that the ladies had taken instructions from
the gentlemen, and that dishonest persons of both sexes were
admitted into the society of heroes and their beautiful wives!

At a morning reception in the Tuileries, the shawl of the Countess
de St. Martin had been stolen; and this lady was very much
distressed at the loss, for this cashmere was not only a present
from Madame Murat, but was one of uncommon beauty, on account of the
rarity of the design, consisting of paroquets in artistic groups,
instead of the ordinary palm. The countess was therefore untiring in
recounting to every one her irreparable loss, and uttered bitter
curses against the bold female who had stolen her treasure.

"A few weeks later," relates the duchess, "at a ball given by the
minister Talleyrand, the countess came toward me with a bright
countenance and told me that she had just now found her shawl, and,
strange to say, upon the shoulders of a young lady at the ball!

"'But,' said I to her, 'you will not accuse this lady before the
whole company!'

"'And why not?'

"'Because that would be wrong. Leave this matter to me.'

"She would not at first, but I pressed the subject on her
consideration, and she agreed at length to remain somewhat behind,
while I approached the young lady, who stood near the door, and was
just going to leave the ballroom. I told her in a low voice that in
all probability she had made a mistake; that she had perhaps mislaid
her own cashmere, and had through carelessness taken the shawl of
the Countess de St. Martin.

"I was as polite as I could possibly be in such a communication; but
the young lady looked at me unpleasantly for such an impertinent
intrusion, and replied that 'since the time the Countess de St.
Martin had deafened the ears of every one with the story of her
stolen shawl, she had had ample leisure to recognize as her property
the cashmere she wore.' Her mother, who stood a few steps from her,
and was conversing with another lady, turned toward her when she
heard her daughter speak in so loud a voice. But the Countess de St.
Martin, who had overheard that she 'had deafened the ears of every
one with the story of her stolen shawl,' rushed in to the rescue of
her case.

"'This cashmere belongs to me,' said she, haughtily--seizing, at the
same time, the shawl with one hand, while the young lady with her
fist thrust her back violently. I saw that in a moment they would
come to blows.

"'It will be easy to end this difficulty,' said I to the Countess de
St. Martin. 'Madame will be kind enough to tell us where she has
purchased this shawl which is so much like yours, and then you will
see your mistake, and be satisfied.'

"'It does not suit me to tell where I got this shawl,' replied the
lady, looking at me contemptuously; 'there is no necessity for my
telling you where I purchased it.'

"'Well, then,' exclaimed eagerly the Countess de St. Martin, 'you
confess, madame, that the shawl really belongs to you?'

"The other answered with a sarcastic smile, and drew the shawl
closer to her shoulders. A few persons, attracted by the strangeness
of such a scene, had gathered around us, and seemed to wait for the
end of so extraordinary an event.

"The countess continued with a loud voice:

"'Well, then, madame, since the shawl belongs to you, you can
explain to me why the name of Christine, which is my first name, is
embroidered in red silk on the small edging. Madame Junot will be
kind enough to look for this name.'

"The young woman became pale as death. I shall never during my life
forget the despairing look which she gave me, as with trembling hand
she passed me the shawl, just as her father appeared from a room
near the place of the scene. I took the cashmere with an unsteady
hand, and sought reluctantly for the name of Christine, for I
trusted she would at least have taken it out; but the deathly
paleness of the guilty one told the contrary, and in fact I had no
sooner unfolded the shawl, than the name appeared, embroidered at
the narrow edging.