Little Journeys to the Homes of Famous Women — Empress Josephine, Part 2

* * * * * Of course, no one in Paris was so much talked of as the young artillery officer.

Josephine was a bit proud that she had met him, and possibly a little sorry that she had treated him so coldly.

He only wished to be polite!

Josephine was an honest woman, but still, she was a woman.

She desired to be well thought of, and to be well thought of by men in power.

Her son Eugene was fifteen, and she had ambitions for him; and to this end she saw the need of keeping in touch with the Powers.

Josephine was a politician and a diplomat, for all women are diplomats.

She arrayed Eugene in his Sunday-best and told him to go to the General of the Interior and explain that his name was Eugene Beauharnais, that his father was the martyred patriot, General Beauharnais, and that this beloved father's sword was in the archives over which Providence had placed the General of the Interior.

Furthermore, the son should request that the sword of his father be given him so that it might be used in defense of France if need be.

And it was so done.

The whole thing was needlessly melodramatic, and Napoleon laughed.

The poetry of war was to him a joke.

But he stroked the youth's curls, asked after his mother, and ordered his secretary to go fetch that sword.

So the boy carried the sword home and was very happy, and his mother was very happy and proud of him, and she kissed him on both cheeks and kissed the sword and thought of the erring, yet generous man who once had carried it.

Then she thought it would be but proper for her to go and thank the man who had given the sword back; for had he not stroked her boy's curls and told him he was a fine young fellow, and asked after his mother!

So the next day she went to call on the man who had so graciously given the sword back.

She was kept waiting a little while in the anteroom, for Napoleon always kept people waiting--it was a good scheme.

When admitted to the presence, the General of the Interior, in simple corporal's dress, did not remember her.

Neither did he remember about giving the sword back--at least he said so.

He was always a trifler with women, though; and it was so delicious to have this tearful widow remove her veil and explain--for gadzooks!

had she not several times allowed the mercury to drop to zero for his benefit?

And so she explained, and gradually it all came back to him--very slowly and after cross-questioning--and then he was so glad to see her.

When she went away, he accompanied her to the outer door, bareheaded, and as they walked down the long hallway she noted the fact that he was not so tall as she by three inches.

He shook hands with her as they parted, and said he would call on her when he had gotten a bit over the rush.

Josephine went home in a glow.

She did not like the man--he had humiliated her by making her explain who she was, and his manner, too, was offensively familiar.

And yet he was a power, there was no denying that, and to know men of power is a satisfaction to any woman.

He was twenty years younger than Beauharnais, the mourned--twenty years!

Then Beauharnais was tall and had a splendid beard and wore a dangling sword.

Beauharnais was of noble birth, educated, experienced, but he was dead;

and here was a beardless boy being called the Chief Citizen of France.

Well, well, well!

She was both pleased and hurt--hurt to think she had been humbled, and pleased to think such attentions had been paid her.

In a few days the young general called on the widow to crave forgiveness for not having recognized her when she had called on him.

It was very stupid in him, very!

She forgave him.

He complimented Eugene in terse, lavish terms, and when he went away kissed Hortense, who was thirteen and thought herself too big to be kissed by a strange man.

But Napoleon said they all seemed just like old friends.

And seeming like old friends he called often.

Josephine knew Paris and Parisian society thoroughly.

Fifteen years of close contact in success and defeat with statesmen, soldiers, diplomats, artists and literati had taught her much.

It is probable that she was the most gifted woman in Paris.

Now, Napoleon learned by induction as Josephine had, and as all women do, and as genius must, for life is short--only dullards spend eight years at Oxford.

He absorbed Josephine as the devilfish does its prey.

And to get every thought and feeling that a good woman possesses you must win her completest love.

In this close contact she gives up all--unlike Sapphira--holding nothing back.

Among educated people, people of breeding and culture, Napoleon felt ill at ease.

With this woman at his side he would be at home anywhere.

And feeling at once that he could win her only by honorable marriage he decided to marry her.

He was ambitious.

Has that been remarked before?

Well, one can not always be original--still I think the facts bear out the statement.

Josephine was ambitious, too, but some way in this partnership she felt that she would bring more capital into the concern than he, and she hesitated.

But power had given dignity to the Little Man; his face had taken on the cold beauty of marble.

Success was better than sarsaparilla.

Josephine was aware of his growing power, and his persistency was irresistible; and so one evening when he dropped in for a moment, her manner told all.

