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Books: The Empress Josephine

L >> Louise Muhlbach >> The Empress Josephine




It only remained now to find some one who would announce to
Josephine her fate, who would communicate to her the emperor's
determination. Napoleon had not the courage to do it himself, and he
wanted to confide this duty to the Vice-King Eugene, whom for this
purpose he had invited to Paris.

But Eugene declined to become a messenger of evil tidings to his
mother; and when Napoleon turned to Hortense, she refused to give to
her mother's heart the mortal stroke. The emperor, deeply touched by
the sorrow manifested by the children of Josephine, was not able to
repress his tears. He wept with them over their blasted happiness--
their betrayed love. But his tears could not make him swerve from
his resolution.

"The nation has done so much for me," said he, "that I owe it the
sacrifice of my dearest inclinations. The peace of France demands
that I choose a new companion. Since, for many months, the empress
has lived in the torments of uncertainty, and every thing is now
ready for a new marriage, we must therefore come to a final
explanation." [Footnote: Lavalette, "Memoires," vol. ii., p. 44.]

But as none could be found to carry this fatal news to Josephine,
Napoleon had to take upon himself the unwelcome task.

Wearied with the tears of the slighted empress, with the reproaches
of his own conscience and with his own sufferings, Napoleon suddenly
broke the sad, gloomy silence which had been so long maintained
between him and his wife; in answer to her tears and reproaches, he
told her that it was full time now to arrive at a final conclusion;
that he had resolved to form new ties; that the interest of the
state demanded from them both an enormous sacrifice; that he
reckoned on her courage and devotedness to consent to a divorce, to
which he himself acceded only with the greatest reluctance.
[Footnote: Thiers, "Histoire du Consulat," vol. xi., p. 340.]

But Josephine did not hear the last words. At the word divorce she
swooned with a death-like shriek; and Napoleon, alarmed at the sight
of her insensibility, called out to the officers in waiting to help
him to carry the empress into her rooms upon her bed.

Such hours of despair, of bitter pain, of writhing, agonized love
did Josephine now endure! How courageous, yet how difficult, the
struggle against the wretchedness of a rejected love! How angrily
and scornfully she would rise up against her cruel fate! How
lovingly, humbly, gently she would acquiesce in it, as to a long-
expected, inevitable fatality!

These were long days of pain and distress; but Josephine was not
alone in her sufferings, for the emperor's heart was also touched
with her quiet endurance, and her deep agony at this separation.

At last the empress came out victorious from these conflicts of
heart and soul, and she repressed her tears with the firm will of a
noble, loving woman! She bade her son Eugene announce to the emperor
that she assented to the divorce on two conditions: first, that her
own offspring should not be exiled or rejected, but that they should
still remain Napoleon's adopted children, and maintain their rank
and position at his court; secondly, that she should be allowed to
remain in France, and, if possible, in the vicinity of Paris, so
that, as she said with a sweet smile, she might be near the emperor,
and still hope in the pleasure of seeing him.

Napoleon's countenance manifested violent agitation when Eugene
communicated to him his mother's conditions; for a long time he
paced the room to and fro, his hands behind his back, and unable to
gather strength enough to return an answer. Then, with a trembling
voice, he said that he not only granted all these conditions, but
that they corresponded entirely with the wishes of his heart, and
that he would add to them a third condition, namely, that Josephine
should still be honored and treated by him and by the world as
empress, and that she should still be surrounded with all the honors
belonging to that rank.

There was yet wanting, for the full offering of the sacrifice, the
public and solemn act of divorcement; but before that could take
place it was necessary to make the requisite preparations, to
arrange the future household of the divorced empress, and to prepare
every thing for Josephine's reception in Malmaison, whither she
desired to retire from the world. The mournful solemnity was put off
until the 15th of December, and until then Josephine, according to
the rules of etiquette, was to appear before the world as the ruling
empress, the wife of Napoleon. Twice it was necessary to perform the
painful duty of appearing publicly in all the pomp of her imperial
dignity, and to wear the heavy burden of that crown which already
had fallen from her head. On the morning of the 3d of December she
had to be present at the chanting of the Te Deum in Notre Dame, in
thanksgiving for the peace of Vienna, and to appear at the ball
which the city of Paris that same evening gave to the emperor and
empress.