He just took her in his arms, and kissing her very tenderly whispered, "My dear, together we will win," and went his way.

When he wished to be, Napoleon was the ideal lover; he was master of that fine forbearance, flavored with a dash of audacity, that women so appreciate.

He never wore love to a frazzle, nor caressed the object of his affections into fidgets; neither did he let her starve, although at times she might go hungry.

However, the fact remains that Josephine married the man to get rid of him; but that's a thing women are constantly doing.

The ceremony was performed by a Justice of the Peace, March Ninth, Seventeen Hundred Ninety-six.

It was just five months since the bride had called to thank the groom for giving back her husband's sword, and fifteen months after this husband's death.

Napoleon was twenty-seven; Josephine was thirty-three, but the bridegroom swore he was twenty-eight and the lady twenty-nine.

As a fabricator he wins our admiration.

Twelve days after the marriage, Napoleon set out for Italy as Commander-in-Chief of the army.

To trace the brilliant campaign of that year, when the tricolor of France was carried from the Bay of Biscay to the Adriatic Sea, is not my business.

Suffice it to say that it placed the name of Bonaparte among the foremost names of military leaders of all time.

But amid the restless movement of grim war and the glamour of success he never for a day forgot his Josephine.

His letters breathe a youthful lover's affection, and all the fond desires of his heart were hers.

Through her he also knew the pulse and temperature of Paris--its form and pressure.

It was a year before they saw each other.

She came on to Milan and met him there.

They settled in Montebello, at a beautiful country seat, six miles from the city.

From there he conducted negotiations for peace--and she presided over the gay social circles of the ancient capital.

"I gain provinces; you win hearts," said Napoleon.

It was a very Napoleonic remark.

Napoleon had already had Eugene with him, and together they had seen the glory of battle.

Now Hortense was sent for, and they were made Napoleon's children by adoption.

These were days of glowing sunshine and success and warm affection.

And so Napoleon with his family returned to France amid bursts of applause, proclaimed everywhere the Savior of the State, its Protector, and all that.

Civil troubles had all vanished in the smoke of war with foreign enemies.

Prosperity was everywhere, the fruits of conquest had satisfied all, and the discontented class had been drawn off into the army and killed or else was now cheerfully boozy with success.

Napoleon made allies of all powers he could not easily undo, and proffered his support--biding his time.

Across the English Channel he looked and stared with envious eyes.

Josephine had tasted success and known defeat.

Napoleon had only tasted success.

She begged that he would rest content and hold secure that which he had gained.

Success in its very nature must be limited, she said.

He laughed and would not hear of it.

For the first time she felt her influence over him was waning.

She had given her all; he greedily absorbed, and now had come to believe in his own omniscience.

He told her that on a pinch he could get along without her--within himself he held all power.

Then he kissed her hand in mock gallantry and led her to the door, as he would be alone.

When Napoleon started on the Egyptian campaign, Josephine begged to go with him; other women went, dozens of them.

They seemed to look upon it as a picnic party.

But Napoleon, insisting that absence makes the heart grow fonder, said his wife should remain behind.

Josephine was too good and great for the wife of such a man.

She saw through him.

She understood him, and only honest men are willing to be understood.

He was tired of her, for she no longer ministered to his vanity.

He had captured her, and now he was done with her.

Besides that, she sided with the peace party, and this was intolerable.

Still he did not beat her with a stick; he treated her most graciously, and installing her at beautiful Malmaison, provided her everything to make her happy.

And if "things" could make one happy, she would have been.

And as for the Egyptian campaign, it surely was a picnic party, or it was until things got so serious that frolic was supplanted by fear.

You can't frolic with your hair on end like quills upon the fretful porcupine.

Napoleon did not write to his wife.

He frolicked.

Occasionally his secretary sent her a formal letter of instruction, and when she at last wrote him asking an explanation for such strange silence, the Little Man answered her with accusations of infidelity.

Josephine decided to secure a divorce, and there is pretty good proof that papers were prepared; and had the affair been carried along, the courts would have at once allowed the separation on statutory grounds.

However, the papers were destroyed, and Josephine decided to live it out.

But Napoleon had heard of these proposed divorce proceedings and was furious.

When he came back, it was with the intention of immediate legal separation--in any event separation.

He came back and held out haughtily for three days, addressing her as "Madame," and refusing so much as to shake hands.

After the three days he sued for peace and cried it out on his knees with his head in her lap.

It was not genuine humility, only the humility that follows debauch.

Napoleon had many kind impulses, but his mood was selfish indifference to the rights or wishes of others.

He did not hold hate, yet the thought of divorce from Josephine was palliated in his own mind by the thought that she had first suggested it.

"I took her at her word," he once said to Bertram, as if the thing were pricking him.

And so matters moved on.

There was war, and rumors of war, alway; but the vanquished paid the expenses.

It was thought best that France should be ruled by three consuls.

Three men were elected, with Napoleon as First Consul.

The First Consul bought off the Second and Third Consuls and replaced them with two wooden men from the Tenth Ward.

Josephine worked for the glory of France and for her husband: she was diplomat and adviser.

She placated enemies and made friends.

France prospered, and in the wars the foreigner usually not only paid the bills, but a goodly tribute beside.

Nothing is so good as war to make peace at home.

An insurrectionist at home makes a splendid soldier abroad.

Napoleon's battles were won by the "dangerous class."

As the First Consul was Emperor in fact, the wires were pulled, and he was made so in name.

His wife was made Empress: it must be so, as a breath of disapproval might ruin the whole scheme.

Josephine was beloved by the people, and the people must know that she was honored by her husband.

With a woman's intuition, Josephine saw the end--power grows until it topples.

She pleaded, begged--it was of no avail--the tide swept her with it, but whither, whither?

she kept asking.

Meantime Hortense had been married to Louis, brother of Napoleon.

In due time Napoleon found himself a grandfather.

He both liked it and didn't. He considered himself a youth and took a pride in being occasionally mistaken for a recruit, and here some newspaper had called him "granddaddy," and people had laughed!

He was not even a father, except by law--not Nature--and that's no father at all, for Nature does not recognize law.

He joked with Josephine about it, and she turned pale.

There is no subject on which men so deceive themselves as concerning their motives for doing certain things.

On no subject do mortals so deceive themselves as their motives for marriage.

Their acts may be all right, but the reasons they give for doing them never are.

Napoleon desired a new wife, because he wished a son to found a dynasty.

"You have Eugene!"

said Josephine.

"He's my son by proxy," said Napoleon, with a weary smile.

All motives, like ores, are found mixed, and counting the whole at one hundred, Napoleon's desire for a son after the flesh should stand as ten--other reasons ninety.

All men wish to be thought young.

Napoleon was forty, and his wife was forty-seven.

Talleyrand had spoken of them as Old Mr. and Mrs. Bonaparte.

A man of forty is only a giddy youth, according to his own estimate.

Girls of twenty are his playfellows.

A man of sixty, with a wife forty, and babies coming, is not old--bless me!

But suppose his wife is nearly seventy--what then!

Napoleon must have a young wife.

Then by marrying Marie Louise, Austria could be held as friend: it was very necessary to do this.

Austria must be secured as an ally at any cost--even at the cost of Josephine.

It was painful, but must be done for the good of France.

The State should stand first in the mind of every loyal, honest man: all else is secondary.

So Josephine was divorced, but was provided with an annuity that was preposterous in its lavish proportions.

It amounted to over half a million dollars a year.

I once knew a man who, on getting home from the club at two o'clock in the morning, was reproached by his wife for his shocking condition.

He promptly threw the lady over the banisters.

Next day he purchased her a diamond necklace at the cost of a year's salary, but she could not wear it out in society for a month on account of her black eye.

Napoleon divorced Josephine that he might be the father of a line of kings.

When he abdicated in Eighteen Hundred Fifteen, he declared his son, the child of Marie Louise, "Napoleon the Second, Emperor of France," and the world laughed.

The son died before he had fairly reached manhood's estate.

Napoleon the Third, son of Hortense, Queen of Holland, the grandson of Josephine, reigned long and well as Emperor of France.

The Prince Imperial--a noble youth--great-grandson of Josephine, was killed in Africa while fighting the battle of the nation that undid Napoleon.

Josephine was a parent of kings: Napoleon was not.

When Bonaparte was banished to Elba, and Marie Louise was nowhere to be seen, Josephine wrote to him words of consolation, offering to share his exile.

She died not long after--on the Second of June, Eighteen Hundred Fourteen.

After viewing that gaudy tomb at the Invalides, and thinking of the treasure in tears and broken hearts that it took to build it, it will rest you to go to the simple village church at Ruel, a half-hour's ride from the Arc de Triomphe, where sleeps Josephine, Empress of France.