This ball was the last festivity which Josephine attended as
empress, but even then she received not all the honors which were
due to her as such. Napoleon himself had given orders that the
ladies of Paris, gathered in the Hotel de Ville, with the wife of
the governor of the capital, and the Duchess d'Abrantes at their
head, should not, as usual, meet the empress at the foot of the
stairs, but that they should quietly await her approach in the
throne-room, while the marshal of ceremonies would alone accompany
her up the stairs.

The Duchess d'Abrantes, deeply affected by this order of the
emperor, which at once revealed the sad secret of the approaching
future, had reluctantly to submit to this arrangement, which so
cruelly broke the established etiquette. She has herself, in her
memoirs, given full particulars of this evening, and her words are
so touching and so full of sentiment that we cannot refuse to make
them known here:

"We, therefore," says she, [Footnote: Abrantes, "Memoires." vol.
xii., p. 289.] "ascended the throne-room, and were no sooner seated,
than the drums began to beat, and the empress entered. I shall never
forget that figure, in the costume which so marvellously suited
her... never will this gentle face, now wrapped in mourning crape,
fade away from my memory. It was evident that she was not prepared
for the solitude which she had found on the grand staircase; and yet
Junot, in spite of the risk of being blamed by the emperor, went to
receive her, and he had even managed that the empress should meet on
the stairs a few ladies who, it is true, did not very well know how
they came and what they had to do there. The empress, however, was
not deceived; as she entered the grand hall and approached the
throne on which, in the presence of the public of the capital, she
was to sit probably for the last time....her feet trembled and her
eyes filled with tears. ....I tried to catch her eyes; I would
willingly have sunk at her feet and told her how much I
suffered....She understood me, and looked at me with the most
agonizing gaze which perhaps was ever in her eyes since that now
blighted crown had been placed on her head. That look spoke of
agony--it revealed depths of sorrow!....What must she have suffered
on this awful day!....She felt wretched, dying, and yet she smiled!
Oh, what a torture was that crown!....Junot stood by her.

"'You were not afraid of Jupiter's wrath,' said I to him afterward.

"'No,' said he, with a gloomy look, 'no, I fear him not, when he is
wrong....'

"The drums beat a second time; they announced the emperor's
approach.... A few minutes after he came in, walking rapidly, and
accompanied by the Queen of Naples and the King of Westphalia. The
heat was extraordinary, though it was cold out of doors. The Queen
of Naples, whose gracious, charming smile seemed to demand from the
Parisians the salutation, 'Welcome to Paris,' spoke to every one,
and with the expression of uncommon goodness. Napoleon, also, who
wished to appear friendly, walked up and down the room, talking and
questioning, followed by Berthier, who fairly skipped at his side,
fulfilling more the duties of a chamberlain than those of a
connetable. A trifling circumstance in reference to Berthier struck
me. The emperor, who for some time had been seated on his arm-chair
near the empress, descended the steps of the throne to go once more
around the hall; at the moment he rose I saw him bend down toward
the empress, probably to tell her that she was to accompany him. He
rose up first; Berthier, who had stood behind him, rushed on to
follow his master; the empress was already standing up, when his
feet caught in the train of her mantle, and he nearly fell down,
causing the empress almost to fall. However, he disentangled
himself, and, without one word of excuse to the empress, he followed
the emperor. Certainly Berthier had not the intention to be wanting
in respect to the empress; but he knew the secret--he knew the whole
drama soon to be performed.... and assuredly he would not have so
acted one year ago as he did to-day..... The empress had remained
standing with a marvellous dignity; she smiled as if the accident
was the result of mere awkward-ness.... but her eyes were full of
tears, and her lips trembled...."

At last the 15th of December had come; the day on which Josephine
was to endure the most cruel agony of her life, the day on which she
was solemnly to descend from the throne and bid farewell to her
whole brilliant past, and commence a despised, lonely, gloomy
future.

In the large cabinet of ceremonies were gathered on this day, at
noon, the emperor, the Empress Josephine, the emperor's mother, the
King and Queen of Holland, the King and Queen of Westphalia, the
King and Queen of Naples, the Vice-king Eugene, the Princess Pauline
Borghese, the high-chancellor Cambaceres, and the secretary of civil
affairs, St. Jean d'Angely. Josephine was pale and trembling; her
children were agitated, and hiding their tears under an appearance
of quietude, so as to instil courage into their mother.

Napoleon, standing upright, his hand in that of the empress, read
with tremulous voice:

"My cousin, prince state-chancellor, I have dispatched you an order
to summon you hither into my cabinet for the purpose of
communicating to you the resolution which I and the empress, my
much-beloved wife, have taken. I am rejoiced that the kings, queens,
and princesses, my brothers and sisters, my brothers-in-law and
sisters-in-law, my daughter-in-law and my son-in-law, who also is my
adopted son, as well as my mother, are here present to hear what I
have to say.

"The policy of my empire, the interest and wants of my people,
direct all my actions, and now demand that I should leave children
heirs of the love I have for my people, and heirs of this throne to
which Providence has exalted me. However, for many years past, I
have lost the hope of having children through the marriage of my
beloved wife, the Empress Josephine; and this obliges me to
sacrifice the sweetest inclinations of my heart, so as to consult
only the welfare of the state, and for that cause to desire the
dissolution of my marriage.

"Already advanced to my fortieth year, I still may hope to live long
enough to bring up in my sentiments and thoughts the children whom
it may please Providence to give me. God knows how much this
resolution has cost my heart; but there is no sacrifice too great
for my courage if it can be shown to me that such a sacrifice is
necessary to the welfare of France.

"It is necessary for me to add that, far from having any cause of
complaint, I have, contrariwise, but to praise the devotedness and
affection of my much-beloved wife; she has embellished fifteen years
of my life; the remembrance of these years will therefore ever
remain engraven on my heart. She has been crowned at my hands; it is
my will that she retain the rank and title of empress, and
especially that she never doubt my sentiments, and that she ever
hold me as her best and dearest friend."

When he came to the words "she has embellished fifteen years of my
life," tears started to Napoleon's eyes, and, with a voice trembling
through emotion, he read the concluding words.

It was now Josephine's turn. She began to read the paper which had
been prepared for her:

"With the permission of our mighty and dear husband, I must declare
that, whereas I can no longer cherish the hope of having children to
meet the wants of his policy and the wants of France, I am ready to
give the highest proof of affection and devotedness which was ever
given upon earth...."

Josephine could proceed no further; sobs choked her voice. She tried
to continue, but her trembling lips could no more utter a word. She
handed to Count St. Jean d'Angely the paper, who, with tremulous
voice, read as follows:

"I have obtained every thing from his goodness; his hand has crowned
me, and on the exaltation of this throne I have received only proofs
of the sympathy and love of the French people.

"I believe it is but manifesting my gratitude for these sentiments
when I consent to the dissolution of a marriage which is an obstacle
to the welfare of France, since it deprives her of the happiness of
being one day ruled by the posterity of a great man, whom Providence
has so manifestly favored, as through him to bring to an end the
horrors of a terrible revolution, and to re-establish the altar, the
throne, and social order. The dissolution of my marriage will not,
however, alter the sentiments of my heart; the emperor will always
find in me his most devoted friend. I know how much this action,
made incumbent upon him by policy and by the great interests in
view, has troubled his heart; but we, the one and the other, are
proud of the sacrifice which we offer to the welfare of our
country."

When he had finished, Napoleon, visibly affected, embraced
Josephine, took her hand, and led her back to her apartments, where
he soon left her insensible in the arms of her children. [Footnote:
Thiers, "Histoire du Consulat," etc., vol. xi., p. 349.]

Napoleon himself, sad and silent, returned to his cabinet, where, in
a state of complete exhaustion, he fell into an easy-chair.

On the evening of the same day he again visited Josephine, to pass a
few hours with her in quiet, undisturbed communion; to speak in
tenderness and love of the future, to weep with her, and, full of
deepest emotion and sincerity, to assure her of his undying
gratitude for the past, and of his abiding friendship for the
future.

Josephine passed the night in tears, struggling with her heart,
sometimes breaking into bitter complaints and reproaches, which she
immediately repressed with that gentleness and mildness so much her
own, and with that love which never for a moment departed from her
breast.

There remained yet to perform the last, the most painful scene of
this great, tearful drama. Josephine had to leave the Tuileries; she
had forever to retire from the place which she so long had occupied
at her husband's side; she had to descend into the open grave of her
mournful abandonment; as a widow, to part with the corpse of her
love and of the past, and to put on mourning apparel for a husband
who was not yet dead, but who only rejected her to give his hand and
his heart to another woman.

The next day at two o'clock, the moment had come for Josephine to
leave the Tuileries, to make room for the yet unknown wife of the
future. Napoleon wanted to leave Paris at the same moment, and pass
a few days of quiet and solitude in Trianon.

The carriages of the emperor and empress were both ready; the last
farewell of husband and wife, now to part forever, had yet to be
said. M. de Meneval, who was the sole witness of those sad moments,
gives of them a most affecting description, which bears upon its
face the merit of truth and impartiality.

"When it was announced to the emperor that the carriage was ready,
he stood up, took his hat, and said: 'Meneval, come with me.'

"I followed him through the narrow winding stairs which led from his
room into that of the empress. She was alone, and seemed absorbed in
the saddest thoughts, At the noise we made in entering she rose up
and eagerly threw herself, sobbing, upon the neck of the emperor,
who drew her to his breast and embraced her several times; but
Josephine, overcome by excitement, had fainted. I hastened to ring
for assistance. The emperor, to avoid the renewal of a painful
scene, which it was not in his power to prevent, placed the empress
in my arms as soon as he perceived her senses return, and ordered me
not to leave her, and then he hurried away through the halls of the
first story, at whose gate his carriage was waiting. Josephine
became immediately conscious of the emperor's absence; her tears and
sobs redoubled. Her women, who had now entered, laid her on a sofa,
and busied themselves with tender solicitude to bring her relief. In
her bewilderment she had seized my hands, and urgently entreated me
to tell the emperor not to forget her, and to assure him of her
devotedness, which would outlast every trial. I had to promise her
that at my arrival in Trianon I would wait upon the emperor and see
that he would write to her. It caused her pain to see me leave, as
if my departure tore away the last bond which united her to the
emperor. I left her, deeply affected by so true a sorrow and by so
sincere a devotion. During the whole journey I was deeply moved, and
could not but bewail the merciless political considerations which
tore violently apart the bonds of so faithful an affection for the
sake of contracting a new union, which, after all, contained but
uncertain chances.

"In Trianon I told the emperor all that had happened since his
departure, and I conveyed to him the message intrusted to me by the
empress. The emperor was still suffering from the emotions caused by
this farewell scene. He spoke warmly of Josephine's qualities, of
the depth and sincerity of the sentiments she cherished for him; he
looked upon her as a devoted friend, and, in fact, he has ever
maintained for her a heart-felt affection. The very same evening he
sent her a letter to console her in her solitude. When he learned
that she was sad and wept much, he wrote to her again, complained
tenderly of her want of courage, and told her how deeply this
troubled him." [Footnote: Meneval, "Napoleon et Marie Louise.--
Souvenirs Historiques," vol. i., pp. 230-232.]

It is true Josephine's sorrow was bitter, and the first night of
solitude in Malmaison was especially distressing and horrible. But
even in these hours of painful struggle the empress maintained her
gentleness and mildness of character. Mademoiselle d'Avrillon, one
of the ladies in waiting, has given her testimony to that effect:

"I was with the empress during the greater part of the night,"
writes she; "sleep was impossible, and time passed away in
conversation. The empress was moved to the very depth of her heart;
it is true, she complained of her fate, but in expressions so
gentle, in so resigned a manner, that tears would come to her eyes.
There was no bitterness in her words, not even during this first
night when the blow which destroyed her, had fallen upon her; she
spoke of the emperor with the same love, with the same respect, as
she had always done. Her grief was most acute: she suffered as a
wife, as a mother, and with all the wounded sensitiveness of a
woman, but she endured her affliction with courage, and remained
unchanged in gentleness, love, and goodness." [Footnote: Avrillon,
"Memoires," vol. ii., p. 166.]




CHAPTER XLIII.

THE DIVORCED.


Josephine had accepted her fate, and, descending from the imperial
throne whose ornament she had long been, retired into the solitude
and quietness of private life.

But the love and admiration of the French nation followed the
empress to Malmaison, where she had retreated from the world, and
where the regard and friendship, if not the love of Napoleon
himself, endeavored to alleviate the sufferings of her solitude.
During the first days after her divorce, the road from Paris to
Malmaison presented as animated a scene of equipages as in days gone
by, when the emperor resided there with his wife. All those whose
position justified it, hastened to Malmaison to pay their respects
to Josephine, and through the expressions of their sympathy to
soften the asperities of her sorrow. Doubtless many came also
through curiosity, to observe how the empress, once so much honored,
endured the humiliation of her present situation. Others, believing
they would exhibit their devotedness to the emperor if they should
follow their master's example, abandoned the empress, as he had
done, and took no further notice of her.

But the emperor soon undeceived the latter, manifesting his
dissatisfaction by his cold demeanor and repelling indifference
toward them, whilst he loudly praised all those who had exercised
their gratitude by visiting Malmaison, and in expressing their
devotedness to the empress.

He himself went beyond his whole court in showing attention and
respect to Josephine. The very next day after their separation, the
emperor went to Malmaison to visit her, and to take with her a long
walk through the park. During the following days he came again, and
once invited her and the ladies of her new court to a dinner in
Trianon.

Josephine might have imagined that nothing had been altered in her
situation, and that she was still Napoleon's wife. But there were
wanting in their intercourse those little, inexpressible shades of
confidence which her exquisite tact and her instinctive feelings
felt yet more deeply than the more important and visible changes.

When Napoleon came or went, he no longer embraced her, but merely
pressed her hand in a friendly manner, and often called her "madame"
and "you;" he was more formal, more polite to her than he had ever
been before.

And then his daily visits ceased; in their place came his letters,
it is true, but they were only the letters of a friend, who tried to
comfort her in her misfortune, but took no sympathetic interest in
her distress.

Soon these letters became more rare, and when they did come they
were shorter. The emperor had to busy himself with other matters
than with the solitary, rejected woman in Malmaison; he had now to
occupy his thoughts with his young and beautiful bride--with Maria
Louisa, the daughter of the Emperor of Austria, who was soon to
enter Paris as the wife of Napoleon, the Emperor of France.

Bitter and painful indeed were those first days of resignation for
Josephine; harsh and unsparing were the conflicts she had to fight
with her own heart, before its wounds could be closed, and its pains
and its humiliations cease to torment her!

But Josephine had a brave heart, a strong will, and a resolute
determination to control herself. She conquered herself into rest
and resignation; she did not wish that the emperor, the happy
bridegroom, should ever hear of her red, weeping eyes, of her
lamentations and sighs; she did not wish that, in the golden cup
which the husband of the emperor's young daughter was drinking in
the full joyousness of a conqueror, her tears should commingle
therein as drops of gall.

She controlled herself so far as to be able with smiling calmness to
have related to her how Paris was celebrating the new marriage
festivities, how the new Empress of the French was everywhere
received with enthusiasm. She was even able to inquire, with an
expression of friendly sympathy, after Maria Louisa, the young wife
of sixteen, who had taken the place of the woman of forty-eight, and
from whom Josephine, in the sincerity of her love, required but one
thing, namely, to make Napoleon happy.

When she was told that Napoleon loved Maria Louisa with all the
passion of a fiery lover, Josephine conquered herself so as to smile
and thank God that she had accepted her sacrifice and thus secured
Napoleon's happiness.

But the emperor, however much he might be enamored of his young
wife, never forgot the bride of the past, the beloved one of his
youth, of whom he had been not only captivated, but whom he had
loved from the very depths of his soul. He surrounded her, though
from a distance, with attentions and tokens of affection; he would
often write to her; and at times, when his heart was burdened and
full of cares, he would come to Malmaison, and visit this woman who
understood how to read in his face the thoughts of his heart, this
woman whose soft, gracious, and amiable disposition--even as a
tranquillizing and invigorating breeze after a sultry day--could
quiet his excited soul; to this woman he came for refreshment, for a
little repose, and sweet communion.

It is true those visits of the emperor to his divorced wife were
made secretly and privately, for his second wife was jealous of the
affection which Napoleon still retained for Josephine; she listened
with gloomy attention to the descriptions which were made to her of
the amiableness, of the unwithered beauty of Josephine; and one day,
after hearing that the emperor had visited her in Malmaison, Maria
Louisa broke out into tears, and complained bitterly of this
mortification caused by her husband.